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Yoshino's first thought is to panic. She's eighteen and not at all for motherhood yet – if she ever will be – and there's still a war going on and–

–Shikaku wraps his arms around her like that's going to solve anything even if it does calm her down in a way she's not entirely sure she can describe without sounding sickeningly romantic. Honestly, this was how they got into this mess in the first place.

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Shikaku's first thought only really hits him as he's dragging himself out of bed the following morning.

The clan is going to shit actual sage-blessed bricks:

What's bad is that they've just barely recovered from their collective seizure after he broke off the engagement.

What's worse is that they'd just started dropping hints that he might eventually be disowned for said fiasco and now it's going to look like he's calling their bluff.

Fun fact. They were not bluffing. At all.

But then, after an appropriate amount of drama involving Inoichi, his clan and the woman he would choose over them Every. Single. Time. Ikoma is sworn in as the next heir apparent and Shikaku is holding this… tiny person in his arms.

He honestly can't believe he cared what the clan thought. Not for one moment when there was... this.

"Shikako." He only murmurs the name, but Yoshino – tired, exhausted, amazing Yoshino – hears him. It's a little silly, he supposes, continuing some half-cocked tradition when he's not even a Nara anymo–

"Shikako," She agrees with a smile that Shikaku couldn't really describe without sounding…

Well.

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The Kinokawa family heads home with their little bundle of joy and for a little while everything is perfect.

Which is of course when everything decides to go straight to hell.

The war escalates from a series of border skirmishes into something larger and constant. Then the Jōnin commander dies and, without quite realising how, Shikaku is suddenly the new Jōnin commander.

DadHusbandJōninCommanderSometimesANBU all spin inside his head like plates and his old clan complains and he doesn't really care and Yoshino is forced out of maternity leave along with every other kunoichi and Konoha doesn't have enough weaponry to sustain open warfare like Kumo does and the Iwa just set fire to twenty acres of farmland and and andandand.

And 'oh', apparently his daughter is a genus.

She's two when he catches her trying to manipulate her chakra – on the verge of exhaustion because her system has only just started producing it in mouldable excess.

In another lifetime, Shikako might have lived within the clan's compound, which in turn, might have afforded her the privacy to knock herself out, getting misdiagnosed with Chakra Hypersensitivity for her trouble.

Haha-No

Shikako lives in an apartment.

Shikako has discovered chakra, at the age of two.

Shikako has nobody to measure her progress against – nobody to pace herself alongside.

Shikako – when she isn't railing against the sheer insanity that is apparently her (after?)life now – is bored out of her Goddamn skull.

Shikaku is a genius, but even he's just a little bit frightened of how quickly his daughter is developing. It doesn't stop him – or Yoshino, for that matter – from supporting her though.

Nothing stops them.

So what if life is difficult? So what if Shikaku drags himself into the apartment at god knows what hour after who knows how many back-to-back shifts? So what if Yoshino has to go back on the mission roster? And so what if his daughter is sharper than he ever was at that age?

– "Welcome back" his wife murmurs, wrapping an arm around him as he slips into bed.

– "You can cook?" Yoshino asks, dumbfounded.

"You tell me," he answers, and Yoshino isn't sure if it's the exhaustion or the wolfish edge to his smile or the frilly little cooking apron he's wearing but in that moment she feels so full she could burst.

– "What does this mean?" Shikako asks, leaning into her father as she traces her finger across the page.

And then, the war just sort of... ends.

The Fourth Hokage is appointed and Shikaku's workload plummets because apparently the man is a bureaucratic savant and Yoshino is finally allowed off the mission roster and it's over and they made it and Shikako, at the age of five, is quietly relieved that she hasn't gotten her parents killed off by the sheer virtue of her existence and Shikaku wanders if he should even be allowed to be this happy and and andandand.

"I think I'm pregnant"

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Shikako isn't sure why she keeps count, but she does.

One, Two and Three are from the park. She doesn't have time for everyone, but she grabs who she can when she senses deathmonsterrunRunRUN.

Except they can't keep up. Even at the age of six, she's faster than them. One moment they're trailing behind her, begging her to wait. The next they're dead, bisected as a part of a roof cuts through them like butter.

It's raining concrete, she realises, darting between buildings – alleyways, passages, anything that might provide cover – while Shikamaru, now at the grand old age of two weeks, is bound to her torso and crying up a storm.

She knows it's stupid – that his screams are drowned out by thousands of others, but with every shriek she thinks 'this is it – It's going to hear us – it's going to FIND US.'

In the distance another tail lashes out and she dives to the left, watching as debris twice her size sails past her.

She needs to get to the civilian shelter – needs save her brother who is so much more important than she is.

She passes a man, trapped under rubble as he screams for help – the Fourth person she's left to die today – as she winds through what's left of the market district into–

Five and Six. Husband and wife, trapped inside a burning building. Could have saved them – could have died trying – could have gotten Shikamaru killed trying.

–what's left of the Uchiha compound. Good, she can cut south now. A little more distance and she might make it out of range. She just needs to–

Seven.

A little girl, calling out for her parents in-between chocked out, wrenched sobs. A flick of the tail and she has… six – maybe eight? – seconds before impact.

Something inside her snaps.

Oh, she's my age, Shikako realises, as she grabs her with a free arm and moves.

Why did I do that?

It's only after the dust settles behind cover that Shikako realises somebody else had the same bright idea. A boy with lanky black hair and a child of his own fixed across his torso drops the girl's arm and turns to her.

"We need to get to shelter" he announces, tone dull and urgent all at once.

Shikako nods, hoisting Shikamaru a little further towards her shoulder – keep it smooth, never shake the baby.

She's about to suggest cutting by the police station when the girl grabs the back of his shirt like a lifeline.

"Itachi-kun" she blurts out and wait wha-Oh.

Oh.

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"Please be okay" Shikaku breaths, over and over, like a mantra.

Coordinating Jōnin, even under these circumstances, is simple enough that he can do it while his mind concocts every worse-case scenario imaginable. Where are they? Are they together? Is Shikako still at the park? Can Shikamaru even survive ambient Tailed-Beast chakra?

Is it killing him, even how?

He's almost relieved when Chōza and Inoichi show up - just for the distraction.

"We're coordinating with the Lord Third and the Inuzuka. We're going to try and herd it outside of the village proper," Inoichi tells him as he nods along. It's a good plan.

It works too.

He makes it work.

Tsume's ninken loses an eye, Chōza has Chakra burns just from touching the thing and Inoichi passes out when the Fox's chakra mangles one of his jutsu – but it works. The fox is outside the village fighting a giant sword wielding toad and the village is as close to safe as its going to get while under attack from a Tailed Beast.

And then, as quickly as it all started, the Fox is sealed, the Hokage and his wife are dead and all that's left is an infant crying into Sarutobi's arms – and Shikaku is gone because whatever comes next can wait until he finds his family now.

"Be okay. Please be okay."

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Yoshino all but collides with him in a mess of words and short lived relief as they try to communicate the lifetime that's been the past few hours.

Are you–yes I'm–no it's just scratches mostly– have you seen– no I– where was–do you think she–start with the–

It's a mess of love and dread and desperate hope, right up until they hit the southwest shelter like they're not about to pass out from exhaustion.

The 'shelter' is actually a series of tunnels built into the mountain. It's dark and damp and so full of crying children that it actually takes three whole seconds to find them. Shikako is working in tandem with a boy next to her, trying to get their respective babies to stop crying. Neither are having much luck.

Something clicks and Shikako looks up.

"You're okay" she breathes out, like–like its–

"That's my line" Shikaku manages, as something collapses inside of him at his daughter's brave, fragile smile.

They're okay. They're both okay.

Yoshino doesn't bother with words. She just sweeps them all up into her embrace and she's never letting go.

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Shikaku is a man who, most of the time, tends to go with the flow.

Once upon a supposition, this was most of the time. Shikaku Nara was Clan Head, a new father besides and had just been informed that the Nara were to lose none of their lands to the reconstruction effort. He listens to Fugaku Uchiha react to the total relocation of his clan with interest, but without investment. The Uchiha aren't his clan to look after.

Once upon another, Shikaku Kinokawa is a Father, a Husband, Jōnin Commander and an ANBU Captain; all rolled into one man who was never all that energetic to begin with.

What he is not, however, is a Clan Head

He'd been heading up the reconstruction upon the Lord Third's request. Not that it'd actually been a request. The term ‘request’ implies you might have some choice in the matter. You did not argue with Hiruzen Sarutobi. Those who had seen him in the field did not even protest quietly. Once again, the man wears the hat. His word is law.

So now, here is is, exactly where he doesn't want to be; chairing an intra-village clan meeting while Ikoma Nara stares daggers at him from across the room. 

He doesn't have the time for this.

He doesn't have the energy for this.

He should be at home, teaching his daughter to never ever ever try to manipulate her shadow without his supervision again. He should be looking after his son.

He could be even be doing nothing whatsoever - and wouldn't that be the sweetest thing of all.

Instead, he's dealing with clan politics. Deals being struck. Power, shifting this way and that. Nobody acknowledging anything more than they had to. In the end, Shinobi treat their politics like they treat most everything else. With discretion.

Right up until someone crosses a line.

That line is Danzō Shimura completely relocating the Uchiha, along with the Military Police headquarters, to the furthest outskirts of the village.

"Danzō-sama!" Fugaku Uchiha erupts from his seat. "The Uchiha clan makes up the vast majority of Konoha's Military Police force, a force which is vital for effective law enforcement. Placing us that far from the Village centre would render us incapable of acting quickly in case of an emergency!"

He's right, Shikaku realises. If they were any further from the village they'd be outside it.

He's not the only one who sees it either. Other clan heads are sitting up and taking notice. What was supposed to be a scripted meeting has just deviated into a potentially massive shift in political power.

Danzō's response is outright dismissive. An insult by any other name.

"We have the ANBU Black Ops for such emergencies."

And in that moment, Shikaku Kinokawa goes against the flow.

"That's irresponsible," he says.

Every head snaps in his direction with the kind of eerie synchronicity he might expect from Suna's Puppet Corps.

"ANBU are assigned to special operations," he explains, even though he shouldn't have to. "They guard the Hokage and take on some of the most dangerous missions this village has to offer." His eyes slide over to Danzō, who seems to be really looking at him for the first time today. "What they are not however, is a police force." And what's more confusing is that Shimura knows this. The man  practically ran ANBU back in his day. "They don't have the manpower or the training for day to day issues. What you propose is untenable for ANBU and redundant, considering that the Military Police already serve such a purpose."

He's standing now, arching over the map of Konoha. "Their current location," he announces, "allows for rapid deployment into virtually any area within the village. After we clear the rubble, they'll rebuild where they were." He looks up.

The entire room is gawks at him - Well, not the entire room. Inoichi and Chōza just look amused at the whole situation.

Danzō's cane creaks under his grip.

"I had no idea you were such a close friend of the Uchiha," Ikoma accuses, handily setting Shikaku up for his next point.

"They saved my children," he retorts without so much as skipping a beat. "Along with thousands of others. They might have found that just slightly more difficult if they had to commute." He shoots a glance towards Fugaku, who, finally realising he has an ally in the room, picks up the the conversation when it's handed to him.

"Ah, yes well…" Fugaku Uchiha speaks more like a policeman than a politician, recounting the logistics of the Tenth like someone else might go through a shopping list; Escape routes, damage control, civilian rescue, the prevention of looting.

Every once in a while, Shikaku punctuates his account by asking, "And would you have been able to achieve this if you were located outside the village?"

And every time, Fugaku looks down the map, then slowly back up, before saying;

"We'd try."

By the time the meeting ends, people are thanking him for his service.

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Shikako Kinokawa has wondered, ever since she realised where she was, if her presence hadn't doomed the world in some terrible way by sheer virtue of her existence.

She never entertained the idea that the opposite might be true.

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More often than not, Shikako has nightmares.

The Uchiha, who guided her to shelter, butchered like cattle.

The Kyūbi, rending flesh from bone.

Her brother, dead because of someone who never should've been.

Dad knows, she thinks. It's probably the reason he lets her stay up so late reading – delaying sleep until she drops like a stone.

She's not really sure if it helps, exactly, but at least she's doing something productive.

The night before she joins the Academy is no different.

She wakes up to silence, too scared to breath. Eyes flare wide, darting about her room. For a second she thinks there's someone standing in the corner. But no, there's nobody there. Chakra sense tells her that the only people in the apartment are her, her little brother and her parents.

Knowing this, sadly, does nothing to prevent the sheer terror running through her.

At least, she thinks as she glances at the '4:32' on her clock, I'm getting used to it.

She slips outside to run through her morning kata.

Then, when her mother finds her half-an-hour later, they run through them together.

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There is a small induction ceremony for First Years. Parents are invited to join, hovering off to the side as their children struggle to stand still through the Third Hokage's opening speech.

Shikako spends most of it sneaking glances at her classmates.

She recognises an Inuzuka by her clan markings who might be Kiba's older sister – Hana, was it? – along with the girl she saved back then.

Itachi is there too, scanning the crowd, same as her. There's a shared glance between them that seems to communicate the entirety of 'yes, we remember each other from that one time we nearly died and nothing more really needs to be said about the matter.'

When the Hokage's speech ends, all of them are ushered into their respective classes as parents wave their children off with varying levels of misty eyes.

Dad waves at her from what looks like an impromptu meeting with the Uchiha clan head – what – while Mum can't help but steal one more hug that Shikako didn't know she needed until she had it.

"Be good" Yoshino says, eyes gleaming just a little.

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'Good' was not the word Shikako Kinokawa's academy instructors would use to describe her.

'Prodigy,' Daikoku Funeno thinks, might be the best description.

He's been teaching at the academy for seven years and the closest thing he's seen to the Kinokawa girl is sitting six seats across from her.

Taijutsu, he knows, is better taught with a variety of sparring partners. Sadly, he also knows that the only challenge he can provide the – not one, but two – geniuses under his tutelage are each other.

Neither of them, he notices, are particularly social creatures, even – or perhaps especially – with regards to each other.

By the second month of term, the two are paired exclusively as sparring partners.

The seals of Confrontation and Reconciliation are offered before and after they try their level best to demolish one another.

Daikoku's seen Genin with sharper skill, but not many.

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Tsume Inuzuka once joked with her clan that 'the weakest dogs usually barked the loudest'.

Two months into the academy and her daughter can't think of truer words that've ever been spoken.

Hana Inuzuka is, and has always been, a no nonsense kind of girl. She works hard and expects others to do the same. 'The pack is only as strong as its weakest link after all'.

Her Mum said that, and her Mum is amazing and knows everything so there.

When the boys are competing to see who can make the loudest farting noise, she's training.

When the girls fawn over the brave Uchiha heir, she's training.

She trains with her clan, with Mum, alone, in class. Whenever and wherever she has time, she trains.

Just so she can fail to catch up with some clanless girl.

And that's not even the worst part.

The worst part – the part that burns – is that Shikako doesn't even know Hana exists.

Does she think she isn't worth her time? Hana knows she only spars with the Uchiha now. Does she think he's the only one who can challenge her?

Hana'll show her. She'll make her look.

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Six years old, and Shikako is already Genin material. The basic three are well within her grasp, Shadow possession is getting there and the only classmate she doesn't consistently outstrip is one of the greatest talents this world will ever see.

It's not enough, she realises.

Not even close.

She might be surrounded by children, but she certainly can't afford to compete with them, can't afford to lower the bar.

Her true competition demands so much more from her.

Madara Uchiha, a god amongst men with the power to summon bijū at a moment's notice.

Nagato, wielder of the Rinnegan and leader of Amegakure. Maybe. Rain went dark a few months ago and nobody seems to know anything that they're willing to share with a six-year-old girl. Also, willing pawn of Madara – how much does he know?

Yagura, jinchūriki of the Three-Tails, Fourth Mizukage of Kirigakure. Thrall of Madara – or will be at any rate. Willing participant in Mist politics besides that, making him bad-going-on-worse.

Danzō Shimura. The enemy within. A hardened veteran of two shinobi wars with a private army at his fingertips and precisely zero compunctions using it.

Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage. The 'God of Shinobi' and potentially complicit in the mass murder of hundreds of his own people.

They are her enemies. Her obligation to this place and everyone she loves within it.

She's so far behind it hurts.

At her age, Madara was already fighting on the front lines, Sharingan awakened.

Yagura, already a killer, baptised as Genin in the blood of his classmates.

Danzō and Hiruzen had made Genin under the personal tutelage of the Second Hokage himself. Handpicked for greatness.

Nagato? At six … she might have been able to take him – if his eyes didn't save him, crushing her into a fine paste in the process.

"Itachi and Shikako," Daikoku-sensei announces.

They both step forward.

"Taijutsu only. Begin on my mark"

A true genius – not just a pretender.

Their eyes meet through Seals of Confrontation. A sign amongst comrades. 'I announce myself in trust that you will do likewise.'

He's another potential enemy, Shikako knows, watching Itachi slide into something not quite resembling Academy Basic. One day she might have to fight him for real.

She wonders if they'll announce themselves this politely when that day comes. Probably not, she thinks, sliding into Small Forest Style with just a hint of something else. When it came down to it, pragmatism ruled them both.

"Begin."

Neither of them waste any time.

Shikako blocks a vicious left hook, twisting the limb behind his back as her own arm wraps around his neck. She almost misses the shift in weight as his hips swivel and-

-she backs off with the kind of enthusiasm only an elbow to the face can provide as the Uchiha lets the motion carry him into a pivot kick that misses her by a hair's breadth.

Her opponent drops the academy style in favour of something else entirely. Uchiha taijutsu is fast. His punches catch her on the shoulder and arm like the cracks of a whip.

Come on…

Shikako steadfastly refuses to smile as he overcommits to a follow up. She doesn't so much drop Shorin-ryu as she melds it into her Mum's personal style, which involves a lot more twisting and flexibility than most people are used to.

The look on his face as his fist sails over her head his priceless. She wants to frame it and show it to all of her – never mind.

She falls into a handstand, propping both of her feet against Itachi's chest before launching him backwards.

He regains balance mid-air, landing with a disgusting amount of grace.

Outside of the ring.

All in all, the fight lasted about… seventeen seconds?

They both look to Daikoku-sensei.

"Ah, RING-OUT!" he says, finally. Was he even paying attention?

That elicits a chorus of cries from somewhere off to the side. It's easy to forget sometimes that Itachi is actually something of a celebrity. With Fans.

"Who does that girl think she is anyway?"

"Does she think she's special or something?"

"I bet she thinks she's impressing Itachi-kun like that. "

"Well I guess she'd have loads of time to train with no friends."

Against her will, Shikako's stomach drops out from her.

It's… she shouldn't let it get to her. She's an adult – sort of, maybe – and she shouldn't–

–Her throat clamps up.

Just… just pretend you didn't hear them.

She turns to Itachi, who seems to be considering her. Planning out their next fight perhaps. He offers two fingers as she does the same. The Seal of Reconciliation, offered and accepted by both parties.

'Peace, Comrade.'

"That wasn't Academy basic," he intones.

Shikako can't speak. All she can really offer him is a shrug. It's rude, definitely, but if she opens her mouth then her voice is going to break and neither of them need to deal with–

Two more names are called out as she places herself on the other end of the field and cuts the chakra from her ears.

Breath.

Courage is a strange thing. She's insane enough to try and save the whole damn world but, somehow, she can't speak up to a bunch of six year olds without running the risk of bursting into tears.It's ridiculous. She's ridiculous.

She needs to focus on something else. Let the rest just... fade into the background.

She settles on taijutsu practice. She'd taken Itachi off guard today, but the ring out was pure luck and they both knew it. Itachi won on average… three out of five times they sparred. Oh, she would make him work for it, but in the end, he was faster and stronger than she was. Never by much but… by enough.

When Shikako won, it was with strategy. Baiting him into certain techniques that she could react to before he even knew what was happening. There are days when she lives for that dawning moment of comprehension, when he realises he's been played.

No plan ever works twice though. Hell, three out of five of them don't work once.

What's your next move then, Uchiha?

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Hana turns from her hard-won victory against Akihiko and his weird-ass footwork, grinning in triumph.

Let's see her ignore tha–SHE'S NOT EVEN LOOKING!

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"You're sure?" Hiruzen asks, looking for an out. An excuse not to make the only reasonable choice.

Such a soft touch these days. Where has The Professor run off to?

"Y-yes." The oaf that continues to pass for an academy instructor stumbles on, illustrating just how useless he's been in dealing with the few children this village hasn't managed to pamper into mediocrity.

One has been caught using the Shadow Clone jutsu to cut class and train with his cousin - a field operative - whilst the other has been caught doodling sealing theory within the margins of her test papers.

Ergo, neither of them have any business being in the Academy.

Both of them, Danzō thinks, would make fine additions to the foundation.

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So she's graduating early.

Her parents aren't exactly thrilled with the news.

For that matter, neither is she.

Her mother talks so very softly, like treading on eggshells. "It's still your first year sweetie. Even if some people think you're ready" – and there's a look there that promises to find out exactly who these people are and where they live – "that doesn't mean you have to graduate now."

Shikako casts a look in her father's direction and it's almost like she can see the gears turning as he slots something into place.

When he finally does speak, it's to ask "What would you like to do?"

"I–

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So there was this nature documentary I saw once, back when documentaries were a thing that happened in my life. It wasn't particularly interesting. One of those shows you'd only watch because you can't find the remote and you're not about to get up to change the channel like some kind of savage.

But that's not the point.

So in it, there's this bird.The Cuckoo.

It's not a rare or special bird. You'll find it anywhere, from Europe to Asia to Africa. Nobody puts them on their flags or anything.

The reason why they're so interesting though – the reason I can't stop thinking about them – is because of how they breed.

What they do is lay their eggs in the nests of other birds. At the appropriate moment, the hen cuckoo flies down to the host's nest, pushes one egg out, lays one of its own, and then flies off. The whole process takes about 10 seconds and, if it's done right, nobody is any the wiser.

So what happens next?

Well, the egg hatches. This bird – this imposter – springs to life, demanding food, safety and protection. She grows faster and stronger than most, extracting every resource it can from her ersatz family. She hollows their lives out for her own personal gain until they're nothing but husks of their former selves.

