It was hard to judge Sai too harshly… Danzo had sunk his roots deep into the boy; Yamato knew all too well the effects of the poison he spread.

It didn’t mean he could trust Sai, however. They’d been out of contact with him for nearly fourteen hours, and he’d already attempted to mislead them twice after even if afterward he had helped against Sasuke. Who knew what purpose Danzo had truly sent Sai to accomplish? No amount of questioning would result in a concrete answer as long as that silencing seal was in place.

And it was unfortunately tricky enough that even Master Jiraiya with all his sealing prowess refused to touch it. The risk of making even the smallest mistake and lobotomizing the person in question was too high for any of them to take. He’d gotten by long enough with pointed stares and cryptic statements about his time that, for Yamato, it wouldn’t have made too much of a difference either way.

Yamato sighed, finally crossing the threshold into his small apartment and running a hand through his hair, the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders easing with the familiar scent of lemon button ferns he kept on an end table next to the entrance.

He didn’t want to usurp Kakashi’s authority, but it was obvious that the entire team needed to be drilled into the appropriate, functional, shape, and if Kakashi wasn’t going to do it…. Well, as the co-captain of the team, that responsibility fell on Yamato’s shoulders, didn’t it….

It wasn’t quite a permanent position, Tsunade had made that clear, but it was permanent enough that he wouldn’t be returning to his ANBU command anytime soon. The hokage had agreed with his own verdict; Naruto’s control over the Nine-Tailed Fox was tenuous at best, and the seal was weakening at an extraordinary rate. Most likely hastened by the constant stress testing Jiraiya had been putting Naruto through the past nearly four years now.

Naruto had divulged that Jiraiya had intentionally been pushing the boy into situations where he would need to rely on the Kyuubi’s chakra after exhausting his own all throughout his training…. One could dress it up however they pleased, but at the end of the day, it was just as much an experiment with the boys’ body as it was exercising. Yamato was no stranger to experimenting with jutsu, techniques, but bringing out a malevolent entity purposefully when Naruto knew nothing about it, or how to control it, while it constantly damaged his body was nothing short of reckless.

Had they even provided him with Lady Mito’s notes?

Or would that have given him too much of a clue as to who his parents were? The boy already knew he was a jinchuriki, and he already had an entire organization of S-Ranked criminals, what was the point of keeping everything else secret?

It seemed ridiculous that the gag order was still in place at all. Despite having the chakra of an Uzumaki, Naruto did not have access to the Adamantine Chains technique that both Lady Mito and Kushina Uzumaki had had. The hiden technique was passed down from one Uzumaki to another, and it was probable that the details of how to perform it existed within Mito’s notes even if there were no Uzumaki left in Konoha to teach the boy.

Not that he was even supposed to know about those…. If nothing else, ROOT had been a useful tool while he had been part of it.

Being Lord Third’s Spymaster, there was no doubt Jiraiya must have known about them as well at the very least. It would have made more sense to have Naruto learn the Adamantine Chains technique before attempting to channel the Nine Tails’ power. It was reckless. Everything about this was reckless. And after learning that Jiraiya had only agreed to teach Naruto in the first place through bribery with an explicit transformation jutsu, Yamato found himself incredibly relieved that Lady Tsunade had been the one to take the hat. Battlefield prowess did not sound judgment make, and he loathed to think about what Konoha would have become under his rule.

Spirits, what a mess….

At least Asuma would have had a hokage that disappointed him more than his father, he supposed.

He could really use a drink.

And it was a Thursday….

Sure, maybe you hadn’t shown up in months but maybe…. Maybe you would tonight.

A quick shower to wash the grime of the road off of himself, a shave before his stubble started getting particularly itchy, and a fresh set of jounin fatigues had him feeling at least marginally better before he headed out to hunt down Asuma.

Yamato took his time as he strolled to the Sarutobi compound, stretching his chakra just far enough to feel the unmistakable sharp smoke tangled with ephemeral yin as he got close to the gate.

Oh.

He immediately pulled back, reversing course, cheeks aflame. It seemed that Asuma was already busy then. That was fine… it wasn’t like Yamato needed a partner to drink. Slowly, he made his way to The Summons alone.

The familiar stale smell of alcohol, sweat, and day-old blood greeted him as usual. He sat at the leftmost corner of the bar as usual. Ordered a gin and tonic as usual.

The corner booth was occupied by a couple drunkenly making out under the protection of a minor genjutsu meant for people to subconsciously look elsewhere. It wasn’t particularly subtle, but it would probably do the job for most chuunin. He averted his eyes anyway, stomach twisting in knots.

You never showed.

He sang once, but went home after his third drink, limbs heavy when he finally sunk into bed.

Konohagakure was many things.

A trading hub with its bustling streets; The third most populous city in the Land of Fire besides the Capital itself, and the port city of Tama on the southern peninsula. The current census put it at a over 150,000 residents now, the vast majority of which were civilians despite being the country’s military center. It was largely considered to be the most powerful of the ninja villages with an military of roughly 25,000 active shinobi. The actual numbers of which were known only by the Hokage herself and, perhaps, her advisors.

A village forged in the fires of conflict and violence despite what Lord Shodaime had first preached. The bloody stains of war soaked all but the cobblestone of the central roads, re-laid after the rampage of the Kyuubi and the untimely death of the Fourth. Who was to say that death was for better or worse? Life went on mostly unchanged for civilians after, though the hatred directed at a mere child for the damage had always seemed unwarranted… Konoha was frequently unfair like that.

