Genma wasn't being very talkative tonight, though the man had shown a preference for conversation rather than silence. Hayate didn't mind. Given the choice, he preferred not talking, and over the meal fell off into his own set of musings. When Genma spoke, it was almost startling, and Hayate looked up at him, blinking.

"Mmm? Oh." He tilted his head to the side, and considered their work over the past few days before nodding. He had a quick mind for memorization, and by now he was sure he had the information necessary for the mission down pat. He wasn't over-confident--that would have been foolish--but he was certain enough of what they had to do.

"If you think it's a good idea," he answered, phrasing it carefully, because Genma was his superior in rank and experience.

Hayate wasn't often assigned to assassination missions; the bulk of his experience lay in guard duty, running courier routes, and the like. According to the mission statement, he was mainly here as back-up for Genma, who seemed rather at his ease about the whole mission. The older man appeared oddly laid-back altogether...but Hayate suspected that easy air was like that of a cat's. Even slumped against the headboard bonelessly, there was a predatory feel to Genma.

Hayate realized he'd drifted into his own thoughts again, as if he hadn't been paying attention to Genma--which, he realized with a mental wince, could be taken as disrespectful. To remedy the lapse, he offered a quick smile, gaze meeting Genma's briefly. The smile meant nothing, really, but if Genma had been a little offended, perhaps he'd take it as an apology or something like.

"Wouldn't have suggested it if I hadn't thought so," Genma answered. "We know the target will be working late tonight, and there are only two civilian guards after nine. I figure we should pick up our extra body before we head over, but there's time for that. We can knock her out, get in past the guards, get into Mitsugawa's office with her, and I'll kill them both there. You can keep up a sound-killer jutsu and keep watch while I set the scene with them. Then we can go looking for the documents in Oimikado's safe."

It sounded like a reasonable enough plan. And it left him with the actual murders. Not that he wasn't willing to divvy up the labor, but Hayate just looked too young to be doing assassin's work, even if he was ANBU.

"You see any problems with that?"

Of course acquiring the specified underage prostitute to leave with Mitsugawa's corpse was going to be a pain. You had to scout them, lure one, all that crap. Probably one who was no older than Hayate.

Hayate shook his head mutely. Genma was at least very reasonable to work with; he'd treated Hayate with a sort of off-handed kindness--despite his rookie status--and he wasn't making unfair demands. Hayate felt he liked the man already, though he hadn't known him long at all.

Given the choice, Hayate would definitely prefer being the one on watch than the one actually performing the assassination. It was a point he considered a weakness, but one he couldn't seem to do much about. Killing in a fast and furious fight never bothered him, but in secret or in silence....it made his skin crawl every time.

He cleared his throat before he spoke again, but his voice was still frayed and soft. "When should we leave?" And, as the thought occurred to him, "do have an idea where we could find...um, the prostitute?" Because he didn't.

At least, not the kind they were looking for. The mission specs had been very plain about the prostitute being underage. Far as Hayate could tell, the women they had seen farther down in the district had been rather older. ....not that he'd been looking too hard or anything.

Genma chuckled, looking up at the not-quite-past-being-a-boy who was his partner. "You seriously have to be kidding me, right? Did you even take a single look right or left outside?" The guilty stain of pink flushing Hayate's pale cheeks answered that question, and Genma laughed aloud.

Hayate was definitely past puberty, if the angle of his jaw and his height were any markers. He had the awkwardly large hands and feet Genma remembered having himself, when he'd been sixteen, and the dark stain of peach fuzz that wasn't really ready to call itself a beard on his chin and upper lip. Even if he still had a schoolboy's reluctance to say the word prostitute aloud, he surely knew where to start looking for one.

"We'll probably find our girl along over in that little warren of streets and alleys the locals call the Octopus Garden. We got food from a place near there yesterday, remember? I think we can pretty much take our pick. Might have to go through a pimp, though. You ever hired a whore before?"

Hayate's blush darkened further at Genma's final, blunt question. He hated it when the tips of his ears felt hot like that; it meant he was blushing so hard there was no way Genma could miss it.

Genma's laugh wasn't mocking, only honestly amused. Hayate cut him a glance beneath lowered lids and registered the friendly quirk of Genma's mouth, the relaxed lounge against the headboard. He sighed a very small sigh, and decided not to be irritated.

"I remember," he said, in answer to the earlier question. "Reminded me of a rat's nest."

All snarly and cluttered and dirty, with bits of shiny things hoarded away. He hadn't liked the narrowness of the streets or the curious glances that had trailed them. The food had been fairly tolerable, though Hayate hadn't really been brave enough to try the meat.

And some of the women, in their tantalizing scandalous clothes, had been different from the over-painted women found closer to the dumpy hotel the ninja were staying in. Not that Hayate had been looking. Much.

"Depends on the rat," Genma said with a laugh. "I know a couple rats that keep pretty orderly nests." Hayate's blush was almost cute, in that gawky adolescent sort of way. "Tell you what, I'll do the actual recruiting. You can come with me to watch. Or maybe recruiting is a bad idea..." He scratched his head and stared into space a bit, pondering the logistics.

"Actually, I think what we really want to do is get a girl who... No, wait." The internal threads of plans kept tying themselves in snarls before they made it to Genma's mouth. He could tell by the baffled look on Hayate's face that he wasn't exactly inspiring confidence.

"OK, what I was thinking was this. We go together and talk to a pimp, get a girl young enough to satisfy me that we're getting you a real virgin. Pose as if I'm your big brother, trying to get you laid for the first time, see? But then I thought we don't want a pimp involved, because that's extra risk. But then I thought if I used henge to make myself look like what's-his-ass, our target, and you stayed out of sight playing backup, that might be best. Because then when the girl and the target turn up dead, the pimp can confirm that the old lech hired his girl, right?"

Hayate watched, amused, as Genma brainstormed. The man fidgeted as he talked, the restless shift and twist of his hands rolling the cheap bamboo 'round and between his scarred fingers like senbon. It felt a little rude, but Hayate couldn't help watching the motion instead of Genma's face. He was surprised the man hadn't gotten a splinter yet. As Genma's words started and stopped, so did his hands: he hadn't shown much of a penchant for talking with his hands. Maybe he did so now because he was thinking?

Interesting, but stay on track, he reminded himself. As he waited for Genma to get the plan--or his brain--sorted out, Hayate nibbled on few more bites of the shrimp-dish. He was pretty much full, but it seemed a shame to waste such good food. So he filled up the corners and listened to Genma think out loud.

At last a coherent plan emerged. Hayate considered it, rolling it about in his head for overt flaws, and nodded with a little relief. "That sounds reasonable." He definitely liked the idea of him not being involved in getting the prostitute. They just don't take you seriously when you blush, he thought in resignation, and sighed a little. Getting laughed at by a prostitute wasn't fun.

He cleared his throat. "Hmm, how far 'out of sight'?" That could mean anything from being "invisible" in the background to lurking on a convenient rooftop. He hadn't worked with the man before, which meant he didn't know the limits and boundaries a steady mission-partner would know. He was afraid he sounded like an awkward rookie for asking, but clear communication was vital.

"You want to use this as a teaching case? Learn how to conduct this kind of negotiation in case you ever need to hire some help for the night?" Genma winked and flashed Hayate a grin, watching the blush bloom afresh in the teenager's cheeks. "You'll have to stick close enough to hear what I say, which is pretty damn close..." He sat up on the bed, rolling upright with fluid grace, and shooting the used chopsticks into a nearly empty carton of rice with lethal expertise.

