Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own Naruto, yada yada yada.

I've had this idea in mind for a story for ages, but since I already had two stories, (and a full load at my first year of university,) I just simply didn't want to publish for the sake of the readers and my own sanity. Even if it IS a good story, it probably won't see an update for periods of up to 1-2 months. That pisses off readers and bruises my ego. But then my other Naruto fic, (The Power of Demolished Love) got ZERO reviews for its latest update. So say goodbye to that one, and hello to this one!

IMPORTANT THINGS TO READ ABOUT THIS FIC!!:

1) Everyone, (Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, ect) is 21.

2) Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, ect. are now highly skilled ninja.

3) The timeline placing is quite a bit past where the Anime, (and even the manga,) is right now- just go with it. It's after Naruto saves Sasuke; Akatsuki is no longer a factor, (because I'm sick of writing about them).

The rest is built into the story. FYI, the opening up to a point is the opening of my novel, (until it switches to Naruto stuff), so look forward to that if/when it gets published.

/sigh\\ I'm sure that I'm going to regret starting this, but what the hell. Sue me.

Truth and Power

Chapter 1

Rod sighed; a sigh of release and of anticipation. It was the sound of an evening of freedom. Even the cab driver noted Rod's content elation, though didn't bother commenting; the driver didn't usually like talking to guys on the way to the boozer. But Rod could honestly care 

less about the cabby's judgment of him. This was Rod's weekly vacation- vacation away from the pissy girlfriend who wanted him to get a better job, (why the hell the bitch didn't get one herself was beyond him,) the asshole employer, the sub-par pay check, the crumby apartment, the substandard monotony of his life. He was going out to a bar. It wasn't just a bar, though; it was the Pool.

True it wasn't much of a place- drinks were priced the same, size was the same, bar stools and the usual drunkards were the same. But it was different somehow from the rest. There, the usuals, the atmosphere, and the owner, (who was also the bartender,) created an addicting environment of pure freedom and release. In there, it didn't matter who you were, what your job was, how much you had in the bank, (except, of course, when you couldn't pay for your drink,) because there, you were treated like a basic human being; someone with dignity and something special. The guys there loved him- not because he was outrageous or a heavy drinker, but simply because he was himself. And the bartender/owner was perhaps the most kind hearted, funny, open sonofabitch on the face of the earth; anyone he met was immediately given the benefit of the doubt, and by last call, they were friends.

Yeah, this was what he looked forward too, every Friday night. Crissy was out with her friends on Friday nights, spending his money on who-the-hell-knows-or-cares; probably out at some Chip and Dale bar, shoving tens into some Slovakian hunk's G-string. And yet she still had the gall to bitch at him saturday morning about going out and dropping 50 on drinks.

Nope, Rod stopped himself. Not gonna be a downer tonight. It's vacation time.

"Here we are, bud. The Whirlpool Pub. That'll be 17.50." Rod gladly paid the man and stepped onto the threshold of what he was sure waited for him in heaven when he kicked the bucket. Stepping inside the bar, he couldn't help but grin as the usual friday nighters turned and 

raised their pints in welcome.

"ROD! How you been, man?"

"The usual, Tim."

"That bad, eh?"

Rod chuckled. Every week Tim told that joke, and every week it was still funny. Plopping down on his usual stool, he shot the shit with Jeff and Tim for a bit until Nathan came over to take his order.

"Hey, cool stranger. What's it gonna be tonight?"

"The usual, man. Two B52's and a long neck beer. Pilsner."

"Come on, dude! You gotta mix it up from time to time."

"Never mess with a good thing, man."

"That why you're still with Crissy?"

"Naw. The sex is still good, that's about it."

Laughing, Nathan set about the B52's. From time to time, Rod would just sit and look at Nathan, (not that he swung that way at all,) for the simple reason that he was just so visually interesting. It was obvious that he was a natural blond, but only because he'd known Nathan for about three years. Now, though, his hair was short brown, and oddly spiky, even though he'd never used gel. He was young, maybe about 21 or 22. How a young kid got his own bar was beyond him. His bright blue eyes were usually happy and filled with laughter and jokes and a general good time, but he'd seen them narrow with rage at a customer who'd break the rules: namely, pay your bill, be a decent human being, and don't throw up except in the bathroom toilet. If Nathan ever saw a group of friends forcing someone to drink, or someone drunk offering a ride home, he wouldn't hesitate to call the cops, (except of course after a good 

beating). The sacredness of friendship was a big deal with Nathan, and no one argued, especially since he was jacked like some kind of Calvin Cline poster boy.

As the night wore on, Rod actually got very lucky. There was a girl there that he'd been eyeing for the past few weeks, and he was pretty sure she was doing the same. He'd finally worked up enough nerve to talk to her, but when he turned around to look for her, surprise surprise, there she was, the one starting the conversation. Confused, he'd looked at Nathan for clarification, only to see him smirking. Later, while he was in the can at home, he'd figured that it was Nathan who'd pulled the strings. But right then and there, he was still just oblivious and happy; he'd gotten her number and a decent kiss. Leaning back in his stool, he gave a hearty sigh. The bar was nearly empty now, so Nathan took put down his wash cloth and grinned at Rod.

"Sound of love, man."

"How's that?"

"That, ya know, "Ahhhh" sound. Sound of love."

"Well, we'll have to see."

"No, man, no. No need to wait at all. You like her, she likes you. What's to wait for?"

"Come on, Nathan. Love is risky and shit. Can be dangerous."

"Love is like that. It makes you fly, makes you free, makes you leap from the tops of buildings and just carries you into the sunset."

