Tsume turned into the bebriefing room, having heard the conversation as she came down the hall and already smiling at Ryouma's apparent inability to breathe without flirting. "Are you making a date with someone else?" Her eyes twinkled as she strode toward the figure sprawled in one of the chairs, all masculine grace with a lady killer smile.

The chuunin at the desk looked a little crestfallen, then glared at Tsume as if it was her fault.

Tsume bristled at the unspoken hostility, smiling toothily and flinging herself down beside Ryouma, aggressively as non-feminine as the chuunin was delicate. Then she swung her head around to the man, grin softening again into something far more friendly. "Hana will be heartbroken. Back to crushing on the Hyuuga boy for her," she teased, winking. Her already outstretched arm reached a bit farther to brush a gently curved fingernail over one of his cheekbones, sliding carefully across smooth, unscarred skin. "Well, you're not piratical, but hopefully the ladies won't mind." She tipped her head toward the desk without looking at the woman. "You could start a poll."

Annoyance radiated from the desk chuunin.

"Would you vote?" Ryouma angled a smouldering glance sideways from beneath long dark lashes, but the effect was utterly spoiled by his delighted grin. He'd tried to cajole the name of his partner out of the runner who'd given him the mission summons, but apparently this one was an oddity: one agent assigned, one place open for volunteers. All the runner knew was that the other agent would need to be a tracker, which narrowed the field considerably. Of the half-dozen tracking specialists in ANBU, the only two Ryouma knew personally were Kakashi and Tsume. And as much as he wouldn't mind seeing Kakashi alone again, that sort of thing was what got people killed on missions. A few days away from Konoha would give him plenty of time to wiggle answers out of Tsume, too.

"Crushing on a Hyuuga kid's probably just as dangerous," he told her, nodding a welcome to Kuromaru as the great black dog sprawled out at Tsume's feet. "I spent two years in love with one before she broke my heart. 'Course," he added thoughtfully, "she was ten years older and my sensei. Maybe Hana's got a chance."

The girl from Intel coughed. Ryouma switched his smile back to her without missing a beat. "Sorry. Tsume's an old pal of mine. Terrific nose. Awfully chatty, though. You look like you're a girl who likes to get straight to the point, miss..."

"Fumiko," the girl said, just a little breathless. "Kawasaki Fumiko." She must have heard that note in her own voice; she cleared her throat and tried to look stern and professional. "Thank you for joining us, Inuzuka-san."

Oh, sure, he got breathy and she got 'Inuzuka-san.' Tsume buried her annoyance at the desk chuunin. Tick-bit airheaded woodpecker. "I'm going to remain the impartial judge as to whether or not your poll is accurate. And frankly, I'd rather Hana crush on you. At least you're safe. The Hyuuga boy is thirteen." And her tone said exactly what she thought of thirteen year old boys: none of it was flattering.

"Can we start?" Fumiko asked coolly, eyes level on Tsume. Then she flicked her gaze to Ryouma, and it warmed considerably. "I understand you're--" another swift glare at Tsume, "--old pals," and back to Ryouma, "But you're right." She smiled, dimpling. "I'd rather not waste time when there are other things to be doing." The twinkle in her eyes promised those things had nothing to do with missions.

Tsume's eyes narrowed. That little carrier monkey had not just prodded at her age. She was only twenty-eight! Old for ANBU maybe, but... "Do you even bother with dinner first? Or do you just go straight to the... debriefing?"

At her feet, Kuromaru whined and pulled himself forward toward Ryouma, out of the direct line of fire between the two women.

This was better than summer fireworks. If he'd been a few years younger, Ryouma would have been wriggling with delight; as it was, he scratched Kuromaru's ears and tried to breathe without chortling. He wasn't making any interruptions just now.

Unfortunately, the fireworks show didn't need his intervention to fizzle out. Fumiko flushed a lovely shade of pink at Tsume's dig, but she managed to hold her tongue as she shuffled her notes. By the time she drew out a sheet of paper and looked back up, her face was intent, on-duty, as shielded as if she wore a Hunter's mask. Ryouma straightened a little in his chair, automatically.

"For the past six months," Fumiko began without preamble, "bandits have plagued the road between Fujioka, a small market and silk-manufacturing town near the north-eastern border, and Hirai, an equally small port along the coast. Trade and travelers have both been strangled, and the city councils of Fujioka and Hirai have ultimately decided to solve the bandit problem terminally. They want the bandits wiped out as noisily and as spectacularly as possible, so that no one troubles them and their trade again."

"Good plan," Ryouma commented. "But kinda expensive. That's a B-rank mission at best. What're they hiring ANBU for?"

Fumiko selected another sheet of paper from her file. "Tousaki-san, you served along that border during the recent war with Cloud. The mayor of Fujioka claims he was among a group of civilians refugees a Konoha team protected. He was...most impressed by a shinobi using a distinctive technique." Her eyes narrowed slightly, scanning down the paper. Ryouma wondered how descriptive the mayor had been, and if this was the first time Fumiko was really reading that description. He shifted, and put his hands in his pockets.

"Hideki-san requested your jutsu specifically, Tousaki-san," the Intel agent said. "When he was informed that his mission would be assigned to ANBU operatives, he promised to pay the difference out of his own pocket. Since the bandits are operating from an unknown base," she added, her dark eyes shifting up to Tsume for a moment, "a volunteer tracker was also requested. You will receive pay commensurate with a B-rank mission, but with an added bonus for successful completion."

"Meaning messy," Ryouma told Kuromaru. They shared a feral grin.

Tsume caught his scent shift when Fumiko mentioned his jutsu, and angled a sidelong glance at him. With his hands in his pockets, he was still casual. Studiously so. She moved slightly, crossing her arms over her chest and changing her sprawl until the shoulder nearest him touched his, her position giving her a better view of the room. Guarding his back unconsciously, closing ranks against anyone not-Pack.

Then the chuunin was finally done talking, and Tsume grinned at the scent of excitement threading through the room. Kuromaru's pupils dilated, dark taking over all the gold of his iris. She nudged him with her foot, siphoning off the excess glee, and shot Ryouma an edged smile. "You didn't tell me you were already a star. Getting requested for missions and all the rest. How soon can you be ready?" It wasn't quite 'when do you want to leave?' She could smell that; as soon as possible. She agreed.

"Didn't know I was," Ryouma said. That was another good reason for keeping his hands in his pockets; it kept him from bouncing. Someone had asked for him? Three years after the treaty with Cloud, someone remembered him? Sure, the jutsu were memorable--in fact, quite possibly the most awesome (and stomach-turning) thing some small-town mayor had ever seen--but usually it was a shinobi's own comrades who bothered to remember the techniques he'd be using. And this civilian hadn't just remembered; he'd requested.

Ryouma was so going to rub this in Kakashi's face.

He took a moment to consider Tsume's question, mentally reviewing the state of his kit and his gear. The armor damaged on his last mission had been replaced or repaired days ago, and his kit was fully stocked. He might need to pick up a few things from the Quartermaster, depending on the weather forecast and how long the mission was projected to take, and he should probably scrounge up an extra supply of energy bars and soldier pills. Other than that... "Half an hour," he said. "Tops."