"What's-our-guy, Mitsugawa, he sometimes goes out with a bodyguard, right? You think you could henge yourself into the bodyguard? That big one with the kind of pre-human scowl?" Genma pulled over a packet of photographs and flipped through them, picking out a blurry shot of the thuggish-looking man in question, and tossing the photo to Hayate.

"Doesn't have to be perfect. You're not gonna be seen for long, and all we wanna do is have created a witness that Mitsugawa actually hired his little side dish."

Hayate twitched a little as Genma's chopsticks hissed into the container. It was an instinctive reaction. But to throw cheap bamboo chopsticks with accuracy like that...Hayate was impressed. He didn't like being teased so much, but he wouldn't mind working with the man.

Genma spun the photo at him, shuriken-style, and Hayate flicked a hand up to catch it, easily. He eyed the blurry shot of the bodyguard, and nodded. "I can do that." He liked the idea of being able to stay that close to his mission partner; waiting beside someone was far easier on the nerves than lurking just out of sight.

"So, after you, um, get the girl, we'd go straight to the target's office, right?" Hayate asked softly, planning out the times in his head. He tossed the photo back at Genma. Unfortunately, the flimsy paper didn't fly like a shuriken--it made a funny curve and nearly went off the bed. He winced when Genma leaned forward to catch it.

The thuggish bodyguard probably wouldn't stand in the background and cough, Hayate thought, as he was likely to do. The tangled places down in the Octopus Garden had been thick with lingering cigarette smoke and the prostitute's heavy perfume. The strong smells would set off his allergies, and that wasn't an option on this mission. Hayate scowled, more at the solution than the problem. He'd have to use that jutsu, and he absolutely detested it, even if would keep him from coughing for several hours--which would probably cover their mission. As he thought, he absently lifted a hand and nibbled on a thumbnail.

If I cast it right before we start...um...negotiating for the, um, girl, then it should last, he decided, grimly resigned. Killing the guy and finding the right papers ought not to take too long, after all.

He realized he was chewing on his thumbnail and frowned at it in dismay.

"What's the matter, rookie jitters? Don't look so worried," Genma said with a laugh. "It's not that bad of a mission, is it? Or that bad of a plan? Other than you have to pretend to look like that ugly asshole, but then I'm gonna be henge'd like him..." He tossed over a second photo, this one much sharper, of Mitsugawa. "So it's not like I'm going to win any beauty contests."

The man in question, their target, looked every inch the second-in-command that he was. A brown-noser, they'd discovered, while watching him over the last couple of days, who kissed up to his superior and browbeat his staff. He wasn't the sort of person who would have large crowds of mourners at his funeral. Particularly not after his body was found with that of a girl his daughter's age.

"We'll get the girl, maintain our cover, and head over to the offices. Then maybe... hmm. Okay, I'll knock the girl out, and we can drop the henges. You go in first, make sure the path to Mitsugawa's office is clear and he's in there. Give me the signal and I'll bring the girl in and do the dirty work with him, while you search his papers for the roster documents we're supposed to find. If we play our cards right, we'll be in and out of there before midnight."

He really hoped Hayate wasn't going to come apart. He'd seemed calm enough up till now, if a little easy to tease. Maybe having a solid plan would help ease his nerves.

Hayate looked up at Genma, and offered him a reassuring smile. "Oh, no," he answered softly. "Not jitters." He debated telling his companion about the jutsu; it didn't pertain strictly to the mission....

Hayate caught the second photo with as much ease as the first. His smile turned a shade wry as he considered the clear difference between Mitsugawa and Genma. It was like comparing a scrawny snarly dog to a sleek confident tom-cat. Doing his best to imitate Genma's sharp flick of the wrist, Hayate tossed the photo back. He didn't quite succeed, and it veered off course again, to his chagrin. Once more Genma had to make a quick lunge to catch it.

Genma changed his plans rapidly, as he tried them out and then bettered them. Half-amused, Hayate listened attentively.

"Understood," he said, when Genma paused and seemed to expect an answer.

It was probably best to tell Genma about the stupid jutsu. Hayate wiped his damp thumb on his jeans. A ragged edge of nail caught; he couldn't resist the reflex that brought his hand back to his mouth. He bit the edge off, winced as he hit the quick, then dropped his hand and pressed the tiny wound against his jeans to staunch the blood.

"Before we get the girl, I'll cast a jutsu that'll get rid of my cough," he informed Genma, voice fraying out. "It lasts a few hours."

He cleared his throat and watched carefully for Genma's reaction.

"You have a jutsu that can do that? That's good." Genma had tried to be circumspect about the cough. They'd established early on that Hayate was not, in fact, sick, that he had plenty of lung capacity for running, and that it was absolutely none of Genma's business even if he was some kind of field medic. At least that was how Genma summarized it. He'd almost asked a time or two what Hayate planned to do if they ended up needing to hide, but held back. After all, if Sandaime-sama and the village council thought Hayate was good enough for ANBU, and if ANBU's medics had cleared him, who was Genma to argue?

But suppression jutsu tended to be a little tricky. The nausea suppression jutsu he knew, when used on oneself, didn't really put an end to the need to vomit so much as delay it to a more convenient time, while doubling the intensity. And Soldier Pills, which were like a little fatigue-suppression jutsu in a capsule, always left you completely miserable after extended use as you went through withdrawal.

"It doesn't have any nasty rebound effects or anything, does it?" he asked, eyes on Hayate just as warily as Hayate was watching him. "Or tie up your chakra so you can't fight effectively? I don't think we're going to need to fight, but if you're gonna be at half strength because of an anti-cough jutsu, I need to know that."

When Genma turned all canny and wary like that, he reminded Hayate more than ever of a cat. One that was dangerous. Hayate ignored the little creeping chill down his spine, and shook his head.

"No, no rebounds. And once it's cast it won't tie up my chakra." Hayate put his head to the side, and launched into a better explanation. Genma was a field-medic--or so he'd said--and would probably understand the idea of the jutsu.

"At the hospital they call it the 'cough-syrup jutsu.' I'm not actually supposed to know it, because it's a jounin-level healing technique, but my chakra control's good enough I can manage it. Anyway, it's a chakra-based stimulation of the vagus nerve." Hayate had a vague understanding of it all. He was mostly parroting what he'd been told by the medics. "It wears off faster when there are more irritants around, but it still lasts about three or four hours." He knew the general principal of how and why, but the specific mechanics were a bit beyond him. All he really knew was that it worked and felt utterly nasty in the casting.

Jounin-level healing jutsu--that was interesting. Genma sat up a little more alertly. "So it's a healing jutsu, not a suppression? Maybe it works like atropine. That can slow signals in the vagus nerve. Maybe you could teach it to me?" That would be useful. Very useful. Any healing jutsu you could cast on yourself without ill effect was useful.

He rolled up his maps and put away the photographs and papers, but kept out the chart he and Hayate had carefully constructed from their observations of the guards at Mitsugawa's office. They'd need it. In fact they'd each need a copy, in case they got separated. A long, fluid twist brought him over the side of the bed, toes stretched towards Hayate, upper body disappearing over the far edge. He came upright with a pencil and a sheet of paper, and started copying out the schedule.

"We should aim for arrival at his offices at 21:15. That's when Beard-san takes his cigarette break on the north-west entrance and Potbelly-san checks in with his bookie. So I'd say we should head out to pick up our girl around 20:00."

Genma moved all easy and lean, toes pointed and curled, leg outstretched for counterweight: a cat's predatory grace.

He listened as Genma pared down the plan to specifics, perfectly content to let him take charge. He made mental notes as Genma made physical ones, in a hand that was oddly precise and clear....and careful, Hayate realized.

