She started to point out that four clones and her couldn't sail this ship, when she clued in as to why he might not have released the sailors yet.

Four clones and her could scare a bunch of seamen into good behavior, even if Asuma was unconscious below. Which meant there was no more time for stalling.

"Right," Tsume said quietly. "Let me go get some clothes." She slunk across the deck, back down into the hold where her uniform lay in a pile of soft black cloth and pale ceramic armor. She nudged the door closed, then, with a deep breath, released the jutsu.

Chakra shoved through her narrow coils, a flash of agony before she managed to modulate it all more carefully. It nearly overwhelmed the pain of scabs breaking as her body warped and twisted. The stitches under her jaw pulled, one of them tearing, but didn't pop entirely. The deeper welts along her back, where one line had crossed another, spilled bright red blood down the length of her spine. Where she'd clawed her own throat, trying to keep from choking, more blood ran.

She ignored it.

There were scattered bits of first aid gear amid her clothes, from Asuma's dig through the kit earlier. He'd taken most of it up with him, but she found a fat roll of medical tape and half a dozen bandages. She snagged the tape and began to bind her shoulder, stretching it from her bicep on up, using it to support her arm but leave her mobile. It took the strain off pulled tendons and muscles, and gave her some limited strength back. With an effort she managed not to notice her claws, broken off and rimmed with old blood. Instead, she focused on the mild sunburn and darkening bruises scattered here and there.

She couldn't see her own neck to bandage it, or reach her back effectively enough to bandage that. She could just leave them... nothing was so deep as to be dangerous.

Then she thought about blood sticking cloth to injuries and drying there. All right -- at least her back needed to be seen to.

Before that, though, she pulled on underwear and pants, folding the waistbands down so they hung low on her hips below most of the lash marks. She eyed her sports bra. It was tight under her breasts, all the way around her body.

Where she'd been whipped.

Her breasts weren't that big. She didn't really need them strapped down.

She glanced at the form-fitting ANBU shirt next, and scowled. Torso still bare, she cracked open the galley door and bellowed. "Asuma! Grab a crewman's shirt and get down here, would you?"

Asuma blinked. He'd faded out a little, waiting for Tsume to get done with whatever she was doing, and now the world came rushing back. Mostly, there was still sea. The clone at the wheel gave him a searching look beneath dry amusement.

"Need a hand up, old man?"

"Bite me," Asuma told it, tossing off a one-fingered salute, and hauled himself to his feet. There was a definite sensation of cracking skin between his shoulderblades. A tiny, cringe-worthy buzz from faintly grating skull bones. He took a breath, swallowed down nausea, and steadied himself against the side.

Crewman's shirt. Right.

He glanced down at the one he was wearing--the one that required no moving or hunting or bending of any kind to reach--and decided that was good enough. It was big on him; it would swamp Tsume completely. He figured she'd probably like that.

Now, getting it down to her...

In the end, it was just a question of walking. He kept a hand against the nearest upright surface that seemed halfway solid--walls, doors, one wise-cracking clone that wanted to check he wasn't about to pitch over--and made it back belowdecks with a minimum of fuss. A silver of light glinted around the edges of the galley door. The air still smelled like stew.

Stiffly, Asuma peeled the rough canvas shirt off.

"Hope you didn't want anything else," he said to that crack of light. "Because you might be out of luck. Though, I agree that a tiara might really set the look off..."

There was a flicker of movement. A bare slice of naked skin. He'd seen a lot more than that in their naked hours of captivity...

He held the shirt out, tipped his head back, and studied the ceiling.

Tsume opened the door far enough to stick her arm out and grab the shirt, then pulled it back in. There was something about being half dressed that made her feel so much more naked than being completely undressed.

Or maybe that was just the memory of fingers --

She dragged the shirt on over her head, struggling when her injured shoulder didn't want to lift her arm that high. Finally, she popped her head through the wide neck opening, let the cloth fall down around her body, and carefully worked her injured arm through the sleeve.

The tunic was huge. It bared her entire throat -- and all the lovely cuts and bruises -- and threatened constantly to slide off one shoulder. Beyond that, though, it was shapeless, sleeves hanging far below her hands, cloth draping around her torso almost to her knees. She was pretty sure that no one could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. That offered some comfort.

