Author's Note: And finally...the plot actually begins to move forward. YAY! *laughs* As always, I love hearing your comments and critiques, so please feel free. Also, if you haven't had a chance yet (or haven't noticed), I posted a side story last week which you can read by visiting my profile page. *hint, hint , nudge, nudge* j/k ;)

Chapter Seven: Of Loss and Revelations

It's later than I planned when I return home from Shikaku-sensei's library, and because I forgot to bring a change of clothes I'm running late for my training session with Kakashi. Fumbling for my top, I know he's never going to let me forget this – not after I made such a big deal about him being late on the first night…I've just slipped my leggings on when a muffled thump comes from somewhere downstairs, but since my father's room is right below me, I don't think too much about and quickly finish dressing. Then the sound comes again, followed by what might be breaking glass. Worried, I throw a t-shirt on in an attempt to cover my ninja outfit and head downstairs. Reaching his door, I knock loudly and ask, "Father, is everything okay?" Getting no response, I cautiously enter the room.

Before I can react several pairs of hands grab my arms and shoulders, jerking me inside and throwing me roughly against the opposite wall. Stunned, acting on instinct alone, I reach for my senbon pouch, remembering a second too late that it's not there. Whirling to face my attackers, I quickly assess the situation. There are six – definitely ANBU…definitely not Konoha's. My father is cowering in a corner behind them, blood running freely from a gash over his left eye, watching what's happening with a look of shocked horror on his face.

For the first time my desire for secrecy seems petty and small; I have to find some way to warn the village. These guys aren't going to make escaping easy...not that it matters - abandoning my father isn't an option. However, even with all of Kakashi's training, I know I'm no match for six elite ninja – especially weaponless.

"Come quietly," one of them wheedles. "And we promise to spare the old man."

"Don't listen to them, Emiko!" my father calls, his voice rough with pain. "Escape! Go get help!"

Suddenly, an idea begins to form, but first I have to buy myself some time. Moving with more speed than I've ever managed before, I dive for my father's desk, pulling a handful of fountain pens from the mug that sits there. They're not senbon…but they'll have to do. Hurling the pens with expert precision, not really paying attention to whether or not they hit their marks, I silently thank Kakashi for forcing me to improve the speed of my hand signs. Within seconds I've summoned my Kousai no Jutsu and a radiant ball of light expands quickly between from between my hands, flooding the room in pure brilliance and hopefully blinding my would-be attackers. The rays pour out the windows into the surrounding streets below, illuminating our house like a beacon…but will it be enough?

Then, without warning, a sharp stinging sensation rips through my right side, sending me to my knees. Stunned, my jutsu collapses - the light fades as strong arms wrench my hands roughly behind my back. One of the ninja towers over me; his katana, already dripping with my blood, hovers barely an inch from my neck.

"That was very stupid," he whispers. The one holding my arms twists them tighter; pain courses through my injured side and my vision goes a little fuzzy.

"If you're going to do something about it, you'd better hurry up," I grunt with false bravado. "Because in about five minutes you're going to have more trouble than you can handle."

The ninja's grip on his katana tightens in anger. "We were told to bring you back in one piece, but surely our lord won't care if you're missing one or two."

He raises his weapon and brings it down in a widening arc, but I never discover what he intends to chop off because my father is suddenly there, faster than I thought possible, blocking the blow. He wraps his arms protectively around me and I feel the impact of the katana slicing through his back. Our eyes meet, and time seems fade - my father's face echoing the multitude of emotions flowing through me. There are so many things I know I should say, but my voice catches in my throat. He smiles sadly, knowingly, and whispers, "Forgive me," as the light fades from his eyes. The ninja above us curses and jerks his blade away, tossing my father's limp body against the nearest wall where it crumples into a widening pool of blood.

Numb with shock and pain, my resistance is all but gone, when someone suddenly crashes through the window behind me, taking out whoever has my arms pinned. Seconds later a squad of Konoha's ANBU breaks through the bedroom door. Finally free, acting on instinct alone, I go after the man who killed my father…but I still don't have a weapon…and he's expecting me. The ninja scores a solid kick to the still-bleeding gash in my side; the pain and force of the attack literally takes my breath away and sends me crumpling back to my knees. I'm struggling to stand when a familiar form darts between us – Kakashi!

"Stay down, Emiko," he calls, forcing my foe to retreat. "You've done enough."