He hadn't asked about the startling ribbing of scars across the man's hands. Sometimes it was best to leave the past where it lay. As he watched, he saw the neatness came from deliberate care; an exacting control belying the damaged appearance of those hands.

"...around twenty-hundred," Genma said, and looked up with sharp honey-amber eyes to pin Hayate's watching gaze.

Somehow it felt reproachful and Hayate looked away. His brain caught up with the words, and he glanced back, not-quite meeting those eyes. "Twenty...?" Time shifted and reworked in his head, as he glanced at the clock. "I'd have to cast the jutsu now, then, before we leave."

Ugh! He'd looked forward to having some time to psyche himself up for that.

"You look thrilled about that," Genma said, one eyebrow raised. "It's that fun, huh?" He tucked away his pencil and pad, wondering about the odd look Hayate had just given him, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Here," he added, passing over the duplicate schedule. "Don't bother trying to teach it to me right now. I"ll see what I can learn from watching you."

Hayate's expression remained unhappy as he pulled in his chakra and focused it with hand seals. A fairly standard anti-inflammatory jutsu, Genma thought at first, but there was a twist to it. A complexity that bespoke hours and hours of practice. When Hayate placed his glowing hands against his breastbone, Genma wished he had Haruichi's eyes, to see what was happening in his young companion's body.

Whatever it was, it looked like it hurt.

He waited until Hayate had finished and dropped his hands to his side before he spoke. "You okay?"

Hayate always thought that maybe this was what it felt like to have one's internal organs fondled. Minus all the pain and blood. The jutsu felt just weird and he hated the tickle of chakra curving through his chest, slithering up his throat and feathering down through his lungs.

He always held his breath, though he wasn't supposed to--just like he wasn't supposed to know the jutsu in the first place.

And then it was done. He huffed a little half-cough, trying to get the lingering weirdness to go away. It didn't. He grimaced down at his hands, then slanted a look up at Genma and offered a faint smile to ease the worry he saw.

"I'm fine," he answered. Habit kept his voice quiet, pitched low against strain, though it wasn't necessary now. His own voice sounded odd to him--an effect of the jutsu.

He fetched up the schedule, and eyed it carefully before folding it up small, with delicate, precise motions. "I suppose we should be getting ready, then," he offered. "Since it's ten till."

It felt so strange to talk and not feel the urge to cough build in the back of his throat.

Hayate's voice had changed with that jutsu, becoming smoother, richer, less raw and whispery. Probably an anti-inflammatory effect, Genma decided. He definitely would need to learn it.

"Yeah, guess there's no rest for the wicked," he said, and levered himself up off the bed. His armour slipped over his head with a clank of buckles and the shush of cloth sliding against cloth. Flexible, but dense and heavy, the bone-white vest of the ANBU armor could stop a blade and still be supple enough for the ninja wearing it to curl into the tightest of spaces. Genma tightened the straps at the sides, cinching it into place. The weight was reassuring. Helped set his mind more firmly in mission mode.

Next came gloves, tugged up past the elbows. Leg wrappings, also made of armoured material, protecting fragile shins from breaking blows. Pouches of weapons and supplies went on the belt slung low on his waist, arm guards, hard and white, protecting the forearms. Katana strapped to back, mask in hand ready to cover his face.

"You ready?" he asked. He put the feline face over his own, then held up his hands and executed a henge. Where Genma had stood, now the man he was shortly to kill, Mitsugawa, appeared in his place.

Hayate took a moment to watch Genma get up--all liquid easy grace--before he turned away to get ready.

The weight of armor and steel took a little getting used to, every time he bore them. He rolled his shoulders and stretched a little, settling everything: physically, mentally, tucking away worries and mischief under the still patience he wore for missions.

Just as he scooped up the painted bird-mask, Genma's query reached across the room. He turned, and caught the tail end of Genma casting the henge, before the false image shimmered over the man.

Layers of masks. The thought tugged at Hayate's mind and faded. He wondered where it had come from, and why...but shook it away and slipped on the smiling bird-mask.

"Ready." His hands folded through signs to cast the henge.

The illusion of the weaselly paper-pusher nodded, and Genma led out the door.

****

The night was early, and the narrow rat's-nest streets were still in the process of waking up. Shops were being opened, bars unlocked, painted women and working men filing out of their dark hidey-holes to light up the night. The bustle was only beginning, Hayate noticed, as he followed Genma.

Genma walked the streets with a manner of nonchalance, Mitsugawa's face disdainful. Hayate stayed just a few paces back, recalling the dark glower the bodyguard had worn. In truth, he was a little nervous. Not about the mission, really, but about the narrow dark streets, the shady folk who wouldn't meet his gaze, the clandestine feel to it all.

Genma paused and entered a shabby little bar. Without hesitation Hayate went in after him.

They didn't stay there long. Genma make low inquiries to the surly-looking barkeep, and slipped a discreet coin across the stained counter. The coin vanished as neatly as any ninja could wish, and the burly man offered them a name and directions to another bar. With little bow, Genma slanted a look at Hayate and stepped back out onto the street.

The directions were as gnarled and twisty as the streets, but accurate. The second bar looked even more faded and worn than the last...but so did all the other buildings around here. Even the people looked rougher and ragged around the edges. Hayate's skin prickled with faint apprehension, and he kept a sharp eye out, even as they entered the bar.

After all, it was impossible to be too careful.

The second bar, and more specifically, the flashily-dressed man called Jitaro who sat in a booth at the back with an even greasier-looking hanger-on, proved to be the success of this part of the operation. A few words and another discreet show of coin had Jitaro nodding to his attendant, who scurried into the back through a beaded curtain. Genma glanced up at Hayate, who towered over him in his henge'd form, then sat opposite the pimp.

"Five hundred ryou for an hour," the bearded man said. "Five thousand for the night."

"I'll give you four hundred for two hours," Genma countered, in the high-pitched whine of an entitled noble. "If she's suitable."

"She will be." Jitaro poured grain alcohol into two not-quite-clean glasses and offered one to Genma. He took the other one himself, and raised it in a toast. "To seal the deal," he said.

Genma tossed back his shot with a slightly distasteful sneer on his henge'd face. He picked up the bottle and refilled the glasses, though. Perfect manners, perfectly executed. Very much in character as Mitsugawa. He also added a little something to Jitaro's cup. Odorless, with a taste easily disguised by the strong alcohol. Jitaro's memory of this encounter would be hazy. He'd remember Mitsugawa and his heavy coming to rent a girl for the night, but not enough details to cast any doubts should someone question him later. It was probably unnecessary. A little extra precaution in case the local law enforcement was better than expected.

The bodyguard, Hayate's counterpart, reappeared, leading a girl who couldn't have been more than thirteen years old. She was dressed and made up as if she were much older, in a short skirt that bared the tops of her stockings, and a low-cut green sweater that clung to the delicate beginnings of adolescent breasts. She looked her customers over with a jaded eye, and offered Genma a calculated smile.

"She's too old," Genma said at once.

"She's perfect for you," Jitaro countered. "Just what you asked for."

"No." Genma-as-Mitsugawa was imperious. "I want a fresh girl, not one who's been in your stables for years already. Look at her. She's too old." He glanced up at Hayate again, flashing a quick sign behind his back. Play along. Agree with me.

When Hayate'd read the instructions for the mission, he'd noted the phrase "underage prostitute." What he hadn't realized was how young that would be, and for a moment it was all he could to to contain his shock and disgust. Painted and posed like an adult, the girl still had the rounded face and slender form of a child. The sheer wrongness of it all made something sharp and hot twist in his chest.