They weren't quite ready to charge off into the distance yet, though. "What info do we have on the bandits?" he asked.

"They're well-armed and well-organized," Fumiko said promptly. "A few caravans have tried passing through with shinobi guards, and they've taken heavy losses. Hideki-san estimates at least a dozen bandits, possibly a couple of former shinobi. One merchant hired a chuunin team from Kumogakure. All four of them were slaughtered." She pulled a folded document out of the file and held it out. "We've prepared a map of the area, with all the locations of specific attacks marked."

Her serious dark gaze softened a little. "Go and come back safely, ANBU-san."

Tsume couldn't decide if she was annoyed at the woman for making Ryouma self-conscious about his jutsu (and calling her old), or glad to see the chuunin's gaze soften at him despite it.

Either way, something unpleasant tickled just under her ribcage. She pushed her chair back with a screech of legs against tile, earning a glare from the chuunin. Indecision about whether to feel kindly toward her or not fled. Tsume glared right back.

Black-faced wolf save her from imbeciles. She shoved to her feet and turned to look at Ryouma, her back to the other woman, and muttered, "You need to get more... information?" She smirked, burying her annoyance in a sharp-edged smile. "Should I plan on leaving later than half an hour from now? Maybe I have time for a nap."

Kuromaru heaved a sigh and stood. "Can we please get moving? All this talking is giving me indigestion."

"Think your lady has it already," Ryouma told the dog. He kept one thoughtful eye on Tsume as he accepted the map from the Intel girl with a brief and sincere thanks. Flirting, and its attendant pleasant activities, would wait for his return. Right now his mission partner--the woman on whom his life might shortly depend--was far more important.

"What's with all the interest in my sex life?" he teased her as they left the briefing room. "I'm pretty sure you're not just looking out for Hana. Change of heart? Or does impending death just make you tetchy?"

Tsume hesitated, giving a snort to cover the itch between her shoulder blades at the thought of being interested in anyone's sex life. "Coyot, if I'm interested in your sex life, it's only to make sure you're not gonna bleed diseases on me." She paused, leaned over, and sniffed dramatically. Despite her teasing body language, it gave her a headful of information--one of which was a lack of illness. She grinned up at him. "So far, no worries. I'm gonna grab my gear. Meet you at the gates in thirty!"

Exiting didn't change the subject, exactly, but it sure brought it to an end.

Two days later, sex and fish were the only subjects on Ryouma's mind.

He probably should have been thinking about the mission, too--they'd stopped for the night barely twenty miles away from Fujioka, ten miles from the site of the latest bandit attacks--but he'd never been much for over-strategizing, and with twilight falling fast, there wasn't much they could do until morning. What he could do was tickle them some dinner out of the deep stream near their campsite. Even at the end of February, the water ran too swift to freeze, although it certainly felt frigid enough to Ryouma's skin. Still, the streams in the mountains of north-eastern Fire Country had been colder even in summer, and those icy streams were where Ryouma had learned to fish with his bare hands.

He knelt on the streambank where a rocky ledge shadowed the eddying water below, one ungloved hand dripping wet and slowly freezing despite the heated chakra circulating through his pathways. Frostbite and hypothermia were both ugly words; he thought about Fumiko from Intel instead, and the likelihood of scoring with her once he got back to Konoha with another 'Mission accomplished' glowing on his records. She'd certainly been warm enough, even in the face of Tsume's sharp-edged teasing. Likely her bed was even warmer.

And there was Kakashi, who'd listened to him babble about trout tickling, and who'd said there could be a next time...

There! The edge of a fin cut into the shadow under the rock and wavered, resting there. Ryouma hunkered down a little more and slipped his hand into the water under the rock, curled with the fingers up. He brushed the trout's tail, and before it could startle, he began gently tickling with his forefinger. The quicksilver muscles relaxed; the fish hovered against his hand as he gradually ran his dancing fingers along the belly towards the gills. With one deft movement, he hooked two fingers into the gills and flipped the fish out of the water to join its three comrades on the bank.

Kuromaru pounced, stunning the fish with a heavy paw. Dog and man shared a triumphant grin. "Good enough," Ryouma decided, wasting a little more chakra to dry his arm. He gutted the fish with the same kunai he'd used on the others, wiped the blade clean on the grass, and then pushed himself to his feet. "You want yours now or later?"

"Later, I suppose," Kuromaru said forlornly. "Not supposed to eat raw fish." He nosed the trout, but his head jerked up as Ryouma made to toss the offal into the water. "I can eat that!"

"You're worse than some twelve-year-old boys I know," Ryouma informed him, but he dropped the bloody handful back on the flat piece of shale they'd been using for a platter. "So what d'you think about Fumiko? Good odds if I get back okay, right?"

Kuromaru licked his chops, front feet dancing just a little as he watched the fish remains slog into a pile on the rock. "Well, she wasn't in heat, but she did smell like sex," he offered, tongue lolling out happily. This was much easier hunting than he and Tsume ever did, and it was a lot more like playing to jump on trout rather than bite through bone. They were almost like toys, twisting and flopping all over. "Maybe if you brought her a fish...?" His tail wagged.

"Oi!" The first raindrops knicked through the sky, a forerunner of the storm the clouds promised, as Tsume picked her way toward them. "You guys have any luck?"

"We caught fish." Kuromaru howled, tipping his head up and letting the words dissolve into yipping.

Tsume looked at him for a moment, then snorted. "You need to run laps or something, pup." But she laughed anyway, glancing over the little pile of trout Ryouma and her familiar had caught. Her eyebrows rose. "I need to get some more wood," she said, and turned to wander off, gathering what dry fuel she could find before the rain came in earnest and soaked her attempts at a camper's coal-stove.

Kuromaru bounced sideways and back again, saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth and turning into foam with excitement. "I don't think giving Tsume a fish will work. She already expects one. Maybe if you found blackberries? She likes blackberries." His tongue lolled. His tail wagged. He had eyes only for the silvery trout.

Blackberries? It needed to be July now. "Too bad they're out of season," Ryouma said, scuffing the last few bloody scraps into the dirt. He frowned down at his fish corpses. "I got a raspberry-and-yogurt energy bar; think that'll work?" It was kinda girly, but that was why he'd bought it at the corner store before they left Konoha, along with the normal chocolate and peanut butter and oatmeal-raisin ones. There wasn't much about Tsume that was girly, but he'd figured he'd give it a try anyway.

And there were three things very wrong with that line of thinking, Tsume's stand-offishness being the least of them. Ryouma headed back towards their campsite through the thick woods, puzzling it out as Kuromaru danced around him. "Wait, so. Just to get things clear, I don't do sex on missions. Too many problems down that road. But... Tsume's shot me down every time I've even hinted at offering. And now you're saying I could change her mind with blackberries? You know something I don't?"

