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modernart2012 · 7 years

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Distant Places (All These Things I’ve Done)

@sumigakure Halloween Event 2017

Prompt 15: This Town Isn’t What it Seems

Prompt 12: Character finds out they’re a Supernatural Creature

Word Count: 15944

Rating: Mature

WARNING DESCRIPTION OF PANIC ATTACK

On AO3

“Here we are Kakashi.” Sakumo sets down the final box in the gekkan; the rest are stacked pathetically, clinically in neat rows across part of the length of the hall. His son looks around silently, moving ninja quiet around the room trailing Fluffy and Pakkun behind like mismatched lion dogs from the front of a temple made flesh. His heart constricts heavily in his chest, everything about the scene painfully wrong. The neat and orderly boxes, the pervasive ringing silence, the way his genius son was simply nonverbal and constantly huddled in his mother's oversized scarf. Chiasa should have been here, should be laughing and teasing and failing to parse out her own handwriting on the boxes even though the boxes were always mislabeled and it wouldn’t matter which one was opened first anyways.

He breathes in deep, slow and even like the military had taught him when he was in basic training, like the therapists taught him when the world was too overwhelming and threatening to drown him alive, and tries to let go. Chiasa had probably befriended all the dogs (or wolves, or foxes, or hyenas, or whatever canine she stumbled across) on her way through the Earth God’s Halls, leading a massive pack to the Lady of Death to await judgement and reincarnation. Four Almighty, she’d probably act as advocate for the dogs to be reincarnated into better lives, fight the Lady of Death herself. It wouldn’t help any to clutch desperately at her soul with his regrets; she deserved to go in peace after so long without, deserved better than to be tethered to this world to turn into a vengeful ghost instead of journeying on to the next life. He has things to focus on here and now, does not have time to dwell on the past and what is irreversible. Breathe in 4, breathe out 7, and turn to the future.

“Kakashi, would you like to light the flame?” The lamp had been the only item he had carried outside of a box, the thing he had Kakashi place first in the shrive alcove by the fireplace in the living room. It should have been the first thing done, the flame lit and the prayers of blessing sung while smudging incense and lavender through the house, but Sakumo hoped the Fire God would give them a pass. Funerals and mourning were in there on the list of the Interdictions, right, where allowances were made for not strictly following the ceremonies and rituals? Kakashi nods, and barely touches a finger to the clarified butter soaked wick before it sparks up and burns true. Sakumo takes out the jasmine incense Chiasa had loved, and lights a stick to place inside the incense holder, then passes the item to Kakashi. “Once round the house, in all the rooms, and round the garden too. You don’t have to say the prayers, thinking them is fine,” Sakumo is quick to add that last bit. The therapists said Kakashi would speak again when he wanted to, and to not add pressure of speaking before Kakashi was ready on his own. Three deaths so quickly, one right after the other, deaths of people they were both close to; it was a lot of grief to process no matter how long ago it happened, and it didn’t harm anyone to let his son work through it like this. Kakashi nods and goes off, still trailing Pakkun like a vigilant shadow. Fuzzy settles down in the hall with a quiet boof, and he softly pets her cloud white head before getting on with his tasks.

He’s just getting done with scrubbing down the still and sweep of the front door when Dai finally gets there. “Sakumo!” He’s enveloped in green and toned muscles before he can think about it. “I’ve missed you, my old friend.” Sakumo doesn’t answer, the words are unnecessary; he loosens the tension of his frame and hugs back. Clings to the solidness of Dai and the easy affection he offers, the warm port in the storm of his emotions churning like the wine-dark sea. Sakumo’s suffused with gratefulness; it was a good idea to move to the new Ranger station here with Dai, even if the job was technically to watch over some academic as they handled ... something .

It’s above his paygrade to worry about, anyways, since all he needs to know is that the government is very interested in making sure whatever the project is is kept quiet and delivered to the military upon completion. It’s a stable, relatively non-dangerous position that means he can stay with his son and process the most recent loss, that of his wife without worrying about being shot by the enemy. Especially since his senses have been going haywire recently. Sakumo can smell that Dai had an oat kale banana almond protein shake this morning, had hugged someone who smelled like him yet subtly different and someone not - Gai, most likely, then Hisako- and paused somewhere with a lot of minerals. It bothers his nose, and Sakumo has to pull away to sneeze several times in quick succession to clear out his sinuses. Dai, of the same school of thought as their late C.O., whacks him heartily on the back, “There, there, get it out of your system.” Because sneezes originated in the chest and needed to be gotten out like a cough, according to Old Butsuma Senju - he had treated his lung cancer the same way, and died of it, the crotchety old bastard. As if summoned, Kakashi materializes at the base of the stairs, gaze unwaveringly on Sakumo and shifting on his feet like he wants to drift closer but doesn’t know if he should, if he would be welcome. He'd begun hovering over Sakumo at the slightest indication of illness too, but Sakumo didn't mind. He knew he'd do the same, probably would with the chill of the fall setting in given Kakashi’s penchant for catching colds.

“Come on in Dai,” Sakumo offers, slowly making his way down the hall towards the kitchen, only pausing to ruffle Kakashi’s hair. Kakashi pushes up into the touch momentarily, then brushes by to retreat into the living room. Fuzzy turns her head just so, creating a depression where Pakkun can trip himself into, curl up snug and warm in her fur, and such that she can keep an eye on Kakashi. She’s never been trained in childcare, just picked up on it naturally, instinct running high when Kakashi was born and has kept up ever since. “I’m sorry, we don’t have much yet, I have yet to make it to the grocery store, but I can make tea?”

Dai waves him off, “Don’t worry about it; I’m here to help you unpack and settle in.” Dai pushes a slim emerald green box tied in black ribbon across the corners. It rattles ominously, probably amythest, a piece of amber, malachite, black jasper, and beryl - stones for healing, for strength, for emotional cleansing and stability. Good stones for mourning, good stones for the shrine, to remember by. “Hisako is going to bring Gai and groceries later today, so let’s try to get at least the ground floor cleaned and set up.” Of course Dai would bring a traditional gift, and of course he would make nothing of it. Wouldn't even repeat the ritual phrases because Dai knew Sakumo hadn't found any comfort in them the first time with his father, or the second with his mother-in-law, or the third with Chiasa. It was uncool to do something when you know it wouldn't help. Didn't go with his nice guy aesthetic. Sakumo swallows down a choked sob, inhales for a count of 4, exhales a count of 7, and focuses on the task of setting up a house.

“I was hoping to scrub down the floors and refinish them, at least while the floors are bare,” Sakumo offers in return. Dai will hear what he isn’t saying, that he’s restless and needs the physicality of labor to keep himself here. Dai’s not a stranger to Sakumo’s bouts of depression, of his techniques for self-care and processing emotions, been on the receiving end of his need to clean and organize many different times in their long friendship. Wallowing has never done anything for him, and right now he could use a distraction from the awful grasp of sadness rolling around his skull.

Dai nods after a moment of careful consideration. “We’ll need to put up an iron horseshoe over the door first - local custom - then we can go to the hardware store for scrubbers, wood stain, and wood wax. The Doctor’s lab is right there, so I can introduce you then as well.”

Sakumo hasn’t heard of the iron horseshoe superstition in anything but faerie tales, “You’ll have to appraise me of all the local customs, then.” It’s been years since he last heard one of those stories; Kakashi had quickly and effectively demonstrated his disdain for anything lacking in canine characters in stories as a child, and once he had figured out how to read, well, it was hard to lie about which characters were dogs when Kakashi could figure it out with a quick glance at the page. Dai strikes his signature ‘nice guy’ pose, and Sakumo hopes there’s a guide, if Dai is striking his pose of ‘working hard and showing results’. Maybe the locals are just really old-fashioned and uphold long-dead ancient traditions?

The hardware store has eclectic ‘home security’ and ‘home improvement’ sections, an anachronistic array of modern and old items that constitute some value of security or improvement from salt lamps and iron to seals and normal electronic security measures. Sakumo wisely doesn't comment, because he's here for the foreseeable future and making enemies with the hardware store is a slippery slope to having the whole town against you. Local business owners are the ones to be in good with, especially in small towns out in the forest. He's looking forward to a long continued relationship with them, and his life.

He leaves Kakashi, Pakkun, and Fuzzy on the porch of the Doctor's office, a repurposed house, because while he doesn’t want to leave his son with only canine care (as excellent as it is), taking his son into an active research lab is probably really low on the scale of Do’s and Don’t’s of parenting. Dai grins broadly, then raps loudly on the door. It’s scaled in iron, and the window boxes were full of primroses. An interesting choice of decor, but eccentric academic types were wont to be ... eccentric. Idly, Sakumo wonders about the forest that seems to mix so closely with the town, like the buildings were built in little pockets in between trunks and roots, almost something out of a high fantasy setting. Seriously, this looked like something out of the Lord of the Rings movies.

“Hello, Hunter. It’s been a while.” Someone somewhere has stomped all over Sakumo’s grave, given the shivers crawling over his spine. He knows that voice, and still has flashbacks to that time in Yu no Kuni, with the absolutely crazy people being chased by two known wanted hitmen trying to ransom them. Of course he would run into one of them, that was just his luck.”You’ve aged well. Very well.” Fuzzy is standing, hackles raised but not growling. Those piercing, assessing eyes that have only grown more alluring and more bright with time finish perusing Sakumo and flit over to the corner. “And Wolfy too. Hello, Wolfy. How are you?” Fuzzy whines, high and confused, but still poised to move. The Doctor makes no move to touch Fuzzy though, which Sakumo has to begrudgingly give him props for knowing better than to touch a conflicted and scared animal.

The pale, golden-eyed one leans languid in the doorway, long hair tied back into a high ponytail and there’s a smirk that screams mischief to Sakumo. His first thought is beautiful , second breathtaking , and third is oh no . He tenses, ready to move - ready to flee - because he distinctly recalls a decade ago as being a massive FUBAR SNAFU even for the Rangers. An International Incident, more wreckage than the World Wars, and sexual harassment by a minor. The only saving grace had been finding out their targets had been taken care of by some academic type via experimental seal.

Dai is either ignoring the awkward or exhibiting restraint - “So you’ve met Dr. Benzaiten before Sakumo! That’s great!” - or he’s oblivious. Sakumo sighs, and tries not facepalm. “This makes things so much easier!” Sometimes he has to wonder how Dai even made it into the Rangers, given the branch’s clandestine activities, but then he remembers that Dai is a hand-to-hand specialist who’s managed to take on people who were bullet- and magic-proof and win.

The good Doctor snickers. It’s not mean, or at least it’s not at haughty and demeaning, but honestly amused, “Doctor Orochimaru Benzaiten, PhD. You must be the new Ranger assigned here.”

Sakumo notes that the good Doctor doesn’t offer his hand to shake, or give any form of pleasantry. It might be hard to face someone you’ve perpetrated a crime against, he supposes, even if it’s a decade later. “Major Sakumo Hatake, Army Rangers. I am assigned here, yes, specifically to you.” It might be petty to restrain himself from minor pleasantries as well, but mirroring is a form of politeness. In like, Uzu no Kuni, or something.

The silence that stretches out after that is heavy, the Doctor eying him speculatively, Dai grinning and Kakashi doing his best to hunker down behind the still wary Fuzzy. A glittering purple head rises up from what Sakumo thought was the Doctor’s neckline - now he can tell the scaled bit isn’t a collar, it’s a live snake - and tastes the air. The Doctor strokes slowly over the viper-diamond head, contemplatively, like he’s listening closely to something no one else can hear. It stirs the air enough that Sakumo’s nose is hit with conflicting information: dust, chemicals, Dai, flower-scent, and the smell of dried scales. He sneezes twice rapidly, if only his damn sensitivity to smells would settle down already!

“Oh? Captain Maito, do see that Major Hatake is caught up on the local ...peculiarities. It will not do for a military man to be ... caught up in the local ongoings, after all. I’d hate to have something occur that can’t be fixed.” The Doctor slowly continues to stroke the snake’s head, sashaying his sharp purple eyeshadow and dangly iron earrings back through the door with a perfunctory snap shut. Sakumo tries to parse if that is a honest warning, or a subtle threat. It sounded like the Doctor is trying to say something important, but Sakumo’s missing most of the relevant puzzle pieces.

Dai smiles confidently, “I think Dr. Benzaiten likes you! He actually spoke to you instead of glaring, snarking, and/or trying to make you out to be incompetent.” Which might have something to do with their last encounter, where at least two out of the three things Dai just mentioned happened. Sakumo and Dai step off the porch, Fuzzy herding Kakashi and Pakkun along and bringing up the rear.

But, “Did he try that with you?” Sakumo’s willing to swallow his own reservations about the Doctor, especially because it’s his job to do so, but if the Doctor was mean to Dai for no reason, then he’s absolutely going to write back to Command and tell them about the Doctor’s nonsense. All of it. The previous incident was well documented, appropriately filed, and it’d just take a word to have the Doctor’s record black marked for sexual harassment.

Dai levels him a clear-eyed stare, the same one Sakumo had gotten before Dai had slapped sense into him when Sakumo had worked himself into a nervous wreck right before his wedding to Chiasa. “Sakumo, I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t handle a sarcastic child. There are worse things out there than a snarky academic, you and I both know it.” He has to accept the truth of it though, the time with the Daimyo’s daughter was in fact the worst , not even for the treachery and number of bodies she created unnecessarily. A pretty, snarky academic really is nothing in comparison to having to toss still warm bodies into a volcano to hide the evidence. “Besides, we still have a house to clean. Lucky it’s small, right?”

Small, while generous as a descriptor, still means there’s a lot of scrubbing and cleaning to do. The last layer of wax barely dries before Hisako and Gai arrive, and then Hisako informs them that the rooms need to be repainted and anti-pest sprayed before they can even begin to think about living there. Sakumo thinks there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the bare off-white walls, but Hisako is as much a force to be reckoned with as Dai when she’s set her mind on something, so off they go back to the hardware store for paint.

It’s dusk and the town looks completely different. There are figures who pass by like shadows, build up in the streets, that Sakumo only gets glimpses of in the gaslight. Perhaps they are people who work normal jobs, and only just now get to complete their chores for the day? Brigadier General Senju often complained of that, when she was single, and so did many other single coworkers. Balancing getting off work tiredness and the need for food and other household chores was always difficult.

There’s a small platform in the middle of the central town square, front and center of a series of benches.Some people are congregated at the benches, talking softly, milling out patiently and with expectation. “Dai, what’s going on here.” Sakumo tips his chin in their general direction, trying to be discreet. Some of the shadows Sakumo could half see in the corners of his eyes raised the prickling feeling he’s always gotten when danger is near. Sakumo doesn't know what to call it, but there's a tingle in his spine that says something is off.