Mission, he reminded himself, forcefully, and reined everything in until he could stand and watch without reacting, as Genma and the slimy Jitaro went into a flurry of haggling over the girl.

"She's too old," Genma-as-Mitsugawa declared, and glanced back at Hayate.

He was caught off-guard by the flicker of fingers behind Genma's back. Erk! Agree?

I am in over my head, Hayate thought with dismay.

He shuffled a step closer, scowling, to loom menacingly over the seated men. "Too old. You can do better." He did his best to pitch his voice into a low growl.

Jitaro scowled but waved a hand at the guard, who turned and hustled the girl away. "I see. I was merely offering a more...skilled girl." He smiled a sleazy smile. "Perhaps you're looking for something different?"

The guard returned. Hayate bit the inside of his lip and held still patience. This second girl was at least as young as the first, but dressed to look it, in a dress ruffled and sweet. Her dark eyes were huge in her round face. Hayate stopped looking at her. Beneath the mission-quiet he felt a little sick. He was fervently glad Genma was the one in charge; he wasn't sure he could have played the part of Mitsugawa.

Genma nodded at the new girl with a smug, satisfied look on his henge'd face. "That's better," he said. He turned a smarmy smile on the girl. "What's your name? Do you like sweets? Would you like some dango? Come over here and let Uncle get a good look at you."

The guard gave her a little push, and she edged closer to Genma. He reached a hand out and pulled her to him by the shoulder, then turned her face up to his. "Don't worry, sweet little peach, it isn't going to hurt." He'd be sure of that. He'd use a tiny needle to inject a paralyzing drug, then break her neck. She'd go in an instant, and never get a day older than she was now. Never get that hardened, jaded look in her eye that her older companion had had.

"Well," Jitaro interrupted. "You seem quite taken with her. And Aiko-chan likes you, I can tell. So are you taking her for the night, then?"

"Yes, for the night," Genma agreed. He slid an envelope full of cash across the table, and got to his feet, keeping his hand on the girl's shoulders. "You may pick her up from me at the address in that envelope. An hour before dawn will suffice. Of course I expect you will be discreet about coming to collect her?"

"Of course, Mitsugawa-san," Jitaro rose as well, and bowed deeply. His assistant mirrored the bow a little more stiffly, with his eyes still sharply on Hayate.

"Let's go," Genma said to Hayate, and ushered the girl out of the bar, back to the crowded, noisy streets.

The crowds were thicker, now, and Hayate stayed just a step behind Genma and the girl. He didn't look at her. Instead, he watched the people, milling faces and busy bodies. The press of humanity wasn't great, but in the narrow streets it felt overwhelming--tension shivered over his skin. He clenched his teeth and tried to keep his calm.

Now they were following the twisted streets out onto wider ones, and again wider, cleaner, clearer. The rough people and their presences and their threats all faded away into the night, as the trio moved up a few social classes.

The girl said nothing, padding beside Genma meekly. Hayate's gaze skipped over her head--she was maybe as tall as his breastbone. He didn't think about that; instead he noted the change in the streets, saw the buildings grow and shift. It was cleaner here, despite the threadbare air to the dimly-lit streets. Lights burned in some of the office windows, showing glimpses of lives, of business, of those who needed to stay so late to make a living. Once the tall buildings lining these streets had been impressive and busy. Now, with windows boarded up on the upper floors and weather-wear on their faces, they looked tired and neglected.

The empty floors had made excellent spying posts for a pair of ninja. Hayate frowned a little at Mitsugawa's office as they approached it. Surely they weren't going to march up to the door, with the girl in tow.

Genma altered his course, nodding towards a tiny, shabby shrine across the street, not quite in-line with the offices.

The girl's steps dragged a little, as they entered the old shrine. Genma kept his hand on her shoulders, fingers splayed down her back. As soon as Hayate stepped in and blocked the doorway, Genma dropped his henge.

The child flinched back, dark eyes huge with shock quickly blooming into terror. Her sharp inhale was smothered as Genma moved, cat-quick. Hayate barely saw the man's motions as he flicked a hand over her mouth. Genma's free hand flashed down to his pouch and back up. Metal caught the light, and then it was all over.

Whatever Genma had done, it worked very, very fast. The terror faded away from her face, and the girl slowly sagged to the floor.

Hayate wasn't sure what bothered him more: her fear, or the way she lay limp. He bit down on his lip, but couldn't seem to drag his gaze away.

That ugly hot feeling scraped down his chest again. Mission, he thought, but couldn't stop seeing those dark eyes full of fear.

Under the watchful gaze of a local deity enshrined in their hideaway, Genma bent down to check the pulse of the girl. It beat strongly in her neck, and her breathing continued in shallow little puffs. Her motor reflexes, when he checked them, were absent. He'd done the first half of his job well. "She's out. Won't be waking up. I'll finish her off once I'm in place with her and Mitsugawa. We want her blood on him, not me, after all." He glanced up at Hayate, and saw indecision.

"You ready to move on to the next step? You run interference and draw the guards away if they get too close. I'll go ahead to the target's office and take care of him and the girl." He tried not to think too hard about the little girl prostitute. It was never a good idea to think of your targets as anything other than targets. She was an ancillary target, Mitsugawa was the primary. He was the weapon. It was someone back at ANBU HQ or in the Hokage's office who had set the aim and released the arrow from the bow. He'd killed children before. Girls. Working for a pimp like she'd been, she wouldn't have lasted long anyway.

He blew out a breath, glanced again at the shabby god, and asked a silent prayer that whatever life this girl be born into next be better than this one had evidently been--a sex-slave at the age of ten. If she was even that old. He slung her over his shoulder and stood up.

"Alright, I think it's time. Are you ready?"

Hayate nodded. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. When he opened them, Genma had the girl--the body, better to think in neutral terms--over his shoulder.

He cleared his throat, but for no reason other than habit. "Ready," he answered, and his voice was steady.

He would do this. He was no green rookie; he would do his job and he wouldn't let Genma down. After all, he was backup.

He turned quietly, glad to not look at the child draped over Genma's shoulder like a life-sized doll. Instead, he set his mind to his mental maps, reviewing them swiftly as he stepped to the shrine doorway. He watched the dimly-lit street a moment, before nodding again and stepping out to begin the real mission

There was an alarm system, but it was an older type and easily disabled with the right knowledge. With that and the not-perfectly-attentive set of civilian guards, it was almost laughably easy to get in. They weren't precisely free to roam once they were in, however. Besides Mitsugawa, there were other people working overtime. Most were on the first floor, though. Mitsugawa's office was on the second, not quite isolated from the more mundane workers below.

Hayate didn't think there would be any problems with the few people pulling such long hours. If they needed the work that badly, they were likely to be elbow-deep in it. All of the ninja's watches had revealed that no-one bothered Mitsugawa in the late hours.

The lights in the second floor hall were of cheap quality. Several were on the blink. The flickering bulbs were annoying, but not detrimental to vision.

Mitsugawa's office door was not quite pulled to. Tucking himself beside the ornamental plant flanking the doorway, Hayate pulled chakra slow and easy, folding his hands through the signs for the first jutsu, to muffle the sounds in and around the office. He'd cast a second one after this, a simple illusion that would hide him and hopefully keep everything looking normal.

The plant beside him was fake, Hayate noticed absently, and gathering an awful lot of dust.

The sound jutsu fell into place.

Ready. Go, he signed to Genma.

As the older ninja brushed past him, Hayate was already beginning the genjutsu. His hands were steady. So was his mind. He could do this.

