Summary : "If you're going to lecture me, I don't want to hear it." In which Irina and Karasuma share a softer moment, away from prying eyes, and learn a bit more about each other in the process.
Characters : Irina J., Karasuma T.
Genre : Friendship
Rating : T
Warning(s) : Rated T for dark themes, and mentions of war, blood, child abuse, and sexual assault of a minor. Adult situations and context ahead. One-shot.

Smokeless

8:30am.
12:00pm.
4:15pm.
It was like clockwork, day after day, week after week, and month after month; at those times, Irina Jelović would disappear, for exactly fifteen minutes each, from the confines of the 3-E Class building. Where she would go differed day to day; sometimes she would go to a nearby pond (the same one which Koro-Sensei built for students to utilize on a hot day) sometimes she would go into the thicker parts of the woods, where students hardly visited for fear of a 'monster' they rumored was out there somewhere, and still more sometimes she would simply walk the beaten path that led to the main campus.

One cool day in October, at noon, Irina headed towards the pond. It was cool enough so that the pool wouldn't be a destination that day, but the forest was dense enough to keep some warmth; she wouldn't need her coat. She knew her way very well. It took her only a moment to arrive, and when she did...

It was a cigarette, long, white, and smelling of mint and tobacco, that she pulled from her purse, as well as a hot-pink lighter with a heart emblem decorated in sparkly dots. It had her initials– I.J.– written carefully in black pen on the bottom. Within a minute, she had lit the end of the stick-like object and was taking a long breath. Smoke left her lips the moment she heard a stick snap behind her, and she turned, caught unaware.

"Karasuma?"

And indeed, from the trees, Karasuma appeared. The colbalt-haired soldier had followed her, it seemed. He approached until he stood only a few feet from her, and leaned against a tree he'd chosen for that purpose. He wore his usual white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a red tie, black dress pants, black shoes– and his hair was, as per usual, sticking up towards the sky. He said nothing, crossing his arms and looking her up and down, dark eyes lingering on the cigarette between her fingers.
A wry smile escapes her lips, and she speaks again amid his silence–
"If you're going to lecture me, Karasuma, I don't want to hear it. Why'd you follow me, anyway? Don't you have students to attend to?"

Karasuma simply gave a very light shrug of his shoulders.

"I was curious," He admitted, plainly, and that caused her to quirk her thin, blonde eyebrows. They disappeared into her flyaway hair. He continued, still plainly, "I wanted to know what you were doing every day. I suppose it should have been obvious– but Jelović, I wasn't aware that you smoked."

"Like I said," She flipped her hair out of the way as she pursed her lips around the end of the cigarette again, taking another draft before blowing the smoke in his direction, "I'm not interested in hearing you lecture me."

His response was so unexpected, it startles her.
"Do you have enough to share?"

Soon enough, she had given one up, lit it for him, and he was there along side her, almost close enough for her shoulder to bump into hers, and taking light nips on his end, too. She watched him in barely-surpressed surprise.

"I used to smoke," He said, between breaths, "I started young. Not anymore."

He so rarely divuldged information about himself and his life; Irina couldn't help but reply. The conversation had suddenly turned into something that she was interested in listening and continuing.

"So did I," She admitted herself. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised, and it was her turn to give a careless shrug– "I was fifteen. I had already apprenticed myself to my teacher, already had a number of notches in my belt, so to speak. He smoked, too. After I was away from him, from Russia... I missed the scent. I picked it up and never stopped."

Karasuma was quiet, and for a moment, it seemed he wasn't about to speak again, which left her feeling a bit disappointed. The feeling was short-lived.

"I've told a lot of people that I started in the military and as I rose through the ranks, kicked the habit for the sake of appearance. That's a lie– I quit cold when I joined."

Oh, the irony. Irina was aware that most servicemen entered and, because of peer-pressure or because of the stress and pressure of duty, began to smoke and quickly became addicted to the dangerous habit. She questioned him–
"What age did you start, then?"

"I was young. Eleven. I grew up around those kinds of things. I was offered once, and I took it. After, it was easy to get. Things like that, where I came from, were easy to come by, if you were willing to pay for it or worked for the guys selling. I hardly had to lift a finger to find it."

The way he said it, she knew there was more to the story.
"Well, were you buying or working?" She pressed.

