Prompt 48: Scars: Tsunade knows why Shizune covers her arms.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
The body of a shinobi is inevitably battered and speckled with scars. They are the souvenirs of battle, the proving of worth, and they are not marks of shame, so much as badges of honor.
But a medical ninja's body shouldn't be scarred. Or so Tsunade thinks.
"You should be more careful," she tells her apprentice. "That could scar."
They are in Suna. Shizune has just taken the final portion of the jonin exams, and passed, but not entirely unscathed.
Shizune applies more rubbing alcohol to the deep kunai scratch on the inside of her thigh with a cotton ball, and doesn't even wince or flinch when the alcohol hisses coming into contact with skin and blood. That's something Tsunade has noticed about Shizune; she either has an incredibly high pain threshold or she's just trained herself very well to ignore pain.
Tsunade wants to take the nineteen-year-old out to celebrate, but she can't do that until Shizune's seen to her injury. Her only injury, Tsunade thinks with a slight swell of pride, but still an injury, and Shizune's insisted on handling it this way.
"That doesn't bother me," Shizune remarks absently. "I already have many scars."
Tsunade frowns. This is news to her. "Since when?"
"Since I was about eleven years old."
Scars, huh? If you're talking since eleven, are you talking about physical scars or psychological?
A thin trickle of blood slips from the small wound, and Tsunade feels her eyes twitch as it always does when she sees blood, feels her heart begin to seize…
Shizune starts. "Oh! Sorry, Tsunade-sama!" She quickly covers the wound with a bandage (Tsunade feels her pulse return to normal), and stands, smiling slightly. "Are we ready to go?"
Tsunade shakes her head, smiling teasingly. "Go change. That dress we found a few weeks ago."
Shizune's face colors slightly, but she does what she is told, and retreats into the other room of the hotel room they're renting, taking a black bundle with her.
The dress is a short-sleeved black cheongsam (black because Tsunade will declare herself blind if Shizune ever wears any color but black), pretty enough, though Shizune herself seemed somewhat reluctant to buy it. Tsunade attributed that to Shizune not getting out enough, and the deal went through.
A few moments later, she steps out, brushing her dark hair out of her face. "The dress looks fine. I don't know what you were so worried about—" Tsunade's mouth stops working; she realizes exactly why Shizune was reluctant to wear the dress.
Tsunade's mother always told her that the best servant was the one that would never let you know exactly what their loyalty to you has cost them.
Well, that cost was being put on display, open for Tsunade's pale eyes to see.
She and Shizune had gotten into a few scrapes over the past few years, and yes, she had occasionally left Shizune with some pretty bad flesh wounds after training, but Tsunade never thought there would be so many scars. Mostly on her arms, though there are a few on her legs as well, small ones like the flecks of a paintbrush.
There are long scars and small ones, pale and bloody red, protrusions from the flesh and pale lines nearly totally receded into the skin, and one long, broad, black mark stretching from Shizune's left forearm to slightly above the elbow.
Tsunade feels her eye starting to twitch again. She hates to admit it, knows it is irrational and idiotic and to be honest superficial, but she has always abhorred the sight of scars. She hates the sight of them marring the human skin as much as the sight of blood makes her stomach start to churn. Tsunade has always prided herself on her smooth, unmarred skin, and the thoughts of such blemishes makes the vanity that she was never able to beat down shudder.
But more than that is the shoots of guilt sending her nervous system for a joyride. Every single scar, gotten in her service. A good servant never lets you know what price they paid for their loyalty to you. I may never make Shizune wear short sleeves again.
Shizune is standing there, twitching, defensive color rising in her cheeks, looking uncomfortable, because she hates being stared at for any reason or any amount of time.
Tsunade returns to herself. "Shizune," she murmurs almost absently. Both can hear the undercurrents of tension in her voice.
"Yes, Tsunade-sama?"
"Put on a jacket. It's cold out there."
Shizune's eyes are at once relieved and disappointed, and Tsunade feels guilt again, because she knows that she should have been brave enough not to have to look away.
But then, Shizune's not the only one who's scarred. Physical and psychological. Oh, we make quite a pair, don't we?
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