Backdrifts
Devo

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Backdrifts

We're rotten fruit
We're damaged goods
What the hell we've got nothing more to lose
One gust and we will probably crumble
We're backdrifting
This far but no further
I'm hanging off a branch
I'm teetering on a breaker
Oh honey sweet
So full of sleep
I'm backsliding
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0.

Present day.
________________

When Genma had woken up that morning, far earlier than usual, he'd heard murmurings that something was wrong and dashed out of his apartment towards the hospital. There's nothing anyone can do to stop him. He skids down the road, still wearing half of his uniform (pants, white undershirt, zori), rooster-tailing dust after as he dodges and weaves among passers-by. It may be they know where he's headed, so that's why they don't interfere.

When Raidou skids after, about a block too late, and trailing an out of breath Aoba, he stammers at one of the merchants, "oi...did you happen to see a guy--"

The man just points, and Raidou's off before he can say a word, Aoba scrambling to keep up.

He's already there when Raidou and Aoba catch him. He's perched at the edge of the reception desk, threatening one of the nurses, and all they can see is his back, the rounded, angry set of his shoulders.

Raidou strides up to him with dumb purpose, knowing he's unguarded, stands right in his blind spot. It may just be the worst of all bad ideas, or the only best idea. Raidou doesn't particularly care.

"Genma! You don't know what's happened yet. Don't do anything crazy, please...not before you listen to me."

Genma barely turns his head. "Raidou, go away. This has nothing to do with you."

Raidou touches his elbow, carefully; gets right up close, because it's harder to punch someone at that range. "He's not here, Genma."

"Of course he's here." Genma rounds back on the nurse, hair falling into his face. "Look, I've got money, how much? Just let me see him, you have to! Is it because I'm not family?"

The nurse flinches angrily, and shouts back, "Genma-sama, you'll need to calm down, please...people are upset enough as it is."

"Why? Tell me what's going on, why can't I see him? Is he on a respirator this time? I need to know. How bad?" And with each question, he grips the edge of the desk a bit harder; levering, worrying away.

The nurse's eyes water. "Please."

Genma growls, low and steely, "that's it, this shit has got to stop." He shoves his hands into his pockets, and begins to stalk past the reception desk.

Raidou grabs onto his shoulder, and is simply dragged along. "Genma, whoa! Please, just listen, just be rational." He can try digging in his heels, hooking an ankle maybe, try all sorts of undignified moves; but Genma won't quit. Quit just doesn't seem to be in his vocabulary.

Genma casually drags Raidou several more feet. "Don't try and stop me." As if anyone could.

Aoba finally steps in, arms flung wide; plants himself between Genma and the end of the reception area. Meanwhile, Raidou's got an arm slugged across Genma's neck, and is holding on for dear life.

Every time Genma tries to lurch forward, Raidou tightens his grasp. It's not choking him at all, not bothering him in the slightest. Raidou never lets on, but it frightens him when Genma acts like this; like he could do anything, and fuck the consequences. It's rare, but Raidou's seen it happen, and he's had to clean up the messes afterwards.

"Don't." Raidou says, grasp tightening by inches again, palm flat down and splayed across Genma's breast-bone.

"I want Hayate." Genma says quietly. He's stopped moving, at least.

Raidou rubs Genma's collarbone, hisses urgently into his ear, "you can't go down there, you'll disturb the patients. Please. Just calm down. Be here with me now."

Genma puffs up again, seethes angrily for a minute; until he's panting, winded, and wounded, and irrational all over again. "Something isn't right, I know it. Why won't anybody tell me what's going on?"

Aoba lowers his chin and snarls, "we're trying, but you won't let us. Just listen to what we're telling you. Hayate's not here. He's--"

Genma's face tenses. "Aoba, you'd better move if you know what's good for you."

A light sweat breaks out on Aoba's face, but he doesn't budge. Genma feints. Aoba flinches, but still he holds his ground. Oh, a bad idea. Genma looks ready for a throw-down; his fist is clenched, arm wound up. He'd never hurt Aoba too badly, but he'd take a swing in a heartbeat. One wild punch, in the wrong direction, and he could take out a wall.

Raidou's hand bunches the fabric of Genma's shirt; clenches once, again, then relaxes. "We need to go, now. Come on." His voice is quiet. He's going for gentle here, trying not to make things worse. He sidles around front, and places a hand on Genma's neck, subtly tries backing him towards the exit. "Let's go."

Genma stubbornly shakes his head, under the firm yolk of Raidou's hand, looks up with a dead serious expression. "I'm not leaving this place until I see him." He means business--sudden set of his posture belying the huge amount of chakra he's got molded in his legs.

Raidou grits his teeth; he knows better than to be intimidated. "If you don't un-mold your chakra, I'll cast a big fucking sleep on you, and carry you out of here."

Genma scowls. "You wouldn't."

Raidou's hands tighten urgently on back of Genma's neck, and shoulder, worrying at the smooth skin under his shirt collar. "I will, if I have to. I'll break rank and take you right out of here. For your own good."

Genma's brow needles, sharp and furious. "Raidou--" he says, "let up, you're pinching me."

Raidou gentles his hands, collects his breath. "You're too upset right now. You cannot be here, do you understand? You need to come with us, right now. Be with us, please."

Aoba's mouth is set in a colorless line, and for once, he looks every single year his age. "Come on. Are we in this together, or not?"

Raidou smiles grimly at Genma's shuttered eyes. "Are we? Are you coming with us? Genma?"

______________________________________________________

1.
as dead as leaves
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One year ago: a hospital just outside of Konoha

Genma takes god-damned forever to answer; takes passive-agression to the limit, makes it an art form.

Raidou taps his foot, arms folded tightly, as he looks this way and that. He despises hospitals. He doesn't know why he's even here, if not for Genma.

Doctors and nurses bustle quietly around, while Aoba stands nearby, also waiting, and Genma continues to play cranky bastard in triage.

"Damn it Genma, are you coming with us or not?" Raidou finally snaps.

"I told you, I'm not in the mood tonight." Genma looks around, slouches in his chair.

It's one of those molded, extruded plastic affairs: designed to creak and pinch, and be uncomfortable, no matter how one shifts. Genma's doing his best to be at home there, though. He's got both arms arrayed over the neighboring two chairs, and his legs splayed out, exactly like he owns the place.

"You heard what the nurse said, visiting hours are over. You're not seriously going to stay here all night..."

"There's no rule saying I can't." Genma folds his arms and tips his head back, shifts, rearranges his legs. He seems to be failing in his effort to become one with the chair.

Raidou looms over him, hands on hips, and pulls a sneer. "Well what if we make it one? No moping allowed, by decree of the Vice Captain and his loyal Lieutenant."

"Yeah!" Says Aoba, pumping his fist.

"I outrank you both." Genma says flatly.

"We have power of veto," Raidou says, stubbornly. "If it ever comes to a vote, two to one, I can make you lick my shoes."

Genma gusts out a rough sigh and tips up from the chair. "Oi, if that's what you're into." Hands in pockets, he brushes past Raidou and slouches off into the waiting area. He yawns, and stretches, back arched, arms over his head. Announces, "I'm going to get some coffee," and makes a lazy bee-line for the vending machine bank.

Raidou and Aoba follow closely, like a row of ducklings. "We won't take no for an answer." Aoba insists.

"Will you take 'fuck you' for an answer?" Genma says lightly, a smirk playing at his lips.

Aoba grins, and it takes up half his face. "Bet Raidou will, if you ask nice enough! D--ow! My ear!"

Grumbling, Genma shoves money into the machine, and punches up his selection. There follows a brief symphony of clunks and hisses, then nothing. Genma punches another selection, then the coin return, another selection, then then coin return again. "Damn." He stares at the machine blankly a moment.

Raidou and Aoba hover expectantly, all but glued to his back. Not touching, not touching, because even knowing they're back there, irritates him more than anything.

"The answer is still no." Genma says quietly. "I have to stay here. In case something changes...they're bound to tell me."

Raidou, very carefully, places a hand on his shoulder. "We don't even know what's wrong with him. The nurses wouldn't say anything."

"Not to you, they wouldn't." Genma shrugs the hand off. He shoves at the machine a bit, one handed, like a bear paws at a dumpster. There's an ominous shudder and hum, but still no coffee. "They said he came here in pretty bad shape. He collapsed on the way home from a mission, Kakashi was there..."

Raidou gives a sniff. "Like you can believe anything that guy says."

"Kakashi says he was coughing up blood." Genma mutters.

Genma pokes at the coin return button again, and again, and again. "It feels wrong to celebrate right now. Sakura matsuri's bullshit anyway. You know? It's just an excuse for people to dress up, get drunk, and act foolish." He shakes out his finger and mutters quietly, "damn, what's up with this thing?"

"Geez," sniffs Aoba. "Would it kill you to live a little?"

Raidou pulls a face. "Aoba!" he hisses.

"What?"

"We're in a HOSpital!"

"And?"

Genma presses the coin return button once more, with finality, then punches another selection; toothpick jutting sharply from the corner of his mouth, and vibrating ever so slightly.

"One of these days, you're gonna swallow that thing," warns Aoba. "And _then_ where will we be?"

