Work Text:
Sweat burned Genma’s eyes and ran down to sting the cuts that littered his body. He wheezed and pushed himself through the pain. No matter how much he trained, the humidity in the village sapped his strength. He couldn’t draw a full breath, and the ones that he managed felt like they were at least half water. He jerked his chin upward to throw the sodden hair from his eyes as he paused in the shadow of some trees.
“What are you doing,” Setsumi hissed, skidding to a stop beside Genma. Her black curls stood out in disarray, and her purple eyes were wild. “We have to keep going.”
“They know this place better than we do,” Genma grumbled, looking around for a hiding place. Grunting, he reached for his side; his hand came away bloody. He wiped the crimson liquid on his pants. “Fuck.”
Setsumi followed the movement, then rolled her eyes. “I told you not to engage them.”
“Oh, thanks,” Genma deadpanned, walking his fingers across his ribs through the gash in his shirt. “That’s really helpful right now.”
The annoying woman offered a sickly sweet smile. “Any time.”
Huffing, Genma put pressure on the wound and wished that he’d been able to wear his flak vest. It would have stopped the blade that bit into his side, but it also would have blown their cover. Half a dozen cuts marred his body, but they were meaningless in comparison. This one would almost certainly need stitches. Genma shuddered as he recalled Setsumi stitching up the gash from his initiation This time, he’d find a medic who wouldn’t ask questions, no matter how difficult that was.
Something heavy crashed through the brush behind them, followed by yells. Genma sighed and pushed back onto his feet. “We have to move.”
The tropical forest differed from the one that Genma had grown up in. The dense, heavy foliage grabbed for legs and arms, making it hard to run through. Genma and Setsumi made for a river twisting between the trees; it would be the best chance of getting back to the village or some form of civilization. If they could make it back to a crowd, Genma was sure that they’d be able to lose their pursuers. Setsumi grumbled behind him, legs tangling in the creepers that littered the floor.
A kunai sailed past Genma’s head, opening a thin gash on the side of his neck. “Move,” he growled, hunching down to make a less noticeable target. Setsumi mimicked the movement.
The pair stumbled out of the trees. sliding to a halt beside the rocky banks of a fast moving river. White water roared in Genma’s ears as he scanned the spray of mist on the horizon. Setsumi followed his gaze to the waterfall, and her face paled. “No,” she gasped. “Don’t even think about it.”
Three men burst from the trees a dozen or so paces away. Genma blew out a breath. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Absolutely not,” Setsumi hissed, voice rising an octave with panic. Her eyes grew wider, looking almost comical if the situation hadn’t been so dire.
Genma danced closer to the edge of the cliff as a rain of shuriken and kunai fell around them. He looked at the space behind him, and the inky green pool so far below. Kami, it was a long way down. He brought his eyes back to Setsumi and huffed. “Why the hell did you take a mission in the Land of Waves if you can’t fucking swim?”
“It’s not that I can’t—”
“I’m really sorry about this,” Genma interrupted before the woman could get the words out. It was only half a lie.
Setsumi’s mouth opened in slow motion as Genma lunged forward. He dropped his shoulder and aimed at her sternum. The momentum pulled Setsumi from her feet, and Genma secured the woman against his chest and side. He reached the edge of the cliff in three steps, pulsed chakra into the soles of his feet for distance, and leaped. Empty air surrounded them for a heartstopping five seconds, then water drowned out Setsumi’s scream.