Konohagakure was the epicenter of the Hashirama forest. Trees old, but nowhere near old enough to warrant the unnaturally thick growth that the Shodaime Hokage had created with his mokuton; The broadleaf, or more commonly known as Senju, beech making up the primary portion of the forest. Though it was hard to imagine people outside of the scientific community referring to the area as the Broadleaf Woodlands; Few people knew just how rare broadleaf beeches were outside of this geographical area of Fire Country, and it was nearly indistinguishable from the fire beeches that constituted most of the forests of the Land of Fire. The main tell being the slight fuzz at the base of both female and male flower stems of the broadleaf beech in the early spring, the fire beech had no such fuzz. In common parlance, the dense woods surrounding Konohagakure was simply known as the Hashirama forest.

But, more than anything else, Konohagakure was home… even if you didn’t always like it. The rhythm of haggling merchants, playing children, the pitter-patter of shinobi running along roofs, and messenger hawks (though neither of the primary species were true hawks: the larger of the two species commonly used being the upaya eagle, and the faster being hayabusa, a raptor belonging to the falconidae family) flying above was as familiar as the back of your hand.

You stretched as you waited for Shion, sheltered under the overhang of a convenience store from the early evening sun. Late summer daylight lasted so long… it was nearly eight and still hot as hell.

He was late. Which wasn’t unusual, really, he could be like that sometimes when he was in a relationship, and you at least liked the woman he was dating now. She was sweet, kind, and the sort of sharp that one had to be while working in Intelligence. She’d never said as much, but from the way she had read you to filth once, though not unkindly, when you’d told her about a string failed dates, you couldn’t imagine her in anything else.

Not to mention that she had a consistent schedule which meant she had steady work within the village. Shion always said you kept too close track of things for your own good, “It’s freaky, civilians shouldn’t take note of stuff like that.”

You’d rolled your eyes. You’d been best friends since you were children… he should know by now that you kept track of things. But it was getting harder, and harder lately to–

“Hey!” Shion appeared beside you in a whirl of air. Body flicker is what he’d called the technique, recently learned, took above average control, I’ll definitely make jounin soon, he’d bragged.

“Show off,” You gave him a shove without any force behind it, “If you can move so fast, I don’t understand why you’re late.”

“Sorry, sorry, I was out with Saoko-chan and I lost track of time,” He always managed to look sincere at the admonishment, but he rarely took any of it to heart, “First round’s on me tonight, okay?”

But his smile was so easy, wide, and welcoming, it was hard to stay annoyed.

“Most expensive drink first then, got it,” You returned it, sliding into the easy rhythm born of familiarity.

“Fiiine, I guess I deserve that.”

A noncommittal hum prefaced your response as you both made your way to The Summons, “You know you can always invite her, right?”

“You’d really be okay with that?” His golden-brown eyes lit up.

“Of course.”

Saoko was the only girlfriend he’d had that you actually liked, and, perhaps, the only one who genuinely liked you too. She was steady, intelligent, practical, all good things for Shion. Their plans for the future aligned, and judging from her looks, she was Yamanaka which meant he’d also be part of a clan if it all went well. Overall, you were happy for him. Happy for them.

Even if it meant he would be flakier for a while.

It was fine.

You already knew what to expect.

It was always the smell that hit you first when you entered the bar; Sweat (not the clean kind that came from working out), beer, and what you were pretty sure was an undercurrent of stale blood. It was a shinobi bar after all, and if you hadn’t been consistently going there with Shion for the past few months for karaoke, you were positive you would have turned tale and left.

However, the feeling always left after taking a seat in the familiar booth, nursing a drink or three, and laughing uproariously with your best friend. Well, not too uproariously, sometimes it almost felt like you were being watched. Which… was fair. You were a civilian in a shinobi bar. Not the only one, of course, but you knew the ways in which you stood out.

Heaven forbid a soft civilian dared to intrude in their presence.

Sometimes it felt like shinobi thought of them as a different species. It was endlessly… irksome.

Who grew and processed the food and drink at these tables? Who felled the trees and carved them into beams, and chairs, and built the structures they took shelter in? Who maintained the power lines and plants that generated and carried the electricity they used in their homes?

There was more to this world than fighting and wars, and it would do them some good to remember it.

But after two and a half drinks, it was hard to remember how anything could have ever upset you. In fact, you couldn’t help but lean into Shion, blathering on about how happy you were for him and Saoko and how much more you liked her than his last girlfriend, about your work week, and your latest project. Anything and everything.

Because as much as Shion could be an idiot sometimes, he was still so incredibly fun and easy to talk to, and when he ushered you over to the mic, you had very few protests. It was always like that, wasn’t it? Getting to the mic and feeling like everyone was staring until you closed your eyes and let the music wash the anxiety.

For a few blissful moments, everything melted away except for the beat, the lyrics, and the air in your lungs as you sang along. You hadn’t had the confidence to sing in front of people sober since you were a kid, but with a few drinks in you, it was easy to get let go of whatever completely valid reservations you had without a buzz.

Easy to let the rhythm take control.

Like this, even when the song ended, the alcohol gave everything a hazy, dreamy quality that left you giggling.

You slid back into the booth and Shion gave you a smile, radiant and infectious, as he clapped your back, “I don’t know why you always get so nervous. You’re great up there!”

“Flatterer,” You grinned back, cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and the praise. His sincerity always got to you in a way that made your blood itch to sing again, but you weren’t about to hog the mic. You were a little drunk, not rude or selfish like that, “You gonna sing?”

“Nah,” Shion waved you off, “Maybe next time. My throat feels a little funny.”

