Most people had no clue about the reasons for it, and Kankuro did not care to educate them. Rated for violence, language, and references to sex. Eisuke, Miri, Wind Dancer, Keiko, and the old puppeteer are mine, but are inspired by the Naruto-verse. The rest of the characters are not mine, and belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

Hero's Mask

One

Kankuro stretched out on his bed, kicking out the sheets to get them all pulled out and loose, the way he liked them. He took all the pillows and made a comfortable pile. He relaxed back, putting his hands behind his head. It felt great after a long busy day to just kick back.

The shower turned off. Kankuro considered going back into the bathroom, but then decided to wait. He wiggled so the sheets slipped down to his hips. He flexed his biceps and grinned in anticipation of the reaction the sight would get. However, instead of an answering grin or appreciative whistle, he was presented with a purple streaked towel and a disgruntled expression.

Kankuro snorted. "You're the one who told me to hurry, Miri."

"Another few seconds would not have killed the mood." She shook the towel. "How many times do I have to tell you, use soap and water first, then the towel. Your make up does not come out in the wash."

"Stop calling it make up!"

"Stop getting whatever it is all over."

Miri fingered the towel, rubbing the face paint between her fingers, and then tossed the towel in the laundry hamper. She flopped onto her stomach on the bed and settled down beside him. A long arm shot out and snatched a pillow away from Kankuro. Miri tucked it under her chin.

Kankuro smirked at her, it was fun to tease Miri and it was not often that he got a chance to do it.

Miri rubbed her fingers together again, looking thoughtful. "You are right though," she said.

"Oh?" Kankuro raised an eyebrow. "And you're admitting it? That's a first."

"Ass." She poked him in the ribs and then wiped her fingers off on his chest. "But you are correct; it is not really make up. It is much too foul for that."

"Hey!"

"Well it is. It's more like paste than anything else. It is thick and sticky so it doesn't run when you sweat, it's got sun block, stuff to help reduce glare, and some anti-toxin for your own poisons, so if you walk into a cloud from one of those nasty bombs of yours, then you won't take yourself out. Even the hood makes sense; it keeps the sun off your neck and face." Miri began to trace circles on his arm. "All in all, the whole look is pretty cute."

"Cute?! I am not cute, damn it!"

"I did not say you were cute, the look is. Still, I do not quite see why."

"Why what?"

"Why only you? Ebizo-sensei does not wear it, his sister didn't, and neither did Sasori. The books I looked in said it is an old tradition that had fallen into disuse." She paused. "You know, there is not much on puppet arts in the village library."

"No shit. I hadn't noticed."

Miri ignored his sarcastic tone. "Ebizo-sensei has some books, but they are in his private collection."

"I'm aware of that."

"He did not take you on as a student until after you had learned how to use Karasu, Kuroari, and Shanshouo, right?"

Kankuro nodded. He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. Miri recognized the expression; it was the look he got when he was thinking about his childhood. It was usually best to just leave bad enough alone whenever he got that look, but her curiosity had been peaked by Ebizo's reaction to her questions.

"If he did not teach you, who did? Sasori was long gone by that time. Was it Ebizo's sister?"

"No."

"Then who?"

Kankuro sighed. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"Probably not. Was it Baki?"

"He's strictly a wind user. It was my father at first."

"He was not a puppet user."

"No, but he knew enough to teach me the basics. He did have kage status after all."

"Was he trying to resurrect the tradition then?"

"Something like that."

"Like that? He either did or he did not. C'mon tell me, Kankuro."

She pointed at the pictures on his dressing table. The room was dimly lit, but they both knew what was in the pictures.

"In that picture of your team before their first mission you are not wearing anything unusual." She grinned. "You were a cute kid, such chubby cheeks. And then, about two years later, you go off to some exams and you are wearing it. I prefer the pattern you are wearing now."

"I'm glad you approve, Miri. Since you seem to know so much from gossiping with others you don't need me to tell you a damn thing."

"Oh, pfft, do not pout Kankuro. I do not know the whole story, just the outline. I need you to fill in the details."

"You don't need anything. It's in the past and deserves to stay there."

He shot Miri a look that signaled the end of the conversation. Most people would have dropped it right then, but Miri just stared back at him, unruffled and undaunted by his fierce glare. She was a skilled tracker who hunted down her prey, animal or human, with relentless determination and patience. The only thing Miri enjoyed more than a good hunt or a good fight was a good story. And tonight she was hunting a story; one of his stories.

"Chikamatsu Monzaemon." She tossed the name out and went back to tracing a complicated design on the solid muscle of his upper arm with her finger.

"You have been reading. Stop that, damn it!" He swatted at her hand.

"An interesting fellow, according to the few accounts I could find. Not quite an actor, writer, or even shinobi. I tried reading a couple of his plays. The man was not fond of happy endings. Have you seen any of them performed?"

"One or two."

"That is all? The father of the puppet arts, your art, and you have only seen one or two of his plays."

"I've got better things to do than watch other people pretend to do stuff."

"I guess, but Kankuro, bunraku hood and kabuki paint? I can see someone trying to honor him by adopting one, but both?"

"You just explained the reasons a few moments ago. There's nothing else to tell, Miri."

"That's crap. What happened Kankuro? There is a story here, I can smell it."

"No there isn't. It's just what you said it is and nothing more. People make too damn much of it. It's not about covering up fear or becoming something else. There's no deeper meaning here, none of that metaphysical bullshit you and Ebizo-sensei like so much. I'm just the same with or without it."

His gaze flitted to the pictures again. Miri looked at them, then let her eyes wander over his body and considered his reaction to her questions. Moonlight painted silver designs over his cheek, chest, and stomach. She considered just letting it go, as he had requested, and turning her attention to other things, like tracing those patterns onto his chest with her fingers.

"Now I smell bullshit. Everyone wears some sort of mask Kankuro. Yours just happens to be the colour of nobility and pride. Or maybe the colour of anger and obstinacy, sometimes it is hard to tell with you. You know, the best way to deal with a ghost or demon is to drag it into the light, face it, and then let it go."

"I don't believe in ghosts and besides this room is dark."

She poked him. "Do not be smart. I was speaking metaphorically and you know it."

"I metaphor sex and she…" The rest was lost in a grunt when Miri poked him in the ribs again, quite hard this time.

"Ouch! Hey! That's no way to ask me for something, Miri." Kankuro tucked his hands behind his head again. "Besides it's not much of a story."

"Then it will not take long to tell and we will have more time for other activities."

She grinned at him, her large teeth gleaming in the semi-dark. Kankuro grinned back.

"Well if you put it that way…"

His grin faded and he resumed staring at the ceiling. He did not say anything for a long time and Miri did not prod him any further. She knew she would get her story, so now she was prepared to wait while he organized his thoughts.

"All I wanted was to see someone else like me, another puppeteer. That's all I wanted. And then…then I think I did it because he didn't want me to. It was something I did on my own. For the first time, I made my own choice and went my own way about something."