A/N: I wasn't going to post chapter 2 for a while, but someone reviewed saying that it was a good story, but they doubted that it would get a sequel. I'd like to point out that the fic does NOT say completed, it is not a full story, and is far far far from being finished. That's kinda like watching Naruto to the end of the Zabuza arc and saying "Oh, that's the whole thing, right?" So, I'm posting now to clear things up: the first chapter wasn't a one-shot, it was a beginning. And now, it continues.

Thanks for all the reviews for the first chapter! Please, keep telling me what you think! (Especially if anyone who has any sort of expertise on the subject of transgender studies has any advice.) Thank you!

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or its characters; I own this fic and all the stuff in it. The quote from Madeline in this chapter was on genderpsychology . org

Chapter II

Speak No Evil

I now knew boys and girls are different in essential ways. And I wished I was made of the stuff girls are made of. But there was a worse, almost paradoxically different lesson I was learning: being a boy is better than being a girl. – Madeline H. Wyndzen

As part of Orochimaru's punishment, his father told him to go back with the other boys and play the "right" way this time. No princesses, no peace treaties, no medics, no kunoichi.

Forty seconds into standing sullenly in the area that the Spider Village seemed to be dominating, Orochimaru decided that if he couldn't be what he wanted to be in this village, then he was going to be a missing-nin.

Orochimaru seemed to be quite a good ninja after all. Heart beating so hard he could feel it in his ears and rushing through his fingertips, almost light-headed with fear that his father would see him, he dashed away from the mob of pretend ninja, past the men at the grill, and back into his grandparents' house. No one paid attention as he silently ran along the walls and into the nearest bathroom.

He locked the door, upended a small wastebasket, and stood on it so he could pull himself onto the sink. He wanted to have one last moment with his beautiful, long hair before they went home and his father cut it all off.

As much as a four year old could love something that wasn't a relative, Orochimaru loved his hair. It was the only part of him that he thought was really right. It was the same color, the same texture as his father's hair, but it was the length of his mother's. And when he could look at his face close like this, and all he had to focus on was his eyes and his hair, Orochimaru could almost imagine that she was... but, he wasn't.

He knew there was something wrong with him. He felt wrong. And whenever he tried to do something to fix that, everyone told him to stop. They told him to do the wrong things and told him they were right and he was wrong. Orochimaru couldn't remember a time in his young life when he hadn't been confused.

Someone tried to turn the doorknob, and when it didn't open, said, "Hello? Is someone in here?"

"I am," Orochimaru yelled back. It sounded like a man's voice, but he didn't recognize it.

"Oh, sorry kid," the man said. "Hurry up, dinner's almost ready."

"Yes sir," Orochimaru said. He slid off the sink, missed the wastebasket, but landed on his feet anyway. He'd always had fantastic reflexes; father said he'd make a great ninja one day. His mother said Orochimaru didn't have to be a ninja if he didn't want to, but Dakatsu claimed that no son of his would grow up to be a civilian.

Orochimaru washed the blood and dirt that was still on his hands from when he'd been pushed down, then got a wad of tissues wet to wash off his knee. Before leaving the bathroom, he carefully turned the wastebasket upright, put all the things that had fallen out of it back in, and added his tissues to the trash.

The Yashagoro family celebrated the Nations' Founding with a feast, as it had for several generations – or so his father had told him, not that Orochimaru knew what that meant. He and his parents had gotten to the house last night, and today everyone was busy preparing the meal, including the barbecue pork his father was helping grill. Now it was about lunchtime, so they should be ready soon.

When Orochimaru came out of the bathroom, everyone was heading into the large common room, so he followed. There were three tables set up: a long one and two smaller ones.

"I was wondering where you'd gone off to, Orochimaru."

Orochimaru looked up and smiled. "Hi Mama." He stretched his arms out to be picked up, and Shinja obliged.

"We're about to start eating," she said.

"Can I sit by you?" Orochimaru asked.

Shinja shook her head and gave Orochimaru an apologetic look. "I'm sitting at the adult table. The children are either eating at the boys' table and the girls' table."

The good mood he'd gotten at seeing his mother quickly disappeared. He knew which table he'd be placed at. Already the boys and girls were starting to claim seats at their separate tables, some of them with their plates filled.

"Let's go get your food," Shinja said.

There was no point in complaining. What could he do? Besides, if he complained, that would only make his father mad.

He nodded silently, and let his mother carry him.

Everyone was sitting except Orochimaru.

He'd put off finding a seat as long as he could. Now he was the only one standing, while everyone else had begun to eat. He stood in the doorway of the room, unnoticed, looking at the boys' table and the girls' table.

Already, two of the boys had started shoving each other. Orochimaru did not want to sit there. The girls had refused to play with him earlier, so maybe they wouldn't let him sit with them. But he had to try.