"I know lots of things you don't," Kuromaru reassured him. He leaped alongside Ryouma, making more upward movement than forward, beating the bushes that they passed with his tail. "But no one's ever given Tsume blackberries. Maybe that would work." He wasn't really paying attention, more interested in the smell of fish wafting on the storm-laden air. The cold bothered him not at all; when the wind picked up he ruffled his coat once, letting the cool air in, and danced around in front of Ryouma.

"Yeah, I bet," Ryouma muttered. A raindrop smacked him in the face; another raised goose-bumps on his bare shoulder. He'd left his traveling cloak with the rest of his gear at the campsite; its waterproofing wouldn't have helped him much with trout-tickling, but he missed it now. He lengthened his stride, then broke into a jog. Kuromaru seemed perfectly happy to bound alongside.

Tsume wasn't there when he ducked under the massive limbs of an ancient pine into the tree-cave where they'd pitched their tiny two-man tent, but a fire crackled briskly in a little ring of stones, sheltered by the branches from the raindrops that were now beginning to fall thick and fast. The pine's spreading boughs dissipated the smoke as well. From ten meters away, not even a ninja who knew what he was looking for would be able to see their camp.

Of course, that was partly due to the low-level genjutsu Ryouma had set along with the other traps guarding the perimeter of their campsite. Tsume and Kuromaru had reported the area clear of any human presence for five miles in any direction; Ryouma hoped they were right. The rain looked ready to keep up all night, and fighting in a thunderstorm didn't even break the top ten of his favorite ways to spend the night. Especially after he'd spent the whole day running.

He left the scouting--and the excited bouncing--to Kuromaru, and concentrated on threading the fish mouth-first onto a set of sharpened sticks, then tenting them over the flames. The offal-laden rock he set as near to the coals as he could manage, where reflected heat might bake it. Then he dug his cloak out of the tent, wrapped it around his goose-pimpled shoulders, and tried to figure out if Kuromaru was serious about the blackberries.

Granted, Kuromaru probably picked up his lady friends by sniffing their tails. His advice was questionable at best.

"Dammit," Ryouma growled, poking the fire with a handy stick. "I wish she'd just told me."

"Told you what?" Kuromaru stared at the offal as if he could make it cook faster, laying on his belly with his head on his front paws. His tail cleared a swath of ground behind him, needles and sticks catching in the thick fur. He lifted his head and looked at Ryouma. "About the blackberries? I don't think it's that important." Then he turned back to the fish guts and glared at them some more. "You think fire jutsu would make them cook faster? I bet it would. Can you do fire jutsu? I haven't had anything to eat all day." Big, mournful eyes looked up at Ryouma, massive ears flicking back. It was hard to look pitiful when you were as big and frightening as Kuromaru, but he did his very best.

"I can do fire jutsu," Ryouma agreed. "I'm really good at charring things to cinders."

Though you could always modify the strength and destructive power of any given jutsu...

He rocked forward on his heels, flexing his cold fingers in the fire's warmth. "Got one that could work, though, if I combine fire and water jutsu and heat the fluids inside. You wanna tell me why Tsume keeps pretending she's not attracted to me while I do it?"

And why Hana doesn't know her father's name, he thought, but he'd lead up to that later.

Kuromaru sat straight up when Ryouma threatened to turn his food to cinders, but since Ryouma was apparently joking--that wasn't funny at all--he relaxed again, ears swiveling back at the question. "I'm sure she doesn't pretend that. But you can ask." It was the best he could think of on short notice. Canines weren't known for their lying abilities, even though he'd made Tsume practice.

"Ask who what?" The subject of their conversation stepped into the tree-cave, dropping an armful of wood on the ground and glancing up to be sure the sparks weren't rising into the pine. That wasn't the sort of excitement they needed on this mission--and with the genjutsu, she couldn't tell if there was fire until she was inside their camp. Luckily, Ryouma hadn't included scent in the illusion; Tsume had been able to follow her own back.

Kuromaru's ears slicked further back. "Why you pretend you're not attracted to Ryouma."

He had to give his familiar credit; her scent spiked with alarm, but the expression didn't cross her face--not other than her eyebrows rising, and a glance from him to Ryouma and back again.

Then she gave a laughing snort and dropped into a loose sprawl near the trunk of the tree. "You're very attractive, Ryouma. Doesn't mean I'm gonna mount you. If you prefer, though, I can pretend that I will, and then shoot you down." Her gaze pinned Kuromaru next, and he could smell her tension over the sap-scent, see the annoyance in her eyes. "You gossip too much."

He whined. "We brought you fish." His tail wagged twice, hopefully, and he was rewarded with a wry smile.

"Not sure how I'm supposed to prefer a crushed ego," Ryouma said, but he couldn't make his voice quite light, either. Tsume's face was so carefully expressionless--raised brows expressing mild disbelief, mouth relaxing into a smile only after Kuromaru offered a clumsy attempt at placation--that there had to be some emotion boiling beneath the surface. What signals was Kuromaru's nose picking up that Ryouma's couldn't? How close to the edge was he standing?

He'd never made any claims to be a strategist, but he'd spent years planning raids and spy operations with no hope of back-up and no second chances if his team failed. There was a time and a place for recklessness, and it was in the field, where the best-laid plans fell to pieces anyway. But if you hadn't scouted out your territory first--if you went in blind--that wasn't just recklessness. That was suicide.

So what was he supposed to do when Tsume refused to allow him to remove the blindfold?

He could make Kuromaru happy, for one thing. His chakra lay low after a long day running, but he dredged up enough to mold a water jutsu with a hot twist of fire. The fish entrails steamed faintly as he stretched his hands out over them. After a few seconds, the slimy pink entrails began to turn pale. He waited until they were bubbling at the edges, and then cut off the chakra flow and pulled his hands away. "Don't burn yourself," he told Kuromaru, before he finally looked up at Tsume.

"I'm not pushing for anything right now," he said. "Easiest way to get distracted on a mission."

Misao had, after all.

He shoved the old pain down; five years should be more than enough time to learn from her mistake and move on. "Just--when we get back to Konoha, why not give me a chance?" Or at least tell me why you won't. Let me stop hoping.

Fumiko was gorgeous, and warm, and friendly. He was pretty sure she'd look forward to his return. So why couldn't he think of her when Tsume was around?

People normally took a hint. Backed off when she made things as clear as she had. Gave up without a fight, because it was easier than getting crushed--and it took bravery to even push far enough to get a no. Bravery or alcohol, and Ryouma had none of the latter. Tsume's smile faltered, no practiced outs coming easily because people didn't push that hard. Except this one was.

Kuromaru stopped blowing on his food, a careful and difficult thing to do when you had a muzzle rather than lips, and looked from one of them to the other.

Tsume twisted her head, lifting one hand and scratching rapidly behind her ear. She stopped, quelling the nervous twitch. "I just..." she just what? Didn't want to? Which would beg the question why, if he really wanted to push. She tried to think up another lie to follow the first and couldn't. "It's--not a good idea." She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth, head still twisted to one side; blatantly refusing to make eye contact, like a dog who felt if they just ignored it, it might go away.