"Damn it." Genma snarls. In one motion, he snaps his arm and palm strikes the machine, square in the middle; the thing shudders, and hisses loudly. Raidou and Aoba take several steps back. The machine then gives a great kerchunk, and goes still.

The very next sound is Genma's yell, as hot scalding coffee sprays from the receptacle and onto his feet.

Raidou and Aoba inch cautiously forward. Genma's fingers twitch ominously at his side. Aoba chooses that moment to ask: "So, are you coming?"

Outside, the sun has gone down. Lanterns hang from the eaves of shops and homes, bathing spots of Konohagakure in a warm, soft glow. The rest is cool blue shadows and the milling surf of festival goers, that shift and part, and grudgingly allow the trio to pass through.

A bit ahead of their little procession, Genma shuffles through a wind swirled drift of pink sakura petals. He sneezes violently, curses, and wipes his nose on the inside of his wrist.

Sniffing, he turns and waits for the others to catch up. Raidou bumps him gently, and slings an arm across his shoulders. They continue to walk: up the main street, off a lantern lined side-path, onto some grass, over tuffets and little patches of sand; away from the swell and flow of the crowds. This far from the lights, the treetops have a ghostly silvery luminance about them; pink, cloud-like bunches of flowers waving in the wind.

Typical of early spring, it's gotten a bit chilly out. Genma rolls down his sleeves, and hunches against a nearby tree trunk. With spare, careful movements, he pulls out and lights a cigarette; his face briefly warmed by the light of a match.

"I thought you quit." Raidou mumbles at him, tipping back to lean against the tree.

"Yeah, me too," says Genma; as he leans back also, and blows out a thin smoke stream.

Aoba's doing his part to hold up the other side of the trunk; the only bit of him visible, an elbow and one of his heels. "Can I get one of those?"

Genma drops his hand, passes the cigarette without a second thought. There's a brief glow as Aoba lights up, mindlessly wasting chakra to do so. Smoke drifts lazily around them, like a fog; and for a while, no-one says anything.

Until Aoba has to go and open his trap. "So," brief inhale and exhale, "when you and Hayate are together...like, who's the man?"

Genma makes a 'tch' sound. "Aoba. I've explained this to you, several times, and I will not explain it again."

"Look, yeah yeah, you explained the part about having cocks and all that."

Genma slouches, and pouts, and it's obvious they've been over this as well. Ad nauseam. Deadpan, he says, "if you're really so curious, come over and watch us fuck. Probably be the most action you've seen in ages."

Raidou smirks. "You should take notes. 'Cos he'll probably quiz you on it later."

"Dude, that's sick." Aoba makes a face. Neither one sees him do it. But they both know he is, and it's probably hilarious.

Genma shrugs, smirking because he knows he's won this round. "You're the one who asked."

More smoking, more silence. When their cigarettes run down to the filters, they field strip the butts and stow them in their pockets. They stand around a moment and look at one another.

"So, what's the plan?"

"Let's go tease the monkeys," Aoba suggests.

"Hn." Raidou shakes his head. "We did that last year. You got bitten, remember?"

Genma pouts thoughtfully a moment. "The hot springs?" He and Aoba proceed to get into it:

"It's gonna be too crowded," Aoba says

"How's about a movie?"

"Seen everything. Twice."

"Well maybe _you_ have."

"Look, no one wants to sit through another movie, okay? Think of something else!"

Genma's eyebrow twitches. "Here's a thought. You and I fight, right here." He holds out a hand, palm facing in, leaves the other hand behind his back. "I'll even have a handicap, 'cause I know you're shit for close-range attacks."

"I would," says Aoba "if I weren't afraid you'd try and hump me."

"No shame in admitting you're afraid. I think we both know who's stronger." Genma smiles.

Aoba grimaces, and claps his hands together. "That's it, motherfucker. KATO--"

"Cut that out!" barks Raidou. "The two of you. You're acting like a couple of three year olds. So just knock it off!"

"Sorry, _dad_," says Aoba. "He started it, though."

Genma grits his teeth. "Well, I'm glad you pulled me away for this. It's been fun..." He turns, and begins to walk off.

Raidou and Aoba catch up. "I mean, we could go back to the hospital, I guess," Raidou suggests. "We can hang out there with you, in case anything happens."

Genma seems conflicted. "We? You _and_ him?"

"Or we could go get drunk." Suggests Aoba.

Raidou pulls at his lip. "Isn't that just what we always do?"

"It's Genma's fault. All of that nonsense about exchanging sake cups--it's made us all raging alcoholics!"

"Hey! That was a serious oath that can't be taken back." Genma shoves his pinky-finger under Aoba's nose. "Hn!"

Aoba coolly swats the offending digit away. "You watch too many damn gangster movies. Next thing we know, he'll be sewing pearls into his--"

"You sure have some obsession with my thing." Genma interrupts.

They argue on and on like that; but in the end, they stop at a bar anyway. Ducking under the cloth banner, they walk in like they're about to shake the place down; old habits die hard. They don't sit right away, but give the place a good once over, eyes darting quickly all in different directions. There's a simple row of stools in front of a simple counter, and a simply strange looking old man sitting way over at the end there: shaggy mane of white hair, red facial tattoos, and a large scroll on his back.

He ignores the three as he quietly knocks back a shot of something; he's the only other person in that bar, besides the aged proprietor, and one hostess. Genma gives the proprietor a hi-sign, everyone seems to relax at once.

The proprietor's grinning, hands a flurry of business, polishing glasses, arranging bottles, he doesn't have time to wave back. "Irrashai, Genma-sama. I'd heard you were at the hospital. Nothing serious, I hope."

"Nah, just a little sniffle. Nothing a good stiff one won't cure."

Aoba chortles at this, until Raidou elbows him in the side.

Aoba, Raidou, and Genma take their seats in unison; all slouch over the counter as a piece. With no delay, Genma orders a shot of nihon-shu, and sucks it down. Then another.

Aoba and Raidou nurse pints of beer, and watch as Genma proceeds to down two more shots. He's got his toothpick tucked up behind his ear; and one hand on his thigh, close to his shuriken holster. Small tells. He's really not in the mood to be fucked with tonight.

Raidou flicks an eye his way and, in that split second, notices the old man doing the same. That guy, thinks Raidou, what's he doing here? Seemingly innocuous to the whole exchange, Genma quirks his hand for another round, listing as he does so.

The hostess looks a bit worried. "If you like, sir, I can sell you the bottle. It's not terribly expen--"

"Shot of shochu this time, please, otsu-rui." Genma places a few neatly folded bils on the counter, slides them forward.

"Ah--, shochu of course." The hostess bows, and pours another shot with quick economic flair. "It's become quite popular lately!"

Genma eyes the glass for a moment, lifts it, and sighs. "Ita-dakimasuuu." Slams it back and makes a horrible face. "Geh! Oh man!"

There are now several shot glasses and cups, lined with military precision, in a row extending from Genma's elbow to the old man's. Genma swirls his finger through a condensation puddle, and seems to notice his neighbor for the first time.

The old man clears his throat and turns in his seat. "My boy, there are three cardinal sins a shinobi must avoid at all times. Do you know what these are?" He holds up a finger. One can tell he's already more than a little drunk.

Genma, swaying, watches the man with a rather fishy expression. Watches, possibly to see what he'll do next; possibly, because there are now two of him; possibly, because the man has a small flesh-colored mole on the side of his nose, and Genma cannot stop staring. He knows it's rude. He also knows how drunk he is, and figures it's excused.

The old man continues, spreading his hands. "Women, gambling, and overindulgence of sake! Temperance! Is the key to a long virtuous life, and don't you forget it." He slaps the counter for emphasis, and grins.

Mole, Genma thinks, vacantly. He blinks, slowly raises a hand, and gestures at the bartender. "Again, please."

Raidou, huddled over his beer, watches the proceedings with an increasingly worried expression.

Aoba leans across his mug and whispers in Raidou's ear, "I've never seen him drink like that. This is bad--"

The old man sits up dead straight. "Yes, again! One more on me, for my grief stricken friend over here."

Genma, eyes rounded suspiciously, holds his drink out.

The old man knocks his glass against Genma's, and not a drop splashes out. "Kampai."

They quickly kill their shots, simultaneously, and slam the cups down simultaneously.

Raidou shutters his eyes and mumbles, "he's a grown man. He doesn't need me to tell him when he's had enough."

Genma's eyes narrow, and he reels a bit; arm across the counter, just keeping him upright. "What the hell do you know, ojiji-san?"

The old man looks at him appraisingly. "I know a man who's hurting when I see him. Tell me, what's got you so down in the mouth? Love troubles?" He raises his eyebrows at this, suddenly very interested.

Genma tilts his head, bemused. "Eh? My friend's sick...in th' hospital."

The old man lets down his eyebrows and nods gravely. "Terrible place to be sick, a hospital."

Genma looks away, and down at his empty glass. "Don't I know it." He tries raising his hand to signal another round, barely manages at that. "'gain, please..."

Raidou winces, but grimly continues to say nothing.

Aoba reaches over and knuckle punches Raidou's arm. Grates out severely, "if we don't say something, he's gonna drink himself to death!"

Resigned, Raidou pushes up from his seat and leans over Genma's shoulder. "This is your last one, okay?"

