Philosophy burns my mind… it burns!

Disclaimer: I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"

xxxii — soldier II

"I don't need your help, shinobi!"

She made a forceful attempt to jerk her hand away from both his and the damp rag he held, the material saturated with a mixture of water and blood.

Minato re-established the grip he had on her wrist, keeping it in place.

"Let me take care of this for you," he chided tonelessly as he resumed his improvised cleansing of her wound, his head as well as his eyes slanted downward to it.

Her sheer strength was no match against his, and the woman growled in exasperation. Not a second after, her opposing hand flew up with the intention to strike him across the face for his audacity.

…but despite how much she loathed this blond ninja, this mercenary, this soldier, she could not find it within herself to do so.

How could she, when he was lowered to one knee before her on the verdant forest terrain, tending to her punctured hand—while she remained seated on a less-than-exquisite tree stump—as if he were her humble servant? (Never mind that he had been the one to drill two of his kunai into both her palms before unmasking her.)

It would seem he lacked dignity, she deduced, for being so willing to demean himself for a person whose name he did not know.

Even so—

"Don't… don't act kind, shinobi," the woman sniped, though the tone of her voice was aggressive no more.

"I caused this, so it's up to me to fix it to the best of my abilities. Think of it as an obligation." His brows rose a mere centimeter as he tacked on, "And I would think you might have remembered my name. You were the one who asked for it, weren't you? Namikaze Minato, not shinobi."

Her mouth disappeared into a thin line, her gaze hard on him. "You're all the same to me."

Minato raised his head to gauge her with bright blue orbs, his nursing hands now motionless with her lone one in between them.

She was glaring at him through narrowed eyes, her tears building up at the edges.

Children, even infants, are capable of sympathy. But only after adolescence are we capable of compassion.

—Louise J. Kaplan

Author's Note: Do you guys want more Minato?