Disclaimer: NARUTO and its characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement intended.
Title: REQUIEM
Pairings: ShikaNeji, Asuma/Kurenai, Shikaku/Yoshino
Rating: M / R (language etc.)
Genre: Angst/General
Summary: Death is a fate we all share, but grief can leave us divided. In the shadow of Asuma's death the shinobi of Konoha learn that grief, unlike death, isn't just a thief in the night – but a night in itself. (BtB series)
Timeline: Shippuden. Neji and Shikamaru aged 17-18 (post-Hidan and Kakuzu arc, pre-Invasion of Pain arc). Approx. 2 days after Hidan's burial.
REQUIEM
by Okami Rayne
Chapter Two
A pawn is worth a thousand golds.
Long, narrow fingers tapped the shogi pawn down. A single move. Decisive. Already determined. Already done.
But without a gold in hand there is no defence.
Those same fingers skimmed a broader piece…hesitated…hovered.
But silvers have more possibilities for retreat.
Dark bistre irises slid across the grid, the strategy unfolding behind narrow, intelligent eyes. He wasn't thinking on the spot this time, he was pulling on the past. Or maybe the past was pulling on him. A tug-of-war game. Battlefields on the board.
Silvers are the pivots of attack and defence.
He took up the silver general, tried not to imagine it like a voodoo piece – personal, representative. He advanced in an oblique move. A borrowed move. A move he'd never look to make.
"This kind of move is crazy risky. It's not like you."
"To penetrate the enemy's line, sometimes you have to risk a bold move."
Shikamaru almost responded to the memory – to the ghost – lips parting, breath catching on the words he wished he'd said. He cleared his throat, the rasping sound barely breaking the silence of the small reception room. No light but the moonlight, filtering in through the open shoji door.
A night owl screeched, shrill as a woman's scream.
He watched her go down on her knees, crimson eyes stricken, locked on him but looking straight through.
Blinking, Shikamaru refocused on the board. He drew up a leg and leaned in until his knee dug against his chest. He worked to deepen his shallow breaths.
Focus. The silver general sacrifices itself to promote a pawn with devastating effect. Retaliation from the enemy is inevitable.
His fingers whipped up. He moved the opposing pieces into place, setting down an enemy pawn above the vital silver.
"Climbing silver. It's not a role that suits you."
He stared at the sacrificial piece, as ominous as a Ouija board counter…ready to slide across the board of its own volition, spelling out a fate he couldn't control.
"Don't sweat it. I'm not gonna be the sacrificial piece. I've got you with me after all."
Yeah…and look how far I got you…
Shikamaru's throat tightened. Pain lodged like a rock, forcing him to open his jaws until the hinges gave a warning twinge. He tried to focus and forget in the same instant, making way for that split-second fracture, allowing for a hiccup of banished thought to burst through unbidden.
"Do it. Make your move, Shika. Nothing's easier."
The words shivered through him, raising hairs, chilling blood, jerking his heart into his throat.
"Do it."
A shrill screech from outside.
Shikamaru started, his head whipping up so fast his eyes lost direction, swinging wildly back and forth until they struck a fluttering shadow. A blur and a watery blink later, the culprit came into focus.
He let out a shaky breath. "Stupid bird."
The peregrine falcon cocked its head, one onyx eye fixed on Shikamaru. Its talons scratched at the veranda as it hopped forward a pace, feathers ruffled from the rain, wings arched away from its narrow body, the plumage of its chest puffed in indignant complaint - as if the journey to harass the shadow-nin hadn't been worth the hassle or the hose-down.
Shikamaru dragged the back of his wrist across his forehead, tried to remember what had spooked him so bad and found nothing but a void in his brain…and then Asuma's face, resolving in painful swirls…wisps of memory spiralling from smoke into a full-blown smog…thick as the Burning Ash attack that had backfired and left Asuma bloody and burned.
I could've stopped it.
