They cut your eyes wide open
And pour into your precious head
My reach don't go that far dear
But please oh please don't let them in
- Radical Face, "Wrapped in Piano Strings'
Chapter III: Temari
By the end of today Temari will be staring, wide-eyed, at the corpse that Ino is showing her in the glaring light of the morgue, a sinking feeling in her chest.
A few hours before that, while gazing down at the street from the Kazekage Tower during a particularly tedious meeting with the Suna Council, she will feel faintly ill as she watches her idiot brother rest a hand on Ino's ass in what he obviously believes to be a discreet manner. She will realise, with an awkward mixture of horror and smugness, that Kankurou has somehow managed to snatch up the hottest import from Konoha - that pouty, platinum-blonde bitch who has been strutting around with far more sass than Temari would normally tolerate around her alpha-female self. She will wince as she realises that this means she and her brother are both dating out of their village - from the same team, no less - and that such circumstances would no doubt be labeled by some as "traitorous" or worse, "cute".
For now, however, Temari is forgetting to drink her coffee. (Black, as bitter and caustic as her sense of humour.) It is five in the morning. The sky is an uneven grey, a thin wash of lilac seeping from the east. A faint chill drifts through the streets, curling into her apartment through the open window. Carrier birds preen on her windowsill. It has been two days since Kurenai and Hinata left for the northern plains in search of the nomads; she wonders how they are faring as she curls lazily into her chair, a leggy, feline mess of tanned skin and scruffy blonde hair, all wrapped up in an oversized white shirt. It's rather beautifully crumpled and smells like a certain Leaf shinobi. She hasn't bothered to button it up and a lacy scarlet bra is highly, unapologetically visible whenever she yawns and stretches out her long, lean body, pointed toes brushing lightly across the floor.
Fresh reports just sent in from teams on the frontier lie scattered on the desk. The rebels are proving elusive as usual, moving around with a rapidity that can only come with their extensive knowledge of the terrain.
A new bird dips into the room, carrying a Konohan tag. Temari unclips the scroll from its talons with a small, wry smile. Shika. The message is longer than usual. Her eyebrows arch slightly when a full page of ridiculous black scratching is revealed, instead of the one or two short, curt paragraphs they are accustomed to inflicting upon each other.
"Troublesome wench", she reads, rolling her eyes, "The official tally of scandalous lingerie you have seen fit to leave (unnecessarily) at my place has now reached a total of fourteen. Chouji found your red thong behind the couch when he crashed here last night. Chouji has done nothing" –Shikamaru having underlined the word 'nothing' several times for emphasis– "to deserve that. Therefore I feel the need to repeat my polite request once more: for the love of god, woman, just let me know where you hid every damn piece of underwear so I can stop mortifying myself, my friends and my family with excruciatingly tangible evidence of your perversions. It is exceedingly troublesome and, may I add, highly unbefitting of the official ambassador of your dirty little sandpit of a village."
"Besides," –and Temari is smirking because his sulky pout is perfectly legible in the writing – "it is not as if you really needed to leave behind memorabilia of our sporadic sex life to keep me reminded that I won't see you naked for another two months. I remember that on a daily basis perfectly fine."Her smirk widens into a grin. "Cruel bitch."
Whatever you say, Shika, Temari thinks with a vicious glee, perusing the subsequent paragraphs in a much improved mood. She knows he likes it, secretly. The rest of the letter is mostly administrative, generously speckled with his usual whining and musings on recent cloud formations. The final paragraph, however, is different. Temari stops and stares when she reads what he has written, lips parting slightly in surprise.
"I need your help with something. You won't like it – actually, you'll probably hate it and threaten to disembowel me the next time we meet because you're an unfeeling harpy like that - but it needs to be done and I would far prefer that you do it over anyone else I know over there. Kurenai has brought her daughter, Misao, with her to Sunagakure. She turns five this October. This will be troublesome for you, I know, but keep an eye out for her while her mother is away? I am not asking you to take her in – god forbid - just check on her every now and then. Spend a little time with her" –it is evident that even Shikamaru had winced at what he had been writing at this point, the handwriting growing noticeably crabbier – "and just see if she is adjusting alright, maybe even take her on a day trip if you're feeling particularly humane. Get Ino to help if you want, but I've heard that she's been taking a lot of missions and I'd prefer for Misao to have someone with a more constant presence in the village."