Rod raised an eyebrow. This was different from the usual Nathan. He'd never been one to talk about things like love. So Rod drew a very logical conclusion.

"So, who is she, man?"

Nathan smiled. "A hell of a woman. Beautiful, strong, brilliant, ohhhh, she wrecks me."



"And? You dating her or something?"

The moment Rod spoke, he wished he hadn't. In an instant, Nathan's eyes fell, his shoulders slumped, and the feel of the room got a hell of a lot more cold. Nathan tried to save face. "Naw man. She lives on the other side of the world. Haven't seen her in awhile. But…" He trailed off, not wanting to finish, Rod not wanting to press the matter. He finished his drink in relative silence and called for a cab home, wondering in the backseat what all that was about.

Nathan knew that there was still another twenty minutes until closing, but the bar was empty, the street was dead, and hell, it was his place anyway, so who cares if he kicks it in early? Tossing his rag on the counter, promising himself to wash the glasses in the morning, he grabbed a short beer and walked into the backroom. His thoughts drifted towards her, then he forced them back away. It was both labor intensive and yet lethargic. Why the hell did Rod get him thinking about her? He stopped short of a rack of dusty, never touched wine bottles, (who the hell ordered wine in a bar anyway?), eyes cast downwards, suspended in both thought and the absence of it. One thing he did know was that he shouldn't go in there; he shouldn't walk to the back of the room and look at the picture, gaze at it, reminisce over it; he wanted to sleep tonight. But he knew it was going to happen, whether he willed it or not.

His hand moved, (of his own accord? Perhaps.), and pulled down the fourth bottle from the left, second shelf from the top. Cabernet Merlot, 73. Silently, a passage slid open from the wine rack into a dark hallway. Ensuring to close the door behind him, Nathan walked through the short, downward sloping hall to a larger room. Reaching over, he flicked on a few light switches. While only half the lights in the room illuminated, it was easy to tell that the room was a small training dojo; the floors was a smooth hardwood, the walls a simple shade of brown. On the 

walls hung various weapons, on the book shelves sat several scrolls. Countless hours were spent in here, maintaining already honed skills, enduring a perpetually sharpened mind and body. However, Nathan barely saw the place of training as he walked to the far right corner.

There sat a small table, perpetually lit by three small candles. Nathan had never been particularly religious, but this table was the closest thing to a shrine, or a sacred, revered place, that he had ever known. Upon this table, and its adjacent dresser, sat the memorabilia of the life, the people, the future, and the name he had left behind. The dresser held his old clothes, the drawers held his old positions. The table though, held what he thought was most special. A series of half a dozen or so framed pictures. His old team, his old friends, his old home. One face was common in most of the pictures: a smiling, young, beautiful girl, ("no, woman"), with riveting green eyes, bright pink hair, and solid, caring face. He picked up his most favorite picture. Her and him. Long ago, or at least feeling like that. Him, back when he wasn't afraid to speak his mind, when he didn't half to worry about having bright yellow hair, looking so much like the Fourth's, deep blue eyes showing passion and resolve. He lingered for a moment on his own features, feeling so foreign to himself. Those eyes had changed this most. They were now dim, sad. Tarnished by memory and pain.

Inevitably, his eyes drifted to her. He gazed upon her face, drinking in every detail. How he so wished he could reach through the picture, to that day they both made ANBU, when they both felt so proud of each other and sure in each other. They had just started dating then. How long had they been going out? Two weeks, a month, (more?), the dates and specifics are already being lost in his mind. Nathan stands there, not moving, but wishing. For he is not the person he once was. The name of his bar is nothing more than a tribute, an epitaph to what he once was. Naruto Uzumaki was a strong willed, powerful, passionate being who would defend his friends 

to the end. Nathan wasn't that person anymore. He'd run. He hoped that it was only for a short time, until he'd figure out how to save the village. It had been nearly six months before he'd been forced to admit to himself that Konoha was beyond saving; the people that now held and controlled his home had pulled it off perfectly. He was powerless to save his home. All he could do was wait; wait as if it was nothing more than a storm, one that would pass. And he'd been waiting and hiding ever since. How long now?

Enough, he forces himself. Nathan set down the picture, telling Naruto that he's gonna have to wait and be quiet for a little while longer, hopefully. Exiting his private area, Nathan returns to the bar and sets about organizing the liquors when he hears the door ding open. He suppresses a moan. Jesus, the bar closes in ten minutes, yet some boozer hoping to grab a last minute nip is something he has to put up with. Still he doesn't bother turning around; he just puts forth the typical question.

"Cutting her a little close, eh? So what'll it be, man?"

"Vodka paralyzer. With diet coke and skim milk, if you don't mind."

Time stops. Air hangs suspended, heat freezes, every sense takes a snapshot that lasts for an age. Well, nothing can be done about it now. Nathan vanishes, takes a back seat. Naruto parts his lips and draws in a slow, controlled breath.

"Just like you. Take a manly drink, and you just go and make it womanly."

Hoping his retort conveys an image of defiance rather than despair, Naruto turns around, looking into the bright red eyes of his closest friend. And also, his most dangerous enemy. He's sadly sure, however, that the title of "friend" of the red eyed man has all but faded. Not caring if he falls under genjutsu or not, he looks right into the speaker's eyes.

"Hi, Sasuke."



"Hi, Naruto."

xxxxxEndxxxxx

That's it for now, I guess. Let's see how this one pans out. PLEASE R+R so I know there are people out there who want to see this story continue!

closet fan 16