Breath scorched over chilled skin, bringing the first real heat since his fire jutsu on the bridge. Asuma swallowed, hesitated, and lifted his hand to rest his palm on the crown of Natsumi's head, fingers threading gently through damp, tangled hair. Her shoulders hitched; wet heat trickled down his chest. She didn't make a sound.

For the first time since he'd woken up, Asuma was glad their hurried little shelter was so dark. It helped preserve the illusion of privacy when there really was a wall between them and the outside world, even if that wall had needles.

"You're still new to this, aren't you, darlin'?" he murmured, tilting his head down. His fingers found the fragile curves of bone that marked the edge of her skull, the coiling ripple of chakra as it passed through a pulse-point between them. "Your tattoo's kind of a clue. It's still got that brand new shine to it. What'd you do before this? Jounin archer? Chuunin messenger before that, maybe. Anything that didn't involve getting too up-close and personal, I'd bet. Bow and arrow's a good way to keep a distance. Bet you never fell off a cliff before, either..."

He really doubted Natsumi was listening to him, but that wasn't the point. Calm friendly voice, warm hands, teammate who was there for you while you rode out the shock--that was the point. He carded blood-stained fingertips through long black hair, pulling it gently away from her face, teasing out the knots. It hung down Natsumi's back like an inky waterfall--which was not necessarily an image he wanted to think about, but it was pretty, as hair went.

He shifted slightly, easing her weight off his complaining side and a little higher up, and ran his hand down her spine. Kept talking. "I spent some time down on Wind Country's southern coast a couple years back. It's all desert, but if you head inland just a little ways from this tiny fishing village--Nagoya, if I remember right--they've got this giant cluster of waterfalls just before you hit the mountains. It's pretty, lots of spray and rainbows. Every year they hold this big festival there, and all the dumb young men get the chance to prove their worthiness to prospective brides." He smiled, mouth curving higher on one side. "Lots of beer involved. Beads, too; they trade in them. I think I might still have some... Anyway, the year I was there they had this contest of bravery -- about ten nervy guys standing on the edge of the second-tallest falls, willing themselves to jump. Three of them did it. And there was this big feast at sunset when they all proposed..."

He laughed carefully, wary of scored ribs and the crying woman trying to pretend she wasn't, and inhaled on a cold shiver. "So the long and short is, I think you owe me a ring. Or a feast. Both are good."