It was rare for him to take the mic. Maybe ten percent of the time, and it was the same cycle of excuses. You’d wondered why he even went to karaoke in the first place, but you weren’t going to complain. Besides, he liked the alcohol, and he’d admitted once that he liked seeing you happy. It was sappy, a layer of haziness to it when you’d both stumbled back to his apartment one night. He tended not to do the whole “vulnerability” thing; He was easy-going, affable in a way you’d never managed to be, but rarely vulnerable….

Sometimes you wondered if your mind was just playing tricks on you.

But you’d been best friends since you were kids, it would make sense that he would be happy to see you happy. You were happy to see him happy, and you frequently told him as much after all. Things were different for shinobi though. You’d known that since you’d been a child; Your parents had warned you about it.

Sometimes it was strange to think that nearly twenty percent of the village’s significant population were trained killers. Hard to reconcile the sunny man laughing beside you with someone you knew had ended lives. He’d taken turns bragging about his first kill and having mental breakdowns about the face that had haunted his dreams the first few weeks after.

You polished off the rest of your drink, leaning back and snorting, in what you were sure was a completely unflattering way, at the dumb pun he’d made.

“Man, remember last year at the capital?” Shion grinned.

You hummed, opening an eye to look at him, “You mean when Tanaka caught you drunk when you were supposed to be on-duty and I had to tell him you’d intercepted some poison someone had tried to slip me so they didn’t rescind your mission pay?”

“Oh shit, I completely forgot about that,” He snickered, “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. I’m not covering you for the next one though.” It was a lie. You’d been covering for his dumb ass since you could barely write your own name, just as he covered for yours when you did something dumb…. Not recently though. You tended to keep your nose out of trouble if you could help it.

“Of course, I’ve learned my lesson.” He said that every year. “Anyways, I meant-”

“Excuse me,” A server cut in, a drink in hand.

Shion quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t remember ordering another round.”

“Oh, sorry, right. Yes,” She took the empty glass from in front of you to rest the full one in its stead, “Courtesy of the gentleman at the bar.”

There was an uncomfortable, but warm, pang in your gut as you stared at the drink in front of you, condensation gathering along the sides and dripping down in rivulets onto the table.

“For me?” Your voice was small as you looked up at the server, eyes flickering for just a moment to the space just left of her arm.

“Yes, I hope you enjoy!” And then she was gone, your view of where she’d gestured now clear but you couldn’t help but duck your head bashfully, fixating on the glass and the wet ring it was leaving on the wood beneath.

“Wow, look at you,” It was nearly drowned out by the crowd around you and the pounding in your own ears. No one had ordered you a drink before… at least not like this. Conferences and colleagues were different, even if they were a stranger you at least knew you had something in common. Friendly, welcoming, occasional attempts to curry favor.

Hesitantly, you peaked from beneath your lashes at the bar.

Nobody was looking at you, waving you down. No familiar faces other than the vague regulars you didn’t have names for. The stools in one corner conspicuously empty.

“Wonder who it was…. It doesn’t look like anyone’s paying attention to you,” Shion stated the obvious, curiously craning his head to study everyone better while you reached for the drink. His playful grin as he glanced at you was emboldening, “Careful, it might be poisoned.”

Vaguely you considered that, but you were in the village. Who would even want to do something like that now?

You were a civilian.

Why would anyone want to buy you a drink in the first place though…? It wasn’t like you were that good of a singer, and you were moderately inebriated so you were sure you’d slurred some of the lyrics and messed up.

But you supposed that other people in this bar were drunk as well….

He jostled you as you drank; Slow sips, plenty of water between. You were already at your limit before, and you’d hate to wake up with too bad of a hangover. The thought of wasting the drink though was… galling.

“Any idea who this secret admirer might be?” Shion teased.

You shook your head, bordering on full-on-drunk as you hummed, “I almost wonder if the bartender just felt bad for me or something.”

Your friend scoffed, “That’s no fun. I bet it’s that one over there, with the tattoo and he’s just too shy to approach you.”

Glancing over at where he was looking, you blanched, “I don’t think someone with a skull facial tattoo would be shy.”

“Yeah, but he’s covered in blood, so maybe he’s afraid he’ll scare you off if he’s too forward, you never know.”

He wasn’t wrong, perse, but you weren’t sure you’d want to go out with someone who seemed perfectly fine being out in public, obviously with friends, still splattered in someone’s blood. Even if it was his own. Was he trying to spread hepatitis?

You hated that ‘yes’ was a very possible answer to that question.

… Spirits, you really hoped it wasn’t him.

Shion continued his game, “Could also be that one over there with the pretty blue eyes.”

And the jagged, saw-toothed sword on their back….

“Could also be that whoever it was meant it for you,” You replied after a moment, pushing the drink in front of him, suddenly feeling a bit ill. It was probably better that you stopped, either way. You had already had so much to drink, it really was for the best.

“Hey, hey,” He pushed it back towards you good-naturedly, “The server said it was for you. Besides, if I started drinking it and it was from that tattoo guy, I think he’d kill me.”

“Now, now, you never know,” You parroted his own words back to him, perhaps a bit smugly, at that.

You passed by The Summons after work the following Thursday, eyes catching on the door, feet slowing. The faint rhythm inside was muffled as it leaked out into the alley. Shion said he would be busy tonight, so he wouldn’t be able to make it. Part of you wanted to go anyway, keep your normal Thursday after-work ritual… but outside of social occasions, you really weren’t that much of a drinker. And the thought of being the only civilian sitting alone in a ninja bar sounded… uncomfortable.

While it was fine to take up space within civilian areas, there were certain unwritten rules when it came people trained to snap your neck, or gut you, or stick you in some sort of hell torture dimension in your mind. One of those rules was to keep your nose clear of their business unless invited.

