Disclaimer. Same as before.

Family Conversations

"How is being in the big city?" the aunt gushed. "Is the Daimyo's palace really as grand as they say? Did you see the gardens? I heard they have gorgeous fountains."

He laughed nervously. "Uh. The palace is really big. I've been studying since I arrived, pretty much the whole time, and the Daimyo doesn't exactly like students wandering around his gardens, so no, I haven't seen them."

"And what exactly are you studying? Construction?" one of the uncles asked, not pausing as he reached his chopsticks out for another gyoza.

"Architecture." He took a bite of his food and chewed slowly, hoping the conversation—interrogation—would turn to some other family member. His brother was studiously picking individual rice grains from his bowl, keeping his eyes down in hopes of not being the next victim.

"And how is that going?" the aunt pressed. "Oh! Did you hear about that huge building going up in that city on the coast? They say it has over twenty floors! Can you imagine?"

"Yes," he smiled politely. "One of my teachers has a friend working on that project." He saw her drawing breath for another question and hurriedly turned to his brother. "What have you been up to?" The eyes of all the relatives turned immediately to the eldest son.

"Yes, dear, weren't you down in the islands a few weeks ago?" the same aunt queried. "Tell us all about it."

He licked a grain of rice from the corner of his mouth and shot a dark glance at his little brother. "I wasn't there long; everything went smoothly," he lied. "It was good to get a break from all the rain up here," he added lightly. "Mother says her cabbages are going to rot if it doesn't dry up a little."

There was sympathetic agreement from around the table, and the talk quickly turned to agriculture and the ridiculous weather. So-and-so's floors had flooded last night; that aunt's neighbor hadn't been able to get any clothes dry in a week; one cousin swore her whole garden was washing away down the gutters with all the mud in the streets. The younger brother caught his sibling's eye, and flashed him a conspiratorial smile. He grimaced at first—how could you do that to me, cruel little brother—but then he grinned, and flicked two shinobi hand signs, just above the edge of the table.

They were the only two he had taught his younger brother, and they meant 'meet outside' and 'jerk,' respectively.

"Our university boy," he drawled, when the younger brother finally escaped the table and made his way out to the front steps. When their parents had bought this place, it had been a recent construction, in a part of the village touted as the new better side. Now, it was just another listing building among blocks of other similarly patchwork structures.

The younger punched his arm in annoyance. "Don't call me that." He stepped over to lean next to him against the rusting iron railing. "I thought you quit."

Shrugging slightly, he took another drag on the cigarette. "Keeps me calm."

"Mother doesn't like it." But he held out his hand.

His older brother slapped it down. "If you take this up, I'll kick your ass."

He groaned. "Hypocrite. And don't give me that crap about ninja and cancer. It still damages your lungs."

"I wasn't going to. You're supposed to be the smart one in the family, but they expect me to be an idiot." He smiled faintly, through the smoke. "My little brother, at the best university in all of Fire Country. Damn." He reached out a quick hand and ruffled the neat brown hair just below his eye level.

"Dammit, don't do that," his brother protested, slapping wildly at the hand.

He laughed out loud. "Remember when we were kids?"

"Yeah, what about it?" he grumbled, trying to smooth his hair back down.

"Hmmm," his brother non-answered, looking back up at the starry sky, forearms braced comfortably on the iron. "Good times."

After the relatives had dispersed, he lay down on the extra futon rolled out in the room he and his brother used to share. His mother had dusted every surface assiduously before he arrived from the city, but it still had an empty, abandoned feeling. He missed his dorm room.

What he hadn't been able to predict, though, as he packed his bags for his first visit home since he'd left last summer, was that back in their old room, he would miss his brother's breathing beside him as well.

He'd been nine when his brother graduated Academy, and those few days when the family was all together had slowly become fewer and fewer, until his brother had split the rent on an apartment with an older chuunin, and moved out. That had been five years ago, so he really shouldn't expect the footsteps to come up the stairs, the door to creak open, and his brother to flop down on another futon with a big sigh and the scent of sweat and raw dirt. Maybe it was because of the 'remember when we were kids' comment that he did.

That thought made him roll out from under the blanket and ease the door open. He tiptoed to the head of the stairs, and knelt down with his head pressed to the posts, the way he hadn't done since he was twelve.

But some things never changed. Anger clenched in the back of his throat, but also a traitorous sense of reassurance. Another argument. It meant everyone was home; home and wishing they were anywhere else.

"You could have said yes when Aunt asked you to tutor your cousin. It wouldn't take that much time. You owe her respect." That was his father's voice.

"I have no set schedule. I'm in and out of the village all the time. There would be no way it would work."

"You could do it whenever you were able." His mother, softly. "Just a few times a month."

"That's what Academy is for."

"But he's your cousin. You should help him as much as you can."