Mitsugawa looked up from his desk and stared at the apparition in front of him. Genma knew what he looked like. Death. He was there in bone and black, with a gaily painted mask hiding his face like some ghastly carnival clown. He lowered the child to the floor with one hand, and flicked a needle at Mitsugawa with the other. No need to confront, no need to explain. His very presence in that room said it all. You have been targeted for death by someone more powerful than you. You will die, now, exactly as that person wishes. I am the weapon that brings your death.

The needle sank home, injecting a paralytic poison. Mitsugawa's body went slack. His eyelids drooped over horrified eyes. Genma moved in close. "Mitsugawa-san, this can be painless, or it can be excruciating. Where are your documents concerning land deeds and well grants?" It was misdirection. What they were after were documents listing Mitsugawa's boss, Oimikado's, major political supporters, how much money each had donated, and how much they were calculated to be worth. But documents were documents, undoubtedly all kept in the same safe. And Mitsugawa would be much more likely to give out the actual safe combination if he wasn't trying to protect anything more than evidence of minor corruption in how land was parceled out.

Genma plucked the needle from Mitsugawa's neck, knowing the poison would continue to immobilize him. "You can talk now, Mitsugawa-san. Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you, provided you tell me what I want to know."

Mitsugawa's eyes darted to the unconscious child prostitute, crumpled on the floor in her girlish dress.

"Don't worry about her," Genma told him smoothly. "She's none of your concern. She just happens to be along for the ride tonight, but she wore herself already, poor thing. Too much ice cream and cake. So she's resting while her uncle takes care of business."

Mitsugawa opened his mouth, and took a shaky breath, as if he were about to scream.

"Ah, ah, no no no. No screaming, Mitsugawa-san." A kunai materialized in Genma's hand to trace a line along the politician's jaw. "Just tell me where those documents are?"

A stench of urine filled the air. Genma wrinkled his nose in disgust, glancing down to see the puddle forming at Mitsugawa's feet. The man's eyes flicked to a framed portrait of Fire Country's current Daimyou, hanging on the wall.

"In there?" Genma created a clone to hold the blade to Mitsugawa's throat, and went to look behind the picture himself. A wall safe, as he expected. Civilians had no subtlety at all. It wasn't even locked. And the documents he wanted were right on top. He chuckled.

The clone threw the kunai to Genma and vanished in a puff of smoke. Genma put the blade back in his pocket and leaned across the desk. "Have you always fantasized that when it was your time to go, maybe you'd die in the middle of sex?"

Panic grew in his target's eyes. A needle slipped back into his neck, a syringe this time. Genma injected enough potassium to stop the man's heart, and waited while Mitsugawa clutched his chest, fell forward, and died.

Now the work of staging the scene could begin.

Hayate waited, scanning the quiet hall. Out of the corner of his eye he could just see Genma moving in the room. He didn't expect Genma to have any trouble, but he was backup; he kept a vague watch out for Genma and a much closer one on the silent hall.

He carefully missed the details Genma put into the assassination. Maybe it was cowardly of him, but the whole idea (and the memory of that child's face) sickened him. He tried not to think about it, but he was more than ready to leave--and put the whole thing behind them--when Genma finally re-emerged.

The slightly-smiling feline mask gave nothing away, but Genma nodded. Hayate let both jutsu he had been holding drop, and fell in behind his partner.

They made their careful way through the building, retracing their earlier route with delicate precision. Many of the offices below had emptied and stood darkened. Only a handful of people remained, immersed in their work, completely unaware of the ghastly murder above their heads. They remained oblivious to the masked death that walked silently down their halls.

Genma paused to fiddle with the alarm they'd disabled, and gestured for Hayate to keep going. Trusting Genma to cover their tracks, Hayate slipped out into the darkened street, with an eye out for the lackluster guards, just in case.

His first clue that trouble had found them was the rain of senbon that hissed through in the dark, stinging his bare shoulder and clinking against the pavement behind him.

He was moving before the last needle had hit, into the shadows, blade already half-drawn. The thin shrill of steel gave him just enough warning; instead of taking off his head, the blade caught a bloody line across the nape of his neck as he dodged, chinking against the chain of his dogtags.

He made out at least three on the street, melting out of the shadows, and that stupid senbon-thrower. Maybe more in the shadows. His katana rang a clear note as he drew, trying to avoid becoming a pincushion for several senbon. With the slither and snarl of steel, he blocked one advance, and caught sight of Genma appearing in the doorway.

"Look out!" he snapped, and dodged.

Genma emerged from a side door of Oimikado's offices into an alley littered with cigarette butts. Obviously the smokers' hangout. Hayate's shout rang out as flying metal glinted in the light cast by the streetlamps and clattered against the side of the building. A flight of kunai came from the left, a shower of shuriken from the right. Genma dodged, ducked, and used a neat kawarimi no jutsu, exchanging his place with a wooden palette leaning against the building. More metal thunked into the wood from above.

That sniper had to go, Genma thought, scanning the dark rooftops for any sign of their attackers. He heard the sharp clang of swords meeting, and turned, only to find himself on the receiving end of a heavy blow to the shoulder. The hiss and clank of chain sounded as the weighted end of a kusari gama was drawn back. At least he knew where one of the enemies was. Genma followed the chain, slinging poison-tipped senbon into the darkness. A grunt and the sound of something heavy falling told him at least one had hit its mark.

Light, they needed light. They needed to not have this fight here. The earth beneath his feet trembled, and he had just enough time to shout, "Jump!" and do so himself, before the street dissolved, sucking him down into blackness.

He was being crushed alive. Earth jutsu? Genjutsu? Genma prayed it was illusion, formed seals, and released his chakra. "Kai!" The alley rematerialized, fresh air filled his lungs, and a tiny blade slipped under the edge of his vest to pierce his side.

"Bastard!" Genma cursed, and whirled towards the pain. He cast a lightning jutsu, showering sparks into his opponent's face and lighting it with brilliant phosphor. A kunoichi glared back at him, smiling cruelly.

"You Konoha boys are sloppy," she taunted. Genma's metal jutsu welded her lips shut before she had a chance to utter another sound.

The genjutsu cost Hayate moments he couldn't afford to lose.

Even as he broke the illusion he was on the dodge, turning a stab at his thigh into a raking tear. He narrowly missed slamming into the alley wall. Too little space, too many opponents, not enough light. He and Genma were half-blinded from coming out of the lighted building into the dim alley, a disadvantage their attackers certainly did not share.

Light from behind him slicked a tell-tale gleam from a blade, and he ducked beneath it. Coil and lunge, and the resistance of armor and flesh met the thrust. A tiny tight grin bared his teeth beneath his mask. One down, three more facing him. Gritting his teeth, he swept back a step, sinking down into a low stance, before side-stepping and flicking his katana up and out. Steel shrieked as he blocked, and a second fighter darted into the opening. Hayate snapped a set of kunai into him, and wished--for just a moment--that he had a wakizashi to complement his katana. A longer blade was a disadvantage in close quarters like these.

He kept moving, a flick of his wrist sending the blocked blade keening away, and stepped forward with a shortened sweep into the man's ribs. A normal strike--one without chakra--would never have done any damage, would have tangled Hayate long enough to let the storm of senbon do him serious injury.

But Hayate was a ninja.

Chakra burned down his limbs with the kick of adrenaline, and hot energy flared down the blade. The foxfire glow of chakra lit the surrounding area in an evanescent flash, ice-blue in the night. By its light he marked all three of his attackers, and further fighting beyond them, where Genma was likely beset as well.