But he hadn't stopped it. Hadn't even seen it coming. His gaze strayed back to the shogi piece which sat heavy on the board…waiting for his move…the move he'd never wanted. The move he'd have to make.
No.
Yes. No way around it. This was how it went down. Then and now. Every time. Over and over.
"No," he mouthed the word.
There must've been another way. There was. There would be. He had to find it. Or formulate it. Fix it.
"I can't fix it."
"Fix what?"
The falcon flapped, tottered sideways into the fusama panel with a frustrated squawk.
The distraction snatched Shikamaru back. He snarled but there was no heat in the sound. Gazing at his uninvited guest, he rubbed his thighs hard, scowling. The falcon turned one of its pointless little circles, tail feathers fanning out.
Shikamaru bowed his head and let out a breath. "Like god damned clockwork with you, isn't it?"
Another rustle. Another impatient squawk.
Shikamaru smiled a little. He pushed to his feet and approached the troublesome bird. "I don't have any food," he rasped.
The falcon bobbed its head in a vigorous nod.
Shikamaru sighed in response. "Troublesome."
Not as troublesome as the deep animal bellow that rang throughout the Nara forest, rolling on up towards the house like a summons. Shikamaru stiffened, nerves tightening at the base of his skull. His eyes strayed beyond the bird to the borders of the garden and the dewy green beyond, further across to the tree-line.
"I'll never die… Even if you destroy my body, and I'm left with nothing but my head… I'll escape somehow… and when I do, I'll find you and bite your throat out!"
Dark eyes narrowed.
Shikamaru stepped out onto the veranda, expression stoic as he gazed out into the drizzling darkness. Behind him, the comfort of the room promised a kinder cell than the one out there.
Another bellow, resounding long and low.
Shikamaru stood at the threshold for a long moment, the echo of the stag's call reverberating through him, his eyes fixed in a vacant stare.
A sharp chirp and the bird took flight, an arrow into the night.
Shikamaru broke from his stare, stepped onto the porch and into his sandals, leaving the unfinished past to rest in the shiny yellow plastic of a move he couldn't make.
Ino woke alone. Surprise registered fast, a little hitch in her chest. She brushed her hair from her eyes and swept an arm across the vacant space beside her, fingertips skimming the tangled lilac sheets. Nothing. No one.
But then, ghosts didn't leave warmth.
Sensei…
She'd been dreaming.
Of Asuma. In my room. On my bed. Oh my god.
Embarrassment flushed through her. She cupped her warm cheeks, rolled onto her back and stared up through a flutter of flaxen strands. It took her a moment to focus in the semi-darkness. Eyes puffy and swollen, she reached up to sweep a thumb under each bright blue orb, her gaze following the pockmarks on the ceiling, testament to the glow-in-the-dark stickers she'd plastered onto her wall as a child. Most were peeling. Little half-moon crescents and broken stars…the ones she used to wish on.
Guess I didn't wake up screaming then…
One wish come true in a string of unheard prayers. She'd evaded the nightmare this time. No drama, no tears, no doors bursting inwards with parental ado – and more blessedly than all of this, no questions. There was only so much of her father's troubled gaze and quick-fire interrogation that she could take. And then there was her mother…telling her to cry softly into a handkerchief rather than her hands.
"Hush, girl. Quietly. Have a little dignity."
Hurt blossomed afresh. Ino made a face and tugged the blankets to her chin, knees drawing up. The pre-dawn stillness gave her a moment to consider the phantom activity of the night.
Not the usual nightmare.
Not a nightmare at all. No blood, no blistered skin, no laboured breathing or fading heartbeat. This time Asuma's presence had felt real for its casualness, its clumsiness…its sweetness. He'd materialised in that strange and unannounced manner that most people appeared in dreams. Ino had been pulling rose thorns out of her feet and hands when he'd sat beside her on the bed…awkward and unsure, scratching the back of his head in that familiar gesture of embarrassment, glancing around for verbal cues. But then, just as fast, he'd relaxed into the conversation…not of a word of which Ino could remember.
