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kuriquinn · 5 years

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Underneath the Underneath [6/?]

First Chapter

Temporary Blanket Disclaimer

Author’s Note: In which we learn that under all that sass, Manako has hidden depths. I was rewatching Shippuden and got one of those scenes that has always seriously made me angry. So this chapter happened.

“Let’s stop for lunch,” Manako suggests, nodding her head at Ichiraku as she and Hana pass nearby.

“Only if you pay,” her sister smirks at her.

“Cheapskate.”

“Consider it compensation for me having to watch you fail at flirting with Ayame again.”

“You should be the one paying for the pleasure of my company, since it’s been so long.”

It’s rare that Hana and Manako have the same lunch break. The veterinary has people bringing their pets and ninken in at all hours, and Manako sometimes gets so wrapped up in one of her projects that she forgets to eat. Such was the case today, and she would still be working if Uncle Saburo hadn’t usurped her spot at the workbench for some kind of secret project.

She figures it’s for Jiraiya again, though the old pervert hasn’t been around Konoha for weeks.

As she and her sister duck behind the hanging cloth letters of the ramen bar, a solid figure bursts out—the Uzumaki kid from Kiba’s class, shoving past them without apology. As he bursts into a heedless run into the heart of the village, both girls curl their lips reflexively.

Manako doesn’t know why the rest of the village has an issue with the boy, but her own unease is visceral; Hana’s is too. Somewhere deep in the Inuzuka blood lingers the spirit of the wolf, and there’s something off about the boy that would have her raising her hackles if she had any. She’d say it was an ominous smell, except it’s not really that.

(Though the kid could stand to take a few more showers, since he stinks like old sweat…)

Not his fault, she tells herself. Maybe some kids are just born under a bad star.

She very carefully doesn’t think of another orphan boy that she knows who was definitely handed a rough deal.

Once the Uzumaki boy is out of range, Manako relaxes and senses her twin do the same, the instinctive tension drawing out of them. At the same time Ayame looks up at them both.

“Well! This is a surprise! I rarely see you two together these days,” she says with a grin. “You might look alike, but I swear you’re the sun and the moon.”

“Poetic as always,” Manako says, and flutters her eyelashes exaggeratedly. Beside her, Hana snorts.

“Take a seat,” Ayame says, reaching for a cloth. “I’ve got space for you over here, just let me finish cleaning up after Naruto. He’s a messy eater!”

There’s a note of sisterly frustration there that Manako recognises all to well.

“You’re real nice to that kid, Ayame,” she says. “I don’t know how you haven’t gotten sick of him yet. I swear he eats three meals a day here!”

“Usually only the one,” Ayame replies, swiping a rag across the counter space as the girls take a seat.

“Still. Most people pretend not to see him,” Hana points out. “Or worse.”

“He’s a good boy,” Ayame sighs. “It’s a shame people don’t treat him better.”

“Now see, this is why I like you,” Manako purrs. “You’re smart and kind, not to mention beautiful…”

“You’re still paying your bill, Manako.”

“I’m just saying! You’re good people.”

“Well, so are you.”

“Not really,” Manako says with a depreciating smile, and gets an elbow in the rib from her sister, who jerks her head toward the menu.

Spoilsport…

She and Hana place their orders. Ayama beams at them both, assuring them it will only be a moment, and heads to the stove.

“It is nice to grab a bite to eat with you,” Hana says after a moment. “It feels like we never see you.”

“You’re busy. I’m busy. It is what it is.”

“You should come to dinner this weekend. Mom’s supposed to be back from her mission, and she’s always asking me to ask you to come over.”

“Funny how she can’t find the time to do it herself,” Manako replies airily, reaching for a set of chopsticks and ripping the paper off.

“Well if you two weren’t so stubborn,” Hana grumbles.

“Pot? This is kettle. You’re black.”

Hana ignores that. “And it’s not just Mom, you know. Kiba misses you.”

“Don’t pull that,” Manako replies, unimpressed but unsurprised at the tactic. “You know if he’s not lurking around your clinic, he’s trying to steal flash bombs from my shop. I see him more than anyone else.”

“And that’s why you should visit more often. You’d think we didn’t even live in the same village anymore! Besides, everyone would be really happy if you were around more often.”

“I can name a bunch who wouldn’t.”

“And Cousin Akiko just had a baby.”

“Ah, there’s the ulterior motive.”