Genma grudgingly nods, and chokes down the last sickly bitter-sweet shot. Reeling, he's steadied by two hands on his shoulder, the old man's and Raidou's.

The old man looks up at Raidou, and tsutses ruefully. "Damn near gave me a run for my money. Take him home. Give him two glasses of water and some vitamins. He'll thank you in the morning."

Raidou sketches a slightly formal nod. "Jiraiya-sama...thank you. Aoba?"

Aoba waves them off. "I think I'm gonna hang out here a while."

And as Raidou turns to go, Genma close at his side, he hears.

"I'll see you and your wife tomorrow!"

Raidou grimaces, and snarls back, "he's not my wife!!"

"Oh, so it's like that," Jiraiya muses quietly into his glass, before producing a small notebook, and scribbling something down.

Ducking back out into the night, Raidou thinks nothing of reaching into Genma's vest and liberating his apartment keys.

"Taking me home?" Genma slurs at him, swaying in close.

Raidou makes a face. "Oof, you reek of alcohol. You'd better not puke on yourself, or you're bathing in the river."

"Hn. I'll aim for your shoes, then."

No-one pays much mind to the two inebriated men as they wander arm over arm down a narrow, lamp-lit street. They walk, respectfully unhindered, for several blocks, in silence. And with Genma's arm warm and heavy across his scarred shoulders, Raidou thinks: Aoba's a good guy, basically. He means well. But there are things he'll never, ever understand.

It's not as though Raidou hasn't tried. He's tried to explain, as much as he can remember what happened, the reasons why things are the way they are. Aoba likes to think he knows so much: that his two best friends in the whole damn world are simply fucking, and have been for the past four years or so. Raidou likes to let him think that. It's certainly easier than the truth. The fact is, Aoba wasn't there four years ago; he'll never be the kind of fucked-up it would take just to know the half of it, and Raidou thinks he might just be better off kept ignorant. As long as Aoba doesn't know, he can't go blabbing to Genma, and no-one gets hurt.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You know? Don't go worrying me like that, anymore."

Genma smirks. "Or else what?"

Raidou grins, sort of slyly, and it's as close to a real smile as he usually gets. "I'll hand you your ass in a bucket."

Genma tips his head back, teasing, "shit, you know I get hard when you threaten me like that. So how about it? Is tonight the night?"

Raidou feigns shock. "Genma-senpai, that's dirty! Now I might really have to beat you up."

Genma knocks against him, purposely throwing them both off kilter. "Would you? Would you really?"

Raidou puffs out his chest, full of mock import--"Yes. To defend my virtue!" Then, with a self-satisfied nod, "it's very important, you know.

Genma squeezes Raidou's shoulders, pouting at him in that asinine way, which he knows for a fact to be perfectly endearing. "Oi. You know I love you. I love you so much, you know what I wanna do?"

"Genma, you love everybody when you're drunk." Raidou sighs.

"Yeah, but I love you the most. Know what I wanna do?"

"What?"

"I wanna hit you in the mouth."

Raidou laughs at this. "Hit me in the mouth? Mm, I don't think you could."

Genma grins. "Ah, but what if I did? Then what would you do? Would you hit me back? In the stomach, or the jaw, maybe?" He shrugs Raidou closer.

"Yeah, I'd hit you in the stomach. And then I'd bite you."

"Where?"

"I'd bite you right on the ass."

Genma puffs up, vaguely challenging. "Oi, oi, you saying you'd eat my ass?" He knows, and Raidou knows, this is all just a lot of posturing. Belly talk.

Raidou can easily gauge the real meaning behind his words. It's in the sure, gentle weight of his hand and arm, the openness of his expression. No-one, but no-one else, looks at Raidou that way. Genma smacks him, lightly, on the cheek, and it feels like a kiss.

"I said I'd bite it," Raidou, says, turning to dig his chin into Genma's shoulder, breathing lightly onto his neck. They could play this game all night, and never get so far as the corner of the other's mouth. It's always just enough. Genma nips at Raidou's earlobe, missing.

Raidou stops short at once, Genma teetering at his side. They're now in front of a rather squat, nondescript apartment building, with a long back porch, and horizontal sliding windows. Genma's place.

"We're here."

Inside, Raidou turns on a lamp, leads Genma into the kitchen, and sits him down at the table. "You should eat something before you go to sleep."

Genma downs a glass of water, and several pills. "Not hungry."

Raidou, looking through Genma's refrigerator, "well, I won't force you. Nothing but vegetables in here anyway. You should eat more protein, it's healthier."

Genma sets down his glass, and stands. Surprisingly, though not entirely steady, he places the flat of his hand on Raidou's back, slides it up, and leans in. "Come to bed with me."

Raidou doesn't question. Just takes it as a given, that he means to sleep, and not fuck.

It's also a given that, when they strip down to skivvies, Genma is half-hard; and the flat of his scarred stomach flutters with nervous breathing. He lies down, and Raidou curls into the scoop of his body; the two of them like leaves on a branch.

"Raidou?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow morning, we're going to see Hayate. You and I. Just us."

"Why just us?"

"Because, and hell if I know why, he trusts us." Genma slips an arm around Raidou's waist, and rests one hand just below his rib-cage, just about where the scarring ends.

Raidou bites his lip, smiles, and stretches his legs out against Genma's.

"One day, Raidou." Genma whispers into the dip of his shoulder.

"Yeah. One day." Raidou laughs nervously, then tries his damndest to fall asleep.

The following morning, they meet Aoba and Kakashi in front of the hospital.

Raidou is surprised, but not terribly so. Kakashi has a knack for defeating one's expectations: case in point, him bothering to show up at all, let alone eight a.m. "Kakashi-sensei. You're here." Emphasis on the 'you're'.

The masked man shrugs. "Strength in numbers. Also, I wanted to bring him this. For his morale." He holds up a small book, eye inverted in what amounts to a grin.

A grimace from Raidou. "Aw geez, you're not corrupting his mind with that perverted garbage, are you?"

"Corrupting? This? It's a fine book." Kakashi insists adamantly. "I started reading it when I was seventeen."

Genma smirks and begins to walk ahead; the leaves on the trees rustling, overhead, as he goes. "You just don't change, do you?" He brushes past Kakashi with a brief gesture. "Maa, at least you're early for once. Let's go."

______________________________________________________

2.

there's a gap in between
there's a gap where we meet
where i end and you begin

__________________


Genma hated hospitals. Anyone who knew him, reasonably well enough, damn well knew why.

He hadn't been awake when they'd reset his fingers and toes. Hadn't been awake, either, when they'd re-broken his clavicle to set it properly; nor when they debrided three days worth of caked mud and dust from the wounds where his toenails used to be. For that, he was thankful, at least. But later on...all he remembered was opening his eyes and screaming. Screaming and screaming, until sour acid burned at the back of his throat. Screaming, because the bed next to him was empty. He screamed until several doctors came running, and rolled him like a panicked animal; he screamed some more, and choked out a thin stream of orange vomit.

After that, there was the constant drip of morphine into his i.v., pito pito, day and night, to keep him quiet. He could move enough to turn his head, so he did that, stared at the empty bed, until his muscles stiffened and froze that way. One day, a nurse finally noticed something was up; he'd tried to turn his head the other way, and couldn't. They injected someting directly into the muscle, and he felt the world drop from underneath him.

Luckily, they were able to get him breathing again, or so he was told. Part of him thought that whole thing had never happened. Another part of him thought, just maybe it had, and he'd never actually revived. He kept waiting for Raidou to walk in, and drag him out of bed. One day he did, and Genma noticed he was wearing burial clothes.

"I'm dead after all," he muttered, and kept muttering, until they brought in a counselor to talk to him.

After losing a week in this way--mired in a syrupy drugged out fugue--he was allowed to sit up; or rather made to. He'd forgotten how his legs ought to work, and couldn't use his hands to lever up; in the end, he managed about half-way, good enough for the doctors. As a reward, they poured him into a wheelchair, and took him to see Raidou.

"I don't wanna go." Genma wheezed, panic knitting him up, breathless. They were about half-way down the hall, when he put down his heels. "No!"

His nurse was an older gentleman, with a kind, marshmallow face, and shaggy, ash-brown hair. Not a bad guy. But he could be dense at times. "Why wouldn't you want to see your friend? You haven't seen him in over a week..."

"He's dead. If you're taking me to see him...I must be dead too. Just take me back. I don't want to be dead." It hurt to have his feet on the ground, but Genma was stubborn.

"er...you mean, no-one's told you?"

Raidou, it turned out, was not dead. He was in the burn unit, under guarded care, and several yards of bandage.
Genma's heart was in his throat, he really felt that it was, literally, choking him to death. "Raidou?"

The man in bed raised a hand, quirked his fingers, beckoning. Only one side of his face was visible, and that side had lit up in a smile.

He shouldn't have been able to speak, around the tube in his throat. That's what his nurse said. But Raidou was not all that big on 'shouldn'ts'.

"I'm proud of you"

All Genma could think to say was, "Raidou, your face."

"I was...pretty badly burned...during the mission. You were out of it...so you probably don't remember."

"How bad?"