It's called Brood Parasitism and the resemblance fucking uncanny.

Except.

The thing is, a cuckoo doesn't know what it is. Doesn't know why it demands so much more. Doesn't know why it pushes its adopted siblings from the nest.

So I guess what I'm asking, in a very roundabout way, is…

…if you were a cuckoo, if you had been planted inside a family against your – their – will…

...And you knew…

…What would you do?

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"–I want to take the test." She answers, wishing she couldn't hear her mother's slight intake of breath. That she couldn't see the way her dad's eyes narrow, just ever so slightly.

They support her – want what's best for her. Even amidst the gentle reminders that she could change her mind anytime she liked, they try to honour her decision. The decision of an (apparently) seven year old girl.

By all accounts, their unconditional love and support should make her feel better.

It doesn't.

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For all this could mean to her – to the future – Shikako's Genin exam comes off as somewhat… Anticlimactic.

"Congratulations," drones one of the proctors, as enthusiastic at the prospect of Shikako graduating as… well, Shikako.

"You are now Shinobi of Konohagakure no Sato. Please proceed to collect your Hitai-ate. You may restyle the fabric to a specification of your own choosing, provided you do so at your own expense. Tampering with the alloy itself will result in –" it goes on.

And on.

No really. He just doesn't stop until–

"–Team 2 will be composed of this year's top graduates and will be led by Jōnin-Sensei Yūki Minazuki. The following students will stand." And just like that the atmosphere changes.

A class full of twelve year olds leans forward in anticipation. A class full of friends, rivals and everything in between are about to find out where they stand amongst one another for the foreseeable future.

And then there's "Shikako Kinokawa."

All eyes snap to her figure as she stands. Assessing. Judging. She sees the way they look her over and find her wanting. She catches the silent glares. The kind of heated whispers that everyone can hear. "Why her?" "She's just a first year!" "I heard she was, like, freaky smart or something." "So what man? It's not exactly like she's –

"Itachi Uchiha" the instructor continues without so much as missing a beat.

The spotlight shifts – away from me forever and ever please and thank you. There's less outrage this time. Itachi is pushing the envelope, even for his clan, but this isn't the first time the Uchiha have produced a prodigy. Few people are going to question him graduating at the top of a class five years his senior.

And yet, amidst all of it, Itachi's eyes remain on her her.

He nods and – oh. He was actually expecting this – for some reason, Shikako finds herself returning the gesture.

"Tenma Izumo!"

Unknown. And isn't that sort of terrifying? Did she forget something? Someone? Or did they come to light after she–

"Aw, man!" Comes a voice that is just far too loud to be okay. "How come I'm the one stuck babysitting?"

Right, okay then. Not quite free of condescending upperclassmen.

Wonderful.

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Yūki Minazuki, it seems, is less than thrilled to be their sensei.

Shikako sees brown hair, tied into a messy ponytail, alongside a half-formed goatee. She sees an immaculate Konoha uniform, slightly customised.

An odd paradigm; messy and neat.

He sweeps an arm outward, gesturing to all of Training Field 2. "This is where you'll be taking your final Genin exam."

Tenma scoffs, puffing out his chest.

Four – maybe five – years her senior, Tenma is exactly the kind of person Shikako graduated from the academy to avoid. Brash, loud and personally offended to've been put on the same team as 'kids.'

"We already passed our final exam!"

Their prospective sensei rolls his eyes with the kind of sass Shikako previously thought reserved for finger snapping and 'mHmm's.'

"No. You really didn't." He picks up a stick and begins, almost absentmindedly, dragging it across the dirt. "You passed the exam meant to weed out the complete and total screw-ups." His eyes flicker upwards, focusing like lasers on Tenma.

Tenma wilts.

"Today, I find out if you're actually worth my time. Or," he twirls his free hand, uncaring, even as the other carves through the ground. "Just more fodder for the Genin corps."

His tone brooks no illusions as to which of the two categories he thought they belonged.

Shikako knows there's no point in being insulted. That he's tilting them; attacking them mentally in preparation for the test to come.

And yet, it grates. To have her teacher dismiss her. Every effort, every second, every drop of sweat shed in pursuit of this nightmare and he trivialises it for a test.

As he finishes carving out what is now obviously a circle, Shikako meets his eyes, watching him smile – like she amuses him – as he saunters into the centre of the ring.

"We'll keep this short and sweet."

His stick snaps up with a flourish. "I am inside a circle. If, over the course of the next hour, you can remove me from it, you win." His posture doesn't… change exactly, but tension fills the air all the same.

"If you can't, you lose."

Shikako pools chakra within her shadow, a hand tracing the edge of a kunai's handle.

Itachi shifts into a ready stance, knees bent, centre of gravity lowered.

"Oh," says their Sensei, feigning an afterthought. "You'll also want to come at me with lethal force. Anything less and you're pretty much guaranteed to fail."

Tenma's hand flies to his back in a single practiced motion, drawing a blade which looks just a tad too large for him, grinning all the while. "Perfect." Bravado is back with a vengeance, even as his eyes – too wide, to wild – betray him.

"Begin."

They move.

Tenma rushes forward, racing to close the distance between himself and Minazuki, whilst Itachi and Shikako circle him.

It looks like a plan – a good one, even. Tenma engages in close-quarters combat whilst the other two take advantage of blind spots as they're presented.

It's not.

Shikako isn't coordinating with her teammates, she's adjusting for them. She can't stop Tenma's bull rush, – which is going to end badly for him, no two ways about it – so she has to react to it. Itachi, if she has to guess, is operating under the same restrictions.

Tenma falls low before slashing sideways, trying to catch Minazuki's heels.

Not bad.

Of the three of them, he's by far the biggest– no surprise, given the age difference – but their sensei is bigger still. Striking low, especially with a range extending weapon – like a sword – turns the opponent's height against them, forcing them to–

–Bat the flat of their blade away with his heel.

Tenma's sword-arm goes wide, following the force propelling his weapon as another kick sweeps his feet out from under him.

Minazuki circles him. "Going for your opponent's legs is a good idea, in theory. They'll have less reach compared to an attack upon their centre of mass. Plus, even glancing damage can restrict their mobility." He runs a hand across the stubble on his chin. "Six out of ten for innovation." Then, his foot comes down on Tenma's hand. Hard. With a strangled, choked breath, his sword tumbles from it.

"Zero out of ten for common sense though." Slowly, lazily, Minazuki bends down to pick up the blade. "I like your sword though, think I'll keep –

Itachi bursts into motion, brandishing a hand-sign as several more of him join the fray, launching shuriken forwards in waves as they close the gap.

Despite excellent aim, Minazuki dodges all but a few of them, swatting the remaining projectiles out of the air. He meets the first of Itachi's clones with a smirk, his movement still lazy and unbothered, even as he slides past one clone's axe-kick to gut punch another, letting Shikako fall from his periphery vision–

A plan – or at least something resembling one – snaps together in her head.

–She flies through seals, leaving a standard clone of herself to orbit the circle before chaining into a henge.

Now, she is one Itachi among many, weaving through disposable, shadow casting chakra constructs as she waits for her golden opportunity.

It comes, more quickly than she'd have imagined.

Tenma reclaims his blade and leaps back into the fray, launching into a downward swing.

Minazuki sidesteps, letting the blade brush past him, before idly scissor kicking two clones into smoke –

– Smoke, obscuring his vision. Tenma, landing off balance, a few feet away. Three of five remaining clones, brandishing shuriken, apparently waiting for a clean shot, tactically in place for–

– One Itachi. A second, then a third. Their shadows connect, boosting her reach towards Tenma before –

–Minazuki freezes in place. His posture slowly morphing to mirror her own as the last of the smoke dissipates.

Shikako lets the Henge drop. "Shadow Possession complete."

Immediately, Tenma strains against the Jutsu, barking out obscenities as two Itachis try to explain to him why he should stop struggling please.

All while Minazuki looks straight at her, smiles and–

– crumbles into dirt.

One Itachi turns and, with a vicious smirk, coldcocks the other as he–

I don't think so.

Maybe if she wasn't a sensor, or if she couldn't palpably feel the illusion taking hold…

But no.

Shikako dispels the genjutsu before allowing it to proceed any further. Tricky, especially while maintaining Shadow Possession. His chakra sticks to hers like tape on a flat surface. She needs to pry a little, fray the edges just a tad so that – there – the rest peels away smoothly.

Come to think of it, she should probably add this to her training regime. Maintaining progressively complex jutsu while simultaneously dismantling genjutsu could be considered an excellent chakra control exercise.

Something to think about anyway.

The world, snaps back into place, just as it was; Two Itachis, Tenma and Minazuki, all standing in her shadow.

Minazuki stares straight at her and, for the first time, the act drops. The apathy, the derision, the irritation. They just… melt away.

What's left looks… intrigued.

She can feel his chakra – like the prickle of dry grass on skin – draw inwards, concealing itself.

A little late. Why would he… oh.

The chakra Shikako was losing in gushes – forty five seconds left, max – slows to a trickle, the strain almost vanishing.

He's holding back. Actively preventing himself from breaking the technique.

"So," he prompts, still in control from the neck up. "What happens next?"

There are so many ways for him to break her hold. He can't move, but that doesn't stop him from using chakra – a sealless replacement should be well within his capabilities. Or, he could just brute force it. Shikako's chakra reserves are slightly above average for a seven year old girl. Which is to say, a burst of chakra infused strength would shatter the jutsu in seconds.

Yet, he does neither as Shikako forces him into a brisk walk towards the circle's edge, trailed by two Itachis.

He steps outside the ring.

"Congratulations." He says, without fanfare. "You pass."

Shikako drops the jutsu, deflating.

That had been… fast. Barely a couple of minutes out of the hour given. But then, she suspected that the 'hour' was probably a trick in of itself. Something to encourage them to take their time, which would have been a terrible idea. None of them had the chakra or the stamina to engage in a prolonged battle, while the jōnin, on the other hand, absolutely did.

She's visibly out of breath. A clone, a transformation, and a shadow possession leave her with dangerously little chakra. She rummages through her pockets, looking for ah, there you are.

She wolfs down the ration bar, trying her best to ignore the taste as Itachi falls in line beside her.

His clothes are matted with sweat and his balance is ever so slightly askew; Pitching, caught, corrected and trailing off all over again – on the brink of chakra exhaustion.

……

Shikako pulls out another ration bar.

-

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Chapter Text

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D ranks.

No-No. That doesn't quite do it justice.

D Ranks.

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A girl rocks back and forth on her heels, beaming at them expectantly.

"I'm a princess!"

For the sake of clarity, Aiko Kurosaki is not, in fact, a princess. What she is, however, is a five year old girl who likes princess stories. A lot.

Shikako honestly would've preferred an actual princess. At least then she could let etiquette dictate her behaviour. Instead, she stands unmoving and with no idea what to say or do. She glances at Itachi – similarly frozen in place, useless – as Tenma steps forward, falling on one knee.

"How may I serve, Hime-sama?"

Aiko squeaks, delighted before stopping herself, affecting a 'dignified' pause before answering.

"Princess Aiko demands a makeover!"

Oh no.

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Itachi rarely speaks with his team. Justifiably, perhaps, with one of them so loud and the other so quiet.

He glances her from the corner of his eye.

Shikako walks with them, but not with them. Her mind is elsewhere.

He knows the feeling.

It's not a problem. They work well together – or rather, as separate individuals within close proximity. Nothing else should matter.

And yet, he's… curious.

"You were very good with her," he says, breaking the silence that usually hangs over Team Two.

Tenma scoffs and, for a moment, Itachi imagines it to be the sum total of his response.

"I have five sisters," he says, sounding both proud and mildly traumatised. "This?" He points to his face, a mixture of glitter and face-paint. "This is nothing."

"I have a little brother," he says, before suddenly feeling very foolish. Why would he care? It's not as if having siblings should connect them in any way.

And yet.

"Me too," Shikako adds, back from… wherever.

"Lucky," says Tenma, snarling as he attempts to wipe off his 'glitter whiskers.' "I'll trade you."

"No," they chorus.

Shikako smiles quietly at the ground as Tenma barks out a laugh.

Maybe he's smiling too.

Itachi rarely speaks with his team.

But, maybe he should.

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Chapter Text

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She comes home to soft whispers and clenched fists.

"Mum? Dad?"

Her parents exchange glances.

Her mother, nodding in some unspoken agreement, rises to greet her.

"Shikako, honey…" She looks… uncertain. Scared. "Could you sit down please? We need to tell you something."

She sits.

"A… very powerful shinobi has just defected from the Konoha. A man named Orochimaru–"

Oh.

Oh.

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"No."

He really couldn't be any clearer. It's just. Not. Happening.

"Jiraiya…" Sarutobi-sensei lets his name linger there, hovering amidst the smoke.

"No. I don't care if this kid is Minato 2.0." And frankly, he seriously doubts that there will ever be another Minato. "It's just not happening." That kid was lighting in a bottle. And now he's gone and they still don't know why it happened.

"Jiraiya." Sensei slides a file across his desk. "I think you'll find that this has less to do with your student and more to do with your teammate."

He snatches it up. Suddenly much, much more interested.

It starts, more or less, as expected. A rising star. Glowing recommendations from her teachers. Far above her peers – aside from the Uchiha squirt, but that's to be expected. Lots of apprenticeship offers as well – yes, he can see Orochimaru's – but, nothing that explicitly ties her to his wayward teammate.

'Wayward.' Such a nice way of putting it.

Jiraiya's almost ready to throw the file back in sensei's face when he starts making connections.

Early graduation. Scary smart – he'll have to look over those test papers later. Socially isolated from her peers – by all accounts, of her own volition. Her family's still alive – a relief, because it looks like they're her only ties to the village.

If they were to disappear…

Her file snaps shut. "You're not asking me to take another apprentice."

"No. I'm not." Sensei exhales, once again clouding the room with smoke. "I'm asking you, as someone who knew him.

"Should we be worried about Shikako Kinokawa?"

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Shikaku slips into bed, feeling that rancid combination of bone tired and unswervingly alert. He'll rest tonight, but he won't sleep. Millions of tiny gears turn in his head, churning out conclusions based upon evidence as well as those based upon the substantial lack of it.

Yoshino coils a hand in his, a brief interruption to his thoughts. "How is she?"

His mind shifts gears. "She understands that he's dangerous," he says, which is true. If, anything, she'd understood a little too well.

[Her eyes flare at the mention of his name. Her body, stock still; like a cat that's spotted a dog.]

"Just not…"

She doesn't know why he's dangerous to her.

"She said she's never met him before. That's good."

"Maybe." Shikaku's thumb traces her knuckles. He hates maybes.

"On the one hand, any direct overtures would mean he was definitely interested in her. The fact that he hasn't could mean we're worried over nothing." His eyes shift towards the window. "On the other hand, Shikako's a sensor. If she'd seen him, then she'd be able to recognise him. As it stands, we'd have no idea if he just dropped in and observed her for however long he liked."

Not a comforting thought.

Her hand tightens in his. Fear is giving way to anger. "He can't have her."

He'd offered to train her. As a favour. Shikaku hadn't thought anything of it. Lots of Jōnin had come to him with offers of an apprenticeship.

Hell, he'd been flattered.

Then, Fugaku Uchiha and Danzō Shimura had stormed into the Hokage's office with separate binders and enough evidence to bury the man.

Shikaku had led one of the raids on his labs.

Children. He'd taken child–

["I could take her off your hands, if you like. Give her an education more befitting someone of her considerable talents"]

Shikaku's grip tightens, matching Yoshino's as something inside him him wakes.

Or perhaps it doesn't. Perhaps it was only pretending to sleep.

It's cold and black and so very eager to get to work.

"No," Shikaku agrees. "He won't."

-

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-

There are the briefest moments in which Shikako forgets just how far behind she is.

This isn't one of them.

Jiraiya – as in Jiraiya of the Sanin – pages through her notes – as in the scribbles left within the margins of her academy tests – with a kind of intense scrutiny that makes her want to scream and roll around on the floor in. Sheer. Unadulterated. Mortification.

It's like having Leonardo da Vinci critique your DeviantArt page.

Then, and only then, does he start looking through her actual notebook. As if it's an afterthought.

Having her watch silently through all of this is, in her opinion, a form of torture.

By the time Konoha's greatest living sealing master actually deigns to look at her, Shikako is more relieved than nervous. He can call her a petulant child, playing with forces outside her understanding all he likes, she just wants this over with.

What happens instead is… unexpected.

He sighs. Running a hand through messy white hair.

"Let's start with the errors you made in defining sealing before I tell you why sampling a variety of separate sealing branches isn't going to grant you some magic skeleton key to all its mysteries."

…What?

Ignorant – or perhaps just apathetic – to her confusion, he carries on. "Sealing is about influencing the world with your chakra. By focusing on the ink and the symbols you've literally drawn yourself into a corner. They are important, yes, but you'll never be able to apply seals by touch" she hadn't told him. Hadn't needed to – "like this."

"Then why" she interjects, "are there so many unique branches of sealing?"

The room gets colder, bristling with… not killing intent, but…

The Lion glances towards an irritant. As if to ask, 'did you really think this through?'

"Firstly, do not interrupt me again or this little 'how to' guide is over. This is not a Q&A, got that? Don't answer. Rhetorical question. Secondly, it's because every branch of sealing is unique–

Shikako isn't quite sure exactly where the next three hours of her life go. Only that everything she though she knew about sealing is wrong.

Weeks later, a pebble explodes.

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Chapter Text

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Surprising nobody, Tenma breaks first.

"Come onnnn."

He turns from the mission desk, slapping his hands together in mock prayer. "No more D-Ranks. Please sensei?" His face takes on a certain… is he… is he trying for puppy dog eyes? Because… wow. Not that some twelve-year-olds couldn't pull off the look. It's just that… well… Tenma looks like a thug. His clothes are crumpled and messy, matching the tangled mess of grey hair that's only grown longer and more unruly since Shikako first met him.

It probably doesn't help that he's also flanked by two seven year olds who could probably – maybe – pull off the whole cutesy innocent… thing.

The sheer spectacle of it startles a laugh out of Sensei before he turns to the Sandaime. "I don't suppose you do have a C–Rank for us?" and – Wait. Was that it? Because she's going to feel incredibly stupid if the only reason they're getting a C-rank now is that they'd never asked.

The Hokage smiles, clearly amused at the whole exchange as he fishes a scroll from his desk. How many times has he seen this? Antsy Genin teams chomping at the bit for their first 'proper' mission.

How many of those Genin teams are still alive today?

Not too many, Shikako imagines.

"A C-Rank mission it is, then." His smile waxes. "You will be assisting Neko-baa, proprietor of a Uchiha-affiliated supply post within the abandoned city of Sora-ku. Further details will be provided upon your arrival." He inclines his head, now looking to one of them in particular. "I trust you know the way?"

Itachi nods mechanically. "My father taught me."

The Hokage's expression flickers. For the briefest of moments, the mirth bleeds from his eyes, replaced by something just so infinitely sad. He looks old in that moment. Old enough for people to remember this is his second time wearing the Hat.

Shikako shifts, suddenly feeling out of place. As if she's just witnessed something she definitely shouldn't have. Something private.

Just as quickly though, the moment passes and Team 2 is sent to prepare for their upcoming mission.

They break for home, Tenma whooping into the distance with a voice that puts subwoofers to shame.

Shikako could tentatively say that Tenma had …. grown on her, over time. The fact that, as the only member of Team 2 who could even passably be referred to as 'social', he diverted attention away from her certainly didn't hurt.

"C-Rank! Yeaaaaaah!"

He is still however, just … entirely too loud.

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"My team was assigned a C-Rank," Shikako grabs a pack helpfully labelled '7'."A few days… maybe a week. I'm just grabbing what I need now."

Her mother looks like she has something to say about that. Perhaps that it's too soon.

Shikako suspects that the two of them have vastly different opinions as to when it's okay to send child soldiers off to battle – It's never. For fuck's sake, the answer is never – but she appreciates the thought all the same.

Shikako is already halfway out the door when Yoshino catches her by the hand, drawing her into a hug.

"Be safe sweetie."

After a moment, Shikako hugs back.

"I will."

-

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-

Sora-ku is just slightly less than a full day's travel to the north-east, in the middle of a barren rocky stretch more similar to something one would expect to find in the Land of Earth than the Land of Fire. The city itself is… bigger than expected. Tall square structures that stand several stories high. Blocks of nearly identical buildings tightly compressed into a small area. Architecturally speaking, it's the closest thing to home Shikako's seen.

Or it would be, if it weren't also a ghost town. Although ghost city might be more appropriate.

By the looks of it, the city's only been abandoned recently, with the tell-tale signs of disrepair just beginning to take shape. There is no destruction or destabilisation. No indication as to why every single person would just… leave.

Then, of course, there are the cats.

Cats with shinobi levels of chakra.

Some watch from the shadows as Itachi leads them through the city with a kind of easy familiarity Shikako might possess when navigating her apartment.

Other cats however, ignore them entirely, content with whatever else they're doing at the time – sleeping, mostly.

"This is it." Itachi stops in front of a building that looks more cared for than the rest, leading them inside.

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Neko-baa is a jovial woman pushing into her late sixties with more energy than Shikako has ever possessed. A splotch of ink upon her nose gives it a distinctly button like quality – the kind that reminds her of face-painters and children's birthday parties – whilst the matching cat ears holding her hair in place completes the look.

'Grandmother Cat' indeed.

At the moment however, it's the 'grandmother' aspect that stands out.

"Have you eaten yet?"

Sensei waves her off. Politely indicating that they had, in fact, eaten, and that she needn't trouble herself. This was true, in a sense; They had stopped, roughly half way here, in order to rest and wolf down the odd ration bar to replenish their Chakra. Whether or not that actually constituted 'eating' however…

Tenma completes the thought, muttering something under his breath about 'ration bars' and 'food' sharing a sentence.

Shikako agrees. Nutritious or not, standard issue ration bars taste foul. So foul, in fact, that she'd begun to wander if it wasn't a feature rather than a flaw; a kind of disincentive to eating them when one didn't absolutely need to.

