Author's Notes: I'm really liking this whole "writing" thing. More than usual, anyway. Chapter comments: LOL.
Disclaimer: What little I own does not include the series Naruto or the characters pertaining to said series. Bite me.
The first thing Ino noticed when she next woke up was that she was in a bed. The fact that she was naked was a minor concern when she realised that she was alive. There was probably a good reason for that, anyway. She hoped.
Aside from being alive, naked and in a bed, all she could perceive in her groggy half-consciousness was pain. A splitting headache stabbed at the inside of her skull, and the various wounds on her body throbbed viciously. The wound on her shoulder inexorably drew her attention. She had been pretty sure that the wound had been fatal, but it seemed that she had been mistaken. Hourai, probably afflicted with pity for her, must not have struck with full force, and narrowly avoided cutting the Axillary artery. That must have been what happened, otherwise she wouldn't have lived long enough for a passing stranger to…
Her last bleary memories snapped back into focus, inflaming her headache. Someone had saved her. A man who had looked down at her with cold eyes, and hadn't seemed too interested in helping her. And now, she reminded herself, she was naked in a bed. Various scenarios unfolded in her muddled mind. Like her being so overjoyed at being alive and delirious from fever caused her to get into a compromising situation and- she stopped imagining. That was just a little too far-fetched. She was injured, and had probably been asleep for days. Then maybe when she was asleep, he- it was around that point that she forced her imagination to stop working. Now was the time to be calm.
It felt like she had been carefully bandaged, but not amazingly well. This did go some way to explain why she had been stripped. She would have liked to have been given something else to wear, but perhaps she shouldn't have worried about it too much. There was bound to be a reason. She should be more grateful in this situation, right?
She tried to focus on her surroundings. It didn't work. The comforting warmth of the air suggested that she was in a building of some kind, and it seemed like there was a fire going somewhere, but she just couldn't focus properly. Too weak… Too groggy…
She was dreaming. She could tell it was a dream, since she remembered this scene from years before. It was a sad memory, and she didn't want to remember it. But something was different, something nagging at the back of her mind. In fact, something was pulling at the back of her head. A sensation of wetness. She reached up and felt her hair. Her hand came away covered in blood. It covered her, head to toe. Her blood. And something pulling. Dragging her by the back of her skull. She tried to look around, and saw a grim face. An angel of death, taking her away.
Ino woke with a start. She was back in the room with the bed, and her, and- she tried to get her thoughts sorted out. There was the sound of dripping water, and her hair felt wet. Something was indeed pulling gently at the back of her scalp. She fought off the urge to panic, and looked around wildly. This time her eyes did focus, and they found a grim face. Then her thoughts knotted horribly.
The face, as it happened, belonged to the man that she had seen in the forest. His silver-grey hair fell across his shoulders, and he had a slightly placid expression on his face. It seemed like he had been…cleaning her hair. He had paused in his work when he noticed that she was awake. Ino sighed in relief. Dreams could be really strange sometimes.
'…What…?' she said breathlessly. She still wasn't feeling so good. The man didn't respond. He did, however, resume the work of cleaning the mud out of her hair. He brought a ladleful of warm water to her brow and carefully trickled its contents into her hair. It was hanging off the end of the bed, and he gently and slowly combed the water through it. It felt…pretty good, actually. Every time he found a tangle, the combing would stop and the tangle would be undone hair by hair, then combed clean. It was a long, methodical process, but she felt that her hair had never been paid so much attention before.
It took some time before the man was satisfied that her hair was properly clean. He dried it just as carefully with a small hand towel, and then moved Ino back into a more comfortable position on the bed. She couldn't say that this experience was particularly pleasant, but the man touched her surely, and without sign of embarrassment. Somehow, that made her feel as though there was nothing particularly bad about the fact that he had seen her naked. Her pride was still intact. Though it did feel as though she wasn't being acknowledged as a woman.
The man disappeared for a minute, before reappearing with a glass of water. He helped raise her head enough to drink. The water, almost painfully, made her realise how hungry she was. How long had it been since she last ate? Recognising the look on her face, or hearing the painful gurgling of her stomach, the man disappeared a second time. When he reappeared, he had a bowl. The way he carried it suggested that it was some kind of soup. He set it down on a small table by the bed and went to get the chair he had been using when he cleaned her hair.
No. She did not want to be fed. Having someone wash her hair was fine, but she drew the line at being fed. That, even more than barely being able to move, would make her feel helpless. And that was not what she needed right now. Gathering the sheets at her collar with her left hand, she tried to sit up. Fighting to ignore the pain stabbing at her from various places on her body and its desire to remain horizontal, she gradually lifted herself a few inches.
Her ascent was halted by a hand against her chest. Her mouth opened, but she was too outraged to say anything. The man, totally unabashed, pushed her flat with the tiniest press of his fingers.
'You have a fever' he said, matter-of-factly. It was true that she was feeling a little…huh? For some reason, she had an inordinate amount of trouble comprehending that he had just spoken. His voice was much deeper and smoother than she would have expected. True, it was flat and carried about as much emotion as an eel, but something about it…well, spoke to her. Like those few words had hidden meanings. Like "so don't move around so much," or "don't cause me any more trouble," or "sick people should behave like sick people."
He put his hand to her forehead to further demonstrate his point. His hand, still warm from carrying the soup, was noticeably cooler than her own skin. But she wasn't sweating and didn't feel uncomfortable. Not necessarily a good sign.
Thoughts of him touching her inappropriately completely banished, she accepted the first spoonful of soup in a dreamy stupor. It was pretty good soup, too. It didn't seem like it had any seasonings, but that made the flavour of the fish- which was the main ingredient- more pronounced, and seem more complex. She happily accepted a second and third spoonful.
Once she had finished the soup, she felt better. It did feel good to have some kind of food in her stomach. It made her feel fuzzy and drowsy. The man dabbed a few drops of soup and crumbs of fish off her face. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if he had cleaned the rest of her body.
Probably best that she didn't know the answer.
Kimimaro sat and stared at the sleeping woman. He felt that there was a reason, but for the life of him couldn't figure out why on earth he had decided to pick her up.
The desire to feel needed for something other than his ability to kill? Lust? Desire for human contact which didn't involve killing or the planning of killing? Somehow, nothing seemed to explain it.
He had seen the face of dying men and women countless times. Faces filled with agony and regret. On occasion, he had felt pity for them, but he had never helped one of them before. What was so different about her?
She was from Konohagakure no Sato, he recognised the symbol on her forehead protector. That, in and of itself, wasn't significant. Her hair was well-kempt- they had that in common- but he doubted something so trivial would have influenced him. He tilted his head, puzzling over the matter.
Treating her had been…odd. He knew the basics, but he was no medic. Bandaging himself was the extent of his usual treatments. If nothing else, it had been a learning experience. He had known that taking wet clothes off was harder than taking off dry clothes, but taking wet clothes off an unconscious person was something else altogether.
She was attractive, too. Her skin was an unhealthy pale grey, her facial features wasted away somewhat, but she was still a gorgeous specimen. But treating her as such would be impolite, given her situation. Honestly, he was going to excessive lengths to keep her comfortable. Hm.
This was becoming a puzzle to him- why he was bringing someone back from the verge of death. Puzzles existed to be solved. But it could wait.
He had work to do.