"On a relative scale...about twenty percent of my body has third and second degree burns." He was quiet for a moment. "I'm lucky, though, the fire didn't singe my lungs. Or I'd be a goner for sure." A slight, sad smile at this, then a wince. That was all he said, for a while.

The scarring would get better with time. After each painful skin graft, it seemed he regained a bit more of himself; stopped speaking grimly of death, as if it were inevitable. But his eyes never did lose that hard serious look. From then on, he seemed forever on the verge of figuring something out. It must have been something important, because he often stopped mid-sentance to work on it some more.

Genma would spend another week in the hospital, before they grudgingly discharged him. A week in which he forgot the meaning of privacy; where his every waking minute was spent under the watcful eyes of nurses and doctors, who noted his movements, his moods, and every ounce of fluid that came out of him. They said he was improving rapidly, but he wouldn't believe it until the splints came off.

Because of those splints, and the screws that kept his fingers rigidly fixed and stable, he couldn't feed himself, wash himself, or even go to the damned bathroom without assistance. It took a while, but he learned to numb himself to the embarrassment. He found, the less he complained, the more likely he was to be rewarded a visit with Raidou.

It was important that he visit, often twice a day, just to be sure. Not just for his own sake, but Raidou's; because if Genma missed even a single time, that'd be the one single time Raidou died, alone.

"Ibiki's still in the i.c.u , they say..." The tube had finally come out of his throat.

His voice, afterwards, was a gravelly whisper; and Genma had to lean in very close to hear him.

"They haven't let anyone in to see him. But from what I hear, he's bad. Really bad."

Genma went to see Ibiki, the very next day, then wished he hadn't.

For the first time, since all of it went down, since any of it started, it hit him. Slumped over the toilet bowl, vomiting everything he'd eaten that day, and maybe the day before, Genma cried. Everything in his life that he'd ever eaten, gushing out like he couldn't get rid of it all fast enough. It wasn't the sight of him, or he'd have thrown up right there, or fainted.

It wasn't even because he'd particularly liked Ibiki. Though that was a horrible thing to think. It was true. He'd never been particularly close to the man.

"Just seeing...knowing...what another person's capable of." He recalled muttering, later on, huddled under a blanket; as close to Raidou's side as he could be, without actually touching. Because his healing skin was still way too sensitive.

"Because it could've been me." Raidou had said, point blank.

Genma flinched. Not, it could've been you; it could've been me. It was hardly an accusation, hardly implied anything. And yet. "You kept your promise...you were my anchor. Do you remember?"

"I remember...you never looked away. Thank you."

That was all that ever need be said. When they were first captured, and thrown into that cell together, Raidou locked eyes with him; expression flatly serious in a way Genma had never seen before.

"Whatever happens," Raidou had said, "don't look away. Don't react, don't make a sound. Just look at my eyes, and nowhere else. Use me as your anchor, I'll use you as mine."

That was where they were married, in that very small cell: by blood, by metal, by water, by words.

"We're not completely inhumane, here. We'll at least allow you two the honor of dying together."

Genma never broke eye-contact, not even when he lost consciousness, and all he could see was a white haze. He had Raidou's pupils fixed in his mind's eye, he didn't think, just focused.

"It's a shame. Their eyes are open, both of them."

Hearing that, Genma smiled, and it was only then they must've realized he wasn't entirely dead. He might have, in some dim corner of his mind, wondered what might happen next; but the last thing he remembered was someone gently brushing his shattered fingers, and the words "stubborn idiot.", before the numbness swallowed him up.

"Stubborn idiot." Raidou called him. Only Raidou was bloody-minded enough to get away with that. "Just don't know when to quit, do you?"

After several weeks of constrainment, Genma was allowed out of his splints; for short periods of time, at first, but then longer and longer. He spent every minute of that time flexing and testing, and concentrating very hard on the things. And they _were_ things. He didn't consider the discolored, swollen, suture-barbed lumps his hands anymore. Made it easier to bend them, massage them, and not think of what was going on inside; of how the third phalange narrowed to a very fine point, and how easily it had snapped. Genma didn't like the analgesics they gave him. He wasn't in love with pain, or anything, but it had to be better than sleeping all the damn time. He took a pill, every morning, and flushed it down the crapper, before resuming his excercises.

Shortly after Raidou was released from the hospital, Genma attempted his first hand-seal, post injury. Kage-bunshin, because he was curious, because a replicant might prove useful. Raidou walked in and found him collapsed, face down, in a pile of his own sick. "Genma?"

"almost made it--"

The splints had to stay on, after that, and Raidou began looking after him. Genma had no say in the matter. When he'd begun to get a bit ripe, Raidou simply peeled him out of his yukata and dumped a bucket of water on him. "I'm not much of a nurse," said Raidou, smirking.

Genma was thankful his friend was a jack-ass: made the situation less awkwardly intimate.

"It's a good thing I'm not shy," he said, sitting patiently as Raidou scrubbed his back.

"Yeah, I know," Raidou dead-panned. "I heard you flashed the nurses a few times. Scared most of them away, too."

"I was bored. I felt like a change of scenery."

Things wouldn't always stay that way. They knew each other too damned well not to maybe consider, at least, pushing boundaries a bit. Sometimes it was just leaning a little closer than last time, sometimes it was just talk. Raidou passed Genma his drink, once, without first wiping the bottle's mouth. "Oi, wouldn't you rather have a real one?" Genma threatened, leaning in for a kiss that fell short a mere centimeter.

Even he knew when he'd pushed too far. Raidou barely reacted, save to look terribly uncomfortable for a while after.

Sometimes they'd sit on Genma's bed, naked together, just for lack of anything better to do. Raidou's uninjured hand would skid, hot and dry, up Genma's chest, his back, his shoulder blades; just touching. Marveling, because Genma hadn't been burned, and the smooth skin felt so different. This wasn't considered too intimate, because it was usually front to back, the way Raidou bathed him.

He knew, had to have known, though, it would get weird at some point. That one time, he'd held Genma very close against his body, both hands sliding up his shoulders, mouth at his neck, mouthing at his neck up and down; only half-serious, but serious enough.

"We can't keep doing this," Genma warned him. "Unless you wanna help me jerk off."

This, at last, made Raidou pull back, but his hands stayed where they were.

"Raidou?"

"Let me help you. I wanna help you."

Genma let his breath out, very carefully. He'd gone rock hard by the first 'you'. "Just this once."

So, just that once, Raidou helped him, then he helped himself. He was far too casual about it, and Genma had to bite through his own lip, practically, to keep from making too much noise. As they lay there, afterwards, Genma debated telling him. Then, Raidou let out a tiny snore, and flopped over, tangling with Genma's legs.

"I'm seeing Hayate," Genma told the ceiling.

_________________________________________________________________

Kenjutsu prodigy Gekkou Hayate, then age eighteen, an ANBU captain of three years; black hair, brown eyes, pale skin. A classic beauty by any standard, he was also a stunningly polite young man, with a killer's sharp instinct. According to Genma, he liked poetry, and held his brush like a sword.

Raidou had seen him practice with shinai at a local dojo, at one time, along with an impressive gathering of every single, and not so single girl in the village.

"He's so cute!" They cried.

"And savage!" They purred.

Raidou did not roll his eyes, but only because it would've been rude. Hayate was cute all right. Cute, in every way the rangy, plain-faced Raidou was not. The girls reminded him of that, every second he was there. "Heyyy, mister, you're blocking my view!"

Hayate cut his way across the matt, was a controlled explosion, never an extraneous movement, attacking and attacking, and sometimes shouting.

"Ichi, ni, san! KiiiAI!!" and every girl in the place jumped. "IkuZEE!!" And a few of them squealed.

They'd ended up cutting the match short because Hayate's uke had sweated so profusely it made the matts slippery.

As Hayate would later explain, the 'kii-aii' was commonly used to cow and intimidate one's opponents, catch them off guard. Raidou had to admit, on first hearing that bark--like some sort of demon--he'd jumped a little himself. The yell said, 'don't underestimate me', 'don't dismiss me so easily,'. He smiled cheerfully as he flicked the sweat from his shinai, and it gave Raidou a chill.

"His form is quite impressive."

According to Genma, he'd mastered an unbeatable three piece attack, at the age of fifteen; but it was only rumored. If you were lucky enough, or unlucky enough, to see it firsthand, it pretty much meant you were dead.

"I thought I knew you better than this. Hayate? Little Hayate?"

"Not so little." Genma said cryptically. "Ah, but don't be like that. It's really not how you think."

"I can try--"

"Try what?" Genma had muttered, "This isn't a competition, you're not winning me over."

"Don't...say it like that," Raidou would be lying if he said it hadn't hurt. "I l--"

"Raidou," a hint of warning in his voice, "Think carefully. If you say it, you can't take it back."

So, he bit it off, even if it was true.

Genma later apologized, of course, in his own understated way. "We're still okay. You and me."

They were okay, Raidou supposed. Nothing much had changed. Genma was his usual mulish self, and Raidou happily continued to put up with him, in exchange for certain liberties. They drank together, slept together (platonically), and bickered with one another, same as always.

But. "Hayate. Keh. Really, Genma!"

"Hnf, quit your bitching, and pour me some tea."

___________________________________________________________


Raidou never stopped teasing him about it. Wasn't sure why, after all those years, it was still sore.

