Ashynote Been a while; quite plotless, one could say it's just an ordinary thing in the life of Natsume Hyuuga, but I missed writing about them and the manga is driving me nuts, so here is a happy kind of fic. Reviews are appreciated, and they make me very happy.

For Maria and Zia and Yuna, because of the usual reasons, and also because I want to celebrate the last two's sudden reappearances which made me feel happy enough to write again.

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SOME NIGHTS

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There are nights — mostly the cold, scary ones of the more dangerous of his missions — when he'd find himself breathing in real deep and praying to some kind of god, whatever and wherever it may be, for everything to turn out okay; all he ever wants is to make it home alright, and hear her usual tirade about his recklessness and arrogance and apparent inability to stay put, his hero complex, and the fact that he almost had her dying of worry.

It was nice to hear. It was familiar.

The earpiece buzzed; communication with another member of the squad had been lost. He swore under his breath as they ran for the exit gates where he hoped the getaway had already been prepared, dodging bullets out of reflex, finding himself breathing deep and praying hard. He prayed for all those they lost inside the building, but more than anything else he prayed he stay alive, because times like these—when he's running across bridges that crumble and burn quickly behind him, threatening to catch up—granted him no room for grief and the kind of selflessness he knew she'd be feeling. Only the most primal human instinct dominated his thoughts as of that moment, and he relied on it greatly to keep him breathing and safe.

"Natsume, the getaway isn't there!" Hayate, running behind him, yelled; through the thick, controlled tone of that voice, he still hears the fear. How could he not? He felt it himself. "I can sense the remnants of an ambush a few hundred metres from where the back-up team should be," the boy continued after catching up to him. He could hear his voice as crisply as if they were in a safe, quiet room with good acoustics. Evidently the air around them had been manipulated so that their voices could be amplified without the need to scream. "Natsume, I can't hear any heart beats."

He shut his eyes and permitted himself the luxury of another colourful string of profanities. "Listen close, all of you," he ordered sternly, keeping his head clear and free from distraction as he always did; there would be time for the rest of those worries later. There had to be. "Hayate, take the rest of the squad and run for cover. Check into a hotel in Tokyo, use the Academy card, pay extra if you need to, no need to be frugal, and leave the kids there. Return to the Academy and tell them what happened. You four," he glanced at the four pale faces looking back at him in forced determination; he admired the kids' guts, "don't leave until I or any of the others come to fetch you. We'll send a message beforehand. Don't open the doors for anyone else."He checked behind him again to see five others, the four children included, running with him, thankfully unharmed, and he looked ahead: the gates were near, and they were open. They were going to make it out.

"Saruhiko," he raised his voice to be heard over the din of gunshots and the heavy footfalls and screams of their pursuers, "keep going west until you meet the vanguard, then proceed to Area 34 and clean the place up. Return to the Academy once you're done, and make sure you do a damn good job at it."

He practically heard the new guy's smirk. "Aye, aye, Black Cat." If there was a sardonic edge to that reply, then he didn't really want to think about it.

"And you?" Hayate's voice sounded comically fearful. He, of course, knew what the guy was thinking, but pretended not to know nonetheless.

"I'll be staying behind. I'll keep them at bay," he replied. He heard Hayate's squawk of protest and very nearly rolled his eyes had not a particular enemy ventured too close to his fleeing group; the need to blast him farther was greater than the need to react appropriately to Hayate's squeak.

"But she'll kill me if I return without you!"

Gods only knew how true those words were gonna be. He can see her now, demanding to squeeze all the information out of Hayate. He spared the boy a smile. "You get to choose how you die, then."

A few metres from the gates, he stopped running and turned to face the advancing enemies. He prepared himself for the worst. "Go, Hayate," he whispered to the wind, knowing full well that the guy could hear him clearly. "Not everyone gets the privilege of choosing how they go. She'll make it quick and painless."

From his peripheral vision, he caught sight of the new guy, Saruhiko, looking back at him with a queer look on his face. He looked around and saw Hayate nod glumly in understanding, and just then he felt that at least all would be fine for them

Now, he thought, pulling himself together for inevitable savagery, putting on the redesigned cat mask that had stronger limiters and only covered the upper half of his face now, another day, another life.

I'm getting tired of this shit.

For a moment he saw the hesitation in the eyes of his prey, probably wondering why a child would give up his life, or perhaps if they had it in them to kill a teenage boy. At least until another voice cried out, "Do not underestimate him! He's the Black Cat!"

