By lunchtime, Ryouma had tried every possible position in which a man still tethered by an IV cord could lie. His stomach, as he'd expected, was the most painful. The medics had strengthened the cracked ribs, but they'd done nothing for the extensive bruising that threw up a gorgeous purple and black background to the dragon tattoo on his chest. Lying on his right side meant the healing gash under his arm was pressed against the bed; lying on his left side meant he had to stare at Kakashi's empty chair. Lying on his back was boring.

One of the nurses offered to bring him a book. He asked her to tell him a story instead. He managed to wheedle fifteen minutes' worth of bed-time stories out of her before she was called away again, and he went back to counting the holes in the ceiling tiles and trying to design a jutsu that could make a man melt through his bed.

He was almost at the point of drifting off to sleep again when he heard a high-pitched voice piping down the hallway. "D'you see what that nurse was giving him for lunch? Soup! Man, I'm never gonna stay in the hospital. Your friend's sure lucky we're coming, right?"

An amused voice answered, low enough that Ryouma couldn't quite make out the words. He grinned anyway, hoisting himself up on his elbows. "Oi! Tsume!"

The door slid open. His savior entered with one brown-haired little urchin on her shoulders and an older girl trailing behind at Kuromaru's side. Both of the children wore knapsacks, and both bore the blood-red Inuzuka fangs tattooed on their cheeks. The girl's brown hair was drawn back in a neat ponytail, and her dark eyes flitted curiously around the hospital room. The boy, as wild-haired and feral-eyed as his mother, stared only at Ryouma.

"Wow!" he said enthusiastically. "Didja get your face bitten off?"

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Hana rose up onto her tiptoes, tugging her brother down to whisper-level, and said something to him.

Tsume kept one hand on Kiba's knee--more to keep him there than to help his balance--and with the other slid the door closed. She could feel whatever Hana had said vibrate through him, and tightened her grip warily.

"Did you bite THEIR face off?" he practically squeaked.

Tsume smiled wryly and bent, grabbing Kiba as he toppled off over her head, flipping him mid-air so he landed on his feet. "He didn't bite anyone's face off, and he didn't get his face bitten off," she said patiently. Then she glanced at Ryouma and added, grinning at him, "Hopefully."

Still with a firm grip on Kiba, her gaze raked across what she could see of her fallen teammate. He was healthy enough to be in the plain beige pajamas they put patients in, the square neck exposing the strong knobs of collarbones, the way they winged out to broad shoulders. Bruising and the hint of a tattoo showed just above the cloth, stretching over skin that should have been healthy and tanned. Part of her was sad to see it wasn't. She pushed it away firmly.

His eyes were bright, his smile quick. There were new scars on his face, though they didn't look like they'd last. "Rakish," she said with a quirked eyebrow. "Kiba, Hana, this is Tousaki Ryouma. Say hello."

Hana stepped forward from behind her mother, executing a short bow. "Tousaki-san, it's nice to meet you."

Kiba did the same after Tsume planted her hand on the back of his neck and shoved him over. He popped up asking hopefully, "Did you kill anyone?"

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"Got hit in the head with a big hammer, actually," Ryouma said. He mimed the swing with a closed fist, pulling the shattering blow just short of his nose. To Tsume he added, "If anyone told you those masks supposed to protect your face, they missed the part where they shatter." Still, at least he had a face. If the mask hadn't taken the brunt of the heaviest blow, transferring force as it shattered, it would have been the brittle bone of Ryouma's forehead that smashed open like a dropped egg.

And that was a nightmare he could entertain another time. He blinked, refocusing on his visitors. Small girl, smaller boy, enormous dog...and Tsume, who looked good in a way he hadn't anticipated. Relaxed, as she shed her winter coat to reveal tan cargo pants and a long-sleeved black tee-shirt. At ease, as she snagged the back of the boy's collar and tugged him away from investigating the IV pole. Not different, certainly; he couldn't imagine any situation in which Tsume would not be eminently herself. But...more complete.

He'd heard families were like that. He'd never actually seen it. It started a weird little tickle behind his breastbone that he tried to ignore.

"Two guys," he told Kiba. "My partner got the guy who bashed my head in, though. Your mom says you just started at the Academy. Both of you training to be ninja?"

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Tsume caught Kiba half a moment from tipping the IV--with the line attached to Ryouma--over onto the floor. Holding him with one hand, she grabbed a chair with another and twirled it both closer and backward before settling spraddle-legged, the back between her and the other shinobi.

"I'm gonna be the best ninja!" Kiba hollered, arms flailing wildly in what was, undoubted, supposed to be an impressive-looking move. Tsume dragged him back just before he hit an expensive machine pushed against the wall. "Better than stupid--stupid--LEE-CHAN." He smirked as if this was a brilliant insult.

Tsume tugged hard on his collar. "Who you shouldn't be biting."

He hesitated, turning to look at her from under shaggy brown hair falling in his face. He grinned slowly. "You smell like it's funny, though."

Tsume winced. "Just because I think it's funny doesn't mean it's good."

"I TOLD you," Hana mumbled with a glower. "I'm not going to be a ninja. I'm gonna be a doctor. Or a field medic, maybe." She carefully settled her backpack down on the end of the bed, unzipping it further so three sleepy puppy faces poked out.

"Don't let them out on the bed," Tsume said warningly. "Ryouma's hurt, remember?"

Something flickered across Hana's face, and was quickly schooled away. The smell of anxiety filtered through the air. "'Cause his mask got smashed?"

Tsume glanced at Ryouma, slightly surprised to see that he wasn't watching Kiba's--continued--flailing with alarm. Weren't most guys supposed to run from kids? Strange, strange man. "Yeah, that's part of it," she said carefully, still able to smell Hana's wariness, even if she didn't know the cause.

"Could your mask get smashed?" Hana mumbled, petting one of the canines.

Tsume hesitated. Then she summoned a smile. "Oh, cubling, if someone goes for my mask I'll just throw Ryouma in front of them."

Kiba cackled and bounced around on the end of her arm, kicking and punching the air. Tsume winced, her shoulder getting sore--he was, after all, half the size she was--and called, "Kuromaru?"

He padded over, knocked Kiba down, and sat on him. Kiba laughed and started squirming.

One child taken care of for the moment, the other one generally low-key, Tsume sat back and took a quick, deep breath. She got a noseful of medicine and pine cleaner and antiseptic coating the underlying smell of disease and rot and blood. Under that was something else: something gentle, if persistent. Something like heat, sweat, the tight feeling of a sunburn after spending the day hunting. A touch of danger, the knowledge that it wasn't serious. She inhaled again, trying to tease it out, to catch the whiff under everything else.