__________________________________________________________

3.
sit down, stand up
____________________

"Ne, Raidou-sama, I'm surprised you came." Hayate rasped, blinking sleepily from his hospital bed. "Genma-senpai convinced you, I take it."

"Eh?"

"I know you and I aren't exactly close--"

"Oh, shut up, you little jack-ass!" Raidou vaulted to his feet, nearly launching himself across the bed. "'Not exactly close' my ass. How dare you make us worry like that! Do you have any idea--"

Hayate did not flinch. Hayate never flinched. He simply sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Raidou-senpai. I wished to keep this quiet, that's all."

"Yeah, Raidou." Genma frowned hard around a tattered drinking straw; nervously chewing, even though the nurse had warned him about his germs. "No need to bite his head off."

"Hyeh," Raidou chuckled, settling back into his chair, "wouldn't be so cute without his head, now would he?"

Hayate made a face, half-glare, half-moue. "Cute, huh? Me?"

"So, what did the doctor say?" Genma murmured anxiously. "Might as well tell us now, 'cause we're going to find out one way or another."

"He said..." an ominous hiss, as Hayate paused to take in oxygen. "I have an infection in my lungs. They're not quite sure what caused it. But I'm going to be fine."

Not, I ought to be, but I'm going to be. Genma shot Raidou a look.

Hayate certainly didn't look fine. He looked pale; paler than usual, even. He looked thin, like someone slowly wearing away, fading like old over washed linen. Raidou wouldn't say anything, but he saw Genma scowl.

"You shouldn't frown like that," Hayate said, smirking. "You know it makes you look like an oni."

Genma turned back to him and pulled an even more exaggerated face. "Is that so? Don't trifle with me, then, or I'll eat you alive." He loomed over the bed, and Hayate slowly shrank back, way back.

"I'm getting hungry, Haya-kun...Heh heh." Genma snickered, then lit into a pout. "Eh, now, don't be scared. Here, I'll be nice, I promise." He leaned closer, put a knee up on the bed. Must've thought he was pretty damned cute, acting that way.

Raidou cleared his throat meaningfully. "Genma, that's probably not the best idea right now."

Hayate grinned cockeyed, and blushed; but still shrank away. "No offense," he said, "You really ought to be wearing a mask. They don't know if it's contagious yet." He smiled wanly at this, and placed a hand on Genma's cheek, half petting and half holding him off, at arm's length.

Raidou frowned carefully. He, himself, had touched Genma in every conceivable place, front and rear; but the face...that was personal. That was something Hayate did. He'd never presumed, himself, but Raidou was sure Genma would never allow it. Just as he'd never allow a kiss on the lips. Never Raidou's decision. Always Genma's. And Hayate, he had his thumb pressed to Genma's lower lip, fingers curled agaist his chin.

"I've missed this," Hayate said, and his eyes were far older than he looked.

Genma made a noise. One that Raidou had never, ever, heard him make. Sort of a grating, whining noise, not unlike an animal in heat. "Hayateee, how serious is this? Be truthful." Both hands slid up, to grasp Hayate's forearm.

Hayate lowered his eyes, frowning. "They want to keep me here for up to a month, possibly. While they run tests."

"But you'll be okay, right? If it was anything dire, they would've told you already." Genma pressed his face against Hayate's arm. Hayate nodded, but seemed less emphatic about it than before.

Hayate gently disengaged his hand, and rested it on Genma's forearm. "Please, do me a great favor. Don't tell anyone else I'm ill. There's no point in worrying people further right now..." and on that last note, he doubled over, great barking cough rattling from his throat. Rattling him like a toy doll.

Genma grabbed his shoulders; almost like he needed to reassure himself, feel that Hayate was still solid.

Even while coughing, Hayate's voice had force, "Please, don't!" he barked, covering his mouth and nose with a handkercheif. "Don't get too close."

Raidou straightened in his chair a little. "You want me to get a nurse?"

Hayate shook his head, a firm negatory. They both waited while he caught his breath. "The fits come and go." He said, voice even quieter than before, but his gaze steady and unwavering. "It's getting better, though."

Genma mustered a game smile, patting Hayate's back, which remained stubbornly set, hardly even a tremor. "Sure it is."

"On my honor, it is," then he coughed again, wetly, into the handkercheif, before dropping it fastidiously into a nearby trash receptical.

"You're such a poor liar, Haya-kun," Genma sighed.
"You doubt my word?" Hayate said, voice dropped a menacing note. "Those who doubt me, find the flat of my blade very convincing."

"Eh, watch that kind of talk, Haya-kun, we're not alone here."

"Oh, don't let me interrupt," Raidou smarmed.

With calm practice, Hayate reached for a bottle of instant hand-sanitizer, and liberally doused his palms. "It kills over ninety percent of bacteria," he said. "I suggested, perhaps I should drink some...but the nurses didn't seem too wild about that idea." He smirked at this, and the expression seemed at odds.

Genma folded his legs basket-style, now sitting with his back against Hayate's arm, fiddling absently at the drinking straw with his teeth. "You're still running the third exam, right?"

Hayate screwed up his lips in thought. "I was going to give that one to Anko-sama, actually. Since she seems dead-set on it this year."

"You have a crush on that Anko-sama, don't you?" Genma teased, glancing come-hither over his shoulder. "You're sorry she never made your cell, before you could ask her out.

"Ehhhh?" Hayate blushed obligingly, and made a cutting gesture with his hand. "No, absolutely not! She's a strong shinobi, whom I admire...that's all!"

"Ahh, he's so easy." Genma purred, again fiddling with the straw.

A nurse swung into the room, just then, "Daytime visiting hours are almost over, just thought I'd tell you. And take that out of your mouth! This is a hospital, not a bar!"

Genma carefully flicked the drinking straw into a wastebin, some ten feet away. "Sucks," he muttered.

Hayate smiled sweetly. "Ah, what've we discussed about the language?"

"I'm very fucking sorry," Genma said.

"That word too," Hayate said, not so sweetly.

Genma played innocent. "Which word?"
Hayate's voice dropped another octave. "You know which word."

"You mean the 'fucking' word? The one you won't say but, you'll--"

"Senpai," Hayate said, a tad breathily "that's rude."
"Good thing you can't read my thoughts, then," and god help him, Genma winked.
Just when Raidou was beginning to think he should leave, Hayate glanced quickly his way. "But I think your friend can. Eh?" His eyes narrowed with unmistakable intent.

Raidou bristled, and blushed hotly to the roots of his hair. So, maybe little Hayate wasn't so innocent, after all.

"Ah, you're such a sweetheart, wanting to include Raidou-san like that. But I'm afraid, he doesn't play ball." Genma sighed wistfully, began to slip from his chair, then at the last minute seemed to remember something. "Oh, Kakashi wanted you to have this. I think it's porn or something." He reached into his pack, and pulled out the small book.

Raidou's face twitched violently. "Genma..." he shrieked.

Hayate accepted the gift solemnly, and flipped the book open to a random page. His eyes grew large, and in a quiet, dead-pan voice he said: "That Kakashi is a pervert."


Later on,

"He's dying, isn't he?" Genma's staring disconsolately at the food on his plate: plain brown rice, and grilled fish, barely touched.


"You saw him in there."

"He didn't seem to think it was anything serious."

Genma re-iterates, with considerable more force, pointing his hashi in a vaguely threatening manner. "You _saw_ him in there, damn it. Stop sugar coating things for me. I'm not made of glass you know."

"He looked pretty bad."

Genma growls, and stabs at his food. "Why does he have to be like this? He lies when something's really wrong, you know. And I can always tell when someone's lying. Always. Why is he shutting people out, like he's already dead or something? After all of that crap about friends, loved ones--"

Raidou shakes his head, "I can't answer that," he looks at Genma. "Stop letting it eat at you, it won't do any good. Worry about yourself for a change. It's allowed."

"Why?" Genma says mildly, picking at a piece of fish. "When I've got you to do it for me?"

"Lazy, asshole." Raidou mutters, leaning back on the picnic bench, to rest against the nearby tree.

He's got his feet propped up for a good minute, before Aoba ambles up-- Kotetsu and Izumo trailing along--and unceremoniously shoves them off.

Aoba dashes off a salute. "Yo, what's the word?" He sits with his back to Raidou, one arm propped across the table top, one leg over the other, slouching.
"Dork." Raidou answers, without thinking; he and Genma chortling at this. He puts his feet up again, but mindful of Aoba's space.

"Hey, your hitaiatte's crooked." Genma notes. "That's not regulation."

"At least it's not backwards like yours, ya big woman."

"Touche," says Raidou.

"This from the 'flamer'." Genma shoots back. Kotetsu and Izumo move to sit, one on either side, book ending him. He knocks a glance in Raidou's direction.

"You two can't sit here." Raidou says.

Kotetsu pulls a face, but plays along. "Why not?"

Raidou, without sitting up, "this bench is reserved for elite jounin, only. Lowly chuunin sit on the ground."

Izumo gives Genma's elbow a nudge, and mutters in typical lazy fashion. "He's not serious, is he?"

Genma makes a noise, not answering one way or the other.

"Aw, Genma-senpai, come on. Don't be stingy!" Kotetsu prods, putting on the squeeze play, until Genma's brow twitches.

