Work Text:
The first day passes in a blur.
C grits his teeth and does what shinobi are expected to do.
He endures.
On the second day, C showed up to work as usual.
He avoided the water cooler, the break room—any of the usual haunts of the office gossips, really—in his attempt to lay low while he set up for the day.
He made a beeline for his desk where he’d be spending the majority of his working hours for the next couple of weeks. Light duty didn’t exactly fit his definition of “thrilling” or even “interesting” but he’d take it over staying cooped up in his apartment all day.
A mountain of paperwork awaited him. Twice the usual amount, to be precise and C was beginning to doubt his decision to come back early.
His chair scraped loudly across the floor as he pulled it out from under his desk. The surrounding chatter ceased. Several pairs of eyes turned to look at him. C straightened up, put on a scowl and let his gaze sweep over his colleagues.
“What’s there to look at? Get back to work!” he barked. When people remained frozen in place he made a shooing motion with his right hand. “Now! If you please.”
The curious glances turned away and the furious scribbling of pen on paper picked back up. C heaved a sigh that fell somewhere between relief and annoyance and sat down. He grabbed a handful of forms off the top of the tallest stack and got to work.
He scanned the first page and set it down to rub his hand over his face.
A request for a permit to set up this year’s New Year’s festivities on training fields 11 through 15 Same as every year. Nothing out of the usual. The words barely registered as he signed his approval and put the form in the outgoing tray for further processing.
He set the pen aside and rested his in the palm of his hand. On the other side of the window pane the wind was rushing the clouds along, as it often did when a storm was building. C frowned in anticipation of what was shaping up to be a rather unpleasant night.
Last year’s celebrations had been cut short by a sudden rain storm crashing over Kumo, too. Darui and he had ended up drenched to their bones and huddling between food stalls for shelter while they waited for the storm to pass.
The corner of his mouth twitched involuntarily. He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced himself to concentrate on the next form.
On the third day, C noticed he was all out of blueberries.
He didn’t really care for the stuff but he usually kept some on hand in case Darui came over.
C took a long while to get ready. Everything took a long while these days and C found himself in a permanent state of annoyance.
He was annoyed when his fingers slid off the button of is pants. He was annoyed when he couldn’t get the back of his sandals over his heels. He was annoyed when he had to rummage through several drawers until he found a bag. And he was still pretty damn annoyed when he dropped the keys while he attempted to lock his front door.
The walk to the store dragged on, too. C wove through the scattered crowd, careful not to bump into people or to make eye contact. His attention was firmly on the ground underneath his feet. From the corner of his eye he spotted a vaguely familiar shape, waving at him. C offered a polite if somewhat curt nod and disappeared into the nearest alleyway before the other could use the opportunity to engage him in a conversation.
The little detour took him past a food stand advertising the best yakitori in town. The owner made eye contact with C. He waved him over with several skewers clamped between his fingers, not entirely unlike a shinobi fanning out a handful of senbon. His grin was sharp, too.
C politely declined. He didn’t have much of an appetite. Thank you very much and a good day to you too.
His gut twists uncomfortably. His hand presses tightly against his abdomen, right above the scabs of a shallow cut. It’s throbbing uncomfortably and he really doesn’t want to be here.
C was comparing two identical packs of blueberries when he someone sauntering up to him from behind.
“Yo, C!”
He didn’t react quickly enough to dodge the hand that clamped down on his left shoulder. He bit down on a wince. There was that ever-present annoyance again.
“Thought I saw earlier!”
“Atsui.” C put on his best approximation of a smile while he brushed off the unwelcome touch.
“I heard you got back the other day.” Atsui slapped his back and C bit down on a choke. “They really did a number on you!”
C laughed awkwardly. His shoulder throbbed and he felt a little sick. He scratched his temple in an attempt to distract himself from the itchy line of sutures above his brow. The fluorescent lights inside the store were beginning to give him a headache.
Atsui tilted his head and squinted. “It’s rare seeing you by yourself. Where-”
C cleared his throat. Perhaps with a little more force than necessary. “It was nice catching up with you but I really need to get going.”
