| [May. 31st, 2009|08:04 pm] |
Asuma wrapped his free hand around the fingers dragging painfully over his chest, capturing them in a loose grip. His other hand ran once more down Natsumi's back, before settling up around her shoulders. "Tempting," he said dryly, "but I don't think I'd pull it off half so well as you. Besides, I'm already naked. Who wants to see more vulnerability?"
Even if showing skin didn't make him feel remotely vulnerable. Just like shedding tears wouldn't do anything to ease the pressure inside his ribcage. He hadn't cried at the ashen grave of the Twelve, three weeks ago; falling over a waterfall sure wasn't going to drag it out of him now.
It helped that Natsumi had cried, no matter how short the moment had been. Tōu had had about as many tears in her as a sponge in the desert, and she'd never played with his hair.
And she was dead, so he should focus on the damn living.
He pulled himself up higher, bracing better against the rough tree-trunk, and yanked more of the blanket over his shoulder. The rough, dark green wool spilled over Natsumi, trapping a little more heat between them. His side throbbed with the sudden warmth, dark and ugly. Some point soon he was going to have to peel away those bandages and take a proper look at the damage, seal it with stitches. Throw some clothes on, too, and work out an actual plan. Eat, drink, muster up some more chakra and get them home alive...
That was the thing about a crying woman, no matter how in-charge they seemed to be. The second they wept in your arms they became every inch your responsibility, even if you didn't do responsibility.
Natsumi's lips were set firm again, betraying no hint of a tremble. But her eyes were red-rimmed and anxious, skin still too pale. Asuma leaned down and pressed a firm, almost cheerful kiss to her temple, then drew his hands away. "Smile for me, love. Tomorrow this is going to be nothing but a great story." He leaned forwards and hooked up her half-empty medikit, plucking a spool of catgut from the blanket as he tugged the kit towards him. "Possibly with some screaming. I don't suppose you know how to make ten-second brandy..."
He dropped the spool into her uninjured hand, along with a wickedly curving needle and the roll of bandages he hadn't used, and fished out a pair of scissors. They were about as wet as everything else, the double-blades dappled still with drops of river water, but seeing as he'd gone swimming in it he'd already caught whatever infection was going free. Hopefully something his immune system could kick dead.
The first loop of bandage sliced away neatly under the scissor's touch; he unravelled the rest, undoing all of Natsumi's good work. Calloused fingers hesitated over the wound as Asuma tried to see what needed doing and not the great freakin' slice in his side. It was starting to bleed again, sluggish and dark. He squinted, then dug through his remaining kit until he found a glo-stick. The light it gave when he snapped it was weird and green, almost ghostly, but at least he could see. He reached for the needle.
"They say if you bleed on a sword, that makes it yours." His fingers trembled very slightly; cold and a total lack of nicotine, mostly. He threaded catgut, braced himself, and drew a breath. "Reckon our client'll be in a giving mood?" |
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