Shoot!
She thumped a fist to the sheets, gnarled and twisted the fabric. "Why?" she whispered, biting down on her lip when the tears pushed up, crowding her throat. "Damn it."
It must've been important. Significant. Maybe she could meditate over it. She'd been practicing dream recall, going over the night terrors that her subconscious kept throwing up. Distorted memories. Twisted truths. Funny how the mind worked, exaggerating the events, expounding the horror and adding injuries where there hadn't been any. She remembered Asuma's injuries; every punctured organ, every bleeding gash, every third degree burn.
Sensei…
Her palms tingled, turned clammy and cold.
No. No. No.
Ino tugged the blanket up over her head, curled onto her side and whimpered the same apology that'd she'd screamed out every night since her sensei's death.
I'm so sorry I didn't run faster…I'm so sorry I was too late...
Chōji would understand her guilt. Shikamaru would hate her for it. But she wanted to tell him, wanted to apologise, wanted to see him react, respond, relinquish something…sadness, anger…anything…
More than anything...just...don't leave me alone in this.
Restless, anxious, she crawled to the edge of the bed and hung her head over the side until the blood rush made her dizzy. Better the pounding in her head than the churning in her belly. She curled an arm around her stomach. She'd lost weight. Her mother had noticed, reacting with a combination of criticism and approval. Ino found it impossible to gauge whether it was concern or competitiveness driving her mother's running commentary on her appearance. But it wasn't her mom's fault really. She'd been on the brink of one of her spells ever since the funeral.
It can't be easy for her either…
Ino wasn't sure how or why that was true, but her conscience – childlike and scared – assured her that it was. That same innocent voice told her that Mom was like an orchid; of a unique and delicate disposition. Beautiful, elegant, temperamental.
Movement down the hallway, a brush of slippers across the tatami.
Mom's up.
Spurred by the unusual activity, Ino climbed out of the bed, shedding the shorts and camisole she'd fallen asleep in. Combing her fingers through her long tangled strands, she pulled on a pair of lilac panties and a huge red t-shirt with the Akimichi clan symbol on it. Chōji had left it months ago during a sleep over and never reclaimed it. It hung down to Ino's knees, the neck wide enough to give an inadvertent off-the-shoulder look. Cute. She'd kept it. Though right now she'd have preferred being wrapped up in an Akimichi hug…even an uncomfortable Nara pat to the head, or that weird 'side-hug' thing that Shikamaru forced her to do when he wouldn't meet her head on.
Emotional retard.
She smiled sadly.
A scuff sounded outside the window, the heavy tread followed by the jangle of keys.
Daddy?
Ino shot a glance at the clock and frowned.
5:40 AM
Nerves fluttered in her stomach. Or maybe that was acid. She hadn't eaten since…when? Another shuffle of movement down along the corridor and Ino's gut gave another tense gurgle. Then she heard it, the whispered hiss.
"Inoichi! What time do you call this?"
Approaching the bedroom door on the balls of her feet, Ino tiptoed through the tufts of an old purple rug that was now more threadbare than fluffy. Resting a palm to the doorjamb she leaned her head against the wood, listening out for the reply. Her father's voice rumbled from somewhere downstairs, the words muffled but the timbre unmistakably tense. Frustrated. Worn.
Like the way he's looked at me these past few days.
She curled her fist against the door, knees quivering. God! Screw playing it strong. There was only so much she could brush off. She needed a shoulder. Two shoulders, preferably...and that failing, maybe two stubborn heads to bang together.
"Chōji and Shikamaru, they're total goof-offs. Keep them in line."
Ino lay her forehead against the door for a long moment, shutting her eyes against the onslaught of emotion. Recovering enough to steady her legs she turned towards her wardrobe and began to rummage, her quiet movements at odds with the sounds carrying from downstairs; the scrape of chair legs, the hollow whack of a mug, the slam of a cupboard, followed by the sharp, henpecking squawks of her mother.
Something thudded, a fist on the counter.
