| Slow Dancing in a Burning Room [closed to Natsumi and Ibiki] | [Jan. 26th, 2009|10:50 am] |
[[Set the day after Hit the Mark ends.]]
Late evening dimmed the room to twilight when Natsumi woke in a tangle of sheets and sweat. Her left shoulder throbbed angrily, and the lingering shreds of a dream teased at her mind. It had not been pleasant.
She sat up, bracing herself on her right hand. The clock on her nightstand blinked 18:35 at her; outside the window, the last color was fading from the sky. When she'd tumbled into bed in the small hours of the morning, too exhausted to do more than shed her clothes and brush her teeth, she'd planned to sleep the clock round. But the nightmare had wakened her, and now she wouldn't be able to fall asleep again for hours.
At home, her parents would just now be settling down to a quiet evening, her mother reading aloud by lamplight while her father trimmed hawk-feathers for arrow fletching. Her brother Takeo might have stopped by for dinner, perhaps with his latest conquest on his arm; he'd be telling stories, illustrating the latest news from the village gossip vine with graceful hands and dancing eyes. If Natsumi showed up now, her old place beside her father would be waiting for her...
No. She kicked back the sheets that trapped her legs and stood up, smoothing the crumpled skirt of her sleeping yukata. Even in the dim light, she could see the bruises that bloomed like dark flowers on her right wrist. Those on her throat and shoulder would undoubtedly be worse. If she went home now, barely five days after her induction to ANBU, with the marks of a strangling still fresh on her throat and the memories of a nightmare still haunting her eyes, her mother and Takeo would know they'd been right.
And Takeo, at least, would never let her forget it.
She found her bath kit instead, soap and towels tucked neatly into a small wooden bucket, and set it on the low table in the center of the room. Then she made her bed, changed into a fresh yukata, and brushed out her hair. The familiar routine soothed her, as if she could set her mind in order as easily as she tidied her room. She moved the flower arrangement on the table two centimeters, to center it perfectly, and took a deep breath.
Better.
Her wooden geta were waiting by the door. Natsumi slipped outside, locked the door behind her, and headed toward the stairs. Someone's stereo blared rock music on the far side of the building, but this hallway was empty, and the carpet muffled her steps. The geta would echo horribly in the stairs, though. She turned the corner to head for the elevator, and caught a glimpse of a tall, powerfully built man striding down the hall away from her. His sweeping black leather coat would have belonged better in a club than in the pastel-colored halls of ANBU HQ, but it did match his long, dark ponytail...
"Ibi--"
Natsumi caught herself a second too late. Of course it wasn't Ibiki. She hadn't seen him in more than a month, and even then they'd only had time to play a hurried round of catch-up over tea and dango before he was heading back to the office and she was off to the training fields. But he would have told her if he'd entered ANBU. Wouldn't he? |
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