Author Notes: So, this is an idea I had ages ago that really stuck with me. I was surprised to find that, considering the vast amounts of obscure pairings that everybody writes about, there are very few Anko/Yamato fics. It seemed a logical and interesting thing to me, considering their shared history as Orochimaru's experiments and potential for an interesting and complex relationship. Seeing them paired up on a mission (for those that read the manga) only sealed the deal. So I decided that I would give writing a fic about the two a crack. Keep in mind that this isn't nessecarily going to be a Anko/Yamato fic, but I will be focusing on the relationship between the two. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think - good, bad or otherwise.
A month. It had already been a month since she had returned to the village and Anko could still feel the watchful eyes of the village. The careful glances of the villagers, the constant presence of ANBU, Anko could feel the hate, the mistrust they radiated. She heard the rumours, the whispers behind her back, Traitor, snake, disloyal, shameful. They trailed her like her own shadow, fuelling the nagging doubts and thoughts that already lingered in her mind. She held no illusions that Orochimaru's betrayal hadn't tainted her as well. The cursed mark on her neck was proof enough.
Twelve years old and already a disgrace.
The first two weeks had been nothing but endless interrogation. Faceless ANBU asking questions she didn't know the answers to, Yamanaka interrogators probing her mind and searching her tattered memories, Tsunade and other medical experts inspecting the cursed seal. In the end it was the Third who wiped her tears away as he told her about Orochimaru's tampering of her memories, as well as his return and subsequent escape from the village, all happening while she lay dying and abandoned in a foreign country. With a sorrowful expression, the Hokage apologised and set to work applying his own seal to her Orochimaru's. Anko figured it was the old man's way of making amends to the girl he had handed over to a monster.
Now, former team mates shunned her. Old friends ignored her. Anko could understand their cold reaction but that knowledge did nothing to dull the ache left behind. With each throb of pain that seared through her shoulder and neck Anko could guess what each and every one of them thought – that she was diseased, infected.
Not that she blamed them. The same thought had entered crossed mind more than once. Her body alternated between burning fever and cold sweats, still adapting to a foreign chakra source. Her head ached from constant migraines, making it impossible to gather her thoughts. Anger and resentment gnawed at her chest and it was all she could do was keep from lashing out at others. She had been cast aside, accused of abandoning the village that had abandoned her instead.
Abandoned. The word was branded into her mind. Abandoned by the man she admired the most. The man she would have followed to ends of the world. Abandoned by the village she loved, that she wanted to grow stronger for.
So she had taken to spending her time on Konoha's rooftops where she could hide from the people she was growing to hate, from all that she once cared for. She watched as villagers and shinobi alike went through their daily motions. They made her sick.
The first of the winter's rains had come to Konoha. Indigo clouds released torrents of water, cold and heavy and unrelenting. Anko sat, drenched from the icy rain, above the busy roads, watching a group of children pick on a small boy. She saw a jounin watching from afar, an amused smirk on his face. A shopkeeper looked on, shaking her head in disapproval, but otherwise made no attempt to stop them.
Indifference. This village showed its true colours when no one thought they were being watched. Her eyebrows narrowing, Anko spat out into the street, watching as she hit the jounin, oblivious amidst the rain.
Angry tears prickled at the edge of her eyes, but Anko forced them back. Emotions were for the weak and a shinobi could not afford to be weak. It was Orochimaru's first lesson.
"Aren't you cold?" a voice sounded behind her. Startled, she stood to face it. A boy stood with his hands in his pockets, brown hair slick from the rain. Anko glared at the boy. She hadn't even sensed him approach.
"No," she replied sharply. She turned her back on him, hoping he would leave.
"I know all about you, you know."
This time she spun and stormed towards him, glaring menacingly at the boy. "You don't know a thing about me."
Smirking, the boy took a step forward and met her glare, his wide eyes never faltering. "I know that you were apprenticed to Orochimaru and that he left you to die." He leaned in, his face directly in front of Anko's. "I also know about the 'gift' he left you."
Jaw clenched, Anko gave the coldest stare she could manage. She felt a sharp pang in her shoulder and clenched her fists, trying to breath through the pain, making sure she showed no weakness in front of this stranger. "Leave me alone," she hissed quietly through gritted.
The pair stared at each other, neither wanting to be the one to look away first. Finally the boy gave a sigh and lowered his gaze. Stepping past Anko, he sat on the edge of the tiled roof. Scowling, Anko eyed him warily for a minute before joining him on the edge, several meters separating them. This was her spot, after all, and she'd be damned if she was going to give it up. She watched the boy as he swung his legs through the empty air beneath him, his face passive. He turned his head and raised an eyebrow at her.
"What do you want?" she asked.
The boy stared at her with scrutinising eyes and Anko felt herself growing more uncomfortable. He was staring through her, stripping back the clothing and flesh and muscle until he could see right to her core.
"I was one of Orochimaru's experiments."
The last thing she had expected. A cold chill ran down her spine. She watched him carefully, trying to find any signs of Orochimaru's work, anything amiss.
"I was the only survivor. One of sixty," the boy continued.
"Look, if you want an apology you've come to the wrong person!" The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally fell as Anko jumped to her feet. "I didn't know anything about Orochimaru's experiments. Why do you all think I had any part in it?" She yanked down on the collar of her shirt, the inky black mark stark against her pale skin. "He used me as well!"
"One of ten."
Her stomach clenched, a spectre hand twisting at her insides. She could feel her bottom lip quivering, but between the cold rain and tears she couldn't stop it. "Stop it," she whispered, her voice lost.
"You were one out of ten, weren't you?" the boy continued, "The only one that survived."
"Stop it," Anko repeated. Her head began to spin, her vision blurring. Searing pain coursed through her shoulder and neck. "Stop it, stop it. Stop it!" Her balance finally gave out and she stumbled to her left, towards the edge of the roof. Lurching sidewards, she felt someone grab her arm and pull her back. Falling to her knees, Anko waited for her head to clear. Breathing deeply, her vision finally came back into focus. She looked up, the boy stood over her, concern on his face. He held out a hand and helped Anko to her feet. Silently they sat back on the edge of the roof, next to each other. Neither spoke. They sat in silence as the rain poured over them.
"I know," the boy began, nodding towards the people below, "that they will never fully understand. They can only know the half truths. The villagers, they only hear what filters through from the shinobi, from eavesdropping to hearsay. The ninjas, they only piece together what little pieces of information they can scrounge with their own prejudices and opinions. Even the elders and the Hokage, as understanding as he is, can never truly understand what we've been through." He looked at Anko with a fierce determination in his eyes. "They may think that we're tainted, that we're worthless because of what happened to us, but they don't get it. And they will never have the strength that we possess, because they've never been through what we have. They have never been survivors in a sick man's experiments. You and me, Anko, we're the survivors." He looked down on the street, and for the first time Anko could see a glimpse of anger in the boys face. "We can only get stronger from here," he said, as if to himself.
Anko watched him, curiosity and pity eating away at her. Pity for him, for herself. For them both. "What's you're name," she asked quietly.
"Tenzou," he replied. Anko shifted closer to him until her leg brushed up with his. He had said that they were survivors, that they could get past the hate. She wasn't sure if she could quite believe it, but it was her first glimmer of hope since returning to Konoha.
Her past was lost to her, locked away and the key destroyed. She could only look to the future. With strength, she could pave her own future. Not for the village, but for herself. Together, Tenzou and Anko sat watching the village in silence, the rain drenching the entire village.