ANBU HQ loomed grey and gloomy under the pounding rain, rather like the beefy agent who paused to hold the heavy front door open for Natsumi as she closed her umbrella under the overhanging roof. It was easy enough to muster up an automatic smile as she thanked him; she felt as if her face had been frozen in the same meaningless smile all morning. Tea with her mother, a little arrow-making and story-telling with her father. Three hours of cheerful family conversation while her bruises burned like brands under her high-collared turtleneck and long, warm sleeves. It had been raining--she'd thanked the gods for it that morning--which meant no archery. Takeo had been at work--she'd timed her visit carefully to miss him--which meant no far-too-perceptive teasing. If her parents had noticed she avoided reaching for things with her left hand, they hadn't mentioned it.

Which didn't solve the problem, just postponed it.

Maybe it was time to follow up on Kaito's and Ibiki's recommendations, after all.

The young man at the front desk hurriedly shut his book and reached for the register as she ducked into the lobby. "Shiota-san, right? Welcome back! Were you training?" He looked doubtfully at her umbrella.

"Visiting my family," Natsumi said, drying her shoes on the mat. "Well, showing off. I survived my first mission intact." She smiled at the boy. He dropped his pen.

"Uh--congratulations," he said, fumbling to pick it up again and mark her name off. Natsumi craned to see the register; there weren't many names on it. Presumably the rain was keeping most people indoors, except for those like Natsumi who decided to use a non-training day for other obligations. Unless he was out on a mission, her odds were good...

"Could you tell me which apartment is Shiranui Genma's, please?"

The chuunin looked startled. Then, inexplicably, annoyed. "Three-twenty," he said harshly, picking up his book again. "Have a good time."

Natsumi's lips quirked. Apparently Ibiki hadn't been exaggerating, after all. "Thanks," she said. "I'll try." The chuunin scowled down at his book; she grinned, and headed for the stairs.

She stopped by her own room first, to drop off her umbrella and run a comb through her loose hair. It still hurt to lift her left arm above the shoulder. When she struggled out of her turtleneck, she found the skin warm to the touch, the bruise blotching hideously purple and black across her shoulder blade. The marks on her neck and wrist were almost as dark.

"No wonder Ibiki got the wrong idea," she told her reflection. "And how much worse of an idea will Shiranui-san get when I offer to take off my shirt for him?"

Well, hopefully the bruises would help with that.

She found a new shirt, let herself out of her apartment, and wandered down the hallway, past the stairs and the men's showers and around another corner. Room 320 was on almost exactly the opposite side of the building from her apartment at 305. Natsumi hesitated a moment, stricken with a sudden guilt that she should have brought some offering in return--Here, have cookies, now will you heal my shoulder?--and then knocked anyway.

If he did a good job, she could bring the cookies later.

The spar had turned down a rather interesting avenue involving Raidou shoving him up against a wall and kissing him, when a sound intruded on Genma's dream. Three sharp raps, knuckles on wood, echoed in his room, jolting him awake. Not Raidou, because Raidou wouldn't bother to knock. Not Kaito, who would have knocked much more hesitantly, in case Genma was sleeping. Not Ginta, who would have come in through the window, or Haruichi, who would have pounded on the door with the flat of his hand.

If it was someone from Intel about that damn mission report, Genma was going to have to choke them. And if it was someone with a new mission assignment already, it had better be one he wasn't expected to leave on for at least three days. Groaning and stiff, he got himself out of bed, shivered at the cold on his bare feet, and padded to the door.

The woman standing on the other side was in civvies--very well-cut civvies. She had on a classy purple and white kimono-style top that hinted at a fabulous figure underneath, like a gift-wrapped present. Slim-fitting, dark jeans. Heels... Even if she was Intel, he'd have to re-evaluate his plans about choking her.

"Hi." He smiled, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "You looking for someone?"

"You, I think. I hope." Natsumi tore her gaze away from the light coral hoodie--they made pink ANBU sweatshirts now?--and returned his smile. She didn't have to look very far up; he was no taller than Kaito, although even the baggy hoodie couldn't disguise the solid adult muscle beneath. The face was certainly more adult: hardened, angular, with a shadow of reddish stubble and oddly light eyes. He still looked half-asleep, and the bed was rumpled behind him.

At least there was no one else in it. Ibiki would probably be disappointed.

"I could come back later," she said, trying not to look at the bed anyway. "Although I suppose it would be a bit cheap to wake you up and then run. I was told..."

