Asuma's heels did their best to dig through the deck. He threw chakra down to his feet, trying to stick himself to blood-stained wood. Trying to think. Gurou's lash tightened around his throat; his lock forced Asuma's arm higher, wrenching his shoulder almost to the point of dislocation.

"What's the matter?" said the bigger man, laughter threading through his voice. "Don't like it when someone else fiddles with your girl?"

"Bastard." Asuma's snarl was half-choked, scraped from the very base of his chest. He struggled, ramming his free elbow back into Gurou's gut, but he didn't have the leverage to get more than a grunt.

Gurou headbutted him in the back of the skull.

When he came back to himself, his knees were on the deck, his right arm was numb to the shoulder, and Gurou's hand was clenched in his hair. An argument had broken out between Hibiki and the buyers.

"--not holding her for you. If you want her, take her back to your ship and clean up the mess there."

"We do have injured men to get home," Gurou's calm, slightly amused rumble broke in. "And this one has a debt he needs to finish paying."

He dragged Asuma's head back; Asuma groaned softly, half-blinded by pain. In the wavering distance, Tsume's keening protest rose on the salt-laden air. He couldn't see her through the men surrounding her, hemming her in with bigger muscles and crowding bulk, but he could imagine--

They'd been lucky up until now. Trapped naked and vulnerable on a ship full of bored men, it was a miracle Tsume hadn't been touched. More than a miracle they were both still breathing. But now--

No-- No--

Were they going to rape her right there?

Hibiki snapped something. Gurou answered calmly. The men around Tsume pulled back, most of them filing back to the small group still clustered at the rail, trading broad grins with their friends. Two remained, one holding the weapon-scroll, the other running his hand possessively down Tsume's shaking flank, as if she were a particularly fine filly he'd just purchased.

Tsume's throat strained; a whine, high enough to lift the hair on the back of Asuma's neck, broke from her lungs. The hand kept going, sliding through lines of sweat, caressing the sharp lines of her ribcage, the arch of one bruised hip, the slightest curve of her lower belly--

"Stop," Asuma forced out, reaching back to grab the first part of Gurou he could touch with his free hand. "Stop."

"Not my problem." Gurou released a fraction of the pressure on Asuma's elbow, letting his captured arm settle lower on his back. "And what do you care? You're not even going to notice in a minute."

"Please." The word choked between bloody lips. "Kill her first--don't let them--"

Tsume's back arched against Hibiki's grip; he swore, adjusting to compensate for the rib Asuma had broken, still arguing. The buyer's hand swept through the matted tangle of dark curls at the very base of Tsume's belly, forcing her legs apart when she clamped them together. His fingers hooked up.

The noise that wrenched from her throat broke Asuma's resolve clean through.

"Please--!"

She'd given up on trying to hear--it was all unnatural silence and the hand on her body--between her legs--trying to force in--

She wrenched backward, slamming against Hibiki--not his face, somewhere softer--and kicked out.

She struck air. Felt a hand on her calf before she could pull it back. Pinning it against--someone's hip? Waist?

Her throat ached, lungs gasping, all in silence. She twisted, but couldn't twist far with Hibiki holding her arm behind her, his other hand clamped around her other wrist. Blood dripped warmly down her throat. A hand petted her waist, her hip, across her stomach--

Yanking at her leg did nothing. Whoever held it had caught it under the knee; she had no leverage. She couldn't kick with her other leg, not with her arm twisted. She thrashed to no avail, throwing herself back and heaving forward. She snatched for chakra, dragging it through thinned, raw pathways. But no amount of chakra-enhanced strength would help, and she couldn't do jutsu. Her hands were held apart.

A hand cupped her breast. She screamed--she was certain.

He dropped her leg. The hand disappeared. The scent eased. Tsume stood, trembling against Hibiki.

The hands were gone.

Silence rang in her ears. Was that it? Were they done? Maybe things had fallen through. Maybe there would be no more hands. No more fingers trying to shove their way inside her.

Hibiki forced her forward a step. She stumbled, then slammed chakra into her feet to stop.

Another scent. The earlier scent, lust and lavender, and a new one. She pressed back into Hibiki again, ignoring the flare of pain that shot through her shoulder. She pulled more chakra, feeling it buzz under her skin, pulled more, and more. Not that it did any good.

He touched her again. Tsume flinched back, felt her mouth open, heard nothing come out.

In front of her. To one side. Two men--three? She couldn't tell how far they were or what they were doing. She kicked at the one who'd touched her, but hit only air.

A hand out of nowhere, settling on her arm. She tried to pull away, and succeeded only in having her other arm twisted higher. She might have shouted. She wasn't sure.

Hibiki moved. The new scent took his place, grabbing the arm behind her back and shoving her forward. Toward the smell of lust.

She shoved back blindly. He twisted, dragging her sideways, nuzzling against her neck. His lips moved against her ear, breath moist on her skin. She couldn't hear a thing, but she could smell his arousal.

Two of them. The one who'd touched her, who was still close enough to scent. This one, trying to pull her along. Along--where? The look she'd gotten earlier told her. Along toward the rail. Toward the other ship.