One of Neko-baa's cat ears twitch (how?) and Shikako knows that Tenma's mutter has been heard. Unsurprising. Tenma's volume control is mythical – in the sense that it doesn't exist. "Ration bars?" she gasps, positively scandalised. "Nonono, that simply won't do at all." She ushers a slightly bewildered Team 2 towards a dining table, producing food for them with the kind of speed that draws Shikako's mind towards filler episodes and ninja chefs. "Get some meat on those bones."

Tenma, not needing to be told twice – or once – descends upon his meal with the kind of ravenous enthusiasm one might expect from a child born into a household with lots of siblings and not a lot of food.

"S'good!" He declares between mouthfuls.

Shikako and Itachi take care in placing more modest portions upon their plates, as if attempting to counterbalance his lack of etiquette. They incline their heads in thanks as Sensei begins running through mission details in between bites.

Tenma was right. It's delicious.

Shikako keeps an ear on the conversation – Missing nin-neko. A cat fortress? As in, run by cats? – but doesn't interrupt. Even as Tenma begins chatting to everyone about nothing in particular, she remains silent, smiling at her meal as she tries to remember when she forgot how to make small talk.

It's not a particularly happy smile.

"Usually, I'd be sorting out things like this. But, well… With Tamaki…" Neko-baa gestures towards the cot in the corner of the room. She does not elaborate as to how an infant might have suddenly come into the custody of a woman in her late sixties and nobody from Konoha – not even Tenma – is stupid or cruel enough to ask.

Shikako pretends not to notice the way Itachi goes very, very still.

"Muki missed his shift last month and all the ones after that. Since then, he's been spotted drinking his way through every bar he can find with money that probably doesn't belong to him. Oh, and do be careful dears, he is a trained nin-neko." She adds, as if that wasn't the first thing she should've told them.

Sensei folds and pockets a dossier outlining the information she'd just given them.

"We'll find him."

.

.

.

As it turns out, the fortress is literally shaped like a cat.

Ridiculous.

Also staffed and populated by cats, many of whom just so happen to also be ninja.

Concerning

She's smiles at the sight of it. Trying to puzzle out how something like this fit into the grand scheme of Kishimoto's world of magical child soldiers is the kind of thing that would drive her insane if she tried.

Insanity would certainly explain a lot.

She chooses to focus on the mission, which involves wearing genjutsu rigged apparel – cat ears –while sneaking into an enemy stronghold – shaped like a cat – and capturing a deadbeat drunk – also a cat – before his creditors decide to beat him to death.

Shikako adjusts her cat ears.

Well. If I am in a mental ward, then at least I know they've sprung for the good drugs.

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Their target's fur is a matted deep brown that, even from a distance, reeks of alcohol and tobacco. He sports a jacket that might have fit him when he'd first worn it, but that now hangs open, no longer capable of the journey around his gut. The corresponding lack of pants gave him a distinctly Donald Duck kind of look. That is, if Donald Duck were passed out in a warehouse cradling a bottle of sake.

Sensei approaches first, just in time to watch him wake up and confirm that he is apparently still very, very drunk.

"Uhhh. Whosit? Heyyyyy buuuudy. You lookin t'share a drink with old Muku?" he shakes his bottle. "I got plety- plet- plet – I still got sum if you wan'any."

Sensei pastes a smile onto his face, rolling with the excuse provided. "Sure."

"As'tha way! I knew I liked you. Kindred spirits we are." He pauses and, reminded of spirits, takes a swig. Then, after another pause, he passes it to Minazuki-sensei, who appears to take a swig himself.

Muki pats him on the leg with a paw, his voice full of pity. "I know what iz like brother. You ain't gotta say it. You ain too popular with the ladies either, are'ya?"

Tenma chokes back a laugh and Itachi's lips are curved upwards in something just short of a smile.

Sensei's smile wavers. "Ah. Well. You know how it is," he hedges. He is not a great actor.

Apparently, Muku agrees. He slams his hind legs into sensei's gut, sending him sprawling into a pile of empty boxes.

"Get him!" Tenma shouts, leaping from cover and effectively ruining the element of surprise.

Muku laughs, downing the rest of his bottle before shattering it on the floor. "Come and get me then!"

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The thing about nin-neko is that, by design, they're already ninja.

Cats can move silently, jump up to eight feet vertically, have heightened senses and, at any given point in time, carry no less than 18 knives on their person. They are god's perfect killing machines and they know it.

Now, take that animal and give it magical steroids chakra.

Itachi inspects his hands; cuts run along them, from fingertip to wrist.

"This," he admits, "is not ideal."

Tenma, whose hands, wrists, arms, neck and face are also lacerated, glares at him.

"Y'think?"

Itachi nods, ignoring the sarcasm, before turning to Shikako "Shadow possession?"

She looks up from bite mark on her arm, shaking her head.

And hadn't that been a surprise? Shikako had assumed that with a fully functioning chakra network she could… well. What was it they said about assumptions and mothers? "Cats don't have the same skeletal structure as us. Without a common reference point the jutsu just sort of…" she trails off. They had already seen what had happened.

Two shadows connected with no control whatsoever.

And then he'd bitten her.

He'd bitten her.

Tenma bounces his leg against the floor, biting his lip. "So… what? We call in Sensei?"

None of them particularly like the idea.

After getting donkey kicked across the room, Sensei had taken it upon himself to 'guard the perimeter'. This, coincidentally she's sure, had left the Genin of Team 2 with the dubious honour of actually apprehending Muku. On the one hand, this meant that he wasn't going anywhere. The cat had already made three separate breaks for the exit, only to come flying back into the room like a rag doll – Sensei could definitely hold a grudge. On the other hand, Muku was fast, impossible to sneak up on and was naturally armed at all times.

Shikako drums her fingers on the wall she's leaning up against, each tap transplanting a miniature seal against its surface. Tiny, almost imperceptible, lights flicker in and out of existence as they burn through the speck of chakra she spends on them. Once, it had been an exercise in control. Something harmless to hone her skills in touch-based sealing that – probably – wouldn't end up demolishing her apartment. Now, the exercise is more a tic than anything else. Something to do with her hands.

Tenma jumps to his feet, as if to emphasise his point. "I mean, screw that guy. Seriously. How are we supposed to catch this thing if he got sucker punched. Cat's a ninja."

"So are we." Shikako points out.

"Yeah, but." Tenma twirls his hands in a sort of 'but still' kind of motion. "You know."

"No." The word is quiet, but cuts though their conversation like a knife.

They turn.

Itachi stares off to the side, looking at nothing in particular. His voice is soft, to the point where it's barely audible. "We can't always count on other people's assistance." Something in the empty space seems to catch his eye, but when Shikako looks, she sees nothing. Senses nothing.

[She wakes up to silence, too scared to breath. Eyes flare wide, darting about her room. For a second she thinks there's someone standing in the corner. But no, there's nobody there. Chakra sense tells her that the only people in the apartment are her, her little brother and her parents.]

The mind can do an awful lot with nothing.

Then, as quickly as it came, the moment passes. Itachi shakes his head. "I think we should continue."

"Ughhhh, fine." Tenma rolls his eyes as he stands, looking for all the world like the most put-upon person in existence. And yet, he can't quite hide the smile creeping across his face.

He likes this. Likes that Itachi spoke up.

"We're not doing that again though."

Shikako shoots a glare towards the bite mark on her arm. Ugh. Was she going to need a rabies shot?

"Agreed."

Itachi stands with them, eyeing his own scratches. "A new plan would be preferable, yes."

Tenma spins in her direction. "So! Shikako. Wattya got?"

Wait. Tenma and Itachi are looking to her. For a plan. What?

"I'm sorry?"

Tenma shrugs awkwardly. "Well, I mean, there was that thing with the graduation exam. And you are a Nara so –

"–I am not a Nara." She snaps, with a little more heat in her voice than she would've liked. Where had he even heard –

She stops, staring at her hand as something clicks.

"But I might have a plan."

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Chapter Text

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-

Itachi perches atop a pile of disused scaffolding. "Target is moving. East. Along aisle thirteen."

"I see him," says Tenma, after a moment. "Yea, scratching his ass next to the crates with the red paint.

"Yes." Itachi agrees, without inflection. That is certainly a thing that he is doing.

A beat.

"Look–" Tenma starts, before stopping, then starting again. "I didn't," he fidgets with the hem of his jacket, stalling for time. For the right words. "I didn't know. Okay?"

Itachi nods. He is aware. Hence, why he'd told him.

Muku reaches the end of the aisle, giving his surroundings a casual glance before sauntering down another – Two aisles. Will the pattern hold?

"Aisle twelve." Tenma concurs. "So. Like. You think I should say sorry?"

Itachi ponders this for a moment.

"Do you think you should apologise?"

Tenma goes quiet.

"I–

-

-

-

This part of the warehouse is dark. A single light hangs overhead, old and dimmed from years of neglect.

Shikako takes out a pair of tinted goggles and puts them on.

Now, it's darker still.

She removes an assortment of paper and ink from the pouch at her waist, spreading them across the floor. Then, a notebook follows. There are a variety of titles written onto the cover – each one of them crossed out. And, below all of these failed headings lies a single question mark; scrawled into the cover with such force that it scars the paper, almost like an engraving.

She skims through, past pages annotated almost beyond the point of comprehension – thoughts and ideas spiral off on tangents that barely, if at all, relate to the original subject matter – until she finds what she's looking for: Composite Sealing is underlined twice at a point roughly two thirds down a page that had previously been ruminating on the finer points of Calligraphy and Language within the context of Modification.

I really need to clean this up.

Later. For now, she needs…

[Explode]. Simple and easy. Especially with ink and paper.

Then, one seal is confined within another. [Contain] circles the original piece. Not a common seal, but it's also not particularly rare. Generally, it's used as a stopgap solution for something that's too dangerous to interact with directly or let run its course.

Like, for example, a Curse Seal.

She scowls, shaking the thought from her head.

No point in thinking about that now.

At her behest, both seals expand, sprawling outwards into comprehensive and detailed accounts of their parameters. As expected, [Contain] intertwines with [explode], but only a little. Right now, [Contain] would smother any seal activated within its bound area, providing that the seal in question has less chakra – it does. Shikako needs that to change.

Okay. Hard part now.

-

-

-

"Eleven." Itachi pulls out a pair of goggles and Tenma follows suit.

Itachi hesitates.

They don't look alike. Not exactly. But…

The similarities are there.

[People had thought it was funny; The only Uchiha to wear goggles. "What does he even think he's protecting?" People would joke. Would laugh.

Nobody laughed when the Nohara girl started wearing them.]

"Problem?" Tenma asks.

"No."

That feeling won't help him here. Best to ignore it.

He pulls the goggles over his eyes and the world gets a little darker.

-

-

-

Shikako backs away from her creation; a jerry-rigged bastardisation of two seals that now function as one.

[Explode] has been cut off at the knees. Encased – but not disabled – by [Contain]. Which is good. That's what it's supposed to do.

Except.

It's like an equation, solved with the wrong method. Oh, you still got the right answer. But.

It feels… wrong. Wasteful.

Embarrassing.

Shikako shakes her head. Leave it for now. She could – would. It'd drive her crazy if she didn't – streamline it later.

For now, she needed to–

-

-

-

"Ten."

Itachi and Tenma burst into action, closing in on Muku as a pincer.

Muku takes one look at them, seems to flip a coin in his head, then attacks.

It's what makes him… frustrating. At any given moment he would attack or run. Without notice, a fight would turn to pursuit, only to become a fight once more. It had kept them off balance.

For a time.

Itachi leans back, avoiding a swipe of the claws, before dropping down to sweep with his leg.

Muku jumps, effortlessly avoiding the blow–

–as another crashes into him. The blunt side of Tenma's sword catches his torso launching him backwards.

Muku's entire body twists mid-air, angling itself perfectly as he hits the ground. For a moment, he seems ready for another bout. Poised for attack as Itachi and Tenma form up alongside one another.

Another coin toss.

He bolts, racing for the end of the aisle faster than either of them can move.

Not that they do.

Muku bursts out of the aisle. Right–

-

-

-

–Now.

The seal glows under Muku's paws.

"Oh cra–"

Even with eyewear, Shikako has to turn away, covering her eyes and ears, as a burst of light and sound engulfs the warehouse.

That's … slightly more powerful than expected.

Shikako turns back.

Muku is down.

But not out.

He stumbles to his feet; attempting to flee, even while blind. Even while deaf.

He doesn't make it very far.

Muku tumbles back onto the ground without so much as taking a step. From that close, the noise has disturbed the fluid in the inner ear, effectively ruining his sense of balance. The fact that he can so much as stand is, in of itself, impressive.

Muku makes a second attempt, his feet a little steadier this time.

Itachi greets him with knockout tag.

This time, when he falls, he doesn't get up.

"Mission Complete."

-

-

-

They find Minazuki-sensei leaning against the warehouse door. Nonchalant; as if he hadn't a care in the world.

His eyes are bloodshot.

"About time." He says, glancing at the imaginary watch on his wrist. "I was beginning to think you couldn't handle it." He grins. "Then we'd have been back to D-Ranks. Forever."

A shiver runs through Team 2.

Tenma however, doesn't take the comment lying down. "Yea? Well guess what? While you were out here being the laziest sensei ever, we caught your damn cat!" With a visible strain, he holds Muku up, just inches from Sensei's face.

"That's… Great." Says Sensei, leaning back and away from the smell of tobacco and cheap alcohol that wafts off of Muku's fur. "But maybe we should leave now. You know, before someone comes to investigate that insanely loud noise somebody just made." He shoots a look towards Shikako, who is staring at the floor with sudden and intense interest.

"It's called a 'Flash Bang'." She says. Because that's what it's called. "Because that's all it actually does. Flash. Bang."

Sensei stares at her for a long moment before– "Well of course that's what it's called. There's a fire jutsu that does the exact same thing. Or, what? Did you think you just…" He halts as his train of thought arrives at its destination.

"…did you just make a flash bang with seals? From scratch?"

"…There's" no way to answer that without incriminating herself, is there?

So, flash bang jutsu are already a thing. As well as actual flash bang grenades, like the ones back home. Only she didn't know that because she's an idiot that can't keep track of which technologies exist and which ones don't and now she looks like a moron at best and at worst–

Nobody says anything as Shikako tries – and fails – to melt into the floor

Then, Sensei laughs, jarring her from her thoughts before–"Maybe check and see if someone else has already thought up the wheel before trying to invent it yourself, kid." He ruffles her hair as he passes. It's a difficult thing to do to someone with braids, but he manages it.

"Let's go."

-

-

-

They leave Muku with Neko-baa, surrounded by an assortment of cats in varying degrees of business-wear. Shikako doesn't ask. The cats don't tell.

-

-

-

The trip back home is uneventful.

With one exception.

-

-

-

A shoulder bumps against Shikako's and she very nearly jumps out of her skin.

"Yo." Says Tenma.

She blinks.

"…Hi."

Usually, when someone says hello, it might be considered preamble for further conversation. So, when no further conversation follows, it could also be said that Shikako is well within her rights to feel somewhat confused.

She is.

Tenma's eyes trace the horizon, studiously avoiding hers. It seems, in that long moment, as if he isn't going to speak at all. As if whatever he'd been planning on saying has fallen by the wayside. Unspoken.

Then. "My bad."

What?

"I mean –" he bites off a stutter, "about the whole Nara… thing. That was… uncool."

Oh. Oh.

She'd sort of… not forgotten about it, exactly. But it had been…

How did–

–She shoots at glance at Itachi; he's walking ahead of them, just far enough to pretend that he's not eavesdropping on their conversation.

Ah.

"I don't really know much about clan stuff," Tenma continues, suddenly rushing to get the words out. "I mean, yea. Fancy eyes. Dogs. Bugs. All that stuff, sure. But I don't really get all that…"

He trails off.

"Other stuff?" Shikako supplies.

"Other stuff, yea." He nods along. "So, like when I said what I said earlier… I mean, I know I'm kind of an idiot, but I'm not an asshole. Even though…"

He stops, struggling for words again.

Then, he finds them. "Sometime I say things without thinking about stuff, or knowing about other stuff, so I end up looking like one anyway." He glares at the ground. Suddenly angry. At himself, maybe, more than anything else.

Silence falls over them. They keep walking, even as Shikako finds that it's her turn to speak. To try to find the right words and fail.

But she needs to speak. To tell him that, for the record, "I didn't think you did it on purpose." She scrambles. She's terrible at this. terrible at explaining things. Telling people how she feels. "It's just that when you said it I got so angry and it's just…"

She falters.

Tenma turns to look at her. Really look at her. "It's shit."

She blinks rapidly. Trying – probably failing – not to– "Yea. It is."

He bumps her shoulder again. This time, there's no jolt of surprise. No split second of panic. Just contact.

It's nice.

"Well its not gonna be shit here, Okay? We're gonna look out for each other." He puffs out his chest, flashing her a toothy smile. "In fact, you know what? We're making it a rule. Rule one for Team 2: Look out for each other!"

Shikako scrubs her eyes with the fold of her sleeve. "I like that rule."

Tenma nods, satisfied, before turning. "You hear that Itachi?!"

Itachi pivots. "Tenma. It would surprise me if half the continent hadn't heard you."

Shikako laughs. It's a startled, strangled thing, but it's there, for all the world to see.

Tenma's jaw drops.

"Did Itachi just make a joke?"

-

-

-

Chapter Text

-

-

-

Contrary to the laws of dramatic effect, not all C-Ranks end in high stake battles and deep, meaningful conversations.

In fact, most of them have a tendency to be downright boring.

It's a terrible thing to complain about, even in the privacy of her own head. Boring is good, Shikako knows. Boring is safe.

Boring is productive.

Missions become rare. A couple of C-Ranks every month; the simple, delivery based kind. 'Take thing. Swap with another thing. Bring other thing back,' and so on.

It makes sense. Even under a Jōnin-sensei, Team 2 are Genin. Delivery missions are safe(ish) Land of Fire based missions, that allow for a lot of free time during transit.

Free time that can be used for training. On top of the training they do in Konoha, that is.

Minazuki-sensei wants them in next year's Chūnin exams and isn't making a secret of it.

"Youngest peacetime Chūnin ever," he says, with just a hint of pride in his voice.

"You. Kenjutsu." Tenma stalks off, sword already free of its sheath. "You. Hand-signs. Fast as you can." Itachi nods, already running through a Dragon variant of the fireball jutsu.

"And You." Sensei's eyes fall upon her. "Chakra control plus. Eight."

Shikako has to bow her head to hide the grimace. Eight? She grabs a handful of leaves from a low hanging branch, carefully attaching each of them to different points on her body.

Eight isn't… difficult, exactly. It's just…

Wait. "Plus?"

"Mhmm." Sensei hums along. He draws a kunai from its holster, twirling it on his ring finger. "Manipulating chakra in a controlled setting is imperfect training, which makes for an imperfect ninja." He threw that phrase around from time to time; 'Imperfect training makes for an imperfect ninja.'

It almost sounds profound until you realise it's just a fancy way of saying 'don't teach yourself bad habits.'

"So. You're going to keep as many of those leaves on you as you can while I do my best to distract you." His smile takes on a certain kind of menacing quality. Like the cat that didn't so much eat the canary as it convinced him they were a Nigerian Prince with an innocent need for their bank details.

…It's a very specific kind of menacing. The kind that makes her dread asking; "Distract me… how exactly?"

"Oh, I'm glad you asked Shikako–chan." He stresses the honorific like a gunshot, impossible to ignore. "I was thinking we could work on evasion today."

Crap. "And is there any reason I'm the only one doing this?" She asks in a desperate, shameless attempt to drag her teammates under the bus with her.

Sensei doesn't so much as miss a beat. "Itachi needs to blend nin-and-taijutsu. So, faster hand-signs." The kunai snaps back to his palm, poised for use. "And Tenma's chakra control is terrible no matter what he's doing. I don't think combat actually can make it any worse–"

"My hearing works just fine though, jackass!" comes a voice in the distance.

"–So, he gets a pass. For now." Sensei finishes, ignoring the interruption.

He takes a step forward.

Shikako steps back, nearly losing the leaf on her right calve. "I have concerns about this teaching method."

"I'll make a note of it." He says, before a great many things happen in quick succession.

Sensei is right. It's much harder to maintain chakra control when you're...

Distracted.

-

-

-

The problem – aside from a critical lack of research – is that the Flash Bang seal doesn't actually need two seals. It just needs one.

[Explosion] doesn't need to be restricted. It needs to be broken down to its core parts and stripped of needless baggage.

And that's the crux of the issue. Baggage. Shikako remembered stun grenades – casing; preventing force and shrapnel from escaping – and tried to implement that in terms of chakra and sealing.

Stupid. Stupid and pointless; She doesn't need to confine an explosion. She just needs to make one that produces light and sound exclusively.

Somewhere. Somewhen; a physicist begins crying incoherently with no idea as to why.

But it works.

Shikako places her hand upon the edge of a tree, willing the idea into place.

Bright and loud.

Ink bleeds from her fingertips, planting the seal in place.

Shikako smiles.

Got you.

-

-

-

"Hey," says Tenma as he runs through an intricate string of motions with his sword. "How come you never do the eye thing."

Shikako freezes. The leaf on her forearm falls to the ground.

Itachi responds without so much as pausing the series of hand signs he's running through. "I presume you're referring to the Sharingan?"

"Yea. That. Or–" Tenma halts, suddenly a little panicked as he says, "I mean, unless it's –" He shoots Shikako a glance "– one of those things. Because I can drop it if–"

"It's fine" Itachi interrupts, even as his expression says otherwise. "Details of bloodline abilities are closely guarded. Anything beyond basic knowledge is forbidden from being shared outside the clan. Even asking could, from a certain perspective, be considered a violation of the accords set between the first Hokage and the founding clans."

Tenma's skin seems to lose its tan.

"O…kay… that doesn't sound fine."

Itachi doesn't stop running through hand signs. In fact, they only get more complex. Boar variant, Shikako notices. "You are my teammate. There is a high probability that, at some point, my life will depend upon the decisions you make."

Shikako watches as, for just a moment, Itachi's eyes flicker to hers. 'Both of you', they say.

"Withholding information could lead to an uninformed decision, which could result in the death of the entire team." He finishes, hands falling to his sides. "Ask. I will do my best to answer."