It was Ryouma. Tsume blinked, stared at him a moment, noticed dark laughing eyes under dark hair, creases at the corners of his mouth where he smiled, strong muscle under elastic skin and--

Tsume yanked her gaze away, checking on Kiba. So, he was hot. She already knew that. Just because he smelled a little nice, it didn't mean anything. And he'd be blind if he hadn't caught her looking. Her gaze flicked back up to him. "You seem about ready to go out. We brought lunch, but are you sure you need it?" She smiled, not quite the full-bore grin she usually wore, but still friendly.

Just, maybe, not too friendly. Coming to the hospital to see a fallen teammate who was a little fun was one thing. He didn't need to be getting any other ideas, though.

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"Hey, I'm not that hurt," Ryouma protested. He sat up all the way--managing not to wince much as the stitches in his side pulled and protested--drew his knees up, and laced his arms over them. The backpack of puppies had tipped over a little; one of the grey fur-balls was making a determined attempt for freedom. Ryouma batted at the puppy's floppy ears. It twisted around trying to maul his hand, tripped over one of its brothers, and ended up flat on its back with its legs paddling wildly at the air. Chuckling, Ryouma gave it his hand. The puppy latched on and gnawed enthusiastically with tiny needle-teeth. Even this young, though, the pup knew not to bite down. Teeth that could already shred meat didn't even pierce skin.

Hana's hands had stilled in another ball of soft grey fur. Her dark eyes were serious, intent on her dog and Ryouma's hand. Her nostrils flared a little, echoing her mother's familiar mannerism. Ryouma smiled at her, flicked the puppy's nose, and reclaimed possession of his hand. "Good little guy. They gonna grow up as big as Kuromaru someday? You'll break your back tryin' to carry them all."

He glanced up at Tsume, inviting her snorting laugh with his smile. But her face was oddly still, her gaze as focused on him as her daughter's had been on his hand. Their eyes didn't quite meet before she ripped hers away. When she looked back, the curious intensity was gone as if it had never been.

If the kids hadn't been there, Ryouma would have called her on it. If they'd been any kids but hers, he still would have. But that strange family camaraderie still hung in the air, still edged their words and lightened their eyes, and he wasn't quite ready to see it fade.

So his fingers casually tapping his knee promised Later, even as he rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "I gotta stay till tonight. Got another treatment this afternoon, if I wanna lose these scars. You guys seriously brought lunch? Without sugar-free jello?"

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Tsume arched an eyebrow up at his brief code, refusing to allow the anxiety she felt at his word: later. Later? What later? She didn't understand it. Wasn't sure she wanted to, actually, and refused to give it any mental time.

Hana was talking, chattering happily about how her pups were Kuromaru's nephews and probably wouldn't get his size, 'cause he was really big even for a demon--

"He's not a demon," Tsume said wryly.

Hana's mouth shut into a pinched little line, and she plucked at the hospital sheet.

"Of course I'm a demon." Kuromaru looked at her and Ryouma, eyes closing and opening slowly in a canine wink. "Would a familiar do this?" He reached down and engulfed Kiba's head in his mouth.

Kiba squealed.

Tsume stared. "Oh. Well, of course he's a demon." She looked around, grabbed Kiba's backpack and unzipped it, and pulled out his lunchbox. The First was screaming some sort of jutsu on the front, his whole body glowing green. Tsume was pretty sure that wasn't real, but hey, it looked good. She ignored the budding murder going on on the floor to answer Ryouma's hopeful question--which made her wonder why other people hadn't brought him food. Surely he had some family. Didn't everyone have at least parents? "Didn't I say I was bringing lunch? Would I ditch out on a poor defenseless pup? No. No, I would not." She grinned at him, glanced at Kuromaru. "Hey, demon. Go guard the door, will you?"

Kuromaru stood, jaws tightening around Kiba's head just enough to keep from dropping it. Kiba curled his hands in Kuromaru's fur, laughing gleefully as he was dragged across the floor.

"Not while eating my son! ...Okay, fine, eat him. Sorry, Kiba! That's what happens when you don't clean your room."

"Mom!" Hana giggled. "He's getting slobber in Kiba's hair!"

Tsume focused on opening the lunchbox, checking inside to be sure the food hadn't been crushed. "Well, he'll just have to take a bath." She glanced up at Ryouma, unable to keep the smile off her face. "I don't suppose you have a plate or something?"

Hana hopped up and down, fingers tangled in her hair. "Mom! Now he's chewing on Kiba's head!"

Given the continued cackling, Tsume wasn't worried.

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"That," Ryouma said, tipping his head at the gleeful chew-toy in the doorway, "looks more like a poor defenseless pup. I don't think I'm reassured." He wiggled his fingers at one of the puppies, which had managed to claw its way out of the backpack and was sniffing around the blanketed mountain-range of Ryouma's knees. The puppy pounced; they wrestled briefly, until he rolled it over and tickled its fuzzy belly. The fur was impossibly soft.

"Y'know," he said thoughtfully, watching the pup's eyes squeeze into rapturous slits as its tail thumped his ankles, "I wanted a dog more than just about anything when I was your age." He glanced up at Hana with a quick, conspiratorial smile. "Saw some movie about a boy and his dog, and I thought if I had a friend like that, nothing would ever be bad again."

He'd been nine years old, hungry and cold, sneaking into the movie theatre among a passel of civilian children on a birthday outing. At first he'd only wanted a place out of the freezing wind, and a chance to steal some of the snacks they passed around like kids who'd never known hunger. The dog on the screen hunted for its master, though, and slept beside him at night. And when the kid cried--not that Ryouma ever cried; he hadn't shed a tear since he was eight--the dog licked the tears away.

He dreamed of the dog for a week running, and he snuck into the theatre three times more in the month before he ran into his gang and fought his way into their ranks. He hadn't really thought of it since then. Funny, the way things came back...

The puppy on his feet seized his thumb between two paws, squeaked joyfully, and bit down. "Oi!" Ryouma said sharply, poking it in the belly. "You're not a ninja yet! Think this little guy wants his lunch, too," he added to Tsume. "Got no plates, but, uh..."

A ninja could always improvise. He searched for inspiration and found it in the smooth plastic top of the table next to his bed. It was probably intended to hold flowers or medications, but it had stood empty, except for a glass of water, since Ryouma first woke up. He set the water-glass in his lap, flexed his hands, and called to Kiba, who was now trying to clamber on top of Kuromaru's shoulders. "Hey, kid. Here's something I bet you can't do."