Temari blinks slowly, brushing her thumb across the paper with something akin to awe. A kid. A four year-old kid. Shikamaru, a supposed genius, actually wants her, she-of-absolutely-no-motherly-instincts, to take care of a four year-old kid.What do they feed those things, anyway?
Forcing herself to inhale, Temari reads on.
"Kurenai hadn't wanted to take the mission at first because of Misao. I know she will hate leaving her in Sunagakure when she travels out of the village. I pushed her to do it, and I suppose I feel bad enough about it to ask you to play babysitter… …eh, don't kill me, 'mari. Treat this as my payment for letting you steal my favourite pair of boxers. (Yes, I know you did it, it caused me far more trouble than you are worth.)
You'll understand the other reason why I'm asking you to do this when you see the child. Look out for the genjutsu near her right shoulder. Don't tell anyone. Kurenai wants to keep it hidden, so refresh the genjutsu if needed.
Stay safe, wench. I miss you sometimes, when I can be bothered.
- S."
Temari stays very still in her chair for a long moment, slowly re-reading the last paragraph and trying her best not to succumb to a fundamental, mortal panic at the sheer thought of dealing with a child below normal genin-age. Kurenai's daughter… … she knows enough of Konohan gossip to guess that the father is Sarutobi Asuma, Shikamaru's dead sensei. It makes sense that Shikamaru is invested in the child's welfare. But a genjutsu? Why would Kurenai have put a genjusu on her own baby? She frowns, pursing her lips and rolling up the scroll.
She'll do it, of course. She can't deny the asshole anything, even if it's leaping ten miles out of her comfort zone and dealing with – she winces, takes a deep breath – a four year-old child. And he's right about her being more of a steady presence than Ino, at least. What with the refugee crisis rapidly escalating right at the gates of Sunagakure and Gaara gone to personally fight the rebels, Temari will be stuck in the village for a long while yet, playing the savvy diplomat.
You owe me a big one, Shika,she thinks darkly, standing up and terrifying the carrier birds from their perch with a moody, predatory glare. God, Kankurou and Gaara better never hear of this.
"You're going to take care of what?"Kankurou crows a few hours later, jogging alongside Temari to keep up with his sister's furious, rapid-fire walking pace. "A kid? A four years old kid?"
"Yes," she grits out, restraining herself from punching her fist through Kankurou's gaping mouth and keeping her eyes on the street. Of course she had to have caught her idiot brother right as he left the nearby eatery after his second breakfast. Of course. Just get there, find the girl, make sure she's fine, pat her hair or something and get out again.
"But you'll scar the kid for life!"Kankurou's eyes are bulging out. With the purple war paint he looks as if he is ten seconds away from having a seizure. Temari feels her patience ebbing away.
"Whatever," she snaps at him. "I'll be fine. I'm not adopting her, I'm just visiting her every now and then."
"No, seriously, Tema." He sobers up, grabbing her by the elbow. "Seriously. You sure you should do this? You're pretty much already the evil stepmother in any possible fairy-tale setting, think of this child's welfare, seriously. I don't want to come over to find you frying up some baby legs or other…child…body part."
He looks genuinely worried. They're nearing the gates of the nursery. Temari decides that she has had enough and grabs her brother by the shoulders.
"I. Will. Be. Fine," she enunciates each word in a low voice, trying not to scare the young civilian parents milling around the place. "Now. Go." So saying, she unloads her giant fan off her shoulders and whacks him brusquely to the other end of the street, petrifying every young parent in the vicinity before striding purposefully through the gates, fan in hand.
"I'm here to find a Yuhi Misao," she announces at the front desk, glaring down at the tiny, terrified receptionist. The receptionist squeaks out something incomprehensible and scurries off to find the director of the establishment, who turns out to be a middle-aged, matronly-looking woman in a plain green dress.