Kuromaru whined, then stood up, gaze flicking anxiously between the two. His head bobbed, then dropped like a stalker.

"How's your fish?" Tsume asked him, distracting him before he could associate Ryouma with problem.

He nosed at the guts again and relaxed. "Good."

"Eat up."

He lay back down and started tearing at them, taking tiny nibbles to keep from burning his tongue.

Maybe that would work on more than just one male. Tsume pointed to the other trout. "Those done yet?"

"No," Ryouma said, without even glancing at the fish. "Why isn't it a good idea? Is it because of Yasuo?" Tsume had mentioned her son's father a few times, but never with any degree of warmth. She didn't wear a wedding ring; she didn't back away from spending her time with single men; she lived with her dog in an apartment in HQ. None of that pointed towards a committed relationship, especially when she'd as much as told him already that she wasn't interested in commitment.

But if Yasuo wasn't the problem, the other options were pretty limited.

Tsume ignored the first question in favor of the second, her head startling up to make eye contact again. "Yasuo? Why would Yasuo matter?" It was only after the words were out of her mouth that she realized it had been an excuse. She could have said yes. Her jaw tightened, frustration knotting her muscles. Her thoughts backpedaled, trying to find a way to make that work, but it was entirely too late. She scrubbed at her hair and stared at Kuromaru, who was staring back at her, mouth full of fish offal.

...Apparently it was one of the other options. Ryouma poked at the cleared dirt by the fire-ring with a stick and chewed over an answer. "Sounded like he's a pretty big part of your kids' lives. You never said how much space he's got in yours."

He snapped the stick in half and tossed the broken ends into the fire. "If it's not him, though, that just leaves me and you." His mouth quirked as he glanced up at her. "I been turned down before, plenty of times. Usually I get a reason. If I try to come up with 'em on my own, they keep getting crazier. Like you're scared of guys, only I know that's not true. Or maybe you just got a problem with sex, but you got two kids so that doesn't work either." There was the issue of Hana's father, but he still didn't know enough there to do more than guess at an explanation. And right now wasn't the best time to start guessing on that.

Panic squeezed tight around her lungs for a moment, and then she realized he wasn't accusing. He was dismissing.

It was a line of thought that needed to be dropped. She'd tensed, eyes snapping up to watch him from under her fall of hair, half expecting some sort of challenge to go with the words. It was an effort to make herself relax, to sprawl back against the tree and look at him squarely and coolly. Her voice held the barest glimmer of a growl, and if there was a tremble in the tips of her fingers, it was almost invisible.

"Why does it matter? Or are you one of these guys who doesn't take no for an answer?" She tipped her chin up, showing her throat in an instinctive baiting motion; he wasn't strong enough to concern her. "I hadn't thought that of you, but I've misjudged before." It wasn't fair. It wasn't true--not about him, she knew that. She threw it out there anyway, flinging the words like a challenge. Pick the fight. Suddenly, nothing was more important than making him stop thinking about it. Not even him, and she was sorry if she ruined things--she'd thought he could be a good friend. But that was why she'd come to ANBU anyway. To keep from making friends.

She didn't need them. They wanted too much. Much more than she could give.

That stung--maybe even more than she'd meant it to. Ryouma flung his head up, taking the challenge before he could stop himself. Before he could want to stop himself. The cords sprang out on his throat and wrists as jaw and fists clenched. Tsume was just lashing out blindly, same as he'd been poking around without any real knowledge of her triggers; she didn't mean it the way it sounded, didn't mean--

Screw what she meant. "If you really thought that," he ground out, "I'd be asking Kuromaru here to rip my throat out. Melt it out myself, and spare him the trouble. Dammit, woman, d'you--"

She didn't know. Couldn't know what it meant to be a child in a world that saw children as prey, how it felt to fight with no hope of either victory or death. Even as a child she'd been strong, alpha, armed with teeth and claws and protected by a clan that cared. If she'd ever had to say No, she had a hulking wolf-dog and a mouthful of fangs to make her point. Just like she could make it now.

He found his breath, somewhere, and fought to hold it. "I'll take no," he said, very quietly, "if you say it." His voice hit its bass depths and bottomed out.

The fish were beginning to burn.

She'd coiled when he tensed, when the smell of pain and anger flooded the little area under the tree. The silence after he spoke was broken by the crackling of the fire and Kuromaru's low, deadly growl. Tsume took a deep breath through her nose, filtering scents as unconsciously as others read bodily cues, filling the gaps in her knowledge. Her gaze caught and held Ryouma's, and though her voice wasn't deep it held the faint echo of a wolf's growl. "No." A fine drizzle pattered against the leaves far above.

Her head barely moved, eyes twitching to her familiar. "Down."

He looked at her, looked at Ryouma, and growled once more.

"Down!" The growl vanished, replaced by a snarl.

His ears flattened back and he whipped around, snapping at her in turn, the hair along his ruff rising in a wave. Tsume bared her teeth, and for a tense moment they stood, caught in the smell of anger and pain and emotional blood. Then Kuromaru ducked his head, hackles lowering slightly, and looked away.

Tsume relaxed back against the tree, carefully not looking at Ryouma. He was hurt, and she couldn't blame him though she didn't know why it had hit that hard, but other than offer the truth she could think of no way to make it right.

She wasn't going to offer the truth.

She offered the next best thing, pulling the fish off the fire and peeling blackened skin off with the tips of her nails. Standing, she circled the little pit. Rain began outside in earnest. It hammered down against the forest canopy, starting to fight its way toward the ground. She held out one of the fish, not quite looking at Ryouma. "Can we drop this, now?" Her voice was quiet.

And if the tips of her fingers were still trembling, she held the stake far too tightly to tell.

That wasn't an explanation. But he hadn't asked for one, after all. He'd asked for a flat denial, and she'd given it.

He couldn't do anything but take the fish, and take her answer with it.

"I figured two of 'em for Kuromaru," he said dully, crumbling a charred fin. A raindrop worked its way through the pine branches and splattered on the back of his neck; he flinched, swore, and tugged his traveling cloak higher around his ears. The trout tasted of ashes and nothing else. He tore at it anyway, and wished he had an excuse for a soldier pill.

He had the energy bars, at least. He dug two out without looking at wrappers and flipped one towards Tsume. He'd ended up with peanut butter, he saw when he ripped his own package open.

Tsume had the raspberry one.

She looked at the bar in her hands in mild confusion. "Don't you know these things will kill you?" She glanced at Ryouma, sitting by the edge of the fire, cloak muffling broad shoulders and strong muscles in oil-skin folds. He looked...

She didn't want to think about it. She dug through her kit, finally finding what she was searching for and returning to crouch in front of Ryouma. Her stance brought her eye level with him; no lower. She didn't think about the fact that it was her fault he smelled like salt air and dead sparrows. She didn't think about losing still more friends before they were even made. Didn't think about pushing people away, hurting them until they stopped asking questions.