His next strike sheared through armor and flesh and bone, and he kept moving.

Never stop. Death holds you still.

Two down, but even as he turned, a blow from behind staggered him almost to his knees. He went with it, kick and roll and scrape of armor on pavement. He heard the clanging protest of a blade snapping against concrete right behind him, and lunged out of his crouch the moment he had clear sight of the looming ninja.

His feet fell almost by instinct into his father's Tennen Rishin style, muscle-memory setting the powerful three-point thrust into motion. The blitzing attack could ordinarily be executed within two heartbeats: Hayate cut the time down to the blink of an eye. The enemy ninja, wielding a kodachi, made a sloppy strike before he sagged away. All three thrusts had taken him, shoulders and throat, before he'd even lifted his blade to block.

The peculiar whistle of kunai caught his attention and Hayate made a wide sweeping stroke to knock them from the air. Seconds into the attack he realized his error, when the bladed end of a kusari gama careened off his arm-guard and nearly struck him in the face. Protection of his mask forgotten, he recoiled instinctively, and caught a kunai in the shoulder.

The scuff of a boot on stone told him just how much trouble he was in now.

(Reply to this)(Thread)

Two jutsu in quick succession took care of Genma's remaining opponents--flame and molten metal leaving behind the sounds of death and the smell of charred meat. He sprang up the wall and was on top of the sniper before the last body hit the ground, slitting the man's throat with an adrenaline-charged slash that nearly severed his head entirely. From his rooftop vantage point he could see Hayate cornered between two ninja, one armed with another kusari-gama, the other much too close to Hayate, with a raised katana ready to strike.

Genma didn't stop to think. He leapt down into the midst of the battle, his own sword in hand, and parried the blow aimed at Hayate. The other ninja grunted in surprise, and managed to get a long, shallow cut across Genma's thigh in return. The distraction afforded the sickle-wielder a chance to throw again, forcing Genma back from Hayate as he danced away from the flying blade. He reached for a kunai, found himself running low, and grabbed three shuriken instead, flinging them almost blindly at the blade of the kusari-gama to deflect it from its path.

The swordsman came back in then, aiming again for Hayate. Genma brought his arms up crossed over his head, arm guards outermost, ducked down, and rammed the man in the most inelegant of head butts. They tumbled together into a pile of refuse in the alley, which Genma made good use of, setting it alight with another fire jutsu. In seconds the whole alley was fierce with flames, as the trash smoldered and caught.

The swordsman screamed, hurling his katana at Genma in desperation, as the flames consumed him. Genma used his own sword to strike the death-blow, offering a silent prayer that should the tables one day be turned, his enemy might show him the same mercy. The severed head rolled away from the flames, staring sightlessly at the carnage around it.

When Genma turned away, he found Hayate standing over the body of their last remaining opponent. But something was wrong. He was holding his right arm awkwardly with his left, sword still in hand, hunched and panting.

"You alright? How bad are you hurt?" he asked, moving close. "We need to get out of here before the fire spreads."

(Reply to this)(Parent)

Hayate couldn't even think where Genma had come from, but the high keen of clashing steel was a very welcome sound. Genma's intervention gave him time to get his balance back, feet properly back under him, and wrench the kunai from his shoulder. The man with the kusari-gama flung his blade again, and Hayate skidded aside, realizing a moment too late the strike was aimed for Genma, not him.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Metal rang a discordant note as Hayate lunged, trusting that Genma could handle one man. The sudden flare of light behind him highlighted the ninja with the scythe backpedaling quickly, working with loops of matte-black chain that failed to catch the light. He didn't have time to retrieve the bladed end, not with how fast Hayate was closing, but he wasn't helpless. Hayate knew better than to keep a straight line. Attempting to make the man commit and try to tangle him in the chain, he feinted to the right.

The man shifted his weight and threw, but Hayate realized too late it was just a kunai: a feint to match his. The weighted end of the chain slammed into his right arm with a nasty numbing impact that nearly threw his strike off-course; but he was left-handed, and too far into the attack to stop. The stroke nearly severed the man's head, blade grating hard against the spine and half-tangling as the man dropped.

Hayate flexed his right hand. His entire arm felt numb from the blow, but he thought he was alright. Probably be a bruise, he thought, tugging at his sword, lodged in the man's spine. He took a half-step back as it came free, raising his right arm for balance.

And something in his arm grated.

Hayate's brain stuttered to a halt, but instinct or something like it took over as he curled his injured arm to his side again, hastily bringing his other arm around to support it. He bumped his right elbow with the hilt of his katana and winced as something grated again, high up near his shoulder in his upper arm.

That's not supposed to do that.

Genma's voice broke the holding shock, and kicked Hayate's brain back into gear. For a moment he could only blink, then found his voice. "I think it's broken," he said, and could have kicked himself. There was no question--bones just didn't do that if they were whole!

And it wasn't numb anymore. It was beginning to ache, deep and throbbing and dark red, building as the adrenaline in his system faded.

The lurid flames flickered in the alley, light glancing over Genma's mask and the drawn blade still in his hand. The narrow alley reeked of burning garbage, roasted flesh, hot metal, the stench of burning hair. The smoke hung thick and sullen in the back of Hayate's throat, tasting like ashes and the urge to cough. Though his jutsu was still holding strong, he cleared his throat and tried not to think about it. He didn't look at the bodies or the flames, just at Genma, trying to catch the honey-amber eyes behind the feline mask.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and despite himself his voice wasn't quite steady. The pain was getting stronger, demanding his attention.

Better than you," Genma said quietly, reaching out to take Hayate's sword. He was reluctant to let go, and clearly in shock, from the tremor in his voice, the rigidity of his stance. Genma was sure if he tipped Hayate's mask back, he'd find a slate-lipped ghost face staring back at him.

"Let me take it, Hayate. You're done fighting for now," he said, adding in a louder voice, "Anyway you don't need it. These assholes suck. They obviously only ever train with each other. If we ever have to fight more of them, whoever they are, we'll know their tricks." He gestured at Hayate's bleeding thigh, and the longer, somewhat bloodier gash on his own. "Go for the left leg, right shoulder. I got lucky and caught the shoulder hit mostly on my armour strap, so it's not broken." He scanned Hayate in the flickering light. "They got your left pretty bad, too."

Really bad. He slid Hayate's sword back into its sheath at his back, then dug into the pouch on his own right hip, grabbing bandages and a little metal box full of pills.

"I need you to trust me. I'm gonna numb both your arms from the shoulder down so I can bind them, so you can run. And I'm gonna give you a soldier pill, a pain pill, and a blood pill. When we get far enough from here we're safe, we'll stop and I'll set your arm in a splint, alright? But for now we have to do this the quick and dirty way."

He held the pills out to Hayate, and popped a fourth--a soldier pill--into his own mouth, crunching down on the salty, tangy bitterness. He wasn't bleeding enough to need the blood pill, he thought, and definitely didn't want his alertness compromised by pain medication. Not if he was about to completely disable Hayate. But a soldier pill was absolutely required.

"The numbness won't last long, maybe fifteen minutes. But you'll be pretty much unable to use either arm until it wears off. Are you ready?"

Hayate let go of his katana carefully--between supporting his broken arm and his possessiveness of his blade it was a tricky thing. The light off the blade flashed brightly, and he shut his eyes to keep some of his sight still. Genma sheathing the blade felt odd and jarred a shock through him. His broken arm responded with a jolt of pain that went from dark-red to white-hot and made him catch his breath on a gasp that was close to a sob.