Atsui blinked several times. C really hoped that would be the end of it.
“Give Darui my burning regards, then!”
“I will. See you around.”
C grabbed both packs of blueberries and wrenched them in his bag with some difficulty. Atsui waved at him while he hurried towards the register.
On the fourth day, C let himself into Darui’s apartment.
They had a longstanding agreement to look after each other’s houseplants while the other was away and it was time C held up his part of the deal.
He filled up a kettle and put it on the stove before he went looking for the watering can. He found it in one of the bottom cabinets next to a stash of his favourite tea. He grabbed both and dismissed the little flip his heart did when he spotted the smiling face drawn on the side of the sachet and the word thanks in Darui’s looping script.
He watched as the water spiralled in the belly of the can. The kettle whistled, startling C from his stupor. He scrambled to shut off the water that had been spilling over the edges of the can for a while now. He rolled his eyes and turned to remove the kettle from the stove.
He prepared a pot of tea and left it to steep while he tended to Darui’s plants.
For someone who took little to no interest in interior decorating, Darui’s home featured a truly impressive number of potted plants. Most of them gifted by well meaning friends who had come to the conclusion that the space wasn’t homely enough. When the number of plants in his apartment had hit the low twenties, Darui’d been forced to put his foot down and put an end to the practice.
There was something meditative about checking the soil in each flowerpot and watering them accordingly. The pots were about as varied as the plants themselves. A mismatched palette of colours, scattered throughout the apartment. C had a routine he followed to ensure he didn’t miss any.
Despite Darui’s rather… passive role in their acquisition, most of the plants remained in remarkably good condition. One late night several years ago, with several empty sake bottles between them, C had bet him that there was no way he’d be able to keep all of them alive. Darui’d taken the challenge, waved a half-empty bottle around and declared that for every plant he killed he’d owe C a drink.
Feeling impish, C’d picked up a particularly finicky kind of cactus the next time he was sent to the Land of Wind on an errand. As of today, the cactus was in stellar condition and C still payed for his own drinks.
C replaced it in its customary spot on the window ledge opposite of Darui’s bed. It was the only south-facing window in the apartment and the one that got by far the most sun exposure. He ran his fingers along the smooth petals of one of the many small cactus flowers. They bloomed in a dark, luscious red not unlike tiny spatters of blood of someone unlucky enough to catch their hand on its thorns.
C looked at his hand and, for a split second, it appears red, too.
He shook his head, picked up the watering can and made his way to the kitchen. There, he traded it for the teapot and poured himself a mug of tea, the same way he’d done countless times before, and waited for the feeling of strangeness to fade.
On the fifth day, C picked up his new flak jacket.
Between the bloodstains on the outside, the puncture at the front and the strategically placed cuts before the medics could remove it, there truly had been no saving the old one. Not that he’d wanted to.
“Here you go.”
The girl at the counter looked chipper as she returned with a shapeless bundle wrapped loosely in white packing paper and parcel string and placed it in front of him. C mumbled his thanks, hooked his fingers under the strings and pulled the package towards him. He was about to head for the door when she spoke once more.
“We have mirrors in the back, in case you wanted to try it on.”
She flashed him a bright, polished customer service smile.
It wasn’t her fault. He knew that. Sometimes people just found themselves rattling off the same mindless script again and again and their brain inevitably went on autopilot. She’d probably handed out dozens of uniform parts this very day.
On a purely intellectual level, he knew all of that.
He just felt very, very tired all of a sudden.
Despite the discomfort, he lifted his left shoulder in a slow and awkward approximation of a shrug, drawing attention to the arm on the same side that was wrapped up in a splint and quite visibly strapped across his torso.
“Thanks. I think I’ll pass,” he said.
The girl blanched, flushed and stammered a flurry of apologies, all in very short succession. He watched her scramble and, even though he very much shared her discomfort, couldn’t muster the energy to laugh it off or offer words of reassurance.
Even on a good day, he disliked petty chitchat and preferred to let Darui take the lead when situations requiring geniality and routine pleasantries arose. However, today was far removed from good and C had no one to foist the conversation off on.