Kiba was at his bedside in an instant, eyes narrowed in challenge. Ryouma grinned at him, formed three seals, shaped Water and Fire chakra, and drew a thin wire-like tendril of superheated water out of his glass. With a flick of his hand, it sliced smoothly through the top quarter-inch of the plastic table-top before it dissipated into steam. He lifted the newly made tray off its base and balanced it on his knees, clean side up. "Behold! Boys' table!"

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Tsume listened, her attention caught as his scent drifted toward bittersweet--honeybees and summer lemons, a hint of salt--while he talked about the movie and smiled at her daughter like it was the easiest thing in the world. It took her a moment more to hear his words, to wonder what had been so bad that he needed that sort of unconditional love. Needed it so greatly it still affected him years later.

She didn't get a chance to ask, wouldn't have anyway. Some things were personal. And some things that needed to be shared, didn't need to be shared with children.

"What about the girls?" Hana asked, piqued. "Don't the girls get a table?"

"Girls aren't sloppy." Tsume grinned and winked at her. The smell of food wafted up from the lunchbox. She pulled out flat wraps and a container of filling, sauted vegetables and meat in some sort of brown sauce. It had smelled good; that's all she'd cared about when ordering.

There was rice, mint leaves, and bean sprouts, too. She settled everything on the "plate," reaching over to absently ruffle Kiba's hair before pulling her hand away, nose wrinkled. Kuromaru had slobbered all over him.

She glanced at the table Ryouma had butchered, hoping that it and the food together weren't enough to overpower any nurse's disinclination to walk past Kuromaru and actually throw them out. The table, in turn, brought her focus back to the sterility in the room. She glanced around with a quick frown, scenting briefly. Inuzuka smells, Kakashi, nurses... a person or two she didn't recognize. Nothing that suggested he'd had many visitors, and no cards or flowers or anything. She looked at him consideringly. "You ever get that dog?" Her tone was mild, though the question was serious.

He'd needed something, that much was obvious. This place was barren. She'd always felt a hospital room was a good indication of who you had in your life--or who you didn't.

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Ryouma had been focusing on the food--and on not spilling it; eventually he crossed his legs and settled the makeshift tray in his lap--but his head jerked back up as Tsume returned her attention to him. "Uh... Nope. I got a gang, though, if that counts for anything." Did it? For two years the Canal Street kids had been the closest thing he'd ever had to a family, but that wasn't saying much. He'd had a couple kids to fight alongside, really, and half a dozen runts to feed and protect as best he could. They were all dead now, or as good as. And the few little ragamuffins who still haunted his old stomping grounds might wonder what had happened if he never showed up again to teach them a new move or offer them another meal, but they wouldn't wonder long.

Not much like a dog at all, really.

One of Hana's puppies finally managed to get its forepaws onto the tray-edge and began scrabbling its way up towards the food. Ryouma offered it a mint leaf. "And then I got a village. Which is less furry, but at least it doesn't eat my socks."

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His scent ran the gamut from lemon-rainfall to jasmine and earth, and Tsume found herself wishing she knew him a little bit better, knew what those scents were other than not-totally-happy and, from the tones in his voice, lightening mood. Her contemplation was interrupted by Kiba's squeal.

"Oh. My. GOSH! You were part of a GANG? Do you have TATTOOS? Can I SEE?"

Hana picked her puppy up from the edge of the tray, eying Ryouma dubiously. "Hisa-Sensei says that people in gangs die."

"Hana--" Tsume began sharply, but was interrupted by Kiba.

"A gang is just like a clan, Hana! They've got tattoos and everything!"

"Kiba--"

"It is not! And gangs do drugs!" Hana bellowed at her brother. "And--and stuff!" She glared at Ryouma again. "And Hisa-Sensei said you can't be a shinobi if you were in a gang, so you're lying or you're--"

"You're just stupid! Chouji said he was going to be in a gang when he grew up--"

Tsume really wasn't sure at which point she'd lost control. Her chakra bloomed, slamming through the room like a wall, filled with alpha, carried on a snarl.

Both children fell dead silent and ducked their heads, gazes studiously on the floor.

Tsume pointed to Hana. "Apologize."

"Sorry, Ryouma-san," Hana mumbled unhappily.

Tsume pointed to Kiba. "You, too."

"Sorry, Ryouma-san."

Tsume took a deep breath. "To your sister for calling her stupid."

"Oh. Sorry, Hana-oneesan."

"Are we done?"

Both children nodded. Then Kiba looked up, pale eyes big. "But, Ma? Can I see his tattoos? Pllleeeeeeaaaaase?"

Tsume glanced at Ryouma with a half smile, unable to maintain the annoyance. "You'd have to ask Ryouma."

"Maybe," Hana said quietly, setting her puppy back down near the tray, "if he's not going to be in a gang anymore, he could be in our clan. Because we have tattoos, too." She eyed Ryouma, her disapproval still very clear. At ten, it was a mighty thing. "And then you could be a ninja again."

Tsume choked back a helpless laugh. The worst of it was, she couldn't fault the impulse behind the offer: no one should be in the world alone, and a gang--especially one long since fallen by the wayside, she suspected--couldn't be a clan. Something settled in her chest, an instinctive knowledge she wasn't entirely aware of. Scents mingled, Inuzuka and dog and family and Ryouma, all mixing together.

Even in the ANBU apartments, it wasn't right to be alone.

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"I'm already not in a gang anymore!" Ryouma protested. The little girl didn't look like she believed him. The little boy looked disappointed. Ryouma rolled his eyes, set his teeth--lifting his arms above his head still hurt where his healing stitches pulled--and stripped off his shirt.

It didn't come quite all the way off; the IV tethered to his left hand meant the beige pajama top pooled awkwardly around his wrist instead of draping suavely from his hand. But it fulfilled its purpose, at least, of baring the snarling dragon writhing in red and blue and green across its background of dark bruising on his chest, as well as the ANBU tattoo blooming scarlet on his left shoulder and the jagged black design swirling down his forearm. The bloody dagger over his right hipbone was still hidden beneath thin sheets and the waistband of his pajama pants, but the kids didn't need to see that anyway.

"Look, ninja," he told Hana, pointing to his shoulder. "Like your mom, right? That's why I'm here in hospital. Much cooler than a gang dust-up. I killed the other guys back and everything."

Kiba scrambled up on the side of the bed for a closer look. "That's not a ninja tattoo, though!" he said, prodding Ryouma's chest. "Is it from your gang?"

Ryouma manfully suppressed a wince as his bruises shrilled. "Nah. I left the gang when I started Academy--when I was a little older'n Hana, here. Didn't get the tattoo till I was sixteen, after the war ended. It was kind of a celebration thing." Not on a drunken dare, but a wild and exuberant revelry in the sheer joy of life, of survival against odds so insuperable that all bets were off. He'd fought like a dragon through the streets, through the Academy, through the war, and he'd made it to the other side. It had seemed appropriate to remember the source of his fighting spirit, and he'd never regretted it.