It took him a moment to make sense of Genma's words--the low universal medic-tone he used didn't really help. Hayate bit his lip hard and tried to think. The rising throb in his arm was twisting his focus down to just that point of blooming agony. He struggled against it, to listen and focus and bite back the noise curled in the back of his throat.

Numb...? Well, that didn't sound too bad, definitely not at the moment. The last few phrases penetrated, and jolted his thoughts around, shaking instinct up out of the pain. He didn't want to be helpless, especially not with danger still unknown, and while he trusted Genma it wasn't that much!

Stupid, you're helpless anyway! He shuddered, and the answering flare of pain from his arm snatched his breath away, blanked his mind. It was all he could do not to cry out, but he wasn't going to. He wasn't.

Genma was waiting, hand outstretched to either display or offer the pills. Hayate didn't trust his voice, didn't know what pathetic noise might come out if he tried to talk. Instead he nodded in answer, shakily. The pain spiked hard, insistent, scattering his thoughts, and his breath dragged sharp through clenched teeth. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't.

Hayate's failure to answer was not reassuring in the least. Genma reached out a hand and felt for his companion's pulse, racing at his throat. "Pills before I cast it, because it's going to hurt, at least for a second," he told Hayate, and pushed at the other man's mask. The face beneath was pale and sweaty, tight-lipped and tense, with eyebrows knit together in fierce concentration.

"Hayate, open up, alright? Get these pills in you. Are you hurt anywhere else, or is it mostly your arm?" He held the pills up to Hayate's lips, pushing gently, insistently. A sound made Genma's head whip around, but it was just more garbage catching fire, falling onto itself.

"We have to get out of here. Get this in you, chew them up, and swallow," Genma repeated. He shoved the pills into Hayate's mouth, then formed the seals he needed and cast the jutsu. There wasn't time.

The taste of the pills was nasty, almost as disturbing as the feel of Genma's gloves against his lips. Rather then chew the pills, Hayate swallowed them dry, wincing as they seemed to lodge in his throat, up against the cry he wasn't going to--

Genma's long fingers clenched down on his right shoulder, and for a moment everything went white.

He was still, somehow, on his feet, legs splayed for balance, panting and shaking. Genma was murmuring, soft and fast. "Just one more. Almost there..." He slipped closer and threaded his hand under Hayate's, cupping his right elbow. Hayate let his hand fall away, and cringed in anticipation as Genma's free hand reached for his left shoulder.

It wasn't quite as bad, the second time, for some reason, and then it was over. A little breathless, Hayate stood and listened to Genma's insistent medic-talk, reassurance and hasty explanation all rolled into one. With his broken arm no longer demanding all his attention, Hayate became aware of how the fire was growing, and how little time they had before someone came to see about it. Worry sharpened his focus again, drew the mission crisp and clear to his mind.

The smoke was thick, bitter in his mouth as he spoke. He was grateful for the jutsu still in effect that kept his cough subdued. "What do I--"

"Just hold still," Genma answered, almost sharply. His gaze caught Hayate's: hurry with only a hint of anxiety, the calm of experience.

Hayate nodded, and tried to capture some of that calm for himself. If Genma wasn't worried, he shouldn't be either.

It was a difficult thing, though, because even if he couldn't feel his broken arm anymore, he knew it was still broken. He wasn't going to be able to use it. At the moment, he wasn't able to use either arm at all. The shivery idea of being helpless and vulnerable and unable to fight back crawled under his skin, and he grit his teeth against it. Anxiety sat heavy and queasy, low in his gut.

Genma tugged a final knot tight and nodded. "Right. C'mon." Before he left, he took the moment needed to push Hayate's mask back down for him, with--Hayate thought--an oddly gentle touch.

Back through the aging night they went, heading at a swift pace for their temporary refuge in the town. Balance was difficult, Hayate found, but he was fast and had the extra advantage of chakra. The first near-miss gave him enough adrenaline to help keep him from further missteps. It also helped that Genma seemed to have foreseen the problem, and stayed close.

When they made it back to the hotel, Genma paused only long enough to cast a quick henge before he walked in. Hayate put a shivery trust in his mission partner, and followed obediently to Genma's beckoning gesture.

Inside their room, door barricaded and sealed, Genma let out a breath he'd been holding. He shut the heavy drapes to the window, then turned on all the lights. Overhead bulbs blazed, and bedside lamps cast pools of yellow onto the brown cotton covers. First thing, he decided, pushing his mask off to reveal a soot-smeared face, was to deal with bleeding. Blood loss was your enemy. As was pain, but for the moment he was confident Hayate's was managed, and his own was minimal.

"Sit on the bed. Let me just take care of this, so I'm not putting us at any extra risk," he told Hayate. Leaning against the closed door, he probed at the gash on his leg, which oozed fresh rivulets of blood into the tattered cloth of his pants. It was shallow. Burned like a bitch, but shallow. No spurting arteries or twitching severed muscle fibers to worry about. Greenish-blue light limned his hands as he cast a healing jutsu on himself, just enough to bring wound edges together. He wrapped his leg swiftly with a length of bandage from his med kit.

"Those pills kicking in yet?" he asked, looking up at Hayate again. He was glad to see the teenager had followed directions and sat on the bed, balanced a little swayingly. "I've got that Soldier Pill buzz going, so I can definitely get your wounds taken care of at least enough for us to get out of here."

He checked his watch--ten minutes left before that jutsu wore off, but by then he expected he'd have Hayate's arm properly splinted and the shoulder and thigh gashes stitched. "I'll take your mask off," he said, doing so gently.

Hayate still looked shocky, but less so now that his pain was eased. Unwinding his hastily improvised field bandages, Genma was glad to find the blade wound on Hayate's left shoulder was not as bad as it had appeared in flickering firelight. Deep, but entirely in the flesh, and there was no evidence the sword had nicked a lung or major artery. He ought to disinfect it, but time was short. Better to close off any bleeding vessels now, and let the medics back in Konoha deal with the risk of infection.

"You're lucky," he said, laying hands on Hayate's shoulder. Healing chakra flooded into the wound where Genma directed it, deep first, working his way shallower. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow, but it's not gonna kill you."

"Didn't think it would," Hayate managed, softly, trying to find the right words to express the humor the thought had in his head. It hadn't occurred to him to be worried about that one, when it all still worked, but his other shoulder.....

Shoulder, he thought, gaze flicking up to Genma's. They'd both taken hits to the shoulder. But Genma had only healed up the wound on his thigh.

His voice wanted to be wobbly and hoarse from the taste-memory of smoke, and all his thoughts were starting to feel scattered. The pain pills were probably doing that, helped along by the solider-pill that was keeping him strung-wire tight beneath Genma's hands.

"Your shoulder," he started, and had to stop and clear his throat against the taste of smoke and ash. It was all in his head: the jutsu was still holding strong, and there was no need to cough. He still felt like he should.

"My shoulder?" Genma echoed, and glanced down at his own left arm. The bruise was already nearly as dark as his uniform, connecting the edge of his sleeveless shirt to the top of his long glove, staining a mottled black-purple-red under the spiral tattoo on his bared biceps.

"It's alright. I can still move it. Just a bruise," he said with a shrug and a little wince. "That's also gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning, but I'm good." Soldier pills were amazing things, really.

Now that he was sure the bleeding was stopped, he unbuckled the shoulder strap of Hayate's chest armour, to give himself better access to the injury. Reaching into his hip pouch, he pulled a tube from his med kit and squeezed some antiseptic ointment into the wound on Hayate's left shoulder, cast a sealing jutsu over the whole thing, and then strapped fresh bandages in a figure-eight around Hayate's chest and shoulder. He buckled the armour strap back over the dressed wound when he was finished.