The girl shuffled her feet. C wanted to leave. He sighed and waved her off. They’d simply have to accept that they both just made each other’s day a tiny bit worse. C mumbled a quick never mind and took off.
He wasn’t angry at her. He also wasn’t… not angry. Mostly, he was annoyed.
And so very, very tired.
On the sixth day, there was a knock at his door.
C rolled off the couch and flinched when he accidentally put weight on his cracked rib. He nearly fell over himself trying to get to the door. He threw it open without stopping to check who was standing on the other side of it.
Samui narrowly missed getting smacked in the face as the door swung past her. She looked slightly taken aback.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Hello to you, too. May I come in?” She brandished a paper bag filled with groceries and pushed past him without waiting for his reply. “Atsui mentioned he ran into you. How’s the arm?”
C offered a one-armed shrug and let her draw her own conclusions. He almost shivered under her icy observation. “How long?”
“Eight weeks. Give or take.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t insist on coming in to work anyway.”
“I,” C pulled his bottom lip between his teeth while he picked his next words, “got sent home.”
Samui raised a delicate eyebrow but didn’t pry any further. C realised he’d been holding his breath and exhaled softly while she made her way into the kitchen. For lack of anything better to do, C trailed after her.
He hopped up on the counter next to where Samui had placed the paper bag. She’d already strong-armed her way into his apartment and was clearly about to commandeer his kitchen, too. C figured a little bit of passive resistance was well and justified.
After all, he hadn’t asked for any help. Didn’t want any either. As a matter of fact, he didn’t want any company at all.
Samui moved around him with practiced ease. As if this was a regular occurrence for them. Sure, they were friends. Had been for a long time. But they didn’t show up unannounced and just started taking apart the other’s kitchen. The only person who did that-
“Would you stop it with your moping already?” Samui snapped.
C straightened up involuntarily. He mumbled a half-hearted apology and let his gaze drift off to the side in a lukewarm attempt to dodge her scrutiny. He valued her level-headedness and her sharp perception but those same qualities made her exceptionally hard to be around right now.
So rather than look at her directly, he watched her hands as they took one item after another from the paper bag. She’d brought an assortment of fruit and snacks. Mostly stuff that didn’t require a whole lot of preparation and would be easy to eat one-handed. C felt a twinge of guilt for his previous attitude.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. Samui stopped what she was doing, crossed her arms and pinned him with a look that seemed to ask are you really that much of an idiot?
C averted his eyes. A strip of velcro at the side of his splint suddenly became very interesting to him and he couldn’t suppress the urge to twiddle with it.
Stuck. Unstuck. Stuck. Unstuck.
Stuck.
“I wanted to check in on you. Given the circumstances, I figured somebody ought to. Here!” She tossed an apple his way. C caught it reflexively but ended up staring at his hand in bewilderment.
Samui sighed. “It’s food. Are you going to eat it or do I have to shove it down your throat?”
C recognised the particular type of weariness colouring her voice and begrudgingly took a bite. Samui continued to put away the supplies she brought, while he was dangling his legs off the counter and listlessly gnawing on his apple.
Samui ended up staying well past noon, filling the time with idle conversation on bland topics. In the end, in spite of himself, C was almost sad to see her go. Without a distraction, his mind was free to wander.
On the seventh day, C had trouble falling asleep.
Despite his body’s general state of upfuckery, it was actually the most trivial of his colourful collection of scrapes and bruises that was giving him trouble. He spent several hours tossing and turning in an attempt to resist scratching at the scabs of the superficial cut on his upper abdomen, haunted by the words of his former academy teacher.
An itchy wound is a sign of healing.
C’d complained and asked her how to make it heal faster.
It’s too early to tell. We’ll just have to wait and see.
The explanation of the medic-nin at the hospital superimposed itself over the memory. They bled into one another and circled back around in his head over and over again until it was all a giant, impenetrable cacophony of noise.
Despite his own extensive medical training, C felt like a kid again. Complaints remained as useless as ever before and he still didn’t have a way to make things get better faster.