Genma hunches over his food with serious intent. Raidou tenses a bit, covertly watching Genma with a close eye.

"And you should address your superiors with more respect." Aoba adds, pointedly, arms folded over his chest. "Especially Genma-sama. He's very important you know."

Kotetsu grins, gets right in Genma's face, almost puts his elbow in the man's food. "Is that true, Genma-senpai? Are you that important?"

Izumo slings an arm around Genma's shoulders. "An important guy like you shouldn't be eating fish. He should be eating a sandwich!"

Here, Raidou gets ready to jump in.

"Yeah, a sandwich," echoes Kotetsu, squeezing in closer.

At this point, Genma's had enough, he quietly sets down his hashi in the proper fashion, and plants both hands on the table. "No. Thank. You."

Raidou slowly sits up, and begins to lean across the table. "Oi, I wouldn't--"

Genma casually straight-arms the two examiners backwards off the bench, then returns to his food. Izumo and Kotetsu sit in the dust, rubbing their asses ruefully and muttering. Raidou hangs over the table, and looks down at them. "What did I tell you?"

"We thought you were joking," says Kotetsu, as he picks up Izumo and dusts off his back.

Raidou fumbles. "About the elite jounin part...yeah...but, see, Genma's got this--"

"Personal space bubble." Genma supplies dryly.

"--thing about close quarters." Raidou finishes lamely.

Genma looks over his shoulder, maybe by way of apology, and adds: "And yes, I'm very very important."

Raidou smiles to himself, and relaxes.
_____________________________________

.we can wipe you out anytime.
_______________________________________

let me back
I promise to be good
don't look in the mirror
at the face you don't recognize
help me call the doctor
put me inside
put me inside
_________________________________________________

4.
put me inside
______________________________

Genma had a thing about enclosed spaces. He always had, actually. It was a little ironic, he supposed, that he, of all the other detainees, would end up having to share his cell. He'd supposed, at first, because they'd run short. But later on, he'd realize, it was just another kind of torture. Although he knew the other person was there, they weren't allowed to speak, or to touch, or even see one another.

He wasn't sure why it was kept so dark most of the time. They weren't exactly permitted to sleep; he'd tried, just to pass the time. But someone would come by about every half hour or so, and bang loudly on the walls or door; sometimes they covered the floor with an inch of cold water, just to be sure.

The cell was roughly three feet by six feet, the size of one tatami matt. He had the dimensions burned into his head by wrote, three by six, because he'd measured it quickly upon first entering. Three by six, one tatami; large enough for several standing men, if they all squeezed in pretty close.

It wouldn't have been so bad, if they'd at least been allowed to move around some. Even if all one could do was pace, at least that was something; and one could count the steps it took to cross all three by six feet several times, and perhaps stay occupied that way. Two people could even take turns doing it. But most of the time, they were made to kneel in the same position, with arms held, or chained, up about head level. High enough that they'd go numb; but not high enough to suffocate a person. After several hours of this, at a time, a man would come in and jab something into Genma's leg, to see if he flinched. If he didn't, he was made to stand--sometimes dragged up by his cold, dead arms--so the blood would rush back to his limbs.

If there'd been any point, at which he'd most liked to have screamed, it was then.
His muscles locked and spasmed, until his toes knuckled under, and the raw points broke and bled freely. (He could never quite recall when they'd pulled his toenails out. Nor why. Just recalled feeling something sticky between his toes, and being vaguely annoyed at that.)

After standing like that for up to ten, or twenty minutes--he was never sure how long, exactly, but long enough for the pins and needles to subside--he was made to kneel again. The whole thing was repeated, several times each day. Then there came a certain point, at which, he could no longer stand; not without his legs breaking. He'd heard it happen to his toes, already, and tried not to think about how badly.

He knew Raidou was getting the same. He'd heard them standing him up, by his breathing, and the scrape of bare feet on stone, heard every sick wet little pop as the bones gave out. He wanted to say, "Oi, Raidou, my toes are breaking," or something like that, maybe confirm that the other's toes had broken as well, and commiserate. But talking was strongly discouraged, often with duct tape.

Three by six. Six divided by three is two, plus six is eight, times three is twenty-four, divided by six is four, which equals death, and so on. When that lost its appeal, he counted other things.

He had thirty-two teeth in his mouth, and knew this for a fact. But still, he had to go and count every one, all thirty-two, with his tongue. Would've been thirty-four, had it not been for that one mission, that one time. He poked at the empty spaces, and wished he'd had a toothpick on him. Tucked right in there, under his tongue. Oh, if given the chance, he'd spit it right into that son-of-a-bitch's eye, the next time he got in Genma's face, with breath that smelt of stale coffee and cigarettes.

The last time he'd counted, there'd been six cigarettes left in his vest pocket. He suspected the bastard had been smoking them, and counted down by one, every time he came by. Fine by Genma, anyway, as he'd planned to quit as soon as this was all over.

He counted back the hours since they'd been captured, by how many times his heart beat per minute, and factoring in a variable of Y. Or perhaps it was a number. Somehow, he calculated that it'd been two days. Not that that helped any. He tried not to wonder if they'd be rescued, tried not to wonder how they'd escape. It was hopeless at this point. Even if he could get hold of a weapon, he was too low on chakra, and outnumbered to boot. By rough estimation, there was a unit of about a dozen men watching them, at all times. They were never formally questioned, or interrogated, just held. He spent far too much time reasoning out why, and how much longer they'd be kept there, before they were eventually killed. Another day, maybe, a week.

And when that grew tiresome, he played gomumari. Which was a challenge at first, because he had no ball. And even if he had, his hands were chained way up there: not enough leverage for a really good throw.

Hi fu mitsu nana yoka tonde hi fu mitsu nana yoka ni-jyuu hi fu mitsu nana yoka san-jyuu san-jyuu hittotsu futatsu san-jyuu hittotsu futatsu tonde hittotsu futatsu and on through all the verses, with several variations he'd come up with himself, until someone came and hit him, hard, across the face, and he realized he'd been saying things aloud.

"you miscounted the last verse," Raidou had hissed at him, before falling quiet.

He thought he might have laughed at this, blood dripping down his chin, but might have been mistaken. He supposed he was going crazy, but didn't really care.

Soon he ran out of numbers, and games, and his mind went as numb as the rest of him.

He thinks, near the end of it, their captors finally got bored, or impatient. It must've been on the last day, that two very large, heavy men, held him down; pressed him into the dirt with their sweating bodies, while another person carefully, painstakingly, broke each joint of every finger.

The questioning started, then, but he couldn't follow. He kept thinking, if only they'd let me up, just let me up to breathe a little, just a little space. He had to remember to focus. The lights were very bright on that day, so he could see Raidou very distinctly across from him. Crack. His eyes were dark brown, they had a rather distinct shape. Crack. He never blinked once. Crack. His pupils were so big, they overtook the whole iris, almost.

He tried not to look anywhere else. Not at his flaring nostrils, the sweat beading, the raw red, blackened skin, something had happened, there'd been smoke rising off, he told him not to look anywhere else, though. Just his eyes. So that's what Genma did.

"We're going to kill you soon. If you're a religious man, we suggest that you pray now."

He couldn't think of anything. He'd forgotten how to pray.


It was strange returning to work after his recovery. People were so damned cautious around him; just because, that one time, he'd freaked out a little. Aoba had grabbed hold of his arm, rather innocently. Genma hadn't meant to, but the next thing he knew, he had the other jounin pinned against a wall, forearm against his throat, and a pair of senbon pointed at his eyes. "That. Hurt." Was all he'd remembered saying. Aoba just about wet himself.

Genma had apologized profusely, with tears, and offers of sake, sweets, anything; but Aoba was always a little wary of him after that.

____________________________________________________________________

Poor Aoba, Raidou muses sometimes, always getting the worst of it. Yet he sticks by us, even though he wasn't there that day, and can't possibly understand.
_____________________________________

5.
we are accidents, waiting waiting to happen
_____________________________________

Aoba understands a lot more than he lets on. It's true, he wasn't there, and he's glad he wasn't. He understands that he wouldn't have come out of it alive. He understands the randomness of blind luck, and the fact that, on that day, he was the one chosen for the most menial of menial tasks: guard duty. He understands it's an important function; even though it sucks, and he complained bitterly the entire six hours.

He now understands the pettiness of that, too, but knows if he'd had it to do over again, he'd have complained all the same.

He understands the kind of crazy Genma is, Raidou is, Kakashi is. They're all a little bit crazy that way. Whether it's an after effect of their training, their work, or a prerequisite for same...anyone who wears the ANBU mark, invariably walks a paper-thin line between relative sanity, and barking madness. Anyone who does not, does paper-work, it is often said.

It's also said, of course, that ANBU are too shiftless to do their own paper-work, so they get the b-levels to do it for them.

Aoba understands the merit of slacking off: sitting around, being shiftless, sleeping whenever and wherever you can. Because you could die tomorrow, it's important to savor the small pleasures. Such as a good wank, a tasty snack, a kiss from a cute girl, an expertly timed put-down, and a jutsu performed perfectly on the first try.

He also understands pain.

No matter how well you're prepared for it, getting nailed with shuriken _hurts_. Kunai are worse, because they penetrate. He took five at a time, once. He still shows off his scars, even though Raidou and Genma have him beaten in that department.