There's a moment of silence; a beat where the entire world seems to hold its breath at the sheer significance of what Itachi's just done. Oh, it shouldn't mean much. Odds are that at this point Shikako knows more than he does about the Sharingan.

But still.

Tenma asks the obvious question. "This… is this gonna get you in trouble?"

Itachi sends him a smile; barely visible, but just so unmistakably real.

"Not if you don't tell anybody."

And that's it. Itachi now has a friend for life. Tenma flashes him a brilliant, shit-eating grin. The kind that shows exactly how much this means to him. How much it matters that somebody trusts him.

So, in true Tenma fashion, he then proceeds to spoil the moment entirely.

"What does it look like? Is it cool? Can you show me? Is it something only you guys know how to do or is it something only you guys can do? Tanaka – you know him? He was in my class, so you might have seen him at graduation – said you guys can could shoot lasers with it but that sounds like crap to me. How come you haven't used it in training? Does it take too much chakra? Oh! You'd better not be holding back on me when we spar! Are you? Wait no! first question! Can you really see dead people?"

Itachi blinks, pauses for a moment, and then, "Red, with up to three accompanying pupils. I don't know how cool you'd think it is. No, I can't. It's genetic so no, you cannot learn–

It's convenient that nobody is looking her way. Otherwise, they might've noticed that every leaf attached to Shikako had gently fallen to the ground.

It's… not the same, she tells herself. It isn't.

If she tells someone – anyone – then people are going to die. And yes, there's a degree of selfishness there – of cowardice – because the first person on that list will almost certainly be her.

She can see it clearly in her mind. Like a memory waiting to happen:

The Hokage would give her to Root, because of course he would. His old friend would pat him on the back and say something like 'For the good of the village'. Sarutobi would nod, grimace and be generally be upset by the whole thing before handing her over with a sighed 'For the good of the village'.

Dad wouldn't help. Assuming he'd even want to, how would he? He isn't a Clan Head – because of her. He has no ancient rites to invoke. He'll listen calmly, nodding along as the Hokage tells him that his child is not his child and that his best people are getting to the bottom of this.

Root would, of course, mean Fū; waiting there to unravel her mind with all gentleness of buckshot. She'd be shredded. Torn apart for every scrap of information she had until there was nothing left. Then, they would snap her neck like a twig and store her body in a little black scroll on a shelf with lots of other little black scrolls. And that would be the end of it. For her.

But then?

Any future – even a possible one – in which the Uchiha betrayed Konoha would spell death for them. No questions. No hesitation. That's just the kind of man Danzō is.

Sai and his brother would join them. Killed for the same reason.

Naruto? Not what Danzō looks for in a Jinchūriki. Maybe – maybe – the Hokage would protect him, but that's not a bet she should be taking. Not a bet that anyone should be taking.

Its not the same, she tells herself.

Even if it feels like…

"I think this might be more trust than I'm worth." Sometimes, Shikako thinks, she doesn't speak words, so much as the words kill the guards and escape her mouth before she can do anything about it.

Itachi turns. Shikako isn't sure which of Tenma's questions he's trying to answer, but from the look of him, it's one that he's happy to abandon. He seems to consider her for a moment, looking her up and down before asking, "Are you planning on betraying my confidence?"

Am I what?

It takes her longer than it should to comprehend the question. To reconcile what Itachi is saying with what she'd been thinking and realising that his question is entirely reasonable if you don't happen to be trapped inside Shikako Kinokawa's head. "No." The answer snaps out, just shy of a shout. It doesn't matter that she already knew, or that they might try to kill each other one day. She…

She wouldn't.

Itachi raises an eyebrow. He is… surprised? Or, at least, the closest Itachi gets to surprised. This can't be the first time she's raised her voice in front of him. There was–

Tenma.

Oh.

Itachi lowers the eyebrow in the same way someone else might lower a weapon; slowly and with great care. He nods, satisfied – apparently – by her response. As if to say, 'Well. There you go then.'

Tenma, as per usual, is the one to break the silence.

"Soooo?" he asks.

Itachi lets out a breath. "While I won't speculate as to how such a rumour began, I can say, with the utmost authority, that the Uchiha cannot shoot lasers from–

Shikako blinks, unsure of what to make of… everything. Can it really be that simple? Just… what? Don't give away her team's secrets? Isn't there more than that? Isn't she supposed to…

Rule One of Team 2: 'Look out for each other.'

She runs a hand through her hair.

Well. Okay then.

-

-

-

Chapter Text

-

-

-

"A playdate?"

"Yea!" Says Tenma, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I'm looking after Rei tomorrow, so why not? Y'know?"

Shikako thinks about this.

Shikamaru is… probably not the ideal playmate; it being that her brother's idea of 'play' consists of napping in proximity to other toddlers without any need for further interaction – 'No paternity test needed,' Dad jokes.

Still though.

Shikako smiles. "That sounds nice."

"If you like," Itachi interjects. "We can hold it at the Uchiha compound. There should be more than enough space."

-

-

-

The Uchiha Clan grounds are bustling when Shikako arrives.

It must be a shift change. Fresh faced officers are funnelling in and out of the Military Police Station at the same time a number of civilian-clad shinobi do the same; except more slowly, with faces that communicate a need for showers, beds and alcohol in no particular order.

Some of them are looking at Shikako. Actually, scratch that, a lot of people are looking at her. Eyes burrow into the back of her skull as she searches for the Clan Head's household. The question – why are you here? – is shouted for all that it's left unsaid. She is, after all, the only non-Uchiha here.

Shikako shrinks inwards, hitching Shikamaru a little higher over her shoulder as she goes. She tells herself that she isn't out of place. That she was invited. That it's fine.

Except it's not fine.

It's still happening.

-

-

-

Itachi's house isn't what Shikako expects. It doesn't particularly stand out from the other buildings. In fact, without an address, she might have missed it completely.

A woman who must be Mikoto Uchiha answers the door when she knocks. She welcomes Shikako into her home with a serene smile and wow, the resemblance is uncanny. The hair. The eyes. Even the jawline is just so unmistakably Itachi.

"You must be Shikako-chan. Your father's told us so much about you that it almost feels like we've already met!"

Shikako blinks at this.

Her father is the Jōnin Commander. Of course, he's met the Uchiha Clan Head and his wife. There's nothing strange about that. Right?

Right.

"Thank you for inviting me into your home." Shikako says, with practiced manner.

"So formal." Mikoto laughs. "Fugaku is going to love you."

Shikako isn't sure how to respond to that, so she doesn't.

"This way sweetie." Mikoto says, leading them towards the back of the house and into hall where Itachi is holding a cat's cradle in front of a toddler. Said toddler is holding a tangled mess of string that is most definitely not a cat's cradle and looking rather put out by the whole affair.

"He's been trying to do it ever since he saw Itachi holding one." Mikoto whispers, conspiratorially, in a tone that communicates exactly how adorable she thinks this is. "He's always trying to copy his big brother."

The spell of concentration is broken when Sasuke looks over to them and spots Shikamaru, still happily napping in the crook of Shikako's neck.

Itachi turns and nods to her as she sets Shikamaru down, content to watch the byplay.

Sasuke bounds over – in as much as toddlers can really 'bound' – towards Shikamaru's lying form before launching into an impassioned series of syllables that, to Shikako, seem to communicate exactly who's boss around here and that Shikamaru had better get up and play with him before he gets upset.

Shikamaru sits up, takes one look at Sasuke's adorable formidable gaze and then proceeds to go straight back to sleep.

Shikako was right. Her brother really is a terrible playmate.

Sasuke wheels on them with an expression that seems to say, 'can you believe this guy?'

It is quite possibly the most adorable thing Shikako has ever seen – and she's seen a literal castle of cats.

Shikako looks to Itachi. "Sorry." She says, feeling a bit sheepish. "He just woke up. That always takes a lot out of him."

There's a knock at the door and Mikoto disappears in its direction while holding a camera that Shikako could swear hadn't been there a second ago.

Ninja.

She returns with Tenma, who's carrying a very shy looking two-year-old with him.

Rei is a beautiful child; the kind you might see in commercials if they existed here. Her shoulder length hair is grey, liker her brother's, but just a few shades lighter, giving it an almost silver-like quality.

When Tenma sets her down, she immediately scurries behind his leg.

"Are we late?" He asks, ignoring the limpet attached to his calf.

"We just got here." Shikako answers, gesturing to her own kin – still napping on the floor.

Shikamaru opens an eye, surveying the new arrival. He then shoots Shikako a look, as if to say; 'another one?'

Sasuke recovers his composure, quickly moving over to Rei. "Ga." He says, meaningfully.

Rei peers at Sasuke from the safety of 'behind her brother's leg', before glancing up at him.

"Go on." Tenma whispers. He grins at her and, for a second, he doesn't look at all shabby, or thuggish. Tenma has the kind of smile that can light up a room. He just saves it for special occasions.

Rei nods, steeling herself, before venturing forth into the discerning gaze of Sasuke Uchiha.

He nods, satisfied that at least this one's awake, before leading her by the hand towards the building blocks.

Shikako hears the click of a camera shutter and, with seer-like clarity, envisions a future in which Mikoto drags this photo out to her son's utter mortification.

She takes a breath.

She has no idea what needs to happen for that future to exist, or how strong she needs to be. But…

Shikamaru gets up, casually ambling – in as much as toddlers can really 'amble' – his way over to Rei and Sasuke. As if he just so happened to be heading in that direction.

…It's a future worth fighting for.

-

-

-

Chapter Text

-

-

-

It's the little things that give it away.

The occasional nod as he leads Team 2 through the Market District. Missions escorting diplomats around the Village. People suddenly becoming… friendlier when they're recognised.

They're famous.

Other Jōnin notice. They visit, looking for an in; A way ride the coattails of Konoha's rising stars. There's mention of 'joint missions' and 'joint training sessions' and 'joint every other little thing that might be used to suggest that Team 2's successes might be accredited to them'.

It's pathetic.

His response comes in the form of a politely coded 'Fuck off.'

Eventually, they seem to get the message. These brats are his. He'll shove them up to Special-Jōnin before they surpass him – because of course they will. These kids are ridiculous – and leave himself a tidy little legacy to retire on.

Which is about when Shinku Yūhi comes along.

"It's not a bad team, I suppose." And yea, that's actually how he talks.

Yūki turns to the bar stool which, only a few moments ago, had been blissfully empty. He takes a breath, puts on his best 'I have to be polite to you' smile, before saying, "Good of you to say, Yūhi-san. And how is your team doing?"

Team 4, Shinku's second Genin team, had been given to him a couple of years ago; possibly under the impression that if this was his second shot at the whole 'teaching' business then surely he'd make a better go of it than the first time around. Yūki was fortunate enough to have been a wallflower when two members of Shinku's original Genin team had declared, in a volume enhanced by alcohol, that 'this wouldn't exactly be difficult'. This statement had quickly been followed by the addition of, 'those poor bastards'.

Team 4 had, from the few snippets of conversation Yūki could be bothered to 'overhear', been disappointingly average. A problem for Shinku, it seems, who is the kind of man with opinions. Opinions about himself, mainly. The kind that probably went somewhere along the lines of 'I am a Jōnin of great renown and cannot possibly be a bad teacher. No, it's the children who must be wrong.'

Or something like that.

Shinku's left eyebrow twitches slightly and Yūki knows he's drawn blood.

Still, Shinku rallies.

"Oh, they're coming along, I suppose. Although you can only do such much with a branch Hyūga"

The bar goes silent. Maybe. Yūki isn't sure because it could just as easily be him.

He'd been with Hikaru, at the end. Telling her – himself – that she was going to be okay as that fucking seal snaked its way out from her forehead.

He hadn't even been allowed to the funeral.

Yūki raises a glass to his lips and finds, with utter amazement, that it hasn't shattered in his hands. Huh. That probably wouldn't have happened six months ago. He should thank Tenma for that. The boy is a class in anger management if ever there was one.

He knows he should respond. That he should throw out some clever quip; polite enough to afford deniability, but devastating all the same.

He's got nothing.

All he can do is sip quietly on something poured from the bottom shelf that probably doubles as paint thinner and hope that this backwards piece of shit goes away before he loses that last shred of self-control.

Then, Shinku opens his mouth again.

"Still though." He says, sounding almost sympathetic. "I suppose I should count my blessings for what they're worth. At least I wasn't saddled with a bastard."

A sip turns into the entire glass, which Yūki then gently sets it down on the counter. He doesn't trust himself with sudden movements. Not right now.

Yūki gets through the rest of the conversation on automatic: A joint training exercise? Fine. Sounds good. Great. Fantastic, even. Oh, you think you'll head home now, will you? This place a bit below your usual standards? Oh, what a shame. Toodles.

Yūki watches Shinku leave, only letting his mind revert to manual when he's out of sight.

It occurs to him quite out of the blue that, from a distance, people might actually think he and Shinku were rather similar. After all, nobody really liked either of them.

As thoughts go, this one's pretty horrifying.

Except, the thing is, that as much as Yūki might hate people, it's in of a more general 'leave me the fuck alone' sort of way.

Shinku, on the other hand, is willing to put the work in. He would make your life a living hell because you'd been rude to him at some point in the distant past and now you were going to pay for it. With interest that would make a loan shark blush.

And then he'd get away with it. Because, as much as Shinku is a complete and total ass, he's also an ass with a reputation. And influence. And, perhaps most importantly of all, a working knowledge of Konoha's bureaucratic administration that rivals even the Hokage himself.

Really. It's amazing what you can do when you actually know the rules. Especially when you don't care who you step on, so long as they're below you.

Simply put, people might not like Yūki, but they hate Shinko.

He'd earned it.

Yūki waves over the bartender.

"I'm going to be honest with you. If I end up leaving this bar under my own strength, then I'm going to follow that man home and beat him to death." He holds up an empty glass. "Be a hero. Save a life tonight."

The barman, bless his beautiful soul, says nothing as he reaches for the paint thinner.

When someone else slips into the seat beside him, Yūki nearly kills them on the spot.

Then, he notices the bandanna wrapped over the forehead. Like hers. Like if they don't have to look at it then maybe they can pretend that it isn't there.

"I'll have what he's having."

-

-

-

His Genin really don't know what to make of the news.

'Joint training?' 'With who?' 'Why?' And other questions like that. The kind of questions that do not in any way whatsoever assist with the searing hangover he's pretending not to have. Last night had been too much. Even for him.

Still though, the MPs hadn't shown up at his door with an arrest warrant, so he must have done something right.

Shikako looks at Yūki like he's just handed her a puzzle with several pieces missing and, not for the first time, Yūki has to blink away the image of the Jōnin-Commander's face. It's not so much the physical resemblance – although there's definitely that too – as it is the way she holds herself; the way she brandishes her mind like a knife in the dark. Or waits patiently for the people around her to catch up with her train of thought.

If she ever pinches the bridge of her nose and asks me for a full report, Yūki thinks to himself. I'd probably give her one out of sheer habit.

Itachi stares at him with what is probably the world's best poker face and Yūki considers the opposite to be true for the latest in the Uchiha Clan's series of prodigies. He's nothing like his father. Rather, its his mother that he reminds Yūki of:

Yūki has met Mikoto Uchiha exactly once in his life and, if you ask him, that was one time too many. He'd been out shopping for groceries when they'd 'run into' each another, as he's sure Uchiha Matriarchs and bargain-hunting-Jōnin so often do. She'd taken the opportunity to congratulate him on becoming a Jōnin-sensei and express her utmost confidence in his ability to teach her son. She hadn't needed to say, "or else", but the two of them had parted with the general understanding that she might as well have.

It's always the polite ones, Yūki thinks. Those are the one's you've got to watch out for.

Tenma at the very least, seems enthusiastic. He bobs on his feet, smiling manically. Yūki can't blame him. Not really. As well as he's adapted to his teammates, he's probably looking forward to talking to someone closer to his age. Or maybe he's looking forward to hitting them with the wooden sword Yūki had given him for sparring.

Bit of both, probably.

"So," Yūki says. "Team 4."

His team looks to him, expectant.

"Kaneto Hyūga is a taijutsu buff. His Jyuuken'll mess with your chakra so don't' let him touch you." His eyes drift to Itachi in particular; the most likely target. Tenma's kenjutsu would keep most people out of striking distance and gods help anyone stupid enough to stand near Shikako's shadow. Itachi on the other hand, would win or lose the fight based upon whether or not he let the Hyūga enter melee range.

"Then you've got Shinji Nakae. He's got a knack for genjutsu, apparently." Yūki forces a grin. "So, when Tenma inevitably gets himself caught in one, make sure to break him out of it. Physical contact usually works. I recommend a slap."

"Dick" Says Tenma, on reflex.

"I try. Last is Naoko Nakamura. Haven't heard anything about her" That had been annoying. Nothing? "Pay attention to her. Look at the equipment she's carrying. Figure her out before she figures you out."

Three sets of nods greet him in reply.

"Are you sure you should be briefing us?" Shikako asks, because of course she does. "I mean… shouldn't both teams be going into this blind?"

Oh, wonderful. And how the hell is he going to handle this? How does he tell an eight-year-old girl that the team they're about to fight is being let by a glory seeking asshole who wants to embarrass them for a boost to his reputation? And that, because of that, he's probably been prepping his Genin for weeks. How does Yūki tell her that he'd let this happen because said asshole had known just which buttons to press in order to get what he wanted?

You give her the short answer is how.

"This is a requested match. They know who you are. They've been briefed. I guarantee it."

Shikako nods in acceptance. But, there's still that look in her eye. The kind of look that says; 'give me the rest of these puzzle pieces you asshole.'

This kid will be the absolute death of me.

Yūki runs a hand through his mess of hair before powering on. "Anyway, that's it. Get out there and try not to embarrass me." He knows they won't, but it won't do for them to go around getting big headed.

"In fact, lets make that a rule. Rule 2: Don't embarrass your Sensei."

"Actually Sensei." Itachi interjects. "That would be Rule 3." He shoots a glance at Tenma. "We already have a rule two."

Yūki blinks. Oh for – "And what, pray tell, is Rule 2?"

Itachi answers gravely and with the utmost seriousness.

"Tenma isn't allowed to play cards with us anymore."

Shikako stares up at the clouds, probably jealous of how far they are from this particular conversation while Tenma just grins.

Yūki gives all three of them a look before pinning Tenma in place with the full force of his gaze.

"…Do I even want to know?"

"Look." Tenma shifts. "It really wasn't that big of a–"

"You had Five aces in your hand." Itachi points out in factual monotone.

"Oh, come on! I've just got a lot of luck is all!"

"Yes" Shikako agrees, still staring skyward. "And most of it is located up your sleeves."

Yūki tunes them out and takes a long, deep breath.

This is it, he thinks. This is my legacy for future generations.

-

-

-

"They're here."

Shinku Yūhi struts across Training Field 2 with all the self-assurance that being a complete piece of shit affords him.

His team trails behind him, displaying the kind of enthusiasm you'd usually see from inmates on death row. None of them are speaking – to their sensei or to each other. In fact, they all seem to be making a concerted effort to avoid any sort of eye-contact whatsoever.

Concerning, he thinks. But also, very much so not my problem.

"Minazuki-san," Shinku greets in frigid politeness. He glances across Training Field 2 with the air of someone who's doing the scenery a favour by looking at it. "Good of you to agree to this. I'm sure it will be very…" he pauses, pretending to look for a word. "…educational."

Ass.

Yūki shrugs. "You want to do the honours?"

Shinku nods, as if this were only to be expected. "Teams. Take positions"

Both sides offer Seals of Confrontation before trailing off to the opposite ends of the training field. But not, that is, before Tenma turns on his heel and shouts, "Yo! Sensei! You'd better take us out to eat when we win!"

Shinku's head whips around, scandalised. "You allow your students to speak to you this way?"

Yūki nearly tears up – I'm so proud of that little shit – savouring the moment, before answering. "Oh, you know. I prefer to rely on more…" He pauses, pretending to look for the word. "…eclectic teaching methods. I'm sure you understand."

For a long, long second it looks like Shinku might actually call off the match out of sheer spite. Then, shock and outrage cool into a more tepid kind of disgust. He sneers, then snaps his arm downwards.

"Begin!"

-

-

-

Itachi backpedals away from Kaneto, tossing out shuriken and kunai as he moves.

It doesn't work.

The Hyūga weaves and deflects his way past, barely even slowed.

Itachi launches a fireball jutsu in a last-ditch attempt to put some distance between them.

That doesn't work either.

Kaneto flows around the fireball like water, bringing himself right in front of Itachi. His hand glances across Itachi's chest, neck and shoulder.

Itachi stumbles back, wide eyed and–

–Explodes into a cloud of smoke.

Three deflected kunai turn back into Itachi and Yūki allows himself a smirk.

Hyūga always struggled with shadow clones. They saw through water clones and rock clones – and especially standard clones – and thought; 'well he must be the real one. He's the only one with a functional chakra network.'

Shadow clones didn't play by those rules. They might cost more when it comes to chakra – enough that most Jōnin would think twice – but you get what you pay for.

Itachi – presuming he's even among them – and his clones produce spools of ninja wire and Yūki feels confident enough to let his eyes drift.

Tenma's fight is considerably more straightforward. And one-sided.

Naoko Nakamura, for some ungodly reason, is fighting Tenma at close range. She produces a number of clones to mask her path of attack. She cleverly and judiciously uses replacement at the last possible moment. Her taijutsu is ruthless and efficient, moving with electric speed.

And she's losing.

"Swaying Blade." Tenma's speed skyrockets, dispersing three clones and batting a replaced chunk of wood across the clearing in a single sweep. Then, his wooden sword snaps back and collides with Naoko's wrist, which had previously been rocketing towards him with a fist attached to it. Although, if Tenma were using a real sword, then that would have ceased to be the case.

Of course, wood is still going to hurt.

Naoko screams, recoiling backwards and clutching at her wrist.

Yūki moves on. The fight is as good as over.

Shikako is, of course, being Shikako.

She stands slumped still. Her eyes are half-lidded in a manner that screams 'genjutsu!' as Shinji Nakae rushes across the field holding a knockout tag.

Shinku radiates smugness, even as his other Genin fall up against the ropes. "I suppose that's about as much as you can expect out of her type." There's that tone again; condescension masked as sympathy.

Yūki just about manages to keep a straight face.