"Is that tight enough? I'm gonna work on splinting your arm now..."

That look in Hayate's eyes wasn't even remotely good. "You hurting? Is my jutsu wearing off already? Those pain pills should seriously have kicked in by now. What hurts?"

Genma's voice put focus back in Hayate's thoughts, gave him something to ground himself with. He hadn't realized he was drifting, and that alarmed him. He should stay focused, because that was important. They were still on a mission, a fact emphasized by how Genma re-buckled his armor.

"N-no. It's...I'm okay." He felt like he needed to cough, but that was a lie. He didn't.

He knew it, like he knew the air wasn't still thick with the smell of smoke. It couldn't be. Perhaps a bit of the scent lingered on their clothes and hair, but not enough to irritate his throat, not with the jutsu still strong. The taste of it was thick in his mouth, acrid smoke and bitter ash searing his throat with every breath. A little tendril of cold ice, the shivery tiny fear of not being able to breathe, hovered at the edges of his far-flung thoughts. He wouldn't think about it. It wasn't real. He was fine.

He almost wished he did hurt. It would keep him focused.

"I'm fine," he repeated, pulling his gaze to meet Genma's; tawny-gold eyes, sharp and concerned under the stale artificial light. Better to think about those eyes and the man who owned them than the smell-taste of sulfur and ash that wasn't real.

Genma looked singularly unconvinced. Hayate didn't blame him. Between the drugs and the adrenaline, he wasn't even making himself believe it.

Was it shock? Genma frowned, and pulled another little tube from his med kit. Glucose gel, which Hayate shouldn't need, since he'd had that Soldier Pill, but if he was shocky they needed to put an end to it. "You should lie down for this next part," he told him, and braced Hayate's shoulders and back to help him ease down onto the bed. "I'm just gonna put your feet up a little."

The look Hayate gave him had 'don't patronize me, you prick' written all over it.

"Look, I really don't need you collapsing from shock because I was an idiot and didn't see it coming. So you're gonna just have to put up with it. Open wide. It's sweet. Orange flavored, I think." He held the little shooter of glucose to Hayate's lips. "Suck it down, then I'm gonna make a splint from your arm guard, patch your thigh, and then if your blood pressure is decent, we should book it out of here. Alright?"

Hayate leaned back from Genma as far as the arm around his shoulders would allow. "I'm fine," he declared, once safely out of range of the little tube. Glucose, apparently, and that stuff was nasty, what for all it was just sugar. Hayate was happy without it.

He held on to his irritation, because it was here and present and firmly attached to Genma. Sharp-edged and much better than the fuzzy-drifting-dreaming and the taste of smoke and ashes. He cleared his throat. Habit forced a cough, an utterly wretched sound.

"I'm not shocky. 'S pain meds, they do me funny."

Though most of the time they just made him sick...but maybe Genma would accept it. His lack of focus was the medication's fault--he knew he had better control than this--yet he couldn't make everything fold down and away like he wanted. The taste of ashes was still in his mouth; the little quiet fear of smothering clutching at every thought.

He bit his lip, pinching a corner to the blood. There: bright little snap of pain, pushing things clearer. The taste of blood was better than the taste of ashes--sweet, not bitter.

"Funny how? You gonna puke or break out in hives or anything? How the hell much smoke did you inhale, you sound like shit. That anti-cough jutsu wearing off?" Genma withdrew the glucose and recapped it. He could feel Hayate's pulse, rapid but strong, bounding in his neck. See color in his cheeks. If this was shock, it was a strange kind of shock.

"I'm serious here. I'm trusting you. We're gonna have to run like hell as soon as I finish patching you up." Sounds from outside drifted in. Bells and horns, and running feet. Shouting voices as people ran to the conflagration the ninja had left behind. "They're gonna find those bodies and all those damn shuriken, and be looking for ninja. I want to be far the fuck away before they clue in they should be looking for us."

Well then quit wasting time talking, Hayate thought sharply. He was only just reining in his annoyance, using it to keep himself very firmly here.

"Sometimes I throw them up. But if I haven't done it by now, we're good," he answered Genma. Habit kept his tone polite, forced a smile onto his face, as he hid his irritation. "And no, the jutsu's still holding."

That forced smile didn't give Genma much confidence in how well Hayate's pain was controlled. But he had to splint that arm now, and they had to get out. "If you start to feel this before I finish, tell me," Genma said, and unbuckled the forearm guard from Hayate's paralyzed, broken arm. He straightened it out, and felt for the bone ends, glad when Hayate's face betrayed no hint of pain.

"Fracture's in the humerus," he said, talking to Hayate to keep him focused. "Close to your shoulder. Not displaced, which is good. Doesn't even really need a splint, as long as we strap your upper arm to your side really well." He was already wrapping bandage around the bruised, muscular upper arm, then winding it around Hayate's chest. "Probably your being as muscular as you are helped. Kept the bone ends from moving too much." He carefully bent Hayate's arm at the elbow, wrapped a loop of bandage around his wrist, tied the whole thing loosely around his waist.

"Don't move, I'm almost finished." He yanked one of the bedcovers back and used a kunai to cut a large swath of sheet, which he fashioned into a sling. "The thing we don't want you doing is moving your upper arm. Can you move it at all?" The paralyzing jutsu ought to be just about gone by now, he thought. Although there was always the possibility of nerve injury. Which he couldn't fix. "Wiggle your fingers."

Hayate still couldn't feel anything, but he knew you always humored the medic. So he frowned down at his tied-down arm and attempted wiggling his fingers. To his utter surprise, he got a sluggish response. It was like the motion jolted life back into his arm, and now instead of eerie nothing it felt as though he'd leaned on it too long and the whole thing had fallen asleep. The weird shiver-prickle-tingle chased over his skin, but it still wasn't hurting.

The same thing was happening to his left arm, the one Genma had left free. Hayate lifted it and clenched his hand, measuring the response and the timing.

"Good. We should move out if you're ready," Genma said. "Just let me fix your leg." More healing chakra, mirroring the move he'd used on his own thigh, sealed the wound on Hayate's. When he'd finished, he turned away to the light packs that held their travel gear, already packed up and ready.

He grabbed them both.

"I'm ready," Hayate answered, and got to his feet, wary of his balance. For a moment the room seemed to shift, but it was a passing thing. The sharp flutter in his chest told him the soldier pill was having its usual effects. He ignored it, nodded to Genma, and reached for his mask.

Genma was at the door already, feline-mask looking back. Hayate bit his lip again, told himself to focus, and followed, steps soft to avoid jarring his arm.

Out to the streets again, Genma holding a jutsu--whether it was henge or illusion, Hayate hadn't caught--until they could slip down a narrow alley and take to the rooftops. The brisk spring air held an acrid tang, and behind them--rising black on black in the night sky--a plume of smoke marked the damage they'd left in their wake. Hayate only looked back once, a brief glance in midair. After that, he focused on keeping up with the pace Genma set.

His concentration was scattered with the medication, so he followed Genma's lead, trusting the more experienced ninja to get them out. They didn't have far to go--the rough parts town bled out into ramshackle slums, which in turn faded into the forest.

Under trees barely branching into tiny green leaves, Hayate felt better. Here was familiar ground, deceiving shadows and sheltering branches. The moon had risen enough to light their path from above the branches, a waxing gibbous moon only a sliver from being full. Underneath the silvering moonlight, the near-inaudible slap of ninja-foot on bark and the feel of Genma's chakra pressed into Hayate's senses, far more real than the lingering taste of ash in the back of his throat.