| [Feb. 21st, 2010|05:12 am] |
Genma had downed three-quarters of his first bottle before the sensation of cold water in his exhausted, empty belly set his system reeling. He took three shaky breaths, then carefully recapped the water bottle, set it and its mate aside, along with the ration bars and medical supplies, pulled the blanket around his shoulders, and lay down. He watched Kakashi, and took slow, deep breaths, blowing them out through pursed lips, and eventually the queasiness melted into simple chills.
When Kakashi gave him a concerned look, he signed again: I'm okay. Kakashi's impatient shake of his head was more than adequate to convey his belief that Genma was lying.
"Feel better with that on?" Genma asked, hoping conversation would suffice to end this non-verbal discussion of his own distress. "I'm surprised they sent that back to you. Just when I was getting used to the idea you had a chin, too."
"Subtle," Kakashi drawled. His body language was at odds with his tone, as his shoulder twitched and he turned his gaze sharply away. "I was just getting used to the idea of you not being a total asshole."
Genma was too spent to muster more than a dismissive "Hnh," in response. He lay still, conserving what little energy he had, and tried to imagine himself warm. At least it was warmer here than it had been in that medical room. And Kakashi was undoubtedly grateful for the cool, after the smoke-filled oven he'd been roasted in.
Kakashi picked up one of the ration bars, examined it carefully, turning it over and over, running his fingers along every seam, before he pulled it open, sniffed the contents, and looked up at Genma again. He leaned closer, shifting his weight onto the opposite hip, and held the bar out to Genma. "This one's safe. Are you going to eat, or do I have to shove it down your throat?"
Genma's eyes flicked wide, then narrowed. "Not hungry," he said. And it was true. But he knew it was only because he'd crossed the line that fatigue and fasting set, where the body finally decided craving unavailable food was a waste of energy. The idea of biting into that ration bar turned his stomach. He reached for it, anyway.
"Blueberry crunch," he read from the label. "They grow those up here. Blueberries. Kobo liked them, but it was February when we were here, so there were only dried ones." An innocuous memory tied to every disaster after it: eating dried Earth Country blueberries at breakfast, the morning before they had been ambushed.
He took an experimental bite of one corner of the bar. It was shockingly sweet. Tasty. "I decided I'd keep liking blueberries, for Kobo's sake. You know? A lot of guys would hate them, but I decided to like them instead."
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