Jiraiya woke up with his face pressed down against musty hardwood. It took him a moment to realize that he was in his bedroom. He must have fallen down at some point in the night, though his feet at least were still in bed. Then the migraine hit him with full force, so painfully and suddenly that he saw stars in his eyes.

Awkwardly he propped himself up and then onto a sitting position, and sighed in relief as the blood ebbed away from his head. As he wiggled his toes to get the feeling back in his legs, he tried to recall what had happened the night before.

The Konoha Spring Festival. It was coming back now. He also remembered a free flow of wine, which explained why his mouth tasted like a Suna-nin had taken a dump in it. He winced as he tested each of his muscles in turn – first torso, then the limbs, as per protocol. He felt like he was fifty years old. He should have listened to Tsunade about taking it easy after that mission, but she never took her own advice anyway. Not since Nawaki.

When he stood up he was pleasantly surprised to find that there was somebody else in his bed. A lean, graceful figure sprawled asleep in his bed under the covers, her sleek dark hair partially obscuring a pale bare shoulder peeking out the top of a blanket.

Jiraiya grinned, giving himself a mental pat on the back. Now if only I could remember any of it… he thought idly as he shambled out of his bedroom. There was a Konoha headband on the floor that wasn't his, so she was probably a shinobi too. He froze in mid-step. There was something niggling at the back of his head but his hangover was making pinning it down very difficult.

The long black hair, the skin so pale it almost shone- Oh, gods. He felt a creeping mortification as the possibility dawned on him.

"No," he muttered. "No no."

"No what?" someone asked. Tsunade's head had appeared from behind a couch, her asymmetrical hair suggesting that she had spent the night on the floor. "Ugh, put some pants on." She gave a lazy burp to punctuate her sentence.

Jiraiya blinked. A day of many surprises. "Tsunade? What- actually, hold on one second." He ducked back into his bedroom, squinting again at the mystery figure in his bed. Dammit. He thought he could discern a hint of feminine curves, but his thick sheets were making it hard to tell. There was one way to find out. But as Jiraiya reached out to pull the sheets away he found himself staying his hand. On one hand, if it was a woman, he was extremely interested in seeing her naked. Again, I suppose. But on the other hand if it turned out to be snake-

"Um, Jiraiya," Tsunade began, breaking his stream of thought. At some point she had moved up beside him.

"Where the hell is Orochimaru anyway, Tsunade?" he blurted out. He tried to remember where he had last seen that pain in the ass, but it was hard to recall anything once the wine had started flowing.

"Jiraiya!" Tsunade hissed. The note of urgency in her voice cut through his hangover fog like a chakra scalpel. She pointed at the figure in his bed. "Your… friend, she isn't breathing."

Jiraiya had noticed it too, and was moving before Tsunade had finished. His hand was clammy, but the body felt cold to his touch as he groped frantically for a pulse. He heard the ornamental bells in Tsunade's hair ringing as she shook her head. "She's been dead for a while. A few hours at least."

Jiraiya exhaled slowly through his teeth. "Motherfucker."

Tsunade was already tugging at her elaborate bell-studded hairnet, letting her hair fall back into her default style. "I'll go and inform the old fart. You… deal with things here." Jiraiya barely heard her, but he waved his acquiescence, and she turned away wordlessly.

She paused briefly at his door. "Oh, and she was a woman, by the way," Tsunade said. "Her name was Suki."

Jiraiya slumped against the foot of the bed, shaking his head. Suki.