A medic for when you don't want to go all the way downstairs, Kaito had said. An Eros-Ops guy who'll know why you want it off record, Ibiki had said. And, granted, Kaito had probably been implying serious injury, and Ibiki had certainly been implying sexual assault, but discretion covered the little things as well as the big ones, didn't it?

"I was told you're a medic, and you don't require much paperwork," she said at last. That had to be straightforward enough. And he'd given her the standard once-over when he opened the door; he couldn't have missed her bruises. Although he might still be getting the wrong idea... "I decided I'd come and see if it was really true, before I collapsed bleeding on your door at two in the morning and found out it wasn't."

And if that didn't tell him she was a rookie, nothing would. She added anyway, "I'm Shiota Natsumi. I joined just this week. So if I was misinformed, then Kaito-kun and Ibiki-kun probably were too, and you should go find out who's spreading vile rumors about you."

"I was um... Yeah?" Genma yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes and slicked his hair back. "Kaito told you I was the medic to see if you didn't want your treatment on the record?" Kaito was going to have to get his ass kicked. That was not a rumor that needed telling around.

More alarming was the other name: Ibiki. And she'd called him kun, like they were old friends. Not that he really knew the guy, but... There was only one Ibiki in ANBU, and he was Shida Akumaru's protege--his star pupil, so they said. Genma's hands ached just thinking about it.

She was friends with Ibiki?

And she said she needed a medic who wouldn't leave a paper trail; that said a lot. More than he wanted to know, maybe. That and the ugly bruises on her throat and wrists. Obviously the product of a choke-hold, not all that different from the bruises he'd healed on Kaito's throat a few weeks ago...

Wait.

She called Kaito kun, too. She couldn't be that girl, could she? He gave her another once-over. Long black hair; pretty, imperious face. Princess, Kaito had said. Not quite as stacked as Kaito had seemed to think she was, but she definitely had some curves. What was the girl's name? Natsu-something? And this one said her name was Natsumi. It had to be the same chick!

"I'm a field medic," he said cautiously. "But that's not my primary work. I'm a Hunter, same as you." Not a hard guess which service she was in, especially if she was Kaito's girl: she had the hard-muscled edge of a field agent, without the grace of an eros runner, or the wileyness of a covert ops spy.

"So now that you've found me--I'm Genma, by the way, and if you were looking for some other guy who's a field medic on this floor, there isn't one." Genma paused, derailed for a moment in his train of thought. Multiple trains, actually. On parallel tracks were Damn is this Kaito's chick or not? What the hell is the deal with Kaito telling people to bug me for on-the-sly healing? I should seriously kick Kaito's ass. What the hell is Ibiki doing telling people to come to me? Does he even know me? My side still hurts like a sonofabitch! What the hell was I dreaming? Something about Raidou...? and Bed was nice. Why am I up?

"Uh..." Default programming kicked in. This situation involved a pretty woman who wanted something from him, and who wasn't an enemy. Who might be Kaito's hot chick. He smiled again, masking distress. "You want to come in?"

He wouldn't offer if he didn't mean it, would he? Natsumi studied the pale face, the whiskey-brown eyes and flash of white teeth. He didn't sound exactly happy to hear that Kaito had mentioned him, or terribly anxious to have the world hear of his skill. Had Ibiki mentioned the distinction between a true medic and a field medic? She couldn't recall. But Ibiki had recommended him.

More to the point, Ibiki had recommended this man when he thought she needed a rape examination more than a bruise-healing. Even taking into account all of Ibiki's disclaimers, that had to mean something.

His smile was practiced, easy, but still a little frayed around the edges. Thin lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes promised distinguished wrinkles in thirty years; now he just looked tired. But the invitation seemed sincere. Perhaps he hoped he could convince her not to spread the word any further. Or perhaps he was more of a medic than he claimed.

"If you're sure I wouldn't be disturbing you, senpai. I'd appreciate it." She'd definitely have to bring him cookies, she decided. And she wouldn't look at the bed. Or his hair. (Did no one in ANBU own a comb?)

"Not a problem. Really." Genma backed into the room, forcing an ease he didn't quite feel. He held the door open for his guest. "Yeah, come on in, I'll make tea."

When Natsumi slipped off her shoes and stepped past him, Genma couldn't help noticing the view from behind was just as pleasant as the one from the front had been. A tiny grin crossed his face as he eased his door closed, thinking about Kaito watching that view on his mission; in ANBU gear, she was probably pretty smokin'.