When the shouting started, Ino was already slipping out the window.
He'd slipped back into consciousness, but it was dark. Impossibly dark. And humid. His limbs tingled with pins-and-needles, making it difficult to discern where exactly he was hurting, broken or bleeding. He couldn't really feel his body. The paralysis didn't alarm him as much as the sensory deprivation.
Someone unplugged his ears.
Noise blossomed in faint and distant ribbons, forming loose patterns. The hum of something like a mosquito, buzzing in and out. But no echo or shift in volume, making it difficult to gauge distance or dimension.
He tried to summon his Byakugan. That, at the very least, should've been possible.
Impossible.
The pain that exploded in his head disallowed it. He grunted, tried to turn his chin and felt spikes biting into his temples…and then the voice came again, a deep baritone rumbling at his ear.
"I can make it stop. Or start. So can you."
Neji stilled, stared into the blackness of the blindfold and tried again to channel his chakra, felt instead a pulse throbbing behind his eyes, a flurry of auric flashes…like the onslaught of a migraine. He let out a slow breath through his nose.
"What is your team strength?" the voice demanded.
Neji licked his cracked lips. "Hyūga Neji, Jōnin."
"Who hired you?"
Neji repeated his name and rank.
"Where do you plan to rendezvous with your team?"
Neji said nothing.
"You have a high threshold for pain, don't you? But even the nerves have to shut down eventually. Yours already have. I know you can't feel your body."
Neji smiled grimly. "Hyūga Neji, Jōnin."
"Let's try this again, shall we?"
Neji expected another round of questions, a slow return to feeling and pain, one broken body part at a time…not the odd pressure at the base of his skull, building, building...until agony uppercut through bone and membrane, exploding as if from the inside of his head, slamming into his brow.
The curse mark burned.
Neji jerked but the restraints he couldn't feel restricted his movement to a pitiful ripple against the torture wheel. Wheel? Ah yes. He remembered now. Though he couldn't recall whether he was hanging from it or had been tied down and spread eagle. How long had he been here? Hours?
Days?
"I can make it longer," the voice said, soft, almost sympathetic. "You can make it less."
He felt the pain in his head tighten like pincers around his brain, threatening to crack him open like walnut. Not the same as the pain from the curse mark. This was a failed attempt at replication. But damn if it didn't hurt.
Bastard.
"My parents, as it happens, were happily wed when I was conceived," the voice said, adopting an entirely different tone – less cunning, more conversational. "Shall we talk about your father, Hyūga Neji? He might as well have been a bastard, given his expulsion from the Main House."
Neji pressed his lips, felt the chapped skin split and suckled the blood, his words gritted out from behind bloody teeth. "Hyūga Neji, Jōnin."
"Jōnin? That's not the position you want, is it? Tell me what you want."
Hyūga Neji, Jōnin.
I can hear everything…maybe I should dig deeper, pull your mind inside out and empty all your secrets onto the table. Exhibit your pride, your pain, your guilty pleasures. I can make you want to tell me. You believe me, don't you?
The pain in Neji's skull intensified. He felt his face swell with the pressure, ears ringing until he could no longer hear that voice. Moisture burned his nostrils and something warm and wet slicked his upper lip. His tongue darted out. Blood.
And then another man spoke; a rusty nail in Neji's brain. "Enough."
The pain stopped. In an instant, every ache and agony sucked out of his body like hot air from a pressure cooker, leaving him in a state of odd suspension…floating…empty…
And then a pinprick of light. It ripped sideways, tearing away the dark. It took him a moment to register his blindfold had been sliced off. He had to shut his eyes against the startling light, groaning.
Someone stepped close and he felt cool fingers at his wrist and neck, checking his pulse. A damp cloth dabbed beneath his nose. A female whisper and a gruff hum of approval.
"Open your eyes, Hyūga."
Neji slipped his lashes open, squinting.
Ibiki's face loomed over him, the scarred features exaggerated in the stark light. His lips pulled into a smirk. "How do you feel?"
