ANBU HQ loomed grey and gloomy under the pounding rain, rather like the beefy agent who paused to hold the heavy front door open for Natsumi as she closed her umbrella under the overhanging roof. It was easy enough to muster up an automatic smile as she thanked him; she felt as if her face had been frozen in the same meaningless smile all morning. Tea with her mother, a little arrow-making and story-telling with her father. Three hours of cheerful family conversation while her bruises burned like brands under her high-collared turtleneck and long, warm sleeves. It had been raining--she'd thanked the gods for it that morning--which meant no archery. Takeo had been at work--she'd timed her visit carefully to miss him--which meant no far-too-perceptive teasing. If her parents had noticed she avoided reaching for things with her left hand, they hadn't mentioned it.

Which didn't solve the problem, just postponed it.

Maybe it was time to follow up on Kaito's and Ibiki's recommendations, after all.

The young man at the front desk hurriedly shut his book and reached for the register as she ducked into the lobby. "Shiota-san, right? Welcome back! Were you training?" He looked doubtfully at her umbrella.

"Visiting my family," Natsumi said, drying her shoes on the mat. "Well, showing off. I survived my first mission intact." She smiled at the boy. He dropped his pen.

"Uh--congratulations," he said, fumbling to pick it up again and mark her name off. Natsumi craned to see the register; there weren't many names on it. Presumably the rain was keeping most people indoors, except for those like Natsumi who decided to use a non-training day for other obligations. Unless he was out on a mission, her odds were good...

"Could you tell me which apartment is Shiranui Genma's, please?"

The chuunin looked startled. Then, inexplicably, annoyed. "Three-twenty," he said harshly, picking up his book again. "Have a good time."

Natsumi's lips quirked. Apparently Ibiki hadn't been exaggerating, after all. "Thanks," she said. "I'll try." The chuunin scowled down at his book; she grinned, and headed for the stairs.

She stopped by her own room first, to drop off her umbrella and run a comb through her loose hair. It still hurt to lift her left arm above the shoulder. When she struggled out of her turtleneck, she found the skin warm to the touch, the bruise blotching hideously purple and black across her shoulder blade. The marks on her neck and wrist were almost as dark.

"No wonder Ibiki got the wrong idea," she told her reflection. "And how much worse of an idea will Shiranui-san get when I offer to take off my shirt for him?"

Well, hopefully the bruises would help with that.

She found a new shirt, let herself out of her apartment, and wandered down the hallway, past the stairs and the men's showers and around another corner. Room 320 was on almost exactly the opposite side of the building from her apartment at 305. Natsumi hesitated a moment, stricken with a sudden guilt that she should have brought some offering in return--Here, have cookies, now will you heal my shoulder?--and then knocked anyway.

If he did a good job, she could bring the cookies later.