Her nails were barely stubs. She kept her hands hidden by the sleeves of the shirt and opened the door, looking up at a heavily bandaged Asuma from under her hair -- greasy, stiff with dried salt from her dive in the ocean, and even more chaotic than it normally was.

Asuma was leaning carefully against the wall across from the door, his eyes glassy and his skin almost ashen under the dark stubble that graced his jawline. Strength was draining from him -- even he couldn't look powerful when he looked more like he was about to fall over.

Tsume stepped back into the room so he could follow, frowning. "Can you bandage me up before you drop? Or should we try the jutsu and a clone can deal with my back?" She lifted one shoulder in a jerky shrug, then yanked the shirt back up when it tried to slide. "It's nothing that can't wait."

More blood dripped slowly down the line of her spine, stalling in one of the welts. It kind of tickled.

If he could have managed it without flooring himself, Asuma would have lifted both eyebrows. "Is this one of this 'it can waits' that can actually wait, or am I going to be scraping you off the deck in an hour?"

Provided he was conscious.

Tsume shrugged again, raising what was clearly a painful shoulder. From what he could remember, she'd been lashed, strangled, beaten, and strangled again--and she'd torn up her own throat to hell and back. But none of that was likely to drop her soon, unless she caught wound-fever. And he'd sloshed around enough antiseptic to hopefully keep that at bay. Surely it wouldn't hurt to wait five minutes and get a clone...

Yeah, and pigs might fly. Asuma snorted to himself, cut the sound off with a clench of teeth, and headed for the first table to meet his eyes. It was cleaner than the floor, and he didn't have to bend to get to it. He hauled himself onto it, faced Tsume, and crossed his legs. Kept his spine straight.

"C'mon, love, grab bandages and sit down. I'd rather see you fixed before we go about breaking my head off."

Besides, he thought, looking at bright blue eyes, a narrow-bladed jaw, skin that should have been tanned but fell somewhere between pale and sunburned, scarlet dagger tattoos, and every single part of her that sang woman rather than wolf--at least he'd get to focus on a bite of normality for a while.

Aching laughter itched in his throat; he let it out.

"Don't even think about hysteria," Tsume muttered, scooping up the bandages she'd found among their things and heading to the table. But she gave him a wry smile as she reached it, taking the sting out of her words.

Carefully, she climbed onto the tabletop, facing away from Asuma, her knees raised in front of her. She folded her injured arm across her stomach, then reached over her shoulder with her good arm and grabbed at cloth, pulling the back of her shirt up.

Between the sleeve falling over her hand and the fact that there was a lot of extra cloth, she wasn't managing very well. Then she felt careful hands helping, gathering material away from her skin and rolling it up to her shoulders. Cool air brushed her spine, and she imagined she could feel Asuma's gaze on her skin. The spot between her shoulder blades itched.

She took the material from him, holding it up and out of the way, her back stiff. Unexpectedly, she was glad she'd put on underwear. Pants slid down when you sat, and she'd rolled hers down even father -- at least she wasn't showing him half her butt along with everything else.

Apparently, one major difference between wolf and woman was that lash marks on a woman looked so much worse. He stared at blue-black-red for a long moment before his brain caught up and reorganized the image into something understandable. A double fistful of whip marks sliced through already scarred skin, criss-crossing down the entire length of that lean back. Blood ran in slender trickles; bruises faded into the background like a purplish watermark.

Softly, Asuma whistled. The sound caught in his dry throat.

"Guess we know who's getting the most baddass ninja award when we get home," he said, sketching half a smile. "Me, obviously. But you get close second."

Tsume snorted, twisting to look at him over her shoulder. Through her human throat, the sound came out higher, lighter, with no depth of gravel. Across her jaw and throat, the stitches he'd put in made an ugly black line. He'd need to bandage those, too.

She was very definitely not wearing a bra.

And now that's sexy? Asuma thought, leashing back his own snort.

Tsume kept her shirt held up. He doused her back with the last splash of antiseptic, let her work through the wince, then took the first untangled spool of bandage she'd dropped to one side, and re-rolled it. Slowly, her legs stretched out as she leaned back towards him, close enough for him to get a halfway comfortable angle. He tied a loop around the lowest part of her torso, knotting it firmly around slim hips, then began to unwind it, passing it between his hands around and around her body, covering the whole bloody mess with white that soon stained pink. It wasn't a neat job--hell, it wasn't even a clean job--but at least it would stop the bleeding and offer some measure of protection. A bit of support.