Dai flicks his eyes to the groups, to the various forms about, some hooded, some veiled, and murmurs sotto voce , “We have a lot of people who live in the surroundings, and this is the only town in a 50 mile radius to have a paved road to get in goods. They come in once or twice a week, but usually on days the Headman has announcements or open forum.”

“Headman?” Maybe Dai should’ve taken Sakumo to meet the Headman instead of the Doctor today; if things were this small town mentality, then the Headman was the man to meet first. The military tended to be formal about things like that after all, especially with military researchers based in backwoods places.

“Dr. Benzaiten. He’s the main person who fixes things, after the last Mayor’s gristly death,” Dai mistakes Sakumo’s look of alarm, “Oh, that was a long time ago. Really, before our time, back when the Doctor first came here with his teacher to do some research. According to the locals, there were a bunch of lightning and thunder storms, and other weird happenstances, but the Mayor ended up dead.” Dai holds up two different paint color swatches. Why in the name of the Fire God Dai thinks Sakumo desires blood red walls or forest green walls is a mystery for the ages. Sakumo holds up a pale silver grey color and a toasted wheat bread tan swatch. Dai vetoes them immediately with neon pink.

The man at the counter leans over, his full beard both glorious and intimidating in its sheer size. The urge to throw the regulation handbook at him is fierce, but civilian and hardware store owner . “Good riddance to bad business, uh. That Four-damned sonovabitch was up to his neck in the Twelve Hells’ business; he didn’t get nothin’ that weren’t already comin’ to him.” He draws his right hand across his eyes in a clawing motion, ripping off the glamour evil places over sight so that the person can’t tell right from wrong. Air God follower, then. Unusual for a hardware shop owner, but Sakumo wasn’t one to judge, since for all that the family name was Hatake he was sheer shit at earth magic. Much to his training sergeant’s eternal horror.

Dai shrugs, “It was noted that it could have been murder, but the overwhelming consensus was ‘Act of God(s)’ and left at that.” Because nothing said Bad Idea like investigating God meted justice. He presses the first three fingers of his right hand to his chest clawed, and drags away. No one needs the God’s Eyes on them for good or ill; God attention never ended well for anyone involved.

The bearded shop owner eyes Sakumo, “You the one who moved in on Old Woman Kayano’s place, uh?” He blazes on, before Sakumo can answer, since it’s either stamped across his forehead or the small town rumor mill’s been busily at work within less than 24 hours, “Earth God Bless her soul, she didn’t have a lick of sense the Four gave sheep, wouldn’t listen an’ got herself got, uh. Tell you what, that place needs more than a lick an’ spit shine, real fixer upper, I’ll give you the discount.” He quickly selects a series of colors from the proffered swatches, and mixes them. “You’ll want salt an’ iron nails too, uh.” The man nods knowingly, like this is the most basic thing Sakumo will need in order to repaint his house. “Headman’ll be ‘round later in the week to set them up right an’ show you how, don’t think nothin’ of it.”

Sakumo’s head is spinning with the rapid-fire information dump, plus the idea of letting the Doctor into his house, a place for his family, “Ah. My tha -”

The man slaps a hand over his mouth faster than Sakumo can blink, their faces drawn together uncomfortably close, “Right, up and forgot you ain’t got the run down quite yet, uh. Don’t go throwin’ around the ‘ank-thay ou-yay’ phrase or the like, some folks ‘round these parts are quick to drag that into a life debt, so mind. You’ll be fleeced of everythin’ you hold dear, uh.” Dai nods enthusiastically, so it’s either just this one person’s quirk or it’s an actual thing. Given the circumstances and Sakumo’s luck, it’s probably an actual thing, which meant - nothing good, Holy Fire God’s Flame. The man lets go but doesn’t end the eye contact.

“Are these people that dangerous?” He can’t say his heart isn’t beating faster in alarm, since this is precisely the sort of thing that ought to have come on the mission parameter memo, and not a ‘local customs to be assimilated to’ bullet. Life debts haven’t been a thing for the last 400 years! And even then, they were usually invoked when someone actually saved your life, or someone near and/or dear to you.

The man stares deeply into Sakumo’s eyes. And very slowly, with great emphasis, nods. Just once. Then he deliberately hits the total key on the register, letting the ka-ching of it processing echo in the space. “That’ll be $60.46 ryo, uh.”

Sakumo pays, and stumbles out under the weight of the paint tins. Thank the Four for whomever invented paint and primer in one, for the amount of paint carrying they’ve saved him. They walk quickly, facing forward, idly discussing what color ought to be begun first - Sakumo thinks the pale Iron blue needs at least one coat today, since it’s the most pigmented, but Dai thinks they should finish the halls and powder room due to square footage. The town square is still busy, with more people flickering as shadows around the edges. Sakumo can see the Doctor speaking emphatically with someone in a deep emerald cloak, clearly annoyed but maintaining socially required politeness. They pass close enough to see the cloaked figure - surrounded by other figures tense with barely leashed energy - and hear her clear wind-chime voice snap with relentless wrath, “If you will not find and be rid of the whore-begotten mongrel I will have to do so myself .”

The Doctor’s voice is cyanide sweet, dripping with venom and danger, “Lady, there are a thousand things you need to do yourself, but I caution you that this is not one of those things you should consider within your purview to act upon.” There’s a veiled threat in there, one Sakumo can read in the Doctor’s face more than the words - one that promises a painful reckoning if the woman finds and - given context, probably murders - whomever she’s deemed a ‘whore-begotten mongrel’. “Furthermore, you yourself were quick to claim you had ended that ‘mulatto half-breed’s existence’; are you saying that you failed to accomplish your own deed? My, my, Lady, which is it?” For whatever reservations Sakumo has from a decade ago, he cannot fault Dr. Benzaiten’s approach to handling this woman, who he finds less and less pleasant with each passing moment.

The woman snarls, “Watch yourself Headman,” but the rest of the confrontation is lost to Sakumo as he and Dai pass out of hearing range. Sakumo can still smell the group though, ash and smoke, fallen leaves, sunlight, moss and bark, and something acrid that burned. Something festering and fungal, waiting to lash out.

“Who was that?” He’s not looking for trouble, not really, but that was a clear and distinct threat and he’s got a sinking feeling that perhaps that is the sort of person the man at the hardware store was warning him about. He sneaks a look back, and the crowd has grown, the Doctor an unwavering pillar against their roiling, nearly unleashed rage, like a dark bulwark of light against the monsters in the shadows. He catches glimpses of fantastical outlines, antlers and twigs, and it must be something backwoods, small-society cultural to have such elaborate headdresses and accoutrements to their outfits.

Dai grimaces, “They live around somewhere, and show up sometimes. Usually to talk to Dr. Benzaiten, or make a bargain. I’ve never heard someone else give them a name, as a group, but they make everyone uneasy.” That Dai hasn’t discluded himself is a massive red flag - Dai did his best to get along with everyone, after all. “Now, to paint! Yosh!” He bounds up the front steps with vigor usually found in men half his age.

Sakumo sighs, and decides that he’d best concede the halls and powder room for painting if he wants any sort of sleep before going into work tomorrow.

Day two in town has it’s perks - namely, the coffee machine in Dr. Benzaiten’s lab, and the many tissue dispensers, because there are so many conflicting smells his sinuses ache - and the ability to ask questions. “Was there ever a reasonable resolution to the ... discussion last night?”

Dr. Benzaiten pauses in soldering electrical wires together, mouth hidden behind a sterile mask but his liquid gold eyes narrowed, evaluating, then widening. “Hold this.” He passes over a piece of quartz, milky white and occluded, gloves powdery still with nitrile. “You’re fire right? Or rather, lightning?”

Sakumo is taken aback.“Er, yes?” He’s not sure what his magical affinity has to do with anything, but Small Lords of Ash and Smoke, eccentric academics are eccentric and Sakumo has nothing to lose by indulging something so minor.

“Good, I need that charged. If you would.” His ponytail waves like a hypnotic onyx ribbon as he moves and maneuvers bits and pieces of electronics, wires, and various magical tools or various magical uses, and Sakumo idly wonders if it’s as soft and silk-like as it looks. “As to our... out of town friends, they are well aware that their previously overlooked ... activities are no longer so overlooked and have consequences.” Dr. Benzaiten’s eyes crinkle in what would be amusement if it weren’t for the dark satisfaction lurking in their depths. “Though that does remind me,” he fishes through a pile of papers offhandedly, before unearthing a pamphlet, “there is a guide to the general local quirks, especially in regards to our oh so friendly neighbors. Most of it boils down to ‘Don’t’; they have some ... antiquated ideas about equivalent exchange.”

Sakumo decides it’s not worth derailing the conversation to discuss if that’s a Fullmetal Alchemist reference. “Is that why everyone gives them a wide berth?” He hands over the softly glowing crystal, and watches the sinuous grace with which Dr.Benzaiten pops it into a device and pushes various buttons. The machine whirs to life, fan whirling and spinning buzz that Sakumo has to forcibly phase into white noise. Perhaps he should see a doctor again, his ears have started to become more sensitive as well.

Dr. Benzaiten tilts his head consideringly, assessing something of the readout, before shrugging elegantly, “Some people willingly interact, but their social norms are more strict than ours, and they often get themselves entangled in affairs well above their ability to handle.”

“And then you have to fish them out.” The man is a decorated academic and researcher with the best University in the Elemental Nations, he’s got little to no other reason to be a Headman of a sleepy - for a given value of sleepy, since apparently the neighborhood is full of people who consider murder fair play - hamlet in the backwoods - literally! Literature levels of murder in the wrong end of the Elemental Nations! - of Hi no Kuni.

“And then I fish them out because they are mine and our neighbors aren’t allowed to mess with what’s mine.” And the decorated academic is possessive. Good to note, as it raises questions about where Sakumo stands. Highly uncomfortable questions. “Do try not to get yourself involved though, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure and all.”

Sakumo isn’t going to argue the point - it’s true and he painfully knows from experience - and tucks the pamphlet into his uniform jacket for later perusal. How much could ‘Don’t’ cover anyways?

The door to the lab is knocked at rapidly, and then the assistant, Nawaki, sticks his head in. “Dr. Benzaiten, there’s been - ”

“Who was it this time, Nawaki? If it was Youko, please go tell her I refuse to -” Dr. Benzaiten doesn’t look up from where he’s returned to soldering connections on a breadboard.

“Noboru. It’s Noboru. Please, sir, it’s urgent.” His grey-green eyes don’t waver, even when Dr. Benzaiten bolts upright, eyes alight with anger and righteous indignation.

“Major, I won’t be back in the laboratory today, please take the rest of the day off.” It’s phrased like an order, like the ones Butsuma Senju used to give, that made everyone hurry to obey, and on instinct Sakumo nearly dos the same. It takes a moment to recognize that he’s heard wrong, and that checking that his sidearm is holstered is the wrong action to be taking, even though it’s perhaps more expedient given. The men are hurrying towards the door, and Sakumo hurries after them.

“This situation, are you sure you won’t need backup?” Sakumo’s a military man, always has been. He’s good at achieving the best outcomes, and he won’t leave someone in trouble when he’s capable of helping. Especially if it’s as urgent as this sounds.

“If I thought you impeccable aim and impressive ability to track would be of any use, Major, I would be telling you to come along. As it is, you aren’t versed in the protocols and you have a small child yourself. About the same age as Noboru. Go home to your son, Major, there’s nothing you can do here.” With that, the Doctor and his assistant rush out the door.

Unfortunately, Sakumo hasn’t gotten to where he is in life without a good bit of skullduggery, skulking, and snooping. And while he’s entirely sure he is completely able to follow Dr. Benzaiten and Nawaki without being spotted, noticed, or otherwise caught, there is one thing universities and the government are better at doing than the military - paperwork. And Dr. Benzaiten is a researcher in Experimental and Theoretical Magic, which means he must keep a detailed log of everything. Thank the Fire God and all the Small Lords for red tape.

Dr. Benzaiten is one who keeps everything in handwritten logs. Small blessings. It’s nothing to use the master key access he has for his own needs to access Dr. Benzaiten’s office, to find his logs. And while Dr. Benzaiten writes in a shorthand that’s as complex and near as impossible to read, almost worse than nearly-completely faded Ancient Scripts, Sakumo had minored in Ancient Scripts for a reason beyond its use in code breaking. There’s nothing better than writing a senior thesis on the regional and dialectic variants of the shorthand for certain elements in spell writing that ends up having uses later in life. Because Dr. Benzaiten is definitely using a southeastern Mizu no Kuni regionalization, the Marsh Witches High Cant. Last Sakumo had heard, that was a matrilineally passed language, and also long extinct. Out of academic interest, he copies a few pages, but keeps an ear trained on the noises in the office. He absolutely does not need to be caught.

It seems at least once a week there’s mention of ‘’thrs’ or ‘o’t’rs’ - Cant for outsiders, those who are not of or belonging to a Witch, with belonging originating in terms of vassals but here more likely to mean the regular townsfolk. Much mention of the ‘Peer High One’ - the leader of the neighbors, then, since the Witches failed to recognize male leaders unless they were vassals of another Witch - and her casual cruelty. No mention of what she’s been up to though, just that she rules with an indiscriminate iron fist - Dr. Benzaiten makes mention of the woman taking out her whims on her own vassals - and something . Fire God and all the Small Lords, Sakumo can’t tell if the word is smudged, miswritten, or something completely made up.

His senses sting, muscles freezing as his ears prick at the slight sound of footsteps limping forward on wood - there’s someone at the door. Sakumo can smell blooming blood, and the tangy-fizz of magic, and something wild . He reflexively calls up his magic, because Dr. Benzaiten wouldn’t end up here if he was covered in that much blood, so whomever has gotten themselves here is either a badly wounded friend or a blood covered foe. “Hello?”

There’s no answer for a moment, and that’s worrying in all the wrong ways, until, “Doctor? Are you here?” That voice is definitely neither Dr. Benzaiten’s nor Nawaki’s, but something akin to an older woman’s only more soft, more weathered yet clear and solid and nothing like the sharp shard sound of the leader of the people who live outside of town. Sakumo cautiously opens the door, and starts. A woman, his age, or not much older, pale and nearly blended into her dog’s grey-white fur.

“Ah, Doctor, Takao’s been - you’re not the Doctor.” Near instantaneously, he finds himself at the end of a blade and staring into grey-nearly-black eyes, the same as his and his son’s.

“I’m working with Dr. Benzaiten. You said your dog was injured?” He won’t begrudge the woman seeking aid for her dog. Not when he himself has needed help to care for Fuzzy when he has active combat duty and she’s been injured.

“Takao’s taken a nasty hex to the side, I’ve done my best to keep it from corrupting more of his flesh, but I’m no medic.” Together they both support the massive beast into the lab, the poor dog visibly flagging with the effort needed to limp along. “I didn’t know what else to do, the Lady is raging so, and none of the others would dare disobey her or undo her handiwork.”