"So I dunno if I'm still up for adoption," he told Hana. "Village council seemed to think I was okay even if I didn't have a clan. My luck with families kinda sucks, anyway. I wouldn't want to share it with you."

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Tsume winced as he moved, catching the spike of pain-scent. "I could help--" she stopped herself short, aware suddenly of what she was offering. She wasn't willing to help him remove clothing. She didn't even want to look at him, not while bare skin meant no cloth to mute his scent. It spread around her, warming the air. Her flesh heated in response, and she crossed her arms over the back of the chair, burying her nose in them to block his smell.

Crotchticks, he smelled good. Stupid mite-bite. She focused on the multi-colored bruises sprawling black and blue over his torso, on the line of stitches that ran from his right armpit halfway down his leanly muscled ribcage.

Not that she was thinking about muscles, or the way they moved under skin, or the slide of a half-wild dragon writhing across his broad chest. Not at all. Instead, she listened to what he was saying, focusing on the rumble of his voice and trying NOT to think that was attractive, too.

His words were enough of a distraction. She frowned over the guard of her arms, chewing on the last thing he'd said.

"Tori-obasan says the council wouldn't know good judgment if it bit 'em in the butt," Hana said solemnly.

"Hana!"

"She does!"

"We have lots of family," Kiba said despairingly. "So it's okay if we have some bad luck, too."

Hana scooted herself up on the bed, picking up the biggest of the puppies and setting it gently--if a little awkwardly--in Ryouma's lap. "Why's your luck bad?"

Tsume hesitated. She supposed she should step in. It wasn't the sort of question you asked a person.

Unless, of course, you were ten.

She remained silent, watching Ryouma unblinkingly and wondering about the response.

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Ryouma was still sniggering at Kiba's offer--yeah, okay, maybe it wasn't all that funny, but damn if that kid wasn't just like his mother, jumping headfirst without a care for the consequences--when Hana hit him from the other side. At least she gave him a puppy along with the question. He gained a few seconds' frantic thought as he settled the little fur-ball into his lap and snagged another mint leaf to tickle its nose. Actually eating could probably help him avoid the question altogether, but that was a cheap trick, even cheaper than lying. And these kids didn't deserve a lie. The truth was tough, but they were ninja kids, and Tsume's kids; they could deal with it.

"I dunno why," he said at last. "But my bad luck's the kind where your family doesn't come home." Or comes home drunk and raging, breaking bones where he can't break spirit... He'd been glad when the old man died, both cheated and relieved that drinking had killed him before Ryouma could. But though he'd known better than to believe in family after that, it still hurt when the kids fell asleep and refused to wake up, when Kenji died screaming, when Shinji died without a sound. It still hurt when Shouri threw Ryouma's adolescent proclamations of independence back in his teeth and abandoned him to screw in the dark with a jounin twice her age, because she thought they were all going to die. He'd already learned not to depend on adults, but he hadn't expected the kids even younger than him to leave him behind, too.

Teammates were necessary, and needed. Friends were rare, and precious. Family...was something that happened to other people.

He sank his fingers into the soft fuzzy fur behind the pup's ears, scritched briefly, and then finally gave in and ripped a piece of flatbread in half. Most of it went in his mouth; a smaller chunk went to the puppy. "Anyway," he told the dog's round little head, "I been getting along all right. Got a good team out on the border, hoping I'll get sane again and come back to 'em. Got the makings of some good friends here." He glanced up at last, and flashed a too-wide grin at Tsume. "Still working on that girl-on-each-arm thing."

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It was hard to smile back when his scent dragged so painfully on her heart; more than the words did, certainly. This was the careful double-speak so many Inuzuka took so long to learn; it was hard to say you weren't hurting, when everyone around you could smell you were.

But she did smile, ignoring the sour-apple and bitter-weed odor, quirking one eyebrow up. "After the nurses now, huh?"

And then Kiba burst into tears.

Tsume grimaced and stood, swinging off of the backward chair toward the bed. She reached out absently, smoothing a bit of hair off of Ryouma's forehead before giving it a careful tug. "I'm pretty sure that sort of luck doesn't follow you to another clan." Then she scooped Kiba up by the waist, kneeling to grab his backpack--and if her fingertips brushed Ryouma's shoulder on the way down, it was because everyone needed support, even when their words insisted they didn't.

One minute, she flickered in code across the backpack, then picked it up and took Kiba to the other bed. "There, cub," she murmured, setting him on her lap and digging through his bag. "Why are you crying?"

"'Cause--'cause--I'm sad--" he hiccuped out.

"Do you know why you're sad?" She peered into the dark interior of the bag, yanking the zipper farther down one-handed.

"N--no--"

"Do you think maybe you're not really sad, you just smell something sad?" There. She yanked the little bottle out of the bottom corner, under text books and sheafs of paper and--was that an old sandwich? Her nose wrinkled.

Across the room she could hear Hana talking, trying to sound grown-up and simply sounding younger for it. "Kiba's just a baby, still, and he does this a lot. Mom says it's normal, that it's how cubs stay alive when there's danger, 'cause they smell the fear and they get scared too, but I don't do it. I stopped when I was three."

"No--I'm definitely sad 'cause of me," Kiba cried against her shoulder.

"Okay." Tsume unscrewed the glass bottle, pulling her head away at the citrus-smell that hit the air. She ran her finger around the lip, then shifted to run that same finger under Kiba's nose, effectively scent-blinding him.

He snuffled twice more and relaxed, knuckling away tears. He looked at her very solemnly. "I feel better now."

Tsume nodded. "I thought you might. You think maybe you felt sad because you smelled it?" She kept her words quiet, highly aware that Ryouma was sitting only a few feet away and trying not to make him uncomfortable because of the way he smelled. People didn't like realizing that you could tell so much about them.

Of course, maybe now he'd be willing to just be friends--and if that thought hurt a little, she ignored it. Maybe, knowing how much she could tell about him, he'd avoid her entirely. She hoped not.

"No," Kiba told her firmly. "I was definitely feeling sad."

She looked at him for a moment. Then she looked up at Hana. "Hana? Has your dad been working with Kiba and scenting?"

Hana shook her head rapidly, ponytail swinging. She'd managed to snug herself up next to Ryouma, looking at him with ten-year-old doe eyes. "Yasuo's been busy, Mom. He just told Kiba to use the orange oil whenever he got upset, but Kiba doesn't."