If a shinobi were to invite you to join them in their space, you should join them.

If a shinobi friend were to invite you to join them in their space, you could join them. You also had the option to turn them down, or suggest other activities. If you knew them well enough.

It was unwise to push back too much if they insisted, however. Slighting a ninja was always the wrong course of action.

But, of course, ninja were there for your safety.

Shion was kind though, and as a general rule of thumb, most ninja behaved themselves within the village.

So… Maybe the person who’d gotten you a drink last time– No. You weren’t going to get your hopes up.

Last week had been a fluke. A stranger had been just drunk enough to order you a drink after listening to your drunken karaoke. They hadn’t cared enough to introduce themselves afterward or give a name, or address, or anything like that.

It could have even been the bartender feeling bad for you because they knew about Shion’s chronically single civilian friend.

And even if it were the case that someone had bought you a drink, and that someone were at the bar tonight, and that person were somehow miraculously interested… it would be incredibly unwise to enter.

If a shinobi were to invite you to join them in their space, you should join them.

If an unknown shinobi were to invite you to join them in their space, you could offer a simple question to, perhaps, deflect, but you were to join them if they did not turn their attention elsewhere. You were not to explicitly turn them down.

Your mother had drilled that into your head at the tender age of five, though growing up around Shion had certainly relaxed your alarms for a while, for better or for worse. Without having him around for backup… then, well….

It would be best if you didn’t tempt fate.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets, and looked down at the gravel as you resumed your trek home.

Months drifted by.

Two turned into three turned into five since you’d last seen Shion for more than a few minutes in passing.

Sometimes you wondered if he was purposefully ignoring you, or if he really was astronomically busy with missions. You still ran into each other sometimes at the convenience store, and sometimes you’d get each other coffee if there was time enough for that, but it wasn’t much more than a quick greeting. Nothing prolonged or meaningful.

Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. You just missed him.

It wasn’t as though you didn’t have other friends; You still went for hot pot occasionally with a few of your coworkers, and you exchanged letters with a few friends you’d met in your travels. Was it the same? No. You and Shion had known each other since you were children running around, playing in mud, setting things on fire with a lighter you’d found in the woods, and seeing all of the awkward moments where puberty was unkind to the both of you.

Even when you were studying in the capital or apprenticing abroad, you’d still written to each other.

But that was all part of being an adult, wasn’t it? Seeing friends in the small moments you could.

And it wasn’t like he could exactly control when he worked. He was a ninja, very proudly at that, so when duty called… he had to answer.

You were just being – your grimace deepened – clingy.

Again.

You sat back in your chair, twirling a pencil around in your fingers as your thoughts strayed.

Maybe you should try harder to go on dates or something…. Shion always seemed so happy whenever he was in a relationship. Most people did. Movies, books, television, your parents, all seemed to be in love with the idea of love.

And, it would be nice, wouldn’t it? To have someone to come home to….

But you were notoriously bad at dating. Whether it was saying the wrong thing, or not thinking to hold someone’s hand, or being too vulnerable, or clingy, or distant, sharing too much about your interests or sharing too little, things tended to fizzle out very, very quickly.

You had made it to a second date a grand total of twice.

And, to be fair, it had never been a huge priority, and maybe people could somehow sense that… but it was still embarrassing to admit how bad at romance you were. You weren’t used to being bad at things. Most things came quickly or easily to you, even if your skill level only amounted to being average when you inevitably didn’t have time, energy, or resources to dedicate to honing it.

But, thus far, your longest relationship had been three months. And that was likely aided by the simple fact that, for the vast majority of it, you had been in two separate countries and most of your interactions were through letters.

You sighed. It wasn’t worth dwelling on…. No, you had far more pressing matters at hand. You couldn’t afford to get distracted. You were due to get the results back sometime next week, and then you would have to prepare for that annual conference.

Romance wasn’t something you had time for.

At least… that’s what you told yourself.

“Hey, Captain Yamato,” Sakura waved to him from across the street as the doors to the hospital closed behind her.

Her arm was looking a better after both Shizune and Lady Tsunade had begun treating it, but he knew how savage that wound had been. Apparently, her medic training had made her chakra more receptive to the caustic power of the Nine Tails, and it had continued to linger far longer than it should have because of the way it had interfaced with her chakra network.

“Sakura,” He greeted her with a tight smile as she crossed the street, “Aren’t you supposed to be taking a few days to rest and recover?”

“No strenuous activity for a week, I know,” She waved him off, “I’ve mostly been catching up on paperwork and working on some compounds for the pharmacy.”

Yamato nodded. It wasn’t often that he was put on rest orders, but whenever he was, he never knew what to do with himself. One could only sleep so many hours a day. It was good she’d found a way to be productive while she recovered.

“Actually, it’s good I ran into you,” She started, smile soft as she set the pace as they walked, “I’m not supposed to be lifting any heavy objects just yet, and I need to pick up an order from a local kampo specialist. I would have made Naruto do it, but I know you’re a good captain who would never force a lady on bed-rest to break her orders.” Sakura batted her eyelashes at him, innocent smile curling the corners of her lips.

“Of course,” He smiled back. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He’d already made Naruto and Sai run laps around the training ground with an ankle tied to one another to build teamwork, and it wasn’t quite time for lunch yet.… And Kakashi had pretended to be asleep when he’d attempted to visit him in the hospital.

He tried not to let it get to him, he really, really tried… but sometimes Yamato couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve the avoidant treatment. Was it something he had said? Did Kakashi find out about his secret mission from the elders to watch him back then?