Irina received a glance for that, from cobalt eyes. Those eyes... Those eyes were filled with something she understood well. She felt something in her own soften as he responded, quietly– almost too soft to hear. She was surprised when Karasuma answered yet another personal question; this one word riddled with very unsettling implications.

"Working."

Irina took a longer draft than usual from her cigarette, which was almost finished now. She looked over and saw Karasuma doing the same. They stood in silence until both cigarettes were out. She outstreched a hand.

"What is it?" He asked.

"The butt," She responded, more sharply than intended; "Give it to me."

He does so, and watches in surprise as she takes up a small zip-up plastic bag and places both inside, zips it up again, and stows it at the bottom of her purse. She answers the unspoken question after her purse is closed again.

"I don't throw the butts on the ground. I'll throw them away when I'm off the mountain tonight. Don't look at me like that– " She added, scowling, when Karasuma looked like he might laugh at her, " –I just don't like seeing them everywhere. It's disgusting. And besides, those kids come up here and everywhere else, too. I don't want them getting the wrong idea."

"I wasn't going to laugh," Karasuma promises, and he sounds so serious that she immediately relaxes. "I wish I was that considerate when I was younger. I must have thrown hundreds of butts on the floor. I look back on it now, and..."

His expression darkens and that look in his eyes increases. Irina feels something in her heart twinge. That expression, those eyes... They mirrored hers. Impulsively, she steps into him and bumbs his shoulder. It wasn't enough to knock him off-balance– not even close– but enough to catch his attention.

"What is it?"

"Stop doing that," She tells him, "Stop making that face."

"Which face?"

"The one that makes you look like you're in pain," She retorts, feeling annoyed, and he turned his head to look at her, meeting her eyes with his own. "I can read people, Karasuma– I'm good at it. I had to learn young how to read people, see their intentions; and it's served me well, as an assassin, and... As a person, too. You making that expression... Makes me want to understand it. Makes me want to understand you."

Karasuma is quiet. She can tell that he is weighing his options. She fully expects him to turn on his heel and walk away, leave her near the pond and all by herself. Several minutes pass in silence before, again to her surprise, he decides to answer her, though still very quietly.

"Understanding me," He says, "Is something even I haven't figured out yet. I've been told it comes with age."

"Age?" She questions, "What do you mean by... Wait a second– " She added, cutting herself off, as Karasuma offered a very rare, wry half-smile– "How old are you, Karasuma?"

Karasuma just chuckles. It's a strange sound, coming from him.
"I'm twenty-six next month, Jelović."

Twenty-six?
For someone so young, he seems... So old.
Well, perhaps old wasn't the right word. He was young, but at the same time, he was seasoned. A veteran who had seen the horrors of war, who had killed numerous men, had faced Death more than once and won; he was no ordinary man, Karasuma. She had known that the moment she had laid eyes upon that abnormally calm and controlled face of his.
And that face was only five, almost six years older than she was?

"I've been told I'm more... Mature for my age," Karasuma continued, when she didn't immediately respond to him, "More well-rounded, an old soul. I don't think that's true. I think... Perhaps I simply grew up a little too fast. A bit different from everyone else because of that, and... I think the same is true for you, Jelović. We have that in common."

"We're both mature for our age, huh? We have that in common..."

The way that he said that, it reminded her of things said to her, by her teacher and by others– and the later was what came to her, without warning...

You're so much more grown up than other girls...
More beautiful and filled out...
Irina, you're more mature than other girls your age...
Are you comfortable, little missy...
I can make you into a true woman...

Her eyes snapped open, and it took a moment before she could speak. Her thoughts had turned dark very quickly, much quicker than she would have thought possible? Where had those thoughts come from...? Dots were connecting slowly in her head, and when it came to her, when she understood, Irina looked up at her companion, sharply and with growing apphrension.

"Karasuma– "

"Yes, I know what I said," He interrupted her, and his voice was so gentle. It was much softer than she ever thought it could be. So much kinder. "I know what I said, and I meant it."

She felt like she had the wind knocked out of her. Those faraway looks in his eyes, the way he acted and carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he closed himself off, distanced himself, the way he coped–

He was right. They had a lot in common.
It was unfortunate, but it was true.

"I'm sorry." She had said it before she could stop herself. "I'm so sorry."

"It was a long time ago. You don't need to apologize," He put his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground below him. He looked older again; his age didn't matter– she knew his age now, too, dammit– and he also looked so burdened. As though the weight of the world was on his broad shoulders.