He was clinging to his plate with both hands, holding so hard they were trembling. He walked slowly over to the girl table and stood awkwardly next to it. Now what?

The girls had been talking together, but the moment they noticed Orochimaru they stopped and looked at him – glared at him – expectantly. He didn't know what to say.

"The boys' table is over there," one of the girls said, pointing. And that was that. Orochimaru had been rejected. He ducked his head so he wouldn't have to look at them and walked over to the boy's table.

As he left, he heard one of the girls whisper, "Freak."

At the boys' table, it took them a bit longer to notice Orochimaru standing there. He could have just sat down, sure, but he didn't want to. He didn't belong at this table.

The pack of boys stared at Orochimaru blankly a moment, obviously more befuddled by his presence than they were bothered by it. "What are you doing over here, Orochimaru-hime?" one of them asked.

At least they recognized that he didn't belong here. Maybe he could get them to talk to the girls, and he could sit with them? If they explained...

"Orochimaru."

He looked up at his father's voice. He was watching Orochimaru from the adult table. He wouldn't get to sit with the girls today.

Orochimaru turned back to the boys and said in a voice soft enough that his father wouldn't hear, "I want to sit with my husband."

They nodded in acceptance. Some threw jealous looks at Waniji as his "wife" pulled up a seat next to him and sat down. Once more, Orochimaru was accepted as the kunoichi of the group, and Dakatsu didn't have to know a thing.

Maybe Orochimaru hadn't gotten to sit with the girls. Still, she tried to console herself as she scooted closer to her "husband," things could be a lot worse.

They went home the next morning, riding in the cart of a farmer headed in the direction of Konoha. While his mother and father stayed in the front, Orochimaru sat with his legs dangling over the back of the cart, running his fingers through his hair. It would all be gone soon, and there was nothing he could do about that.

He didn't understand. He tried so hard to be something his father would like... what did it take? Orochimaru looked down at the ground passing underneath the cart, and sighed.

He noticed for the first time that he had his ankles crossed together, the way other ladies did. It felt right to him, but somehow he knew it was something his father would hate. So Orochimaru uncrossed his ankles, spread his knees apart a little – turned around to look at the farm boy driving the cart for reference – slouched down, and crossed his arms. This was how other boys sat. It was horrendously uncomfortable, but his father would think it was right. Orochimaru sat that way for the rest of the ride to Konoha.

When they got off the cart, Orochimaru's spine had so many kinks he could hardly stand straight. Shinja noticed immediately. "Orochimaru, are you all right?" she asked as they walked into the gates of Konoha.

"My back hurts," he said, keeping his eyes low. He didn't want to look at his father.

"Oh, sweetie, how did that happen?" his mother asked, alarmed, crouching down to put a hand on his back. "Where does it hurt?

Now the two jounin guards at the gate were looking. Orochimaru didn't want their attention; he was trying to blend in. "It's fine," he said.

Shinja hesitated. Orochimaru never tried to exaggerate or understate the way he was feeling. He didn't hide it when he was in pain, but just a moment ago he had said his back hurt. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm okay," he lied.

Shinja was about to say something, but Dakatsu, carrying their luggage, proudly said, "That's my boy," and patted Orochimaru's head. A jolt of pain shot along his neck. "You're not bothered by a little bump or two, are you?"

Orochimaru wanted to shake his head, but remembered how he'd seen other boys shrug exaggeratedly with one shoulder, so did that instead – and immediately received another jolt of pain for his efforts. His father was satisfied and his mother trusted Orochimaru, so the issue was dropped as they continued into the village, towards home.

He felt awful, and not just because his back was in pain. If he were going to convince his father that he didn't need to be punished, he'd have to act like the other boys. So he was trying to watch the people passing on the street, imitating the way they walked, the way their arms swung, paying attention to the way they spoke so he could copy that later... It was hard to watch others, walk, and think about walking all at the same time. Orochimaru hated this, pretending to be someone else.

But if it would save him from punishment...

By the time they got home, the pain in Orochimaru's back had lessened a little, and he had almost figured out how to walk like a normal boy. Dakatsu opened the door to let Shinja in, and as Orochimaru went through, he suddenly said, "You're getting to be a big boy, aren't you?"

He had noticed the act! Orochimaru was relieved. "Yes, Daddy," he said.

"Good," Dakatsu said, nodding. He shifted his grip on the luggage and said, "Big boys don't worry about their hair, do they?"

Oh no.

"As soon as we finish unpacking, you're getting a hair cut, all right?" Dakatsu said, as if it were a reward, heading away with the luggage.

Oh no, no, no. That wasn't supposed to be how it happened. Wasn't he supposed to get what he wanted when he did the "right" thing? He was trying to do just what his father wanted! This was his reward? Another punishment?