“But you did?” She’s right, this is a nasty hex, something slowly leaching Takao of life and energy, destroying his muscles and ligaments. Sakumo’s seen similar though, in the bloody genocide in Mizu no Kuni a few years back - an awful, prolonged, painful way to die - but there’s a salve. One some Inuzuka with the 5th regiment had made up, that smelled like fresh shit combined with fermenting fish and rotting corpses but worked .

He’s fumbling around his belt pouches - he has several vials of the stuff, since it works on most hexes by dint of being every anti-hex ingredient in a paste - when she speaks measuredly, “I am both her most trusted lieutenant and the one she distrusts the most. For all my loyalty, she only sees daggers in the dark or what would amuse her best and pain me most.” As he applies a thick coating of the salve, she wrinkles her nose and gags, “Earth God’s fertile soil and its bounty, what is that?”

Sakumo is inclined to agree - somehow the smell is worse that he remembers - and has to breathe through his mouth to stop himself from puking. “Salve, good on hexes.” He accidentally inhales through his nose and has to fight the tumultuous roil of his stomach attempting to rebel. “I still need to channel magic through it to make sure it penetrates the tissue properly and removes all the contamination.” To Takao, who has been laying on his side patiently, panting and whimpering his pain but not moving, “You’re doing so good boy, I’m almost done, then you can rest okay?”

It takes a touch of magic only to activate the properties, fire, not water, to burn apart the bonds the hex uses to latch on to the body, uses in order to leach energy and life in order to feed its own. Water and it’s life won’t help here, no, fire needs to burn out the infection and that takes precision.The white-haired lady is hovering but motionless, and it prickles every instinct of his, to not bare the back of his neck to a stranger, to someone he does not recognize as his leader, and it’s easy enough to distract himself from such old intrusive thoughts, “Can you not depose her?”

She hisses startled, “Don’t even speak of such things! Even here the Lady has ears waiting to report back what was said and done!” She holds her elbows, arms crossed yet spine straight, a commander wearing her strength like armor, though a plate or two is clearly cracked and her vulnerability is showing through. “Is it done?”

Sakumo has removed as much as he could - the rest will burn out and off in the next few hours, but that will continue even after he stops running his magic through the salve. “It’s done. Let me wrap the area, and then you can be on your way.” He softly pets Takao’s head once more in silent praise, feeling vindicated when the dog pushes up gratefully into the press of his hand, then gets up to fetch the bandages from the first aid kit. Dr. Benzaiten could stand to lose a roll or two or linen gauze; he’s stocked for a small war.

When he gets back, Takao blearily opens his ice blue eyes and noses at his wrists, whining lowly. The woman cradles his large head and whispers in his ears as she runs her hand down his neck soothingly. He finally ties off the bandages. “Leave them on for a day, just to be sure that the salve has completely gotten rid of everything.”

The woman and dog rise, the dog listing and the woman obviously supporting him. “I will not forget your kindness, wolf-souled one. I owe you a life debt.”

The alarm bells in Sakumo’s head are ringing wildly, Dr. Benzaiten’s warnings running through his head. He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from telling her it was nothing, wracks his brain to think of something, anything to say. Finally he settles on, “Sakumo. My name. It’s Sakumo.”

The woman smiles and it is warm and softly sunlight, “Sayaka. And this one is called Takao. Well met, Sakumo the Wolfling.”

“Well met, Sayaka.” He wants to ask how he went from ‘wolf-souled’ to ‘Wolfling’ but decides it might have to do with social hierarchy the people who live around town use, and that’s probably not worth the headache.

She leaves into the orange-red twilight, and Sakumo can’t help but think that there’s something so much worse going on here than whatever the town believes, whatever that Dr. Benzaiten believes - has them believe?

There’s only one thing to do.

“A what? ” Dr. Benzaiten startles so hard the micropipette tip he’s been distractedly trying to jam onto the micropipette goes flying. Nawaki screeches quietly then rushes out dialing on his phone.

“A date.” Sakumo had talked it over extensively with Dai, with Hisako, and with Kakashi (and Gai, though Gai had cheered that dating was youthful, for which Sakumo would like to blame Dai preemptively before anything comes of that) and Fuzzy and Pakkun. The only one of those conversations that had gone well was with Kakashi, who had supportively suggested he get a guide on how to date since it had been literal years since he’d last gone on one. Dai and Hisako had exchanged glances, Dai wincing and Hisako gently mentioning that just because it had been nearly two years since- since - that he didn’t need to feel like he was rushing to pretend like he was done grieving. Really. Take his time and if Hisako needs to recommend a therapist, she’ll find one who’s willing to do appointments via Skype.

Things hadn’t gotten better on that end when he’d explained he wanted to mine Dr. Benzaiten for information, thus necessitating a situation where he (Sakumo) could liberally apply alcohol and loosen his (Dr. Benzaiten’s) tongue and find out what the Twelve Hells is going on in this town. Maybe he hadn’t explained things right, but Dai had told him it was uncool to use some pretty young thing like that - which while Dr. Benzaiten is pretty, and young, he is just as guilty of having ulterior motives and Sakumo knows it - and Hisako had winced and made dandan noodles for dinner to express her distaste for the idea.

It’s not his fault that Dr. Benzaiten is entirely too much to take on alone. “This isn’t a late retribution for the sexual harassment back then, is it?” His eyes are more purple eyeshadow than gold, suspicious and angry.

“What?! No!” Sakumo is quick to assure him it’s not that at all.

“Not a prank, or otherwise meanly meant?” At this one Sakumo has to internally wince, because he has ulterior motives but he isn’t pursuing it with malice intended.

Still he soldiers on. “No.”

Dr. Benzaiten unhooks his face mask to reveal pursed lips, flush high on his diamond cut cheekbones, “Are you attempting entrapment via relationship so I am forced to take you along on Headman duties so that you can reasonably discharge your duties as my overseeing officer for the Army?” A single emerald painted fingertip taps pointedly against the top of the lab bench.

He runs that through that sentence a few times, because it’s just convoluted enough to make sense, but not so convoluted there isn’t a right answer. “While that’d be a great way to do that, I’m pretty sure that’s morally wrong and for a different type of mission than this, also, no.” Sakumo smiles pleasantly, the one that crinkles his eyes just so, and pushes his hands into his pockets, relaxed. He can practically see the wheels turning in the doctor’s head. “Unless we’re doing International Incidents again?”

As if it’s reflexive, Dr. Benzaiten snaps, “That was entirely Kagami’s fault, and you know it Jiraiya!” There’s a moment of dead quiet, then Dr. Benzaiten’s eyes widen in horror.

Sakumo raises his eyebrows, notes both names for later research, but grins quicksilver mischief and says, “Not even one date and you’re calling me by another man’s name? That’s certainly fast, doctor.” At the wildfire flush running unchecked across pale skin, the sheer mortification made public, Sakumo eases, “If you’re actually that uncomfortable - “

“Tonight. 8pm. The izakaya off the main square. We’ll split the bill, so don’t get any funny ideas. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wrangle a phone from my assistant and try to yell one of my best friends down from an aneurysm over the phone.” Flush still riding high, the doctor glides quickly out of the room, lab coat billowing like a flag in the wind.

Sakumo’s going to chalk that up as a win, even if that win is slightly questionable. Now to figure out the highest proof alcohol the izakaya sells, and make sure Kakashi knows to go to the Maito’s tonight. He’s not throwing away his shot.

Fuzzy insists upon joining him that evening, and Sakumo, not willing to risk being late by having to fight a 300+ pound apex predator trained by the military, gives in and resigns himself to her coming along. She follows close beside him, stopping to sniff fences and lampposts as well as thoroughly investigate the public fountain in the corner of the square, plus or minus some rather aggressive squirrels. They must give the squirrels steroids or the like, given the way they hiss - which, since when did squirrels hiss? - and flicker their tails irately. That is some power tail flicking.

All in all Fuzzy makes an utter nuisance of herself on the walk over, but settles down when they meet Dr. Benzaiten at the door to the izakaya. “Doctor. Good evening.” Sakumo slides open the door gallantly. Fuzzy slips past like a large white shadow and pants happily from just inside the door.

He’s met by a pointedly arched eyebrow, silently judgemental, “Orochimaru, please. I must insist.” Orochimaru glides past anyways entering the premises easily. He greets the hostess easily, and they immediately get lead to a private booth. “So tell me, why exactly should I inform my best friends that you do not deserve to be pummeled into a pate for even looking at me sideways?”

Sakumo accepts the bottle of shochu from the waitress - prearranged after much deliberation between classy low stakes alcohol, like shochu or sake versus hangover inducing soju -careful to nod his thanks rather than speak it. “I do hope I’ve not given the impression that I’m that much of an asshole so quickly. ”

Orochimaru’s lips twitch, “Fair enough. Now that I’ve gotten my required question out of the way, the crux of the matter, Why did you ask me out?” He accepts the proffered glass of shochu, and they both sip at the sweet white sweet potato shochu. It’s tasty, perhaps fish will pair well, but possibly green beans or yakitori.

Sakumo thinks it over before answering, “You’re intriguing, and pretty. Should there be more to it?” Perhaps he’s getting the hang of telling the truth while also hiding his real intent. A scary yet exciting thought. Maybe he could go full on James Bond, super spy. Except James Bond was Navy, the soggy-bottomed loser. Maybe a whole new type of super spy? One who’s not a functioning alcoholic, for one.

“Call me pretty and give me non watered down shochu,” Orochimaru toasts him over the rim of his glass, “You, sir, are playing dirty.”

“Then I shall continue playing dirty.” Sakumo tosses back the rest of the shochu and refills Orochimaru’s glass. “How did Noboru fare in the end?”

“Little Noboru was snatched out of his cradle by our dearest neighbors and their Lady has the gall to pretend like no one knows who did it and on whose orders.” Orochimaru runs a finger around the rim of his glass; Sakumo has no choice but to listen to it sing with his hearing acting as funky as it is. “Luckily Manda managed to help make the point clear that the Lady isn’t welcome to simply trapeze around like she’s the Queen of these parts anymore. Now you, what do you get up to when you’re not lounging around my laboratory?” Manda hopefully, stayed at home and isn’t anywhere near the establishment.

Sakumo smiles, “I usually spend time with my son.” He fishes for his phone and swipes through the photos until he finds his favorite, “Kakashi. He’s 7, and a little genius. That’s his puppy Pakkun.” The pug is curled up in Kakashi’s lap like a small furry ball, barely visible.

Orochimaru coos appropriately at the picture of Kakashi solving basic calculus equations, then freezes warily asks, “And your wife?”

Sakumo lets the wash of ice cold sadness pour over him then exhales, slow and even, “She passed.” He forces himself to shrug, “Modern medicine is a miracle, but even that can’t fix metastasized cancer in the magic pathways.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” It’s sincere, for what that’s worth. For all Orochimaru is clearly playing a dangerous game with the people who live around the town, at least he’s not a complete sociopath. A stiff silence falls, and Sakumo tries to think of how to get it back on topic. Fire God’s Eternal Flame, he wasn’t the best dater around and he knew it. Why was this the plan again?

The waitress comes around to take their orders, and once she’s left Sakumo tries again, “So what brought you out here initially?”

“To shorten a needlessly complex story, my teacher won a grant to do some work for the military, and since I was assisting, I came out here with him. When his work was successfully completed, he left but I had unusual results that wouldn’t or couldn’t be replicated elsewhere in the world, so I left and came back to set up my lab. And now I mainly do research plus some work for the military as they find projects they need my expertise on.”

“Fascinating. And the ... friendly folk who live outside of town? How long have they been a problem?” Sakumo tops up both their glasses, though he’s been carefully pretending to drink instead of actually drinking.

“Mmm, about the same length of time, though they are usually quickly dealt with.” Their food arrives, small plates meant for sharing. “I have better things to do than to deal with their nonsense.”

“Are they usually targeting those who live here or each other?”

Orochimaru’s face twists, “Whatever catches their eye and suits the flavor of their cruelty for the moment. The Lady will target those among her people, and it’s disgusting. She has favorites to target, and one of them reminds me of you. Hair color, eye color, massive dogs like the wolf in Princess Mononoke had puppies.” He twirls a piece of yakitori contemplatively, before pointing the skewer suddenly at Sakumo. “Kind, earnest, honest, humble, loyal to a fault.” Sakumo knows his surprise is coloring his face, at the description his commanding officers have used to describe him since time immemorable, and Orochimaru’s smirk is triumphant, “You didn’t expect me to do my own research on you?”

“There’s nothing particularly interesting to know about me,” Sakumo demures, because it’s true. He’s a single parent to a genius child who’s only doing his best to make sure his last living family member is healthy and happy.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire, Mr. Youngest-Highly-Decorated-Major-In-the-Special-Operations-Division. You’re also in the running to make Colonel soon.”

“And you have nearly as many patents as your teacher, the second most in the world.” Sakumo should’ve saved that as ammunition for later, but he can’t regret the faint pink spots that rise on Orochimaru’s pale face. He really is pretty, which is an unconventional descriptor for a male, but also intelligent and not shy about it. A little loose tongued under the effect of alcohol, but that’s to be expected when you have three un-watered glasses with no food to cushion the shock to the system. Sakumo feels the sinking stone of guilt in his lower abdomen, the heavy rocks of regret weighing down his tongue. Perhaps this really was a bad idea.

“I surmise that this is your first foray back into the dating pool, then?” Orochimaru’s eyes have sharpened and Sakumo wonders if perhaps he hasn’t stumbled into some sort of trap.

The only thing to do though, is be honest. He scratches his cheek abashed, “Ahhh, what gave me away?” Under the table, Fuzzy snuffles about, as if she smells something intriguing, but Sakumo disregards that in favor of watching Orochimaru and the phases his eyes change through eureka - satisfaction-regard-intrigue lightning fast.

They finally settle on a glimmer of laughter - still not mean, just teasing mischief meant without malice. “Beyond the fact we just had a conversation over drinks that can be primarily and summarily described as ‘business oriented’, your phone keeps getting texts from someone named Dai sending you dating tips.” And this is why Sakumo doesn’t keep his phone on silent, Fire God forsake it. He can feel the fire of his blush all the way to the roots of his hair. “Don’t worry, I’m flattered. It’s not everyday someone decides all your various patents and magical skills mean you’re safe enough to test the dating pool with again.”