How did he feel? Sore, sweaty, sick…marginally violated. Neji pressed his eyes shut, cataloguing his body's slow return to feeling - and reality. He was drenched in sweat, his muscles stiff and aching, wrists and ankles raw from whatever subconscious fight his body had put up against the restraints while he was under. It was difficult to tell how much was real and how much was phantom pain from the genjutsu.
"Focus," Ibiki commanded. "Do you know where you are?"
Neji blinked, lifted his chin from his chest and nodded, frowning at the flop of damp strands across his face. His headband had been removed. The exposure of the curse mark bothered him less than the fact that Ibiki had thought to use it against him. Although, given the purpose of this exercise it wasn't all that surprising.
Can you still read my thoughts?
No response.
Good. Sadistic bastard.
Neji flexed his fingers and stared down at his feet. Ah, yes. He was standing. Well…hanging. He was also exhibiting far more than the curse mark. Belatedly, his brain stuttered over his state of undress.
Ibiki snorted. "Shy?"
Scowling, Neji tensed against the wheel as the medic-nin who'd checked his pulse began to unfasten his restrains and unblock his tenketsu. He sensed Ibiki's blatant, mocking stare and flicked his eyes back up, moonstone orbs boring into the tokubetsu jōnin's jet black eyes.
Ibiki hummed, a flicker of amusement picking up in the twitch of his lip. "Thank you."
Neji frowned, his voice croaking out. "For what?"
"For whatever you did to piss off Nara Shikaku. It made this little date of ours a helluva lot more entertaining."
Neji parted his lips to respond only to collapse forward when his arms were released. Not his most graceful recovery. But then, his limbs felt like lead. Heavy and unresponsive. The medic-nin caught him at an angle, draping his arm over her shoulders.
"Slowly," she advised.
Ibiki gave a grim laugh. "I'd say walk it off, but you might need a while for your brain to catch up with your body. Sit down. Reacquaint yourself with the control I let you keep."
Neji glared up through his bangs, eyes icy in their whiteness. He had no words to combat Ibiki's arrogant claim…and no conviction to contest it. For all he knew, Ibiki would've made good on his threat to empty Neji's metaphorical brains all over the table. In this sadistic game, the safe word was whatever Shikaku deemed it to be…
Shikaku.
Damn. He knew he'd recognised that rusty timbre.
"Enough."
Neji sank to the floor, ignoring the medic-nin as she went about checking his eyes and administering a quick jab to the crook of his arm. He was still reeling over the knowledge that Shikaku stood behind the one-way mirrored wall behind Ibiki. Had Shikaku been present for the entirety of this training session? Would he have remained present if Ibiki had begun strip-mining Neji's brain? The panic that inspired had Neji's face paling a few dangerous shades, prompting the medic to check him over and take his pulse. Gods, if Shikaku had got a glimpse of what lay behind the barriers in his mind he'd not only have been hung…he'd have been drawn and bloody quartered.
That can't happen.
He'd have to find a way to train his mind and strengthen any exploitable weaknesses in his defence…and he could think of only two people to assist him with said mental training. One candidate was immediately ruled out – for reasons too deep and raw to contemplate right now. This left an unpredictable, blonde-haired, loud-mouthed, blue-eyed shinobi…a prospect which provoked more uncertainty than confidence. But then, he'd underestimated people before.
Besides, it's not as if he had a choice.
Neji smiled dryly at the thought.
Story of my life.
"I'm sorry, Kakashi senpai, you'll need a permit from the Hokage to access the subbasements."
Kakashi shot a sideways look at the chūnin barring his path, then slid his gaze across to the adjacent figure who'd addressed him. He held out his palms in innocence, inviting the other man to relax.
"I'm not here to rifle through data. Just following up a loose lead."
Kotetsu gazed back, unsmiling. "No can do. Following a lead is still grounds for authorization. Accessing the archives for investigative purposes requires the Hokage's sanction."
