Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
The outside of Hatake Sakumo's dilapidated apartment building never looked so inviting. Sure, the grey concrete walls were riddled with cracks, the windows needed cleaning, and roof was rusty and spotted with pigeon droppings, but it was home—a home he hadn't seen for nearly three weeks. The mere sight of it lifted his mood, not that his mood was foul before returning to the village. His prior mission was a complete success; his team was returning unharmed, and three highly undesirable Suna-nin lay dead amongst the karst towers of River Country, the lonely limestone hills a fitting necropolis for the enemy. Soon, he would receive his commission, and then he could spend the evening patronizing some of the village's finer establishments, reminding the female citizenry of Konoha that the White Fang was still their Number One Playboy.
After all, tonight was Halloween, and the adults of Konoha usually had more fun than the children on the devilish holiday. Already, he had spotted several village brats cavorting around in costume, dressed up like miniature ANBU, tiny Hokages, plus more mainstream fantasies, such as ghosts, tengu, oni, and princesses. He took a moment to fantasize about some of his own acquaintances dressed up in Halloween costumes—skimpy costumes that were easily removed.
As he shuffled up to the building's entrance, he hummed a few upbeat bars of the popular tune "Meet Me in Tanzaku Gai". A brindled tomcat was lounging on the stoop, blocking the door as it soaked up the warmth of the noontime sunrays, and, as Sakumo gently shooed him away, the scrawny feline hissed a complaint.
"Sorry, friend," apologized the jounin. "I'll put out some milk later, ok?"
Halfway up the stairs, Sakumo abruptly stopped humming. Somewhere, up above, he heard the rasp of breathing and the soft rustle of cloth. Someone was standing on the landing outside the door to his apartment.
He frowned under his mask. If it were an assassin, they were making a huge mistake.
Up the stairs he crept, making no sound, until the landing came into view.
There, milling about in the small space, stood three people, none of which looked like a shinobi. In the back, there was a short, frumpy woman, wearing a white headpiece that covered her ears and neck. She had a bulky bag slung over one shoulder and carried a cloth-wrapped package in her arms. Her blue eyes were nearly hidden behind droopy eyelids.
Closest to the door to Sakumo's apartment was a gangly, arrogant-looking man, dressed in robes of the brightest purple, topped off with the most ridiculous matching flat-top hat that Sakumo had ever seen. It looked as if the man had put a dinner plate on his head and draped a scalloped tablecloth over it. Small-lensed spectacles teetered at the end of his long, crooked nose.
The third person was the only one who was visibly armed. Tucked in the young man's sash was a thick cutlass that was so well-polished that it glittered in the dull light. The man's split-tailed jacket was a faded blue, but still crisp and ironed. Atop his head, he wore a dark visored hat that was secured with a strap under his chin. The whole outfit was clearly a uniform of some sort. He also bore a large pack on his back, while the older man carried nothing but a small satchel.
The trio's manner of dress was foreign, and Sakumo did not recognize any of their faces. Why they had come to him was a mystery.
"Costume party starts at eight," said the Konoha-nin coolly, suddenly standing to the side of the older man. To Sakumo's satisfaction, all three strangers jumped noticeably.
The man closed his grey-blue eyes and coughed into his curled hand in a shallow effort to regain his composure. "Hatake Sakumo, I presume?"
Just like his clothing, the man's accent was foreign. His a's came out fat and rounded, and he emphasized the syllables oddly. In took a moment, but Sakumo eventually placed the strange accent: Uzu no Kuni, the Country of the Whirlpool. In truth, the older man looked like he might be a representative from the royal court of that country, and the other man was dressed like one of the ceremonial guards. That would explain why the group was allowed to enter the village. The purple-robed man must have diplomatic credentials.
The White Fang searched his memories for a clue as to why he might have visitors such as these three. There had been many missions to the small country just south of Kaminari no Kuni. Perhaps he owed them money. Perhaps they wished to procure his services. Perhaps they came for revenge.
"Yeah, that's right. I'm Sakumo. And, why…are you Uzu folks here?"
"Perhaps," the leader coughed again, "we can speak somewhere privately?"
"Sure," replied the jounin. "Come on in." It wasn't the safest thing, inviting strangers into one's home, but Sakumo figured he could take them, if necessary. He turned and, after jiggling a key in the door knob, unlocked the door. Once inside, he slipped off his tantou and laid it on the table with a gesture that seemed casual, but left the blade in such a position that it would be readily available if he needed it.