"I see." She was going to kill Yasuo, she really was. For the time being, though, she just set Kiba on the ground again and let him bounce toward Ryouma.

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As Tsume searched out a cloth to wipe her hands on, and carefully bottled the oil back up before it made her scent-blind, she heard Hana confide in a loud whisper, "Yasuo isn't really my dad, he's just Kiba's dad, so when Mom's mad at him I call him Yasuo, and when she's not I call him Dad." She sounded very pleased with herself.

Tsume wandered closer to lean against the wall at the head of the bed, close enough to reach out and touch them all. She lifted her chin, inhaling, and noted that the aroma seemed happier again. That was good.

"So, can Ryouma still be in our clan even if he has bad luck? 'Cause you said luck doesn't follow to a new clan," Hana said, demonstrating that she had, in fact, been listening closely.

"That's right, no one dies in our clan," Kiba announced. "At least, no one in our house. So you can live in our house."

"Dummy!" Hana shot back. "Obaasan's familiar died before you were even born." Hana turned her adoring gaze back on Ryouma. "Now Obaasan doesn't talk to anyone, she just sits in a chair all day."

Tsume ducked her head to hide her laugh. Apparently the crush on the Hyuuga boy didn't stand a chance against a tattooed former gang member ANBU.

"Now you gotta getcher face tattooed!" Kiba crowed happily.

Hana traced Ryouma's unscarred cheek, where the marks would go. "They would look good on you."

At long last, Tsume took pity on him. "Maybe he can just use paint when he comes to visit." At least, a little pity. It didn't really occur to her that he'd refuse to visit entirely; this bit of pack had spoken, and someone needed to fill that empty space where family should have gone. She crouched on the balls of her feet, bringing her head about level with Ryouma's waist, then turned her head to sniff at warm skin. There was a miasma of scent even this close to him, laundry detergent and moth balls, antiseptic and plastic tubing from the IV. But under it was Ryouma's scent, slowly saturating the air around him. It smelled much better than it had a moment before. Tsume relaxed slightly.

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Two kids snuggled up against his sides, one puppy curled up in his lap, and two more puppies wrestling at his feet weren't exactly the sort of pleasant armful he'd been thinking about. Nor was Tsume's hand tugging his hair, brushing his shoulder, the kind of caress that enlivened his more pleasant dreams. None of it, in fact, was the stuff about which he dreamed. Some things were too fantastic even for dreams.

He'd had kids cuddle up to him before, shivering from cold, aching with hunger and loneliness. He'd had women touch him before--lovingly, lustfully, murderously. But the kids had never tried to comfort him, and the women had never treated him with the same no-nonsense gentleness with which they treated their own children. He couldn't remember a mother's touch; he didn't want a mother's touch.

He wanted...

Well, knowing what he wanted would do, for a start.

He smiled down at Hana in the meantime, and tugged at her ponytail. "You think? I don't look much like a proper Inuzuka, though. No fangs, no dog, dark eyes... You got normal eyes, though. Maybe we really are related."

Through her father's side of the family, he hoped.

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Hana brightened suddenly, hopeful eyes flitting across to Tsume. "Mom--do you think--"

Tsume flinched, then shook her head quickly. "No, cubling, I don't think you're related to Ryouma."

"But maybe--"

She shook her head again. It wasn't something she even wanted to contemplate.

"Some Inuzuka have brown eyes," Kiba informed Ryouma, "but most of us have blue. An' us real good ones--us purebred ones--got light blue, not just any blue. But Hana's only half Inuzuka."

Tsume hesitated. She felt like she should jump in, tell Kiba to be nice, but he wasn't doing anything other than stating fact.

"My dad's probably like... like the Hokage or something," Hana announced defiantly, hurt lurking around the edges of her gaze. "Like the First."

Tsume snorted and looked at the girl. "Exactly how old do you think I am?"

Kiba answered before his sister could. "Old." Then he twisted to look up at Ryouma. "Ma said that she didn't know who Hana's dad was, but my pop said Ma was lying. We weren't supposed to hear that. And Tori-obasan said that Ma shouldn't have been mount--"

Tsume rose up and clapped a hand over her son's mouth. "I think you listen to conversations you're not supposed to be listening to a bit often."

Whatever Kiba said was muffled behind her palm. She purposefully didn't look at Ryouma.

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That was definitely something to remember for later. Ryouma's eyes flicked up to Tsume's face, but his hand dropped down to Hana's shoulders, holding her close against his side. The stitches protested, a little; he ignored them. "Hey," he told her, and was alarmingly gratified when her eyes snapped back to his face. "I dunno who my dad was, either." Not exactly something he'd wanted to share with Tsume just yet; given how important family seemed to be to the Inuzuka, he'd had no idea how she'd take his admission of bastardry. But if Tsume had a secret of her own--and what had her son been about to say, before she'd cut him off?--then she wouldn't condemn him for his.

Though it sounded like her family had different ideas. About bastards, and about secrets.

"Didn't really know my mom, either," he confessed to Hana. Her huge brown eyes were captivating, drinking him in; he couldn't have betrayed her to look back at her mother even if he'd wanted to. "She died when I was just a kid. So you got the better end of the deal, y'know? And if I turned out all right, you're gonna be fantastic." He hugged her shoulders roughly, then swung his arm over her head to snag a puppy out of the container of sauteed vegetables and beef. "Long as you don't run yourself ragged looking after these little guys."

Frankly, he was surprised they'd behaved for so long. Either their young mistress had trained them well, or their 'demonic' uncle--still guarding the doorway, although he was now sprawled at an angle where he could see both the hallway and the hospital room--had put the fear of Tsume's bizarre swearwords into them.

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There was something in seeing another person comfort her daughter that made her want to smile and cry all at once. She released Kiba and settled back into her crouch, leaning against the wall. When Hana's smile bloomed across her face, lighting too-dark eyes reminiscent of her father's heritage and showing the faintest line of dimples that Tsume had never been able to appreciate, she didn't know whether to be relieved that the girl was smiling, or ashamed that she couldn't explain it better. Couldn't tell Hana that there was nothing wrong with dark eyes or looking just a little different, nothing to be embarrassed of about the other half of her genetics.

Tsume's gaze flickered away, focusing on her nails, slightly pointed and gently curved.

There was something intensely painful in seeing another person comfort her daughter about things Tsume simply couldn't.

"I won't let them run me ragged," Hana declared, full of newfound pride given to her by an ANBU they barely knew. "And..." Her voice quieted, turned thoughtful as she plucked vegetables from her puppy's coat. "I'm sorry your mom died. It kinda stinks not having a dad, huh? It's not so bad if your parents don't live together, 'cause like Mom kinda lives here, and some of my friends, their parents don't live together but they know who they are, still." She paused, and Tsume could smell the struggle to say what it was she was feeling. Could smell the frustration and anxiety, and didn't know how to solve it.