“How is that an ulterior motive?!”

“Obviously they’re expecting me to babysit,” Manako snorts. “Because of course, everyone in the family who’s not part of the reserves has to be on kid duty. It’s like they figure I’ve got nothing else going in my life!”

“You don’t have anything going in your life.”

“Avoiding stupid people is a thing.”

“Not a thing that will give you an excuse to miss another dinner.”

“There’s no excuse needed, I actually have work.”

Hana crosses her arms at her. “You’ve already skipped dinner three times this month. If you go for another, Mom is going to hunt you down. And when she sees the state of your apartment, either she’ll spend the whole day scrubbing every speck of dirt she comes across while yelling at you, or she’ll burn the place down before something in your fridge evolves sentience.”

“Ah, good old Mom. From one extreme to the other,” Manako smirks. Tsume Inuzuka may be a rough and tumble woman in the field, but she’s obsessive compulsive about her housekeeping. Privately Manako thinks her mother overcompensates for the fact that her father isn’t around anymore, but she’s always known better than to point that out.

“Your even more in for it if she finds the huge collection of those colourful…items in your bedside table drawer,” Hana continues in a lower voice.

“How do you know what’s in my bedside table drawer? You are such a snoop!”

“I wasn’t snooping, I was looking for a pen.”

“Who even keeps pens in their bedside tables anymore? And why were you in my apartment, anyway?”

“Someone has to make sure you’re eating more than fried potatoes and cereal,” Hana maintains.

“And that someone has to root around in my private belongings? I totally regret giving you a key.”

“You know I don’t need a key to get in there if I want to.”

“Well, that makes me regret it even worse.”

They glare at each other. Hana breathes in through her nose, like she’s grounding herself or counting to ten in her head, and in a level voice says, “Manako, you can’t avoid her forever. She’s your mother, too.”

“I don’t avoid her. You said it yourself, I go to dinner every…what, month or so?”

“And then you spend like an hour sitting like a statue while Mom and Kiba fill up the silence, and then take off again.”

“So what? If I have nothing to say, I have nothing to say.”

“You’re you. You always have something to say,” Hana scowls. “This whole ‘avoiding the family’ thing of yours is getting ridiculous. If you would just—”

“Not talking about it, Hana.”

“You never want to talk about it! Are you seriously going to spend the rest of your life angry at her?”

“I dunno, does she want to spend the rest of her life pretending like she didn’t do anything wrong?”

“In her view, she didn’t.”

“Well, in my view, she did. So we’re at an impasse. Would you stop playing peacekeeper and trying to fix everything? It’s annoying.”

“Manako…” her sister looks troubled, and Manako decides she’s allowed the conversation to go on longer than she should have.

“I think I might order something for Uncle while I’m here. Otherwise he’ll complain the whole day about how I’m starving him to death.”

Ayame, balancing two bowls in her hands, says, “I can prepare his regular order for you while you two eat.”

“You’re a good woman,” Manako says with a wry grin. Then, putting her hand to her heart and pretending to swoon, she says, “Ayame, moon of my heart and star of my night sky! When are you going to leave behind this life of drudgery and strained noodles, and run away with me?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Ayame laughs as she sets down the girls’ orders. “And you’ve been hanging around with Gai again, haven’t you?”

“Heh. ‘Hanging out’ would be a stretch, but he has become a regular at the shop. And you have to admit, weird jumpsuits aside, he has a way with words.”

“I don’t get it,” Hana sighs, abandoning their previous conversation with only a trace of reluctance to show for it. “Almost four years you could count the number of people you actually liked on one hand. And now in the span of four weeks, you’ve made friends with the two weirdest and most infamous men in Konoha.” She stabs a chopstick in Manako’s direction. “What, was the village out of normal people?”

“Normal’s overrated.”

“They’re definitely not normal… Sometimes I can’t believe those two are elite jōnin,” Ayama muses thoughtfully. “Do you know they gorged themselves on ramen a few nights ago, trying to see who eat the most? The mess…”

She shivers, remembering something unpleasant.

“Well, men do mature slower,” Hana says. “I have a theory—want to hear my theory?”

“You’re going to tell us anyway,” Manako points out.

“I think you have to subtract ten years from an average adult male’s age to figure out his actual mentality.”

“So you’re basically saying they’re a pair of fourteen-year-old boys at heart.”