"Temari-sama." The older woman nods respectfully at Temari, looking surprised to see the kunoichi terrorising her clients. "May I help you?"
"I'd like to see Yuhi Misao, please," she asks more calmly. "I'm here on behalf of her mother, Yuhi Kurenai. The child should be here as a lodger, not under day care."
"Misao is staying here, yes." The director nods carefully. "Would you have any official documentation proving that you are authorised to see her? Anything from Yuhi-san?"
"No," Temari snaps, "but I can blow this place down in four seconds flat if you don't show me the kid right now." She slings her fan around for good effect and the director pales.
"Y-yes, I apologise….It was simply…formalities …to protect the children, I'm sure you'll understand ... this way, please. F-follow me."
Temari is led hastily through the low-ceilinged corridors of the nursery. Her smugness is quickly replaced by a feeling of being utterly out of place as she stares wide-eyed at the little chairs and cots filling each warm, pastel coloured room, the crayon drawings pressed proudly onto every wall. Copper-toned fans glide lazily above their heads, rippling the walls with slowly undulating shadows. Bright, curious eyes follow her as she hurries after the director, gingerly navigating a veritable army of younglings they suck on tiny thumbs and look decidedly adorable. Temari feels like a giant, like her limbs are garishly long, and worries that she will hurt them in their soft, helpless smallness. By the time they reach the backyard she is quite thoroughly alarmed and on edge. A loud group of children are playing together in a rare and carefully tended patch of long grass. Some tumble around the swings and slides, giggling as they fall flat on their backs, faces scrunched up into the pale morning sunlight.
So many of them, Temari thinks dazedly. All so….happy.
Even the pouting, crying ones are doing so with an enviable, carefree abandon, knowing that within minutes they'd be picked up and cuddled, soft lips pressed to their forehead, a low tune hummed into their ears.
Had she ever been that happy with her brothers, growing up?
The thought is dropped abruptly when the director points to a corner of the yard, far from the crowd of playing children. A small, pale form is kneeling on the grass in a thin yellow dress, carefully hugging a ragdoll on her lap and staring quietly out at the sand dunes peeking over the Sunagakurean skyline.
"That's Misao over there," the director tells her. "She's only been here for two days and hasn't really settled in yet. The other children are not quite sure how to deal with her, I'm afraid. She's a little…different."
A little different is an understatement. Misao's paleness stands out markedly against the local children's darker, tawnier complexions. There is her mother's stillness about her, the same calm introversion and quiet, unnerving self-control. It is strange to see it in a girl of her age. Her eyes are enormous, heavy lidded, the irises tinted a deep, wine red and delicately ringed with black - Kurenai's eyes. Her hair is grown out past her shoulders, pooling like thick, viscous ink around the white nape of her neck. That the girl is lonely is heartbreakingly clear in the set of her thin shoulders, yet somehow she sustains it with a resigned serenity, an utter lack of bitterness, as if she is thinking: this is the way things are. This is the way things should be.
Something inside of Temari crumples at the sight of the melancholy little girl.
"Does she play with the others?" she asks. The director shakes her head.
"Only with the doll we gave her." A pause. "Would you like to talk to her?"
Temari hesitates, then nods. They cross over to the girl and she stands up politely as they near.
"Amori-sensei." Misao forms the words carefully, almost whispering. The director smiles kindly and gestures at Temari.
"Temari-sama is here to visit you, Misao-chan. Say hello."
"Hello," Misao greets her, peering up at the kunoichi shyly. Unexpectedly Temari thinks of Gaara, before he became angry and cruel. Gaara as a small child: lonely, frightened, staring out at the world from equally large and unreadable eyes. She had been too afraid of her own brother to feel pity for him then, had been too young to understand the impact that her cold treatment would have on his psyche until it was too late. A familiar sense of guilt lurches sickeningly in her chest.
"H-hello, Misao-chan." Her voice comes out unexpectedly soft. She grasps for words – concerning what subject does one normally converse with a four year-old? "How are you?"