But the sun was shining, there was a light, comfortable breeze, and his new teammate was at least happy to see him. He could be content with that at the very least. The silence between them was comfortable as they wove through the streets, getting farther and farther from the village center.

Yamato supposed that it made sense for a traditional medicine specialist to be located near the outskirts. A small, hand-painted sign at the very end of the street read “Herbal Traditions” with a maneki-neko stationed near the door, the pendant on its collar adorned with “Vitality”. Bordered by a low, simple, wooden fence were rows upon rows of greenhouses out back that caught his eye for a moment, and sensing his distraction, Sakura stopped beside him.

“If you’re interested, I’m sure the Professor or one of the other staff would be willing to give you a tour,” Her smile was soft when he turned to look at her, thoughtful, sincere, “They do really important work here, and they’re very proud of it.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, he took one last look, counting about a dozen. And he had to admit, he was a bit curious, “Do they grow all of their ingredients here?”

Sakura nodded, pulling the door open with a faint chime.

The inside was neat, polished wood floors worn with use but otherwise clean, a few shelves along the wall housed boxes and bags of medicinal teas or poultices. And as his eyes wandered, his breath caught fast in his chest.

Heartbeat roaring in his ears, stomach fluttering with something he couldn’t quite name; He was sure Sakura was saying something, but it was like trying to grasp water as it slipped through his fingers.

To make it to thirty was a blessing and a testament to Asuma’s skill and luck. Tenzō was honestly surprised he himself had even made it past twenty at all. Twenty years as a shinobi now, the first two undergoing ROOT training which only had a forty percent survival rate, seven as a ROOT operative, and the last eleven in ANBU.

Asuma grimaced, “I know, I know. But it just feels so sudden, y’know? Me ‘n Kurenai have a good thing going as is. I don’t understand why she’s so –”

He wanted to listen to his friend, he really did, but the static under his skin wouldn’t let up. He’d had the past few days off, though that didn’t stop him from running drills with his team. And, for once, he’d put an effort into his appearance, freshly washed and shaved, happuri resting on his dresser at home. Running a hand through his still slightly shower-damp hair, Tenzō couldn’t help a quick sweep of the bar; Some of the regulars he recognized, but the faces in the booth near the back were new.

10:02

Usually you and that chunin would be here by now.

For the past four months, the both of you would get here early, take one of the booths toward the back, and drink together while that chunin would drape himself all over you.

This was the second week in a row you hadn’t shown up.

He knew getting you a drink was a bad idea.

You probably thought he was weird….

Or had he misread the situation between you and that chunin? He was pretty sure he’d never seen you kiss, but he also could have missed it.

You certainly looked happy enough with him.

“– I mean, yeah I guess we’ve been sleeping together other on and off for, ah shit, seven? Years now –”

Seven years, huh….

Before he’d even met Asuma, then.

His eyes passed over the booth once more, a pang going through his gut.

Silver hair and mismatched eyes teased at the edge of his mind like they always did. It would have been before Kakashi had been forcibly retired from ANBU. Before Tenzō had been discarded like a week-old, soggy newspaper. The analogy settled in his stomach alongside the beer he’d just finished.

Perhaps that was uncharitable to his senpai… he did petition the hokage on his behalf.

Itachi’s betrayal of the Leaf from right under their noses had hit him hard though. Kakashi had always had a soft spot for the young Uchiha prodigy, it was why the council had tasked Tenzō with monitoring him. It had felt scummy watching his senpai so closely, and despite his orders, he had not breached his trust even once to the elders.

But it was possible that he too was a reminder of a time Kakashi would rather move on from. It would make sense. Tenzō had always been fairly awkward even on the best of days, and he was sure that he must have done something to intensify the malaise his former captain had been feeling.

Maybe if he had said something different?

Done something different?

As a pang ran through his gut, he forced those thoughts back into the box they belonged, taping it shut and storing it in a far closet of his mind. This was neither the time, nor place….

“It just feels like time moves so quickly anymore,” Asuma let out a disgusted scoff, “Now I’m starting to sound like my old man.”

“There are worse people to sound like.”

A firm hand on his shoulder jolted Tenzō from his thoughts as he looked at his clearly distraught friend, “I don’t want to sound like that old son of a bitch.”

“Asuma, that’s the deceased Lord Third we’re talking about here,” He assuaged, eyes wide as he looked around. “I know a lot of people find aging troubling but–”

A rough finger poking his ribs cut him off, “Haruki, buddy, listen to me. It’s not about aging. I do not want to end up like that man.”

Tenzō swallowed, grip tightening on the bartop, “Lord Third guided our village for generations. I know you weren’t always his biggest champion, but–”

“You worked directly under him,” There was an unsettling sobriety in Asuma’s eyes as he held his companion’s gaze, “Don’t make excuses. No grown ass sixty year old man’s favorite hobby should be hanging around the academy ‘chatting’ with young, sweet, little girls. I swear, after mom died, something in his brain snapped, but everyone looked at me like I was the crazy one for questioning if he was still fit to lead.”

Tenzō had owed Lord Hiruzen his life. Or, at least that was what it had felt like; An overwhelming sense of gratitude for lifting him out of The Foundation to be by Kakashi’s side and serve the village directly. And after the training that he had gone through with Lord Danzo, he honestly hadn’t given much thought to Lord Third’s interest in assessing the quality of honeypot training until well into his adulthood. It had made sense to him why a shinobi leader would want to make sure that people handling any type of mission would be adequately trained.

It hadn’t even occurred to him to question it until Asuma had brought it up for the first time, maybe a year or so before the destruction of the leaf. He knew the implications still weighed heavily on the younger Sarutobi, smile always just a bit too tight whenever anyone complimented his father.

