| Follow My Lead | [Aug. 12th, 2015|07:45 pm] |
[Takes place the morning of May 15, Yondaime Year 5, a day following Bottle of Smoke and a few hours after Devil’s Got My Secrets]
Genma woke with the sun slanting across the foot of the bed, which in the north-facing bedroom meant he’d slept four hours later than usual. A glance at the clock proved it: nearly half past eight. Asuma had rolled away in his sleep, presenting broad, bare shoulders, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Genma studied the scar he’d run his fingers over the night before. It was clean-edged and well-healed — the mark of a bladed cut that someone had tended to while it was still fresh. He wondered which of the Guardian Twelve had been proficient at healing jutsu. Was it one who’d died a traitor, or one who’d stayed loyal to his vows and his Daimyou?
It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Far more important was the question of what sword Asuma had blocked. In the year and a quarter since Asuma had left to serve in Hikouto, how many threats to the Daimyou’s life had come and gone? What missions had Konoha taken on as a result of those threats?
In the morning light, Genma’s problems should have paled. They were minor compared to the nightmare Asuma had lived through. But the attack on the Fire Daimyou, the dissolution of the Guardian Twelve, Team Six’s mission against the Tsuto family, and Raidou’s uncertain future were inextricably linked. You could no more separate the eggs back out of a baked cake.
He sighed, ruffling the hair that had fallen into his eyes. Asuma was right there, a mere handspan away, so close Genma could feel the heat radiating from Asuma’s skin. So close Genma’s body was responding in ways that probably — that almost certainly — weren’t what Asuma wanted to wake up to. Not anymore. That much had been clear enough the night before.
And it would just be a temporary distraction. Asuma would still be in mourning, Team Six would still be in limbo, and the day was still going to come, with physical therapy appointments and mountains of paperwork for the mission, and for the team in general. With two completed missions under their belts it was time for Team Six’s first performance evaluations, whether or not Raidou was there to sign off on them.
For now, Genma needed to track down his teammates and make sure they were still handling things okay. As soon as PT was over, he told himself, he’d head straight to HQ and the rookie barracks to check in on Ryouma and Kakashi. And then he’d find Katsuko. And maybe, if the gods were merciful, there would be news from Intel about Raidou.
There probably wouldn’t be.
But there was no way he was going to know one way or another lying here in bed half-aroused next to a man who wasn’t likely to reciprocate. He rolled onto his back, yawned, stretched, and eased himself out from under the blankets.
As soon as he tried to stand, his leg reminded him why he was going in for PT as soon as he was showered and presentable. Fortunately Asuma had put the crutches against the wall where all Genma had to do was grab for them. He caught sight of himself in Aoba’s full-length mirror on his way to the bedroom door and snorted — there was something inherently ridiculous about crutching naked.
Asuma woke up then, because there was nothing graceful or stealthy about Genma crutching naked, either. He rolled onto his back, raised his head long enough to give Genma a bleary look, and flopped back against the pillows with a soft groan, throwing one arm over his face to ward off the invasion of light and day.
“Morning, sunshine,” Genma said. “Don’t get up. I’ll let you know when the shower’s free.”
A gruff mumble that could have been “Mmkay,” issued from under Asuma’s arm.
Genma smiled. At least some things hadn’t changed. Asuma had never been a morning person. Even on missions, he’d taken first watch, never last, and always been the last one out of his bedroll unless there was actual blood being spilled close to hand.
A scalding shower drove the last of the sleep from Genma’s system, and a cold rinse took care of lingering unsatisfied desire. He luxuriated in the chance to shave properly, after nearly two weeks away from home, and took his time brushing his teeth and combing out his wet hair just to give Asuma another few minutes of dream time. Then, when his leg was starting to ache enough that he was gritting his teeth, he wrapped a towel around his hips and crutched back to the bedroom.
“Shower’s yours, Asuma,” he said, easing down onto the bed with a soft hiss. “I’m gonna bandage my leg and find some clothes, and then I’ll see if Aoba left us anything I can cook for breakfast.”
Asuma grunted an acknowledgment without giving any other signs of life. Some things never changed.
Genma was just working up the fortitude to get on with rebandaging his leg when Asuma rolled over towards him, flung an arm across the pillow Genma had slept on, and offered a thick-voiced, “Still got some leftovers.”
“So you’re actually awake?” Genma abandoned wondering where they’d left the medical supplies the night before and sprawled backwards to rest his head on Asuma’s chest. “Did you actually put them in the fridge after I passed out, or are we risking food poisoning if we eat them?”
“Sleeptalking. Insert coffee for coherency,” Asuma said. He proved to be an uncooperative pillow when he yawned and stretched, but Genma didn’t sit back up. “Put it away,” Asuma said when he settled again. “The beer, too.”
“We’re not having beer for breakfast. Or at least, I’m not,” Genma said. He stretched as well, rolling his shoulders and arching his back, shivering pleasant tension right down his spine and into his hips and legs. The injured one registered immediate complaint. “But I am taking a full dose of painkillers as soon as I have food in my stomach. Not going to physical therapy without a good solid cushion, ‘cause you just know I’ll get Matsumoto or one of the other PT sadists. I bet those guys moonlight for T&I.”
Asuma shifted behind him, probably nodding in agreement. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Want the rickshaw again?”
“Downhill is easier,” Genma said. Although arriving at PT pre-exhausted was probably a bad idea. But they wouldn’t have sent him home if they hadn’t expected him to be recovered enough to get around, including back and forth to appointments. He just needed to recondition a little. “I can walk it.”
Asuma’s chest jumped as he tried and failed to cover a disbelieving snort with a laugh.
“I can,” Genma insisted. “How am I supposed to get back in shape for missions if I don’t exercise? It’s not that far.”
“Not that far, says the man who couldn't make it even when he'd been in bed all day.” Asuma patted Genma’s head, taking care to muss up every freshly-combed strand. “I'll call a rickshaw.”
“It’s all downhill this time,” Genma protested. “But fine, if it will make you feel better.” It would, he supposed, save energy for later, when he went to chase down his dispersed team members. He sat up and finger-combed his hair back into something like order. “Where’d we leave that gauze and ointment last night?” |
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