Kakashi pulled his head back a fraction, hip cocked as he reached into his back pocket. Kotetsu's use of official vocabulary in lieu of his lazy colloquialisms indicated just how far Kakashi wasn't going to get by playing it light – which didn't stop him from pulling a dog lead out of his pocket and holding it out to them.
Kotetsu frowned, his red-shot eyes squinting in irritation. "What's that?"
"My loose lead."
"Are you being funny?"
"Not at all. What's normally attached to this lead is currently running loose in the subbasements."
Kotetsu exchanged a glance with Izumo, then levelled Kakashi with a suspicious slit-eyed stare. "The only thing that's loose is the screw in your head if you think we're gonna fall for that."
A high-pitched howl resounded from the inner sanctums of the library.
Both chūnin came to attention like dogs on point, jerking around in unison.
Kakashi watched them flounder for a moment then shifted his stance, taking advantage of their flat-footedness to gain a toehold. With a shift of lithe muscle his entire aura changed, his lax stance tightening, expression hardening, shoulders drawing back, chest expanding. His easy tones gained a dangerous edge. "Now, if you're so concerned about security, you might want to invest time checking the crawl space vents around the perimeter to avoid legitimate threats. A good thing it's my ninken lost down there and not some sinister, data-thieving spy without a warrant."
Kotetsu whirled around, mouth tearing open, ready to snap out a response. Kakashi's arched brow caused the chūnin to draw up short and for a moment Kotetsu looked startled, as if surprised by his own vehemence. He took a half-step back and looked across at Izumo, a subconscious search for reassurance.
Izumo didn't look any less stable, his visible eye flying wide. Both appeared mortified at their inability to keep an animal off the premises. But Kakashi sensed their sense of failure went much, much deeper. The transparency of their distraction and grief almost caused the copy-nin to reconsider his approach.
Sorry, kids. I don't have time for fair play.
His grey eye narrowed in barely-concealed impatience. "Now, if you'll let me get my runaway canine, I'll be on my way."
Izumo cleared his throat, shaking his head. "We still need the—"
Sighing, Kakashi threw up a hand in flippant dismissal. "By all means, feel free to retrieve the pup yourself. You'll be doing me a favour."
"Pup?" Kotetsu said.
"Favour?" Izumo added.
Kakashi hummed and shot a harassed look towards the sky. "6 months. They're all rampant hormones, sharp teeth and manic energy at this stage." He glanced back down, leaning in. "A word of warning before you embark. Don't approach him from behind, or let him get behind you…come to think of it, he doesn't do well with being cornered from the front either. You'll have to snatch him from above, which will be interesting if he's stuck in a vent somewhere."
"Stuck in a vent," Kotetsu parroted. "Seriously?"
Izumo huffed, gaining some of the confidence he'd lost. "If he's that small I think we can handle him."
Kakashi blinked, deadpan as ever. "It's not his size…it's what he does with it."
"You need to stop reading those books."
The ghost of Asuma's voice came so suddenly and so unexpectedly that Kakashi almost barked a self-conscious laugh before remembering he was currently mid-mission. He reached up to scratch the bridge of his nose, appearing casual and in control. The sad twinge behind his ribs almost took his breath.
"Crap," Izumo hissed, glancing over his shoulder before rubbing at his neck, caught in a moment of inner debate. Kakashi recognised the look. It was the one he wore when cross-referencing conscience, convenience and the rule book.
Kotetsu didn't share his partner's deep deliberation and instead took one glance between Kakashi and the door before waving the copy-nin into the building. "Go on."
Izumo stiffened. "Kotetsu."
"I'm not getting my ass chewed on or my leg humped by some pubescent mutt," Kotetsu snarled. "It's Kakashi senpai's problem. He can deal with it."
If anyone needed to deal with their problems, it was Kotetsu. Kakashi studied each chūnin in turn, a ripple of soft understanding playing behind the steely barrier of his cool grey gaze.
Asuma's death has hit them hard.