Orochimaru leaned against the front door, now shut, running his fingers through his hair one final time. It was barely past shoulder-length from the last time his father had cut it. His spine still throbbed, and his throat felt like someone's hand was closed around it as tears filled his eyes. Some reward!

"Orochimaru?" His father's voice calling, looking for him so he could do the deed. "Where did you get off to?"

He came into the entryway and discovered Orochimaru in the exact place he had left him, albeit sitting on the floor and crying. Dakatsu simply sighed. "What is it this time?" he asked, walking towards Orochimaru. A pair of scissors shone in his hand like a double-bladed dagger. "Come on, you've needed a hair cut for weeks anyway."

What would have happened if Orochimaru had refused?

"Yes, Daddy," he whispered.

Orochimaru took his punishment like a man.

He did not kick, scream, or try to escape. He stood still in the kitchen, his spine ramrod-straight, while his father cut off his hair. He did not squirm or try to scratch his back when the trimmings slid between his clothes and his skin. His hands did not tremble very much when Dakatsu made him sweep up the trimmings on the kitchen floor with a broom that was nearly two feet taller than he was.

He did not cry until he was in his own room and the door was shut.

Under his bed, Orochimaru had a fairly large collection of dolls. He kept them hidden because his father did not like him to have them. Out of sight, out of mind. He only took them out when he was scared or upset, and this would be one of those times.

His favorite doll, a giant plush monkey named Iwazaru-san, was hidden as far from the edge of the bed as Orochimaru could push it, shoved up to the wall that the bed was pressed against. He crawled underneath his bed, burrowing through his other dolls to Iwazaru-san, and pulled it out from the mass. As he did, several other dolls were pulled out from their hiding places as well, but he really didn't care. Orochimaru sat in the space between the foot of his bed and a corner of the room that was blocked from the door, just big enough to hold a kid his size. He attempted to wrap his arms around the giant monkey, buried his face in its fuzzy blue fur, and started to sob.

Most children, even the ones that grow up to be ninja, even the ones that are destined to be legends feared by all who hear their name, are not very alert. They tend to not notice when someone new comes into the room. Even when that someone is several feet taller than the child, and furious.

This can be very bad for the child. Especially if the child likes talking to its toys.

When Orochimaru's father walked into the room, he was whispering to Iwazaru-san, his only confidant; anyone else would refuse to listen, look at him strangely, or tell him to act differently. "I hate my hair. It's too short," he said. "I hate my face." Too much like his father's. "I hate my clothes." Too masculine. "I hate my body." Simply built with the wrong model. "I hate..." Myself.

He stopped, letting out another sob. "Why can't I be pretty?" he whined to Iwazaru-san. "Why does Daddy want me to be tough? I'm not..."

Orochimaru's arm was seized and he was hauled to his feet, forcing him to drop Iwazaru-san. He looked up, terrified. "Daddy?" His voice was barely a squeak.

Dakatsu's face was completely stony, completely blank; his eyes were wide with rage, so wide the whites of his eyes almost blended with the white of his face. "Orochimaru. What are you doing?"

"I... I was just..." He could hardly whisper. "I was... playing..."

Terror made his voice die and his eyes water. How much had his father heard? His vision was a blur.

"I see." Dakatsu's voice was perfectly even. He reached down and picked up Iwazaru-san by the tail. "Do you play with other children that way, Orochimaru?"

"I... I... no. No, sir."

"Good. Other boys don't play like that." He gave Orochimaru's arm a tight squeeze, so it was almost painful but not quite. "You're getting too old to play with dolls anyway."

"No!" Orochimaru twisted in his father's grip, reaching out to grab Iwazaru-san. "You can't!"

"Why not?" Dakatsu snapped.

"I want him!"

"No one cares!"

That stopped Orochimaru cold. "I do."

"Too bad," Dakatsu said. He crouched down to eye level with Orochimaru, clamping his free hand on the child's shoulder. "Listen. You're going to have to grow up. You're going to learn that nobody cares what you want. You're going to do what they say. That's what being a ninja is."

Orochimaru was silent again and he refused to look his father in the eye. Now his arm did hurt; his father's grip had tightened. He tried to say "yes, sir" but couldn't form the words.

Dakatsu stood again, letting go of Orochimaru. "If you're not going to grow up on your own, I'm going to have to show you how." He left the room, carrying Iwazaru-san. It was the last time Orochimaru ever saw the doll.

Rather than risk the life of another doll, Orochimaru hugged himself instead, crawled onto his bed, and shut his eyes. Normally he'd get out a new doll, make sure he'd hidden himself better, attempt to keep alert for his father's presence, and resume his childish confessional.

But, he thought, curling into a ball and sniffing noisily, his dolls didn't even care about him.

Thus were Orochimaru's pity parties transformed into a party of one.