"I am fine, thank you." Misao's practiced politeness is infused with a childish gravity. She tugs a little unsurely at her hair, exposing her right collarbone. The pale patch of skin appears unmarked, pristine. Temari looks closer, narrowing her eyes, but finds nothing of note. Kurenai is not the best genjustsu-user in Leaf for nothing.
She crouches down so she is almost face to face with the girl. "Do you miss your mother, Misao-chan?"
"Yes," the girl says, again with that quiet serenity.
Temari smiles, a gentler, kinder expression than her usual feral grin. "She'll be back soon, I promise." She gestures to the ragdoll that Misao is clutching to her chest. "What's her name?"
Misao looks a little puzzled.
"Your doll," Temari clarifies. "Does your pretty friend there have a name?"
If anything Misao appears even more confused. "It's not a person, Temari-sama," she says.
A pause. The sound of children playing in the background sharpens slightly in the space left behind by what Misao has said.
Temari feels like her heart is going to break at the realisation that Misao is unable even to find some self-made company in the form of the toy; the child is already so irrevocably grounded in bland reality, so aware of the mediocrities of day-to-day life that she cannot bring herself to play pretend, to fool herself into some temporary comfort of companionship. That kind of loneliness can cripple a child; she'd seen it before in Gaara and had not been able - had been too cowardly, a caustic voice in her head says – to do anything about it.
"Misao-chan," the director admonishes her gently, embarrassed at her charge's bluntness, "you –"
Temari raises a hand to stop her. "It's fine, Amori-san." She reaches forwards and gingerly tilts up Misao's face, her thumb brushing against a soft round cheek. "My younger brother used to be just as cute as you, do you know?"
Misao blinks at her silently. Temari leans in cautiously, almost as if afraid of startling the girl, and whispers so the director cannot hear: "Are you happy staying here, Misao-chan?"
Misao's eyes widen as she stares at Temari, lips parting softly. She visibly hesitates; bites her lip; lowers her eyes, and says nothing, fingers bunching into the fabric of her dress. Answer enough, Temari thinks.
"Would you like to see Sunagakure?" she presses on, gently probing. "Should I take Misao-chan out for a trip?"
Misao fidgets a little. Her voice is timid but hopeful when she replies, nodding solemnly: "Ye-es, Temari-sama."
Temari grins. "Alright, then."
"Temari-sama, I'm afraid I can't let her leave the nursery without permission from Yuhi-san," Amori protests when Temari takes Misao by the hand. The kunoichi brushes her off with a wave.
"I will bring her back after lunch," she says imperially, knowing full well that she has absolutely no intention of allowing Misao to set foot in the nursery ever again. "Yuhi-san will not mind, I am sure. We are such great friends. Almost sisters. I will take very good care of Misao."
So saying, she leads Misao past the playground and back through the nursery, skillfully dodging crawling babies as Amori follows them almost tearfully, wringing her hands. Misao accidentally drops her doll on the floor as they are making their way through the corridor and Temari stops to pick it up.
"Do you still want this, Misao-chan?"
Misao shakes her head.
"Right, the other kids can have it then," Temari says brusquely, handing it to a surprised staff-member and lightly tugging at Misao's hand to continue on their way.
"But, Yuhi-san will…when she comes back..…." The director is pleading now; they are at the reception, Misao's hand still clasped tightly in Temari's.
"Don't worry, Amori-san," Temari says, taking pity on her, "I will make sure that you receive no trouble for this. Tomorrow morning you will receive a formal letter authorising Misao's discharge into my care."Forged by yours sincerely, she thinks, but the other woman does not need to know that. "Keep any payment Yuhi-san has made in advance."
"I… but she…"
"Have a good day." And with a quick nod Temari has guided Misao out of the nursery and into the street, feeling an unfamiliar kind of exhilaration. She takes Misao to the end of the street to make sure Amori is not following them before peering down at the girl.
"Misao-chan, you're not scared, are you?"
Misao looks up at her and says nothing, expression unreadable. This is when Temari realises that she has essentially abducted a small child, and that this is quite possibly the most irrational, impulsive thing she has ever done in her life. Never mind the fact that she possesses only the faintest ideas as to what taking care of a four year-old actually entails. She purses her lips, thinking.