Wine.

Women.

Money.

There may have been only three shinobi prohibitions, but the real vices were as varied as those who made up their ranks, and those in power defined morality.

Morality hadn’t held weight in ROOT.

There was no past, or future, or time to figure out right from wrong.

Only orders to follow.

Be clever. Be sharp. Be ever-ready.

Existing simply as a tool had made everything so much easier.

But, perhaps, that in and of itself was a vice too.

“Man, are we both gonna be mopey drunk t’night?” Asuma’s words dredged him from his thoughts as he knocked his shoulder against Tenzō.

He was in The Summons, sat atop the stool at the leftmost corner of the bar.

The fabric of his shirt blanketed his skin, thin enough that he could feel Asuma's warmth through it.

His mouth was still bitter from the beer he had finished, but underneath was the pleasant lingering of yeast.

Someone was singing a whiny pop song, just a bit flat, over at the mic.

It was a Thursday night.

Tenzō blinked, a smile pulling at his lips that he was sure didn’t reach his eyes, mirroring the one his comrade wore, “Nothing something fruity couldn’t fix.”

With a wrinkled nose and faux disgust at his partner’s teasing, Asuma ordered two more beers for them, “I ain’t a woman or a fairy,” He cast Tenzō a glance, “No offense.”

Tenzō rolled his eyes and took the offered beer. The Sarutobi hadn’t meant much by the remark… probably.

“Speaking of, I gotta ask,” Asuma started in that tone that made the ANBU regret having ever been candid in his life, “Does taking it up the ass–”

“I thought we were talking about your sex life tonight,” Tenzō grit his teeth.

“What, I’m just curious,” Asuma leaned against the bar, turned toward him with a wolfish grin. “I hear that’s why a lot of the Hyuuga men are so… pretty. Keeps the doujutsu from escaping before they can settle down. Same with the Uchiha before their whole fiasco…. You think–”

“I think you gossip like an old house wife.”

“Fiiiine,” He busied himself with his beer once more.

Tenzō picked some more at his edamame. People outside of ANBU were so weird about sex; Rigid social rules about what was acceptable and what was not. Probably something to do with repopulating after multiple long, drawn-out wars. Most ANBU members had no intention of settling down and having a family, so perhaps that was where the disconnect was?

Silence hung between them like an awkward third wheel.

“Do you wanna–”

“No, I am not singing a cheezy duet with you.”

Tenzō snickered, “I’ll wear you down one day, Sarutobi.”

“I highly doubt that, Haruki.”

But, he is just drunk enough that the mic entices him, and he takes his mind off of things for three and a half minutes.

You hadn’t shown up in over a month now. And while Thursday night karaoke was still fun, it wasn’t the same. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it was the fact that he had bought you a drink and immediately vanished.

Had you drunk it?

That chunin probably wouldn’t have let you, would he….

It had been a dumb idea to begin with. He shouldn’t have ordered that drink in the first place. And he definitely shouldn’t have run, that probably made him seem even weirder than he already was.

But even if he had stayed to chat, what would he have even said? “Hi, I’ve been watching you from the shadows for months, and I think you sound nice when you sing. I can’t tell you my name or anything about me, but I’d sure like to make out with you sometime.”

Yeah… it was better that he’d absconded before he made an idiot of himself and gotten that drink tossed in his face.

Maybe this was all for the best….

One month turned to two. Two to four. And after a while, Tenzō managed to fight the urge to glance at the booth you used to occupy. Your chunin friend would occassionally come back, a kunoichi he vaguely recognized from the T&I department on his arm.

He hadn’t had much time to wallow though; The Akatsuki were moving now. He’d spent the better part of month five out of the village rooting out a suspected spy network in Fire Country with Newt and Baku. All of their evidence led to Nara Suiko being the catalyst, and it wasn’t until she was being taken into custody upon their return to the village that Tenzō learned that the Kazekage had been captured.

“Shouldn’t you have sent Master Jiraiya with them, my lady?” He was not usually one to voice his doubts to his superiors, but the idea of sending the Leaf’s only jinchuriki after Gaara seemed foolish unwise, “Or at least a squad of ANBU as backup?”

Tsunade let out a weary sigh, “He has Hatake and Sakura with him. I’ve also dispatched Team Gai and several Leaf ANBU, but if they choose to attack Konoha now, it would be better if he were out in the field. ” Her eyes traced over the seals on the windows and door, “We can’t trust that Konoha is as safe from them as we’d hoped. Once we’re able to mind-walk Suiko, we’ll hopefully be able to sniff out any other rats lying in our midst.”

Tenzō pursed his lips, grateful for the porcelain mask covering his face, “Let’s hope that she has useful intel.”

“I’ll drink to that,” There was an exhaustion to her features that he hadn’t seen since she’d first taken over in the wake of Orochimaru’s assault. “For now, I want you to stay in the village. Jiraiya has requested a meeting with you once he returns, so I don’t intend on sending you out until then. Keep watch, be on your guard.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Baku, better known as Yamanaka Hinori when her mask was off, spent most of the days that followed with Inoichi in T&I headquarters, their clan’s hidden techniques working in tandem as they sifted through the mind of Nara Suiko. Hinori was the most recent addition to the Team Ro roster, and her mind-walk abilities were superb even among her clan.

It took them a little over a week to make any real breakthroughs. And even that was only to determine that Suiko had been a sleeper agent for Sasori for nearly a decade, and that he had only re-established contact with her within the past few months. She’d been set to rendezvous with him in three weeks time, but had not met up with him at all within the past decade that they could find. If there were any other spies in their midst, they would be difficult to flush out.