"And if you know who your dad is," Hana continued quietly, "then the other kids can't say he's a traitor or a missing ninja or a nobody, you know?"

Tsume's stomach knotted. Her head whipped up, eyes sharp. "Who says that? Who teases you?"

Hana refused to meet her gaze, curled next to Ryouma, eyes on her puppy. She moved one shoulder in a half-shrug, rolling her head so her cheek smoothed out along Ryouma's chest. "No one."

A growl wound its way out of Tsume's throat.

Kiba turned, scowling at her, and his voice was full of childish exasperation. "If she tells you then they'll just tease 'cause she's a cry-baby."

Hana nodded. "It's okay, Mom. You don't have to fix it."

She coiled down into herself, sick with frustration. "Later." It was both threat and promise.

Hana sighed and looked up at Ryouma. "At least if your mom was dead she couldn't be all alpha-y."

Tsume scraped fingers through her hair and didn't say anything. Every instinct she had--human and not--screamed to protect her daughter. But she wasn't there, couldn't watch all the time, and didn't want to make things worse. Even as a child she'd been an alpha; she had no experience to fall back on, no idea what would and wouldn't help.

And she couldn't give Hana a name to put to her father. They'd smell the lie.

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"I dunno much about alphas, or packs, or whatever," Ryouma said slowly. "Can't say I know much about kids, either. But I do remember that the kids who worried about what people'd call 'em were the kids who never made it anywhere." They were also, usually, the kids who didn't graduate--or who didn't survive. Reputation and face and blood mattered for a ninja, but not nearly as much as ability. "Beat 'em up if you feel like it, ignore 'em if you don't. Hell, you may have to fight your way through your whole class, but that's what lunchtime's for."

Hana looked doubtful. Kiba, on the other side, bounced. "I fight at lunchtime," he announced.

"Yeah?" Ryouma tousled the kid's hair, then shoved him, lightly, at the lunch-tray. "I believe it. How 'bout you show me how well you can make everyone a wrap, too?"

Kiba leapt into--messy--action. Ryouma secured his grip on the tray with his left hand, but he kept his right arm wrapped loosely around Hana's shoulders. The girl didn't seem particularly anxious to pull away, and Ryouma couldn't say he minded.

He looked down at Tsume, as her son slid off the bed just long enough to press an oozing wrap into her hands, and tried to catch her eye. Maybe he couldn't smell sadness the way the Inuzuka claimed they could, but he could still read body language, and even a civilian could have read Tsume's. She was crouched against the wall, arms folded over her knees, body curled in defensive misery. Because she didn't know her daughter had been teased? Because there was nothing she could do about it anyway? Or because Hana didn't know who her father was?

Why didn't she?

Tsume didn't seem like the kind of woman to tumble into bed with a man whose name she didn't know--if she were, Ryouma ought to have gotten laid weeks ago. Maybe the Academy brats were right, and Hana's father's name carried a load of shame too heavy for his daughter to carry. Maybe there'd been a succession of lovers, the way Ryouma guessed his mother had done it. Maybe--

He bit his tongue sharply, cutting of the flood of speculation. Kiba was busy assembling another wrap, piling beef and broccoli on top of rice, adding bean sprouts and a tangle of mint leaves before he rolled the whole thing up and offered it to Ryouma. "Thanks," Ryouma said absently, and took a bite.

Tsume wasn't the kind of slut his mother had been. She had a reason.

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Tsume picked at her food, sharp nails shredding the edge of the flatbread without actually getting any into her mouth. She wasn't really hungry anyway, and when Kuromaru stretched along the floor, letting his back legs drag out while his front legs pulled him on his belly, she took one quick bite for appearance's sake and gave the rest to her familiar.

"Hey, Ma!" Kiba yelped. "I made that for you! And you don't let us do that!"

"Yasuo says it's bad manners to feed the canines," Hana added, watching with great interest.

There was nothing to yank a person back into the present moment quite like two accusing children. She glanced up at them, looked around as if the furniture might save her, then smiled at Kiba. "Okay, look, you make one for yourself and Hana, and then make me another one. Okay?" The way he was making them, she doubted there'd be hardly anything left. She could manage three or four bites.

Then she turned to Hana as she stood up and leaned against the table Ryouma had butchered. "And there's nothing wrong with feeding familiars."

"Definitely not," Kuromaru agreed, licking sauce off his chops.

"As long as they're not jumping on the table."

"Yasuo says--"

"Well, he's..." What insults wouldn't shock them entirely? "Dumb."

Her kids stared at her for a moment. Then Hana giggled, burying her face in a puppy.

"This one's for you, Hana." Kiba shoved a sloppy pile of wrap at his sister, enthusiastically starting another.

Tsume took a deep breath, glancing over the tableau. Everything seemed to be settling again, everyone in good spirits. Hana was still curled up under Ryouma's arm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to cuddle against a near-stranger. Two puppies were playing tug-of-war with the strap of the backpack, never knowing that the backpack was going to win. The third was in Hana's lap, attempting to lick sauce off its own fur.

Ryouma was still shirtless, stitches hidden under his armful of girl, bruises livid under his tattoos. After all the things her kids had blurted, she was almost afraid to meet his gaze. From her peripheral vision she could see him watching her, the corners of his mouth tipped up, obsidian eyes steady and solemn.

Her gaze twitched to his face at long last, if only to stop looking at the way hazy shadows pooled at the base of his throat. She didn't know how much he'd caught, how much he'd understood of the last several exchanges. What was scent and what was spoken was tied too thoroughly in her head; she'd lost track of what he might know, now.

But he was smiling. That was good, right? Maybe he hadn't caught all that much. She glanced quickly around the room, searching for a safe topic. She looked back at him, and returned his smile a little warily. "Someday," she said jokingly, "You're going to have kids. And they will never let you have another secret in your life."

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"Is that a blessing," Ryouma inquired, "or a curse?" He gulped down his last bite of sauce-soaked flatbread and licked his fingers. The first flavorful mouthfuls had woken his stomach up to complain about how hungry he really was, and it was now demanding more! He reminded himself he'd gone far hungrier before, and he resolutely didn't watch Kiba tumbling all the filling into the last two wraps. He kept his eyes on Tsume's face instead, kept up the smile, and wondered about the quicksilver changes. Tsume might scorn the weakness of his nose, but maybe she didn't realize how much a quick eye and a sharp mind picked up. He couldn't scent her pain, but he could never be oblivious to it.