There is no point doubting herself, now. She looks down at Misao.
"Wanna take a look around the village?" She grins, baring a canine. "I'll show you where all the fun parts are."
Misao nods, and Temari grins harder when the child tilts her head to the side and offers her a timid smile. "Come on, then, let's –"
"What the hell are you doing?"
Temari spins around to find Kankurou striding towards them, slack-jawed. She frowns. "You stayed around?"
"You're taking the kid away?" Kankurou asks her in disbelief, ignoring her question. "Are you insane?"
"Her name is Misao," Temari snaps, before lowering her voice to a hiss, trying to keep Misao from overhearing. "And I'm only taking her a week, two weeks tops. Before Kurenai comes back."
Kankurou pales. "You're planning to make her live at your place?"
"Look," she whispers impatiently, "it was clear that she wasn't happy in that little prison of a nursery, the other kids weren't playing with her, she's not used to Sunagakure and the best way to get around that, Kankurou, is to show it to her, not keep her locked up."
"But you're terrible with children," he replies simply, and Temari cannot even find it in herself to be offended because her history hardly says otherwise. Suddenly she feels a little crestfallen as she looks at Misao. She had only meant well….. …Misao had looked so utterly lonely back in the nursery, and she had thought that perhaps, just maybe, she could make a difference. She hadn't made a difference with Gaara, and Temari has spent the last fucking decade regretting her inaction.
"Look, Tema," Kankurou softens his tone, seeing his sister's unsure expression. "You can always just stick with visiting her instead."
A soft tug on Kankurou's sleeve makes them both look down.
"Kitty-sama," Misao says, voice barely audible above the noise in the street, "do you want to come with us, too?"
Temari blinks.
"Oh. I…uh…" Kankurou is clearly at a loss for words. "Kitty-sama? That's, uh…."
"It's going to be fun," she promises, before smiling sweetly and reaching up to curl a tiny hand around Kankurou's calloused index finger. "Temari-sama says she will take me to all the fun parts."
And it is then that Temari has the surreal experience of watching her idiot brother melt into a puddle of kitty-eared, purple-striped goo in three seconds flat, the battle-hardened shinobi blushing furiously and dropping to a crouch in front of Misao.
"Of course I'll come, princess," he tells her, mirroring her smile and ruffling her hair. "We'll have all the fun in the world and make the other kids jealous." A pause. "Though I wasn't aware that my beloved sister knew the meaning of fun, never mind the location of the 'fun places' in the village – OW! TEMA!"
"Idiot," Temari huffs, retracting her fist. "Well, are you coming or not? Or are you going to tell me that I'm not allowed to take care of a four year-old?"
"Fine, fine," Kankurou mumbles, rubbing his head sheepishly. "What are you going to do with her when you have to work, though? It's not like you're free to babysit her all the time."
Temari shrugs. "I'll take her with me when it's possible. When it's not, I'll hire a babysitter." She eyes her brother keenly.
"Oh, hell no." Kankurou blanches. "I ain't babysitting no kid. I'm a warrior! The village needs my skills in battle!"
She rolls her eyes. "Right, Kitty-sama. I'm sure you'll be able to spare an evening here and there."
"Temaaaaaaaa…."
"Are we still going?" Misao asks from below, peering up at them a little anxiously.
Kankurou melts for the second time that morning. "Of course we are, princess. No worries. My beloved sister and I are just working out the details." Turning back to Temari, he growls: "Fine, I'll do it when I can. But you'll need to pay me."
She glares at him in disgust. "What are you, twelve?"
"Fine, fine." He pouts. "Can I at least get a free meal?"
Temari can't help but chuckle, exasperated. "Fine. I'll buy you lunch later if you help me take her around now." She leans in closer to Kankurou conspiratorially. "What do kids consider fun around here?"