“A certain International Incident, if I recall correctly, marks you as very dangerous.” A set of eyebrows rise, astonishment, interest, and smug pride conveyed with so little, and Sakumo hurries to continue before things get wildly out of hand, “But ‘dangerous’ ... is interesting. I like dangerous things.” He replays what he just said in his head, and wrestles with the mortification rising from the depths of his soul. Open mouth and insert foot. While it’s not untrue , even when applied to Orochimaru - he is pretty and lethal, considering what he may or may not have accomplished a decade ago against immortal hitmen - Sakumo suspects that a) he’s not supposed to come right right out and say it, and b) when did that become less than a total lie? Even as he turns it over and over in his head in the silence that follows, he can’t say it’s untrue - from what he knows about Orochimaru he’s prone to protectiveness, possessiveness, sharp wit, and carries himself with a lethal sort of grace. None of those are necessarily deal breaker things, nor is his penchant for trouble and being in the center of it - glass houses and those who live in them and such.

Orochimaru shakes himself free of his excellent mimicry of a deer in the headlights. “That’s quite - I must myself admit that I find dangerous things also attractive.” His face is pointedly facing away, and all Sakumo can see are the sinuous snake earrings dangling from Orochimaru’s loose waterfall of midnight hair.

“Ah.” Sakumo covers with a deep drink of his shochu. Mmmm distilled sweet potato alcohol. Refreshing and if Sakumo has enough of it, he won’t be able to recall any of this. Fuzzy sneezes thrice in quick succession and harrumphs before settling down. He’s not sure if that’s Fuzzy making fun of him or the situation or both.

The silence that falls is awkward. Sakumo clears his throat and opens, “Maybe it’s better to stick to work talk or small talk?”

“Agreed.” Orochimaru nods once. “How are you finding our sleepy little town?”

“Are you asking as Headman or...?” Sakumo pulls off a piece of chicken from the yakitori stick. This garners no response, so Sakumo hedges his bet and goes a fifty-fifty split. “The area is nice, really, like something out of a fantasy novel, but ‘sleepy’ isn’t how I would describe it.”

“You have nothing to fear of the kindly neighbors who like to kick up a fuss, truly; their Lady just likes trying to test the constraints of her power every now and again.” Orochimaru’s mouth thins and his nose wrinkles in distaste. Whether it’s at the woman called Lady refusing to recognize that Orochimaru is the new big dog in town after all this time, or at the pickled daikon - which is too pickled for Sakumo’s taste - but it’s clear the situation is a thorn in his side. How far he’ll go to deal with such a threat is an unknown, but Sakumo sincerely hopes it’s after his work here is done.

“Yet she orders children snatched and hurts her own people. Why hasn’t anyone usurped her yet?” Because Sayaka had admitted to having reservations about her leader, and Sayaka couldn’t be the only one.

“Power. She’s owed enough favors and promises that moving against her would be likely suicide. For them, her word is law and that’s all they’ve likely ever known.” Orochimaru shrugs one shoulder as if to say ‘what can you do?’

It’s a fair point. Power often dictated societal morals in Sakumo’s experience, and often those with power had no morals, or if they did they - either the person or the morals didn’t last long. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps it would be worth looking into having this Lady classified as a direct threat to the safety and wellbeing of the people of Hi no Kuni, so Sakumo could take her out and restore some peace of mind here. Something to ask the Major when he calls for his weekly report in. He’s got enough first-hand evidence of the direct threat she poses, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s ever done.

“You know, I’ve always wondered - ,” Orochimaru breaks Salumo out of his plotting, but himself gets broken off by the trill of his phone. “Apologies, someone must have put in the override code.” He checks the caller id, then vigorously swipes the “End Call” button on a “Kagami” - the second time Sakumo has heard that name, now he’s curious. “Wondered - ,” the phone rings again, once again Kagami. Orochimaru bristles, then angrily swipes the ‘accept call’ button, “ What? ” If tone of voice could kill, this Kagami fellow would be dead 17 times over with just a word. Impressive.

Whatever this Kagami is saying, it’s sing-song and gleeful, but too muffled by static and speed of talking for Sakumo to clearly make out the words. He does catch an ‘I told you so,’ and virulent laughter, though what this Kagami told Orochimaru and how it’s come true Sakumo has no clue. Sakumo can see the steady throb of Orochimaru’s temple slowly gaining speed, though, and worries for this Kagami fellows life expectancy.

Sakumo grabs a napkin and slowly writes out, ‘Perhaps we should reschedule?’ Orochimaru takes a moment to read the note and then viciously shakes his head in denial.

“Kagami, if you must know I am very busy right now. Yes, on a date. I know you know that because Jiraiya probably blabbed at poker night, and I know you know that I know about that time with the centrifuge toast and the turducken in the autoclave incident. I think perhaps Dean Senju would be interested in learning about those, hnm?” Fire God’s eternal flame, that’s vicious. Yet, clearly blackmail has it’s uses. Sakumo is conflicted between disapproving and admiring the elegant solution.

Kagami is still speaking, but Orochimaru hangs up. “My sincerest apologies, Dr. Uchiha thought that was an emergency.” He glances at his phone when it rings again, and looks taken aback. “It’s far too late now. You have to pick up your child from Captain Maito’s correct?”

Sakumo checks the time himself, and winces at the 45 text messages from Dai. Small Lords and Heavenly Courts preserve him. “Yes. I do need to get Kakashi.” He had collected some of the information that he aimed for tonight, and some other ones more besides.

“It’ll be fastest if I take you. Come.” He pushes up from the booth with easy grace, signalling for the waitress to bring the check to the front.

Sakumo follows, trailing Fuzzy like a fluffy fluffy banner. “Er, did you have a motorbike I missed?”

Orochimaru glances at him, then the check before swiping his card. “No something better.” They step outside, Sakumo about to protest the fact that the bill is very certainly not split , when the world turns to a swirl of light streaks and colors.

Sakumo is glad it’s Saturday and that he can sleep off the combined hangover and migraine from the previous evening. Because apparently the migraine is a potential hazard of teleportation. Space-time compression. Something. Kakashi prods the bag of ice on Sakumo’s head to refreeze it, then nestles down again beside him. Sakumo warms with pride - or a hot flash, jury’s out on which - at the skill his son is already showing in magic. Fuzzy is curled around him on his bed, and Pakkun is somewhere in this tangle of fur and limbs. It’s a morning that would best be spent recalling the sheer excitement and delight on Kakashi’s face when he experienced the Teleportation spell for himself, or sleeping in, but all he can think about is the color of liquid gold by gas light and the Lady.

And with his senses on full blast, overheating and lacking the will to extract himself from the puppy pile thrown together on his bed, even thinking leaches him of his last bit of energy.

He goes in circles, until his thoughts are a well worn track anchoring him in the sensation overload that are his senses failing to remain at normal, until he falls into an exhausted sleep that is full of cruel laughter and blood coated in gold. Sakumo wakes to Dai shaking his shoulder, and can recall none of it but the unsettling feeling of being watched.

In deference to his still throbbing migraine, Dai opts to whisper as he delivers Hisako’s cure-all tomato soup. “Dr. Benzaiten showed you the Teleportation seal in action?!”

Sakumo can’t summon the energy to do more than tilt his head in question, and then mentally chide himself because now he knows exactly where Kakashi picked that up. “It’s only to be used in extreme cases, the doctor and his teacher found when they were developing it that it thinned the spaces between worlds. Or made reality fragile? Possibly caused one subject’s insides to become outsides, but that could have been something else.” Dai really isn’t helping. Thanks Dai.

He and Kakashi spend the rest of the day sleeping in, surfacing every once and again to shift around; Sakumo can swear he feels a gentle hand pet over his head more than once, but it has to be wishful thinking. There’s no one there, after all.

The following week passes quietly, Orochimaru makes no mention of Friday night or their discussion, but Sakumo can feel the weight of his gaze whenever Sakumo has reason to be at the lab. Which isn’t often enough, or even often at all. Sakumo dearly wishes he had more time at the lab, to weigh feelings against facts, to see if perhaps this researcher is someone he could find kinship and kindredness in, could date without pretense. His head says probably, his heart is wavering, and this mixed bag doesn’t help anything at all. That and the feeling there is someone watching him, watching his son. That might just be paranoia though.

Commands from the capital have him setting up a secure communications lines, and reporting on the handful of military families stationed out here. There’s discussion of having a training base set up out here, which would require he and Dai to scout out the terrain and the obstacles. Sakumo feels like Central won’t appreciate if he says ‘crazy people who live in the forest’ as an obstacle, no matter how serious he is on that count. Dai thinks they should put it down anyways, but Dai is also earnest and faithful and sometimes fails to consider the fact that perhaps they should have trainees chased by crazy people on the orders of a madwoman. If they sign the consent form, they’re fair game for whatever gets thrown at them.

That might just be Sakumo’s bitterness talking though; Colonel Shimura had spoken at length of peaceful military-civilian interactions, and that the Headman of the village would handle and continue to handle the situation and report to the government if necessary and that Sakumo was not to overstep his authority or tread on the toes of the locals by taking out the neighbor’s leader. Which is frankly idiotic since the Headman is a military scientist and protecting their asset and his work is his primary objective. If Sakumo ever becomes Colonel and Shimura gets ousted, he’s going to clean up the red tape and use common sense to lead, he swears it on the Fire God’s Eternal Flame. So mote it be lest his soul be consigned to eternal damnation in the Fire God’s Hells.

He’s so consumed by the massive dump of tasks the Colonel sends his way that he almost doesn’t notice how eerily quiet the town becomes. Like everyone is huddled indoors, away from windows or doors, just waiting for the danger to pass. His senses ratchet up and catch on every slightest noise, every pin drop. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it’s been in the works too long and everything is a giant exposed nerve twisted up in knots and trembling with barely restrained potential energy, ready to explode.

The phone ringing in the midst of all that tension should have been his sign. His phone ringing has never ended well for Sakumo, that the ringtone was even audible in the first place ought to have given him pause.

He knows the voice on the other end of the line, “Major Hatake? This is Principal Takahashi -” His hands shake as he listens, and then his world bursts. He doesn’t know what to do - should he spring into action; should he wait for the authorities to arrive; should he scream and keep screaming?

The decision is taken out his hands when his heart starts racing uncontrollably, his hearing sharpening until all noise is shrill and shrieky, his nose catching every scent in the vicinity, his jaw aching with the strain of something Sakumo cannot put a name to. A stringent voice snaps out orders, the phone tugged free of his hand and a third voice speaking. He feels more than hears the distressed whine of Fuzzy, the fingers against the pulse in his wrist and then the firm, cold hands against his chest, cold hands pressing one of his hands to a thin chest to match his breathing to. It doesn’t help, doesn’t fix the screaming in his ears or the flood of information or the bone deep pain that blooms and blooms and blooms . More commands Something falls out of his mouth as he gasps for air, and he dimly realizes it’s one of his front canine teeth. First one, then another, then another, they tinker to the floor like something from a nightmare, and something sharper pushes out of his gums, filling his mouth with blood. Bones shift and move and sharpen, and if Sakumo thought he’d be able to draw breath he’d scream with the pain of it. Fuzzy pushes into his chest as if she can headbutt out the wrongness and circles him protectively, anxious and defensive.

Then one by one the pains fade, plateauing. Sakumo finds himself staring into sharp gold eyes as he shakily inhales, holds, and exhales, and he wants nothing more than to collapse against those deceptively thin shoulders and weep. What he gets instead is a hard slap across the face, and virulent cursing from Orochimaru as he cradles the hand he used to slap Sakumo. “Get yourself together Major!” A fuzzy iridescent green glow encases Orochimaru’s hand, and Sakumo can smell the way the hurt eases.

“What’s happened to me?” He wonders how he can even croak that much out when - when this is the ultimate nightmare scenario. The thing that haunts his dreams more than his first kill or the last rattling breath Chiasa breathed in that grey beige hospital room.

Orochimaru, clearly not a believer in sympathy for those having a life-changing paradigm shift in worldview, forces him to his feet, then into Fuzzy for support. “I believe our fair neighbors would call it manifesting. Come on, we can chat as we move. Time is of the essence.”

Nothing makes sense and everything is haywire. But it’s easy enough to fall in step with Orochimaru, who moves like a soldier headed into a standoff with a mission they aim to complete, no matter the cost. “Manifesting?”

“Coming into one’s ... inheritance? Power? Whatever it is that marks our fair friends as something other .”

“Other meaning what exactly, beyond someone not from in town?”

Orochimaru narrows his eyes dangerously. “We are later going to discuss the fact you can read Marsh Witch High Cant, Major, and the repercussions of going through my logs. For now, Other means the ones who have your son. Can you track him at all, Ranger?” Impatient, but now that Orochimaru mentions it, Sakumo can smell traces of his son, of wild-sunlight-sprint-mischief , and suddenly he’s moving.

First it’s a quick walk, then a faster trot, a jog, then it’s the most natural thing in the world to flat out run. He can catch traces of wild-sunlight-sprint-mischief that is Kakashi, and can track it by nose alone, on the fly, and it’s exhilarating. Fuzzy sprints beside him, keeping pace easily with her long loping stride, pausing only momentarily to sniff through the air currents of the forest as it grows more dense and tightly grown, but it’s nothing to duck and weave and course correct with his every sense singing. The only hitch comes when he hits something of a wall. It’s not a wall, per se, more alike to a convoluted piece of Ancient Script he hasn’t quite parsed the base of. But the scent of his son does go beyond it, that much he’s sure of.

Orochimaru catches up, breathless. “Oh, Air God and the Heavenly Winds, a trod . Of course, a trod .” His omnipresent crystal bead bangle clacks as Orochimaru begins forming handsigns, but Sakumo stops him.

“You punch through with magic the trod will ... collapse.” Sakumo hopes he’s reading the runes floating around correctly. It’s either collapse or destroy itself, but the result is still the same. There’d be no finding Kakashi. Something about the word trod itches at his brain, but Sakumo ignores it because his son . His son is in the hands of a monster, and he will rip her throat out with his teeth if he has to in order to get Kakashi back safe.

“The only other option is to go Underhill and confront the Lady directly, which will mean we can’t surprise her and steal your son back before she notices.” Pale strong arms cross defensively, and as much as Sakumo agrees, there’s nothing to be done. He doesn’t even know where to begin with this ... Veil without at least two different reference texts, which could take hours to translate, filter for junk, translate again, and undo. They just don’t have the time. Orochimaru must see something of this resolve, and sighs resigned before grinning darkly. “Underhill it is. Let’s go make an Incident shall we, my sweet?”

Sakumo bares his teeth in a parody of a grin, “Of course, let’s do what we do best.”

Perhaps Sakumo should have checked that they were on the same page about what constitutes an “Incident”, since his version is kicking down doors and subduing people (killing them if only necessary), and Orochimaru’s just disintegrated his fourth person. “Are you even trying for survivors, Beautiful?”