He understands the pity of things; and why they watch sakura trees drop their petals, every spring. Because it's an excuse for public drunkenness. But moreover, because it's a reminder that shit is fleeting. Bad shit, good shit. This too shall pass. And everyone he's ever known, and loved, some day, will die. He'll die someday, and maybe he'll leave _his_ loved ones behind. He knows they'll miss him, even though they spend much of their time taking the piss. He understands it's all belly talk, and when Raidou tells him to eat shit and die, he really means 'what a great friend you are, to take my abuse.'

It's no fun losing someone you're close to. It hurts to be alone. And it's agonizing knowing there's nothing you can do to help.

When Raidou came out of recovery, he was a different person. So drastically different, Aoba often used to wonder if he hadn't been replaced altogether, and the hard man amongst them now wasn't some sort of plant, or spy. That's why Aoba does his very best to fuck with Raidou, at every opportunity, piss him off, or make him laugh. Because only the real Raidou would shriek like that: like a complete braying jackass. Aoba misses that part of him most of all.

The Raidou of before would laugh and point when somebody farted, because he understood the importance of not acting one's age. The Raidou of now, can often be seen staring off into space, very focused, like there's some particular problem he's trying to work out. He still smiles, occasionally, but it never quite reaches his eyes. And when Aoba sees that, it sticks in his gut. He just wants to smack that expression from Raidou's face, and grab him, and yell until he goes hoarse.

"I want my real friend back! Bring him back!!"

In fact, that's exactly what he'd said, one time. He lost control, let go; because somebody had to. He'd grabbed the man by his shirt front, and shaken him for all he was worth. Shaken him hard, until he thought he saw something snap in Raidou's eyes; but it pretty much disappeared, once Gai was able to pull him away.

All Raidou had said was: "I'm sorry." Like it was all his fault; the capture, the shit he'd been through, the person he'd become. His fault.

Aoba knew that feeling all too well. He knew from sorry. But he understood that life had no 'undo' function, and 'sorry' couldn't erase the damage that was done.

___________________________________________________________________

Something for the rag and bone man
"Over my dead body"
Something big is gonna happen
"Over my dead body"

Someone's son or someone's daughter
"Over my dead body"
This is how I end up sucked in
"Over my dead body"

I'm gonna go to sleep
Let this wash all over me
______________________________

6.
you know, we don't want a monster taking over
___________________________________

Present day:

"I'm sorry. Genma, I'm sorry..."

He's not listening. Just has this awful blank stare, frozen, expressionless. Raidou can tell, though, the breath's been socked out of him; can tell how fast his heart must be beating.

They'd found Hayate that morning. Of course, nothing anyone could have said, would have convinced Genma it had really happened. They'd tried. They'd poured liquor down his throat and dragged him to the meeting, and they'd tried to prepare him.

Hokage-sama said the words, and still they didn't quite seem to penetrate.

"I'm sorry..." Aoba says again. Oddly, he's the one crying; as if somebody had to, and if Genma wouldn't, he damn well would. He's scrubbing at his cheeks with his wrist; screwing his glasses up onto his forehead. "please, say something? Just say something?"

Genma bites his lip, until blood wells, and a sluggish drop slips down his chin.

Raidou hasn't moved yet, hasn't reached for or tried to touch him, isn't sure what to do. One would think he'd be sure, and know exactly how to handle this. It's just like any other panic attack, that's all, he's been through dozens, hundreds. "Genma, say something."

They've been trying to get him to speak for over half an hour. Raidou doesn't think it's the shock; he can see the barest of frowns sort of ghost across Genma's face, knows he's listening, and reacting. "Just a word, okay? Let me know you're there."

Genma lets out a sigh. "I'll be fine, don't worry." His voice is thin, hollow sounding. He hasn't moved, or even shifted positions for some time. He just stares and stares at the floor; like it's all written out there, whatever it is he's been concentrating on.

Raidou does not reach for him, or pull him in close, doesn't touch his neck, or his face, doesn't wrap one or both arms around him, as tightly as he can. Genma swipes a sleeve across his chin, and does not melt into the non-existant embrace. He's not ready to be consoled yet. Any effort will likely meet with stiffness, arms like ice, sharp angry breath. Aoba kneels on his other side, now both hands crabbing at his knees, tears dripping freely.

They're the only three left sitting in the council chambers. Everyone else had gone, pretty much as soon as they were dismissed; even Kakashi (who had the same shockedangryfrozen expression, what little of it one could see).

"You don't have to do this." Raidou murmurs, chin ducked down, practically talking into his vest. "I can administer the exam--"

"No. I'll do it. I want to." says Genma. "Hokage-sama is putting his trust in me."

"I still have a very bad feeling about this. I still think the test should be cancelled. The risk, at this point--"

Genma sighs, a little of his old strength returning. "You always were a worry wort. The risk is much greater if we deviate from the norm. If we show any weakness at all, Orochimaru will see that and exploit it."

Raidou picks at a bit of lint on his sleeve, stares at his knees. Doesn't know what else to say anymore. Genma looks at him, then at Aoba, then at the floor.

"The doctors thought he was improving," Genma says, quietly. "they said the medication was helping," He gnaws some more at his lip. "I really saw the difference."

"We all did." Aoba wipes the last tear-streak from his chin, shifts his glasses back to their rightful seat.

"Yeah." Genma says distantly. "Ironic, eh?"


That afternoon, they walk the empty campus grounds, and stop to grab a late lunch. They sit quietly, the three of them, in the grass, and eat. Genma seems like a man waiting for something. For the other shoe to drop, maybe. For the reality to set in.

Raidou knows it takes a while sometimes. He hangs back, on the periphery, and waits.

He takes Genma home, and sits with him on the back porch, sits crouched on the hard paving; overlooking the small manicured garden that was put there by the landlord, but never really maintained.

"I'm sure someone does," says Genma, bringing a cigarette slowly to his lips. "Someone has to. For it to look that nice."

After a while, Raidou's knees remind him that crouching on pavement is a bad idea, and he stands. Genma stands with him, and turns to walk inside. Raidou follows, of course. The heat follows both of them.

In the humidity, they sit around in short pants and little else. They eat some cold melon, and go over the papers for the next exam--rules, procedures, all that sort of thing--over and over, until they know them by wrote. They discuss the relative merits of some of the competitors, discuss how they might have arranged the matches differently; what may happen, worst case scenario, and how best to prepare.

The sense of waiting grows pervasively heavier. Raidou feels as if a rubber band is stretching, it's stretched as far as it can go, twanging with tension. Any minute, he feels, it's going to snap back, or it's going to break.

There are shadows under Genma's eyes, and he's nervously flexing his fingers, as he does sometimes. Raidou wonders if they're hurting him again. Sometimes, hot weather aggravates the old injuries. It's plenty hot now. Not even a hint of a breeze. The outsides of the windows have steamed over, and condensation clings to ever surface; Raidou can feel it on his fingers, and it's all he can stand to grip a pen.

Still, Genma insists on a bath; says he feels grimy, and walks off towards the bathroom, trailing clothes as he goes. Shorts, underwear, hitaiiate, that Raidou dutifully picks up after him. He sits and watches Genma's television for a while: slouched there on the floor, in front of the fan, as the sun hits a certain angle, and strikes golden bars through the slats of the mini-blinds. After twenty-three minutes of Doraemon, he gets up and pads to the bathroom, just wanders in like the cat who doesn't know better.

"It's a good thing I'm not shy," Genma mutters at him, from where he's sunken, chin deep in the tub. His hair hangs wet, and slicked against his head, like glossy seal fur.

Raidou drops himself onto a stool, and leans against the edge of the tub, reaches up traces the length of Genma's folded arm with his palm, cups his shoulder and massages until he purrs appreciatively. Does the same to his other shoulder, then his neck, brushes the back of a hand across one cheek and slicks his hand over Genma's head, palm curving, molding to fit his crown. He thinks, this is precious to me, and starts to cry.

Genma's voice is a small shocked tremor, "Raidou?"

He can't even explain it. He just couldn't take the waiting. He's gulping and sobbing quietly, head down, hugging his own arms, just like he never quietly sobbed all those years ago. He falsely remembers doing so, but he knows it never happened. He'd never once cried; never once broke down, punched a great hole in the wall, or broke a mirror, or had to be held, while curled into a great shivering fetal ball, because none of it was fair. None of that ever happened to him. And it never happened to Genma. And neither of them ever took more than four of those tiny, white pain-pills at a time.

Genma climbs out of the tub, and wraps his dripping, sodden self around Raidou. Another thing that's never happened before, is when Raidou unfolds, tilts Genma's face, and seals his mouth with a heavily salt flavored kiss. He'd never done that in a fit of desperation before, and then tried to play the whole thing off as a mistake. It's happening now, though, and Raidou has the sudden sense that this is very important.

Genma has to know how very important it is, because he's gripping tight, and angling into the kiss. He's fierce and desperate, and Raidou doesn't object, when all of a sudden, it's him on his back, and Genma's over top of him, kissing and tangled, and straddling. It's not about anything, their fingers weaving together, palms brushing, bruising lips and sucking at one another. Genma's hair painting wet streaks across wet streaks on Raidou's face, and he's absolutely, utterly dominant.