Shinji steps into 'her type's' shadow and freezes.

Shikako swaps the vacant 'oooh, I'm under a genjutsu' look for one of surprised bewilderment instead.

"I can't believe that worked."

She places a hand upon her forehead.

Shinji, still holding the knockout tag, follows suit.

Well…

"…I don't suppose you know any good restaurants, Yūhi-san?"

-

-

-

Chapter Text

-

-

-

Minazuki-sensei really does take them out to dinner afterwards.

Like, a nice dinner, even.

It's weird. Tenma keeps expecting him to drop the act and go; 'MWAHAHA! YOU FORGOT TO CHECK FOR POISON". And then they'd all pass out. Only, when they wake up, they'll still be at the restaurant and he'll have left them with the cheque.

Tenma really wishes he could remember how to check for poison.

But anyway, that's not important. What's important is Tenma's super-awesome story about how he beat a two-year Genin like it was nothing.

'Like'. Because it wasn't nothing. It was super hard–

"–and then she moved super-fast, but I was like, 'Yo. Who'd you think I am?' So I–" he slams his hands together for effect. "Wham! But then she was like …" Tenma's brow furrows. "… a log, or something?" Dammit. What was that called again? Come on. He knows this. He actually knows this.

"Replacement jutsu," says Itachi, because he doesn't go around forgetting stuff like names for basic jutsu.

"Yea–that. Anyway, that's when she thought she had the drop on me" – because she did. He was so sure she had him at the end there. Pure luck that he managed to – "but I was like, 'Yooo. Who'd you think I am?' And that's when I got her." Because yea, he got her. And then she wouldn't talk to him afterwards because she needed to go see a med-nin.

Nice. Way to make friends during a friendly sparring match. Why not fracture her other wrist while you're at it?

"Mhmm." Sensei smiles, resting his chin on a hand. "Riveting."

But… whatever! They won. All three of them. They were awesome, and nobody can say jack about it.

Actually–

–Tenma whirls. "And you!" He levels an accusing finger at Sensei. "You thought we were gonna embarrass you!"

Shikako sinks into her seat like she isn't the baddest thing in town while Itachi looks like… well, he looks like Itachi. Seriously, guy has the poker face.

Sensei's grin widens into an expression that gives Tenma pause. He recognises it. It's the same look Old Lady Yara's cat shoots him – like it knows where the bodies are buried.

"Well. You sure showed me."

Then Sensei's hand is across the table faster than he can track and ruffling Tenma's hair – like some kind of kid!

"Dick!" Tenma yelps, swatting at the hand, except its already gone and Sensei is sitting in the exact same position he was a second ago and still grinning.

"You did alright. Now eat your food you little shit."

Tenma blinks.

If he tilts his head to one side and squints a bit, then that could almost have been a compliment.

Then, the word 'food' registers in Tenma's brain and he descends upon his meal with fraternal instinct – namely; to eat as much as you can, as quickly as you can.

But then, when you grow up on dinners where kicks to the shin and elbows to the gut are about as common as 'pass the salt', you end up with a very specific set of table manners.

The pork cutlets show up.

Tenma catches Itachi and Shikako giving each other a look. The kind that he and Azumi shoot each other when Yui dominated the dinner table.

He tries on a Sensei kind of grin. It fits.

Well, if that's how it's gonna be…

-

-

-

The problem with the whole babysitting club… thing is that, well, Tenma goes last.

He tries not to squirm as he leads Shikako and Itachi – with brothers in tow – towards his house.

Shikamaru is still sleeping on Shikako's shoulder. "His fifth favourite place to sleep." she says, like he'd been ranking them out of ten since the crib.

Sasuke, having struggled out of Itachi's arms, now leads the way – except not really because he's two and has no idea where he's going. They've already stopped multiple times so Itachi can explain that, "No, Sasuke. We're going this way. No – I know this this is the way we usually walk, but we're going to Tenma's house today, remember?"

Before, Tenma had never really thought to be ashamed of where he lived, or how much money he had. He'd never used to think about how, the further you got from the Hokage's Tower, how the houses looked less and less like ones you'd want to live in.

Now he thinks about it. He's thinks, as they all turn the corner to the only home he's ever known, that it might not be the sort place people are proud live in. And that's when it's not compared it to the Uchiha Compound, where he'd been so out of place, people had looked at him like he ought to be in a holding cell. Or Shikako's apartment, which is small, but so close to the tower that is might as well scream; 'someone important lives here!'

Screw it. Tenma doesn't need to think about this. They'll either be cool, or they won't. And if they aren't – Tenma ignores the pit that forms in his stomach – then they can screw off home and forget the whole thing.

It's a spiteful sort of resolve, congealing in his stomach like a living thing.

"This is it!" He pivots, waving his arms in a 'ta-da' kind of motion. Almost daring them to say something.

Of course, it's Shikako and Itachi, so they say nothing. Instead, there's just this look that says; 'I know what you're doing. You've done it before, and trust me, I wasn't all that impressed the first time either.'

Tenma rolls his eyes and ushers the mini-grumps towards the front door, so caught up himself that he almost misses it; the way that the light in the hall isn't shining out through a crack just above the door frame. You know, like is has since he was six.

Amateur.

He signs 'hold' without breaking his stride and his teammates freeze.

He opens the door and–

"–DIE!"

Azumi is strange, as far as the Izumo family goes, and not just because she speaks in exclamation marks.

Every other sibling held that it was their ancestral right to torment their immediately younger sibling, almost as a matter of course. Yuko stuck gum in Yui's hair. Yui had Tenma believing for years that their house was haunted by ghosts that exclusively ate annoying little brothers. And, just last week, Mako had given Rei a large box of crayons and just waited.

Azumi, on the other hand, had decided she'd much rather punch up than down, which had been met with… varying degrees of success.

Tenma sidesteps the practice sword, grabs the hand that's holding it and swings.

The downward cleave becomes a downward yelp as Tenma disarms and catches Azumi in a headlock.

"Say it!"

"Never!" Azumi's legs flail in the air, trying and failing to kick off the nearest wall.

Tenma clicks his tongue. "Oh, well then I guess I'll just have to take extreme measures." He cocks a fist back, watching her expression morph before he hits her with an–

"–EXTREME NOOGIE!"

The sound of thunder fails to materialise, which Tenma thinks is unfair. Still though, he soldiers on. Bravely. And with brotherly compassion.

"NoNONONO!" She shrieks as knuckles drag across her scalp. "I give! You win! YOU WIN!"

He pauses.

"…And?"

Azumi scowls up at him, a calculating look in her eyes:

PH=T

(P)ain of Extreme Noogie (H)umiliation In Defeat = (T)otal level of Defiance

Fraternal Mathematics.

"And," she says through gritted teeth. "You're better at Kenjutsu than me."

"And?" Says Tenma, who's really getting into the spirit of things now.

"And I'm a big stupid idiot who smells like butt!" she yells, in adherence to the traditional Izumo declaration of surrender. "Now let me go!"

Tenma grins, loosening his grip.

Azumi bolts away, clutching her head with one hand and levelling an accusing finger with the other. "YOU – I'm gonna –"

She stops, finally taking stock of the new arrivals, who'd followed him inside now that the 'fight' was over.

Her finger sweeps around like a loaded crossbow.

"Who're they?!"

Shikako starts like… well… not a deer. But… like an animal that acts like a deer but isn't one because they'd talked about that and deer are a Nara thing, which is weird because Nara don't have a monopoly on deer or anything but comparing someone to a deer is sort of like comparing them to a Nara and at that point Tenma's brain had thrown its hands up in the air and gone 'Fine. No deer. Enough. Please.'

Clan stuff is confusing, but he's trying, Okay?

"Um." Shikako says, before trailing off, her talent for conversation exhausted.

Valiantly – And handsomely. And probably with the wind in his hair a little even though he's inside – Tenma steps in.

"They're my teammates you little monster." He says, brushing himself off and feeling a lot better than he did before. Nothing like a bit of sibling violence to take your mind off stupid things that don't matter.

And that's the thing. It really doesn't matter. He's great. His family is great – even his psycho of a little sister – and anyone who thinks they can say otherwise just because the house they live in is a bit – okay, maybe a lot – run down isn't worth knowing.

Tenma's willing to bet that his team is worth knowing.

"Thank you for having us, Izumo-san." Says Itachi, who's defaulted to generic politeness in the face of the unfamiliar.

Azumi gives them both a look before turning back to him.

"But they're my age!"

Tenma shrugs. A year younger, actually.

"Yep."

He doesn't think about it. Not anymore. Can't really afford to. Not since the Genin test. Or that one time they beat him up when they were sparring. Or that other time…

Azumi gives them another look, more critical now, before concluding that:

"That's weird. You're weird."

"You're weird." Tenma shoots back, more out of habit than any actual malice. "Now where's Mum?"

"…Kitchen." Azumi answers, in the slow grudging tone of someone who wouldn't give you the time of day if you paid them for it. Then, she bolts up the stairs to her room and locks the door behind her.

Tenma smirks, satisfied. With any luck, he'd get another couple of days before her next attempt.

He turns back to his team, who only look mildly traumatized.

"So, like… welcome?"

-

-

-

Tenma's mother is chopping up vegetables when they arrive.

Nana Izumo is exactly the kind of woman somebody thinks of when they combine the terms 'single mother' and 'shinobi'. Her hair is short and neat, with just a hint of style to suggest that, despite everything, she's still as unflappable as ever. Her shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, showing off a few select scars with the casual confidence of someone who'd laugh and say, 'you should see the other guy.'

She doesn't turn.

"Oh good, you're here. Dinner's nearly ready, so you can start laying the table now please."

"M'kay." Tenma knows better than to take the word 'please' as a request.

He gives his father's shrine a quick nod as he leads his team towards the pile of set-aside cutlery.

"Nine places sweetie." Nana says, without turning. "Rei's in her room, by the way, if you two wanted to take Sasuke and Shikamaru on through. Straight down the hall, third door on your right."

Itachi and Shikako both give a small bow before turning on their heels. Nana technically shouldn't be able to see that, but then, both of them are fluent in the language of 'Mum' and can therefore spot the tell-tale signs the Mother/Shinobi hybrid in action; a formidable creature with the sort of domestic omniscience that could make a spymaster look on in admiration – and maybe offer her a job.

"So polite." She says, because Mum "Not like someone I know."

"Yea yea." Tenma waves a hand as he sets out place mats.

-

-

-

On reflection, Tenma considers, maybe he shouldn't have invited his friends over for dinner.

Still, he'd gotten them into this mess.

"Okay, so here are the house rules. Guests are served first, but you've got to let Mum do it so nobody claims interference. And you can't reach for seconds until after you've finished your firsts. But, the second anything leaves the plate? All bets are off."

Itachi and Shikako stare at him.

"So." Itachi says, choosing his words with great care – as if he's expecting them to hold up in court later. "What you're saying is, is that there shouldn't be an issue so long as we do not ask for seconds?"

Tenma laughs, inhaling the scent wafting through the halls.

"Sure."

-

-

-

The dinner table is a warzone.

The sound of cutlery and scraping plates tears through the air as food vanishes with industrial proficiently. Like they're getting paid by the mouthful.

Azumi eyes Tenma's plate jealousy.

He positions his fork so that the glint catches her eye.

Don't.

Yuko, his oldest sibling, takes about two seconds to acknowledge his teammates before immediately slotting them into the category of 'kids' and ignoring them completely. You know, because she's so mature.

Yui, who's only fifteen minutes younger than her, is a little nicer.

"They're so cute!" She squeals, fussing over a very uncomfortable Shikako. "And you've already graduated?" Yui's eyes bore into him. "If I hear you've been mean to them–

Somehow, this is worse.

The twins had both gone to a civilian school after demonstrating about as much interest in becoming a ninja as Tenma had in being anything but. And that was fine. Nobody'd made a big deal out of it, at least as far as Tenma knew. There were no heated arguments. No family schisms. They wanted to do other things and the family supported them. Simple as that.

But there is something.

Usually it isn't noticeable. Yuko would talk about being a waitress and about how there weren't any cute boys where she worked, while Yui waxed poetic about accounting and numbers being where they shouldn't be. Normal family stuff.

But then, you had moments like this, where something clicks for him and his mother, but not for them. They would hear 'Academy Graduate' and still see 'children'. Maybe, if they stretched themselves, they'd think about 'those kids' who help out around the Village. 'Raking leaves' and 'taking babysitting jobs on the cheap'. That kind of thing.

They didn't think 'Soldier'.

It's something like distance without space. Something that's grown slowly, by inches, until there's this gap that Tenma can't remember being there.

He doesn't like it.

A hand reaches out towards his plate and Tenma stabs a fork into the air beside it.

"That was a warning."

Azumi's hand shrinks back.

"You've got way more rice than me!"

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"I handed out the rice," Nana announces, arbiter of all things culinary. "and you all got the same amount."

Azumi pouts to zero effect.

Then, she turns with a gleam in her eyes.

"Hey, hey." She says, sidling over to Itachi, who looks like he's now regretting the seating arrangements. "You graduated the Academy, right?"

"I did." Itachi admits, correctly suspicious of this line of questioning.

Azumi leans in to whisper. But, because she's an Izumo, this just means that the neighbours might not hear.

"So, you can teach me some super cool move to beat him up, right?"

Slowly, Itachi looks to Tenma, to Nana, and then back to Azumi.

"I'm sure your academy instructor would know more than I do."

Tenma's expression doesn't change. He projects the same casual air of bored confidence he always has, even as, inwardly, his mind sags with relief. He's not sure what would've happened if Itachi had said yes, but he knows it would probably involve better ambushes. For a start.

Azumi's face falls. "But he's so boring!"

"Azumi!" Nana starts, sounding offended but in that way that means she's secretly amused.

"But he is!" Her head whips around the room for approval before landing back on Itachi. "You know Daikoku-sensei, right? He always talks–" her next words come out in a dull monotone "–like this."

Tenma chokes because, okay that was actually pretty funny.

Itachi puts a hand to his mouth and coughs. When the hand comes away his face is completely still.

"The resemblance is uncanny."

Shikako stares down at the floor, pointedly silent.

Tenma grins. They really are asking for it, you know? You can't put two people in front of him who are trying so desperately not to laugh – especially when it's because of something as stupid as 'manners' – and not expect him to do everything in his power to make them.

"Oh yeeea." He says, drawing out the syllable for maximum effect. "I remember him."

All heads turn.

"He always used to lean on the desk while he was talking. Like, he didn't want to stand up, but knew he wasn't allowed to sit down either."

Azumi cocks her head to one side. "He doesn't do that with us."

Tenma gins.

"I know."

His mother shoots him a bemused look that tells him that she had better actually find this funny or else.

Tenma clears his throat. Okay. Story time.

"So a bunch of us always used to play ninja-table-tennis during lunch break, yea? Only we needed a court and, well, Daikoku-sensei's desk was the right size, so why not?"

The room gives him a collective expression that says, 'I could think of a few reasons.'

"Only, one day we messed up. One of us–" Me "–goes a little too hard and one of the table legs just flies off. Crazy." He says, like some obscure form of witchcraft were to blame. "So we're all freaking out, but Tanaka's totally losing it because he thinks he's gonna get expelled and stuff. So I just grab him and go 'Get it together Tanaka! Get your–" He glances at Nana "–stuff together!'"

His mother nods in taciturn approval.

"So we're freaking out going 'what'rewegonnadowhat'rewegonnado!' And then I just ran and grabbed the table leg and tried to just tried to… slot it back in, yea? Only, it didn't really want to go back in so I had to sort of just wedge it."

"Oh no." Shikako whispers, enraptured.

"So then I look at everyone and I'm just like, 'let's just fade away guys. Just fade away.' And then, I swear, for the next ten minutes we must've been the best-behaved kids in Academy history."

It'd really freaked out some of the other teachers when they'd suddenly started offering to help carry their stuff.

"But anyway, class eventually starts and Daikoku-sensei walks in and just slams all his papers and stuff down on the desk."

It's when Itachi's eyes widen slightly that Tenma knows he has him. He's in the story now. He's Tenma; frozen, scared shitless and somehow having the time of his life because what if they got away with it?

But it doesn't move" Tenma breathes out a sigh of relief, falling into the moment. "We're clear. All we have to do it make it through class and nobody'd ever know, right?" He grins the sort of grin you'd find on things moving very quickly in the direction drowning men. Usually with a fin on top.

Azumi nearly vibrates out of her seat. She knows how his stories work. Most of them end with somebody screaming or chasing him down a hallway. Usually both. It's strange, Tenma thinks, how the two of them could go from fighting like feral cats one moment to thick as thieves the next. Probably a family thing. Or an Izumo family thing, at least.

"Only, then his feet get a little tired, yea? So he goes to lean on the table and –" Tenma mimes it out. He places a hand down before jolting his body sideways.

"THUD!"

Azumi screams laughter while Nana tries to quieten her down. Except, that doesn't really work on account of the hand she has over her mouth as she tries and fails to choke down her own laughter as it bubbles up through her throat.

Yuko and Yui don't bother with the pretention. This is a 'Tenma did something stupid' story; they like those. And, while the youngest of them aren't really old enough to understand the joke, they laugh too. Drunk on the atmosphere of the room.

Which just left…

Shikako is wheezing. Oh, she tries to get a hold of herself. She really does. But that's the thing, isn't it? The knowledge that she shouldn't be laughing only makes it worse. Right now, she thinks that it's her job – her one job – as a decent person, not to laugh and it's got her laughing so hard that she can't even breathe.

But.

Itachi is stone-faced. Oh, he looks amused, sure. But in that polite way that his clan had probably ground into him because actually laughing might come off as uncouth or something.

But. Just on the edge of his mouth there's – yes there! – the just the slightest twitch.

Tenma sidles up next to him, all casual like, and slings an arm around his shoulders.

Gonna get'cha.

"Y'know." He says, as if he were voicing an afterthought. "We might have still gotten away with too, if it weren't for one thing.

The room goes quiet.

"Everyone was laughing. Crying. People were shouting – the Hokage was there, he was like, 'how could someone do this?' – everyone was going nuts. But." Tenma lets his voice fall to a whisper. "You know what gave us away?"

"I…" Itachi shivered. "…couldn't imagine."

"The thing was that everybody – everybody – was freaking out. Everyone was screaming – Everyone was laughing – everyone was moving."

Itachi inhaled. Slowly and with great care.

"And then there's us. Statue kids."

Itachi makes a noise like there's something trapped in his throat.

"We're just staring at Daikoku-sensei like, 'Maybe if we don't move and we don't breathe – you know, like normal kids do – he'll know that everything's fine. Because we hadn't moved in two whole minutes.'"

"So he looks at us. Then he looks at the desk. Looks back at us. And says."

Tenma leans in.

"'Run' – SO WE RAN."

Itachi laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes.

-

-

Months fly by and Tenma can't remember the last time he felt this happy.

Mum's a little better now. Her smiles are a little brighter. A little more real than they used to be.

After his father died, things had been… losing him had been… 'bad' didn't really seem to cover it. And on top of losing the person, they'd also had to deal with losing the money he was bringing in – and then feeling like crap because you weren't supposed to think about money when it comes to stuff like that. Dad might've been riding a desk towards the end, but it'd been something and then it was gone.

But they'd done it. They'd pulled together like families were supposed to and they'd come out the other side.

Now, when Mum smiles as he gets a new kenjutsu just right, it isn't the sad kind that means she's looking at something else.

And his team? His team is amazing. Itachi and Shikako are ridiculous, and yea, Tenma knows he isn't as good as them. That those two are the kinds of people you end up writing songs about – who end up carved into the sides of mountains – but, maybe he isn't all that bad either, yea? He's good with a sword now. Really good, Not just some amateur with some showy moves. He could run through some of those forms in his sleep these days.

So, maybe after they all make Chunin – and they will, it's a promise – the two of them make it to Jōnin before him. So what? They aren't just teammates anymore. They won't just… drift apart like he did from his classmates at the academy. They're friends. He'll catch up and they'll wait for him with those 'I'm way too dignified to emotion' looks they've always wearing.

He's going to be bugging these dorks for the rest of his life.

And it all starts with an "A-Rank?"

No way. No freaking way.

Minazuki-sensei shoves his head back down into a bow and – OW! Okay, fine. Geeze.

"We are unworthy of this honour, Hokage-sama." Says Sensei, ducking his head so that only Tenma can see that bastard-smile that says, 'but yea, we totally are'.

"On the contrary." The Hokage rumbles. "I'd say you've more than earned this."

Sometimes it's difficult to think of this guy as the 'top ninja' in the village. To Tenma, he's always just sort of been 'That Old Dude who showed up at the Academy's opening ceremony', talking about stuff he didn't really understand in that tone of voice that made him want to take a nap.

Then, sometimes, he'd just sort of… look at you and you'd feel so…

Small.

The Hokage takes a pull from his pipe.

"It has always been tradition during peace-time that a visiting Daimyō be escorted from Konoha by the top ranking Genin graduates of that year." He breathes out smoke ring and Tenma watches it glide out across the room. "And I think I speak for the village when I say your team has proven itself to be nothing less than exemplary."

Tenma preens. Exemplary. Damn straight. But–"Wait, if this is an A-Rank, then how much are we getting paid?"

Sensei presses a hand to his face and groans.

Tenma rolls his eyes, and for once, it's not in a particularly carefree kind of way. It's in more of a 'fuck off', as eyerolls go.

"What? I really don't know." He looked around, daring somebody to say something. "Isn't this where we're supposed to ask questions about the mission?" Because yes, the money is important. He's poor. He can't just go around saying things like 'oh money, how droll, I believe we have a man for that.'

The Hokage's face doesn't even twitch. Then, softly, he laughs.

"You're quite right Izumo-kun." And there's something about how he says it… maybe the way he stresses the honorific. Like he's still a kid and so everyone should 'excuse' him because 'hey, that's how kids are.'

The Hokage nods and Sensei passes the scroll to him with a look that says, 'very soon we're going have a little talk about manners.'

Tenma unfurls the scroll without flourish, scanning the paper for–

"Ho-lee shiiiiit."

That was a lot of zeros.

Another groan from Sensei.

"Quite." The Hokage chuckles under his breath.

