So much for that smirk. Ryouma chuckled. "I turned the jutsu off forty-five miles ago," he murmured, teasing a crusted clot away from pale skin. "It's okay to touch."

Katsuko laughed. He caught the flash of a grin as she turned her head. Encouraged, he let his thumb drift up to the unmarked skin just below her ear, and then down again. She didn't quite shiver, but she certainly didn't pull away. Focus, he reminded himself sternly, and went back to the cuts on her shoulders again.

Most of them were clean, shallow, caused by the hundred stinging blades of a wind jutsu instead of by a duller steel weapon, with its greater possibilities of infection. He cleaned grit out of a few cuts that had impacted the wall or floor, and butterfly-bandaged a few more that sliced a little deeper. Only a handful oozed as he worked the dried blood away, but they all left livid pink and red slashes across her winter-pale skin. Ryouma found his anger rising again. It was ridiculous to be furious with a man he'd already killed, but...

"You were brilliant," he said quietly, fiercely. "Like a blade yourself. I could've just stood and watched--except, okay, I was enjoying myself, too. Maybe I should've saved that bastard for you, but I'm glad I got him. For you."