Even after Sasori’s death, they couldn’t afford to become complacent. His partner had gotten away, and he had been powerful enough to take out the Kazekage and exhaust Kakashi in a way Tenzō hadn’t seen in years. He was still apparently in the hospital even after a few days of rest.

He’d been speaking with Hinori in the Team Ro locker room on next steps when he’d been summoned once more.

“That was fast,” Tsunade muttered, not looking up from the way she scribbled furiously into a scroll as he pulled himself out of the floor.

“I heard it was a matter of great urgency.”

A flare of chakra activated the privacy seals in her office.

Finally she put the brush down, directly facing him, “You know why you’re here, right?”

“I have some idea,” There had been rumors circulating the past day or so that Team Kakashi had uncovered the location of another spy.

“I want you to take lead of Team Seven. Kakashi is still in the hospital, and I need you to take his place.”

Oh.

He had to admit, he wasn’t expecting that.

“Those are large shoes to fill. It’s an honor to be able to work in Kakashi’s stead,” He murmured, body trained over years to not give away anything despite the way his muscles itched under his skin.

But the team was comprised of a chunin and a genin… he rarely had ocassion to interact with chunin, and he had never worked with genin before. And he’d heard rumors about how stubborn and resistant to orders Naruto was to begin with….

“This isn’t a black ops mission. This is a standard A-Rank. Please remove your mask for the duration; Your codename will be “Yamato” until further notice.”

Yamato.

Tenzō rolled the name around around in his head as he removed his mask, “Of course, My Lady.”

Yamato looked at her, lips curling into an unassuming smile. This is who Yamato would be.

“In addition to Uzumaki Naruto and my apprentice, Haruno Sakura, the council has dispatched a member of the the Black-Ops Training Division to join the team.” Tsunade’s honey eyes stared at him intently, and he found his smile faltering.

“From The Training Division….”

She dipped her head, though it was a far cry from a full nod, eyes still far too intense for comfort, “Keep a very close eye on him. Study his every move.”

“You don’t trust him,” It wasn’t a question.

Of course she wouldn’t. ROOT had been dissolved only in name, the Training Division assuming the mantle of The Foundation in its stead to churn out ANBU members loyal to Danzo, and Danzo alone.

Tsunade’s voice was tight, both tension and restraint clear in her broad, muscled shoulders, “He was personally picked by Danzo.”

Of course he was….

Tenzō nodded, blinking slowly to confirm everything she dared not speak aloud.

Yamato reassumed his tepid smile, “Perhaps you worry needlessly, My Lady.”

Which was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say as she levelled a look at him that he was sure could raze Hokage Mountain. But, she seemed not to hold that flippancy against Yamato. Yamato was only tangentially acquainted with the esteemed elder, Shimura Danzo. Yamato had some dealings with The Foundation before, but nothing to leave a lasting impression, of course. Yamato was a humble jounin whose great-great-great-grandparents were part Senju.

Though there was no doubt that this Sai would know of Kinoe, and had likely been trained in how to combat mokuton if necessary. He was sure Lord Danzo would love nothing more than to place a new, more powerful seal somewhere to bind him once more to his service.

All the more reason to keep an eye on him.

“Jiraiya is back in town. We’ll be meeting with him and Kakashi in an hour. You are to be there. Meet with your team before then at the rendezvous point,” She tossed him a scroll. “Your mission details.”

It took him half an hour to shower, change, pack for the mission, and repeat the name “Yamato” to himself in the mirror to get the feel for it in his mouth before he set out to meet his new, temporary, team.

He’d taken a moment to observe them, noting their complaints about Kakashi’s usual tardiness (to which he very much agreed was incredibly annoying and disrespectful), and then a tense exchange between Naruto and Sai upon the latter’s arrival. He took that as his cue to step in.

Yamato introduced himself, with a slight tilt of his head and what he hoped was a fairly affable smile. It must have been Sai’s first mission without a mask though, his expression far too vapid and stilted. The boy must not have been trained for diplomacy missions either given how confrontational he was with his teammates, every sentence carrying with it a new insult.

It nearly came to blows between the three of them, and Yamato could feel something akin to indigestion roiling in his gut as he had to intervene. This was going to be a difficult mission. He thought about throwing them in a wooden cage until they behaved – it was a staple of his when frustration between two members of Team Ro would boil over and they needed assistance coming to an understanding – but they didn’t have time for that… he was already running a few minutes behind the schedule he had hoped to keep.

After a less than enthusiastic set of introductions, he gave them their mission overview, and sent them off to pack for their mission with the time and place they were to meet afterward.

Which only left his meeting with Lady Tsunade, Jiraiya, and Kakashi….

He sighed, straightening himself and follwing Lady Tsunade in as they met up and made their way to the room, and the indigestion caused by his temporary team only seemed to grow.

When was the last time he spoke with Kakashi other than a casual greeting and innocuous “how’s it going?” with small talk that took no more than ninety seconds.

Definitely not since he’d been retired from ANBU.

Even that time he’d seen him at the memorial stone a few years back had been terse.

It had been coincidence, and he had planned to let the man mourn in peace. As much as he would have liked to have stayed with him then, he’d had his own ghosts to visit. The offering he had brought was tucked into a paper bag in his pocket; senbei. Something simple. A small, yearly ritual for the members of Team Ro who had fallen.

But, ever alert, his senpai had clocked him, his tone almost accusatory when he’d asked if Tenzō had been waiting for him.

