There was a slight lack of gravitas in a lieutenant bolting from his own rookie, but jounin-sensei had been hiding from their genin for years, and genin couldn’t do the kind of damage Katsuko was capable of. Raidou gave thanks for long legs and fled for safety.

He made it to the ANBU HQ just before Katsuko caught up him, slammed through the doors, nearly plowed another lieutenant down—“Sorry, Kazuki!”—and skidded down the slick tiled hallway. He caught himself at the open elevator and crowded in with a startled field-analyst clutching a stack of papers, and two weary looking ANBU.

“Sorry,” he said, and hammered on the button until the door closed. The elevator started down.

A distant screech of rage echoed around the tight metal box.

“Girlfriend?” asked one of the ANBU, after a beat.

“Teammate,” Raidou said.

“Oh.”

The field analyst took a careful step back and stared fixedly into the middle distance.

“You know your head’s bleeding, right?” said the second ANBU, a tall woman with thin black braids twisted up in an intricate knot.

Raidou eyed the red fingerprints he’d left on the elevator’s control pad. “Is it?”

“Unhygienic, man,” said the first ANBU.

“My bad,” said Raidou, and reached over to wipe them off. They smeared. The field analyst made a tutting sound and appeared at his elbow armed with—an alcohol wipe, seriously?

The next floor dinged and the ANBU agents stepped out, clearly heading for a debriefing. The field analyst disembarked on the floor after that, taking his alcohol wipe and his judgement with him. Raidou travelled alone to the third floor, which was the medic’s level, listening to the crank and rattle of the ancient elevator. When was the last time they’d even had this thing serviced?

The door dinged, opened, and Katsuko punched him in the face.

“Goat-rotted bastard,” she panted.

“Ow,” Raidou said, re-adjusting his jaw. A hot trickle ran down his chin. “Did you just split my— I’m not bleeding enough already?”

“No,” Katsuko said. “Let me get the other side of your face, too.”

She cocked a fist back.

Raidou ducked hastily, slipping out between her and the door, and caught her wrist before she could hammer him on the backswing. Tendons flexed beneath his grip; Katsuko was slight, but Konohagakure had built her out of steel and muscle control and sharp edges, and she could easily clean his clock if he let her get the angle.

“Hey now,” he said. “Indoor-appropriate violence only.”

“Sure. I’ll only go for nerve clusters, then,” she said, with clanging sarcasm, but the wrist in his hold relaxed a little, and she didn’t try anything when he let her go.

He touched the spark of pain where his lip had split open against his teeth, and rolled his eyes at her, resigned to a day of general blood loss. “Seriously?”

“You look good with bruises,” she told him.

“You are creepsome and damaged,” he said.

Katsuko shrugged zen-like acceptance.

Down the hallway, a pointed cough made them both turn. Leaning out of a doorway, a red-headed man in a terrible knitted sweater gave them a severe look over thin silver spectacles. “Can I help you?”

Raidou lifted a filthy hand. “Hey, Toushiro-sensei. Need a patch job. You got the time?”

“Dear god,” said Toushiro, and vanished back into his office.