And really, in a way, it was.

She decided, since he had shared such a private part of himself with her, that she owed him the same.

"...I was six," Irina told him, decisively; and he looked up at her with a calm expression, telling her that he was listening, "When the bombs first fell. My parents were one of the first casualties. I don't remember much of them. I was nine when I was taken to my teacher."
"About three years."

She gave a nod that was more like a jerk. She looked away, something in her beginning to waver. A lump rose in her throat as she continued– "Three years, I lived in that same area. I was alone, and... I did what I had to, to survive. To live. It became like an obession. Doing things that I think back to now, and... Regretting everything. Wishing that I hadn't– ..."

She felt something warm on her shoulder and she heard her voice, shaking badly at this point, trail off into nothingness. Irina looked over her shoulder to find Karasuma's hand there, attempting to comfort her. It was a small, but touching gesture. He never initiated contact with her, or anyone– unless, of course, it was to put them down.

"...Wishing that you hadn't survived," He finished for her, causing her to jerk, looking up into cobalt eyes that were suddenly so close to hers, "I know."

He would know, wouldn't he. It was like he had said, right?

It was his turn to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Jelović."

"It wasn't your fault. Don't apologize."
Mirroring his words from before.

They had a lot in common.

They were quiet for a long time. She wasn't sure how long they stood there, simply thinking over all that had, and hadn't, been said, hadn't been spoken out loud. The scent of cigarette smoke clung to them and wouldn't waver away. It was the thick forest; the scent would linger for quite a while. It was one of the reasons she switched spots every day, to allow the area to clear.

It was Irina, in the end, to speak, when a thought occured to her.

"What were you doing, Karasuma, for those cigarettes? You mentioned earlier... that you were working... I was curious."

The question remained in the cigarette-filled air for a moment, as Karasuma gathered his thoughts. She waited patiently. She was learning, quickly, that answers about himself were difficult for him to give; not for lack of one, but for the lack of not knowing how to put his thoughts into words.

So, she waited. She wasn't disappointed.
"My father left us– left the family. I haven't seen him since. My mother did what she could, but she eventually became very sick. I had– have– a little brother, and he's five years younger than me. He was little more than a toddler... And it fell to me to care for them. I was young myself– eleven years old, as I said. I ended up on the streets, doing what I could. Stealing, dealing, pedaling... Whatever I could. It didn't matter how dirty the task, how dirty I became. I needed the money, and didn't care back then where it came from."

It was Irina's turn to touch his shoulder. His hand went up and touched hers; his was very warm. A question burned her tongue and was out before she could stop herself–
"Did it hurt?"

Karasuma blinked, and looked over at her, expression unreadable. She refused to look away, and cobalt met baby blue. It was quiet.

One heartbeat. She could feel it through his hand.
Two heartbeats. Her hand tightened on his, just slightly.
Three heartbeats. His tightened back, stronger than before.

Something broke, and with it, so did the silence.

"Yes," He chuckled, almost sadly, "It hurt. It hurt badly for a long time."

"It was a stupid quesiton," She confessed, unashamedly, "Of course it hurt."

At that moment, Irina noticed that his hand hadn't let go of hers.
Then again, hers never left his, either. This was the closest they had ever gotten to each other. Funny, how any of her previous attempts had ended in abject failure; funny, how their shared pasts, so painful then, had brought them together now, if only for a moment in their lives.

"I was eight," She said, suddenly, "When I..."

Her voice trailed off, and she knew he would understand.
He understood, and he sighs.

"I was older when it happened. I was twelve."

"You knew what was happening, by then."

"I watched my mother endure it for years," Karasuma agreed, softly, "She was out of the house that day, and... It happened once– just the one time. But sometimes, once is all it takes."
A bitter taste suddenly appeared in her mouth, she looked away. Her heart swelled and ached; it was so unfair, really. He was barely more than a boy, and she, well, she was barely anymore than a toddler. It was a sick world they lived in, sometimes.

"Yes," She agreed, quietly, "Once is all it takes."

Irina watched the cobalt-haired soldier cross his arms and take a long, steadying breath. It was one full of memory; his eyes were a long way away. She squeezed his hand, hard, and he looked up again, calmly.

She wondered how long it took to be able to do that– turn his emotions off, and leave them off, like a light switch.

Karasuma spoke a few moments later–

"For what it's worth, Jelović, I'm... Glad that you did. I'm glad you survived."