She wrenched herself back in a panic, no longer trying to think about where anyone was. Not trying to hurt or kick, just trying to escape. She couldn't go there. She couldn't go and be--

--pinned down while he knelt over her--

She twisted and felt something pop in her shoulder. Didn't care. Wasn't going. More hands on her, palms on her waist as if they'd pick her up and fling her about--

Her throat burned, hot blood slid down her neck, she was surrounded by men and hands and lust--

She grabbed at more chakra, shoving it into her muscles, flinging herself away from her captor. Not Hibiki anymore; he'd let her go, given her away, part of the purchase.

Her new captor stumbled. His grip weakened. She ripped her arm loose, slamming forward into the man who kept touching her. He staggered, an arm looping around her for stability, his legs tangling with hers. They fell, and trying to hold onto her other arm, her new captor crashed down, too.

--pinned to the ground while he knelt over her--

She wasn't she wasn't she wasn't--

Tsume formed seals without thinking, even as hands grabbed at her to make her stop. Chakra ripped through her pathways, jumpstarted by all she'd gathered. She screamed while bones snapped and twisted, joints grinding into new shapes, tendons and muscles popping.

The man on top of her rolled off. The one beneath her scrambled free.

Her chakra burned in the transformation, eaten away by a high-level jutsu. She felt it fizzle out as her claws lengthened, teeth sharpening. Legs shortened. Hips and knees lurched backward. More energy eked out of her pathways, dragged down the lines.

And she ran out of chakra.

Her heart stuttered. Her lungs struggled to inhale. Her mind began to fuzz.

And then chemical chakra seared down her pathways, completing the transformation just as Hibiki caught her, grabbing a wrist--a paw--to loop rope around--

Blind and deaf, her forepaws were still near her jaws. She lunged, and felt two fingers crunch between her teeth. With an instinctive headshake, she ripped them off his hands.

Her heart beat erratically. She kept low to the deck, unsteady on all four feet, and spat the fingers out. She couldn't hear her growl, but she could feel the wind ruffle her hackles.

Gurou had dragged him halfway back to the hold, ignoring every choked plea and desperate attempt to fight, when Tsume's chakra rippled like a thunderstrike, her scream stretched into something else, and--

Asuma lost his mind.

A wolf reared in place of the woman, lean and rangy, lunging up on hindpaws to grab Hibiki's hand between its jaws and rip half his fingers away. The bandaged man screamed, his entire ninja career vanishing between gleaming teeth, and threw himself backwards. Blood splattered over the deck. He crashed into panicking civillians, sealed rope tangled around the trench knife in his other hand, and landed in an awkward heap.

Quietly, Gurou swore.

The wolf whipped around, head weaving from side to side as it scented. Its eyes were hard to see, hidden by darkness and wild fur, but Asuma caught a glimpse of widely dilated pupils--it was blind. Its ears were slicked back to its skull.

One of them was missing a chunk.

You heard some things with Inuzuka--he knew more than most; Hokage children learned a lot--but a wolf--

The two buyers who'd touched her last scrambled to get away, one of them still clutching the scroll. The deck must have vibrated beneath their feet--or their scent cut through the air--because that lethal canine head jerked around, a growl soared on the rising wind, and Tsume lunged.

Gurou threw Asuma to the deck, yanking on the lash to free it from his throat. Asuma grabbed it before it ripped free, bloody fingers slipping on tough leather, and hauled himself back up. Agony arced down his spine, blazed through his skull, but he didn't let go. Gurou snarled at him.

Asuma didn't make a noise. He just jerked forwards, ducking to drive his shoulder into the man's heavy sternum, hands tightening on the lash. He would not let the bastard get to Tsume.

One of the buyers screamed, brought down by a crunching bite to the back of his neck--not the man with the scroll. The other flung himself towards the group by the rails, all trying desperately to get back to their own ship. Tsume pursued him, teeth tearing into anyone foolish enough to get within range.

A fist slammed down between Asuma's shoulderblades. His knees hit the deck again, scream ripping raw out of his throat, but the lash was still clenched tight in his hands and the only way Gurou was going to break his grip was if he started breaking fingers--

Tsume slammed into the man with the weapon-scroll. Gurou's massive hand wrapped around Asuma's wrist.

Blood slid across her tongue as she crunched down through tendons and arteries. A scream ripped through the air.

She could see.

Her first instinct was to look around, but she smothered it. A scroll rolled lightly across the deck, skittering toward the rail and the edge. She pounced on it, one bloody paw slapping down.

Asuma bellowed a vicious curse.

If you just place your fingertips on those seals--exactly--and think of this one here--

Paws weren't fingertips. She tried it anyway, twisting as she did so to see Asuma kneeling on the deck, Gurou sliding a knife under Asuma's grip. Blood dripped down the leather.

Tsume thought of Gurou. Thought of ripping his throat out.

He froze.

"Asuma!" Her voice was hoarse, warped through the vocal chords of a canine. "Now!"

Asuma was moving before she'd even spoken, letting go of the whip--and the knife sliding beneath his fingers--and twisting out of Gurou's grip.