Some old wounds never really healed. Ryouma's left knee still ached on rainy mornings, and drunken men set the hair rising on the back of his neck. Aggressively drunken men triggered a surge of killer intent so instinctive and so hot that he couldn't always stop himself. Didn't ever want to. And his grandfather had been dead for fourteen years. Ryouma had more than enough nightmares now to replace the old ones, but sometimes they still came anyway...

He wondered what kind of grief-infected wound had bled that darkness into Tsume's eyes. How he could drain it.

Why he wanted to.

He'd never really been one for collecting stray kittens or fighting to patch up teammates who couldn't be saved. He hung out occasionally with the kids on the street, offering them a square meal if they learned another set of fighting drills, sponsoring the Academy entrances for those with the talent and the drive. He offered the mercy stroke to comrades who'd never make it back, and helped carry those who could. He dated kunoichi with no hearts to break, who knew from the start what he could give and what he wouldn't. He wasn't kind. He certainly wasn't altriustic. Everything he did, he did for a reason.

Maybe it was because he missed Tsume's real smile.

"I don't have many secrets," he said. "Never really saw the point in 'em. It's gonna come out anyway, someday, and it'll probably hurt less if it's at a time you choose." He tugged gently at Hana's ponytail. "Take the high ground before your enemy can."

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It was a hint if she'd ever heard one. Tsume tensed, her smile going knife-edged. It was a hint, and she didn't want it. "Sometimes, there's too much hurt that goes along with those secrets." She took the wrap Kiba handed her, containing sauce and about three water chestnuts--he'd put the rest of the meat in his own flatbread--and picked at the corner with her nails. Her eyes dropped, glaring at her food, unable to hold Ryouma's gaze, to see the smile that said trust me and know it was a lie.

"Are we still talking about my dad?" Hana asked, confusion and suspicion mingling.

"No, cubling," Tsume reassured her, with a sharp look at Ryouma to keep his mouth shut. "We're talking about when you should and shouldn't tell people things."

"Hisa-sensei says you should tell people things if those things hurt you." Hana parroted the words, picking the contents of her wrap out of her puppy's fur.

"That's good advice. But sometimes there are things that would only hurt other people, and those you should keep to yourself." She wasn't sure her own secrets counted. She didn't want to find out. She did know that nothing good would come of telling anyone. Her mission with Genma and Raidou had only solidified that certainty.

"We have an extra flatbread, Ma," Kiba announced, flopping it around in the air. He blinked at them, eyes flickering from one adult to the other. "You guys smell funny," he announced at last.

Tsume resisted the urge to sniff her own arm, and hoped Kiba didn't come up with descriptions.

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"If you think this is funny, you ain't smelled nothing yet," Ryouma assured the little boy. His eyes flicked back to Tsume. He was fairly sure what emotions roiled under his skin; at least, he was pretty certain of what inspired them. What could Kiba smell in Tsume?

"I smelled plenty!" Kiba protested, as literal-minded as they came. "You're going sour-sweet around the edges again, 'xcept the center's all, uh, like when I scrape my knee and Kuromaru holds me down and licks it clean--"

"Alphas smell like that," Hana said. "But you're not an alpha. Not really." She frowned, nostrils flaring.

Ryouma bared his teeth. "You see anyone in here ordering me around?"

Hana sighed. "It doesn't work like that. Alphas don't have to order. They just...are. And everybody else follows them."

"Well, I'm not following," Ryouma said positively, snagging the extra flatbread from Kiba's hand. Everyone else had got one, after all, and they'd brought him lunch. "Eat up," he told the kids, through a mouthful. If they were concentrating on food, he could look up at Tsume again.

She didn't look happy; presumably she didn't smell happy, either. He had to hope she wasn't regretting this--but he couldn't help pushing, either, like a little boy with a stick and a hole that might hold either buried treasure or a pissed-off viper. Or nothing at all. Given a stick, metaphorical or otherwise, Ryouma had never been able not to poke.

"I'm not saying it's my place to know," he said, and just managed not to add but I wish you'd tell me anyway. "I am saying it could help. Besides, you never know how much something's gonna hurt until you try." Reason enough for a great many foolish escapades as a boy, and as an...older boy.

He added helpfully, "You can always kill me afterwards."

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For a moment, she'd thought she'd escaped the talk of secrets in the argument about alpha-status. Then her kids laughed and--well, she suspected they were speaking sibling, because from one instant to the next they were trying to shove food into their mouths, gazes locked, giggling.

Which left Ryouma free to pin her again.

Her mind whipped through possible answers, practice over eleven years making it easier for the distracted smile to come to her lips, her eyebrows quirking with false amusement. "I think this has been blown out of proportion. He's just not someone I care to have in my life, that's all."

It would have been best to remain looking at Ryouma. Liars didn't tend to shift gazes; people comfortable with the truth didn't have to look away.

She couldn't quite keep looking at him, though, couldn't quite sustain that black gaze. She glanced at Hana and back as she spoke, steeling herself to at least hold the dismissive expression. A step took her back to her chair, a leg swinging over it and her wrists settling across the wooden rest. A little distance from the group, a shield. A reason to break eye contact.

She took a breath and looked back up, wrapping her fingers around the wooden bar along the top of the chair, leaning away so that her weight hung from her arms. Her smile was practiced; light and teasing. "Besides, aren't women supposed to have mystery? Isn't it supposed to make us sexy or something? I'm not exactly a femme fatale; I need all the help I can get." Her teeth matched, making her grin bigger.

From the doorway, Kuromaru snorted. "Heck, you're barely even a femme..."

Tsume took the chance to look away from Ryouma, and glared good naturedly.

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"Take it that means you're not gonna kill me after all," Ryouma said, tearing off another chunk of flatbread. "Although that could be awfully mysterious, if you planned it right. But kinda boring for me,, unless we did that zombie thing I was talking about..."

He grinned over Kiba's head at her, good-natured, laid-back, entirely innocent: Who, me? I'm not prying! He'd got an answer, hit a brick wall. And while there were plenty of ways for a clever ninja to go over or under or through a wall, timing often made the difference between a smart ninja and a dead one. So...he'd wait a while. Scout out the territory. Pull together what information he knew. And watch for the moment to push a little harder and see it all make sense.

And, in the meantime, work on turning Tsume's pasted-on smile into a real one.

"It could make a good plot for a movie," he added, around the last mouthful of bread. "Fierce, uh, zombie-hunter lady accidentally kills, um, the love of her life. Tragedy! Moves with her two kids to a new village to forget her dark past. But, horror of horrors, her new home is at the center of a zombie outbreak! They're closing in on our heroine! She can't escape! Until in lurches her dead lover, zombified but motivated by the power of his love to protect her. Cue fight scene of awesome. And then, y'know, the really hot undead sex."