But she was Ibiki's friend. There was a lot of talk about what sorts of games the interrogators liked to play in their spare time. He took a breath. He didn't want to know.

"There's zanbuton, you can sit at the table," he said, gesturing to a small stack of floor-cushions. "Or I can make the bed up really quick and you can sit there. I don't usually sleep in the day, but I just got back from a mission where I got tagged kinda hard with a poisoned blade." Which his side was reminding him of with every passing moment he was on his feet. Maybe there was something in that antidote that made him extra tired?

He didn't wait for her to make a choice before going to work straightening out the rumpled nest of blankets he'd been so reluctant to leave. They were still warm, he thought with a flicker of regret as he smoothed them out. He glanced at her again, at the bruises. She needed a medic who could keep it off the records; he wasn't ready to ask.

"You said... Shiota? Any relation to Takahiro-san?" There was a name any ranged-weapons specialist worth his salt knew. Shiota Takahiro was an archer to be reckoned with, a former ANBU, and a personal friend of director Arakaki.

"My father," Natsumi said, surprised. She wasn't quite sure what to do with the little flicker of pride that bloomed beneath her breastbone at the mention of his name. Burying it and moving on would be best, perhaps, but she couldn't quite help the urge to dig for more...

"Do you know him, then?" she asked, discreetly nudging one of the plump blue-and-white cushions to lie perfectly parallel to the low table.

"Not personally," Genma said. "But everyone knows of him. I mean, he's a legend. Buddies with Arakaki-sama. Can shoot the antennae off an ant from fifty meters, or something insane like that." He finished making the bed and discreetly shoved a couple of rather indelicate magazines further under it.

"Thirty meters," Natsumi said, laughing. "He hit the ant, not its antennae. And he was cheating, anyway." He'd bragged for days...

She sank to her knees, collected a medley of forms scattered across the table and slipping onto the floor, and tapped them together into a neat stack before setting them down with a stray pen on top. When she glanced up again, Genma had straightened and was rubbing his side gently. A distant, distracted look pinched his brows together. Tagged with a poisoned blade, he'd said.

Natsumi sprang to her feet. "I can make tea," she said. "I'm sorry, I should have brought something--I thought of cookies just a little too late to be useful. Although my mother would be horrified to hear I'd offered you anything but properly seasonal wagashi." She took hold of herself, took a deep breath, and said a little more slowly, "How can I be useful, senpai?"

"Sit," Genma said with a smile. "I'm the one who knows where everything is. Anyway this is my apartment, right? I'm responsible for having February cakes in March, or whatever." He eased slowly past Natsumi, still holding his side. In the kitchenette, he rinsed out a brown and gold teapot with a little warm water. He could almost hear Amari-sensei laughing, approving of his turning Natsumi's faux-pas at having failed to bring cakes into his own responsibility. He'd have to teach Kaito that lesson.

It was odd how much working with Kaito on eros training brought Amari-sensei back to him these days. He watced Natsumi, primly sitting seiza at his table, with her hands folded in her lap. What would his sensei have told Kaito? She's just a person. You have to see past the breasts. He'd have to tell Kaito that one, too.

"Hope you're okay with genmai cha. I know it's not super high class, but on a cold, rainy day it always seems like the best thing to drink. All toasty." He spooned the green tea and brown rice mixture into a sieve, and fit that into the mouth of the pot. Next he set a mismatched pair of tea cups on a round lacquer tray, then filled the teapot with water from a heater on the counter top.

"Actually I have some sakura mochi. My buddy Ginta brought me some as a get well present." Adding the cakes to the tray, and the filled teapot, he carried it all back to the low table. He set it down on top of the incomplete mission report, flicking the pen to the side. "Paperwork. Never ends, you know?" He hadn't written much there yet anyway, but better safe than sorry.

It took real effort to keep her hands folded politely in her lap instead of reaching out to rescue the papers. She'd been careful not to look at them, but apparently paranoia trumped tidiness. Judging by the state of Genma's apartment, a lot of things trumped tidiness. She tried not to look at them, either.

Genma eased himself down on a cushion at her right hand, cross-legged and informal. Natsumi shifted her weight, slipping stealthily out of seiza into a more comfortable position. Or not quite so stealthily; Genma raised an eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. Natsumi sighed.