Gurou lunged for Asuma again, already realizing his mistake. Already trying to correct for blindness.

Asuma rolled out of the way, bringing his knee up into Gurou's jaw. Gurou went staggering back, whip limp in his hand. He was no fool, though. The whip moved, looping around him, giving him a wider field of knowledge.

Tsume started to step forward, and realized she was stuck. If she took her paw off the seal, Gurou would see again. The ninja must have had a sailor hold it while they were fighting--and there were no sailors here she trusted.

She growled at them, though no one had come near. Hibiki was trying to stand, though, dragging himself to his feet. Tsume lifted her lip off her teeth and thought of both the ninja.

Hibiki faltered.

She growled in pleasure.

He started to walk toward her, however haltingly.

"Asuma!" she howled, looking back. "I can't hold this and fight at the same time!"

Gurou was still swinging his whip, starting to look a little unnerved. Asuma was watching him--studying the pattern, Tsume guessed.

Hibiki unsheathed a kunai and threw it.

Tsume had only to sidestep once to dodge, though he'd struck close. He remembered where she was. He knew how the weapon worked. He knew that she couldn't move without releasing it.

He had a lot of blades.

Pus-infected mitebite.

It was hard to hear anything over the thunder-beat of rushing blood inside his skull. Even harder to keep his balance when the deck swayed and his battered senses skewed sideways. But Gurou was blind, flat grey eyes flickering uncertainly from side to side, and Asuma just needed one clean shot--

Tsume howled. Wordless, raw as burned flesh, high enough to make it through even his wrecked head.

He swore, lurching back half a dozen steps, and cast a glance down the deck. Hibiki was on his feet, unwounded hand full of steel, snarling face turned towards the dark shape crouched over the reason they were all here. Even as Asuma put it all together, a kunai flashed from Hibiki's hand and buried itself a scant inch away from Tsume's front paw. She jerked, growling, but couldn't move away.

Agonized, Asuma looked back at Gurou. He was the bigger threat. Any second now, he'd figure out the clone trick--

More steel glimmered between Hibiki's fingers.

They were all screwed if Tsume lost that scroll.

Asuma threw himself down the deck at a staggering run, ducked to snatch up one of the still-quivering kunai by Tsume's paws, and used momentum to carry himself straight into Hibiki's skinny chest. The ninja crashed to the deck, knocked clean off his already injured feet, and gurgled once as the kunai drove into his throat.

The automatic return strike scraped the thin edge of a blade down Asuma's arm, but Hibiki's aim was off. Asuma shoved the kunai deeper, wrenching it sideways to tear through arteries, tendons, and Hibiki's convulsing trachea. He went limp. Blood gushed over Asuma's hands, spraying his face like a fine mist.

He staggered back to his feet, yanking the kunai free, and made it to Tsume before he collapsed.

The scroll was still trapped under her front paws. He wrapped red-drenched fingers around it.

"What do I do?"

She reached out, giving his jaw two quick licks. "Put your hands here. Think of him." Her ear twitched toward Gurou, who was starting to move cautiously about the deck, as if having figured out that they'd left him alone, and was trying to find them.

For a moment, Tsume wished there were a way to simply leave him blind and deaf and walk away. But then she shuddered; even she wouldn't wish that on someone.

The buyers were loading into the small boat that had brought them over from their ship. Tsume glanced at them, torn between getting Gurou and making sure there weren't more clients for this particular weapon--especially since they'd seen it work.

"And if you want to dissuade them from stealing from Konoha again," she growled quietly, "that might be good."

The whip stopped whispering over the boards. Gurou brought his hands together, moving so fast it was almost impossible to see.

Tsume turned, legs propelling her over the deck quicker than two could. As the first of his four clones appeared she tore into it, dispersing it with a snap of teeth.

The other clones rallied around their maker, each with a whip of their own. Within moments, it was impossible to tell by sight which of the men was the real Gurou.

But only Gurou smelled like Gurou. Tsume slipped under one whip, felt her fur absorb the worst of the lash from a second, twisted around a third, and headed unerringly toward the real man.

By that time, it was easy to tell: he was the only one not looking at her. She leaped over his whip as it coiled in front of him. He never had a chance to stop her--he didn't even know she was there until her teeth were on his throat, and his blood pulsed across her tongue.

He fell. She let go as his hands, already weak from loss of arterial blood, came up. She dodged the trench knife easily, yelped as a clone's whip wrapped around a hind leg, and grabbed hold of his throat again. When the clone tried to yank her away, Gurou's jugular went, too.

All the dopplegangers vanished. Tsume looked around, panting, both ears slicked back. Slowly, they came up. She licked her chops. Turned and tried to lick at a thin stripe. Even her fur hadn't completely stopped the lash from opening an earlier mark, where old and new lines intersected.

Then she picked up Gurou's whip and started back toward Asuma, hesitating only when she crossed where she'd been standing earlier. The wood seemed to have absorbed the smell of her fear. Sweat, she guessed. She slunk past it, then picked up her pace to get to Asuma.

