Naruto Shippuden: girl from whirlpools

Growing Apart

Chapter Six: Growing Apart

It was tempting to say that the next thing Minato knew, he was waking up in a hospital bed, but it was not nearly as simple as that.

For a long time he drifted on the edge of consciousness. He was aware of the moment his sensei lifted him up off the sand and put him on a stretcher, and he'd heard his sensei hurriedly telling the medic that he was unconscious. Minato remembered thinking this wasn't really true. He was perfectly conscious, he just couldn't seem to be bothered opening his eyes or responding to all the irritating people who kept calling his name and shaking him when all he wanted to do was sleep.

Then after that he was aware of lying in a bright room as lots of very professional sounding people continued to paw at him, taking off his clothes and attaching things to him that he didn't care about. He remembered the needle going into his hand – a prick of pain that barely registered compared to the gaping hole in his side, and then for a long time there was nothing but blissful darkness. Apparently they had finally respected his wishes to sleep.

Not much penetrated that darkness. The low murmur of a medic's voice here. A flash of light in his eyes there. At one point he recalled rousing and feeling something uncomfortable pressing down on his face, and he'd lethargically struggled to push it off. Then a softly-spoken woman had appeared some unknown time later to gently scold him and right the oxygen mask once more and then left him.

When the cotton wool wrapped around his brain finally began to fall away, Minato sort of wished it hadn't. With clarity came pain. Gradually, when he opened his eyes they stayed open and he could take a good long look at his surroundings; from the beeping monitors, to the peeling paint on the ceiling, to the red-haired girl snoozing in the chair by his bed. Exhausted by even this small perusal, he closed his eyes and slept again.

The next time he woke he finally felt like himself again. The muggy haze of exhaustion no longer numbed his thoughts and he lay in the pristine white bed, smelling of five kinds of disinfectant and feeling distinctly sorry for himself. There was no one in his room. That was awfully inconsiderate. He'd obviously been badly hurt. Didn't anyone care?

Besides his solitude, the other thing he first noticed upon waking was his amazingly dry mouth. He remembered all that sand on the floor of the stadium and wondered if this was what it felt like to swallow a few gallons of the stuff. He looked around for some help and saw a jug of water and an empty glass on the nightstand. That would probably do. Now if only he could get his shaky hands to cooperate and grab that heavy jug without making a catastrophic mess.

The door creaked open and Kushina walked in, stifling a yawn. "What are you doing?" she asked, seeing him engaged in battle with the water jug. "Want me to do that?"

He sagged back to the bed, because that was far easier. Some unseen stitches in his side were aching like hell now and he was only too happy to let Kushina pick up the jug and pour him a fresh glass of gloriously clear water. He licked his dry lips at the sight.

"The medic said you have to drink it slowly," she warned him as she handed him the glass – and she had to wrap her fingers over his to make sure he didn't drop it as he took his first grateful sip in what felt like a year. "How are you feeling?" she asked after his parched sigh of relief.

So far Kushina didn't seem all that surprised to see he was awake and making a nuisance of himself. She didn't give him wide watery eyes either as if she was even remotely worried about him. This was reassuring.

"Ok, I guess," he said vaguely. He didn't feel great, but his level of discomfort seemed appropriate for the injury he'd sustained, so he couldn't complain.