She didn't think about Genma and Raidou finding out and--

It had been a genjutsu. But that didn't mean it was wrong.

She didn't think about Kiba crying because Ryouma smelled sad, or spending three long years learning how to mask her own reaction to someone else's scent, or Ryouma's easy smiles wiped out by careless words she hadn't meant.

She thought about blueberries out of season, and her mother's quiet insistence that alpha was never to mean bully, that even if you could, it didn't mean you should. It meant being extra careful of the people around you, and healing injuries they couldn't heal themselves. It especially meant listening when your beta told you that you were wrong, and even if Ryouma wasn't her beta, couldn't ever be her beta because it meant emotional intimacy and friendship and she couldn't do that--

He was, here in this group, among these ninja she'd claimed as Pack, the closest thing she had. Even if no one said so out loud, posture and scent were obvious if you looked. And now, he was hurting.

Tsume held out a little baggie of nuts and dried berries, and offered an uncertain smile. "Granted, you can live on energy bars, but..." Her smile faded. "I'm sorry." The words were slow, hesitant, not something she was used to saying. "I didn't think--" and that was the problem, wasn't it? She gave a bitter little laugh. If she could think, if she could lie faster, she could avoid things like this. He couldn't smell a lie. "I don't think, Ryouma. You and I, we'd kill each other before a week was out. And with Yasuo--it's complicated."

She looked over his shoulder, out at the forest, wishing this were easier. Wishing it didn't make her jaw tighten to lie even that much, wishing she didn't have to try and distract again.

Wishing she could twist things back ten minutes, and avoid all of it. Because telling him was never an option, but not hurting him could have been.

"Life's complicated," Ryouma murmured, but he took the little plastic bag anyway. It held some sort of trail mix, almonds and peanuts and dried blueberries and raisins, real fruit in place of the mechanically pre-chewed bits of artificial sweeteners and preservatives that went into his energy bars. He took a bite of his own peanut butter bar anyway, and chased it with a couple of almonds and a raisin.

Can we drop this? she'd asked, and then followed it up with a fumbling attempt at an explanation, a kinder version of Let's just be friends. And it wasn't that he couldn't take a rejection, or that he didn't know how to handle being shot down--it'd happened before, plenty of times, and Hitomi-sensei had been blunter and crueler than Tsume would ever let herself be. It was the secret gnawing at him, the pain she wouldn't share. Sometimes there are things that would only hurt other people, and those you should keep to yourself... What had happened to her, to leak that pain into her eyes?

Why did he want to fix it? What could possibly make him arrogant enough to believe that he could?

He twitched his shoulders again as a sodden branch tipped its burden of raindrops onto his head and down his neck. "Life's damn cold, too. You reckon the bandits are out in this, or have they gone to ground? We got any chance of tracking 'em tomorrow?"

She took a deep breath and relaxed when he changed the subject, pushing herself to her feet and stepping away. Finding her seat, she settled back in and pulled her oilskin cloak up, trying to stay dry if not warm.

"They've got a large enough group that all it'd take is getting close enough to scent their camp." Which wasn't actually as easy as all that, but it was easier than finding one or two ninja hiding. "If we can't find them, I'm sure we'll think of something else." She slouched, relaxing a little more against the bole of the tree. He still looked unhappy, still smelled like salt air, though the touch of dead sparrow was less. And he wasn't asking questions.

They could soothe things enough to be buddies. A buddy was all she wanted, really. Someone to have fun with, who wouldn't get too close. There were other ANBU who might fill that spot, but... she liked Ryouma.

Kuromaru whined softly. He pushed up to a sitting position, tipped his head back, and howled. It wove through the drizzle and tapered off, softer than a contact call or a wolf marking their space. A little painful, a little mournful, a little confused.

Tsume stretched out one leg and ran her boot over his hip. He shifted closer and laid down again, resting his muzzle on his oversized paws. She had a friend, even if he wasn't human and was covered in fur. All she really needed was a buddy.

The conversation turned strictly business after that, melding idle speculation and more serious planning. Ryouma outlined a grandiose plan for how exactly this mission ought to go, including the heroic rescue of a beleagured merchant caravan, gallons of bloodshed, an overwhelmingly grateful town (with a whole troop of starry-eyed and scantily-clad young women), free steak dinners, and tomorrow night's lodging in the town's best inn, with feather beds and waterproof ceilings.

Tsume snorted, but offered a few of her own contributions. A ride home in a palanquin carried on the shoulders of the town's highest civic authorities. Contracts for starring roles in a new television series. (Kuromaru perked up at that.) A temple built in the honor of the bandit-slayers.

Ryouma figured he'd probably be all right with being worshipped as a god.

The storm didn't slacken. By the time Ryouma put out the fire and Kuromaru crawled inside the tiny tent to rearrange the bedrolls to his personal satisfaction, the rain was pounding down harder than ever. Cold, wet, and thoroughly exhausted, Tsume and Ryouma stripped off their armor, hung their wet cloaks over the tent's rain-fly, and tried their best to get comfortable in a space that claimed it could hold two men, was built for one and a half short women, and currently held one tall man, one woman, and one monster dog.

Two hours later, Ryouma was considering homicide. Or, given that he'd have to deal with Kuromaru afterwards, just taking the easy way out and killing himself.

Sure, he fidgeted when he was bored, juggled rocks or smoke bombs, played with kunai, flirted out of pure compressed energy. But he didn't twitch in his sleep. And he didn't wake every half hour to stick his head out the tent flap, swear at the steady rain still sheeting down, then retreat inside to shake his wet head and twitch some more. They'd run from dawn to near dusk, at a loping pace that ate up the miles and their energy. How was she still restless? How was he ever going to get some sleep?

The third time Tsume crawled back into her blankets, tucked her arm under her head, and started mindlessly jiggling her foot and tapping her fingers against the tent floor, Ryouma ran out of patience. He rolled over, threw one long leg over hers, and flattened her hand under his palm. "If you're that antsy, you can head out and find the bandits right now. If you're not planning on that, can we sleep?"

Most nights weren't so bad. Most nights she wasn't stuck in a tent with a man who'd been asking questions, dragging up memories she didn't want to think about. Most nights she didn't fall into dreams about being pinned and teammates turning on her.

Most nights were much better. And then he trapped her.

She knew it was him. Had been smelling him for what seemed like hours, while the rain poured down outside, penning them in. It was that knowledge that kept her perfectly still rather than striking out when the side of his knee pressed down across hers, one hand over her fingers. Her heart stuttered up into her throat and stayed there for a sickening moment while her mind played through dark and trapped--nothing--body over her and teammates attacking--nothing, while it played through nothing.

On her other side, as close to the door flap as he could get, Kuromaru looked up as her scent changed. He growled, low and soft in the back of his throat.