The sailors, she noticed, were giving her a wide berth. She doubted they'd been paid enough for this.

You had to hand it to Konoha's weapons experts: they'd made something pretty damn idiot proof. Asuma kept his hands on the scroll, bloody fingers smearing the heavy parchment, and focused hard on seals that gleamed brighter the more people he thought about.

Gurou, right up until Tsume ripped his throat out with a crunch that shivered through Asuma's bones and grounded somewhere that wasn't too exhausted to roar with savage glee.

The civillians, who panicked worse than even Tsume had, screaming and thrashing and grabbing hold of each other. Half of them accidentally knocked themselves overboard. The rest huddled against the side of the ship, or crouched down in the little boat tied to its side and clung on.

The sailors he mostly left alone--it was too much mental effort to focus on that many people, and they weren't doing anything beyond staying the hell away from Tsume and looking shell-shocked.

Asuma grinned at her as she got near him, Gurou's whip dangling like a war trophy between her teeth. In the two minutes it had taken her to dispatch the man who'd made their lives a misery for two damn days, Asuma'd managed to get his legs beneath him and sit up. Now, he staggered to his feet--

And landed back on his knees when the deck heaved.

Tsume flicked an ear at him. Asuma ignored blood and pain and distant screams, her staggering limp and his own blazing head, to fling his arms around her neck the second she got within reach. She startled, muscles tensing rigid, and dropped the whip, then a long tongue licked his ear. Asuma laughed, raw and a little ragged, and buried his face in rough fur, the scroll still firmly locked in his hands.

"You are brilliant," he rasped, lightheaded with relief. "And insane. And if I was into bestiality, I'd marry you."

Tsume laughed, though it came out in low chuffing noises, and licked his ear over again, her tail waving behind her. "C'mon, pup. We'll figure out what to do with these ones, and you can show me your gratitude in food. There's gotta be food around here somewhere..."

Wolf biology reminded her quietly that there was now plenty of meat. Her human mind shuddered. She sat down, his arms still around her shoulders, and contemplated sailors and buyers alike.

The one who'd smelled like lust and lavender was dead. She trembled when she looked at him anyway, a low growl working up out of her throat. When she spoke again, the growl remained heavy in her words. "Can you sail a ship this size? Gotta say, I don't exactly trust the crew... and what do we do with them?" She peered at the buyers, all cowering in various states. Several of them had started to cry. One was screaming outright. Another bawled out sea shanties, while a final one rocked himself back and forth, talking louder and louder as if trying to hear.

Asuma followed her ice-blue gaze to the panicking buyers. "Shut them up," he said, resisting the urge to hold his pounding head. "That's what we do. Though we should drag a high-ranker home for T & I. They're going to want to know how someone heard about their shiny weapon."

The scroll was heavy in his hands, as warm as skin. He kept his focus on it; even civillians could do damage to wounded ninja.

The ship creaked around them, untended sails hanging loosely and flapping in the breeze. Everywhere Asuma looked, he could see the marks of damage. Scorched wood, slippery pools of blood, jagged edges where he'd managed to rip a hole in the deck.

The middle mast, where they'd been bound and flogged, was tiger-striped with dried red smears.

The crew watched them with wide eyes. Asuma remembered a boot thumping into his drugged spine, laughter rippling with the crack of the lash, a double-dozen leered comments at Tsume's naked body--

It was a twenty-man ship.

"I could sail it with clones, maybe, and a lot of soldier pills," he said slowly. "But I don't know how far we are from land, and we'll be in a lot of trouble if I black out."

Still got a debt to pay. Could he blame men for lashing out at the shinobi that had killed their friends? None of them had actually touched Tsume...

He licked cracked lips, tasting copper, and loosened one arm enough to run his hand carefully over the inky-black fur between broad, upstanding ears. A hand on the scroll seemed to be enough to hold the jutsu in place. He traced the shape of Tsume's skull--more delicate than Kuromaru's, but still sleek and lethal--and rubbed bruised knuckles over one heavily furred cheek. Her tongue edged between ivory teeth, flicking his skin.

For a wolf, she was gorgeous. Black as sable, almost blue in the arctic gleam of moonlight, long-legged and deep-chested, with almost dainty looking paws, and long fur that danced in the sea wind. But she was a wolf.

And they'd almost raped her.

Exhaustion made Asuma's eyes burn.

"Food," he croaked, latching onto something like reality. "We'll lock them all up in the brig and get food. And I'm still not a pup, flower-cake."

"Younger than me," Tsume pointed out, leaning up toward him and flicking her tongue over his jaw again. Adrenaline was still buzzing through her system, bloodlust combating letdown. Chemical chakra sizzled down her pathways, keeping her high.

She could smell his weariness and the pain that rocked him from too many injuries to count. She didn't know what it was from, but she didn't need to. That he'd keep it together until they were home she had no doubt of, but until they were home--or at least until exhaustion started to catch up with her--she could silently encourage him onward.

Especially if they were going onward toward food.

She slipped out from under his arm, making a long circuit around the ship. Every sailor she neared backed away; by running along the edge of the deck, they were soon rounded up into the middle.