Kotetsu turned back towards him, waving him on again. "We didn't see you, or your pooch."
Kakashi gave a half-shrug and made a purposeful show of wrapping the leash around his wrist before strolling on through. He sensed Izumo turning and prepared for his entrance to be barred only to hear Kotetsu snap at his partner's heels, redirecting the other chūnin.
Kakashi didn't glance back, but continued on his way. He made a quick beeline towards a side door at the end of the furthest corridor, taking a long wide staircase that descended in sharp angles and broad plateaus, narrowing down the deeper it led until Kakashi reached the huge iron door to the subbasements. He drew back the heavy bolt and pushed. Metal groaned and hinges squealed. The strong smell of mildew and fusty papers assaulted him…along with a split-second's hesitation.
"You don't have to play truant just because I am, Kakashi."
"I'd like to think of it more as playing devil's advocate."
"Devil's advocate huh? Gee, does that make me the bad guy?"
"Sounds to me like you're trying to catch the bad guy."
Before Kakashi could reflect further on that conversation or second-guess what the hell he was trying to catch – other than a ghost – he stepped into the narrow corridor. The long, humid tunnel stretched ahead in a patchwork of darkness and sallow light. Bulbs hummed on the walls, their weak dusty glow flickering and fading further along the passageway.
Pocketing the leash, Kakashi pulled out a penlight, depressing the end with his thumb.
A sharp beam cut through the gloom, guiding the way as he began to traverse the corridor, taking note of all the tributaries branching off into other hallways, open rooms or sealed archives. Quite the rabbit warren. He could get lost down here for hours…wondered, briefly, whether Asuma had stood here, feeling the same sense of futility in the face of such an uncertain task.
A task that has absolutely nothing to do with me.
Yet here he was. And there was no sense in dawdling.
Kakashi gave a low whistle. The sound pierced the darkness ahead as if following the path of the penlight's beam. For a long moment there was nothing but the buzz of the struggling fuses. And then the soft pad of paws echoed off the walls, amplified by the stillness.
"Don't ever ask me to do that again," a voice complained from the shadows ahead, gruff and scratchy.
Kakashi tilted his wrist, letting the flashlight beam settle just to the side of the small pug sat in the centre of the corridor. "If the broom fits…" the copy-nin began.
Pakkun half-snorted, half-sneezed, dust motes and mucus spraying the cheap linoleum. "Ugh. I doubt this place has seen a broom in decades. I'm not crawling through those vents again."
"You needed a good airing."
The pug shuddered, fur bristling along his neck. "You have no idea. I got stuck in there. Took a lot of energy to propel myself out."
"Really?" Kakashi drawled. "However did you manage?"
"Farted really hard."
Silence reigned for the full five seconds it took for Kakashi to imagine it…graphically. He gave his dog a dirty look.
Pakkun huffed. "You asked. I answered."
Shaking his head, the copy-nin redirected the topic. "Did you find anything?"
Pakkun sniffed, went very still as if fighting off another sneeze, then grunted. "Scent's faint, but Asuma was definitely down here."
"Where?"
"You sure you wanna know?"
"I ask. You answer."
"This isn't like you, Kakashi."
"Agreed. Now show me where."
Pakkun examined the pads of his paws for an idle moment, then cocked his head up at his master. "What's the magic word?"
"Don't be pugnacious."
Pakkun cringed at the awful pun. "Oh, you're hilarious," he grumbled. But then the dog's expression softened. "You ought to do it more often, you know."
Kakashi's amusement evaporated. He jerked his wrist in an impatient flick, using the flashlight to signal.
Pakkun rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh before he turned to pad back down along the corridor. "Follow."
The copy-nin trailed behind, letting the penlight's narrow beam streak along the wall. He kept his gaze fixed on the glint of Pakkun's hitai-ate as the dog trotted ahead, leading Kakashi down two winding corridors before ducking left into an open room.
"Here."
Kakashi stepped in behind, leading with the light.