Sensei takes the scroll back and gives it a once over. Then, he rolls it up and slots it into a pouch on his leg.

"We'll be back in time for the Chūnin exams?"

The Hokage exhales, blowing another smoke ring out across the mission desk. This one is in the shape of a leaf.

"Oh, well in time, I should think. After all, we can't leave for Suna without our Star Genin now, can we?" And it's hard to be annoyed at someone when they talk about you like that.

Star Genin. Tenma plays the words over and over in his head, practically floating from the mission desk as they leave.

Damn straight.

-

-

-

"Leave me."

The agent is gone in less than a second and it's more out of habit than any legitimate suspicion that makes Danzō track which exit he uses.

Alone, Danzō Shimura has the look of a farmer who's just been told his livestock have organised a workers' collective. There is the definite suggestion that, deep underneath, he knows that this isn't actually happening. It cannot be happening because these sorts of things do not happen to him. Therefore, any contradictory evidence can be safely ignored because This. isn't. Happening.

Only, it had happened. And was still continuing to happen, without any care for what it was that Danzō wanted.

Fugaku Uchiha had found evidence of missing children. This was good. Poignant questions would've been asked later if he hadn't. And so, Hiruzen had been alerted at a time when Danzō' himself had, quite coincidentally, appeared with a case file full of his own 'suspicions'.

That'd been a neat trick. The two documents corroborated one another, bolstering credence to each. And if, for instance, Danzō's folder had quite a few extra names inside, then, well, that was only to be expected, wasn't it? He was a thorough man with the connections to follow up on a hunch.

He'd been placed perfectly to head the investigation into Orochimaru. Hiruzen was too close, anybody could see that. And the MPs weren't exactly equipped to go after a potential S-Class threat, were they? It made sense. He had the reputation. He had the experience. It made sense.

So it'd been something of a surprise when the Nara castoff had stormed in like it was his child that'd been taken and, suddenly, Fugaku was vocally backing him to head a specialised taskforce and Hiruzen had said yes.

That was where things began to go wrong.

Abruptly, the assaults upon Orochimaru's labs had slipped from Danzō's control. Root had been forced to move quickly in a desperate, rushed attempt to salvage the mission and they hadn't been fast enough.

The mission was an unqualified failure. Entire squads, tasked with planting evidence that fortified Danzō's claims, had been forced to abandon their missions. Some were even required to throw themselves upon Konoha blades, pretending loyalty to Orochimaru in order to maintain their cover.

Shikaku ran his taskforce like clockwork – everything that stood in his way was crushed between the gears of his operation. Even after the dust had settled, the gears kept turning as he turned his attention to all those extra names in Danzō's report. The ones Orochimaru didn't have the receipts for.

Shikaku called in the Military Police, or rather, more of them, and the entire force exploded into action. Orphanages, previously above reproach, were audited with surgical precision. The 'Adopted' were chased up, homes tracked down and not nearly enough of them contained children.

More Root operatives found themselves declaring loyalty to the Snake Sannin before dying to their own countrymen.

It is all unbelievably frustrating, not least because Danzō gave them the damn names which means that, from a certain point of view, he'd done this to himself.

There's something darkly amusing though, that his also seems to be his one saving grace.

He is above suspicion.

After all, he couldn't be behind it. Who's be stupid enough to take all those children and then provide notarised evidence of their disappearance?

Somebody with a ready-made scapegoat, is who. Somebody who'd expected near-total control over the investigation, is who.

And so Shikaku had become a problem. That much is clear. Where once, the man had been a mild inconvenience, he now pushes on like a bloodhound, closing in on Root's operations without even knowing it.

It will be the death of him.

Danzō waves a hand and 27 appears.

"Sir."

"Fetch 43. She has a mission."

43 arrives without fanfare, kneeling in wait as Danzō puts the finishing touches upon a scroll. He gives the ink a second-too-little to dry before running a thumb across [Burn]. Not enough to be too obvious, but just enough to do the job. Or, rather, in this case, to not.

He tosses her the scroll, which she catches without a word.

"Report to Training Room Beta. You are to spar until appropriate battle damage has been accrued. You will appear desperate and injured, but mobile enough to justify having made it as far as you have. You will dress in garb not usually found in Konoha. You will be in the Land of Rice within two days. You will gain the attention of a Konoha ANBU squad running recon there. You will present yourself as easy prey. You will be attacked. You will activate the self-destruct seal on the scroll I have given you. It will fail, much to your apparent surprise. You will die."

"Understood." And then she is gone with only the slightest flicker of hesitation.

Danzō pretends not to have seen it. He has bigger things to worry about.

When this is over, Orochimaru is going to be very, very upset with him.

-

-

Got you.

Shikaku is out the door so fast he almost knocks over of the Uchiha MP at his office door.

"Sir! I need you need to–"

"–bring it to Fugaku!" He calls back, and then he's gone.

Right, who does he need? His team, certainly. But more than that.

The Yamanaka flower shop is close by. His first stop then.

"Inoichi." The man looks up, pleasantly surprised until he catches the look in on his face.

"Shikaku?"

"I need you and Chōza ready for a mission."

Inoichi can't stop the surprise. "Really? It's been a while since we got the whole gang together. What's the occasion?"

Shikaku passes him a scroll sporting a malfunctioned self-destruct seal – lucky. They'd been so damn lucky. What's inside is so classified that it shouldn't even be out of the tower, let alone in the Yamanaka Flower Shop, no matter how clean he keeps the place.

"Shikaku?" This time the question holds a cautious tenor.

"I'm sanctioning this mission" Shikaku says, which is something he can technically do. The position of Jōnin commander, ANBU Commander and, more recently, head of the Internal Affairs Joint-Task-Force, means that there is very little he can do that won't be stamped and labelled as 'sanctioned.' Still, this is probably going to turn a few heads.

Let them turn.

Inoichi unrolls it and his eyes flare wide before darting back to Shikaku.

"You're sure?"

"It's listed as an 'Essential'. He'll either be there or we'll cripple whatever fledgling operation he has going on. If we're lucky, we might even find some of the... subjects."

"Right but–"

"We're going to need more than just us. I know." Shikaku's mind races, barely touching the ground as the beginnings of a plan came together. "I want Wolf's team for this one. Crane's too."

Inoichi gives him a look. You didn't talk about ANBU in public, and you especially didn't refer to specific designations.

Shikaku can't bring himself to care.

"You're rushing this."

"The mission is time sensitive."

"Shikaku."

"It could've been my daughter, Inoichi." Shikaku's voice has an edge to it now because gods, it nearly was. "If he'd been just a little more interested – a little less busy then she'd be…" He lets the sentence die on his tongue, trying not to complete the thought. Trying not to think about a world where Orochimaru spotted just how frighteningly clever his daughter was.

"It could've been any of them. Any of our children." Shikaku doesn't mention Ino by name. It would be a step too far and unnecessary besides that.

Inoichi grabs a key from behind the counter.

"Give me a minute to lock up. I'll grab Chōza while you track down Wolf and Crane."

Shikaku nods.

Orochimaru might be one of the most powerful shinobi to ever come out of Konoha, but this team will be something else entirely.

It's the kind of team you put together when you want to kill a Kage.

-

-

-

Orochimaru puts down his brush and steeples his fingers, frowning.

The characters across the page are slanted and unsteady, completely unlike the usual smooth, clean strokes he'd been expecting. It's distressing, to discover that he still lacks control over fine motor functions. He'd hoped a younger host would accommodate him more easily, but alas.

He knows it will only worsen with time. Initially, the body will adapt and tolerate the change, allowing him to regain proper functionality with enough practice. But then, after a time, and for no reason Orochimaru can fathom, it will begin to shut down. It goes against every prediction. Every calculation. In theory, he should be able to live out the host's entire lifespan, not be forced to switch after a few paltry years. It's a horrific drawback and one he'd completely failed to anticipate. He needs a solution and soon. The degradation of his first host had been upsetting enough as it was.

He'd nearly gone into a fit of rage and destroyed an entire lab when he'd discovered that he was no longer able to enter Sage Mode. Something about the discord between host body and soul had suddenly made the handling of natural chakra unhealthy in a very lethal manner of speaking. And then there's his chakra. He can only draw upon a fraction of the physical energy he once had and the boost in spiritual energy he'd been expecting from absorbing someone else's soul had completely failed to manifest.

So yes, while he might say that the Soul Transfer technique had been a victory, it's a pyrrhic one at best.

Also, he's dying.

Oh, it's incremental, to be sure. And he could theoretically transfer his soul between any number of bodies. But he's dying, all the same. All he'd really done was trade in the beginnings of old age for… this. It's almost as if the human body has some kind of soul based immune system, attacking foreign bodies in the same manner that white blood cells would savage a transplanted organ. And different bodies would reject him with different levels of intensity too, which seemed to imply that the body/soul relationship could exist within the same medical paradigm as blood types.

Really, it would all be so much more fascinating if it weren't happening to him.

His current body is that of a teenage girl he'd plucked from one of his labs. She'd been his best option, the only available host that seemed even remotely compatible when his then current host had suddenly stopped dying by inches and started dying by miles, triggering a fulminant shut-down of the body's vital functions.

Organ failure is a terrible thing to wake up to, take it from him.

He'd also had to train every host all over again, getting the new body up to some kind of standard, all the while knowing that it too would fall apart in at most half-a-decade.

It is in this state that he receives Kabuto's message.

Orochimaru reads it.

He reads it again.

He grabs a chair and throws it across the room.

That rancid old slip of dog piss. How dare he. How dare he. After everything I did for him.

Orochimaru is going to kill Danzō. Not today – not when he's just incurred such a significant debt. But someday. Someday when he thinks that all debts are paid, and everyone is friends again, Orochimaru is going to drive in the knife.

Danzō has leaked Orochimaru's current location.

This would be a minor annoyance in most situations. After all, he could just leave.

Except, he's currently staying at The Northern Lab.

Where Jūgo is.

Orochimaru has never been one for religion, but even he can't deny that Jūgo had been a godsend. Mental instability aside, the boy is an anchor for natural chakra, channelling it through a bloodline that somehow manages to filter and acclimate it to his own. Further testing however, confirmed that he could adapt to any foreign body of chakra including, and here's the important bit, spiritual chakra.

There might as well have been a ribbon attached for all that the boy had thrown himself at Orochimaru, so desperate for someone to protect the world from the big bad 'Monster Child.'

The base's labs were cleared out. All ongoing projects moved or placed on hiatus. A prison had even been constructed to fit young Jūgo's needs.

Now, months later, Orochimaru already has a prototype. A sort of… cursed seal that mimics the boy's bloodline. In theory, it could greatly reduce the strain placed upon a host, allowing him to considerably lengthen the time spent in a single body.

Except, it's not finished yet. His first test group in the Land of Sea had all gone mad or died within the hour. Well, aside from Anko, but that was only to be expected.

Her departure on the other hand, had very much not been.

It doesn't matter. What matters is that Orochimaru can't lose Jūgo. Not now. Not when he's so close.

Somehow, he imagines that the famous Ino-Shika- Cho – almost certainly accompanied an entire retinue of ANBU – will not be amenable to, say, coming back in a couple of months.

He throws another chair, and then the desk for good measure.

Then, the time for emotions is over and the entire base begins its evacuation process.

By some small miracle, Kimimaro is on-site, here to visit Jūgo. He'd been the one to scout him and the two seemed to have formed an odd sort of friendship. Useful, because right now Kimimaro is probably the only one who can approach him without being subject to a very spirited murder attempt.

"Take him to the Eastern Lab. There should be some empty containment cells. Feel free to make some if there are not."

"Of course, Orochimaru-sama" Kimimaro stifles a cough as he leaves the room. He'd been doing that for a few days now, come to think of it.

Orochimaru leaves his people with their orders and waits at its entrance.

He doesn't wait long.

As promised, he's surrounded by one of the most esteemed teams in Konoha's history. Not so esteemed as the Sannin, obviously, but oh, is that young Kakashi? How cute. And he's leading a squad of his own this time. Is it second time's the charm then? He recognises Crane too, although he's never had the pleasure of working with her. Until now, he supposes.

"Friends." He says, mainly just to see them bristle. "I'm so glad you're here. I happen to be in a very bad mood at the moment and was just looking for somebody to take it out on."

"Funny." Shikaku says, never losing his slouch as he takes a step forward. Orochimaru pretends not to notice the subtle hand gesture he sends Inoichi's way.

"I was about to say something similar."

-

-

-

So far, Team 2's journey to the Fire Capital had been pretty uneventful.

Although, there had been a great many cases of mistaken identity.

Every few hours, people with weapons would jump out at them from behind trees, take one look at the metal on their headbands, and then say things like, "Oh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"I've just got one of those faces." Tenma cackled as they dropped another group of men off at one of the bounty offices dotting the main roads.

His team groaned. It'd been the fifth time Tenma had made that joke.

He didn't care. The bounties alone were worth a C-Rank each and they were barely half-way there.

There were problems though.

For starters, they were travelling with civilians.

This meant that they'd had to stop constantly. The Daimyō's entourage needed to rest. The horses pulling the caravan would need to be watered and fed. Even the Daimyō himself would occasionally order the convoy to a halt, just so that he could get out of his carriage and pretend that he was somehow more tired than everyone else.

All in all, it was pretty boring as far as 'A-Ranks' go.

Minazuki-sensei keeps them busy. They train on the move. Chakra training. Kenjutsu Training. He even gets a chance to show off a few moves in front of one of the Daimyō's attendants and she ooh's and ahh's in all the right places.

She smiles at him and Tenma suddenly forgets how to talk, which had been weirdly nice.

Less nice is when Itachi and Shikako try to hire her on retainer. The jerks.

They're ambling up a stretch of road that looks exactly like the last stretch of road when Tenma sees him. A figure, off in the distance, standing in the middle of the road. No headband.

"Another one." He announces.

Itachi hums as if it were about that time anyway and that they might as well get it over with, while Shikako fails to even look up from her notebook.

"Fair dues though, at least this dude's got some style."

"Really?" Says Shikako, who still doesn't look up.

"Well, yea. I mean red clouds on a black cloak does look kind of cool."

There is the sound of a notebook falling to the ground.

The orange mask is a nice touch too.

-

-

-

Chapter Text

-

-

-

He doesn’t forget. Not exactly.

It’s just…

There are some moments that are more memory than experience; happening so fast that you can only understand them in retrospect. With those moments, all you really have is a before and an after. Despite thinking that there must be, there is no in-between.

Before. The Man in the Orange Mask; far enough from Tenma that he can barely make out the bright red clouds adorning his cloak.

After. Right in front of him, a blade slashing upwards.

Tenma looks down.

There is. A lot of blood.

A lot of his blood, to be specific.

Huh.

Somebody screams, but the sound feels distant, as if heard from miles away. So faint that Tenma can barely hear it.

“Who…” Tenma manages before something like bile rises up and catches in his throat.

“I could tell you.” Says the figure. Even beneath the mask, his voice is rich and clear. “But let’s not trouble you during your final moments.”

Tenma sways.

The ground rushes up to meet him.

-

-

-

Chapter Text

-

-

-

Almost from the beginning, Shikako had relied on pessimism as a survival tactic.

To expect the worst.

To plan for the worst

It was necessary. And pragmatic. And, on some days, it was the only way to cope.

And.

Somehow.

She hadn’t been pessimistic enough.

Tenma’s body hits the ground and the world explodes into motion.

Madara.

Minazuki-sensei appears like a bat out of hell, commanding the earth itself to spear up from the ground. It impales the figure where he stands.

Madara.

Unharmed, he phases through the earth-spike, emerging with an almost casual gait to his step, casting blood from his blade.

Madara.

A storm of metal passes through him. Kunai, shuriken and a plethora of other ninja-tools, cast by the Daimyō’s entourage; who now look a lot less like civilian aides and a lot more like ANBU.

Because of course they do.

Team 2 had never been anything more than an honour guard. A status symbol for the Daimyō. A boast of strength from Konoha. An effective, if somewhat blatant, act of propaganda. All done while the Daimyō’s real bodyguards masqueraded as his own attendants. 

But then, Shikako had already suspected as much.

The briefest glimpse of a chakra signature, simmering with the tell-tale signs of suppression. The way some occasionally forgot to make sound as they moved, like her parents did. Lots of little things adding up to something bigger.

She’d found it comforting, in a way. An ace up their sleeve in case things got dicey.

Except none of that matters and they’re all going to die because it’shimit’shimit’shimit’sHIM

Shikako stands, frozen in place as the first ANBU crumples to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

She’s seen this scene before. In her worst, most desperate nightmares, where she stands, paralysed as people drop dead all around her. Only, this time it’s actually happening. She’s wide awake and the monster has followed from the dream.

She wants to cry. Or laugh. Or maybe even both because what the fuck?

An ANBU appears in front of them–Them? Right. Yes. Itachi. Beside her with bright red eyes. So. This is how it happens–carrying Tenma’s body. Blood, oozes and sputters from the single wound that has been carved diagonally up and across his chest, neck and face. His clothes, usually a baggy assortment of greys and greens, have been bathed in red. One of his eyes is so masked in blood that Shikako can’t even make out the damage.

The ANBU lowers him to the ground as the sound of fighting drifts away from their position. Her mask resembles a rat. 

“Do either of you know Medical Ninjutsu?” Rat asks as two more ANBU form a guard around them.

Itachi shakes his head. So does Shikako.

The Nara Clan has more than a few connections within Konoha General. Often enough, strings are pulled to get the odd Nara Genin into a class that would be otherwise unavailable, even if it’s only to tell them that they’ll never be more than a glorified first-aider.

Shikako isn’t a Nara. All she has are the few academy run first-aid classes she’s been given. Which, right now, feels a lot like nothing.

Rat clicks her tongue, disappointed, before banishing them from her attention.

Everything about her carries an air of efficiency to it. The way she doesn’t so much as twitch at the sound of clashing metal. The steadiness in her hands as they turn a luminescent green, making their way along the gash running up Tenma’s chest, neck and face.

Tenma chokes out a mouthful of blood, gasping down air in deep, retched, movements. 

Alive. He’s alivehe’salivehe’salive. Breathing, even. But the wound is so deep and he’s losing so, so much blood.

Rat seems to concur.

“Airway is clear.” Tenma releases another involuntary, hacking cough, spattering blood onto Rat’s mask, before gasping in another breath of air.“-ish” Rat amends. Her voice does not so much as tremble as a body flies past them, pulverising itself against a nearby tree with a sickening crunch. “Attempting to staunch the bleeding.”

Shikako doesn’t measure the time they have in seconds or minutes. Instead, she finds herself counting bodies.

Again.

Number Three. Cut in half at the waist.

Blood rapidly dries and hardens, sealing the wound across Tenma’s torso. His breathing is noticeably shallower now.

Four.  A fire jutsu, burning so hot that he’s more ash than flesh by the time he hits the ground.

“I can –” Itachi’s hand glow’s green.

“Don’t.” Rat’s voice is harsh and sharp, even as her focus remains entirely on Tenma. “I’ve seen Uchiha try to copy medical jutsu before. It doesn’t work.”

Itachi doesn’t step back, the glow in his hand pulsing bright.

Five. A snapped neck.

“If there’s anything I can-” 

“-The problem,” Rat cuts him off, her eyes still solely focused on the patient. “Is that all you have is the technique. What you lack is the extensive medical knowledge needed to use it without killing someone.” Her voice is steady and smooth, but something about it strikes Shikako as just so very weary.

How many Uchiha has she seen? Confident in a copied medical-jutsu, right up until a ‘quick patch job’ becomes a ‘clotted blood vessel’ or a ‘major infection’.

The green light in Itachi’s hand flickers and dies. He takes a step back, standing straight and silent. At attention. Perfectly still. Ready and waiting for orders like a perfect model soldier.

Does he even notice the tears as they streak his face? 

Somebody should.

Even here.

Even now.

Shikako slips a hand into his.

He squeezes it. Hard.

She squeezes back as, together–useless, but together–the two of them stand. Clutching at each other as the battle rages around them. A battle so beyond their abilities that any attempt to help would be at best, useless, and at worst, to the active detriment of their protectors.

Not, Shikako knows, that it’ll matter either way.

Six. A Kunai through the eye. 

Minazuki-sensei erupts from the ground next to them. His clothes are dirt crusted and torn. His eyes fix upon Tenma, then Rat.

“Condition?”

Rat doesn’t look up. “Punctured lung. Sliced up ribcage. Nicked eyelid. Internal and external bleeding. Missed the heart by a hair’s breadth.”

Sensei looks at Tenma’s wound and Shikako has to remind herself that the murder burning in his eyes isn’t for her.                                                                                              

“It doesn’t look like he missed.”

Rat grunts. “Your Genin has dextrocardia.”

What?

“What?”

“His heart’s pointing to his right side instead of his left. Rare. Probably just saved his life.”

Another wet, choking sound erupts from Tenma’s throat.

“For now,” she amends.

“Is he stable?”

“No. But this is as close as he’s going to get outside of an ICU.”

Minazuki-sensei nods, then snaps around to Shikako and Itachi, acknowledging them for the first time.

“Get him back to Konoha. We’ll cover you.” He places a hand on each of their shoulders, gripping like a vice. “No questions. No time. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Don’t wait for me or anyone else to catch up. Just run.”

“What abo–” “How are–” Shikako and Itachi begin in unison, but Sensei cuts them both off with a series of hand-signs.

A wall of earth erupts between them and a Grand Fireball.

Light bursts and flares along the wall’s edge as Minazuki-sensei turns, silhouetted by the blaze. His face is hard, like stone; carved into an expression of grim determination.

“I said run.”

They run.

Shikako grabs Tenma and, to her surprise, finds that she can lift him. His weight offset by the cocktail of chakra and adrenaline coursing through her body. What he is though, is large–or at least, larger than her. It makes him unwieldy in a way that causes every movement to feel awkward and jutted. It makes her acutely aware that the slightest mistake could re-open his wound, killing him then and there.  

Behind her, she can hear the clash of metal-on-metal. Closer and closer until.

It’s.

Clang.

Right.

Clang.

Behind her

Itachi is at her back. Moving in and out of Shikako’s peripheral vision. He’s carries Tenma’s sword. Unsheathed.