Reaching her breasts was interesting.

For a moment, Asuma hesitated, shamelessness and common sense warring with each other, and then just kept going. Her shoulderblades were as cut up as the rest of her; they needed bandaging, and those bandages had to anchor around something. He kept his hands moving briskly, very much not thinking about what she was probably thinking about--whatever he was, he wasn't like those bastards had been--and finished the job. It took three rolls of bandages and not a little pain, what with having to keep his arms raised, but the end result made him snort with laughter.

"Double set of corsets," he said, tugging her shirt back down and ruffling her hair. "I like it."

Tsume huffed a laugh, trying not to think. At least he didn't smell like arousal. All she could smell off him was cigarettes.

The bandages were tight around her entire torso, creating a low burn of pain that faded into the back of her mind, easily dismissed. She'd probably have to soak them off, but that's what the medics at Konoha were for, and in the meantime cloth wouldn't tear free from her back every time she shifted.

She shook the tunic out over herself, moving away and turning to face Asuma, her legs crossed. The sleeves had fallen over her hands, again. She left them there and eyed the ninja before her critically.

With bandaging of his own swathing his entire chest and back, stitches on his face, and bruising on every other visible bit of skin, he was more monstrous than pretty. She'd lost track of how many solider pills he'd had, or how much chakra he might have left. The jutsu didn't take too much chakra -- unlike seemingly half the Inuzuka jutsu, you didn't need a familiar's energy or solider pills, if you were refreshed. Most of the energy came into play because it was creating new bone -- never easy -- and to manage pain.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Asuma grabbed the bottle of antiseptic again and doused a bit of cloth with it, then reached for her throat.

She reared back, grabbing his wrist with one hand -- not an easy prospect, since that one hand was wrapped in a sleeve. She glared at him. "What are you doing?" Because her throat was fine, and she didn't much feel like baring it at the moment.

Asuma stared at her.

"Salsa dancing," he said, after a beat, and shook off her hand. Deliberately, he held up the cloth and empty bottle of antiseptic, shaking them slightly. "They not familiar with the concept of complete medical care on your planet? Because I'd hate to see your back make it home alive while your neck rots off."

Tsume's hand darted to her clawed, knife-bitten throat, fingers hesitating over bruise-ringed stitches. Clotting scabs. She winced, then snapped, "It's fine. You doused it and stitched it."

"Yeah, and now I'm bandaging it," Asuma told her firmly. "Are we going to have an argument about this? Because I warn you right now, I will definitely fall on you." A smile twitched his lips, undercut by steel. "Twice, probably."

Tsume narrowed her eyes at him. She doubted he'd be able to actually fight --

But she didn't much want to explain that she'd hit her teammate and he'd died of a skull fracture. She reached out, yanking a sleeve up and snatching the wet bit of bandage from his hand. She rubbed it over her own jaw, refusing to flinch at the sting, and growled, "Cut some medical tape," while she reached for the roll of bandages and tore a piece off with her teeth.

By the time he'd cut off two bits of tape, she'd figured out where to put the pad simply by prodding until she was sure all the painful sections were covered. She glared at him again, taping everything in place and winding more bandages around her neck to protect the deep ruts her nails had carved into her own flesh. That she tied off, feeling weirdly armored and vulnerable at once, with something wrapped around her throat. "Better? Can we focus now?" On something other than her jugular would be nice.

"Y'know," said Asuma thoughtfully, "your ability to say thank you still sucks." It wasn't even a quarter of a smile this time, barely a lilt of split, scabbed lips, but the faintest spark still danced in his eyes. He'd met her halfway through a brawl--and gotten scratched for the privilege of dragging her out of it. In a weird way, it was nice to see that snap still lurking. That same bad-tempered, snarling, scrapping, driving anger. Especially after all her snuggling.

Though he wasn't protesting the snuggling.

Carefully, he braced his elbows on his knees, trying to lean comfortably and keep his back straight all at once. His head pounded, something like bone-deep nausea tangled through the oh-so-fragile casing that was all that stood between his brain and daylight. Well, unless you counted bruise-weltered skin.

And hair.