For the third time that night, he felt the need to curse; so many questions were raised by that statement, but no time for thinking about it. "And here I thought we could just talk it over tea or something," he mumbled, heaving a sigh and dropping his shoulders to the natural stance. No fire tonight, just his hands and feet and the dagger tucked in his belt.

Gods, she is gonna kill me if I die tonight. Balefully he chuckled at how ridiculous the musing was. His hands, poised for the fight, restlessly hanging at his sides, clenched and unclenched in anticipation. The men made their move, and the dance began.

Well, better by her than by these losers.

There are days when he'd find himself lying on the grass with her head on his shoulder, and he'd think how his luck seemed to be running out quite slowly for a living time bomb. How many times had he come so close to dying, to not making it home alive again? And yet he doesn't, and he lives and makes it back to the familiar screeches of anger and the cool, relieved voices that greet him when he enters class the next morning, only slightly harmed and mostly incredibly tired. He feels terrible about it sometimes, as if he's siphoning all the other people's luck away, and he has questioned more than once the worthiness of all the luck he got—which she almost always convinces him of. Just almost, because there are times when it becomes clear to him that the world would be better off if he were dead.

But his world thought otherwise, and frankly, he did not think he had it in him to disagree.

He'd made it a habit that immediately after missions, bloody or not, he'd drop by the convenience store at Central Town and buy chocolate chip cookies and a chocolate milk drink. The clerk, who once threatened to blast him off with thunder bolts, had gotten so used to this by now that he even sets aside boxes and boxes for him, and once, after learning the reason why Natsume buys them every time and often appears all bloody and wounded, the guy even decided to extend store hours. Sometimes, if Natsume comes far too late, he would be sitting outside the store waiting for him with the cookies and the drink, and a kind smile that always reminded Natsume of his long-forgotten grandfather.

After escaping from the mansion in Yokohama and making sure the youngest members were safe in a hotel somewhere in Tokyo, he returned to the school and immediately rode the midnight bus to Central Town to head to the same place. When he stepped off the bus, there the old guy was, waiting for him with the same homely smile on his face, cookies and drink beside him on the bench.

"Hey, kid," the old man greeted him. "Have a seat."

Natsume strode towards the bench, and the light from the lamps made him an eerie sight to behold what with all the blood (not his) that caked his hands and jacket.

"You look terrible." The old man handed him his usual package and observed his messy getup.

"Nothing new about it." He smiled and sat down beside the man. "Thanks Pops," he managed to say, feeling a little light-headed from all the fighting earlier. Seven grown and armed men versus a seventeen-year-old dagger-wielding Alice? Even that took its toll. He took one piece of the cookies and opened one packet of the chocolate milk drink and realised just how starving he was. Pops just looked at him fondly, and he asked the most obvious question in that scenario, forgetting for a moment that he was eating chocolate chip cookies and that bits of chocolate were probably stuck in his teeth. "Why are you here?"

Pops chuckled and sighed contentedly. "A girl waited with me tonight," he answered, eyes crinkling in delight. He choked on his drink and Pops looked at him from the corners of his eyes. "She would have stayed with me longer but I told her to go back to the dorms. Reckoned you wouldn't want her seeing you look so… red." He sniggered a bit, and saw Pops smile a little as well. "Went with her as far as this bus stop, figured I'd wait for you here all the same."

He grinned despite himself. "Wonder how she found out."

At that, Pops actually laughed, a booming sound amidst the quiet bus stop. "You're too young, you are," he said as Natsume finished the drink. "Women always know, kid, that's how they are. Smart. Quick to notice and quick to know."

"You forgot annoying," he mumbled, closing the box of cookies and resting his head against the bench. Pops laughed again.

"Yeah, but they're the kind of annoying you'd actually miss when you're away." The old man sounded wistful, and Natsume couldn't help but wonder about his past.

Before he could ask, however, Pops stood up and started walking away. "Well, gotta go, son, wife's gonna kill me if I don't go home now." Natsume stood with him and pulled out his wallet, but Pops just chortled and said, "No need, boy, it's for free tonight."

After waiting up for him like that? Hell no, Natsume wasn't gonna let this all be for free. "No, I can't—please, Pops, just take it. It's the least I could do for you waiting up so late."

"Nah," the old man shoved his hand away. "Wasn't troublesome for me. That girl was a lot of fun to talk to, really. Lots of brilliant thoughts and funny stories. Very vivacious girl you got there, son. And besides, seen yourself in the mirror yet? You look dead tired." His old, wrinkled eyes shone in the light of the lamp, and Natsume, for some reason, just agreed. "Just give that money to the animal shelter or summat, and I'll be fine, alright? Now here comes the bus. Hop on now and get some rest."