Orochimaru flexes his fingers testily, “First of all, never use “beautiful” as a pet name again. Second, letting anyone get away to raise the alarm at this juncture would be counterproductive as a scare tactic.” He whirls in a elegant movement to catch a leaping assailant - one with cat eyes and a tail and a truly horrific amount of serrated teeth - in the face. With a puff of magic, ink scrawls out across their face with a acidic hiss, then with a sickening scream they dissolve to so much ash and dust. Well, Sakumo can’t say he’s surprised, he’s long known Orochimaru is dangerous and not just superficially. Fuzzy rumbles low in her throat and licks some of the bright red blood off her well-coated muzzle.

“But wouldn’t the scream make any nominal attempt at stealth moot?” He moves with a surprising amount of speed and finesse for the way his body’s muscles react a touch too fast, catching a whirling white blade with his reinforced gloves and then collapsing magic paths and deadening nerves with precise hits. Sakumo catches the blade before it falls to the floor, and after a cursory inspection, straps it to his side. Useful weapons were few and far between after all. Fuzzy races ahead, engaging with enemies unseen before they can spring their traps.

Orochimaru had led them through an opening in a knotted series of branches and roots into a set of underground tunnels, but Sakumo had the disorienting feeling that the path they had taken was somehow bigger than the thicket had seemed from the outside. And things that had previously seemed obscure had finished unearthing themselves from Sakumo’s recollections. Still he’d like to wait for a little more confirmation -

Sakumo catches the soft twang of a bow and easily slices the arrow in half, lets Orochimaru fire off a cyclone of scalep sharp air blades and inferno hot flames over his head to the hidden archer as he parries a longsword that rose up from the ground like an assassin’s blade. Their steadily smoothing ability to work together like a well-oiled machine - or a danse macabre for two, considering the bodies littering their path - makes Sakumo’s Ranger missions look like toddlers learning to walk. It’s like playing a MMORPG as a rogue with an exceptionally skilled mage laying down cover fire; he can’t keep back a feral snarl of unadulterated pleasure, if these lackeys thought they could go and kidnap Kakashi and get away with it then they were surely learning otherwise. The hard way, as Sakumo bisects some twig-figure’s legs at the knee. A ripple up his spine; danger there, move now -

A blistering wave of lava rushes towards where they last were, Sakumo throwing them both bodily out of the way and into an antechamber clearly lit by sunlight. He ducks and rolls low as Orochimaru throws up a barrier with a fluid series of handsigns and follows it up with a harsh burst of wind to cool and harden the lava into an impassable door. It’s as simple as breathing to come up with his blade bared, Fuzzy growling, teeth exposed, ears high and fur bristling like a matched set.

“And so you’ve come for the halfbreed, Headman.” The woman he’d last seen at the forum is seated on what can only be a throne, lavish with gold and jewels and surrounded by women holding pitchers and platters of food. “And you bring a second one with you.” Her sneer is poisonous, her hatred noxious, and Sakumo bares his teeth at her.

“Halfbreed or not, you took one of my children, Lady, and we both know that is not something I will accept.” Orochimaru’s magic wreaths him like a second skin, a suit of armor made of scales. “Return him with no harm and I may be inclined to leniency.”

Sakumo finally accepts that this is his reality as the woman rises, unnaturally lithe but eyes fully black and hair thick twists of vine and bone and wood and fur and leaf and antler that shift arrangement as if of their own accord. “Your leniency is a falsehood, Snake-souled Orochimaru, for you know only calculation. Didn’t your tales tell you not to lie to a Fae? Or insult a Fae Queen? You are in my domain now, Headman and Wolf, not neutral ground. The very essence of Underhill obeys me .” As if to prove her point, vines thicker than a all-terrain vehicle shoot up out of nowhere and bind Sakumo tight to the walls, narrowly miss catching Orochimaru but tie Fuzzy to the floor. If he struggles, the vines tighten.

As if by design, the balconies and hidden galleries fill up with a vast assortment of strange and fantastic shapes and forms, more than Sakumo can count. Their noise fills his ears though, and their smells. Far too many of them smell of things Sakumo cannot name, does not want to face by smell alone.

As if it’s less than a mere though, Orochimaru torches the remaining vines, letting the woman’s shrieks pass over him. “While it’s true I’ve entered your land, and have come into your Mound, Lady, you’ve broken oath. What’s that they say about lying and oath breaking?” His smile is placid, but screams of being caught red handed.

“I have broken no oath, Headman. I have made no promise to you I have not kept.” Her snarl is rabid with rage, fury made real by the way flames gout and gutter up from thin air.

Orochimaru tilts his head like he’s indulging a child’s tantrum. “The man and his progeny are mine. You said you would not harm those I have claimed as my own. Yet, you’ve caused the man great distress, and probably the child as well. You have broken faith by causing harm to me and mine.”

The woman scoffs, “I have greater and first claim on their lives, they are of my people and thus mine to treat as I please. This is the truest truth I know, and you know it too.”

Sakumo knows that set of Orochimaru’s shoulders, that shift of weight from one leg to another, and is not disappointed. Orochimaru is out for blood, and this will be the start of the end. “Yet, Lady, this is not the only oath that I speak of. You yourself said you laid the halfbreed to eternal rest and that has been proven false, Lady.”

She starts. “What do you speak of, Headman?”

Orochimaru clears his throat, “Lady, once upon a time you said you had been betrayed by your closest handmaiden, who loved another more than you, and thus conceived a child. Among you and yours, children are rare, and much beloved as symbols of the depth and strength of the devotion between the parents. You, Lady, were so enraged that you plotted to have the child and it’s father slaughtered, to cast out your most trusted attendant in disgrace as punishment. But, when the time came, something went wrong, and the child never died. The man and his child escaped your clutches, but you bathed yourself in their scents and glamored blood upon yourself and came back in false triumph. You cast your attendant into the Wild Hunt as their leader as punishment and have used her as your whipping post since.”

“Wild conjecture.”

“Ah, but Lady, I have proof. You’ve managed to tie him up, but the man you call Wolf is that child. And since he lives, the oath your swore to your attendant that you killed her husband and child is a lie. That is the promise I speak of.”

Sayaka and Takao stumble out of one of the hidden alcoves, eyes wide and shining. A heavy hush has stilled even the most quiet of rustles from the crowd, like they are waiting for something. Now that she is away from the crowd, Sakumo can smell her most clearly. Wild-sunlight-sprint , heavily influenced by a deep seated grief and the iron tang of steel. He can tell the moment that she smells his scent, notes the similarities that Sakumo has long since figured out marks blood-kin. “Lady, why .” Sayaka tightens her grip on her tanto as if her resolve had hardened even as her voice broke with barely restrained emotion, and Takao falls still, waiting.

The Lady does not respond, merely shrieks banshee-like and throws massive fireballs across the room. Sayaka moves, her and Takao so synchronous in their movements it’s like watching a ballet of flashing blades and snapping jaws. Orochimaru appears by his side, a thin gust of wind cutting through the vines holding Sakumo tight. By his side, a large purple snake tastes the air, slowly growing before Sakumo’s very eyes. “Hurry, find Kakashi. I will stay here and aid Sayaka as I can.” Fuzzy whines conflicted, like she could stand to take a shot herself at the Lady, but also to see Kakashi and ensure he’s unhurt.

“Come on girl,” Sakumo asks, because he’s afraid. He’s afraid and angry and there are powers he cannot match at work here, given the way the earth and walls tremble and the air shivers. And, apparently, his mother. Who is very clearly not human, not with the way her teeth are wolf-sharp and her ears are delicately pointed, and not dead like he had always been lead to assume. With one last guilty whine, Fuzzy comes to heel by Sakumo as they resume trailing Kakashi. His stomach twists as the scent of his son gets stronger, as it floods with pain and fear and his subconscious howls in outrage, with the need to race back and take every ounce of this feeling out of the Lady, out of anyone who laid a hand on Kakashi.

It’s clear to see that the rest of Underhill has been deserted, or more rather only left guarded by small hunched figures that barely come up to Sakumo’s knees and skitter away in fear when Sakumo bares his teeth and growls in their direction. The only one who gathers up the guts to hurl a crude wooden spear gets that same spear through the skull in quick retribution and the rest of it’s gathered mob scatters into the dank hallways like so many cockroaches from the light.

Finally something breaks in Underhill, ripples and shifts and warps in some intrinsic manner Sakumo cannot place but that straightens the halls from their previous winds and wanders, lifts the deep pockets of dark in favor of something less gothic. More importantly, perhaps is the distinct muffled grunting Sakumo hasn’t heard in so long. “Kakashi!”

His hair is matted with sweat, his skin pallid, and his scarf in tatters. The urge to snarl and bite and tear flesh from bones is back, and Sakumo swallows it down in favor of ripping apart the chains hanging Kakashi’s thin wrists above his head, to pressing ice to the swollen and sore flesh revealed, and holding Kakashi close as his whimpers of pain slow. “Dad?”

It’s the first time Sakumo has heard his son’s voice in years, and it’s slightly slurred and hoarse. “Yeah, baby, it’s me.” Fuzzy noses around them, concern clear in her low tail and flat ears. “You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” Sakumo presses closer, nose near buried in Kakashi’s hair, and feels the tension coiling in his muscles ease as the distress bleeds out of Kakashi’s scent. Kakashi’s muddy and bruised and probably ought to see a medical doctor as soon as possible, but Sakumo wants more to just hold his son. “Fuzzy, lead us out of here.”

It’s easier now, to follow the neat slink of Fuzzy through the corridors. Sakumo can smell that there have been creatures of not insignificant power passing through the halls recently, catches glimpses of them, but they seem to be fleeing instead of confronting Sakumo. He still doesn’t put away the tanto he reappropriated, not until the arrive at the rubble and ruin of the chamber where Sakumo had left the Lady.

Orochimaru is covered in grime and dust, a little blood, but the color is high in his cheeks and his eyes are bright with excitement, and he’s perched on the head of a massive snake. Sayaka outright glitters with power, covered in blood, and is ripping chunks from the Lady’s corpse to stack into a what’s shaping up into a throne. As for the Lady, she’s ripped to shreds, eviscerated, face contorted in a rictus of pain and horror, her throat gaping open from what is clearly wolf teeth. Whether they were Sayaka or Takao is unclear, but Sakumo feels a grim pleasure at the sight. May she rot in the Lady of Death’s embrace for eternity.

Sayaka’s head lifts up as a fresh and clean breeze passes through the room. Takao rises from where he’s been hidden in the shadow of the throne, and their gazes together zeros in on Sakumo and Kakashi like a laser guided shot.

“Oh good, you’ve found the puppy. Hello puppy.” Orochimaru glides over, picking over the larger chunks of rubble like they’re minor annoyances. Kakashi wriggles out of Sakumo’s grip and to the floor, yet hovers close to Sakumo - not comfortable being coddled in front of strangers, however cool, but not yet sure to leave his father. Takao slinks over, eyes large and pleading and amusing in the way he tries to shrink several hundred pounds into something nonthreatening. Sayaka follows cautiously after.

Now that Sakumo is looking for it, he can see more than just eye color and hair color that they share. There are traces of smile lines that bracket her mouth, the mole on the hinge of her jaw that Sakumo and Chiasa had both wondered where that trait had come from in Kakashi, the wild hope in dark grey eyes that maybe she wasn’t so alone anymore.

They talk long through the day and well into the night, about the years they have missed and the lives unknown and the little things Sakumo had never heard before and aches to know he missed. The way Sayaka had tried to hunt him and his father down over and over and over but never could catch a trace of them, finally accepted that the Lady had told the truth and they were dead; the way Kakashi had woken one day with deep jaw pain and a mouthful of blood and found himself with wolf teeth instead of normal human ones; the soft story of how Sayaka had met his father and fallen in love. In some ways it is too much, in others too little.

Sakumo exhales into the chill pre-dawn air, awake and restless. There’s so much more to know, questions he wants to ask but doesn’t know how to phrase, doesn’t know how to deal with the awkwardness of having a parent that he has never known after going without for a lifetime. He’s consumed by his own thoughts when Orochimaru extracts himself from the guest bedroom and comes out through the window, Manda looped around his throat like a scarf, bundled tight in a guest blanket. This at least, Sakumo is confident in maneuvering.

They’re silent and watching the pitch black skies slowly lighten to dark Iron grey for a long bet. “How’d you know?” Sakumo doesn’t look over to Orochimaru, where he’s perch himself comfortably on the rail of the porch.

“The clues were all there if you had known what you were looking for. You’re both far too alike - and not just in looks. You magic is similar, an odd Lightning primary instead of Fire primary, though yours is colored by Earth - your father, I presume. And the Lady’s story had holes - why would she need to make a show of killing two defenseless people but not produce the bodies, not take a trophy? Though I can’t hold that particular piece of information against you; it’s not something I believe you were aware of previously.” Sakumo catches the edges of a slight head tilt and shrug.

“What am I?” Sakumo suspects, has a word bouncing around his skull, but he isn’t ready to apply that to himself quite yet.

“Have you still not figured it out? Even with Wolfy the way she is?”

“What does Fuzzy have to do with anything?” His dog?

Orochimaru counts off, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “Wolfy is entirely too large to be suffering from any kind of gigantism common to any species of wolf in the Elemental Nations. That notwithstanding, you’ve never wondered at her intelligence? Or the fact she’s lived so long without any visible health issues.”

Sakumo has to argue, because he’s seen enough vets who’ve marveled over the same thing. “Magic increases the lifespan in animals who are around a lot of it.”

“Only by a few years. A whole decade has passed and Wolfy is nearly exactly the same as when I last saw her. You too for that matter.” If Sakumo turned his head he knows he would see shining gold focused on him, studying him. They’ll be bright, even in this half light, glowing, and honest, because Sakumo has realized that Orochimaru doesn’t lie, no not outright. He’ll speak as if you know all the facts, as if you’re fully aware of all the shogi pieces moving around the board and all several hundred moves that may have come before, and then continue on. A perverse kind of honesty, but honesty just the same. Once again, with a quiet insistence, “Have you figured it out?”

Sakumo swallows hard, his throat dry and only getting drier, “Fae. I’m Fae.”

“Demi-Fae, since your father was human. Your son too, for the human blood that runs in his veins.” A quiet jangle of links, the tinkle of metal against metal that made up the scales of Orochimaru’s earrings. “The distinction doesn’t matter, since you’ve both Manifested.”

Right. Showing Fae traits. Sakumo must suppose he got off lightly with wolf teeth - at least among Rangers, he can shrug and point out that Inuzuka file their teeth into a similar configuration, though maybe they’re also less human than he previously suspected. It might explain why they’ve always been able to work well together, but not mingled as one unit easily. They have a different leader, and Sakumo is the leader of his own group, small though it is. Which, “Sayaka killed the Lady didn’t she.”