He refocused, locking his eyes on Tsume's fierce, battered face. "I'm all yours, sensei. Heal me."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, letting go of irritation to try and assess how competent he was. "Do me a favor and stay sane until after the jutsu, huh? I'd hate to explain to your father why you suddenly became a bonehead." She bared her teeth in a wicked smile, and watched his eyes focus again.

Then Tsume took a breath, settling herself on the table. He'd leaned forward -- that was good. If he collapsed she didn't want him hitting the floor. This way, he'd just slump onto the wood. "All right, look. The jutsu pulls together whatever bone pieces are out of line and speeds healing -- what would take weeks takes minutes. It's not taught often, because the damage it does to any soft tissue in the way isn't usually worth it." Changing from a wolf to a human or the other way around wasn't possible with broken bones, which was the only reason she knew it.

She licked her lips, rolling the sleeves up absently, her fingers curled to hide the missing claws. "If the bones are out of line... it hurts." She caught his eye and added, "A lot. If they're not, it hurts, but only a little." Either way, she doubted he'd be functional afterward. "And," Tsume added after a moment, "I've never taught this jutsu to someone who's not Inuzuka." She gave him a wry smile. "There'll be some guesswork involved."

"Oh good," said Asuma, dry as broken stone. "I'd hate to think we were being unnecessarily accurate. I mean, it's not like it's my head or anything."

The look Tsume gave him was an interesting cross between I know and quit whining. He straightened his shoulders, easing his neck a bit, and found his eyes landing on her hands. Mostly hidden by too-long sleeves, but he could still catch a flash of surprisingly delicate fingers, shorn claws. The tips were still a little red.

Small hands to be putting his future in.

But what was life without risk? He'd gotten good scars--and better stories--on his last mission with Natsumi. And now he had another set to go along with them. Both with gorgeous, fiery women to spice up the telling. You couldn't ask for much more.

And if he croaked now, it wasn't like either one of them had gotten attached enough to risk a broken heart.

Besides, cracks in the bone only hurt a little, she'd said. He could deal with a little.

"Moonlight's wasting, pretty lady," he said, putting his hands together in the ready shape for seals. "Give me your best shot."

Tsume grinned, willing to go along with whatever kept him moving. "My best shot would floor you, shinobi. Now -- the seals are fairly simple. Start with dog--" and oh, the jokes she'd heard about that growing up, "--then tiger, serpent and -- when you're ready -- horse." It was the most basic of patterns. A guide to ninja learning the jutsu, though the goal was always to learn how to do it without the seals.

An Inuzuka trapped into canine form by a broken bone didn't have fingers. What they did have was a familiar's worth of chakra to expend, making up for what the seals couldn't do. Asuma didn't have that, but luckily, he had fingers.

She watched him go through the pattern three times, watched it flow smoother with each repetition. Finally, she nodded. "When you add chakra, boost it through serpent. Focus the chakra on your skull and creating bone. This is when it'll hurt -- and when you have to stay aware." She slowed her words, enunciating. This was important. "When you release serpent into horse, it'll lock the jutsu in place and help it complete. It's almost impossible to gather too much chakra for this jutsu -- the more there is, the faster the bone heals. If you don't gather enough it ranges from simply not happening, to dragging what it needs from your system. If you feel that, help yourself by not fighting it." Tsume smiled wryly. "And then you can pass out."

And hopefully, if there wasn't brain swelling that they pressed on or bleeding they didn't know about, he'd even wake up.

"Now, pay attention." She went through the seals again, scraping up chakra and sliding it down her pathways. Making it imitate how it should look in him was a trick; she didn't have a normal system. "Just do it like that for a minute. Let me make sure..." Make sure she hadn't screwed up, somehow. She didn't want a growth sprouting out the back of his head.

That was a lot to focus on. Asuma latched his shaky thoughts around each separate piece of information, trying to catch them and keep them, and found Tsume's hands settling on his forearms. Her chakra--pale and twisted--washed over his skin as he ran his own chakra through pathways still thrumming brightly with false energy. She corrected him twice, then a third time, making him change the pattern with firm little taps of those clawless fingers.

Dog, tiger, serpent, horse. Chakra through serpent. Lock it with horse. Focus and think about regrowing bone.

Don't pass out.