Clang-Clang; two more sounds in rapid succession and then-

“WHERE ARE YOU LOOKING!?” Sensei’s voice rings out across the clearing. Primal and furious in a way that seems to shake the air itself.

The sound of clashing metal stops.

And then they’re gone. Into the forest and too far away to hear anything but the general, indistinct maelstrom of combat.

They keep running.

-

-

-

And Running.

-

-

-

And Running.

-

-

-

And-

-

-

-

Chapter Text

It starts with a girl who’s different.

Children don’t really ‘do’ different. They single it out, like sharks scenting blood.

The girl’s skin, just few shades too brown, more than qualifies.

She’s ‘The girl with the weird tan’, placed into the same category as ‘The boy who wets the bed whenever there’s a storm’ and ‘The girl who looks at her snot for too long after blowing her nose’.

And.

For a while.

That is pretty much that.

Not fun–definitely not fun. But also not unusual, as far as large groups of children go. They’re all too young to understand politics, geography, or what the colour of her skin has to do with either.

-

-

-

Then, one day, somebody figures out that people who look like her only come from Kumo and things go from tolerable to not.

‘Weird’ is one thing.

‘Foreign,’ is something else entirely.  

It doesn’t matter that they’re also lots of people with pale skin living in Kumo. It doesn’t matter that she’s never even been to Kumo. All that matters is that she isn’t one of them.

Things escalate. Fists are thrown and noses are bloodied. First hers, then others’.

She learns not to let people touch her when she can help it. To create a sphere of personal space, then punish people for entering it. Gossip and Pranks are treated as acts of war; responded to with swift and dipropionate retribution. Some girl douses her bedsheets in apple juice to made it look like she wet the bed? She dunks her head in a toilet and flushes. Some boy wants to spread rumours about her mother being a spy? She knocks a tooth out.

She finds that violence, contrary to popular belief, solves an awful lot of problems. 

Someone finally caves. A member of staff she doesn’t recognise–this place has a guidance councillor? Since when?–accompanies her inside an office that smells like a chemical pretending to be jasmine. There are sweets on his desk, but even from a distance she can tell they’re the hard kind that only out of touch adults think children like.

There, he tells her who her who her parents were:

Merchants, caught up in a skirmish. The girl, barely six months old, had been too young to join her parents under the unfortunate heading of ‘witness,’ so nobody had bothered killing her. She'd been left, helpless, but alive.

And then Konoha had found her.

None of this is particularly special or unique. There are at least fourteen other kids in her orphanage alone with the exact same story; ‘Bandit Babies,’ people call them.   

Only, while her father had been “Solid, Fire-Country stock,” as he’d put it, her mother had been from Kumo. 

The girl takes all of this in.

She laughs.

So, not even a proper foreigner then. Something stuck in between. Too Konoha for Kumo. Too Kumo for Konoha. Do they think this will… what? pacify her? That her father, a man she cannot even remember, being born here makes here feel any less alien? That others will let her feel any less alien?

“Konoha is the good village.”

“Konoha protects its own.”

“Even the civilians.”

“Konoha defends 'The People.'”

Except, for Konoha, what ‘The People' really means is ‘People from Konoha.’ And, while a ‘half' might not be considered worthless, she is unquestionably worth less.

-

-

-

She never tells anyone who her parents were.

It still gets out. Somehow. Funny how that works.  

The fighting escalates.

Somehow, her being a ‘half’ is worse. All of the fear, all of the respect she’d earned? Gone. They think this new fact makes her vulnerable. That it makes her weak.

They’re wrong. 

-

-

-

Things reach a crescendo.

A boy, two years her senior, pins her to the grounds and smears mud across her face. “There,” he says, lips curled. “Now you look like a proper Kumo.”

Something inside her snaps.

Something inside the boy snaps too.

Then another thing.

And another.

Over and over again until she’s dragged away from his screaming body. 

-

-

- 

They tell her she’s no longer welcome at the orphanage. That her disruptive and violent behaviour has made the situation untenable. That other children don’t deserve to live in fear of what she’ll do next.

She listens to the words, nodding along. She doesn’t contradict this story of theirs–what would be the point?  

But, as much as they’d like to, they can’t entirely wash their hands of her.

She’s already enrolled in the academy, which makes her a sunk cost. An investment. And Konoha always looks after its investments.

-

-

-

She’s moved into her own apartment with a Genin who has agreed to sublet a room in exchange for a reduction in rent.

Introductions are simple. Her flatmate is a girl in her late teens who’s all smiles until the door closes and they’re alone.

“Rules.” She says with a flat, stone-like expression. “You stay out of my way. I stay out of your way. You clean up after yourself. I clean up after myself. You make yourself scarce when my boyfriend’s around. I don’t kick you out for bothering me when my boyfriend’s around. Trash goes out on Tuesdays. General waste is this week. Recyclables are next week with it going back and forth. You take out general, I take out recyclable. You got all that?”

She shrugs. “Sure.”

“Great. Keep to those rules–don’t fuck with me–and I don’t see any reason for us to ever speak again.”

Aside from having to buy a pair of earplugs–gross–she’s got to admit, this girl? Perfect flatmate.

-

-

-

She graduates in the top thirty percent of her class.

She is assigned a Jōnin sensei along with two teammates–a Hyūga and some other boy she barely recognises from class.

She’s heard the stories about Genin teams. About how they’re like a second family. About how, even after you make Chūnin and split off from one another, your Genin team never really breaks up.

-

-

-

Gods, she hopes that isn’t true.

-

-

-

If there’s any consolation to this, then it has to be Shinji.

Gone is the team's golden child with his ‘latent talent’ and ‘fine chakra control’. Now, he finds himself front and centre among the rest of Team 4’s ‘disappointments.’

“-unbelievable. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been forced to see it for myself. To not notice your own genjutsu being disrupted. Have I taught you nothing at-”

Shinji wilts. Of all of them, he’s the least used to this; to the constant, endless parade of criticism. He’d always been the ‘good one’. Not the ‘Branch Hyūga’ or ‘The Half-Caste Girl’. He’d been the one with ‘potential’. With ‘Promise’.

Except. Not anymore.

“Clearly I’ve been overestimating you.”

Yūhi-sensei pivots, always ready to turn a specific condemnation into one that the whole team can enjoy.

“All of you. To have lost to Fresh Graduates-”

Never mind that they weren’t really fresh graduates, or that Team 2 is apparently stacked with Konoha’s newest up-and-comers. No, it has to be their fault.

He paces up and down the length of the room–even though a nurse has already politely asked him to take a seat–repeating the same set of points over and over.

How could they have lost?

He can’t believe their incompetence.

They deserve the Genin corps for this.

And other variations on a theme.

Eventually, Shinji and Kaneto make their respective escapes. They fire off excuses like ‘Clan matters’ and ‘Training’ and- hey, don’t get her wrong. It’s Sensei, she gets it. But leaving her alone in a room with him? Bad form.

Yūhi-sensei doesn’t miss a beat as he turns his newly undivided attention on her.

What was she thinking? Was she thinking at all?

Does she know how embarrassing it was? For him?

Perhaps he should’ve just failed their final Genin exam. At least then-

-Then. She just. Stops listening.

And.

He doesn’t even notice.

Because... because of course he doesn’t. He’s not really speaking for her benefit. It’s just him, listening to the sound of his own voice.

How had she not seen that?

“Naoko Nakamura?”

She looks up.

“That’s me.”

In front of her is a gangly medical student who can’t possibly be any older than she is. He adjusts an ill-fitting pair of glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose for what must be the hundredth time today.

“We’re ready for you now.”

Yūhi-sensei straightens. Holding his full height over her–something he knows makes her uncomfortable.

“I trust you don’t need me to hold your hand for this?”

Since when have you held my hand for anything?

She smiles like a knife.

“I’m sure I’ll manage without you Sensei,” she says, meaning every word of it.

Chapter Text

-

-

-

It’s not even a week before opportunity strikes.

Naoko holds the object in her hand as if might catch fire at any moment. It’s a get-well-soon card. Konoha made. You can tell because of the… well.

‘Sorry I broke your wrist!’, it reads, accompanied by a cutesy illustration of a stock ninja with his hands pressed together in supplication.

Naoko raises an eyebrow; trying to decide if the card is in poor taste, or if maybe she just isn’t ‘Konoha’ enough to appreciate it.

She glances up from the card at a teenaged boy, somewhere between one and two years younger than her. His hair is a shaggy mess of dark grey, jutting and spiking its way around a Konoha Hitai-ate. He’s fidgeting with his hands; like he’ll explode with pent up nervous energy if he doesn’t let some of it out.

It almost feels staged. For her to come to some big, life altering decision and then have an opportunity like this just… fall into her lap? Naoko doesn’t really go in for things like ‘fate’ or ‘divine providence’, but this is…

‘Too good to pass up’, is what this is.

 “You really want to make it up to me?”

“I mean, yea. Sure. I diiiid…” he draws out the word, making a chopping motion against his wrist as Naoko wanders how the hell miming it is supposed to be any better. “…Y’know?” 

To his credit, Tenma looks legitimately eager to follow through, if a little dumbfounded at the same time. Almost as if he were expecting her to just take the card and wave him off.

Too bad for him.

“I want to learn kenjutsu. Can you teach me?”

“Huh?”

“I said-

-

-

-

-Tenma throws her a wooden sword in an unused training ground. Through some strange, unspoken agreement, neither of them meet at the ones assigned to their teams.

Beginners’ Kata are… frustrating. Most of it is easy, almost to the point of being trivial. But then, out of nowhere, she’ll get stuck on the smallest thing and have no idea why.  

“-no-no, your swing is good. It’s just that you’ve got to step with the strike. Put your whole body into-yea! You got it! Okay, so next you want to take all of that and put it into one smooth mot-”

He’s… a better Sensei than the one she already has.

Which is just. Kind of sad, really.

-

-

-

It isn’t so much that Naoko forgets to tell her teammates, or her sensei, what she’s doing.

They meet.

They train.

Their Sensei berates them.

She leaves.

It’s just that she’s definitely, absolutely hiding it.

-

-

-

“You can use healing jutsu?”

Naoko grimaces.

 “Not well,” she admits. “But it’s a lot easier to use on yourself.” Which is the tactful way of saying she can only use healing jutsu on herself. 

Tenma smiles, encouraging. “Hey, you’re better than me anyway.”

Shut up. ‘Better than nothing’ is not an achievement. 

Naoko takes a breath, forcing herself not to snap at someone she needs right now.

He doesn’t know. It’s fine. I didn’t tell him so he doesn’t know and it’s fine.  

“Actually…” Tenma cocks his head to one side. Oblivious. “You might have my whole team beat. I don’t think any of us know about heal– hey are you healing your hands?”

Naoko blinks, knocked off kilter by the sudden change of topic. She glances down at her hands, which are currently aglow.

“…Yes?”

There is a moment. A beat of silence before, very slowly, Tenma raises his right palm and forcefully unites it with his own face.

“Show… show me your hands.”

Naoko frowns.

“Please,” he adds, belatedly.

She does.

He snatches at them and Naoko has to physically stop herself from yanking them back as he runs a finger along one of her palms.

It’s fine. This is important. It’s fine.  

“You’ve been healing them every time we train, haven’t you?” Tenma asks, his voice holding a quiet intensity.

Naoko nods. Why wouldn’t she?

Tenma breaths in. Then, he lets out a slow, deliberate breath.

“I am just. So dumb!” He burst out. “I’ve had them in my pack for over a month thinking ‘This’ll be the day I need them’ -but I never do! Why would I when you’ve been healing your hands?! Ugh. Just. So dumb.” He shakes his head.

What is he talking about?

“What are you talking about?”

She’s done something wrong, hasn’t she? If she’s done something wrong then he needs to call her on it, not do that weird thing he does where he acts like it’s his fault and not hers whenever something goes wrong even though she keeps screwing up the stupidest, simplest things and-

Slowly, a grin spreads its’ way across Tenma’s face. It’s the kind of grin that Naoko supposes should be called infectious. But then, so is the flu.

“You kind of weren’t supposed to heal your hands.”

What? “What?” That’s stupid. She might not be good at medical ninjutsu, but even she can heal basic friction burns; the kind you get from practicing with a wooden sword for hours on end. What, was she supposed to not do that?

Apparently?

Yes.

Yes she was.

“You have to let your hands blister and heal naturally so you’ll get calluses,” he explains. “That way you don’t get blisters anymore.” He turns his palms up at her. “Check it. Feel my hands.”

Naoko grits her teeth. She doesn’t like touching people, or people touching her. Training is one thing; that’s work. But this is…

Still training, in a way, she tells herself. She takes his hands and-

“Oh, That’s…”

Really weird.

Slowly, she runs a thumb along his palm, feeling the difference in texture. Some parts, smooth and soft, like a child’s hands. Others though, are rough and dry, almost like leather.

“You have old man hands,” she says, before she can even think to stop the words coming out of her mouth.

“Oh, thanks.” He says, mock offended as he bumps her shoulder with his–she does not flinch. She doesn’t. “You’re gonna get old man hands too, y’know?”

Naoko stares down at her hands; the skin has already turned to an enflamed, redder colour than the rest of her. An uncomfortable heat pulses through her palms.

She could do with some old man hands right now. 

“So… what? How does this work? Don’t tell me I just let them blister over?” Because that would suck. And also make it a lot more difficult to hide what she’s doing from her team.  

“Well, yea. But you don’t just- okay, look.” Tenma deposits himself on the ground, gesturing for Naoko to join.

She does. The grass is itchy.

“Thing is.” Tenma explains, fishing through a pack attached to his waist.  “Nobody in my family really went in for whole med-nin… thing. Y’know?” He finds what he’s looking for; A set of bandages and a small container. It’s filled with a translucent, gel-like substance. “So it’s not, like, something I really thought about? Hands again, please,” he says, remembering to add the ‘please’, a little faster this time. 

Naoko hesitates for a fraction of a second before complying. Tenma doesn’t seem to notice.

“What we have got though,” he continues, dabbing the gel onto the centre of her palm. “Is this stuff.” Starting from the centre, he moves outwards, creating a thin lather along the inside of Naoko’s hand. The gel is cool to the touch. Which is good, because the temperature seems like it’s picking up. Even though it’s autumn. And the sun starting to set.

“And- look. I know that’s not an excuse. It’s just… I’m learning too, yea?”

“Tenma.”

He looks up. His face is very close to hers.

You’re younger than I am and this is your first time teaching. And you’re a Genin. You’re doing fine. You didn’t actually break my wrist. The hospital fixed me up in less than an hour. I just never corrected you because that made it easier to pressure you into helping me. I need someone to teach me who isn’t Yūhi-sensei and I can’t explain why I need a Sensei that isn’t my Sensei because I don’t know how to do that without sounding like a whining loser. 

“I think you can let go of my hands now.”

Tenma looks down. At some point, his hands had gone from applying the gel, to just. There. He snatches his hands away, embarrassed.

 “Ah-um. Haha, uh, sorry! Kinda zoned out there. Didn’t mean to-” He flounders, waving his hands around, as if to disperse embarrassment the same way others might wave off smoke.

It’s strange. Usually, embarrassment comes as naturally to Tenma as altruism might to a cat. She’s not sure it’s a good look for him.

Naoko ducks her head as she stands.

“It’s fine.”

-

-

-

Her team doesn’t notice the bandages on her hands.

Her sensei doesn’t care.

-

-

-

The first thing Naoko notices about Nana Izumo is the way she holds herself.

Shoulders back. Back arched. Feet squared. Dozens of other little details that, combined, make a person seem bigger than they actually are.

Poise, Naoko thinks, the word coming to her. She’s got poise.  

“My son is on a C-Rank.”

This is not unusual. Last minute missions happen, even to Genin.

What is unusual is that he didn’t tell her.

But, whatever.

“That’s fine. We can meet up another…” Naoko trails off as Nana draws a practice sword.

“Show me what you can do.”

-

-

-

Sparring with Nana Izumo is humbling, in a visceral ‘can’t muster the strength to stand’ sort of way.

Naoko collapses, sprawling out and onto the ground. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Every breath is a desperate gasp for air. All muscles are on strike until further notice and her hair, matted with sweat, clings uncomfortably to her skin.

So why is she smiling?

“Not bad.” Nana announces. “Not great, but not bad either.”

It’s faint praise, but from her, it feels anything but damning.

“Still. I’m afraid Tenma’s a little young for a student.”

Naoko bolts upright. Or, she tries to, wincing as her body screams in protest.

Nana can’t – She can. She’s about to –take this from her. This one thing that might be going somewhere. One thing that isn’t a lifetime stuck in the Genin corps or however long it is they’d let her intern at Konoha General before kicking her out because she doesn’t have the control to be a med-nin

“I-

Nana cuts her off.

“You’ll be joining our family’s training sessions.” What?  “Now, I won’t be able to give you my full attention.” No, seriously. What? “Tenma and Aiko are still learning and I’ll be starting Rei on a few of my morning exercises after her birthday so we won’t exactly be spoilt for free time.” She's serious. This is happening. This is actually, really happening. “But, if this is acceptable to you, then-”

“Yes!” Naoko scrambles to her feet, eyes wide. This is-this is more that she could have ever-

She winces, not just because of the aches and pains but because she’s embarrassing herself. In front of her new sensei-who-isn’t-technically-her-sensei-even-if-that’s-exactly-how-she's-going-to-think-about-it.

Her ‘Secret Sensei.’

Which. By the way. So cool.

Except, right now, she needs to focus on giving the exact opposite impression she’s given every adult ever. Polite. Respectful. Generally just… not snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

“I mean-Yes. That sounds acceptable. I would be honoured if-” She cuts herself off. Wow. Smooth.

She forces herself to breath in, then out.

“I would be honoured.”

“Good.” Nana says, without inflection.

Naoko lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.   

“But first you’re going to tell me why your Jōnin-sensei has no idea that you’re here.”

Oh.

“And, in fact, why he is instead under the distinct impression that you are currently interning at Konoha General.”

Shit.

-

-

-

“So, how’d she do?”

There is a short, wry laugh.

“Fine. She did fine.”

-

-

-

Nana Izumo might just be Naoko’s dream Sensei.

She’s patient and she’s always ready to explain things when Naoko asks and she never gets angry when she doesn’t understand something right away.

Which isn’t to say that it’s easy.

Basic drills become complicated, limb twisting acrobatic movements. Exercises become in-depth lessons on the sword she’s using, how she uses it, and how she wants to incorporate it into her existing range of techniques. 

Not, she explains, that she really has much in the way of existing techniques.  

“No-no-no” Tenma interrupts, radiating energy like a reactor in meltdown. “She totally does – you totally do.” He bounces on the balls of his feet as he speaks in rapid-fire. “Remember that thing you did with those clones? So cool. You know, how you seemed to phase in and out of, like, six of them at the same time? Awesome.”

Naoko’s mood drops like a stone.

“It’s nothing.”

“Show me,” Izumo-sensei interrupts, her eyes narrowed.

Naoko shoots Tenma a look that, to her great disappointment, fails to set him on fire, before trudging forward.

Ram–Snake–Tiger.

“Clone-Jutsu.”

It’s… just academy stuff. A trick on something she’d learnt when she was ten that lets her move through her own clones without dispersing them. Anyone could do it if they put their mind to it. It’s just that most people have better things to do than run through stuff they learnt before they were allowed to do D-Ranks.

Or not.

Izumo-sensei nods. Her face is still stern, but there is a glint of… something in her eyes that makes Naoko stand just a little bit straighter. 

“You’re syncing your chakra with your clones as you pass through them. That’s why they aren’t dispelling,” she explains. “Think of it like a soap bubble; if your hands are dry when you touch it, then the bubble pops. But, if they’re soapy too, then the hands pass right through. Same principle. Broadly speaking.”

Tenma nods along, in a sagely ‘yes, yes it’s all quite simple really,’ sort of way.

Naoko stares at Nana-sensei, trying to find the lie. The joke. The, ‘Just kidding! You’re worthless and you always will be!’

“You’re saying it’s impressive?”

“It’s the kind of thing that requires a combination of skill, patience and control to master.” Izumo-sensei answers. The corner of her mouth twitches upwards. “So yes. It’s impressive. I’m impressed.”

Naoko almost smiles before a familiar voice cuts in from the back of her mind.

No, it’s not. It’s nothing. Something that wouldn’t even merit a footnote in another shinobi. Only notable for her because of how utterly lacking she is.

Naoko stares at the ground. Contemplative.

“Yūhi-sensei said it was just a ‘base trick’.”

She waits. A part of her sure that, now she’s said it, reality is about to snap back into place and Izumo-sensei will go, ‘Oh of course it is, I just meant that it was impressive for you.’  

Izumo-sensei takes a long, deep breath.

“For the record, here are a list of things I care about more than Shinku Yūhi’s opinion: The plot of my daughter’s school play. Men who think I ‘should smile more’. People who think I wear too much makeup. People who’re rude to waiters. People who think I don’t wear enough makeup. Literally any book that includes the words, ‘sighed sadly’. Everything under the sun. Everything under the moon. Everything that exists, Naoko, I care about more than Shinku Yūhi’s opinion.”

Naoko doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands with her jaw on the floor.

“Wait! I remember that play!” Tenma cackles. “She played a tree!”

Naoko lets out a startled snort of a laugh that is quite possibly the most unattractive noise she has ever made in her entire life.

Izumo-sensei clasps a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch.

“Trust me. You’re doing fine.”

-

-

-

Of course, it can’t last.

Her dressing down is not a private affair. Yūhi-sensei waits until the whole team is present before turning on her. 

“-and so not only do I find out that you’ve been ignoring your medical training-”

Naoko stares at the ground, willing herself calm. This man stands between her and a promotion away from him. She will not snap. She won’t. She’s not that little orphan girl. Not anymore. She is composed.

Naoko shoots a glance at her teammates.

Shinji is pulling his face into a smirk that looks like it should be on some kind of list. He’d taken a hit, losing to the shadow girl, but he’d apparently weaselled his way back into Sensei’s good graces while Naoko wasn’t paying attention. Unsurprising.

Kaneto, at the very least, isn’t playing along. He’s staring off into the distance, pointedly ignoring the whole affair. He and Naoko have never been close, but there’s a mutual respect in a shared goal – even if that goal is getting the hell out of this team as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

 “-but I also have to hear that you’ve decided to spend this newfound free time of yours with Team 2’s token disappointment.” 

