Paperwork was an awful thing.

Orochimaru heaved an irritated sigh and flipped another page over. He wasn't even sure why it all needed done, and lord knows he was only paying half attention to the details.

It was supposed to be a lazy day, today was, and he had been planning it for weeks, but meetings got pushed, people got angry, and everything was re-scheduled today. So he had begrudgingly pulled himself out of bed, put on a crisp, white robe, tied his hair back (a habit he had procured over the years, people found it intimidating, though, he would never be quite sure why) and stuffed his feet into his sandals, before dragging his way to all of them.

He pinched a sheet of paper by the top between his slender fingers and dangled it in front of his face, reading it quietly.

'Due to the lacking health of the building's owner we were unable to forcibly remove the woman from her home and have detained her to the main-'

-Ugh.

He released the paper, allowing it to flutter across his face and into his lap before slipping down to the floor. Orochimaru froze, his lips pursed, his hand suspended in the air. He must have looked stupid.

He let his hand fall into his lap and gazed down at the paper and stared at it. He gave it a glare, wishing its contents away. It was hard, being the manager of the village building system. It was actually quite a simple job. When someone did not pay their taxes, or were disturbing their neighbors, he was the one that was notified. He had enjoyed the job, he really did, but the paperwork alone was enough to make anyone keel over face-first into their desk. It was almost shocking how whiny people could be about the people who lived next to them. He had once received a complaint that a man's neighbors were fornicating too loudly, and that he wanted his neighbors home to have soundproof doors installed. Orochimaru had pinched the bridge of his nose and told the man that if he wanted them to quiet down he needed to confront them himself.

Honestly, people.

A shuffle and a thump tugged Orochimaru from his thoughts. He lifted his eyes from the paper and looked to his right. There in front of the ajar doorway, sat five-year-old Mitsuki. He was sitting on his favorite blanket, a Sippy cup pressed to his lips, blinking up at his father with wide, golden eyes. The summer sun cast shadows on his pale skinned face, making the childlike chubbiness of his face more apparent.

Orochimaru smiled, "Hello, little one. What are you doing?"

"Watching you." Mitsuki replied daintily.

Orochimaru nodded, "Watching me." He repeated, "I thought I put you down for a nap."

Mitsuki grinned, "You did, but I woke up and wasn't tired no more and you were writing on those papers."

Orochimaru chuckled, "I suppose. Come here, little one."

Mitsuki stood, leaving behind his blanket but clutching his Sippy cup. He made a small noise of surprise, or perhaps it was joy, as his father swept him up into his lap. He snuggled in close, pressing his lips to his Sippy cup and looking at the sprawled paperwork with disinterested curiosity. Orochimaru's smile grew, and he rubbed Mitsuki's back with a gentle hand. He could've sworn his son purred in contentment.

"Would you like to help me?" He asked him, looking down on him.

Mitsuki gazed up, eyes wide. H made no noise, nor made any face, but he scooted down to the edge of his father's knee and, clutching his Sippy cup with the other hand, poked his right index finger into the stack of papers on the table.

"Buh." He declared, "Buh, buh, buh."

Orochimaru breathed out through his nose. Mitsuki was at the age where he experimented with words, to see what people did when he said weird ones. 'Buh' was his favorite.

"Yes, Mitsuki. 'Buh' is the answer to the broken fence in between their two yards." Orochimaru said, leaning forward to see the work. Mitsuki nodded, not looking up from the table

"And I suppose 'buh' is also the answer to the moon-peach tree in the Yoshiva's kitchen Kaori's son smacked into?"

Mitsuki snapped his head back to stare his father in the eye, the now empty Sippy cup still pressed to his lips. He nodded again.

Orochimaru raised his chin high and snatched up his pen.

"'Buh' it is." And he signed the word 'buh' on the bottom of all of the complaint letters.

Mitsuki giggled, squirming happily in his father's lap and abandoning his Sippy cup on the floor. He curled into a ball and closed his eyes. Orochimaru resisted the urge to laugh. Mr. Not Tired No More was dozing off in his lap. He set his pen aside and eased out of his chair, gently lifting Mitsuki with him. He picked up the blanket from the floor and three yards to the living room. Dropping the blanket in first, Orochimaru laid his son down in his playpen. He refilled the Sippy cup with apple juice and settled it in the corner, knowing that it would be the first thing the boy would look for when he woke. Mitsuki was five, and the average age a parent was able to keep their child in a playpen was three. Orochimaru had attempted to dispose of the object, but Mitsuki loved the blue pen with a passion, and would not allow his father to remove it from their home. So it was kept in the adjoining corner between the kitchen and the living room, so that Orochimaru could do paperwork and Mitsuki could sleep.

Deciding that enough was enough; Orochimaru curled up on the sofa across from the playpen and watched the boy sleep with a tired smile. He's still such a baby, Orochimaru thought. Then with a firmer look, he mentally added, My baby.

Orochimaru laughed to himself. His baby, his. His responsibility.

Hmm, Orochimaru thought as sleep began to steal him, Baby.

Two days later, in a meeting with Kaori and her son, and the Yoshiva's, Orochimaru poked a finger into the homeowner's agreement before him and uttered a small, but firm;

"Buh."