“That makes sense,” Ayame muses. “I’m pretty sure I saw Gai trying to play kancho pranks on Kakashi…”

Manako’s eyes light up in delight. “No way!”

“Oh, yeah. It was right there, out in the open—he practically yelled it at the top of his lungs.” Ayame adopts a dynamic pose, still holding on to the ladle for the ramen. “I have you now, Kakashi! One Thousand Years of Death!”

Hana and Manako burst into laughter, both at the impression and at the imagery Ayame offers up.

Why are all the fun ones straight? Manako wonders with only a trace of self-pity.

Ayame excuses herself to help another customer, and Manako and Hana eat their meal in relative silence—minus a few cutting quips at each other. They’ve barely finished eating when Hana gets to her feet.

“I’m off. I don’t want to leave Uncle Kōga on his own too long. The waiting room tends to fill up right after lunch.” She offers Manako a considering look, and then says, “Just think about dinner, okay?”

And she leaves before her sister can refuse or even make one last snide comment.

Manako scowls at her back.

Her mood remains bleak even as Ayame comes to bring her the take-out container, and she only manages a sullen murmur of thanks before she stalks off.

Why does she always have to do that? You’d think she was three years older instead of three minutes…

As she nears the middle of the street market, there is a commotion up ahead.

“Hey, you little brat!”

“Huh?”

“Get out of here!”

Her eyes are attracted first to the violent orange shirt worn by Naruto Uzumaki, before movement in front of him draws her attention. Through a gathering crowd she watches a mustachioed street vendor reach out and shove the boy until he falls back on the ground.

Manako is frozen for a moment. Later she will be ashamed that she acts like everyone else, just standing around and watching the display without moving to help, but right now she is immobilized by her own disbelief.

The boy recovers himself and stares up at the man in anger, hurt and confusion. “Hey, what’s the big idea?!”

“I don’t want you here! You’re nothing but a pest!”

“But I wasn’t even doing anything!” the blond boy protests. Then, he lowers his eyes almost in embarrassment. Manako barely hears his next words over the murmuring of the crowd. “I mean, I was just looking at the masks you have.”

“Here, is this what you want?” the vendor sneers, and then lobs a white animal-style porcelain mask at the boy.

Manako doesn’t hear the next bit, too floored by the unwarranted assault.

Somehow, the possibility of such a thing never occurred to her. The kid is disliked, sure, and she’s never thought too closely about the reason, but she never thought anyone would actually physically harm him.

A smack for discipline is one thing—she received enough of those growing up, as a means of dissuading bad behavior or to make a lesson stick. But to lash out at a kid out of anger—

Something within her snarls.

Adults are supposed to protect the young, not harm them!

She takes a step forward, intending to intervene, but her momentary hesitance has cost her. The kid, wincing at the growing bruise on his forehead and clearly holding back tears even as he curses out the countless bystanders, is already taking off at a run.

The din of hushed conversation and commentary washes spreads across the open street, gossipmongers already wagging their tongues. Manako even sees the expressions of peevish glee on some people. As if to say the boy got exactly what he deserved.

Her hold on the take-out container vanishes, and she is barely aware of it falling into the dirt behind her as she stalks forward.

When she reaches the stall, the man is already putting a new mask on his wall.

As if he didn’t just attack a kid!

“Hey. Old man,” she says in a low, carefully controlled tone. When the flustered and angry shopkeeper looks up, an expression of indignation on his face which freezes at her icy glare. “I ever see you hit a kid in this village again in anger—even if it’s that kid—this little stall of yours is going to become matchsticks on the ground.”

Her words are delivered without inflection, the tone a statement of fact rather than threat.

The man takes a half-step back, before his face turns an angrier shade of red and he shouts, “And what business it is of yours?”

“None maybe. But I don’t like bullies.”

“Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong! That brat isn’t some innocent victim!”

“Don’t tell me you’re intimidated by a ten-year-old,” she drawls. “Are you that insecure you have to pick on someone smaller than you to feel like a man?”

“Don’t speak of things you’re too young to understand!”

“Then don’t act like a prick.”

The crowd of people who were watching the incident with the Uzumaki boy earlier now stand by watching her. Their murmuring from before starts up again, but this time the grumbling is directed at her.

“Isn’t she a dropout?”

“Who does she think she is, getting involved?”

“Even her own clan is embarrassed of her.”

“Couldn’t hack it as real shinobi…what, does she think she’s neighborhood watch now?”