Her head snaps up. A reaction–a mistake.

And Yūhi-sensei sees it. Knows that he’s struck paydirt. 

“Not that I should be surprised. ‘Birds of a feather,’ and all that.”

One the one hand, it’s a relief. He doesn’t know. Or knows only a small part of the truth.

On the other hand, how dare he? He doesn’t get to talk about her friend like that. Nobody talks about her friend like that, but especially not him.

“Tell me Naoko, is there any actual point to me teaching you?”

It is. Such. An excellent question.

She looks down again, her mouth remaining firmly shut.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question. Answer.” And it’s the snap in his voice that does it. Like he’s trying to teach a dog what ‘sit’ means. 

Naoko takes a breath, then, slowly lets it out.

She tilts her chin up, looks him square in the eyes and says, “I don’t know Sensei. Perhaps you should try teaching me something.”

Because when had he actually taught her anything? He’d foisted her off on the hospital at the first opportunity he’d gotten. From there, it’d been drills and sparring sessions, where she’d been tacitly but firmly reminded that ‘med-nin avoided combat whenever possible’.  An excuse not to teach her beyond the bare minimum.

Silence descends upon them. Nobody had been speaking, before, but that was simply an absence of sound.

This? This has weight to it.

Naoko’s sensei stares her down for a long, long moment. His expression could preserve meat for the winter.

Eventually, finally, he speaks.

“No.” The word is flat and final. “I don’t think I will.” He stalks forward, breaching her personal space to loom over her. “Leave. You’re done here.”

She does.

-

-

-

Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s the anger; a boiling, righteous indignation that courses through her whole body. Perhaps it’s something else. Whatever it is, it helps her make it all the way to the Izumo household –a place she barely realised her feet had been taking her– before she finally–finally–begins to fray at the edges. 

“If you’re looking for Tenma then he’s-” Izumo-sensei cuts herself off. Her entire demeanour changing the second she takes Naoko in.

“What’s wrong?”

Naoko opens her mouth to answer.

Then, she closes it. 

She tries again.

“I-” Again, her mouth clamps shut.

A fray becomes a tear; something that rips its way through the very fabric of Naoko’s being, unraveling her. She begins to shake. Tears. Panic. Doubt. All of it hits her at once amidst the dawning realisation as to just how much trouble she’s in.

She tries. Working her mouth one more time. The words come.

“I think I messed up.”

-

-

-

It takes time to explain. Not least because Naoko can’t seem to stop crying, which, talk about embarrassing.

Izumo-sensei nods along, her expression carefully neutral until-

“He said that about my son, did he? Those were his exact words?”

Naoko almost backtracks. Almost tries to take it all back and apologise for exaggerating a bad day because, if she’s being honest with herself–a terrible idea, really–then she has to admit that there’s a very real part of her desperately wants to undo all of this. To slink back to Yūhi-sensei and beg for forgiveness. To grovel – he’d probably like that – and take her lumps. To suffer through it until she made chūnin.

But no. Even as the thought occurs to her, she knows it wouldn’t work.

That bridge is ash now.

“Pretty much.”

“I see.” Her expression returns to neutral. “Go on.”

She finishes her story with only one more interruption – “Ha!” She barks out a laugh. “You said that? To his face?” – before it’s over and the full weight of what she’s done hits Naoko all over again in the telling.

She is fucked.

She’s done. He’s done with her. Finished. She’d just smart mouthed her jōnin-sensei after lying to him for months and now she probably doesn’t have a jōnin-sensei and what the hell is she going to do now? The Genin corps? Is that really going to be her life now?

Or.

Or is she even going to be that lucky? What if Yūhi-sensei–correction, what if Shinku Yūhi, her former sensei– decides to slam the door on her way out?  

What if a few words in the wrong ears are all he needs to blacklist her?

Shit. Shitshitshit. What the hell is she going to-

“Naoko.” She nearly jumps out of her skin. Izumo-sensei is right in front of her, a hand on hers. “Look at me.”

She does, drawing her eyes away from the hand on hers.

Nana Izumo’s expression is hard. Determined. “First off, I need you to know that none of this is your fault. Tell me you understand that.” 

Naoko shakes her head. No. She’s wrong. She’d lied and manipulated her way into this household. She’d lied to her teammates and her sensei when she let them think she was training at the hospital. And then she’d been flippant–insubordinate–when confronted with what she’d done. She is exactly what everyone thinks she is and this is all her fault.

She tries to snatch her hand away but Izumo-sensei holds it in place. Madly, some dark corner of her mind wonders if she should gnaw it off at the wrist to escape. Like a wolf caught in a trap.

“Tell me you understand that an adolescent girl shouldn’t be treated the way you have. That nobody should be treated that way. Tell me that you understand your sensei.”

Naoko blinks, off kilter. Her mind, scrambling to make sense of what she’d just said before finally realising that–Oh. She means her.

Tell me that you understand your sensei.

My sensei.

She’d never referred to Nana Izumo as ‘Sensei’ before. Not outside the privacy of her own mind at least. It was a secret. A private joke at her own expense while her actual sensei told her how useless she was. Nana wasn’t hers. She knew that. Knew that she was an interloper. Someone allowed to ‘tag along’ for Kenjutsu training and that, eventually, she would be politely asked if she ‘didn’t have anywhere better to be’. If she was lucky. 

Only, apparently not.

And she’s crying again which is just. Great. Wonderful.

“Honey. I need you to say it with me. ‘This is not my fault’.”

“This,” she begins, waving goodbye to the last of her dignity as she cry-hiccups her way through the words, “is not my fault.”

Izumo-sensei smiles at her before straightening.

“Acceptable. Though I expect your next attempt to be more convincing. Secondly, you’re sleeping here tonight. Dinner is at six-thirty and I expect you to help with laying the table and the dishes afterwards.”

Naoko nods, beginning to feel like one of those cheap toys they sell to tourists in gift shops; the kind with the big heads that bob up and down when you poke them.

“Good. Tomorrow, we’re going to the Hokage to have you formally recognised as my apprentice.”

Naoko’s stomach does a triple backflip to standing position and she nearly falls out of her chair. 

“Okay,” She says, dully, feeling a sort of vertigo that has nothing to do with the ground and her distance therefrom. “Thank you, Izumo-sensei.”

“You’re very welcome.”

-

-

-

The ink isn’t even dry when it happens.

The door to the Hokage’s office slams open.

“Daichi-kun.” The Hokage speaks softly, with the same placid air held by so many old men. You could almost forget who he is, if not for the hat. “What is-.”

The man barely spares the Hokage a glance. Instead, he turns to Izumo-sensei.

“Nana Izumo?”

“Yes.” She is already on her feet.

“Tenma Izumo has been rushed into Konoha General. Given that your blood type is a recognised match, we strongly recommend that you-” He doesn’t get to finish. 

Izumo-sensei is already gone.

-

-

-

Chapter Text

Alone.

Resting on a tree branch. Inhaling desperate mouthfuls of air. Almost choking on water as Itachi shoulders a broken and bloodied body.

Low on chakra. Low on everything. Tired. So, so tired. So many miles left to go.

Her shadow rests against a tree.

She looks at it.

It looks back.

The world softens. Events blur together. More running. The gate. The hospital. The body, caked in dry blood, peeled from her arms. The tower. Shouting. These things all happen. She knows that. They just … fail to connect to one another.

There is a room with important people in it. They ask questions.

A man on the road. Wearing a mask. What else could she possibly know?

More shouting. They’re told to leave. Or somebody escorts them out? Shikako can’t remember. One of the two.

Her feet move, one in front of the other until she’s back at the hospital. Somebody must recognise her, because she and Itachi are in a waiting room before they can even speak to the woman at the front desk.

The room is empty and quiet and Shikako is an ungodly concoction of adrenaline and fatigue when it occurs to her that her Sensei is dead.

She should probably feel … some kind of way about that.  

A door opens.

People.

Gentle hugs and gentler words. Her mother. Itachi’s. Eventually, more slowly, more quietly, Tenma’s.  

There are other people too. People she thinks she should recognise. But none of it registers. Details flow and dissolve like mist. Soft voices. Tearful embraces. Fading. Swirling.

Nothing is tangible. Nothing is real.

There is a hand, clutching hers. “I need some air.” Says the voice it belongs to.

Shikako nods, standing. She doesn’t need air, but Itachi isn’t letting go of her hand, so, it looks like she’s getting some air.

People stand. To speak. To follow. But there is something in Itachi’s eyes that freezes them in place.

They leave. Nobody follows.

Itachi leads Shikako outside. The smell of death and disinfectant swapped out for … she doesn’t know what to call it, exactly. Nature? Greenery?

It doesn’t matter. She does not care.

Itachi keeps walking. She does not care.

She does not care when she is pulled off of the main path and into the forest that surrounds the village.

She does not care when she realises they are moving deeper into the forest. So deep that the sound of civilisation fades from earshot.

She does not care when, eventually, without warning, Itachi halts in his tracks.

He turns, taking in his surroundings with a forensic precision; his eyes daring the world to leave even one detail out of place.

Absentmindedly, Shikako does the same – she senses nothing, and all she can see are the trees left behind by the Senju; towering skyscrapers of wood and foliage that obscure everything from sight.

They are alone. Completely.

Itachi nods to himself apparently satisfied. He takes a breath. Then, more quickly, he takes another. And another. Breath after breath.

Absentmindedly, it occurs to Shikako that Itachi is hyperventilating.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” He repeats, choking the words out as tears streak his face and his legs collapse beneath him. His hand clutches Shikako’s so tightly that she can feel her bones click and grind in his grip. The pain slams her world into focus, but only for a moment; just long enough for her to register Itachi, staring up at her with eyes that flicker from bloodshot red to red.

“I can’t stop it. It won’t–” he chokes, retching.

Shikako moves, guiding Itachi into position as he empties the contents of his stomach onto the grass. Something, half-remembered from a lifetime ago, makes her rub circles into his back.

“It won’t stop,” Itachi gasps between desperate intakes of breath. “It won’t stop.” There is nothing left in his stomach now, but his body continues to retch. “I can’t stop thinking about it and every time I think about it I–” he chokes, throwing up spittle as his body rocks.  

“Do you need,” Shikako begins, and now, even she can hear the blankness in her voice; the total lack of inflection, “me take you back to the hospi–”

Itachi whirls, shoving her away. In an instant, his entire demeanour is changed. He stares Shikako down, and there is a coldness in his expression that pins her. Raking her over in every detail. Searching for something. Failing to find it.  

“Oh,” Itachi says, his voice soft. “Oh, of course.”

His shoulders twitch. His whole body spasms. His lips pull themselves upwards, twisting his mouth into a thin homunculus of a smile. He begins to laugh and it sounds wrong; coming in breathless squawks that scratch the air like a knife on glass.

Shikako stares on, unmoving as Itachi laughs at her. Something deep in the pit of her stomach twists, but she cannot place it.

Eventually, finally, between sick, amused breaths, Itachi asks:

“When?”

Shikako thinks about this for a moment, turning the question over in her head.  

“When what?”

This is. Absolutely. The wrong answer.

Shikako steps back, but Itachi is faster. He grabs her by the collar, suddenly eye-to-eye; so close that Shikako can see the two tomoe circling his pupils.

Shikako tries to blink, but finds she cannot.

She tries to look away, but finds she cannot.

She tries to care about what is happening to her, but –

“I want you to know that I’m still your friend,” Itachi says, his voice turning withered and hollow. “But I think I might hate you for this. Just a little.”

He smiles that awful smile as tears bleed from his eyes and his tomoe begin to spin.

-

-

-

It’s no great secret that the Sharingan grants total recall – any bingo book will tell you that much. Less known, or perhaps, less considered, is what that recall entails. Perfect recall is more than mere replay, like film in a projector. Time will never soften the memories the Sharingan encodes. To remember is to re-live.

-

-

-

Itachi’s Sharingan triggered when he was five, in the middle of a killing ground, just outside of Sora-ku.

A part of him is still there – will always be there – young and surrounded by horrors he can’t comprehend.

The bodies.

The baby, barely a week old, shielded by the corpse of her mother.

The man he’d tried to help; bloodied and barely alive. His sheer, wondrous gratitude.

The look on his face when he saw the Uchiha crest.

The knife.

The struggle.

The pressing weight of his lifeless body as it collapses on top of him.

-

-

-

A part of him will always be there, on the road to the Fire Capital. Just as scared. Just as helpless.

The instinctive twitch in Tenma’s hand as the man in the mask closes the distance between them. The shiver of his flesh as it yields to cold steel.

A spike of hope. ANBU.

Dread, as the bodies begin to drop.

Charred.

Impaled.

Bisected.

Picked off. One by one.

The flecks of Tenma's blood that speckle the med-nin's mask.

The grim resignation in Sensei’s eyes.

-

-

-

It will be months again before the smell of cooking meat no longer sends him back there. To the fetid stink of faeces and offal, blood and rot. The sullen smoke of charred bodies; the crackle of flesh burning.

He can’t stop it. It won’t stop. He can’t stop thinking about it and every time he thinks about it –

-

-

-

– he relives it.

Shikako screams.

She rips the genjutsu from her mind like a barbed arrow from flesh. Her mind is on fire and everything is wrong. For a moment, her vision swims and she is afraid that something has been done to her eyes, but it is only tears.

“There.” Itachi smiles viciously, victoriously, before stumbling backwards. His eyes, wide, are still flashing between red and black, but the tomoe circling his pupils no longer spin. “Welcome back.”

There is a satisfying crunch as Shikako’s fist collides with Itachi’s face.  

“You bastard,” she snarls, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him against the trunk of a nearby tree. “You … you …” Words fail her. “What do I say to that? What the fuck am I supposed to say to all that?”

Itachi sinks a foot into Shikako’s gut, winding her, forcing her to let go of him.

“You can start by apologising.” He pivots swinging at her.

Rage swells up again, almost lifting Shikako off the ground.

“You.”

She catches a fist.

“Want an apology.”

She twists the arm behind his back and kicks a knee out from under him.

“From me?”

“I think I deserve one.” Itachi twists, turns, and then, with his good leg, launches his head into her jaw.

Shikako stumbles backwards as her teeth rattle in their sockets. She raises an arm just in time to block the next punch. Then another. Itachi rains blows down upon her and, for a moment, it’s all she can do to block.

A fist grazes Shikako’s cheek as she dives, tackling Itachi to the ground and pinning him there.

He scowls at her past a bloody nose.

Shikako scowls back. Ready to scream at him. Ready to demand answers if she only had the questions. Ready to punch his stupid face in when it finally occurs to her that she is angry.

She is furious.

And sad.

And hurt.

And confused.

And she hadn’t been anything up until a moment ago.

He – when had … she didn’t  …

But she had.

Shikako had looked into her shadow.

She had looked and her shadow had looked back.

It had taken something from her. Something that she hadn’t wanted. Something that was suffocating her. Something essential.

Shikako’s stomach churns, roiling. But she needs to know.

“How?”

“I brought you back.”

“How?”

Itachi says nothing, and, for a moment, it seems that’s all the answer Shikako is going to get.

Then, after another moment:

“You went away from yourself. Cut yourself off from …” he doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to. “The Sharingan is the opposite of that. Everything about it is feeling. So,” he says, as though it were the simplest thing in the world, “I made you feel.”

It takes a moment to parse, for Shikako to realise exactly what Itachi did. That, to bring her back, he’d needed to make her feel. And that he could’ve probably used any emotion at all to make that connection.

He’d chosen fear.

He’d chosen grief.

He’d chosen guilt. 

Itachi had cauterised a wound in Shikako’s soul because he cared about her. Because he was her friend.

But he’d made it hurt. On purpose. Because she’d done it to herself.

Because he’d broken down in front of her and she hadn’t even been present enough to pretend to be a person.

There is bile in the back of her throat. Anything she could say feels wrong. Unworthy of the hate and the horror that she feels.

She tries anyway.   

Shikako braces herself against the weight of the last 24 hours, and against the weight of what she is about to do. Then she says:

“Itachi.” Her voice catches. “Itachi. I’m sorry.”

“Get off me.” Itachi shifts his weight, trying to throw her off him.

“I’m sorry.” She’s crying again. Raining tears down upon him as she clutches at his shirt like a lifeline. “I’m sorry.”

“Get off me!” He shoves her, but she does not move.

Itachi’s eyes snap to red like there’s blazing fire behind them. His tomoe spin so fast it looks as though his pupils have little halos surrounding them. He struggles, trying to fight against her hold with more strength than she ever knew he had. His expression is molten in its hatred. His loathing is fire; a roar of combustion.

“I NEEDED YOU. I NEEDED YOU AND YOU RAN AWAY AND I WAS ALL ALONE AND I NEEDED YOU AND GET OFF ME!”

Itachi flinches as she wraps her arms around him like a vice. She holds on as he screams and shoves at her. As he thrashes like a tortured man against her hold. She doesn’t let go.

She holds him until both their bodies go tired and limp. Until they both end up huddled together against one of the Senju trees, tangled up in each other. 

It is a long time before either of them speaks.

Tiny flecks of sunlight peak through the thick brush of the forest.

Then, a soft breeze passes through, gently shifting the canopy, and the sunlight peeking through begins to dance.

“Do you know what you showed me?” Shikako asks, eventually. Just to be sure

“Yes.” Itachi’s skin shines with the sickly sweat of the unwell. Every ounce of composure has been ground to dust. Now, after everything, he looks thin and haggard and no older than the child he is.

Shikako hums noncommittally.

They are quiet again, for a while.

"Minazuki-sensei is dead."

Shikako should say something like, 'you don't know that', or 'you have to have hope'.

"Yea."

“And now we're about to ..." Itachi takes a slow, deep breath. "... I don’t know what I’m going to do if Tenma dies too.” he says, curled up, resting a forehead against his knees.

Shikako thinks about Itachi’s eyes. About every detail. Every moment. Preserved, perfectly, foreverandever.

“Me either.”

"You know," Itachi lets out a small, soft laugh, “I was never very good at talking to people. But Tenma was always so good at it." He pauses. "Or, maybe he just wasn’t as bad as us.”

Shikako makes a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a snort.

“That’s not a high bar.”

“It really isn’t.”

“He always liked you. And me,” she adds, belatedly. “He thought we were these uptight little toddlers and that it was,” she smiles, caught in the memory, “that it was his job to get us to have fun.”

“And cheat us at cards.”

Shikako snorts.

“And that.”

“Do you remember,” Itachi begins, “when you tried to teach Tenma how to play shogi?”

Shikako blinks. “What?”

Itachi’s lips twitch. “You told him it would help him become a better strategist. And he said –

“‘– But I’ve got you for that.’” Shikako finishes, glancing up and away at canopy. “Of course, when he finally does learn, he immediately cheats at that as well.”

“Of course.”

“But it was the ridiculous kind of cheating. One time I came back to a game with tea and he just goes: ‘So I get that it looks like I’m putting a thimble on the board but actually my soldiers have been using their downtime to build another tower, one that’s better, stronger, faster—’”

Itachi laughs, and there’s less sharpness in it now; less bright edges and more soft curves. “I think my favourite was probably, ‘Hey, while you went to get snacks, those six pieces you captured slipped their guards, tunnelled to safety and emerged right in the middle of your royal palace.”

More laughter. Shikako clears her throat, before, in her best Tenma voice:

“‘Uh oh, looks like you’ve got my king cornered. Maybe now I should tell you that just before we before we started playing, my pawns and generals overthrew the king and made a republic. So, go ahead and kill this rando figurehead, I guess.’”

They laugh. They tell stories.

The light breaching the canopy continues to dance.

-

-

-

Chapter Text

-

-

-

“What are you planning to do about this?”

Hiruzen doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a pinch of tobacco and carefully places it in his pipe. He lights it, tasting the smoke, before exhaling.

Danzō does not wrinkle his nose as the smoke hits him. But Hiruzen can tell that he would very much like to.

“What,” he eventually begins, “makes you think I’m planning to do anything?”

“You plan to do nothing?” Danzo asks, in tones that suggest he is having an emotion of some sort.

Another breath of smoke.

“May I ask: why the sudden interest?”

“Duty.” Danzō answers, speaking the the word as a priest might utter the name of their god; reverent and absolute. “He pulled two separate teams and led a number of high-profile associates out of the village with nothing more than vague assurances and the name of your former student.” There is an implication somewhere in Danzō’s tone that suggests Hiruzen is at fault for this. That some failure of leadership has given Shikaku leave to sanction and head his own mission without so much as a word his own Kage.

“I know.” Hiruzen smiles faintly. “I signed off on the mission.”

This is not technically true. Insofar as that it is a complete and total lie.

Danzō almost calls him on it. Almost. But, in the end, it isn’t a risk he’s going to take.

Not when he’s already taking so many.

“You ordered this?”

“I did.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me?”

“I wasn’t aware that it fell within the purview of your duty to know.”

The room develops a chill.

“Are you attempting to tell me my duties?”

“Not at all. But I’m having a lot of fun trying to guess what they are.”

“You –”

The door to Hiruzen’s office does not fly off its hinges, but it’s a close thing.

Hiruzen holds up a hand, and every ANBU in the room goes still.

Chōza Akimichi enters the room with all the presence of a wrecking ball.

“Lord Hokage,” says an aide, hovering by the door, “the –”

“Thank you, Akechi. Please hold my appointments.”

Akechi, who is no fool, says nothing as he bows his head and closes the door on a silent room.

Hiruzen taps the ash from his pipe before gently placing it on his desk, never taking his eyes from the man in front of him.

Chōza Akimichi is a man diminished. His skin is sickly pale. There are bags under his eyes. He is thin.

He throws a pitch-black scroll to the ground and, again, Hiruzen has to wave a hand to stop a room full of ANBU from killing him.

Slowly, Hiruzen rises from his seat and rounds his desk. The scroll, which had been kind enough to wait for him, unfurls just as he finishes the trip.

There is a cloud of smoke.

Then, there is a corpse.

Hiruzen sucks in a breath.

Danzō goes absolutely and completely still.

Chōza’s expression is as cold and dead as the body in front of him.

“Mission complete.”

-

-

-