"You've pegged me as awkward and overeager already. How can I make it worse? I could compose you some very bad poetry, but it would probably ruin your enjoyment altogether. That's a very lovely teapot, by the way."

The whole setting was beautiful, really. No dish matched another; one cup was delicate blue porcelain swirled with a copper glaze, while the other was sturdier, painted with a wavy pattern of plum blossoms. The square plate that held the little pink sweets was soft, dappled green, with tiny two white rabbits under a crescent moon. Each piece had been individually chosen with an eye for beauty. As long as she focused on that, and not the way the styles clashed, she could enjoy the arrangement without gritting her teeth.

There were other things to focus on, of course. Whiskey-brown eyes, lightening to honey in the glow of the lamp; battered, scar-whitened hands, still graceful as they lifted the teapot to pour. She decided to stick with his eyes. "I hope your recovery has been smooth, senpai. I've had only a few experiences with poison, but none of them were pleasant."

"Bad poetry, huh?" Genma asked, and reached for the dish of sweets to push it closer to her. "Would you believe I had to take a whole class on bad poetry when I was a chuunin? Part of that learning manners so you can convince the aristocracy you're there to spy on or steal from or kill, that you belong there." He chuckled wryly and lifted the plate. "Seriously, have one, because I want one but it'd be impolite of me to eat if you weren't."

It was a trick Amari-sensei had taught him, actually, disarming your guest by being deliberately rude and stating your own desires. It gave them permission to indulge theirs. Yet another thing to be sure to tell Kaito about.

He'd also have to teach him how to appreciate a guest's assets without getting tongue-tied. He was sure if Kaito had been in here, faced with Natsumi's elegant good looks and classy mannerisms, combined with the slight gap where her wrap-top overlapped, he'd have been been red and stammering. No wonder he hadn't noticed what color her eyes were.

Brown, Genma told himself. He flicked a glance up to check, and was relieved to find he was right. Dark brown the color of black coffee. Darker than Raidou's. Looking right back at his.

"You want to know something funny?" he asked, and tried not to let her gaze throw him. "I work with poison all the time. Have a bunch of immunities. But I think you pretty much can't build a tolerance to the kind of toxin I got hit with. Karma, huh?"

"He who lives by the sword..." Natsumi tilted a smile at him and took one of the mochi. "Of course, if that were strictly literal, I'd be keeping very far away from other archers. Fortunately most ninja seem to prefer...flashier techniques. A single arrow from the shadows isn't nearly as cool as a fire-dragon, is it?"

Even if it was probably far more effective. Natsumi took a bite of sakura mochi and kept that opinion to herself.

The mochi was worth concentrating on, anyway. The sour, salty wrapping of the cherry leaf provided the perfect foil to the sticky sweetness of glutinous rice and red-bean filling, and Natsumi's eyes closed in a moment of pure bliss. "I haven't had sakura mochi yet this year. You're setting a high standard for the rest of the season. Do you entertain with bad poetry as well? If you do, I might have to invite you to my next cherry blossom viewing party."

"You do those? High class ones with painted sake cups and fancy mochi, I'll bet." There was another thing he ought to do with Kaito. That would probably go over real well... Maybe Raidou could help? But then it would turn manly and they'd drink beer and joke around--not the sort of party manners Kaito would need for seductions. He'd almost consider asking Natsumi to help, except for the whole Kaito being a mess around her, presuming again that she was Kaito's girl. Then again, that could be a plus...

"If you invite me to your next hanami," he told her, "I could probably recite some bad poetry, if you wanted. Maybe even some halfway decent poetry, if I really tried. I haven't forgotten all of my lessons."

He bit into his mochi thoughtfully, staring into the middle distance. Natsumi wasn't in Eros, but she'd probably had to take some of the same classes he'd had. There were a lot of classes in the arts that the girls had to take, on the theory they'd be more useful in infiltrations that way.

Of course she was a combat specialist. Bows and arrows, unless you counted those tiny collapsible wrist-mounted ones, were hardly the weapons of choice for the kinds of missions most kunoichi took. Natsumi, though... What had Kaito said about their mission? A rescue. He hadn't mentioned his partner getting hurt, which argued against Natsumi being the girl he'd been pining over, but...

"So anyway," he said, putting down the half-eaten sweet and picking up his cup. "You said you were looking for me 'cause you heard I was a medic who could keep a secret. You get hurt on a mission in some embarrassing way, or you just have a thing for guys who carry around extra bandages in their gear?"