Ten minutes later, he reached his room and found the lights on. Clutching the cookies and the drink, he breathed and tried to arrange himself into a presentable kind of mess, then twisted the knob and got attacked by a head of brown hair and the smell of honey, lemons, and oranges.

"You idiot! You had me worrying! Pops said you were out longer than usual and Hayate arrived five hours ago! How dare you! You arse!"

The familiar screech didn't even hurt his ears. In fact, it sounded like a lullaby, and for the first time since arriving at the Academy that night, he genuinely felt safe and tired and ready to sleep and the smile that made its way to his face felt as warming as the arms that threatened to break his neck and choke him to death.

"They can't kill me, but your hugs probably can," he grunted, freeing one hand with some amount of difficulty and wrapping it around her waist. "I'm home, stupid."

She let him go and took one thorough look at him. "You're unharmed," she breathed out in relief; she has been getting good at that, determining whether it was his blood or another's he was covered with. "Thank goodness." She held him in another embrace, this one less aggressive and more like the usual hug she gave him during better, mission-free days. "I missed you," she whispered into his neck.

That was more than enough, of course, but he couldn't let pass the opportunity to rile her up. "I've been gone three days, polka dots," he murmured, stroking her back and smelling her hair.

"Still three days, jerk."

"And yet you can go two weeks without talking to me?"

She slapped him hard on the shoulder, but didn't let go. "Shut up."

He laughed, then gently eased out of her tight embrace and closed the door behind them. She walked towards the bed and plopped down; only then did he notice she was wearing her night clothes. His hormones started rising (and so was something down south) but he fought off the teenage urges, shrugged out of his jacket, and gave her the chocolate chip cookies and the chocolate drink.

She smiled, a toothy grin that he loved so dearly, and then took one cookie and opened the drink. "Do you really have to do this every time?"

He sat down beside her on the bed and wrestled with the thing that insisted on standing up, but the view of her long legs and the fact that she was wearing nothing but undergarments made it rather hard to think so clearly. So fortunate was he that he was granted with better brain power than most boys his age. "I did promise," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes tired and falling back onto the bed, feeling the exhaustion set in.

He heard her move around, and not long after, he felt her pulling on his legs, taking off his shoes, and fixing his entire body so that he was properly lying in bed. He was so tired he didn't even bother commenting on her taking his shirt and pants off and dressing him in better clothes; the least he could do was put up his arms, lift himself off the bed, turn over when she wipes him clean with wet cloth, and sit up to allow her to slip fresh clothes on him.

When she was done, the lights went out and he felt her clamber on the bed next to him, hugging him and whispering about things that happened while he was away, and the sound carried him off to a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Some nights he just likes having her close.

An Ashy head-canon on Natsume and Mikan and why their sleeping together bothers me not

I received a PM a couple of months ago asking me why I write about moments where the boy and the girl sleep together, and why I wasn't feeling awkward about that because clearly two people who are in love can't just sleep together and not do anything more. I'd like to make it clear right now: I personally think there is nothing wrong in sleeping with the guy you love because I'm not very malicious when it comes to stuff like that. I think it's sweet, actually, and I'm not the kind of person who thinks, 'Hey, clearly these two can't just sleep, yeah right, of course they're going to do naughty stuff and have sex' or anything like that. I like to think people are smart enough to not think so rashly, even though the more dominant answer is of course something more happens.

The society I grew up in condones any such acts. It is disgraceful and it isn't socially acceptable to spend the night in your partner's bed, and as a child, we were taught that boys go to their rooms and girls in theirs. I'm not saying this should be practised everywhere and I'm not saying it's okay with me for every girl to sleep with just any guy, but my point is that there are certain relationships, like Natsume and Mikan's, that just makes it clear to everyone else that it's final, you know? There are couples who are already very much sure of their standing that obviously they know better and realise that there are things much better and much more significant than making love. Deep relationships the likes of those I mentioned are mature and no longer lust-driven or whatever. Natsume and Mikan have already been through so much (in my head, at least, and as young adults, not friggin' twelve-year-olds) that their connection and understanding of what they are already surpass the hormonal needs of unstable teenagers. I'm permitting myself to think of the occasional sexy time between them (I mean, they are teenagers), but I also believe that they're already so invested in each other that there are things that happen between them that transcend bodily excursions, which makes sexy time the least of the things that happen to them when they're alone.

Simply put, I believe that once two people are already so decided and so sure about each other and love each other enough, better things happen as they doze off and enter dreamland together, things that can't compare even to the explosive pleasures of that three-letter-word.

Ashy