She didn't know how many men they'd started with, or how many they'd killed in the interim, but there were a dozen men left, and four of those were injured. She eyed them all, head low and tail still, regarding them with predator focus. It wasn't long until they were shifting, looking ready to break away--typical prey.

"You. And you." She chose the two largest men. "Get the buyers and take them. You," she picked out the most heavily tattooed, "get the key to the--" What had Asuma called it? "--brig. Everyone goes in." She pulled her lips up off her teeth. "No one gets eaten."

It was amazing how quickly men could work, when they were motivated. Especially when the laggards discovered a wolf snapping at their heels.

Asuma followed her ice-blue gaze to the panicking buyers. "Shut them up," he said, resisting the urge to hold his pounding head. "That's what we do. Though we should drag a high-ranker home for T & I. They're going to want to know how someone heard about their shiny weapon."

The scroll was heavy in his hands, as warm as skin. He kept his focus on it; even civillians could do damage to wounded ninja.

The ship creaked around them, untended sails hanging loosely and flapping in the breeze. Everywhere Asuma looked, he could see the marks of damage. Scorched wood, slippery pools of blood, jagged edges where he'd managed to rip a hole in the deck.

The middle mast, where they'd been bound and flogged, was tiger-striped with dried red smears.

The crew watched them with wide eyes. Asuma remembered a boot thumping into his drugged spine, laughter rippling with the crack of the lash, a double-dozen leered comments at Tsume's naked body--

It was a twenty-man ship.

"I could sail it with clones, maybe, and a lot of soldier pills," he said slowly. "But I don't know how far we are from land, and we'll be in a lot of trouble if I black out."

Still got a debt to pay. Could he blame men for lashing out at the shinobi that had killed their friends? None of them had actually touched Tsume...

He licked cracked lips, tasting copper, and loosened one arm enough to run his hand carefully over the inky-black fur between broad, upstanding ears. A hand on the scroll seemed to be enough to hold the jutsu in place. He traced the shape of Tsume's skull--more delicate than Kuromaru's, but still sleek and lethal--and rubbed bruised knuckles over one heavily furred cheek. Her tongue edged between ivory teeth, flicking his skin.

For a wolf, she was gorgeous. Black as sable, almost blue in the arctic gleam of moonlight, long-legged and deep-chested, with almost dainty looking paws, and long fur that danced in the sea wind. But she was a wolf.

And they'd almost raped her.

Exhaustion made Asuma's eyes burn.

"Food," he croaked, latching onto something like reality. "We'll lock them all up in the brig and get food. And I'm still not a pup, flower-cake."

She found their gear tucked neatly into a closet. Or a cabin, given that it had a bed--but it was really more closet sized.

Their things had obviously been gone through, not that that was hard to guess given Hibiki's use of Asuma's knives. It was still annoying. She pulled at bundles of clothes and armor, finding boots and weapons and a scrap of cloth of that smelled more like cigarette smoke than anything she'd ever experienced.

When she finally got the usable things out--some bits, like Asuma's chest gear, had been damage beyond usefulness--she realized what she really needed was opposable thumbs.

Instead, Tsume piled it all on top of the cot, grabbed the edges of the blanket and dragged the whole mess up onto the deck. It wasn't easy. It didn't want to fit up the stairs, or go around corners. It kept catching on doorways. Her shoulder ached more with every step. But finally it was up, and then she had only to drag it across the deck and down the other stairs to the galley.

She could smell food. Asuma had found something.

Leaving the bundle at the entrance, she leaped into the room and crawled up on the table, laying down across it. Her fur itched wherever she'd bled--most noticeably under her jaw, where the trench knife had cleaved through to bone. It was going to need stitches. It was starting to burn, now that adrenaline was wearing off. She didn't mention it.

The food was typical ship fare. Everything either canned, dried, or smoked--though there was a barrel of apples tucked away in the corner, marked by a gently glowing seal for freshness. Asuma bet that had cost them a pretty penny, unless one of the ninja had done it.

He found salted pork and put it aside for Tsume, before tearing into the first can his trench-knife could open. It was beans. He ate them straight from the can as he explored the galley kitchen, rifling through latched cupboards, pulling out anything that could be quickly eaten and might sit well on much-abused stomachs.

The stove was a wood-burner, huge and black, dominating most of one wall. Big enough to cook meals for a whole crew. There was already a boiling pot on top, heating something that looked like stew--with meat, he noticed, resigned. Tsume could have it.

She padded quietly in when his beans were long gone and he'd cracked open a tin of peaches. The syrup made his blood-stained fingers shine when he saluted her, noting the bundle she'd left by the door. He grabbed the pork he'd set aside, along with a brimming bowl of stew and two cans, and didn't quite stagger over to her table, dropping to sit gingerly on one of the benches that had been screwed to the floor.

"You realize," he said, pushing the food in front of her, "that this is the first time we've eaten in... two days? I feel almost human."

Blood dripped from a long ragged gash down Tsume's jawbone, slicking her fur. Asuma sucked his fingers, grabbed his next can--this one with a ring-fixed top that yanked off, thank god--and tried to organize his brain around a plan.

