Asuma's own pie had been a sorry-looking scrap of pastry stuffed with bland vegetables; good for his soul and conscience, but not for his muscles. Or tastebuds. He'd supplemented it with a brace of ration bars and a chakra pill, enjoying the dark red hum of false energy that was still new to him. Slightly painful, mostly tingly; a masochist's wet dream.

Tsume's head against his shoulder was even more welcome, if unexpected. He decided not to question it; gorgeous, heavily exhausted women could get away with a lot.

"Water Country makes sense," he agreed, breaking his hold on his clone. It bamphed out of existence, dumping its memories straight into his head. "At least, as much sense as any of this makes. And I think you broke your informant's heart, getting so snuggly and then not following through. Poor bastard."

Tsume's elbow dug into his ribs. Asuma's grin hooked sideways.

"Seriously. They have a word for that kind of woman, y'know--" He moved his hand to catch her next elbow-jab, long fingers wrapping around the joint. "But with that guy, I'd just call you smart. So what's our plan? I'm thinking boats, unless you feel like water-running."