Kankurou smacks his palm against his forehead, dragging it down his cheek. "Dear god. Alright!" He opens his arms expansively, grinning down at Misao. "Captain Kankurou will lead the way in the Grand Tour of Fun around our historic and beautiful village of Sunagakure. Refreshments provided by Temari dearest. All rides are free!" So saying, he lifts a shocked Misao by her waist, setting her securely onto his broad shoulders.
Misao giggles, delighted, and grabs tightly onto the kitty ears on the hood of his coat.
Temari rolls her eyes and smiles despite herself, and as they begin to make their way through the streets she's already composing a letter to Shikamaru in her head. It begins with an indecent amount of swearing, and ends in "You knew this was going to happen, you bastard, and you're never getting your boxers back."
They turn the corner. A breeze sifts through Misao's hair as she rests her elbows on Kankurou's head, brightly surveying the scenery.
"Where are we going first, Kitty-sama?" she asks - quietly, though the tremor of excitement is clear in her voice.
Temari's smile widens as she thinks: this might work out, after all.
Just what this working out entails – as she learns gradually - is this.
Misao discovers that her bladder is full while they are in the middle of a large, open park exhibiting a variety of sand sculptures, and Kankurou and Temari spend ten minutes frantically running around trying to find the nearest public toilet. Temari is vastly relieved to find that Misao is capable of going to the bathroom herself, although she does need to lift up the girl in order for her to wash her hands in the sink.
When they eat lunch at a nearby restaurant, Misao dutifully eats her vegetables but has an undeniable preference for the sweeter things on offer. Temari finds herself lecturing the girl (nicely) on the crucial importance of getting enough nutrients on a daily basis. Misao nods, and doesn't tell Temari when Kankurou secretly slips her another red bean dumpling.
After sorrowfully bidding goodbye to Kankurou in the afternoon, Misao begins to succumb to the bewitching lure of an afternoon nap. Temari is forced to bring her along when she attends a conference with the Suna Council concerning the treatment of Tenten and the refugee situation. The village Elders arch their collective eyebrows, but say nothing. Misao is given a seat by the window next to Temari, where she sedately watches the pedestrians bustle by until falling into a soft, contented slumber. The elders restrain themselves from commenting once again when Temari rises abruptly in the middle of the meeting to pull a coat over the girl's sleeping body, just in time to catch Kankurou's ass-groping action on the street below.
An hour later, a new rumour circulates around Sunagakure, claiming that the great, ferocious Temari-sama has finally gone batshit insane.
Finally, at five minutes past seven, Temari stumbles back to her own apartment, Misao in tow. When she switches on the light Misao blinks once, twice, taking in the large, cool living room. The walls are eggshell white and unadorned, the windows tinted to keep out the harsh desert sun. A long table is lined against a wall, leaving space for only three chairs. Potted plants fill each corner: white lilies by the door, purple orchids near another doorway, small aloe flowers along the window. A large dracaena plant brushes the ceiling. The whole effect is simple, clean, quiet. (Visitors used to be amazed, expecting an interior as thorny and abrasive as its owner's behaviour in public; what they never realised is that a woman's home reflects her undisturbed core, the part of her person that she cultivates when in private.)
"Make yourself at home," she tells Misao. "Do you want a bath?"
Suddenly she groans, realising that she had forgotten to ask Amori for any of Misao's clothes or belongings. That will have to wait for tomorrow. For now she leads Misao into the bedroom, pulling clothes out of her closet. She finds a small brown shirt that Misao can use as a dress.
"Just give me your underwear while you take a bath, I'll put it in the wash and it should be done in two hours." Temari hands her the shirt, guiding her to the bathroom. She pauses by the doorway and hesitates. "Do you ….need help with this, Misao-chan?"
Misao shakes her head. "But okasan normally sits there" – she points shyly to the spot near the bathtub – "and talks to me."
"Does she." Temari sighs. "Alright."
She drags a stool into the bathroom, placing it on the tiles next to the bathtub. She helps Misao twist out of her clothes and runs the bath for her, making sure the water is at the correct temperature before allowing Misao to clamber inside.
"Did you have fun today, Misao-chan?"