"Medic-kit next, I think," he said, around a mouthful of vegetable soup. "Painkillers. And clothes. Are you planning to turn back any time soon?"

She swallowed the salt pork in two bites before starting on the stew, and let Asuma's question lie while she ate. Broth she lapped up impatiently, more so she could get to the chunks of meat and potatoes than anything. Those were snarfed down without bothering to chew; it was amazing what a canine-stomach could handle.

When it was gone she licked out the bowl, licked off the table where she'd slopped liquid--lapping wasn't the neatest way to eat--and looked around for more.

There was a pot on the stove. Even better, her mind had finally given her a reason to stay like this. "Think I'm more effective in this form," she murmured, and climbed down off the table, then scrabbled up onto the counter.

The stew inside the pot was bubbling, but if she was careful... She picked up a big chunk of meat daintily, dropped it on the counter, and stared at it as it cooled enough to eat.

One ear flicked back toward Asuma. "Unless you need me to change..." But she really hoped he didn't. Her tail flattened, tucking just inside her hocks, and her ears lowered slightly. She kept staring at the chunk of meat.

Carefully, Asuma set his half-eaten tin of soup aside. The first rush of food was enough to appease the worst hunger pains; he didn't want to push fledgling, concussion-induced nausea into real vomiting. With their luck, he'd pop a blood vessel.

Up on the counter, Tsume's canine body language was as easy to read as a child's painting. His eyes slid over that hanging tail, the drooping ears, the flattened fur, and reflected that this was the shape she'd fled to when the men of her own species had broken the one cardinal rule that really mattered with women...

"Nope," he said, trying for easy and hitting hoarse, "wolf is fine. Makes an interesting change to the landscape, even if you do have six nipples."

Her ears shot up. Asuma smiled, winced when his stitched cheek pulled, and tried to work out if he had the energy to make it to his clothes.

Not really.

He staggered to his feet.

Tsume swallowed her chunk of meat, fished another out of the pot, and leaped down while it cooled. She leaned up against Asuma's leg before he fell over, reaching up to flick her tongue over his fingers. "Eight nipples, actually," she said, her jaw dropping in a doggie grin. "Maybe in your next life you'll be a dog, and can enjoy them better."

Looking up pulled apart the knife wound on her jaw. She dropped her head quickly, pacing along beside him toward the doorway. "Found our weapons. And a bunch more stuff that smelled like you. If anything's missing, though, we'll have to start searching cabins."

She hoped nothing was missing. Nothing important, at least. She wasn't up for searching cabins, even if she was the most mobile of the two of them, and had the better nose, besides.

And being the most mobile reminded her--

"We could haul the medic out of the brig. He'll have a better idea of what drugs. Probably stitch pretty, too." She slanted another look at Asuma. "You, anyway. I might give him a heart attack..."

"Yeah," Asuma said dryly. "Can't imagine a ship's doctor'll be anything but a fainting blossom. It's not like he has to look at people's insides on a regular basis, or anything. Bet you scare him right out of his scrubs." Not that the medic had worn scrubs, from what he could remember, but still...

Painkillers, he thought fervently. Painkillers without paralytics.

But in the meantime, pants went a long way to making the world a better place. Tsume's solid weight stayed against his thigh the full length of the galley, and when he sank down into an awkward seiza--the only position that felt almost comfortable, what with Gurou having whipped his ass--she braced against his side.

"Could get used to you being snuggly," he said, reflecting on her in your next life you can enjoy them better comment, and a tongue that seemed to keep licking him. "Makes a nice change." He wove his fingers into the thick fur at the back of her neck, drawing an odd sort of comfort from her compact weight, and picked through the stuff she'd retrieved.

A jumbled, blood-soaked tangle of their uniforms, hip pouches, weapons, the goddamned weapon-scroll, and med-kids.

Not enough thank-yous in the world, Asuma thought, immediately scrambling for painkillers and soldier pills. His bracelets were there, too, the blue-black metal gleaming in the low kitchen light. And his Guardian Twelve sash-turned-headband. Even his cigarettes spilled out of a hip pouch, only half crushed.

"You are a complete goddess," he told Tsume, and leaned his head against hers as the first wave of false chakra burned through exhausted pathways, closing his eyes. Codeine dissolved bitterly on his tongue. With his free hand, he offered her an equal share of meds, held half-steadily in front of her long muzzle.

"I know," she said, tail whispering along the boards, back and forth with a lazy ease. "Feared by the Wolf, best friend to Buddha. Just haven't decided if I'm malevolent or benign, yet..." She nosed aside pills she couldn't use, feeling the rasp of calluses against her muzzle, and hesitated at a soldier pill. She should need it -- but she felt all right.

She should be dead. Her and Kuromaru both. The transformation jutsu took two soldier pills to complete successfully, because it used so much chakra. Panic might have made her able to pull the energy, but she wasn't sure where the energy had come from. She felt all right. Something from Kuromaru's end. In which case--would taking a solider pill wreck whatever careful balance he was managing?