Tsume lifted her free hand, making a cutting gesture at him. The growl subsided. His light eyes blinked in the almost total darkness. Her fidgeting had stopped, finally. Nearly everything had stopped. Her gaze switched toward Ryouma, a shape in the darkness outlined against the paler fog of the tent. She started to tense, and relaxed. Closed her eyes and focused on the smell; Ryouma and wet dog and forest.

"Yeah, okay, sleep," she muttered, hand curling into a claw underneath his. "Would you move over? You're hot." He was too big. She needed him off.

Under normal circumstances, that comment would've been the easiest thing in the world to respond to. Even under circumstances of exhausted and irritable, he could've drawled back the expected retort without a thought. But he wasn't so exhausted that he didn't remember the conversation they'd fought their way through only a few hours ago, or that he couldn't feel the tension thrumming through her, the way her calf-muscles tightened to run and her knuckles knotted up, the way her breath caught and her reply came far too late. The way Kuromaru's soft growl scraped against Ryouma's bones.

Something was very wrong, there.

Ryouma pulled hand and leg back and pushed himself up on his elbow, staring down at her. His night-vision was good, but even so he couldn't see her face as more than a paler blotch in the tangled shadows of her hair. Kuromaru was all inky night on her other side. Not even teeth gleamed in the darkness.

"Sleep," Ryouma said. "Right. Like hell. I know damn well you're not touch-shy and you weren't asleep. What was up with that?"

He was looming. Tsume dug shaking heels into the ground, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

She could feel Kuromaru's regard, intent and steady, waiting for some sort of signal to either attack or back off. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension out, trying to cast off the tickle of fear. She'd spent years spinning half-truths and fog around her history, though Ryouma never seemed to believe them as easily as others did. "What was up with what? Crotchticks in a wet zone, pup, you like getting laid on when you think your mission partner's sleeping?" If her voice was a little too fast, a little too sharp, it covered the tremor.

Though it hadn't worked before, she leveled a glare at where she thought his face was, letting ire seep through into her chakra. Memory and nightmare shifted and swirled, and she grew more, rather than less, tense. He was too close. He asked too many questions. She needed him to back off.

"I don't mind getting laid any time," Ryouma said, but the teasing note rang hollow. She was pissed, and voice and chakra and body all bristled with her anger. Was it because he really had startled her, or because of something else? She should've known he was awake; his attempts at dozing had grown less successful the more she fidgeted, and for the past quarter hour he'd been doing some thrashing of his own as he sought to get comfortable and get to sleep in a tent that was three inches too short. Maybe she'd had a nightmare, and that was why she couldn't stay still. Maybe she didn't actually sleep. Maybe she turned into one of those man-eating demons at night, and if she went to sleep she'd transform and bite his face off...

Maybe she was just nervous. Tomorrow morning, if the rain let up, they'd be within striking distance of the first attack site. Tomorrow, if they were lucky, they'd be fighting. But she was a veteran, wasn't she? It couldn't just be mission nerves.

It could be something to do with the conversation she'd so forcefully cut off at dinner. She'd said No; did she really not believe he'd accepted it? He pulled back a little, as far as he could in the bare two feet of space the crowded tent allowed him. It didn't get either of them outside of the other's personal space, but at least they weren't touching anymore.

"So why aren't you sleeping?" he demanded, and hoped the worry hadn't seeped into his voice.

He didn't smell angry. A little tired, a little annoyed, a little... something her mind shied away from. He didn't smell angry, and she couldn't get angry back.

He had, however, moved away. Even the few inches seemed like a blessing, like she could breathe again. Like he wasn't attacking.

"I--" She stopped, uncertain how to answer. Tsume lifted a hand and scrubbed it through her hair, then paused to scratch with short, sharp movements behind her ear. She could spin him a true explanation, about a mission gone badly and genjutsu she didn't want to talk about. If she said she didn't want to talk about it, she thought he might actually listen.

It was with some surprise she realized she didn't really want to lie. She was tired, and it was hard. But she didn't want to bring up anything close to the truth--one truth led to another, and they all led to questions. She took a breath and looked down. "I don't sleep well. Most Inuzuka don't, anyway. Too used to patrolling. And the rain makes it impossible to scent. S'like being crotch-rotting blind," she added in a frustrated growl, a growl that had nothing to do with being scentblind.

Her shoulders hunched slightly as she waited to see if another question would drop. Rain pattered on their tent.

Kuromaru whined and put his head on his paws, his chakra ebbing as the possible fight passed by.

It was true enough that she hadn't been so fidgety last night, before the storm broke. Last night they'd stayed in a tiny little inn in some forgotten town, and they'd had futons laid a good three feet away from each other and hot baths that had relaxed Ryouma enough to fall asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Camping in this tiny tent was so far on the other side of comfortable that it didn't even register. Especially with the rain pattering through the pine boughs, falling hard and heavy on the tent roof and the ground below.

"Okay," he said. Somewhere in the exhausted frustration he found a thin note of soothing. "Stressed, yeah, I get that." Her nervous twitching would have told him that even if he hadn't touched muscles like live wires. "But you gotta sleep sometime. I gotta sleep sometime. And sure, the rain's a pain, but who needs to see with their eyes closed anyway?" Horrible metaphor. He spent a moment trying to untangle that himself before his fuzzed brain gave up and moved on.

"Look," he said. "I slept outside before, plenty of times. And it's not too bad where the trees are thick. I can pull out if you want, leave you the tent." And quite possibly freeze to death between the icy rain and his wet cloak, but he could always light a fire, even with wood too wet for anything but a jutsu to burn. "It's only..." He scrounged in a pocket, pulled out his watch. "Six hours till dawn."

It was an idiot offer, and he hoped like hell she wouldn't take him up on it. But if she did... Well, he owed her that much. And sleeping in the rain had never killed him before.

The space he'd given her before felt like a gulf suddenly. She hadn't meant to chase him out of the tent, hadn't meant to push him so far away he'd pull back entirely.

She never meant it, but it had to happen. She pressed against Kuromaru, needing the touch of something. The nearness that she'd grown up with--collapsing asleep in a tangle of human and canine limbs, the easy hugs and teasing bumps of friends and family, knowing how someone felt by the scent that came off on your hands and arms and clothes--it was gone, and by her choice, but that didn't change the fact that she needed it no matter how much she tried to pretend she didn't.

She liked touch. Giving it and getting it and curling up next to living things, the casual touch of friends and the comfort of another being. She kept trying to go without it, trying to convince herself that she didn't need it like she needed to breathe, and then here came Ryouma with his easy smiles and amazing smell and stupid unspoken promises...

And he'd pulled away. It was good. She'd wanted him to. And now she wanted him back in a way she hadn't wanted anyone who wasn't family in years. Eleven years and seven months. Instead he was offering to go outside.

She could at least stop that; keep him from going out in the cold. "No, don't be a moon-faced pup," she muttered, knowing full well he'd freeze without either extra body heat or fur. "Even Kuromaru isn't sleeping outside. It's not a place for humans."

"And don't think I'm heading outside, either," Kuromaru growled.