He remembered a little too late that two kids were curled up against him in breathless fascination, and that Tsume's cubs might not be quite as world-wise as the street-rats he knew. "Which happens off-screen, while her kids are out finding the human survivors. How'd you like to be a zombie-hunter, Kiba?"

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"I wanna be a zombie!" Kiba declared, and leaped to his feet to stagger around the room, groaning.

"It'd be a really good movie if you cut out the sex." Hana's nose wrinkled. "'Cause that stuff's always boring."

Kiba groaned his way around the end of the bed. Tsume ignored the boy, laughing at Ryouma. "Hot, undead sex? Wouldn't you be afraid bits would fall off?"

"Like your nooooooose! Braaaaaaaiins!" Kiba staggered around the far side.

"Yes, like your nose." Tsume grinned, relaxing again. "Sorry, Coyot, but I don't think zombies are the kind of mystery I should go fo--"

Hana screeched, nearly leaping away from Ryouma and down to the end of the bed, where the puppies began to yap. "KIBA!" she bellowed. "No biting!"

Tsume winced and stood as Hana took care of the problem by snapping a leg out, genin-fast, and heeling her brother in the kidneys.

Kiba staggered with the kick and looked a little stunned. "I'm a zombie!" He twisted, pulling his lips up off of sharply pointed Inuzuka teeth and lunging for Hana's calf.

"Okay, and on that note..." Tsume reached across Ryouma, hooking an arm around Hana's waist and dragging her across the man's legs, to the other side of the bed. She aimed a finger at Kiba. "No biting."

Kiba crossed his arms and sulked.

Her daughter still tucked under her arm, Tsume turned to give Ryouma a wan smile. "I think I'd better take these two home before we get thrown out. You're out of here tonight, right?" She set Hana down, still looking toward the man in the bed, and gave her daughter a push toward the puppies now tussling toward the edge of the mattress. "Pack up your dogs. Let's go."

"But I'm having FUN!" Kiba argued.

Tsume's gaze flicked from Ryouma to her son, sharpening in a single instant to razor-edged under the fall of her hair.

Kiba flung his arms down and stomped around the bed toward his things.

Tsume glanced back at Ryouma, gaze softening again, if remaining wry. "You'll be home tonight, right?" she repeated, just to make sure he wasn't going to be stuck alone in an empty hospital room.

Behind her, Kiba started shoving books violently into his backpack. He banged his lunchbox closed, and when Tsume didn't react, did it again.

One eyebrow twitched upward at Ryouma. She carefully didn't look at her son.

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"I got another healing sessions at 1700," Ryouma said, tapping his cheek beside one of the jagged pink scars. It still kind of hurt. Damnit, the next time someone swung a blunt object at his face--mask or no mask--he wasn't even going to waste time thinking before he kawarimi'd out of there. He knew he'd been lucky to survive it once. And if this was luck, he sure didn't want to see what happened when his luck ran out.

With the kids off him, he could replace the makeshift tray on the table from which he'd sliced it, and then struggle back into his shirt. Hana had managed to cram two of the scuffling puppies back into her knapsack; he rescued the third, and held it out for her. It bit him helpfully. Evidently Kiba wasn't the only one who'd been getting ideas.

"Next time I see you," he warned the dog, as it vanished whining into Hana's knapsack, "I'll be out of bed and awesome again. And you'll pay for that, bucko."

The puppy yelped defiance. Ryouma grinned up at Tsume. "I'll also be much better-looking. Less with the scars, more with the real clothes. Though I guess that hasn't been a problem before."

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Tsume gave a soft huff of laughter, relaxing back into banter and easy teasing, rather than the deeper discussion they'd been heading toward.

She didn't want deeper discussion. That led to relationships where people expected you to share things, and she'd joined ANBU to avoid that. But banter--acquaintances, buddies, she could do that. She was good at that. She was a pro at surface flirting to cover uncertainty, to keep people at bay, even if it meant she had to shoot men down. Eventually they learned she wasn't available.

Even if this one did like her kids.

She tipped her head, trying to hide her smile, and peered at Ryouma. "Coyot, if you manage to remain fully dressed the next time I see you, I think it might be a first."

"You're not supposed to remove your clothes in public," Kiba announced helpfully.

Tsume buried her laugh, eyes twinkling.

Hana eyed Ryouma warily. "No hokey-pokey with my mom! She's a mom."

Tsume did laugh then, turning to her kids. "No one's doing hokey-pokey! Are you packed up?" There was a chorus of 'yes'es and a hurried shuffling of final items into their rucksacks. She turned back to Ryouma, tipping her head and peering at him. "Well," she said at last, her lips tipping up at the corners, "if you don't quite get rid of the scars, you'll still be attractive. Just slightly more rugged." She reached out, taking his chin with her thumb and forefinger to tip his face toward the light. The bone was sharp under warm flesh, strong but angular. Her thumb drifted, sliding along the blade of his jaw, feeling the swell of muscle. "Kind of... piratical." She let go carefully.

"I'm piratical!" Kiba declared.

Tsume smiled and turned. "Of course. Let's go, Pegleg." She reached out and ruffled Kiba's hair, gesturing with her other hand to Hana. As it swung she lifted it, fingers to her nose and inhaling swiftly before dropping it again. People carried scent on their faces, their necks. Her fingertips smelled like heat, like sweat, the tight feeling of a sunburn after spending the day hunting. A touch of danger, the knowledge that it wasn't serious.

It smelled nice.

"I'm gonna be a zombie pirate!"

"You can't be a--bye, Ryouma-san, get well soon!--zombie pirate!" Hana shoved her little brother through the door.

"Can, too! Bye, Ryouma-san!" Kiba poked back around. "Don't forget to buy red paint before you come over! And I'll show you my bedroom! Ma, can I ride Kuromaru?"

"Ask Kuromaru." She turned at the doorway, finally having shepherded both kids, all three puppies, and Kuromaru out. She could hear the loudest two arguing in the hall over who got to ride her familiar up the side of the building. Tsume tuned them out, glancing back one last time to check on the dark haired man in the hospital room. He sat in the middle of a bed by himself, without flowers or cards. But now the room was coated in people scents. The destroyed table sat cockeyed against the wall, the remains of take-out boxes littered the floor, and the blankets rumpled around his legs in disarray.

She smiled. "See you around, Coyot."

"KIBA! No biting!"

"I'm a zombie pirate!"

Tsume shook her head and started down the hall.

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