“She did.” It’s a quiet confirmation, and Sakumo is uneasy at it. Sayaka, who does not know Sakumo or Kakashi beyond the fact they are her blood, one who she has mourned and one who she never dreamed of existing. Sayaka, for all of that, took on someone who had a power beyond magic in the form of oaths and promises that leveraged people against their own whims, and won.

“How?” Orochimaru himself had noted that it would be suicide to take on the Lady. Yet, Sayaka had won.

“The rules of Underhill are more complex than what Fae would have you know. Oh, their rules for us are simple enough, but for other Fae there are more ... strictures than there are concessions. Likely because they are all out for power.” Orochimaru resettles himself on the thin rail, tucking his bare feet within the swaddling of blankets. “The Lady may have held power via promises, but those all became moot when I revealed her to have broken faith. On top of that, the fight itself was most likely viewed to have been retribution for blood kin. Vengeance, or justice, whichever you prefer.” Clearly, Orochimaru gave no more importance to one over the other, and Sakumo chose not to care. He could wrap his head around the politics, perhaps, easily step into the role of a parent who’s lost something and wanted retribution. “In either case, the Lady had no choice. She had already lost the majority of her power, and would have been cast out of the Court. It’s better now, with her dead and Sayaka the new Queen.”

Apparently, Sakumo has a Fae Queen sleeping in his bed. Who is his mother, and willing to kill for him. There are worse situations to be in, if he thinks about it.

The silence they’ve fallen into is heavy, something not quite comfortable but not quite heavy either. Orochimaru breaks it, “You went through my logs.” It’s not an accusation, just a simple statement of fact. There’s no use denying it, so Sakumo just listens. “Why?”

Sakumo considers, and tries to extract the bare bones of the situation, “There was something afoot, and I needed to know what it was, not just for my job but also for my son.”

“A simple man with simple reasons.” Orochimaru inclines his head, “Still ulterior motives.”

“So did you.” He's fired back before he can truly think it through. At least in this, they’re both guilty of having motives behind motives behind motives. “Why else would you have asked for a sample of my magic, and how else would you have figured that my magic is similar to Sayaka’s?” The silence that follows tells him that Orochimaru’s conceded the point, but it’s barely a victory really. Sakumo sighs heavily, and turns to watch the way the sun’s first rays illuminate Orochimaru’s face, bare of heavy purple and hair loosely tied back. He’s lovely and intriguing and Sakumo wants to try getting to know this person who’s always thinking and moving and so very much the same but opposite. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I like to think that we deserve to start over. I - I was wrong, back then to use myself and my body as a distraction, to sexually harass you, and I've never apologized for that. As well as now, having ulterior motives for what I’ve said or done while you’ve been here. So this is my formal apology.” It’s sincere, and that’s worth meeting equally.

“I should apologize as well, for snooping through something that wasn’t, isn’t necessary for doing my job.” It raises the tiniest of smiles, true and genuine. It feels a little like discovery, and Sakumo can see how Orochimaru can get so engrossed in his work if everything feels like this.

“I think you’re a good man at heart Sakumo Hatake, someone not swayed easily and I cannot say that I am not interested in knowing you better.”

It’s difficult, to be honest, but Sakumo needs to say it. “In the interest of full disclosure; I'm not completely done missing Chiasa, I don't think I ever will be. She is someone I love, deeply, and I always will."

Oro reads between lines, "But you're also ready to wade back in?"

"Wade is a good word for it. If you're okay with slow, then ...." The ball is in Orochimaru’s court. He might not want to deal with the encompassing grief that comes and goes, or the fact that Sakumo will love Chiasa for the rest of his life. He’s used to missing her, not used to having someone there, used to mourning those who are lost.

Orochimaru smiles and reaches out a hand, “Then, hello, I’m Dr. Orochimaru Benzaiten, genius PhD. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I like reading academic papers and writing scathing reviews, research, and have been called dangerous before.” His eyes are dancing and it playful.

Sakumo can’t help but respond in kind. “Major Sakumo Hatake, single parent to a genius 7 year old, recently reunited with his long-lost mother, a Queen. I love spending time with my son and my dog, Fuzzy, and can be persuaded to listen to long rambles on any topic. Also, I like dangerous.” He smiles, and it’s weird around a mouthful of wolf teeth, but in the dawn light, it feels a little like a rebirth, and Sakumo can’t wait to see what comes next.

#sumigakure halloween event 2017 #prompt 15: this town isn't what it seems #promtp12: character finds out they're a supernatural creature #IM SORRY I LOST INTERNET THIS IS SO LATE DDDDDDDDD:#art writes

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trasheddie · 7 years

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Help Me Out

(A/N: so this is a little fic about the Holy Trinity because I love them and I need all three of them to be okay. Also, the fight scene fallout is based on the headcanon I posted for it on here earlier. Can also be read on AO3.)

ONSDAG 12:25

Isak wasn’t there when she walked into class.

She’d known there was a good chance he wasn’t going to be, considering he probably had a broken nose and she hadn’t seen him around the previous two days, but it still hurt when her eyes landed on his empty seat. Sana had spent the better part of the weekend drowning in guilt over what happened at the karaoke bar. Visions of sticky, blood-covered hands stained the backs of her eyelids every time she closed them, along with ones of Noora’s disappointed face and Yousef’s frame pressed against hers. It had been a hellish way to end what was supposed to be a nice afternoon.

Sana sighed and plopped down at the table. It felt empty without the blond boy next to her. She never realized how much she enjoyed their friendly banter until he wasn’t around, and it left her with a sick feeling in her stomach knowing that it was her brother’s fist that was responsible for his absence. She hadn’t bothered trying to talk to Elias about the fight. He had already shut himself in his room by the time she’d gotten home Friday night, and at that point she’d been too drained to bring it up anyway. He wasn’t acting like himself lately. Instead of being the sporty, fun-loving big brother that she knew, Elias was getting drunk and starting brawls with teenagers. Sana was officially worried about him.

The teacher called the students’ attention up to the board to begin class. Sana pulled out her textbook and resolved that, at the very least, she could take some notes for Isak so he wouldn’t fall behind. The boy was ridiculous when it came to passing biology, even if he liked to pretend that he never stressed about anything school related. Sana remembered seeing him nearly blow a gasket the one time he missed a pop quiz on a sick day. She rolled her eyes at the memory and smiled a little. Maybe focusing on work would help take her mind off her disastrous social life for a while.

ONSDAG 13:30

Sana headed straight to her locker when the bell rang. Usually she would grab a bite to eat and sit with her friends, but the thought of facing Noora and Vilde after everything that happened made her gut twist unpleasantly, so she decided against it. She considered looking for Eva, or possibly Chris instead. They had been distant recently and she missed them a lot. Out of all the girls, those two were the easiest to talk to and right now she could use a distraction.

Sana walked out the front doors and in the direction of the courtyard where most kids hung out for lunch, but stopped short when she heard a familiar high pitched giggle. Her gaze zeroed in on the blonde hair and pink jacket immediately, situated in a sea of similar looking girls, all with trilling laughs. Vilde looked like she was having the time of her life. Noora and Eva flanked her sides, with Chris not far away, smiles bright and gleaming. Another ten of the twenty Pepsi-Max crew sat around them in a circle, including Ingrid and Sara, who completed the ensemble.

Sana felt a vicious stab in her abdomen as she looked at the scene. This was her worst nightmare. Tears gathered in her eyes and she had to tilt her head up to keep them from falling.

They don’t need you, she thought.

They don’t want you.

She quickly turned and rushed for the gate of the school. She couldn’t be here, it was too much. She needed to get away.

ONSDAG 14:00

Wandering around the streets of Oslo proved to do very little for Sana’s mood. It had started to rain about ten minutes into her escape and she hadn’t brought a coat or an umbrella, meaning she was now completely defenceless against the chill that was setting in. Her makeup was running from tears and her shoes were soaked through to the point where her socks had gone soggy. She’d also somehow managed to walk in the opposite direction of her house, giving her nowhere to go for shelter other than a local coffee shop. She was debating on whether to just brace herself and walk in looking like a mess when the street sign caught her eye. Sana thought she recognized the name from somewhere. Skovveien, huh.

She dug her phone out of her pocket and flicked through her messages, trying her best not to get more droplets of water on the screen. Sure enough, there it was in a text conversation with Isak from just a few weeks prior.

(Fra Isak)

Heiii

(Til Isak)

What do you want?

(Fra Isak)

Rude. Are you helping us move today?

(Til Isak)

Depends. What’s in it for me?

(Fra Isak)

My everlasting gratitude?

(Til Isak)

Haha no but really

(Fra Isak)

Free pizza? :)

(Til Isak)

Hmm… I’ll think about it

What’s the address?

(Fra Isak)

The Kollektivet first

But then Bygdøy allé

Right off of Skovveien

There’s a little back alleyway

(Til Isak)

I’ll check my schedule

(Fra Isak)

How kind of you Sanasol

I’m honoured

(Til Isak)

You should be, I’m very busy you know

Sana bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Isak and Even more trouble; they had enough going on as it was. One of them was injured physically, and the other was probably dealing with the emotional trauma that comes from seeing one’s ex-best friends in public, but Sana was freezing and wet and really didn’t want to catch a cold. She grit her teeth together. It wasn’t like her life could get much worse anyway. With as much composure as she could muster, she steeled herself and walked in the direction of the apartment.

She reached the door within a minute. Sana didn’t have to guess which buzzer was theirs; there was a rainbow flag on it, right next to the number 408. Despite the swirling chaos inside her head, she found herself grinning. To think that six months ago Isak was the kind of guy who kissed girls in bathrooms during parties and acted like a stereotypical hetero bro. He’d changed so much in such a short period of time and Sana was secretly very proud of him, even if she had trouble showing it.

She hesitated with her finger over the button. Would they let her in if she called up? They might ignore it all together if they were trying to hide from the world. They didn’t come to school for a reason, Sana. Luckily, she didn’t have much time to stew in her thoughts, because suddenly the door to the stairwell was being pushed open by an elderly lady. She looked crotchety, with an old cable knit sweater wrapped around her shoulders and a face that said, “I’m old and not afraid to complain”. The woman made brief eye contact with Sana, giving her a once over and Sana had to hold her breath for fear she might say something to set her off. However, instead of making an ignorant comment, the lady shot her a small smile and held the door open wider for her. Sana blinked, but tried her best to grin back, nodding at her as she passed through.

With what was left of her nerve, she began to climb the stairs. It almost felt as if she was having an out of body experience. She was aware of her feet moving, of her heavy breathing and the constant dripping of water onto the carpeted floor, but she was simultaneously detached; like she was watching herself in a movie. Before she knew it, she was already at the door and her hand was poised to knock. She gave the wood one quick rapt with her knuckles and let her arms fall limply at her sides. Suddenly, the whole thing seemed like a terrible idea. She was only going to inconvenience the boys. What were you thinking?

There was shuffling on the other side of the door, a slight thump like someone had tripped and then the entrance was swinging open to reveal a very disheveled, very tired looking Even Bech Næsheim. He was wearing a pair of striped blue pyjama pants and a t-shirt that must have been Isak’s because it was a bit too short for his torso. His blonde hair was sticking up in several different directions, obviously lacking its usual product, and his blue eyes were sleepy.

“Sana,” he said, surprise evident in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Sana tried not to squirm under his gaze. She hadn’t thought of what to say when she got to this stage of her plan.

“I, uh- well Isak wasn’t at school and neither were you and I just- I have biology notes for him,” she tried.

“Sana, you’re soaking wet,” Even said.

His eyebrows were creased with concern and it made guilt flare up in Sana’s stomach again. She didn’t come here to worry him. But why did she come here then? She started to back track as fast as she could.

“You know what, it’s no big deal, I can give it to him another day. I’ll just go.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Even said, grabbing her shoulder lightly to stop her from turning away. “It’s fine. Come inside before you make yourself sick.”

He opened the door further and ushered her inside the apartment. She’d seen a few pictures of the place on Instagram and Facebook, but it looked much smaller in person. There were piles of boxes stacked throughout the living room and front hallway, teetering dangerously, like miniature models of the leaning tower of Pisa. The walls were cream and mostly bare, save for a few movie posters that were obviously Even’s, (the amount of Baz Luhrmann merch he had was almost concerning), and a lamp stood in the corner next to an old but comfortable looking couch that had a Star Wars blanket thrown over one of the arms. It was a little messy, and cramped, but very much Isak and Even.

Even disappeared for a moment and leaving Sana to drip awkwardly onto their hardwood floor. When he returned, he had an armful of towels and a sweater in his hands.

“We don’t have tons of clean clothes right now because there is something wrong with the dryer,” he said, huffing out a laugh. “But this should at least be a bit warmer than what you are wearing now.”

He smiled kindly at her and Sana’s heart swelled with gratitude.

“The bathroom is just down the hall if you wanna go change,” he said, pointing around the corner and towards the kitchen.

“Thank-you,” Sana said.

She quickly slipped inside and switched out of her wet shirt. She also tried to ring out her hijab the best she could and re-wrapped it so that it wasn’t clinging to her neck anymore. After washing her face and wiping away her streaky makeup, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection stared back, tired and numb. She wasn’t sure she recognized the girl in front of her anymore. With a sigh, Sana hung her shirt over the side of the tub to dry and walked back out into the living room.

Even was waiting for her on the couch when she got there, two mugs of tea balanced on the edge of the coffee table. He glanced up at her, a tentative smile on his lips and patted the spot next him. Sana quietly obliged.

“Where’s Isak?” she asked, picking up one of the cups gingerly.

“He’s just in the other room sleeping,” Even said. “He’s had a rough couple of days.”

Sana grimaced. She knew the other boy was probably exhausted. She still didn’t know the extent of the damage, but judging by the look on his face when she’d pressed her fingers to his nose, he had definitely been in a state of shock. He probably had a mild concussion as well.

“Is he… alright?” she asked.

Even nodded, but a shadow passed over his face.

“His nose isn’t broken, thankfully. He took a couple of good hits, though. He’s also slightly concussed, but apart from that it’s mostly just bruises and cuts.”

Sana felt tears well up in her eyes again. Things were never supposed to end this way. She felt so incredibly stupid for inviting her brother and his friends. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Isak and Even would be there with their school mates. If she’d just thought ahead, none of this would have happened. She was about to open her mouth to say so when another tiny voice called down the hall.

“Evi, who is it? Where’d you go?”

Isak’s lanky frame came into view and Sana’s heart stopped all together. His face was a mottled canvas of blues, purples and blacks. His left eye, which was usually a clear moss green, was cloudy and nearly swollen shut. Burst blood vessels ran down his cheek in crisscrossed patterns, matching a nasty red gash that split his lip. He looked very pale and tired and a whole lot smaller than someone over six feet should. Sana had to force herself not to look away.

Even stood up and went over to him, pressing a feather light kiss on his forehead.

“Sorry, baby,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you. Sana came for a visit and to drop off some notes for you.”

