"Yes, mom," Genma said tiredly. He let a shrug of his shoulder stand in for an eye roll that Haruichi couldn't see. Let a tilt of his head back so that his hair brushed over Haruichi's knuckles serve for a thank you.

They rolled over cracked linoleum gone deep yellow in the corners where years' worth of floor wax had built up. Rolled past white-coated medics carrying on hallway consultations, past students feverishly pouring over notes and charts, past nurses walking briskly with medicine in hand, or strolling in pairs and gossiping about things that had nothing to do with blood and bandages. They passed uniformed shinobi, some on duty, some just visiting laid-up friends.

On the fourth floor, at the ANBU ward's guarded threshold, Haruichi signed himself in as staff, and Genma back in as a returning patient. Genma felt his breath hitch. On the other side of the double doors, one grey-and-black-clad Intel agent stopped mid-conversation with another spook to give Genma a curious look. Genma just leaned his head wearily on his uninjured hand.

The silence between him and Haruichi was a comfortable one, somehow. A safe one. For the duration of that trek through the hospital halls, Genma could drop his guard and let his friend carry the load.

And then they were at the door to the double room, taped with paper signs advising of protocols to be followed, both medical and psychological. With hand-lettered slips listing Genma as occupant of bed A, and Raidou in bed B. With another sign, in blocky print, advising all visitors to check with the nursing station before entering. The door wasn't what interested Genma. It was what he could see just beyond it, as Haruichi pushed it open: a covered shape in that bed nearest the door. Bed B. A shape that moved as soon as that door opened wider. And a voice, gruff and raspy and just a little slurred, full of secret relief. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah," Genma agreed, with a smile that was only part bravado. "I brought us a visitor."