He expected an exasperated response, but his brother's voice, when it came, was quiet. "Mother. I didn't really want to bring this up today," he said, slowly, but sounding more relieved than reluctant to be speaking of it, "with the relatives coming over and all, but I've been invited to test for ANBU."

There was silence, and the beating of his heart sounded very loud in his ears. ANBU. His brother. ANBU.

"You said no, of course." His mother laughed shakily. "You're already drawing jounin pay. You don't need to join up with them."

His hands tightened on the posts supporting the railing. That was right. Jounin missions were dangerous enough; his brother must have said no.

"I haven't responded yet."

He felt ten again, eavesdropping on the first night his brother had come back from a B-class, bloody. The intent voices, never raised, and worse for it.

"Then write them back and say no," his mother said firmly, as if all were now settled.

"I think I'm going to accept." He'd planned this conversation for so long, playing it out in his head, but that made it no easier.

"Why?" his mother wailed, as he knew she would. "Don't I worry enough about you? Why couldn't you have finished school like your brother?"

Up on the stairs, said brother flinched at the old quarrel.

His father stepped in. "We let you take the exam and become a shinobi. And we've been very proud of you. Jounin at eighteen? And so skilled, now? You have truly done well. But ANBU is something entirely different, son."

He could almost hear his brother running a hand through his hair, that gesture he'd only started using after graduation. "I know what it means, father. I know it would be hard on you both. But isn't it time for you to let me make my own decisions? I'm twenty-one; I've been a legal adult for five years. And I think I'm going to accept the offer."

"What about your brother?" His mother pulled out the trump card.

"He's off at university." On the floor above, the young man stiffened. "We wouldn't see each other much either way."

"That's not what I meant," she murmured. "ANBU," the word came off her tongue with a sour flavor, "aren't known for being respectable."

Something clattered to the floor. "Respectable? You're worried having a brother in Black Ops is going to hurt his job prospects? Oh, don't worry Mother, that's what the masks are for. No one has to know." His words lashed bitterly into their ears.

"No," she protested, hurt. "That's not what I meant. I didn't mean it like that. The village needs the ANBU, I'm sure they're good people, but it's like T and I. We need them, but you're not going to walk out and say 'Oh, my son works in T and I' when the neighbors ask what the children are up to." She sounded like she wanted to keep talking, but his father must have put his hand on her shoulder or some such, because she subsided.

"So you're ashamed of me." Something scraped downstairs, and the voices moved closer. He shifted farther back into the shadows.

"No! Dear, that's not what I said—"

They were in front of the door now; his brother was pulling on his sandals. "Tell him goodbye from me," his brother said shortly. The door opened, and shut.

"Wait!" His mother started to cry. "Why doesn't he listen? Why is he always so—"

He tiptoed back into his room and shut the door. He didn't want to hear the rest of this. He didn't want to have heard the first part.

"Hey."

His roommate looked up as he stepped into their little half-kitchen. "'ey," he responded, slurping up the noodles hanging out of his mouth. The radio was on the counter, droning something about grain exports from Grass Country. He managed to get the soggy strands all swallowed down. "How was the family?"

He sighed, and dropped into the chair on the other side of the table, propping his feet up on the counter. "Awful. Nosy, boring, and I told my parents about the offer."

"Oh." The other frowned, and gulped down a mouthful of broth. "Didn't go well?"

"Only a little worse than trying walk the trade road into Ame with half a dozen rolls of explosive notes." His roommate laughed, choked, and managed to spit out the piece of scallion before he suffocated. "Can I turn off the radio? I got enough about harvests and the goddamn rain from the relatives."

"Sure." He wiped a bit of soup from his chin. "Man, I'm sorry about the evening. But as you can see," he gestured around the empty apartment, including the now-silent radio, "I wasn't exactly partying in your absence."

"Yeah." He stretched in the chair, forcing it to tilt back on two legs. "You going to be around tomorrow?"

"Hmm." He cast a glance at the rest of the lukewarm soup, and then chucked the plastic microwave container into the sink without getting up. The dirty chopsticks followed with forceful precision. "Last mission got upgraded, so I guess I can take another day or two off. You got plans?"

"Anything not involving paperwork, missions, or my relatives. Other than that, whatever you can come up with."

He chuckled. "You want to invite your brother? He's here a week, right?"

"Depends what you decide to do. He still thinks," and he made a quick motion with his hand, "means 'jerk.'"

"Only if there's a genin in the room," the other grinned. "But I get it. We'll be responsible." He contemplated his dirty dishes with the air of a scholar debating the great moral questions of the world. "Ah, screw them. I'm going to get some sleep."

He nodded. "If you dream, I'm pitching a kunai at your head."

"As always. As always," he agreed amiably, already at the door to his bedroom. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah."

A/N: I haven't been writing much lately; this piece is from back in March. I actually really like it; I considered giving them all names (!) and turning it into a separate piece, but for now, it fits pretty well in this collection. But with that said, I'd love input on this one in particular.