"Only parts of me did," She admitted, though with a soft and grateful smile, "Parts of me were left behind or thrown out along the way."

To her surprise, he nodded, as if he understood – and the funny, sad part was that, yes, he did understand. No one else really did; even her teacher, who had seen hell and had come back hundreds of times already, and will continue to do so until his dying day... Even he din't really understand, not in the way Karasuma did.

"Everyone loses a part of themselves in times of change. I've lost a lot of me. You wouldn't recognize me, if I had a photo to show you, of me as a kid. You wouldn't recognize him. I hardly even do, and it's me. Everyone loses a part of themselves when they make the choice to move forward. It's what they do with the new part of themselves that makes them who they are now. That have made us who we are."

Irina couldn't help but give out a soft laugh–
"I didn't know you were such a wordsmith, Karasuma."

Karasuma was, of course, unamused.

"This coming from you."

"You sounded like the octopus."

"I do not."

"You can't tell me that's not something he wouldn't say to the students."

Karasuma opened his mouth to argue the point, but then closed it again. She watched in growing amusement as he struggled to come up with a response. When he failed, he simply shook his head–
"I do not sound like him, Jelović."

There was something in his voice again, that little twinge of darkness...
She decided to drop the subject. They stood in silence for a while, until Karasuma glanced down at the watch sitting on his wrist. His brows rose and he looked up at her, drawing her attention from her wandering thoughts.

"We should get back," He said, lightly, "They'll be wondering where we went."

She gave a nod, but was unwilling to go at the moment. It was such a moment that they had shared, and it hadn't taken really any catalyst to erupt, either. There was no cajoling, there was no sharply-ending insults, no backpedaling; simpy honesty– honesty of the highest calibre.

"It's funny," She said instead, causing him to turn his head toward her again, "How one little cigarette somehow brought all of that out of us."

Karasuma said nothing, and then she chuckled suddenly. It was a sad chuckle, and slowly, she took out the pack of cigarettes again. This time, the cobalt-haried soldier spoke.

"You don't have time for another one. We're late already."

Her response was to wordlessly toss the pack at him. Unsurprisingly, he caught it, and looked down, brows raising again, this time nearly disappearing. She could see the thoughts on his morphing expression, and decided to explain herself to him, one final time.

"You said that when we change, we always leave something behind, right?"

Karasuma looked up again, and blue met black. In his, she saw wonder, curiosity and, if she was reading him right– however strong she was at it, she could never be sure with Karasuma; it must be because they were so alike– pride. Pride in her? She didn't know.

She also didn't know what he saw in hers that afternoon, as they stood near the pond that an alien-like, tentacled, always-smiling teacher had made his students for hot days, in a densely wooded forest that smelled like mint and tobacco. She didn't know what he saw in her eyes; but she hoped that he saw what she felt; confidence, determination, and, most of all, she hoped that she saw that softness, that feeling that she felt only for him.
"Well, I'm changing now. I've made up my mind."

She eyed the pack of cigarettes in his hand, and his eyes left hers to look at them, too. Understanding flashed in cobalt eyes, and he nodded. With a twinch of his hand, a loud crunch of packaging and soft crunching of tiny specks of tobacco wrapped in paper–

And just like that, she felt free. She knew it would take a bit more effort than this, to really break the spell she had been under for years, but seeing him crush them like he would any enemy in his path...

It made her feel like she could do it, too.

"And for the record, Karasuma?"

Suddenly imbued with all the confidence in the world, Irina stepped forward until she met Karasuma, almost nose-to-nose with the man. He said nothing, merely watching her until she said what she needed to. He was like that; for all of his strengths, perhaps patience was his strongest virtue, nevermind how strong that body of his was.

"I'm glad you survived, too."

She watched, up close, as cobalt eyes digested what she had said, putting the words together like a string of puzzle pieces. She watched as something cracked. Perhaps a wall, perhaps just a brick. But something cracked, and for that, she was grateful.

Perhaps, next time, it wouldn't take so much change to have such an honest conversation with each other.

"Come on, Jelović," He said, breaking the silence one last time, "We're very late now. We need to get back."

It was just like Karasuma had said, wasn't it?
Everyone loses a part of themselves, when they decided to move forward.

Irina might have become smokeless as a result, but in return, she had gained something invaluable.

And she wouldn't change that for the world.

Fin.