“What did you want? I heard they’re still having difficulty finding my replacement. Or did you come to laugh at the great genin babysitter?”

Despite his sullen nature, it had been nice to see him. To hear his voice even if he wouldn’t engage much in banter. But all too quickly, he’d absconded, leaving an uncomfortable, sour taste in Tenzō’s mouth.

The senbei had felt heavy as he placed them by the stone and paid his respects.

But, he mused as he packed that memory into a neat little box and stored it into the closet of his mind, that was a thought for another time.

Conversations, sparse as they were, after that had been slightly more pleasant, but no less short or abrupt. This was an intelligence brief though. There wouldn’t be a chance for things to get awkward.

That he could deal with.

And as the door opened, and they funneled in, there was almost a sense of relief. Exhausted, as his senpai had always chronically been, hair falling every which way, with his smutty book resting on his lap, there was a familiarity to it that calmed the tension in his gut, “It’s been a while, Senpai.”

“Oh,” Kakashi’s brows raised a bit, clearing the boredom from his face just a touch, “I see. So this is the Yamato you were talking about. Go figure.”

“Yes,” Yamato found himself standing at attention, “My codename will be Yamato while I remain interim captain of Team Kakashi.”

That was the extent of the pleasantries before they got down to business, and with each word out of Jiraiya and Kakashi’s mouth, something cold and dark grew in the pit of his stomach.

He could almost feel the pressure of fluid on his skin, in his hair. Thicker than water.

He counted to eight between his breaths, packing the memories back into the box they belonged in and shutting them away in the far reaches of his mind. There could be no distractions. If Orochimaru was part of this mission, he would need to be wholly present.

This was the reason he had been created after all… to ensure the power of the nine tails remained in check and under the control of The Leaf. If it was leaking out of Naruto though why hadn’t Master Jiraiya reinforced the seal?

But… it wasn’t his place to question him like that, was it? They hadn’t built a rapport like he had with Lady Tsunade, and Jiraiya was The Leaf’s leading seal master. Maybe it just couldn’t be done.

The thought pooled in his gut like lead.

New teammates (who seemed to hate each other), the potential to encounter Orochimaru, the Nine-Tails chakra leaking out of Naruto and the potential for it to take over if emotion overwhelmed the boy, which was an uncomfortably high probability, and a spy for ROOT who potentially planned to betray them.

This wasn’t going to just be a difficult mission… it had the potential to turn downright nasty.

Though let it not be said that in all of his tenure, he had ever turned down a mission; And this was most assuredly one that he was well-suited for. His live-capture rate was one of the highest in ANBU. Even without a well-trained team he could trust implicitly, it was very likely he would be able to subdue and capture their quarry.

For better or for worse, they were putting their trust Yamato to keep the Kyuubi in check on top of it.

He wouldn’t let them down.

So, as he felt their eyes on his back when he left the hospital room, he boxed up that stress and anxiety and pushed it back into the closet of his mind to unpack at another time.

And if his heart found its way into his throat as he caught a glimpse of a familiar chunin with an arm slung around the shoulders of someone he hadn’t seen in months on the way to the rendezvous point, then, well, he packed that away too.

There was work to be done, after all.

_____________________

Naruto had divulged that Jiraiya had intentionally been pushing the boy into situations where he would need to rely on the Kyuubi’s chakra after exhausting his own…. One could dress it up however they pleased, but at the end of the day, it was just as much an experiment with the boys’ body as it was training. And bringing out a malevolent entity purposefully when Naruto knew nothing about it, or how to control it, while it constantly damaged his body was nothing short of reckless.

Had they even provided him with Lady Mito’s notes?

Or would that have given him too much of a clue as to who his parents were?

And, after learning that Jiraiya had only agreed to teach Naruto in the first place through bribery with an explicit transformation jutsu, Yamato found himself incredibly relieved that Lady Tsunade had been the one to take the hat. Battlefield prowess did not sound judgement make, and he loathed to think about what sort of depravities the old lecher would institute.

Spirits, what a mess….

At least Asuma would have had a hokage that disappointed him more than his father, he supposed.

Your eyes flicked to the man behind her, jounin vest, happuri, and an expression so intense that you couldn’t help but immediately avert your gaze. Like he had been trying to burn a hole through you with just his mind. Like you were a bug caught under the scorching rays of the sun through a magnifying glass.

The weight of it was nearly oppressive, and self consciously you trailed your tongue over your teeth wondering if you had something stuck between them.

Or did he have some stupid jutsu that let him read minds like the Yamanaka and he had overheard your thoughts about Sakura’s wound?

Dredging up the most annoying, catchy pop-song you could think of,you repeated it in your mind until it was the only thing on the surface; If he was going to try to read your mind, you would make him suffer for it. His expression in your peripheral vision did not change, wide, dark eyes, pinning you in place like an entomologist with a new moth.

As Hideo stepped away to gather herbs for the order, Sakura turned to you, “Professor, would you be willing to give us a tour of the greenhouses? I was telling Captain Yamato about some of the work you do here, and I was hoping you’d be willing to show him since he was so gracious in tagging along to help me pick up the hospital’s order. He has a bit of an interest in plants.”

Her smile would have been disarming in any other circumstance, but it was very difficult to relax when her companion was so…. Your gaze flicked to him again, taking in the tightness in his jaw, eyes impossibly dark as though the light died upon reaching them, sucked into an inky-black tar pit. Pitch as a moonless night.

Even the Uchiha’s eyes had had flecks and streaks of dark grey to temper their iris like the facets of hewed obsidian. If Sakura’s captain had an iris at all, there was no color to it, nothing to differentiate it from the murky depths of his pupil.