Beginning of April. Ryouma had been waiting in Kakashi’s hospital room, and Kuromaru was healed, in his natural shape again; they’d come to play blackjack with him at the end of March. He hadn’t seen them since.

Chakra-healing.

He let out a slow breath. “Guess it was my fault you were down a man. I didn’t know he hadn’t been cleared for duty by then.”

He hadn’t asked. Other questions, intrusive questions, halfway to provoking a fight Tsume wouldn’t take—but that one he hadn’t touched. He’d never quite let himself look at her face, never tried to see what lay beneath the carelessly concealing mop of her hair.

Asuma’s story deserved more of a reaction. Laughter, applause, commiseration maybe; he didn’t know. Couldn’t think.

“Are they—are they okay now? How’s...” He swallowed. Touched his own temple, his ear. “How’s she look?”

Asuma grinned. “Sexy.” He tapped the same spot on his temple, just below his hair. “So that was you, huh? Guess that’s one reason to feel lousy about yourself. Are you why Kuromaru’s missing an eye, too?”

The red-hot kunai, the pop of an eyeballl torn out of its socket, the smell of roasting rotted meat, blood and acid and bile on his tongue...

“You’ve heard about my rot-jutsu. I grazed him with it. Didn’t know it would transfer to Tsume—didn’t know it had, til we got back to Konoha. The medics pulled off miracles, an’ both of ‘em seemed to forgive me for it, but...”

He closed his hands, dropped them into his lap. “How’s she doing now? How come she went back to clan head? I’da thought she was busy enough in ANBU.”

Asuma cocked his head, brows quirking up. “She quit, man.”

It was hard to breathe again. It couldn’t be that bad. She’d gone on—survived!—a mission with Asuma; she was alive (sexy), bossing her clan members around officially now, but... “You know why?”

“Inuzuka had an explosion on the clan grounds back in April—it was nasty. Couple of Academy kids practicin’ jutsu got too close to some underground gas tanks. Blew a quarter of the compound to hell and back, set most of the rest of it on fire.” Asuma’s voice was as desolate as Wind Country desert, his eyes dark, remembering. He rubbed a thumb over the back of his left hand, where a circular scar was still fresh and purple, like a drop of oil on skin.

“They were lucky not to lose more’n they did. Maybe twenty total—old folks and kids, mostly. Tsume didn’t like the way it was bein’ handled afterwards, I guess, ‘cos she kicked the alpha-dog out an’ took over.”

Not his fault. He winced at that treacherous tide of relief, but the needle of guilt wasn’t anything like as piercing as it could have been. The dead were buried now, already mourned. He drew a steady breath at last.

“If you’re still interested in her, you should try to get Kuro on your side. He’s got this theory about alphas needing to mate for the good of the pack or the cute kids or somethin’. I never had any luck, but you might be—”

Safer? Less complicated? More understanding and understood?

“Your luck might be better, anyway.”