“I might as well be,” she says loudly, turning to glare at the woman nearest her who made the last comment. “Unless you want the job?” The heckler goes pale, but her mouth firms in stubbornness, and Manako stares around in challenge. “Or someone else here? You’re all quick to comment, but I didn’t see any of you jerks act to help someone smaller and weaker than you.”

Most of the crowd avoids her gaze. There are two kids nearby—an Akimichi and a Nara by the look of them—that at least look troubled, but everyone else looks at her as if she has broken some taboo.

Manako bares her teeth in an expression only a fool would call a smile, and growls.

“If I hear tell of something like this again, I’ll make sure you people spend the rest of your natural lives checking for explosives on your chairs or in your toilets. Act like shit, and you get shit.” She pitches her voice louder for those in the back and glares at the rubberneckers. “I don’t care if you don’t like him—I don’t care what your reasons are. I don’t like him either, but that doesn’t give me an excuse to beat on him. It’s enough the kid’s an orphan, you think it’s okay to kick him around like a stray dog?” She clenches her fists. “You’re fucking adults. Act like it, or I’ll get involved. Trust me when I say I can do a lot worse than a bit of graffiti.”

She looks around once more, trying to meet everyone’s eyes in turn until they look away or hurry off in well-deserved shame. Then, with one last furious glare, she turns on her heel and marches back the way she came.

Just beyond the edge of the crowd, she finds herself face to face with Kakashi. He is holding two bags of groceries and his one eye staring down at her in a serious manner. To Manako, it feels like he is evaluating her.

“And where the hell were you?” she snaps, her anger giving way to disappointment. She might not have a long history with Kakashi, but by his reputation, he’s supposed to be a decent person. At least she thought so before. “Were you just standing there watching like everyone else?”

“I only just turned the corner,” he tells her. “And you were handling it.”

“Feh. Handling it,” she repeats bitterly. “It’s not my job to handle this stuff. You shinobi are the ones supposed to be keeping the peace. That includes looking out for a brat like him.” Something in the jōnin’s expression softens, and a jolt of defensiveness hits her. “What?”

“Nothing,” he tells her mildly. “I’m just surprised. It’s not every day that boy has someone stick up for him.”

“It’s not just him I’m sticking up for,” she mutters, a little defensive, because she doesn’t want him misconstruing her uncharacteristic outburst as some kind of attempt to be heroic. Flash of conscience aside, she still doesn’t like the Uzumaki kid, and most of her threats were bluster. “There are some things that are just unforgiveable. People should know better. Shinobi should know better.”

The shape of Kakashi’s mouth turns down beneath his mask, but she doesn’t care if he isn’t pleased with her words.

“Everyone in the shinobi corps—even retired ones—act like they’re so noble and heroic on this outside,” she goes on furiously. “But then they go out and hurt people. All because of what? Orders? To prove they’re strong?”

A memory surfaces that causes a lump to grow in her throat—a pristine hospital and countless stretchers with bloody sheets over them; her legs burning, running to keep anyone from catching her or stopping her; screaming a name at a body under a white sheet, the only one not covered in blood but just as motionless as the rest—

The pale wrist falling from beneath the cover as the medic-nin carried it away.

Manako clenches her fists and forces the memory back down.

“Anyone that beats on a kid is worse than scum in my book,” she says coldly, “shinobi or not.”

She notices the way his eye widen fractionally at this, but she’s too angry to wonder just what she said that would garner such a reaction. Instead, she stalks past him, trailing fury behind her and her day unquestionably ruined.

So, this was a little more serious than we’ve seen so far in this fic, but sometimes that’s necessary. I’ve been trying to work in some of Manako’s backstory and views gradually through the fic, but this chapter came out in a chunk.

Oh well.

And I know there haven’t been a lot of shippy-interactions between Kakashi and Manako, but it is a slow burn relationship and I’m really trying to show that they have a lot of seemingly innocuous interactions before romance even becomes an option.

For those of you impatient to see some Kakashi/Manako action, if you haven’t seen it yet, I’ve written a one-shot called Take-Out for just that reason. Be warned, it’s NSFW ^_^

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#naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #kakashi hatake #kakashi/oc #manako inuzuka #behind the scenes #coda #shippuden ep 177 #character development #kakashi/manako #friendship #slow build #real talk #things get serious for a minute #family drama

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