Kakashi's head jerked up and back, narrowly missing a strike against the wall.

You-- he tried to say, but all that came out was a dry, grating rasp, nothing like words. He swallowed hard, dropped his hands, and forced himself back to his feet. The wall met his shoulders; he leaned for a second, breathing raw, then shoved himself away.

Two steps forward and nothing at his back, the shaking got worse.

Two more steps and he sank into a barely-controlled crouch by Genma's side, bracing himself with a hand on the concrete floor. Wide, wary eyes stared at him. Genma's scent roiled through a confused tangle of fear and hope and choked down, barely held grief -- because he was talking about Arihiro, and Arihiro always brought with him the memory of two other ninja Genma had failed to save.

Kakashi had failed to save.

(It's always your fault, isn't it?)

After everything else, he didn't have the room left to feel worse. Or the strength to feel better, because this was Genma, knowing things only he could know, asking questions that felt like another gut-punch, and Kakashi barely knew whether to strangle or kiss him.

He coughed instead, fighting to clear his voice out, and dragged up an answer.

"Left him -- too long." The words broke, but Kakashi refused to go with them. He held himself together with will and fumes and bloody-headed stubbornness, and hooked the key off Genma's neck with a hand that wouldn't steady. Unlocked the cuffs with the barest brush against Genma's hands, dropped the key, and touched the only person he'd wanted to in the last thirty-six hours.

Genma's chest was bare; Kakashi flattened a hand directly over his heartbeat. Felt warm skin, rising breath, living chakra -- and everything was worth it.

"See?" he croaked, letting his aching head bow forward, "told you -- it'd work."