The beam glanced off rows of filing cabinets which lined the room on either side. Windowless, stuffy, the low corners of the ceiling wreathed with cobwebs. Kakashi swung the beam back down, hitting upon a capsized table to one side of the room. It was cracked down the centre. Upturned boxes were strewn in the immediate vicinity, victims of the table's quick upheaval. A toppled metal chair rested a few feet away and a couple of gooseneck lamps lay in cold repose, the bulbs shattered.
All right, Asuma...time to kiss and tell.
Yawning silence, bar the gurgle of pipes behind the walls.
Pakkun stepped partially into the beam of the flashlight, his wrinkly brow furrowing into a deep animal frown. "There was another person here, but they've used a cover scent. A gland extract. Deer, from the smell of it."
Kakashi hummed distractedly, though his mind immediately filed the information. He skirted around a couple of boxes, eyes casting about for clues, sweeping the light across the dusty metal surfaces of the filing cabinets, glancing over paper trays and discarded pens until the beam struck a massive crater.
There.
Kakashi stepped over, reaching up to uncover his Sharingan eye, letting the red orb focus and fix on the large jagged hole punched into the top of one of the cabinets. Holding the light steady in his left hand, he swept his free palm across the ragged dent, his fingers tracing out the saw-toothed edges of the puncture.
A serrated blade.
He took a wild guess that Asuma's trench knives had seen some action. But why would he draw them in here? Kakashi's gaze lingered on the cabinet as he ran through possible scenarios.
Frustration? A fight? An epically failed attempt to open a locked cabinet?
Grasping at straws, Hatake.
He looked closer. No chakra impact. Asuma had pulled his punch on this hit. A normal blow would have bisected the entire cabinet.
If he lodged the blade in frustration that begs the question of why he even drew the weapon in the first place. And if he'd drawn the knife in confrontation then his redirected swing into the cabinet would've put his back to the threat.
Leaving himself wide open for attack from behind. Unease twisted through Kakashi in ribbons as icy as the chill that slithered down his spine.
There's only one reason he would do that…
Kakashi took a step back and half-turned, twisting his torso just enough to angle the light over his shoulder and glance directly behind, trying to imagine who might've stood there, staring at Asuma's turned back. As his mind scrolled through possibilities, he shone the beam across the opposite row of cabinets, then higher up along the walls until the light reflected back at him in a tiny wink.
Kakashi froze.
In the time it took for that wink of light to register, he understood with blinding clarity who else had been in here with Asuma.
But he had to know for sure.
He twitched his wrist and was met with the same flicker. Tiny. A mere pinprick against a backdrop of yellowed plaster and a large peeling map.
Hoping against instinct and intellect, Kakashi closed distance in slow, cautious strides, his Sharingan swirling as he cocked his head to one side, memorising and imprinting the image of the large map half-hanging off the wall. Reaching out, he smoothed his hand across the crumpled atlas until the side of his palm struck a nail.
Wishful thinking.
Not a nail. A senbon. Its lethal point lodged into the map, marking a site just to the side of Kusagakure. Kakashi noted the location then plucked the thin needle from the map, turning it around in his fingers, examining the blunt end before tapping his thumb against the sharp point.
He let out a quiet breath into the silence. "Damn," he whispered.
Pakkun stopped riffling in one of the boxes and glanced up, ears pinned, muzzle twitching. "What did you find?"
What he'd hoped he wouldn't. But what he'd known he would.
"Genma."
TBC.
A/N: Plot. We love it. Pills. We pop them. Or maybe that's just me. My fellow crazies who have joined me for this ride, I salute you and I thank you. Reviewers, you guys made (and continue to make) my day brighter in ways what go beyond words. Thank you so much for the incredible reception you guys gave me for the last chapter. I still get a unique case of the nerves with every first chapter I post – to have had such an encouraging and welcoming response from you after my months of hiatus really struck a chord. Thank you. It's always a joy and always a pleasure to know you guys are enjoying the mayhem as much as I enjoy making it. Love, tea, and onwards!