| [Feb. 21st, 2010|04:49 am] |
Thirty-six hours, a wealth of torture, and all of Takajin's focused, psychological expertise, had barely done more than crawl inside Kakashi's skin and guarantee him a month's worth of nightmares.
Genma's touch, those still-breathing words, nearly shattered him.
"Son of a bitch," Kakashi groaned, hunching forwards, and heard the words crack with laughter. With a shuddery, airless sound that felt like dying. Because he hated Genma, and didn't hate him, and had almost killed him.
Saved him.
Saved them both. Because Kakashi hadn't broken, and Genma hadn't broken -- Genma had seen everything -- and Kakashi knew relief could feel like a heart attack, but it had never felt like this before. Like a weight had lifted from his shoulders and doubled back to kick him in the chest. Like he was sitting in the middle of the village who'd killed Obito, and tortured Genma half to death, and his last-ditch, last stand, stupid plan had still worked.
Genma's broken-handed grip tightened hard around Kakashi's arm. Kakashi tried to wrench himself back together, but his hands were still busy hiding his face and clutching Genma's knee, his mouth was too busy laughing-not-crying, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this tired.
Good ninja felt nothing but duty.
Iwa was still watching.
Kakashi closed his eyes, choked himself silent, and tried to remember what control felt like. He was just exhausted, starved, parched half-crazy -- but Genma was, too, and Genma wasn't falling apart. Genma had withstood the same thing for a month -- probably without drugs, because he was immune to half of everything under the sun, and when Kakashi made it home he intended to copy-cat the hell out of that survival strategy -- but Genma was still hanging on. Keeping his head, even when he'd thought there was nothing but more torture to come.
And they weren't home yet.
Kakashi forced his brain to think, and his hand on Genma's knee to move, tapping out blurred words. We need a plan. |
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