He scoffed and banished their spectres from his mind’s eye before he finally gave up and stumbled his way into the kitchen.
He hung his head over the sink and splashed his face with cold water. Although it didn’t necessarily contribute to the solution of the problem at hand, it helped clear his mind at least.
While he was waiting for the tea to finish steeping, he weighed his options. He turned the bottle of painkillers he’d been prescribed for his arm in his hand. One more wouldn’t even put him over the maximum recommended dose by that much. And they did tend to leave him feeling drowsy and pleasantly numb.
Then again, they also tended to cause extremely vivid dreams and over the last couple of days C’d had enough instances of waking up in a cold sweat and gasping for air to last him a lifetime. He screwed up his nose.
One way or another, he wasn’t getting a good night’s sleep tonight either.
He was about to put away the pill bottle when a trash can got knocked over outside on the street.
C startled. His elbow knocked over the mug of tea he’d poured only minutes prior.
He was cursing up a storm when the hot water splashed over his bad arm and soaked the material of his splint. He rushed back to the sink, muttering obscenities under his breath all the while, and yanked at the faucet to turn it on.
The cold water hit his skin and for the first time since the start of this shitshow he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.
Great. Perfect. Things just kept getting better and better.
He remained standing at the sink for several minutes, well beyond the point of a shiver crawling up his spine. Beyond the point of his skin turning an angry shade of red. Beyond the point of the pain from the burn and the burning cold becoming indistinguishable from each other.
Until he didn’t feel quite so close to hysterics anymore.
C wiped his eyes, shut off the water and straightened up. Then, he set about cleaning up the mess he’d made.
After he was done picking up the shattered remains of what was meant to be a relaxing mug of tea, C grabbed the first dishrag he found and kneeled down to wipe up the amber puddle on the floor.
Once that was taken care of, too, he sat back on his heels and took a deep, shaky breath.
The first pink rays of dawn were creeping up on the wall behind him. Their gentle glow framed the shadows cast by the scattered leaves on the otherwise bare branch of the red maple outside his window. They glittered in the early morning light, frozen in the aftermath of a premature cold spell.
Raw and fragile and liable to crack at the slightest touch.
On the eighth day, C brought in the mail.
Envelopes were beginning to stick out of his postbox and the last thing he needed was his neighbours ordering a wellness check.
Without the full use of his left arm, opening the post box without dislodging the precarious pile of paper proved fiddly. He jammed the letters between his bum arm and his chest and shoved the door closed. The lock was old and it took him several tries and some awkward jerking motions to free his key.
Back in his apartment he spread the letters out on his kitchen table. As expected, the bulk of it could go straight to the bin. Several takeout menus from new restaurants, advertisements for various locksmiths in the area and a cable bill for a service he’d cancelled several months prior.
Wedged among the heaps of junk mail, C found a sole, plain, pale blue envelope stamped with the insignia of the local library. Opening the letter proved yet another fiddly affair. Inside, he found a late notice for a library book.
Strange.
C usually made sure to return his loans before heading off on a mission. And he’d done the same this time around. He racked his brain in an attempt to remember what he’d done with it. If he recalled correctly he…
had leant that same book to Darui two weeks prior.
C stared at the letter in his hand. Darui had sworn to the high heavens that he’d get the book back to him in time. He only needed to look up that one tiny thing. Not a big deal at all.
C scowled and crumpled the letter in his good hand before tossing it in the vague direction of the trash can. It bounced off the rim and rolled several inches across the floor.
Whatever.
He got up and headed for the bedroom. He was too exhausted to deal with that shit right now.
On the ninth day, C decided it was time to deal with the laundry.
The pile that had been steadily growing for a while now had finally toppled off its designated chair in the corner of his bedroom and turned into a tripping hazard on his way in and out of bed.
Ask him how he’d come to that particular conclusion.
He stared at it for several seconds with the laundry basket propped between his good arm and his hip before he admitted to himself that that wasn’t going to work as he’d planned.
With a heavy sigh, C dropped the laundry basket and sat down next to it. He crossed his legs and looked up. The shift in perspective only served to further hamper his already limited enthusiasm. From his current angle, the pile of laundry positively towered over him. No way this would be over and done with after the first load.