"Ye-es." Misao is industriously cleaning her long black hair but she darts a glance at Temari, saying a little timidly: "Thank you, Temari-sama."
Temari grins. "No problem."
Then she remembers the genjutsu. "Misao….can I take a look at your shoulder, please?"
Obediently, Misao turns in the water so that her right shoulder is nearest Temari. "Do you want me to clean under it too?" she asks.
"Under it?" Temari frowns. She leans closer and traces a finger over the shoulder. Nothing, just pale, wet skin. "Under what, Misao-chan?"
Misao suddenly looks guilty. "Okasan said I shouldn't talk about it," she whispers.
"It's alright, don't worry about it," Temari reassures her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and sending a faint surge of chakra across her skin.
The genjutsu is almost imperceptible. Deftly hidden, it had been folded expertly from the girl's collar bone to the bottom of her shoulder blades on the other side. No one would notice it without deliberately and knowingly looking for it. Temari performs the genjutsu release technique.
When the genjutsu dispels she finds a thick layer of waterproof bandaging wrapped around Misao's shoulders. In constructing the genjutsu Kurenai has somehow managed to target not any one specific person, but all those who happen to look upon – and indeed, touch - her daughter's body. Those under the genjutsu would see and feel only the normal, smooth skin of a regularly-shaped shoulder.
Temari carefully unwinds the bandaging, all the while examining the detail with which Kurenai had designed the genjutsu. She will have to rebuild it later. When the last layer of bandaging is removed she gasps – "Misao?" – and stares at the razor-thin slice of bone that is revealed, gleaming ivory curved sharply back across her shoulder.
"Okasan said I shouldn't talk about it," Misao repeats herself miserably.
"Don't worry, Misao-chan. I promise I won't tell anyone." Temari rubs her cheek comfortingly, before turning her attention back to the bone. She touches it gingerly, nearly drawing blood. "Have you always had this?"
Misao nods.
"Does it hurt you?"
She shakes her head. "Okasan says the other children in Konoha don't have it."
"I would imagine so," Temari says softly. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
She is doing the dishes when Kankurou knocks on her door. Misao is already fast asleep in her bed, exhausted after a simple meal of udon and vegetables in soup. Temari has not mentioned her birthmark since re-applying the bandages and making sure the genjutsu would still be effective on others. Incredibly, Kurenai had managed to build it with a combination of her own chakra and, to a lesser extent, that of Misao's, such that the genjutsu could be maintained even in Kurenai's absence.
"What's the matter?" Temari frowns when she sees Kankurou at the door, grim-faced.
"You need to get to the morgue, now. Ino's found something."
Her eyes widen. "Has she found the pollen on one of the corpses?"
Kankurou nods.
"What about Misao?"
He smiles wanly at her. "Kitty-sama came to offer his services as babysitter."
Temari laughs and gives him a quick, grateful hug. "Thanks, Kankurou. I'll be back as soon as possible."
Ino is waiting for her outside the building when she arrives at the morgue, hugging herself in the chill of the desert night. "Temari-san."
"You're onto something?"
The Yamanaka nods, a triumphant gleam faintly visible in her eyes. "I found traces of the pollen under the fingertips of one of the corpses. Male. Killed by a kunai to the throat. Normal in most respects."
Temari narrows her eyes. "Except?"
"You should see for yourself."
They hurry into the laboratories. A few other members of the Suna Intelligence division are milling around, working the night shift. Ino leads her into the largest room, where four bodies have been laid out on the examination tables. She walks directly to the farthest one from the door.
"This is it," she says, gesturing to the corpse. The man is of average build, olive-skinned, with a shock of dark brown hair. His eyes are open – also brown. An ugly gash slices across his throat horizontally, cutting through the windpipe. A clean cut, efficient: Tenten's handiwork.
Temari's gaze, however, is already fixed on another part of the man's body. A fine sliver of white pushes out from his right collarbone, running smoothly upwards to curve with the shoulder. Ino silently turns the corpse onto its front. The bony protrusion ends just below the shoulder blade, sinking slickly back into flesh.
Kurenai, Temari thinks, dazed. What the fuck have you done?