| [Jan. 22nd, 2010|03:36 am] |
For a long, quiet moment, Kakashi stayed in his crouch. He could feel Ginta's eyes flicker back, watching him, but didn't meet them.
Friend.
This again. And if he was honest with himself, Kakashi didn't have the will-fire to say no. Or bolt for the door. Or anything equally dramatic. He'd tried it both ways, now. Every way. Cut Ginta out, kept Ryouma in, and both of them had ended up flayed (interrogated) and shattered (tortured), and hauled home by Kakashi's hands. It didn't seem to matter what Kakashi did -- someone always ended up in hospital.
But not dead, and that was the thing to hang onto.
Unless you counted Tsuyako.
He dragged his hand over his face, heel of his palm grinding into his visible eye, and got back to his feet. Bed or chair, Ginta suggested. Kakashi chose the unoccupied bed next to the window, not-quite-falling on it. He sat himself cross-legged, back braced against the wall, and finally looked at Ginta again.
Blue eyes regarded him just as curiously. Propped awkwardly up in bed, Ginta looked about as comfortable as an abruptly woken, recovering-from-surgery ninja could look. Over his right leg, the blankets were almost smooth; they must have taken away that external fixitor, Kakashi guessed. He was probably in a cast, now.
Good. That meant walking was a future probability.
"So," said Kakashi finally. "How're you?" |
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