With a soft whine, low in her throat, she nudged one of the codeine pills free and lapped it up. Despite the fact that she was a quarter--or less--of Asuma's weight, she ate the whole thing. Morphine would have worked better on her canine form, but it would dull her edge, and she didn't want that.

If Hibiki hadn't cut open her jaw, she wouldn't need pain pills at all. The rest of her injuries she could deal with. Keeping her head tucked so she wouldn't tear the skin further, she leaned gently against Asuma. One of the lash marks angrily marring his skin tapered off right near her face. Carefully, she sniffed it, catching no sign of infection. She licked once anyway.

Asuma yelped. Then twisted to look at her.

"Did you just--?" Just what was a good question. Tsume's ears did that little uncertain dance above her skull, flicking forwards and easing back. "How dog are you?" Asuma demanded, torn between 'oh god, gross' and something that felt way too close to hysterical laughter.

He pressed his lips together and took a deep, calming breath. Tsume's nostrils flared.

"Don't go smelling anything on me," he said, aching mirth still trickling through his voice. He reached for his Guardian Twelve sash. "A man's got to have some privacy when he's naked." With a teammate who used to be a woman.

Another calming breath.

Carefully, he refolded the sash into a headband and knotted it into place around his skull. It wasn't familiar there, normally being slung around his hips, but it helped. He reached for his bracelets; they caught at the widest part of his hands, as they always did, and then swung loose on his wrists. He dragged a thumb over the inside of one, tracing out the etched words; three lines from the Metta Karuna prayer.

O Amida, Oneness of Life and Light, may you shed the foolishness in myself...

If there was ever a time for that, he thought wryly, and reached for his pants. His jockstrap and cup didn't seem to be in evidence--probably considered uninteresting and tossed out. Or Tsume just hadn't wanted to drag them. He lurched to his feet and dragged his skintight ANBU blacks up to his hips, hissing quietly when the material skidded over bandages or scabbing, unbandaged flesh. Then he knelt again.

Shirt next.

Asuma looked at it, reflected on a back lashed raw from neck to tailbone, and decided he wasn't that masochistic. He set it aside and dug out his boots instead. For some reason, his socks were also absent. Tsume's muzzle rested against an unwounded part of his biceps as he yanked his boots on--brilliant, wonderful, ass-kicking pieces of heavy duty leather, like a shield for each foot--and laced them up. Warmth slid down his arm.

He paused, glanced sideways, then ducked his head down to look at her.

It was the same jaw slice he'd noticed earlier, spilling fresh blood across his skin and her fur. A nasty cut that'd probably torn wider during her transformation, deep enough to show a flash of bone through slick red. Asuma picked up his shirt, wadded it into a ball, and pressed it gently but firmly to the underside of her jaw.

"Reckon you were right about that medic," he murmured. "Hope the man's in a stitching mood."

Chakra pills gave him just enough spare juice to snap one semi-solid clone into being. It took off without a word, heading for the brig. Asuma ran his spare hand over the top of Tsume's head, kneading fur and flesh with long fingers, tugging carefully at one long ear.

Woman, wolf, Inuzuka, tracker, chuunin, chakra-damaged to hell and back...

It didn't matter. She'd still saved both their lives.

"Changed my mind," he said. "You can lick all you want. Just go for the bits that still look skin-covered."

She was quiet for a long moment, feeling the gentle massage of his hand over her skull, her neck, drowning out the pain of his shirt against her jaw. She doubted the stroking would continue much longer, so she took several breaths to enjoy it.

Then she lifted her head away from the material, feeling his hand lighten against her skull without leaving entirely. She turned to face Asuma calmly. "I am, and always have been, very--" she hesitated over the word, unsure if she should find it amusing or distasteful. "Dog. Even among the Inuzuka." That, she did find amusing, though she hadn't as a child.

She shook the thoughts loose. Her hackles rose and fell briefly. Then she took a breath, blinked slowly, and watched Asuma once more. Her voice was soft, the words low, husky from a canine throat. "The medic isn't going to stitch this up."

The hand on her head stilled.

On her feet in this form, even without chakra she was difficult to hurt. On her side with her head tipped back, it would be the work of a moment to punch a needle through her jugular and tear. She didn't trust the medic, even if he smelled like terror with Asuma standing at his side.

She blinked slowly again. Her ears were relaxed, her tail curled neatly around her paws. "If it needs stitches, you can do it."

Asuma's eyebrows hitched up. It should have been an order--which would have made his own hackles rise--but nothing spoken that softly, calmly, sounded like a command. It was just a simple statement of fact: this is how the future is going to be.

No medic. You stitch it.

Thoughtfully, he dug his fingertips into the long, lean muscles that slid back from her muzzle, between her ears, and down the back of her neck. Her eyelids lowered, drifting half-closed. The cloth in his other hand was soaked, dripping strings of red down his wrist. He pressed it back to her jaw.

"Alright," he said at last, taking that trust at face value. "But you're going to end up with one ugly-ass scar."

Tsume's tail whisked once, long fringes sweeping across the unclean floor. Asuma snorted.