Tsume nudged him before plucking at his coat. He was shedding; spring was a distant thought still, but his body was already gearing up for it.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Ryouma admitted, forcing a grin he hoped she could hear in the darkness. It widened into a yawn that tipped his head back into the sloping tent wall. Water soaked through instantly to dampen his hair. "Dammit!"

Field tents this size were eminently practical and superbly portable. The tent body would fold up into a packet the size of his doubled fists; the poles were fresh-cut from whippy willow shoots, and the rain-fly and ground-cloth were made of waterproofed silk. Unfortunately, while the folded tent took up less packing space than a handful of energy bars, it seemed to have scarcely more room inside it. And it wasn't just the addition of an enormous dog that caused the problem. Ryouma was pretty certain he was at least five centimeters longer than the inside of the tent, and his cramped curl was so different from his usual loose-limbed sprawl that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep well even if Tsume were lying still.

Maybe that was part of Tsume's problem, too. Too many limbs in too tight a space would make anyone restless--especially an elite ninja who'd made paranoia a way of life. Ryouma's personal space extended more to his possessions and less to his person, but even he wasn't always immune to that thin thread of discomfort down his spine that came from sleeping too close and too defenseless. Tsume was presumably as much of a pro at it as he was, given her kids and the men who'd fathered them, but that didn't guarantee anything. The guys you thought were stable were the ones who never gave you any warning when they broke. And Tsume had already given him plenty of warning.

So he grumbled, "Tent's too damn small," and flopped down on his back again, folding his arms behind his head. His bent knees brushed the roof of the tent. He could probably give Tsume even more space if he turned on his side, but he wasn't sure he wanted to put his back to her yet.

Tsume gave a tense chuckle, a single exhale of air as she leaned against Kuromaru's bulk. "Maybe it's not so bad being short," she said, watching Ryouma attempt to get comfortable in a space not really meant for his size. She shoved against Kuromaru, trying to make him smaller. Kuromaru whined and got up, skulking around until he could twist into a ball at her feet. She eyed him, knowing he'd uncurl during the night, eventually pinning Ryouma's ankles if Ryouma didn't flail at it, and shoving her into a smaller corner. But maybe if she pulled her legs up, one arm under her head, whole body serpentining to give the canine room, on her side... well, maybe they'd all manage some shut-eye.

"Tomorrow night, if it's still raining," Kuromaru growled, "I'm finding a cave."

"Good idea. You could find one tonight." The door flap was to her back. She rolled onto her spine so both Ryouma and the door was in sight, now that Kuromaru wasn't in front of it, and put her feet on the canine's ribs.

"Watch your heels."

"I'm--this is stupid," Tsume grumbled. "Kuromaru, get back up next to the door. Wind will cancel out body heat."

"And you'll stop trying to lay on me?" He heaved himself up, glowering at her as he shuffled around, the thin sides of the tent bulging away from him alarmingly.

"Yes. Lie down."

He did so, Tsume curled onto her side again, and quiet settled. She made a concentrated effort not to fidget. She listened to the rain outside, and tried not to listen to Ryouma's breathing, and heard the quiet snuffles as Kuromaru scent-checked. Eventually, long after Ryouma's exhalations evened out, she drifted off to dreams of friends who weren't, and family who refused to touch.

Ryouma had shared his sleeping-space before, plenty of times. There'd been cold nights on the streets, when the blankets were too thin and the shelter too poor and the only way to find any warmth was in a shivering tangle of forgotten children. There'd been bloody nights on missions, when teammates too drained or injured to find their own beds curled up against each other in silent assurance that they were still living men, not stiffening corpses. There'd been glorious nights in bed with girls who offered and asked for nothing but pleasure, when sweat-slick flesh molded to his and gentle breathing lulled him to sleep. And even for a ninja whose survival lay rooted in his instincts and whose chakra always remained faintly coiled and watching even when he lay dead to the world, he was pretty damn good at remembering whom he'd gone to bed with and where he'd be when he woke up.

The problem started when chakra and body and returning consciousness finally combined to inform him that this was not the way he'd gone to sleep.

There was another body sprawled out over his chest. A small, compact, female body, with a cheek pressed against his collarbones and a nose buried in his neck. A hand curled gently against his stomach--his bare stomach.

His eyes jerked open. The thick brush of dark hair impeded most of his vision, but when he craned his neck just a little he could see how his shirt had come untucked from his trousers, how one of Tsume's hands had found that strip of brown bare skin. She made a small protesting noise as he moved. He froze, head lifted a bare centimeter from the arm he'd been using as a pillow. She sniffed at his neck, snuggled a little closer, and relaxed back into the steady breathing of sleep.

Her hand slipped southwards, close to his waistband.

Ryouma swallowed an lunatic giggle and stared at Kuromaru, sprawled out snoring over what had formerly been Tsume's bed-place. The giant dog didn't seem any closer to waking than his mistress. They were both insane. Tsume had been jumpy as a virgin bride since dinner; now she was snuggling?

Kakashi made more sense than she did.

He was still asleep. He had to be. This was just a dream, and shortly it would take a turn for the erotic and Tsume would laugh her head off at him when he woke up hard. Or possibly, given how jumpy she'd been last night, bite his head off. He tried the peculiar mental twist that almost always woke him from even the worst nightmares, and found that nothing changed. The nose tickling his neck didn't disappear; the pleasant weight on his chest didn't lift. When he took a deep breath and tried to get his elbows under him, the warm hand rubbed against his stomach, as if she were dreaming of petting a dog.

Dammit, he was getting hard. And she was going to kill him.

"Tsume," he rasped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hey, Tsume. Wake up."

Something was bothering her. A voice pestering at her eardrums, rumbling under the comfortable shape beneath her. She shifted a little, nose sliding against something smooth and warm and smelling oddly reassuring. She pressed into it slightly, snuffling.

Ryouma. So probably Ryouma's voice. Yes, of course Ryouma's voice. She tipped her head, finding just the perfect spot to tuck her face into against heat and the soft tickle of hair.

Something she should remember. Sleep beckoned, teasing at the edges of her mind. Kuromaru's presence, calm and unruffled, lay like a down blanket along her chakra centers. Her fingers moved idly, sliding over hard planes covered in sleek flesh.

Mission. Waking up. That was right. She sighed softly--normally an early riser, it figured the morning her body decided it needed more rest would be the morning she had to wake up. Breath pooled, hot and moist, trapped between her face and the body she was sprawled against. "'M 'wake," she mumbled, not bothering to open her eyes. She rubbed her nose, her forehead against--hmm, maybe an ear--pressing it out of her way. "We under 'ttack? I'll get--" A yawn broke her sentence into two. "--up an' snap tail." But they weren't; everything was too sleepy.

Too sleepy, except for a scent threading through the potent combination of smells against her nose. Her thumb drifted over skin again, back and forth, back and forth, a sleepy sort of twitch. She knew that scent, too. Sex. Lust. Arousal. That woke her. She used the hand on pads of muscle to push up, blinking sharply at the face below hers. Ryouma. She'd known that. Ryouma looking a little worried, with threads of anxiety weaving through his smell. That alone calmed her.