He looked the guard up and down. They were both soldiers, but the two of them couldn't be more different. For every polished button and buckle of the Uzu youth's uniform, Sakumo's uniform was marred by a smear of mud or a splash of dried blood. The other man's blond hair was cropped and clean. Sakumo's white hair was shaggy, tied in the back, dirty and greasy. His team hadn't bothered to stop and clean up after their mission. They had decided to head straight home, and, as a result, the jounin still looked like he had just walked off the battlefield. The other soldier looked like he had just walked out of a salon. Sakumo was only twenty-two years old, and he figured the soldier was about the same age. However, even though the Uzu man tried to keep a relaxed expression, Sakumo could tell he was nervous and intimidated. After all, the jounin had a reputation throughout the lands as one of the deadliest shinobi Konoha had to offer.
Sakumo's small studio apartment was not much cleaner than Sakumo himself. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, left to incubate for weeks and hosting more than a few well-fed flies. Used food wrappers were strewn on the counter and table. Every other horizontal surface was piled with unopened mail, bottles, books, spools of wire, dull kunai, pencils, and random reminder notes he had left for himself and then completely forgotten. Each of these exposed items was covered with a fine coating of dust, along with the multiple articles of clothing strewn on the floor, including a small pile of socks and underwear collected in the corner. His visitors huddled in a knot by the door, as if they were afraid the grime and chaos would rub off onto their brightly colored finery.
"All right," began the Konoha-nin, "who are you?"
"We are simply couriers from Uzu no Kuni. Our identities are unimportant," said the taller man.
"Couriers, eh? You're a long way from Uzu no Kuni. Must be something important. So then, what is it that you are delivering?"
The man coughed again and tilted his head back towards the woman and the bundle she carried. "Your son."
"My son?!" exclaimed Sakumo. "That's impossible…"
The purple robed man responded by reaching into the woman's arms and pulling a baby from the swirl of white cloth that she cradled. He held out the diapered infant with extended arms, supporting it by its armpits and letting its legs dangle in the air. Still sleepy, the baby blinked at the ninja with moist dark eyes. Sprouting from the baby's scalp was a full head of pale, white hair. The baby did not merely resemble the White Fang—it was as if Sakumo had been cloned and then regressed 22 years. Even with its fat cheeks and squished nose, there was no mistaking who the father was, and any hope for vindication was quickly crushed.
Sakumo's mouth was suddenly dry, and the fact that his jaw hung slack was hidden by the black cloth of his mask.
There had been a lot of women in his life, but only a few in Uzu no Kuni. Although he knew very little about birth, one thing he did know what that a baby took about nine months. That meant this baby—his baby—was conceived in January or December. That also meant there was only one woman who could be the baby's mother.
"Kirika," he muttered under his breath.
"Lady Kirika," corrected the Uzu diplomat. "And, as far as the Daimyo and the rest of the Karai Clan is concerned, this baby does not exist." He handed the infant back to the woman, who protectively wrapped it back in the soft blanket.
"So, what then. You expect me to take him?" asked the jounin.
"Frankly, shinobi, after we leave, we don't care what you do with the boy. But this child is not returning to Uzu no Kuni. Antese, if you would…"
As ordered, the woman walked over to Sakumo and held the baby out for the ninja to accept. Still shocked by the revelation, Sakumo acquiesced, gingerly taking the little package in his own arms. The baby, now fully awake, stared intently at the new adult face and the muted shine of the Konoha-style hitai-ate.
"If you or your son ever enters Uzu no Kuni again, you'll be arrested, charged with extortion, and extradited to Kaminari no Kuni. Considering you're high on the list in their bingo book, I expect they wouldn't keep you alive for long." The man turned to leave.
"Wait!" said Sakumo.
The man paused at the request, hand resting on the doorknob. "Yes?"
Sakumo had a lot of questions, a lot of things to say, but he was so overwhelmed that his thoughts were all jumbled in his head. "W-what's the kid's name?"
"It's whatever you choose to call him." He opened the door. "Good luck, Hatake," he added disdainfully as he left the apartment. The soldier and the woman quickly followed, shutting the door behind them.
The jounin stared at the closed door for several minutes, unmoving.
Then, a faint coo came from the child he now held, reminding Sakumo that he was no longer alone. He looked down at the chubby face. "What the hell am I going to do now?"