Natsumi reached involuntarily for her throat. The bruises dimpled painfully under her fingers; she dropped her hand again with a grimace. "As you see. I slipped up, let my opponent get behind me. If I go to the regular medics, my family will find out; my father and older brother both have plenty of connections in ANBU. And there was enough of a...disagreement, about my joining, that I'd rather not let them know I got injured on my first mission."

Especially when it had been so stupid. She should have expected a ninja; she shouldn't have left her back open. And she certainly shouldn't have needed rescuing.

"I can get away with turtlenecks and long sleeves until I heal, but I took a bad blow to my shoulder." She grazed the fingertips of her right hand over the point of her left shoulder. "I can't lift my arm easily, and my grip's still a little numb. I don't--"

He was injured, too. He moved stiffly and slowly, as if the injury or the lingering effects of the poison still pained him; and he'd been tired enough to break usual habit and sleep in the middle of the day. Natsumi flushed. "It's a terrible imposition. I'm sorry."

"Terrible," Genma agreed with a smile. "You'll owe me one." He eyed her dark throat, bruises merging with the shadows her long hair cast. The closer he looked, the more he could imagine the shape of a man's hand branded in burgundy and black on her pale skin. "Choke-hold, and then he wrenched your arm up behind your back?" There were bruises on her slender wrist and muscled forearm, too. "Or did you take a hit with something?" His own right shoulder still ached, black with bruises and a scabbed cut where the weighted end of a kusari gama had hit. But she was reaching for her scapula...

"You're sure nothing's broken? I can help with bruises and swelling, but if you've got a fracture or nerve damage, you really need to go see the real docs." He scooted back from the table, angling towards her. "Come over here and let me take a look. Can you raise your arm and it just hurts, or is it really blocked, like it can't move all the way up?"

If it was dislocated, she'd be too disabled to have gotten herself dressed, so it probably was a fracture at worst, he thought. Might still have to send her to see Haruichi, but he could probably be trusted to be a little discreet.

"He kicked me in the shoulder, actually." Natsumi's lips thinned at the memory. She slipped off her cushion and wiggled ungracefully sideways, within his reach. "My arm went numb, but I could use it again within half an hour. Just not very well. I can raise it above the shoulder; it just hurts." She demonstrated, hissing softly as the bruises flared, and dropped her hand back hastily to her lap.

"The choke-hold was after the kick--he pinned me against a wall. Grabbed my wrist when I went for a kunai." How much did she have to explain? Ibiki had the story--as much as she could tell--and had immediately leapt to the worst conclusions. Shiranui would understand, he'd said. Which implied far more than Natsumi wanted to think about.

She loosened the tight wrap of the kimono-style shirt and slipped her collar down, baring the purple-mottled blade of her shoulder. The black strap of her bra wasn't much darker than the bruises. "This is the worst of it. If you could ease it, just a little, I can deal with the rest."

Genma whistled low and raised his hands, probing delicately at the swollen, mottled flesh. "Nice one." He pressed a little harder, feeling for bone and motion, and was glad when the joint only moved in the ways and places it was supposed to.

"Sorry, I know this hurts," he said, sliding fingers along her ribs and up over her shoulder to the point where ball fitted into socket. "I'm gonna apply a little chakra now. Shouldn't be too bad." He channeled the energy through his palms and fingertips, probing beneath the skin. There was swelling, and her muscles were strained and stiff, holding the sore joint in place, but it felt structurally sound, thank the merciful Bodhisattva.

"There's lots of bruising, but no tears or fractures," he told her. "I uh... I'm a little low on stamina, so I probably can't heal it all the way, but I can get it less painful, and give you some salve. Same stuff I'm using, actually. We can compare bruises and see who heals fastest. Only you'll have a head start. When did you say your mission was?"

And when was Kaito's? He should just go on and ask her, maybe. He pulled his hands away, formed a sequence of three seal that set them alight with healing chakra, then placed them back over Natsumi's shoulder. "Let me know if this is too intense," he added, remembering Kaito's reaction to his healing.

Heat sank into her muscles, as blissfully soothing as a back-rub in a hot spring. It hurt a little, the way the best back-rubs did, but the tingling radiating out from his fingertips washed away the deep-muscle burn. Natsumi couldn't quite keep herself from leaning back into his hands; she only barely managed not to purr.

