"Sure," Ryouma said muzzily, without moving. His vision had cleared a little more, but there were still weird purple streaks in the corners, and the wall looked like it was tilting. No, that was him tilting. He planted his other hand in a sticky patch on the floor; it took him a moment to realize it was blood. Katsuko's blood.

But the multitude of oozing scratches clustered over her bare shoulders and upper arms looked shallow enough, even if they were bleeding more than he liked. A cutting-wind jutsu, maybe? She moved stiffly as she picked among the bodies to find her weapons, careful of her bruised torso, but the practiced eye diagnosed a cracked rib, not a gut-wound.

She hadn't kissed like a dying woman, either.

Ryouma grinned with a tiny resurgence of that unexpected delight. "Bet we can find someplace more...private," he said. "Slip into somethin' more comfortable." Or nothing at all. They both needed baths more than they needed sex, but--

Well, why not sex? She was smart and pretty and funny, with a sharp wit and a sleek body. He liked her, and she seemed to think he wasn't a total loss. She'd kissed him like she wanted more.

And the one time he'd broken his rule, after Misao--well, the three times, locked in the safety of that hotel room--nothing had gone wrong. Kakashi hadn't asked for any promises. They weren't in anything like a relationship. No strings, right?

Right.

He scrabbled for his discarded mask, molded a little of that familiar-foreign chakra, and lurched to his feet. The world tilted around him again, and his chakra swirled crazily within, but he didn't fall over. He did feel a little like throwing up. He thought of ginger, and swallowed the bile down.

"If you can find my utility belt, there should be painkillers in the kit in the right-hand pouch. We prolly both need 'em."

Painkillers, escape, baths, and sex. His world was looking brighter by the moment.