Things are different, now that he's got his own two hands.

Genma kisses his mouth, his jaw, his neck; deep, probing kisses, too, flat whole of his tongue lapping out, tasting, worrying. Asks, "Is this okay?", as he runs his hand down Raidou's stomach, reaches for the top of his shorts.

They're both panting, and grappling about on the floor. The removal of Raidou's shorts seems only incidental, barely a pause in the slick sweaty slide of bodies, and they slide together, it's not planned. Somehow, this is right, for it to just happen, and Raidou lets it happen, arches up, and presses up, and Genma's pressing right back down, short breathless moans from him, all sorts of huffing and panting that Raidou never expects to hear.

Genma's hips are firm, and sleek, and Raidou's digging in with his fingers, feeling the way the muscles shift as he presses on, gouges and gouges away. Cock fitted against his cock, gathering friction, and he's making harsher, more desperate sounds, wounded sounds, Raidou reaches a hand between them, and strokes them both in one, arching and thrusting up as he does. The blood's rushing to his face, Genma's mouth is open wide, his head's down, hair plastered in wet streamers that look like art. He gasps word fragments, sounds, and his voice is rusty, brutal. When he comes, his entire body flexes, his back lengthens, hips snapping, and his cock is a beating living thing, hot and slick, and pulsing, solid to Raidou's touch. He uses his flexing hips to drive Raidou on, presses down on him, slides, until Raidou's yelling out, head thrown back, and it beats through him like it's never beat through him before.

"un..." Raidou thinks he may black out, but never goes much farther than a brief graying at the edges. Aftershocks shiver him, and he has to hold on tighter every time.

And Genma doesn't collapse, sweaty, or limp, or broken, when it's done. He just hangs over Raidou, lazily still rubbing against him, panting, coming down by degrees. "ah..."

Raidou kneads at his hips, like he hasn't already memorized the lay of those muscles. Genma's body is all too familiar to him, but this is out of context, this bears repeating. Raidou's still getting his breath back, and he hiccoughs a little, sniffing, even as he smiles.

"you okay?" Genma pants at him, water dripping off of his chin. Or maybe it's sweat.

After a moment, Raidou collects his thoughts. "Yeah, but I could sure use a bath."

Genma grins at this. "Well, you're in the right place."

They kiss again. The desperation has cooled, they cling together, despite the heat, and after rinsing off under the shower-head, sit, folded together under a pair of robes, on the upper balcony. Raidou thinks he never wants to let go. He doesn't want to believe this is just fleeting.
_____________________________________________________________________

7.
now, no-one likes a smart-arse, but we all like stars

__________________________________________________

Genma had always been a private person. Not standoffish, or anything like that; just private. As a genin, he was pretty well liked--genuine to a fault, if bratty at times. Although it was understood, on general purpose, that he was weird, no-one could quite say how.

Hena hito. That guy. From the moment he'd graduated, the very first thing he'd done was take his hitaiiate, and put it on backwards. He defied anyone to copy him. "I'm a true original," he said. "That's my nindou."

He liked to posture, act tough, the way most boys his age tended. As it turned out, he liked gangster movies, and for a while he'd taken to saying 'washi', telling Raidou that when they turned twenty, they'd exchange sake cups, that he should count on it. He'd hang around like a malcontent, mugging, with his two team-mates, another pair of 'rotten punks'. But that was about as far as it went. He'd always been a good student, with excellent grades, as far as anyone knew. He seemed to have a knack for avoiding trouble, and defusing tempers. He was an all-around cool guy, Raidou concluded.

Still, he was weird. "Weird how?" By age ten, twelve, thirteen, most genin knew about twenty different ways to disarm, disable, or kill a man. But they were still children, and there were some things the adults had never bothered explaining.

This had nothing to do with sex education, by the way. They'd had that class. There'd been one day when they pulled the boys and the girls aside, and sent them to different rooms. They were shown videos, and given a brief talk. Genma slept through the whole thing.

"He's not into girls," Aoba said. "I heard Yamanaka Uma asked him on a date, the cutest girl in class...and he said no!"

"Maybe he's just focused on his studies."

Genma was made chuunin at thirteen, a year after Raidou, same year as Aoba. Somehow, the three of them fell in together, became a unit. "Me and you two, we're definitely exchanging sake cups. You can count on that."

At age fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, they made ANBU. Their shoulders were tattooed in the traditional manner, each of them choosing a slight variation of the design, each knowing this was as good as it. No going back. For the first time ever, they understood what it was to kill; what it meant to stick by one another, and not keep secrets.

At age seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, their village was attacked by a nine-tailed demon fox. True story, believe it or not. For the first time in his career, but certainly not the last, Raidou was seriously injured. As he lay dying, he saw someone backlit, over top of him. It was Genma, shielding him with his body.

At age twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, they exchanged sake cups, and Raidou kissed Genma on the corner of the mouth. It was a friendly kiss, it was a spontaneous, accidental, spur-of-the-moment type kiss. Shortly after, Genma hugged Raidou, and Aoba called them "both a pair of complete homos." Raidou objected, "no, not a complete homo," before he knew what he was saying. Happily, they all let it slip, and it never came up again.

It wasn't that important in the end, Genma was still weird, and he always would be. It had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't like girls. If he was weird, Raidou was weird, and Aoba was weird, and Kakashi, and Hayate, and they all were. No-one--save Hokage-sama--could have understood their particular mindsets, what made them madmen and experts all.

At age twenty-three, and twenty-five, they spent three days in hell, and emerged, two fire hardened, and battle-scarred, and brittle men. But as all things pass, so did that horror, and the wounds healed up quite nicely, considering.

A year later, Uchiha Itachi, one of their own, murdered his entire clan--save one little boy--and left the streets of his village littered with their bodies. Madmen and experts all, but not a one of them could have predicted this. By the time anyone'd realized what had transpired, Itachi was long gone.

A year later, and another year later, and another year later pass. Another year later, and all they have are these snapshots, of the people they all were before. Raidou wouldn't go so far as to call them memories, because he's been a bit forgetful ever since those three days. But according to Genma, nothing much has changed.

Aoba may still a retard. Raidou may still a jack-ass. Genma is still "definitely a homo". And all three of them are still friends; that's what matters.
________________________________________________________

You fell into our arms
You fell into our arms
We tried but there was nothing we could do
Nothing we could do

All evidence has been buried
All tapes have been erased
But your footsteps give you away
So you're backtracking
________________________________

8.
the sky is falling in
_____________________

"I've had enough of funerals." Genma says. He's smoking again, and he's got circles under his eyes. And everyone agrees, they've all had enough of funerals.

Anko and Kurenai, and Asuma, sitting on the other side of the bench, all nod in silent unison.

"But you still oughta go." Raidou mutters at him, face against his clothed shoulder, slouching because he's been injured again, and he really shouldn't be out of bed. "The old man loved you like a grandson. Did you know that?"

They're huddled at the same picnic bench, the very same one, where they always used to meet. The leaves of the giant gingko tree are turning shades of rust, and gold, and dropping.

"Yeah, I knew that," Genma sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I just don't think I can do it, this time. I don't think I can do it."

It's early, early in the morning, and the sky is clouding over, warm and cool and misty and it's almost time for long sleeves now. They've been sitting here for an hour, or more, drinking coffee in the post-dawn hush, waiting.

There's small-talk, and eventually, Gai-sensei joins them, and there's just enough room on the table-top. He sits with a silent hello, and hunkers down amongst them. In their black mourning clothes, they're like a murder of crows, ruffled feathers and shivering wings against the slightest hint of a chill.

Another minute, and Aoba comes trudging up the hill, head down, hands in pockets, stands by Raidou and Genma. "Hey, guys." He says, quietly, respectfully. "So, when's the baby due?"

Raidou pitches a gingko berry past his ear, laughing, the sound sudden and sharp; it catches them all by surprise. Genma smiles wryly. "You just don't change."

"So," Asuma straightens up, blows smoke, and stubs his cigarette on the edge of the table. "Shall we?"

Raidou lifts his face from Genma's arm. "So, what's it gonna be? Are you coming with us, or not?"

Genma scrunches his brow, and takes one last drag on his smoke.

"Are you?"

"Yeah, let's go."

As one, they move to their feet, and start down the hill.

_____________________________________________________________

Ah ah ah
You fell into our arms
You fell into our arms
We tried but there was nothing we could do
Nothing we could do
You fell into our, ah
You fell into a

We're rotten fruit
We're damaged goods
What the hell, we've got nothing more to lose
One gust and we will probably crumble
We're backdrifters

________________________________

Notes: most, if not all, quotes and lyrics from Radiohead--Hail to the Thief. Lyrics and alternate lyrics can be found here: http://www.greenplastic.com/index.php

hashi=chopsticks. You shouldn't point them at another person, as it's considered rude. ;)
nihon-shu=sake, as we know it
shochu=harder type of liquor, similar to sake, the type Genma likes is said to have a strong taste and smell (never tried it myself).
uke=the person who is attacked
gomumari= lit. rubber ball, a bouncing and counting game
oni=a devil, or demon, commonly represented by an ogre face. Genma looks nothing like one.

---

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