Isak’s eyes drifted over to the slightly damp girl sitting on their couch. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his lips broadened into a soft smile.

“Ah, Sanasol. How sweet of you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have put on something nicer,” he joked, gesturing to his sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt.

Sana shrugged her shoulders.

“I didn’t really plan it. It just sort of happened,” she said.

She turned her gaze down to lap and fiddled with the string of Even’s hoodie. She didn’t know what to say or how to act. A large part of her was shocked that neither of the boys were yelling at her or telling her to leave. After all, she was the reason Isak’s face looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. She watched her hosts exchange a worried glance out of the corner of her eye. She felt Isak settle onto the couch next to her and saw Even’s feet move to do the same. A careful hand came up to her shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“Is everything alright, Sana?” Isak asked.

Sana wanted to laugh. Things had never felt less alright in her entire life. One of her best friends was pissed at her and another had stabbed her in the back. She was being ousted from her own bus, ostracized by her classmates and her crush had gone ahead and kissed another girl after making her think that he liked her. Not to mention her brother had slammed his fist into one of the only people she felt she could trust and she had managed to bring up ugly past aggressions between Even and the balloon boys. The world had been crumbling around her for weeks and now it was all just laying at her feet in a giant heap. She didn’t realize she was crying again until Isak’s grip got tighter.

“Hey, hey, Sana, what’s wrong?” he asked, worry seeping into his voice.

Even shifted from where he was sitting and kneeled in front of her, offering up a box of tissues. Sana pulled a couple out and blew her nose.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“For what?” Isak asked.

Sana did laugh this time, but it was devoid of humour.

“For everything,” she said. “For your face, for the karaoke bar, for showing up at your doorstep and dumping my shit on you when you’ve already had a hard week.”

Isak shook his head vigorously and rubbed his hand up and down her arm.

“You don’t have to apologize for any of that. What happened was not your fault, okay? It had nothing to do with you.”

“But it did,” Sana took a shaky breath. “Elias is my brother.”

Isak let out a chuckle and tilted his head to the side.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

“You know?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, Even told me.”

Sana glanced at the boy kneeling in front of her. He was staring up at her with big, incredibly blue eyes, apology and regret written all over his face. For someone so young, he had experienced more than his fair share of pain and heartbreak. Sana cared about him an exuberant amount.

“You…” she started.

“Not everything,” Even said, his gaze landing on his boyfriend. “But most of it. An overview, at least.”

“I shouldn’t have invited them,” Sana said. “I didn’t think about it. I was being selfish. I wanted to see… well either way, it was stupid and I’m sorry.”

Even put his hand on her knee and gave her a soft, sad smile.

“There we go with that word again. Sana, listen to me. The fight wasn’t your fault. That was me and Mikael and Elias. You couldn’t have known that was going to happen, so please stop blaming yourself for it.”

Even punctuated the last part of the sentence by making her look directly into his eyes. Sana sniffled and accepted yet another tissue. Isak gently kicked out his foot to tap his boyfriend on the leg, catching the older boy’s attention.

“Okay, don’t you go blaming yourself either, dickhead,” he said. “I was the one who shoved him and Elias was the one who started throwing punches, so you had no part in it.”

If it had been anyone else saying it, the words would have probably sounded rude, but coming from Isak it only sounded fond. Leave it to a seventeen-year-old boy to make an insult seem endearing. Sana smiled a little despite herself. She really did love these boys.

“Alright, good. So now that we have that out of the way, do you wanna tell us why you skipped class and took an impromptu walk in the rain?”

ONSDAG 17:00

After pouring her heart out to the two of them about the Russ bus and Vilde and even about Yousef, Sana felt marginally better. Isak and Even had listened intently the whole time, offering noises of indigence and confusion at different moments and graciously not commenting when her voice cracked over certain parts. It was nice to let it all out and more importantly to have someone care enough to pay attention. By the time she had finished it had begun to grow dark outside.

“Screw them, Sanasol,” Isak finally said, his long fingers playing with Even’s pant leg.

At some point during her speech, Even had migrated back to the couch and wrapped himself around his boyfriend, so that they were now in a tangle of limbs. Sana usually hated PDA, but they looked so cozy and happy that she couldn’t even fault them for it. There was something about their interactions that made all her qualms about relationships melt away. Sana liked that they gave her space while simultaneously making her feel welcome and she liked that even though they were stupidly in love, they didn’t shove it down her throat the way Vilde and Magnus did. She was comfortable around them.

She smiled at Isak and his outburst.

“That’s easy for you to say, Isabell. They aren’t your friends.”

Isak spluttered and put his hand on his chest in mock offence.

“They are too my friends. Eva and I are best buddies. And Noora was my roommate not even a month and a half ago.”

“Yeah, but you don’t see them every day. And you have other people to hang out with. Like Jonas and Mahdi.”

“So, come hang out with us.” Isak said, pushing his toe into Sana’s thigh. “We’re your friends, you know.”

Sana fake glared and poked his foot, but felt her heart warm at the offer. Maybe she didn’t have to do this alone after all.

“But what about Elias and Mikael and Yousef?” she asked, risking a glance at Even.

He met her gaze softly. There were obvious nerves showing in his expression, but he still grinned at her. He brushed his fingers through Isak’s hair gently.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “We can deal with it when the time comes. For now, let’s just worry about the next minute.”

He and Isak shared some sort of private smile at the words and though it should have made Sana feel left out, it didn’t. She just smiled along with them.

“Okay,” she said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

#sana bakkoush #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #evak #the holy trinity #the girl squad #skam #skam fanfic #brotp: biology buddies #otp: kardemomme #brot3: the holy trinity

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youhaveadeal · 7 years

Text

Tagged

This is my first thing! I got tagged by @i-vote-crowley

Rules: Answer all questions, add one question of your own and tag as many people as there are questions.

1. Coke or Pepsi: I’d rather not, but if I had to chose, Coke

2. Disney or Dreamworks: Old School Disney

3. Coffee or Tea: Tea

4. Books or Movies: Both

5. Windows or Mac: Mac

6. DC or Marvel: this is a trap and i won’t fall for it

7. Xbox or Playstation: Playstation

8. Dragon Age or Mass Effect: Dragon Age, though I’ve only had any experiences with Inquisition. I’ve yet to play Mass Effect.

9. Night Owl or Early Rise: Afternoon Aardvark

10. Cards or Chess: I suck at both

11. Chocolate or Vanilla: Both, but right now I’m kind of craving Vanilla.

12. Vans or Converse: Converse

13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash or Adaar: Lavellan

14. Fluff or Angst: I really don’t have a preference, a good story needs both

15. Beach or Forest: Forest, by far.

16. Dogs or Cats: Doggos!

17. Clear Skies or Rain: Overcast

18. Cooking or Eating Out: Everything I cook is a fire hazard, or a poison hazard.

19. Spicy Food or Mild Food: Mildly spicy, with a hint of sweet

20. Halloween/Samhain or Solstice/Yule/Christmas: Up until a few years ago, I would have gone with Christmas, but I haven’t really been into it for a while, and we don’t really celebrate Halloween that much over here.

21. Would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot: I have no issue with the cold, and I can’t stand the heat, so I think I’d go with the former.

22. If you could have a superpower, what would it be? Talking to small woodland creatures.

23. Animation or Live Action: Both.

24. Paragon or Renegade: I haven’t played Mass Effect, but I know it’s to do with alignment or morality or something, right? Other than that, no idea.

25. Baths or Showers: Showering until my skin peels off and i forget the taste of bread, the sound of trees etc.

26. Team Cap or Team Iron Man: Team Iron Man

27. Fantasy or Sci-Fi: Fantasy is my first love, sci-fi is my side ho.

28. Do you have three or four favourite quotes? If so, what are they:

“Look, I am holding up my two hands, and between them is Leningrad. I am holding up my two hands and between them is a black space where Marya Morevna is not speaking. She would like to, because she thinks a story is like a treasure, and can belong to only one dragon. But I make her share; I will not let her have the whole thing. I have this power. I will not let her speak because I love her, and when you love someone you do not make them tell war stories. A war story is a blank space. On the one side is before and on the other side is after, and what is inside belongs only to the dead.” (Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless)

“I’m sick to death of this particular self. I want another.” (Virginia Woolf, Orlando)

“It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone's fault. If it was us, what did that make Me? After all, I'm one of Us. I must be. I've certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We're always one of Us. It's Them that do the bad things.” (Terry Pratchett, Jingo)

29. YouTube or Netflix: Netflix

30. Harry Potter or Percy Jackson: *crotchety old lady voice* I remember it like it was yesterday, queueing at the stroke of midnight for the release of Order of the Phoenix, elbowing other children in the ribs to get my hands on the very last copy...

31. When You Feel Accomplished: When I feel like I’ve helped someone in any way or made someone’s day a little bit better

32. Star Wars or Star Trek: Trek

33. Paperback Books or Hardback Books: No preference, just having the book in a physical format feels like a luxury nowadays.

34. Handwriting or Typing: Handwriting, though you wouldn’t guess it by looking at the way i write

35. Velvet or Satin: Velvet makes my skin crawl, satin it is.

36. Video Games or Movies: Movies

37. Would you rather be the dragon or own the dragon? I am already a dragon, typing with talons is a real pain, let me tell you.

38. Sunrise or sunset: Sunrise, actually, mostly because I rarely get to see it.

39. What’s your favourite song? “Samson”, Regina Spektor, or anything by Regina, it links me to someone I loved dearly

40. Horror Movies yes or no: Sometimes I’m just in the mood to scare myself shitless, so sure, on occasion and in good measure.

41. Long hair or short hair: I feel more comfortable with longer hair, it gives me a place to hide.

42. Opera or Theatre: Opera, though I haven’t been to either in a while

43. Assuming the multiverse theory is true and every story ever told has really happened somewhere, which one of the movie/book/tv show/game/etc worlds would you pick to travel to first? I’m going to be really cliché here and say Middle Earth. First Age. Then I’d go to the Supernatural verse and give Crowley the longest damn hug, and that would be what finally gets me killed.

44: If you had to eat only one thing for the rest of your life what would it be? Breaded cheese, with a side of mashed eggplant salad (what? that’s legitimate food, the pinnacle of Romanian cuisine. don’t give me that look.)

45: If you are stuck on an island..and you could be stuck with ONE celebrity..who would it be? Anish Kapoor, if we don’t make it at least i’d fulfil my dying wish of seeing Vantablack in action as he writes “help us”on the sand.

46: What is your special talent? I’m particularly proficient at stumbling over my words and falling on my own sword, a craft I’ve been perfecting for most of my life.

47: My question: What are 3 things that never fail to make you happy or lift your mood?

tagging anyone who wants do to this, I’m not naming names, you know who you are

#tagged #answered #my first thing!

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caedmonfaith · 7 years

Text

Reckless Endangerment

Summary: Rose Tyler's smile was a drug, and he was addicted. Like any addict, he'd do anything to get his fix.

12/Rose, rated M for swearing (like, a lot of swearing) and eventual smut, chapter 1 rated T. for @timepetalsprompts weekly prompt. Fanart by the amazing and talented @rishidiams

Written after a sequel to China Rose was requested.

Beta’s by RishiDiams and @tenroseforeverandever - thank you!

World’s biggest ‘thank you’s to the ladies of Leather Fetish - @beth51276, @rishidiams, @wipedcleanbysummer - for putting up with my endless fixation on this project. <3

Chapter 1

16 December, 2016

He sat in his office, staring at the two small boxes, trying to figure out how he found himself in this position. He had no idea what had possessed him.

Well, that was a lie. He knew exactly what had possessed him. It was the same thing that possessed him every time he saw it. He was a powerful man, but Rose Tyler’s smile was his weakness, and he wanted to see it all the time. Preferably directed at him. That was terribly unlikely, though.

Ian Docherty was a bastard.

That wasn’t an insult to his character, merely a descriptor. One he didn’t mind, just as he didn’t mind his nickname, ‘the Oncoming Storm’. He was well aware of the fact that he was a bastard and made no apologies for that fact. As a Queen’s Counsel to the Crown Court, a barrister and a litigator, being an arsehole was a vital part of his makeup, necessary to his career.

But Ian had his soft spots, too.

When he’d first heard nearly eleven months ago that Sarah Jane wanted to take on a new pupil, he’d rolled his eyes. The nine partners in the firm - three senior and six junior - had been called on to vote whether or not to bring this person in. The ‘Smith’ of Stewart, Docherty, and Smith, Sarah Jane, had a habit of taking young prospective solicitors under her wing. Though he’d always scoffed at his friend and partner, even he had to admit that she had a knack for picking out exceptionally talented solicitors-to-be. More than half had been hired on permanently by the firm at the end of their pupilage year.

Still, he had no patience for them fumbling around with wide doe eyes and searching for the spare fucking copy paper and all of the other trappings of new hires. Leave that shit to someone else, thanks ever so.

It had been clear to Ian that Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, the other senior partner besides himself and Sarah Jane, was in favor of hiring this Rose Tyler, and the junior partners would vote as they felt prudent, which was to say that they wouldn’t be voting against the senior partners.

Ian had known it was a losing battle and he’d backed down into a ‘yea’ vote, but not before making his position clear: “I don’t give a fuck. Just don’t expect me to be leading this chit around by the fucking hand, alright?”

Alistair had chuckled and assured him that nobody expected any such thing, then instructed Sarah Jane to bring the girl in to meet the partners of her new workplace.

Rose had come in, looking as shy as they all did, but absolutely gorgeous. Blonde, with a wide, lush mouth, generous curves, and topaz eyes, she’d arrested his attention from the moment he’d seen her.

He’d shaken his head to clear it. So what? She was gorgeous, yes, but he was forty-five years old. He’d had his head turned by a woman before, more than once.

Then she’d given the room a shy smile, and that’s when it happened. On 26 January, 2016, Rose Tyler smiled, and Ian Docherty discovered that he had a weakness big enough to drive a lorry through.

One would think that over the course of nearly a year, an infatuation would fade away into nothing. Ian’s, however, did no such thing.

Rose worked under Sarah Jane, so despite the fact that her cubicle was only five yards away from his office door, he never had any real reason to speak with her. She was very punctual, coming in early most days, and he always missed her in the car park. She never seemed to work on any of his cases the way past pupils had, so that wasn’t an excuse. He had run into her in the break room once or twice, but there was always a red-haired girl with her and he wasn’t able to say more than ‘hello’.

Still, he was a barrister, a damned good one, and he had learned things about Rose Tyler. He’d learned that she’d grown up on a council estate, and had worked herself to the bone to put herself through law school. He’d learned that she liked ethnic food, particularly Italian and Indian. He’d learned that she lived alone and didn’t have a boyfriend. He’d learned that her favorite color was yellow. He’d learned that she kept herself healthy: she ran a couple times a week and she had a yoga class on Wednesday and a spin class on Saturday mornings. And he’d learned that while she wasn’t averse to the occasional night out of drinks with friends, she preferred to spend her evenings quietly, at home.