"We got back early Tuesday morning," she said, speaking slowly and carefully. One sentence with no undignified sounds; that was a good sign. "I wrote the report and then spent most of the last two days sleeping. I should probably go check up on Kaito-kun, see if he's back on his feet yet. And Tsuchibe-san. Oh--"

She cut herself off just in time. The strained knot of muscle at the point of her shoulder melted away under warm waves of Genma's chakra; Natsumi tried not to melt, too.

"That feels far better," she said, when she was certain she could speak coherently again. "Thank you, senpai."

"You're welcome," Genma said. He dropped the jutsu and sat back, breathing harder than he liked. His hands were trembling when he reached for his teacup. "I'm not sure I can do anything about your neck right now. I kind of... Whew... Well you know how it is when you're just back from a mission." He sat back and sipped his tea. "Maybe in a minute. I'll give you that salve anyway."

It was telling, Genma thought, that despite the fact he'd had her near moaning from his touch, all he really wanted to do now was crawl back in bed and continue with that dream. She was hot, there was no question: pretty, shapely, seemed to have a decent sense of humor, and not, thankfully, a freak who let the T&I creeps smack her around for fun. But he just couldn't muster a response that was anything more than mild interest. That was why he didn't go clubbing right after missions, he told himself.

She'd as much as confirmed she was Kaito's girl though. They could talk about that while he got some sugar in his system. He reached for the mochi he'd left unfinished and tried to convince himself that he was hungry for it.

"So you're the person Kaito had his mission with. He's okay, I saw him this morning. Didn't tell me his mission partner got hurt though." And now what? He wasn't going to tell her Kaito was smitten with her, but maybe there were ways to get her talking about him. It would be good to get her perspective on just how seriously he'd been floundering with her. "I'm sort of assigned to oversee his rookie period..." That was similar enough to the truth without giving away he was teaching Kaito Eros skills. "How was he to work with?"

"Rookies get supervisors?" Natsumi glanced up from her inspection of her fading bruises, blinking. "My father told me I'd probably have my first few missions with a veteran, but I didn't know it went beyond that." And it hadn't happened that way, anyway, unless Kaito counted as a veteran. A veteran with an overseer, apparently.

"Kaito-kun was good." She considered that, amended: "Very good. He didn't fuss about control or machismo; he did his job, and let me do mine. He's good at coming up with alternatives, and he obeys orders well."

Something flickered in Genma's face. Perhaps she shouldn't have let slip that, as junior partner, she'd effectively taken command? She pulled her shirt back up her shoulder and rewrapped it quickly, trying to gather the shards of professionalism. "His use of his Bloodline Limit was excellent. It's...very strong. Hard to control, I gather, but we couldn't have completed the mission without it." She thought of the wrenching sympathy knotting in her throat, and smiled wryly. "It's a little hard on his mission partners. I didn't quite expect... But he uses it well."

Kaito's limit. Genma remembered his conversation from earlier that morning, and his guess--obviously quite wrong--that Natsumi must be a real stone butch to have taken it without flinching. He eyed her now, over his cup of tea. "I talked to him this morning, actually. When I'm working with him--training I mean--I have to break his jutsu's hold on me with a senbon. I wasn't sure I believed him when he said the woman he ran his mission with was immune to it."

Looking at Natsumi now, he was even less sure he believed it.

"From what he told me, it was a..." Torture. Rescue. An agent brought back home because Kaito had been able to activate his limit and convince the man he was safe. Genma let the heat of the teacup in his hand be his focus, instead of the ache of long-ago fractured fingers.

"Heard it was a hard mission." He dismissed the thought: what ANBU mission wasn't hard, really?

"I'm glad to hear he's good in the field. I take it you were mission leader, then? What'd you do to keep focused when he was activating his limit? If there's a trick, his other mission partners need to know it."

"It's not immunity, certainly." Natsumi rubbed her shoulder gently, testing the fading ache. "He affected me as much as the targets. I've just learned...not to respond." She grinned briefly and reached for her tea. "With my older brother, I had to learn early. He couldn't win when he couldn't make me cry. You just have to empty yourself. Let the cold fill you."

If you couldn't feel, you couldn't cry. The shield of ice and exquisite control had served her through the war, through grief and loss and an adolescent broken heart. It was hard to lose, sometimes; harder still to recover, once she had. But the first time Kaito used his limit, he'd had already been shutting it down by the time she'd been free to pull herself together. And the second time, her jutsu-driven faith in him was all that had kept her going.