He resentfully reached for several articles of clothing strewn around the chair and tossed them in the basket. He recalled the days leading up to the last mission and his regretful decision not to get this particular chore over and done with before he left.
My uniform’s gonna need cleaning anyway. Might as well save myself some time and do it all at once when we get back.
He mockingly mouthed the words he himself had uttered not even two weeks ago. Darui had raised his eyebrows at him but dropped the matter with a shrug.
C grabbed the piece of fabric closest to him and pulled it towards him. When it didn’t budge, he yanked at it. Whatever was left on the chair came tumbling down in front of him.
His lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to reign in his first impulse to set fire to the chair and be done with it.
He dragged his hand over his mouth, let it fall in his lap and reminded himself to breathe.
With the urge to commit arson under control, C found himself at a loss of what to do. His fingers played with the dark shirt in his lap, mindlessly zipping and unzipping its absurdly high collar. He couldn’t for the life of him remember how that one had ended up there. He’d have to return that if- when the opportunity arose.
He shook his head and leaned back against the frame of his bed. He turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the display of his alarm clock. It was barely past noon.
He sighed and let his eyes fall shut
There was just so much time to kill.
On the tenth day, C opened the fridge.
He still didn’t have much of an appetite but he hoped some calories might make the nausea go away. His gaze caught on the packs of blueberries at the back of the fridge. Far from his first choice, but it’d do.
He took both of them out of the fridge and paused.
Mould had started to grow on the surface. C pulled a face, closed the fridge and threw the blueberries in the bin.
On the eleventh day, C almost didn’t get out of bed at all.
He rolled over, pulled the duvet over his head and willed time to pass.
On the twelfth day, C sensed an unusual chakra fluctuation.
He didn’t stop to put on his sandals or pause to lock his door in his rush to get to the hospital.
Darui woke up feeling like he’d been run over by an ox cart, thrown off a cliff and scraped off the bottom.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see the white ceiling of a hospital room. However, given that the last thing he remembered clearly was a sword sticking out of his gut he supposed it couldn’t be helped.
He dragged his tongue over his chapped lips to distract himself from the stale taste in his mouth while he tried to make sense of his jumbled memories.
He recalled a figure lying supine on the ground and another poised to strike. He recalled running and taking a leap. He recalled his knees digging into the dirt as sword dug into his back. He recalled the blade emerging from his body but it didn’t stop.
Kept going, pierced a second flak jacket.
Darui locked his joints to keep from keeling over.
Then, finally, the feeling of the guard digging into his back. His own blood seeping into the flak jacket below. And last, a pair of terrified eyes before the world went dark.
Then…
Nothing.
Shit.
Where-
He shot upright, fully intent on jumping to his feet. A sharp pain in his abdomen stopped him in his tracks well before he made it that far.
Right. Stab wound.
He groaned in a mixture of pain and frustration and let himself fall back into the pillow only to promptly wince at the impact.
Right.
Stab wound.
He rolled his eyes. Barely a minute of wakefulness and he was already over it. He tried to roll over, in case a different approach proved more successful but stopped when his arm brushed against something solid.
Darui slowly turned to look at his side and C’s flaxen head of hair came into view. By the looks of it, he was fast asleep and his back would most likely be killing him once he woke up. Darui breathed a sigh of relief as the initial tension drained from his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t strain yourself. Whoever got you took out quite a chunk.”
Darui hadn’t noticed the nurse standing in the doorway. She was carrying an IV bag and a good-natured smile and gestured at the former. “Something for the pain. The good stuff.”
Darui looked up. A similar bag was dangling above his head, this one empty. The line connected… he wasn’t exactly sure where. However, every time he moved something rubbed against his neck and the skin there was pinched and pulled in weird places.
Pain meds certainly would explain the fuzzy feeling in his head. He tried to remember if he’d ever run into her before but came up empty.
“I’m Yoi. I’ll be your nurse today.”