Several possible statements rose to mind. Statements like, 'What are you freaking out about?' and 'Stop smelling like sex, you aren't getting any,' and 'Having a good morning, huh?'

None of those would make things even remotely normal. Her sleep-addled brain couldn't think of anything helpful. Her eyes glided around the tent, as if there might be an ice breaker in the corners. There wasn't.

Then the night before came back in a rush, and she tensed and eyed him sidelong, face turned away. "Good morning?" she offered warily.

"Um," Ryouma said. Hardly brilliant, but she was still leaning on her right hand, and the fingers of that hand were dangerously close to slipping under his waistband. At least she wasn't stroking him anymore. And that right there was a symbol of how very wrong the world was this morning, if he was grateful that a woman's hands had just stopped teasing him...

She was asleep, idiot. She said no last night; she's not coming onto you this morning.

No matter how much you wish she was.

She confused the hell out of him, he decided. Made it official and carved it in stone. Inuzuka Tsume is insane. Hot, completely unavailable, and better at mixing signals than any woman in Konoha...

"S'okay," he managed. "Um. Good morning. Please don't kill me, but I think there's something I kinda need to take care of."

Tsume was not quite so crude as to look down. She sniffed the air instead, quirked a falsely amused eyebrow at him and said dryly, "Yeah, you're male." Despite her humor, she wanted off him. She looked over at the giant canine who, sometime during the night, had sprawled out into her spot. "Oi! Fleabag! Move!"

Kuromaru made a loud groaning noise and rolled as if it was the biggest effort ever.

Tsume practically flung herself into the vacated spot, trying not to touch Ryouma any more. She rolled and landed snugged up next to Kuromaru, burying her fingers in his fur and hiding her face in his ruff--hiding her expression, her vague wariness. "I'm so glad I'm not a man," she mumbled into his coat, faking unconcern while she waited for Ryouma to take off somewhere.

"We're all glad you're not a man, too," Kuromaru grumbled back, legs in the air. "You'd be awfully funny looking."

She punched him. Just for good measure.

Ryouma tried very hard to hide gratitude, embarrassment, or any of those bizarre and disconcerting emotions as he slid out of the tent, strapped his boots and utility belt on, and left the Inuzuka to their bickering. He didn't do embarrassment. It was stupid and useless and got you nowhere, whereas being amused at the hilarity of the world in general was a lot more fun. Sometimes, though, it sneaked up behind you and grabbed you by the throat when you were least expecting it.

Kind of like the dark-haired woman he'd left in the tent, with her feral smile and her easy laugh, her callused palms warm on his skin...

At least this time the erotic fantasy was actually useful.

He washed up in the winter-cold stream when he was done, and if the icy water didn't shock his brain and body back into working order, nothing else would. Short of a soldier pill, but he was trying to conserve those. He was buzzed enough this morning already.

The rain had frozen during the night, leaving a slick coating of glass over every twig and fallen leaf. The world glittered as he trekked back from their stream to the camp, with ice crunching musically underfoot. They still had a little dry wood left, shielded from the rain by an ice-glazed oilskin cloak. He piled the sticks together in their tiny firepit, carefully shielded his chakra use, and invoked a heating jutsu. By the time flames leapt above a new bed of young coals, he'd trekked back to the stream, rinsed and refilled his metal canteen, and returned to settle the canteen in the coals to heat.The package of instant coffee in his ration kit wasn't anything like the real stuff, but it was a luxury on a mission. And it would be, he hoped, an acceptable peace-offering.

Tsume had waited until he'd left before she dug a clean shirt out of her pack and shrugged into it, cinching it into place with the ANBU chest armor. Then she fled, clearing her mind and thoughts, leaving Kuromaru behind so she could hunt. He wanted to sleep, anyway.

Game was scarce after the night of rain; most animals were holed up in dens. In the end she returned empty handed, not wanting to remain out for too long. She was still vaguely disgruntled at her lack of success, and as she slipped back through the winter-bare trees, she saw Kuromaru catch her scent and head off himself.

The air was cold, crisp, nipping at her cheeks and finding every little opening in her clothes. She spiked her chakra in warning a moment before she landed silently by the little fire, dropping into a crouch and holding out her hands to warm them. The heat from the flames licked across her palms, and she hunched her shoulders to conserve warmth. She'd be glad when spring arrived.

"Feeling better?" She glanced up at her teammate as she asked, gaze assessing him quickly.

Ryouma's skin was clean, parts of his hairline damp. It was harder to catch his scent, now, but she'd grown accustomed to it enough that she could still tease it out. She found herself lifting her chin, head turning slightly as she tried to do just that, and shook herself free of the inclination.

"Much, thanks," Ryouma said truthfully. He'd worked missions plenty of times with women he found attractive; hell, he'd spent his entire chuunin career lusting after his jounin sensei. And he'd long ago learned how to not be distracted, how to work and fight and kill beside a woman he wanted to bed. A ninja with his mind on anything else was, sooner or later, a dead ninja. And Ryouma had a vested interest in avoiding death for as long as he could.

So he kept his romantic entanglements in Konoha, worked out his own issues in the field, and kept his dreams to himself. His mind was clearer now; he could look at Tsume and see shinobi in the loose feral grace with which she moved, see ANBU in the clinging black clothing under the bone-pale chestplate, see partner in those dancing slit-pupiled eyes. Being fully clothed helped.

So did the absence of her hands on his skin.

And he was not thinking of that, because it wasn't going to happen again. She'd said no, and meant it. And he shouldn't have asked anyway, because it was a mission, but there were too many questions he wanted answered, and someday his curiosity really would get him killed.

He edged the canteen away from the coals, juggling it from hand to hand before he managed to get the cap off and dump the instant coffee powder in. He capped it again, shook it up, and took one long drink before he wiped the mouth of the canteen and passed it across to Tsume. "Coffee helps make everything better."

Her eyes lit up as she took the canteen, juggling it from cold hand to cold hand until they warmed up a little, then tipping her head back and spilling hot, bitter liquid down her throat. She closed her eyes and swallowed, letting stress run out of her, at least temporarily. She handed the canteen back to Ryouma, offering a smile and a quip in the hopes that things could settle back into the casual friendship she'd been hoping for. "You've discovered the secret to ecstasy. Coffee."

Standing, she twisted her neck sharply to one side, then the other with a series of pops. She cradled her knuckles in the opposite hand and pressed steadily until, one by one, they all snapped, then did the same with the other hand.

Kuromaru returned, carrying a large brown hare. She frowned at him. "Where'd you find that?"

He nodded south. "You just have an inferior nose," he informed her, then plopped down on the ground to munch his breakfast.

She watched him. "Will you share?"

He snorted. "You never share your coffee."

"Caffeine is bad for canines."

He didn't deign to respond.

Tsume shrugged hopelessly at Ryouma, waiting for another shot at the coffee before she set about the short work of dismantling their camp.

They might find the bandits that day. She grinned savagely.