"I wasn't exactly mission leader; he's my senior, if only by one mission. But he let me take charge, mostly. He's a sweet boy." Which was probably a ridiculous thing to say about one's ANBU mission partner; she darted a swift glance back at Genma. He was snickering quietly. She sighed.

"He also killed two men, talked one into spilling information and another out of insanity, and ran without sleep for thirty-six hours. I'd be honored to serve with him again."

"He did all that, huh?" Genma's amused smile fell into something more sober. "He said he was pretty worn out. I'm kind of surprised they'd send a pair of rookies on a mission like that, though. I mean, he told me it was a retrieval." The word felt like dry breadcrumbs in his throat. "Tsuchibe... You said you should check up on Tsuchibe." He tried to put a face to that name, and failed.

His eyes strayed to the window, to clouds and streaks of rain. To the memorial tablets by his shrine. There were seven altogether: his parents', his sisters', his first sensei's, and one each for Kobo and Seijuro. Kobo had never had a chance to be rescued; for Seijuro rescue had come too late. For Genma it had come just in time. If it had been a two person team of ANBU rookies there four years ago, instead of four veterans plus a pair of medics...

It was never wise to think of the might-have-beens. Never. Not about that long ago mission, and not about the one he'd just finished--about bleeding that wouldn't stop and bruises that still ached. Not good to think about the mission Raidou had just come back from, or Kaito and Natsumi's rescue operation. What was done was done, and if you were still there to drink a toast to fallen comrades, then no matter how many poisoned hits you'd taken, Karma hadn't caught up to you yet. The trick was to keep running.

It was her silence, more than anything, that made Genma aware of Natsumi again. He glanced up at her with a guilty grimace. "Sorry. Guess I'm still kinda tired. You want more tea?"

Two obvious hints were more than enough. He was exhausted, clearly: fine lines carved themselves a little deeper at the corners of mouth and eyes, and some inner darkness tightened the generous curve of his lips. Natsumi set her half-empty teacup down and shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks. In fact, I should be going. Thank you for your kindness."

The words were mere formalities; she tried to make them sound sincere. He had been kind, offering far more than a stranger at the door deserved, and without the kind of smarmy self-interest she often saw in men who tried to be polite to her. Maybe he was more of a medic than he claimed to be, to offer healing when he needed it himself.

Ibiki would be sorely disappointed to hear his dire predictions had come to nothing. She needed to hunt him up and gloat.

"Rest well, senpai." She rose to her feet, tugging the line of her collar straight, and bowed deeply. "I hope your recovery is swift enough to permit your attendance at my next hanami. I'll try to wait patiently to hear your poetry."

She owed him a debt, too. Somehow, she'd have to figure out a way to repay.

Genma's rise to see his guest to the door was slow and pained, but there was still grace to his motion. He stretched his back and lifted his head, letting a wince flow into a tired smile. "Should I look for a written invitation? If you give me a little advance warning, I could look up some obscure classical tanka to recite. But then that would be cheating." He chuckled and held the door open for Natsumi, bowing to her with one hand wrapped close against his bruised side.

"The blossoms should be really hitting their stride in a week or two, if this rain lets up. Course I'll probably have another mission or three by then, but so will you." There was no irony to his tone. That was ANBU. That was the life he'd lived for going on five years, the one Natsumi had signed up for. Her quiet bow and slight smile in return said all that needed to be said about her acceptance of that fact.

"Don't let Kaito give you any trouble, and tell me if he does," Genma added, as she started into the hall. "I'll keep him in line." Another yawn stretched over his face before he could say more. Natsumi gave his open doorway a pointed glance, and raised one hand in a soft, restrained wave. He could almost read her thoughts: Go on back to bed, Genma-senpai.

Genma returned the wave and slipped back inside, pushing the door closed and leaning against it for a moment. He was exhausted, but it had been worth it, to meet Kaito's girl. Funny day, really. His muscles twitched and trembled with weariness; he didn't bother to clean up the tea things before crawling back under his quilts and blankets. For a moment he lay still, thinking about Natsumi and Kaito and their rescue mission. His eyes drifted closed, his breathing deepened. Missions like that, you never forgot. Never really got over. And never talked about. But some people understood without having to be told. His thoughts broke up like smoke rising from a stick of incense. Rain beat a lullaby against his windowpane. For a moment, just as he fell asleep, he thought of Raidou.