Darui hummed in acknowledgement. She didn’t seem to mind his lack of conversation while she replaced the empty IV bag. She reached beside his neck and grabbed a bundle of thin plastic tubes. There was another tug at his nape.
That’s where the line went, then. He tilted his head to give her easier access. He’d had his fair share of stints in hospital but that was a new one. He’d really fucked up this time, it seemed.
“How long was I out for?” he asked. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rough and brittle. He strained to produce any sounds at all.
Her gaze wandered toward the window. She appeared engrossed in some mental calculations.
“All in all about twelve days, I think.”
Darui’s stomach dropped and he swallowed heavily.
That… was a lot of time to have missed out on.
His gaze fell on C, passed out at his bedside. Yoi’s expression softened but he didn’t know what to make of the look of understanding she offered him.
“Came by every day, that one. Really hard to get rid of, too.” She snorted before she caught herself and offered a sheepish expression.
Darui quietly laughed to himself, too, despite the uncomfortable pinch in his stomach. He’d been on the receiving end of his partner’s stubbornness often enough to sympathise.
“Anyway, that’s everything on my part for now. One of the doctors will stop by later to fill you in on the details. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything in the meantime.” She motioned at the remote to his right where the bright red call button stared right back at him.
Darui thanked her and waved her off and with that she was gone as quickly and quietly as she’d appeared. He tried to lift his arm but found it took more effort than anticipated. He compromised and lifted a finger to poke C’s forehead instead.
C’s movements were slow and stiff. He visibly struggled to gather his bearings. He groaned and nuzzled deeper into the crook of his elbow. Darui poked him a second time for good measure. C mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and swatted at him blindly. Darui caught his hand.
“Hey,” he murmured. C righted himself slowly and mechanically.
Oh, his back was definitely killing him.
Darui’s amusement was short-lived once he got a good look at his partner. White as a sheet, dark bags under his eyes, hair sticking up every which way. He looked… depleted, for lack of a better word, and the initial relief left Darui with a hollow feeling.
A myriad of expressions crossed C’s face while he processed the situation at hand. Then, without warning, he threw himself at Darui, knocking the wind right out of him.
“You fucking asshole!” he cried.
The collision shook Darui all the way to his bones. The sharp pain in his stomach nearly brought tears from his eyes. For a second, he worried the wound would bust right open again and his guts would spill all over the white linen. C’s fingers twisted into the front of his hospital gown and his splinted arm dug into Darui’s ribs.
It was somewhat uncomfortable and kind of hard to breathe and the best feeling in the world and Darui couldn’t care less about anything as trivial as air in that moment.
His arms automatically came up to wrap around C’s trembling back while Darui let the flurry of curses and sobs packed into the tight space next to his ear wash over him like summer rain.
C was absolutely furious with him. His anger flashed bright and hot and vivid underneath his fingertips. His entire body shook with it. Its electric thrum was coursing just below the surface of C’s skin.
Darui couldn’t fathom anything more beautiful. His hold on C tightened. He buried his face in C’s hair and inhaled the clean, citrus flower scent and the absence of blood.
A pound of flesh carved by a blade meant for someone else seemed a laughably small price to pay for the spark in C’s eyes and the colour in his cheeks. Even if they were flushed red with anger.
Why on earth- Fuck you- Don’t ever- Stupid, self-sacrificial- What were you even-
The accusations began to bleed into one another until nothing but a litany of disjointed phrases and laboured breaths remained. Darui brought up one hand to stroke the back of C’s head while he waited for C to get everything out of his system.
“I’m sorry,” Darui lied.
He’d expected to feel weighed down by guilt. However, the only thing weighing on his chest was the warm weight of C’s body and the whirlwind beat of his heart. For now, Darui cared for little else beyond that.
Eventually, the sobs would quieten. Their bodies would mend. The pent up grief and rage would drain away.
C could cry and seethe and curse his name to the high heavens for as long and as loudly as he needed. Darui only needed him alive and breathing. As long as he was alive and breathing, C could do whatever the fuck he wanted. The rest would work itself out.
And if C needed more time to forgive him, he could have that, too.
Until then, Darui would wait.