He caught his lower lip between his teeth, running through the pattern again. Little scabs broke on his palms and fingers. Tsume's hands were cold against his skin, but steadying. He messed up again; she corrected him. He focused harder.

Didn't think about his skull. Not before he had to.

The ship rocked beneath them, moving with a purpose now as his clones guided it. The lanterns flickered, casting warm, tallow-light shadows over the walls and wooden floor. The air still smelled like stew, like warm gravy and meat he couldn't eat. He could see the cans he'd ripped open scattered across other tables. Blood and bandages strewn over the floor. The dead medic's shoe, attached to a body that had half-slid beneath one bolted down table.

For the first time in a long time, Asuma wondered what his personal body count even was.

Maybe they'd be waiting to meet him.

Dog--tiger--serpent--horse--

Tsume nodded, hands still on his forearms. His bracelets caught against her sharp, cloth-shrouded elbows with every third seal; his Guardian Twelve sash was still firmly knotted around his forehead, soaked with sweat and blood. It probably wasn't a good time to catch a last cigarette, he thought, and took one more look at the room. At his partner, with her blue eyes, wild hair, and iron-hard resolve.

Last woman he might ever see.

Dog--tiger--serpent--

Chakra gathered.

"Hey, Tsume," he said, and ducked down as her head lifted, pressing his lips firmly against hers. "Thanks."

--horse.

He focused on pain, and released the jutsu.

Her grip tightened on his arms as his muscles went rigid. Much as she'd like to drop him for kissing her -- what was he thinking? -- that would probably not help anything.

Besides, if she kept touching him, she could at least feel where his chakra was going -- make sure the jutsu was working --

His skin, under stubble and bruises and cuts, went pale. The muscle in his jaw jumped and released. He turned ashen. Pupils dilated, and with a hoarse gasp he slumped forward, bracing a hand on her shoulder as all his energy went toward focusing the chakra -- she hoped -- instead of remaining upright.

Tsume grunted and rebraced herself. He was just as heavy as he looked. She wrapped her hands around his shoulders, willing him to direct the energy flow. It felt like he was. It felt right. His body contracted. Muscles spasmed. His hands clawed for his skull, and she scrambled to grab his forearms to keep them down. Grating the bones out of place would only make it worse.

"Asuma, don't," she barked when he pulled against her. He must have heard, somewhere. He stopped fighting. His breath coursed over her shoulder, ragged and shallow.

And then she felt the jutsu engage, solidifying as it rushed into his skull and started forming bone. "Okay." She relaxed her grip, rubbing her palms up and down his arms. "You're done." It would work itself now.

For a moment, he moved his hands as if he might rub her in return: automatic and soothing. Then his whole body went limp.

He was even heavier as dead weight than he was as conscious weight.

"Ack -- bloodticks," Tsume squawked. She planted a hand on the table to keep them both from falling, grabbing him with the other. "Need a clone down here!"

It seemed like forever before one arrived. For a moment, she had the terror that it wouldn't. That Asuma was dead, and the clones vanished. But she could feel his breath fluttering on her chest, his heartbeat under her raw fingertips.

When the clone arrived, he helped her roll Asuma to one side. Tsume stood, unsure whether she ought to check his head or not. If it hadn't worked and she moved a bone... better not.

"Watch him," she said, resisting the urge to feel for his pulse once more. "And get me when he wakes up."

"Aye aye, Captain."

She glowered.

The clone smiled.

Steeling herself, Tsume took the medkit from Asuma's unconscious form, hooked the pills on her own beltpouch, and headed up the stairs. She couldn't do anything down here, and they needed a crew to sail. They needed to find out how the buyers had known about the weapon.

She paused on the deck, looking out at the dark sea. Asuma would be all right. He had to be all right, because there wasn't anything left she could do.

"You," she said, gesturing at another clone. "Come with me." She started purposefully across the ship, toward the brig. The wind teased at her, sliding in all the openings of her shirt and chilling her skin.

Asuma would be warm enough below, at least. There was food if he woke. She should have left pain medication. She hesitated, licking her lips --

And tasted sugary peaches and cigarettes and something sharp and unseen.

"Stay here," she muttered, and reversed direction. He'd be okay. He'd wake up soon, so she'd go back and leave pain medication, and make sure he didn't need anything else, and then she had things to do. They were going home.