His mother?

Despite every cunning tactic used by nurses, medics, Intel agents, and oversized Akimichi, no one else had managed to quite so neatly yank the fight out from under Kakashi's feet. He blinked, snapped his mouth closed, and stared at the tiny woman in front of him. Canary-boned, paper-skinned, slim, delicate, almost white at the temples -- she barely reached his ribcage. But she was ordering him around with the comfortable ease of Arakaki himself, using Ginta's name...

Talking about his mother.

Belatedly, Kakashi schooled his expression back to a neutral place, retreating behind mask, expressionless skin, and a half-lowered eyelid.

"Ladies first," he said, with a nod at the wheelchair and a good stab at sincerity. The woman's mouth hardened, lines deepening at the corners. Kakashi tilted half a false smile at her, and slid stiffly down the door, finding a seat on the cool tiles. He hooked a leg up and braced his arm on it, inhaling again.

Irritation. Something like frustrated surprise. A good dose of half-crushed uncertainty.

Long-forgotten manners waved a grubby grey flag.

"You have the advantage of me, ma'am," he said, re-studying her. "Who are you?"