AN - This just randomly popped into my head and wouldn't let me be until I did something with it. Not totally happy with it, and might add/rearrange some, but the basic plot is what I wanted. This was typed in one-straight shot with some 'help' from my kitten. I think I found all her 'helpful' additions, but please feel free to tell me if I missed any.
Disclaimer - not mine.
Dogtags.
He was filthy, his scent repugnant to his own nose. Cloyingly, sickeningly sweet - the mix of stale sweat, dried blood, and perhaps a few tears, it permeated his being. He wanted nothing more than to find his way back to the dorms, stand beneath the spray of a shower, and just forget.
Genma suppressed a whimper as he pushed his way into ANBU headquarters. No, he scolded himself as a teacher scolds a naughty child. Your mission isn't done yet, dumb shit.
He hurt. Oh Kami, did he hurt. His left shoulder, newly re-located in its socket, throbbed with each jarring step he took. His fingertips tingled, a sure sign of nerve damage. His head felt like it had been held in a vise for too long, and he fought the black spots that kept threatening to take over his vision.
Mission. The mission had to be finished. He had promised her, damnit. Promised.
He pulled his mask off and let it rest against the side of his head. Even that simple motion nearly did him in, his fatigue was so complete. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the part of him that would always be a ninja took stock of his surroundings. Aoba had begun ghosting behind him, looking worried. He was passing people he knew, people he would normally stop and say hello to - if she had been there.
Way to go, Genma, he cruelly berated himself. All Shizuko wanted was to come home and tell Fumio the news. And you couldn't even give her that.
Fumio should be in one of the briefing rooms. Had to find him. His entire existence had been reduced to two simple commands. Find. Give. He owed it to her.
He could see Aoba's lips moving, but the buzzing in his ears had transcended into a roar. "Fumio," he croaked, and that was all his friend needed to put two and two together. Two ANBU sent out on a mission. One comes back, alone, looking like he went through a meat grinder. Didn't take an Intel analyst to figure that one out.
He was grabbed roughly by the wrist, the left one, and he hissed as raw agony pulsed up his arm.
Aoba snarled at his own stupidity and switched sides, wording apologies all the way.
Genma lost track of time, of space, of everything - save for each plodding footfall. His world expanded fractionally. Step. Find. Give. Dumb fuck.
Why the hell didn't you terminate the mission, you stupid fucking asshole? It was well within your rights. Dumb dumb dumb dumb stupid stupid stupid stupid stupidstupidstupid.. Unforgivable.
He came back to awareness. Mission room. He was in a mission room. Fumio peered at him from behind the desk. Some other operatives, both masked and unmasked, were scattered around, but it was beyond his capability to process who they were.
Good. They could all know how impossibly stupid he was.
He hoped they hated him for it. He hated himself.
He pushed off Aoba and tottered towards the desk. Ignoring the pain shooting up his spine, be bowed formally to Fumio, using the pain as self-imposed punishment. He deserved it.
"Fukikawa-san." He didn't deserve to use familiarity with this man. Not now. Not ever again.
The other man, his brown hair sagging over his eyes, stiffened. Formality. One op where two should have returned. The remaining op looked like he was about to keel over. That was all he needed to know.
"Did she suffer?" he asked softly, trying to hide the tremble in his hands.
Genma focused on a point over his shoulder. The world around it spun, but that one point of focus kept him on his feet. And kept him from looking at Fumio.
"She did not. But there's more, Fukikawa-san." He took a huge gulp of air. "Iwata-san, - " again the formality, and he stumbled over her surname, just saying it like stabbing a kunai into his chest. He had to say this now, or he never would.
Another gulp of air, and everything came out in a long stream. "Iwata-san performed as she did every day, superbly. However, two nights ago, after staking out our target for the prior three days, she confided in me that she thought that she might be pregnant. She also confided that you had asked her to marry you. I wished to terminate the mission, but she refused. Subsequently, upon our planned take-down of our target, she was fatally wounded."
His voice cracked on the last word. Fumio had sat heavily upon the word 'pregnant' and Genma wished he could do the same. His legs felt like leaden weights, and even his one point of focus was wavering. The other dozen or so operatives in the room had frozen like characters on a paused movie, not a few mouths hanging open.
Stupid dog, he berated himself again. Finish it.
"I tried everything I knew, and I could not stem the bleeding. Before she passed, she gave me something to give to you, and asked me to tell you that she was sorry, and that she would have said yes."
Fumbling, using his left arm because he deserved the pain, he fumbled through his pouch and pulled out two sets of dogtags. One was a regulation issue pair, battered and faded after years of wear. The other was brand-new, pristine - totally un-ninja like in how it reflected the light.
One was Shi's regulation pair with all her information on it.
The other was the pair she wanted to give to Fumio.
The pair with what her married name would have been.
Genma dropped them silently into the other man's hand, bowing again.
He had promised.