"And I warn you right now: if I get the urge to sew my initials in, I'm going for it. Right across your jawbone. I might even add a whole phrase. For the rest of your life, people'll be asking what your face says..."

By the time his clone dragged the medic back, their single battered med-kit was spread open and well-ravaged, and Asuma had persuaded Tsume to leap up on a table and lie on her side. Antiseptic already slicked her raw flesh, stinging and shiny. He paused, blood-stained hands sorting out needles and thread, and considered the long ripple of tension that flowed down that fur-covered, lash-beaten spine.

"Wall," he said.

The medic yelped as the clone jammed a forearm into his neck and shoved him up against the nearest bulkhead. He choked quietly.

"Little gentler," Asuma added, trying to will his shaking, sliced fingers still. The clone relaxed his grip a bare fraction; Asuma shook his hands out and looked down at Tsume. Pale blue eyes regarded him with a look he couldn't read: some complex twist between calm and wired, tense and certain, exhausted and adrenaline-soaked.

He tugged one of her ears gently, the one with the piece missing.

"I don't know about you, love. But it's been a freakin' weird day."

The needle made no sound at all as it punched through skin. Somewhere between the first and third stitch, Asuma's hands steadied.

Tsume lay as still as she could on the table, one paw twitching with every puncture. She kept her head tipped up, trying not to think about baring her throat, and stared at the medic shoved against the wall.

Fingers pressed the edges of flesh together and held them. Metal dug into skin, finally piercing through and pulling it tight. Her forepaw twitched, but otherwise she held still.

Tsume took a deep breath and released it, letting the pain sink to the back of her mind with all the other ones she couldn't afford to think about. She focused on the doctor, ears tipping up as she stared at him. The stitching process became a blur, another spike in an agony buzzing so loudly in the back of her mind that it turned into one invisible field.

It was forever and just a moment before Asuma was done, snipping off the end of the line and resting one hand on her skull, stroking down her back. She rolled upward, focus breaking. Pain washed over her and she lay for a moment, panting away a cold sweat. Eventually, she turned to him, nuzzling under his hand. "Do I have initials in my jaw?" She licked at his palm, taking a quick sniff. He'd said he wanted privacy, but he wasn't naked anymore.

And it didn't matter, anyway; he'd smoked cigarettes for so long the nicotine had absorbed into his skin. Except for blatantly strong smells, she couldn't get a read off him. At least she knew he wasn't in agony. She turned to survey the doctor, tail thumping once against the tabletop. Hopefully, he'd patch Asuma, and she wouldn't have to gain opposable thumbs.

"Oh yeah," Asuma said, wiping his blood-stained hands off on his thighs before he ruffled her ears. "You've got my whole name on your face, wolf-girl. And I hope you appreciate the effort that took."

Tsume snorted and swiped her tongue across his bruised, red-crusted knuckles. In reality, she had a long row of ugly black stitches marching across her jawbone and throat, forcing the ragged wound into a semi-neat line. He'd done his best to keep her fur out of the way, but several long strands added a cross-mesh of black lines against raw flesh and bright blood droplets. He'd been right; she was going to have a wicked scar.

Which makes two of us, he thought with grim humour, resisting the urge to touch the peeling bandages still half-stuck to his cheek.

Across the galley, the medic made a quiet gargling sound, weathered face turning bright red above the arm still held against his throat. Asuma refocused and whistled at his clone, calling it off before the man choked. "Ease up; we still need him."

The clone stepped back with ill grace, releasing its hold. The medic crumpled down the wall, coughing and rubbing at his throat. Asuma split a grin at him. "Welcome to our world. Want to get your ass over here and help? We'll probably let you live."

He got a one-fingered salute for his honesty. Scowling, the clone hauled the medic up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him over to drop at Tsume's feet.

Tsume stretched to the end of the table, forepaws daintily crossed and overlapping the edge. She peered down at the medic.

He looked up.

She pulled her lips off her teeth and growled softly. The smell of sugar-sweet fear rolled up at her, and he sat back on his hands.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered in a choked voice.

It surprised a laugh out of her, and one ear flicked back. Both swiveled forward again. "Why don't you take a close look at my friend here, and see if you can't do anything for what ails him."

The medic climbed slowly to his feet, gaze flicking from Asuma to Tsume and back again, as if he couldn't decide which was more dangerous -- the heavily muscled ninja, injured though he was, or the teeth-baring wolf.

"Look, there's not much I can do. If you have bandages and astringent..."

Tsume flicked a look at the clone, pushing up into a sitting position -- and carefully not favoring her twisted shoulder. "You wanna raid the infirmary?" She glanced back at the medic. "Why don't you tell us what you know about your... clients." Information seemed important, since they still had a ship floating off the port side.

Or the starboard side. She really had no idea, except that it was out there, and manned. While their captain and a good chunk of their crew was hostage here they weren't likely to sink the boat, but...

"My clients were the ninja you killed," the medic protested. "I don't know anything about their clients!"

Tsume leaned forward. The medic leaned away. She sniffed, and growled unhappily. He was telling the truth, the nit-picking flea. She flicked one ear at Asuma and settled back on her haunches.