Ian had been hoping that somewhere in everything he’d learned, he’d find something that was a complete turn-off and would put an end to this...crush he seemed to have on her. But he hadn’t. Everything he’d learned only added to his opinion that she was the ideal woman.

Everyone else in the firm seemed to agree: everybody loved Rose. She was universally adored and hailed as being kind, funny, sweet, and talented. Nothing he’d seen suggested otherwise.

Not that any of that made a difference in the situation. She was laughably out of his league. Rose was young and beautiful; a bright spot in everyone’s day. He, meanwhile, was - well, he was not. He was old, crotchety, bad-tempered, and had earned his nickname. Not to mention she was his subordinate - and a pupil to boot. She wasn’t just out of his league, she was off-limits.

But oh, how he lived for her smiles. He didn’t catch them often but when he did, they brightened him. He could live off the memory of one of her smiles for days, but like an addict, he craved more. He could never get enough. Rose Tyler’s happiness was his drug.

When his assistant, Clara, had approached him with the idea of a staff Christmas lunch and gift exchange, he’d waved his hand dismissively. Sure. Whatever. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with assprints on the fucking copier this way. And it would be easy to make himself scarce. Brilliant.

When he’d heard that the gift exchange would be a Secret Santa and that Clara was organizing it, he was a bit more interested. Not that he’d actually put his name in a hat for something so inane, of course. He’d already be receiving a plethora of stupid gifts he never asked for: boxes of candy, coffee blends, asinine shit like that. No, ta, he wouldn’t be signing up to get more. Utterly fucking ridiculous, that.

But if Rose would be participating...well, that would make things a bit different. He couldn’t outright buy her a gift for a multitude of reasons - not the least of which was that she may not appreciate a gift from him. Surely she could have any man she wanted. A besotted old barrister twenty years her senior would hold zero appeal.

And yet...if he were to give her something under the cover of being her Secret Santa, something she really wanted, something anonymous, she may smile. And even if that smile wasn’t directed at him (why would she ever smile at him?), it would be for him. He understood the difference, and he’d have the satisfaction of knowing that he’d put it there. That he’d been able to make Rose Tyler happy.

Close enough. He’d take it. The knowledge that he’d made her happy would be enough.

When Clara had left the large bucket on the corner of her desk for everyone to drop their names and a short list of things they liked, he’d smirked. When she’d gone to lunch and left the bucket unguarded, he’d snuck out and pilfered Rose’s name.

Name: Rose Tyler Likes: I like coffee, chocolate covered cherries, comfy socks, scented lotion (no vanilla, please) and reading.

She sounded even more like the perfect woman than she had before. He detested vanilla and loved to read. He’d suspected, of course, that she was the epitome of what an ideal woman should be, but now there was evidence.

But those were the kinds of things one would expect to get at a holiday party. Nothing there was good enough. He wanted to make her day, her week. He wanted to really make her happy.

So he took to slinking around the bullpen outside his office often, but not so often as to arouse suspicion. He made up bullshit excuses to be there and eavesdropped on his employees, learning much more than he’d ever wanted to know about them and their lives. The red haired girl that was always around Rose had just married a little over a month ago, and her honeymoon in Majorca had been ‘magical’. Some young bloke - Adam something, he thought - enjoyed bragging about how clever he was and how attractive that was to women, though he stopped just short of talking about actual conquests. Ian desperately wanted to take the boy down a peg, but resisted.

Finally, just as he was about to give up, he got the information he’d been angling for.

“Of course, it’ll never happen,” Rose was saying from the other side of the cubicle wall. He waited. “I’ll never find it, and I’d never be able to afford it if I did.”

“And it’s just the butter dish you need?” came another female voice, probably the redhead.

“Yeah, and the creamer bowl. It was my grandmother’s set, but I broke the creamer bowl when I was little and the butter dish is just...gone. You know?”

“What’d it look like?”

“Oh, it was nothing special, I don’t suppose.” Rose sounded...wistful. Sad. That would never do. “The pattern is white with pink and yellow flowers on it. It’s called ‘old country roses’. Not very original, eh?”

The two women laughed, and he jotted the pattern name down on his hand as well as the required dishes, all in an unreadable shorthand in case he was stopped along the way. Then he turned on his heel and marched back to his office.

Money was no object to Ian; his salary was quite large and he had more than enough saved up to live comfortably for the rest of his life. He could afford the dishes, whatever they cost. And it would be worth it. It would all be worth it for that smile that lit up her whole face and the knowledge that he put it there.

So he went to his office and found the dishes online without too much trouble. They were sold by a company that specialized in replacing lost or broken pieces of china. He purchased them, paid for the expedited shipping, printed out the receipt, and sat back in his chair. She’d love it, and he would be a hero - even if nobody knew it but him.

He stared now - two weeks later and the day of the party - at the two boxes on his desk and sent up a prayer that this wouldn’t explode in his face.

~*~O~*~

Ian had originally planned to be anywhere but at the office during the Christmas party, but the memory of Rose Tyler’s smile and the knowledge that she may be wearing it today because of him was too big a lure.

Everyone in the office was visibly shocked when he put in his appearance, piling his plate with sub-par nibbles the firm had apparently paid for and doing his damndest to seem pleasant and festive by making small talk with the partners and his subordinates. He even managed to join in a conversation that Rose was a part of, though she seemed shy with him around. The knowledge frustrated him greatly.

After an interminable amount of time, the gift exchange was announced. Clara shot him a worried look, saying she was concerned because he’d be left out, but he plastered a smile on and assured her, honestly, that he had more than enough gifts on his desk and for her not to worry about it. He did elect, though, not to join the circle of chairs that had formed, opting instead to lean against a partition across from Rose and watch the annual exchange go down.

The gifts exchanged were the typical idiotic bullshit of the same type he was sure were resting on his desk: boxes of chocolates, mugs full of powdered hot cocoa mix, calendars, etc. There was the occasional thoughtful gift: a pair of movie tickets, a picture frame to the red-haired woman, but on the whole it was stupid shit. Typical. Predictable.

Then Rose’s bag was handed to her. Ian stiffened, his back going ramrod straight while he did his best to look unaffected. She raised and lowered the bag into her hand a couple of times and beamed, remarking on the weight. His heart pounded wildly in his ears.

Setting the gift in her lap, she pulled out the tissue paper and exclaimed, laughing. “Chocolate covered cherries!” A few of the people in the group laughed with her - Rose’s laugh was contagious - and she opened the box and popped one into her mouth, closing her eyes in bliss when she bit down.

He clenched his fists at his sides, but made no other move.

She reached into the bag again.

“What’s this? Looks like two boxes...” She pulled one out and popped the little strip of tape that held it closed. When it opened, she gasped.

“What is it?” the redhead asked.

“It’s the butter dish! The one I was telling you about! Oh, you shouldn’t have!” She threw her arms around her friend’s neck and squeezed.

“I didn’t!” she protested, puzzled, patting Rose on the back until she sat up. “Donna was my Secret Santa recipient.”

Rose cast a confused look at her, then at Donna who confirmed with a nod. Donna sat right in front of where Ian was standing, and he prayed that Rose wouldn’t look at him. He didn’t think he was that good an actor.

“What else is in it?” Rose’s friend asked, peering over the edge of the bag. “You said there were two boxes.”

Rose lay the butter dish box carefully in her lap, then reached in for the other box. Popping the tape on that one with a guarded look, she melted into tears when she saw what was inside.

“It’s the creamer bowl! Oh, I love it so much!”

The redhead leaned to the side and threw one arm around her, giving her a hug while Rose sniffled. Then she looked up. “Which one of you did this? I can’t - which of you was it?”

Everyone, including him, shrugged, and she looked a bit exasperated, but happy.

“Thank you so much, whoever you are. This means...this means the world to me, and I love you for it.”

Her smile was bright, the biggest he’d ever seen, and his heart stopped at her words. Maybe he should -

No. She was happy, and that was all he had wanted. All he did want. And he was...yes. Looking at her smile, he was happy, too.

He hung around for the rest of the gift exchange for appearance’s sake, sneaking glances to where Rose sat, still smiling, then he slipped off as soon as he was able.

It had gone better than he’d expected, he reflected as he left. She’d been truly delighted, and he rejoiced in the knowledge that he’d made her day.

He’d made Rose Tyler smile. He’d done it.

He felt like a hero and allowed himself a large, genuine smile as he turned and walked back to his office, closing the door behind him. Rose had been so happy with his gift that she’d cried. Real tears! He threaded his fingers behind his head and kicked his feet up on his desk, grinning at the ceiling.

Clara knocked at the door and he called for her to come in, smiling at her when she did. She had been his paralegal for five years and, for the last five months, she’d also been his personal assistant. She was young, beautiful, and capable, absolutely invaluable to him, and he regarded her as something of a friend. It was very rare that he asked her for information that she didn’t either know or have right on hand, and she wasn’t afraid of his towering temper the way others were. She knew when to stay out of his way and how to let his insults roll off her back, because he never really meant them. Yes, Clara was a godsend, and he’d gladly double her salary to keep her.

“Ian? Do you want a plate of nibbles to take home?”

He waved her off. “No, Clara, thank you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, a half smile on her lips, and stepped into his office fully. “What’s with you?”

“What do you mean, what’s with me?”

“You said thank you. You’re being…pleasant.”

“Can’t a man be in a good mood?”

She snorted. “Not you.”

“Why, Clara Oswald. I feel positively discriminated against.”

“Now you’re joking?” She crossed her arms and cocked one hip to the side. “Something’s going on.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing’s going on. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fine then, keep your secrets,” she said dismissively, then walked over to his desk to pick up the files he was finished with. “See if I care.”

Ian grinned at her, couldn’t help it. He was too damned pleased to do anything else.

“That’s awfully fucking kind of you, Clara, letting me be happy.” She gave him a withering look that just made him smile brighter.

“Ms. Smith is out of the office starting Monday. She’ll be back on January second.”

“Good for Sarah Jane.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “I’m just giving you a heads up in case she comes by and asks you to cover her cases while she’s out of town or something.”

“Duly noted. Anything else?”

“No...unless you want to tell me what has you so chipper?”

Ian waved his hand and gave her his usual dismissal. “Go away, Clara.”

She grinned mischievously and left his office, the large stack of files in one arm. Ian stared at the door for a few minutes after she left, contemplating what she’d said.

Sarah Jane was Rose’s pupil supervisor, meaning that Rose worked on her cases, and the cases that Rose had on her own were supervised by her. They were required, by nature of the pupilage, to work together closely until Rose received her practicing certificate at the end of her year as a pupil.

But if Sarah Jane was out of town, that would leave Rose unsupervised. He didn’t think for a second that someone as talented and bright as Rose would need any real supervision, but if he could talk Sarah Jane into leaving her cases with him…

He shot from his chair and strode to Sarah Jane’s office without much more thought. As was his custom, he opened her door and went right in.

“Ian,” Sarah Jane greeted him from behind her desk. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I understand you’re going out of town for the holidays.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m leaving tomorrow and will be gone until New Year’s Eve.”

“Who’s covering your caseload in that time?”

“Craig Owens.”

“Give it to me,” he said. “Owens is a fucking idiot. You don’t want him to bollocks something up while you’re gone.”

“I don’t think he’s going to bollocks anything up while I’m gone,” she said, a little tartly. “He is a partner in this law firm -”

“A junior partner.”

“ - and he is perfectly qualified to handle whatever may arise in those two weeks.”

“Do you really want to risk it? Especially with the Orestes Milton case?”

“There is nothing scheduled on the Milton case until February. There’s nothing scheduled on any of my cases until after I get back, which is why I feel secure leaving them in Owens’ care.”

Ian ground his teeth. It was out of character for him to be asking for the cases and he knew it. Pressing the issue might make her suspicious as to his motives, and he couldn’t afford that. It could be a disaster. But -

“Besides,” Sarah Jane interrupted his train of thought, “if I gave you my case files, I’d have to hand my pupil over to you as well, and I can’t do that. You’d scare the hell out of the poor girl, and she’d never come back.”

“I’m not that bad,” he muttered, knowing it was a lie even as he said it. He was that bad, if not worse.

She just burst out laughing. “You think you’re not that bad? Really, Ian? You made a judge cry!”

“That’s not...that’s not what fucking happened,” he protested feebly. It had always served his purpose for people to believe that was the case, so he’d never corrected anyone until now. He was suddenly wishing that he had.

Sarah Jane didn’t answer, just mopped her eyes and stood, dropping files in her briefcase. “I appreciate the offer, Ian, but Owens will handle everything. He’s got instructions to call me if anything major comes up, but I’ve been planning this trip for almost a year. Nothing is going to come up.”

“I hope you’re right.” Inspiration struck him then. “Why don’t you have him let me know if he has a problem, instead of bothering you on your holiday?”

She stopped what she was doing and peered at him. “Why is this so important to you?”

Fuck. Time to backpedal.

“It’s not. I just want you to have a decent fucking holiday. Seems you deserve it, yeah?”

She didn’t look convinced, but nodded anyway. “Alright. I’ll tell him if there’s an emergency to talk to you first. Provided he isn’t terrified. But I doubt he’ll have a need to.”

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

“Have a happy Christmas, Ian,” Sarah Jane said, and Ian recognized it for the dismissal it was.

“Happy Christmas to you, too.” He threw one hand up in farewell and walked back to his office with considerably less bounce than he’d had when he left.

Once there, he flopped into his chair and started scheming. Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason to start a conversation with Rose Tyler. But the concept of talking to her had taken root now and wouldn’t let go.

“You alright there, boss?”

Clara startled him when she walked into his office and dropped a pile of fresh files on his desk.

“What’s this?” he asked, ignoring her question and flipping open the top file.

“It’s the Orson depositions. Thought you might like to go over them this weekend.”

“There’s nothing I’d like fucking better,” he muttered, glancing over the first page and scowling, then closing it and lying back in his chair, dragging his hands down his face.

“Cheer up, Ian,” Clara admonished him as she walked out. “You were in a good mood twenty minutes ago. It must have been a good day until then.”

She left and Ian was left sitting in his office alone. Clara was right. It had been a very good day until he’d been denied an excuse to talk to Rose. But that wasn’t the end of the world, he decided. He’d get another chance. The universe owed him one. Something would happen that would give him the opportunity to speak with her. He had no idea what, nor what he would say when that opportunity arose, but he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

He just needed to be patient.

#ficandchips #twelve x rose #timepetalsprompts #twelve/rose #reckless endangerment #Good Lord I am nervous about this #like #really really nervous #*runs and hides*

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