Relief and fatigue flood through me as I sag next to my father's body. Gently, I reach down and grasp one of his still-warm hands in mine, cradling it as the battle goes on around me. It's not long before all of the unknown ninja are dead…at least, I think they are…but I'm having trouble seeing clearly and my consciousness keeps wavering in and out. Then Kakashi is in front of me, hand on my shoulder. He's talking, but the words aren't reaching my ears. I try to tell him, but my mouth won't work either. Suddenly pain lances through my side and I'm having trouble breathing. The last thing I remember is my father's hand falling limply from mine as I collapse into Kakashi's arms.


One Month Later

"Okay, Emiko," I whisper softly to myself. "You can do this! Just reach out and open the door…" With trepidation I place my hand on the busted handle that leads to my father's room. It's been over a month since his death and I still haven't found the courage to return to the place where it all happened. Already my memories are starting to take over and my head is beginning to swim. I'm about to give up yet again when Tsume is suddenly at my feet, wrapping herself comfortingly around my legs. And somehow that small gesture of companionship is enough to spur me forward, into the room.

At first I'm assailed by a jumble of random memories, but with tremendous effort I force them to the back of my mind. Feeling light-headed, I sit on the edge of the bed and take a moment to look cautiously around me. Everything is as it was left that night, although it looks like someone might have tried to clean up a little. Sighing, I stand again and walk slowly around the room, stopping by my father's desk. It's virtually bare except for a large, plain-bound book. Picking it up to flip aimlessly through the pages, I'm startled to realize that it's not a book at all, but a journal, and the most recent date is only two days before his death! Even more unexpected is the writing itself – it's clear and concise, not the jumbled ravings of someone incapacitated by grief…or anything else for that matter. What's going on? Hoping for answers, I quickly skim through the entries until my eyes catch on a single, startling phrase: …will Emiko ever forgive me? Curious, I begin reading.

It's been nearly four years since I've written here, nearly four years since the death of my son, and I'm not sure where to begin. Daisuke's death took a horrible toll on me – the time between now and then has been little more than a dream, hazy and inconsistent. Of course, my recovery didn't happen overnight; it was a gradual process that would never have been possible without my daughter's help. I still have trouble believing she chose my well-being over her ardent desire to follow in her mother's footsteps. I was never the best at being a father, and wouldn't have blamed her one bit for abandoning me to my madness.

I know that I should repay her love in kind; that I should leave this room, tell her I'm on the way to recovery, and send her off to follow her dream…but I've never been a brave man, and the thought of sending her back out into that kind of danger is too much for me to contemplate right now. Perhaps, when more time has passed, I will have the courage to speak the truth…but for now my daughter is safe, and I want her to stay that way. Someday I'll have no choice but to tell her…but I wonder… when I do, will Emiko ever forgive me?

The journal falls heavily from my hands, which have begun to tremble. My father's illness…was an act?! How could I have been so blind? Was that why he asked for forgiveness the night he died? Tears spring to my eyes as, deep down, a niggling little voice whispers, "Like father, like daughter." And it's true, I deceived him as well…but was it really the same thing? My deception didn't require him to alter his lifestyle, mine didn't alienate him from the people he cared about…Sighing in frustration, I stop trying to contrast our actions. None of it really matters now – my father is dead and the past is the past.

Eyeing the dropped journal, I'm suddenly struck by a thought – If there was one, maybe there are more. Placing the book back on the desk, suddenly swept up in an intense desire to understand, I head for the one place he might have kept them. Maybe his journals will be able to explain what my father couldn't - why he felt the need to estrange himself for so long…just to protect me.


Nearly three hours later, I'm sitting cross-legged in the floor of his closet reading, teary-eyed, through stack upon stack of my father's words with Tsume nestled comfortably in my lap. It's hard to believe that I never saw him writing, not once, and yet there are so many books - even some that date back to his childhood in Taki. Once, I thought I understood my father, but I'm quickly learning that I didn't really know him at all. Through my tears, I open one of the earliest journals and flip through the pages, my blurred vision catching on achingly familiar words.

Mother is dead. It was sudden…and entirely unexpected. Even as I write the words, I'm having trouble comprehending what they really mean. But the worst part is father – he refuses to tell me what happened! All I know is that even he, one of the best medical ninja in the continents, couldn't save her.

I've never seen him so angry…and it's kind of scary. Whatever may have occurred, it's obvious he blames the village council…but I can't figure out why. It's so frustrating not being able to understand! I can only assume he has his reasons for keeping me in the dark, but I wish he trusted me more. Just because I'm not a ninja like he is doesn't mean he can't talk to me!

As I sit here, I can hear him throwing things around upstairs, and I think we'll be leaving Taki soon…whether the council wants us to or not. I won't be sorry to go; I'm tired of the other boys making fun of me for not wanting to be a ninja. Plus, the idea of a journey outside the village sounds exciting and I hope it will help keep my mind off of the fact that mother is gone...

I continue to read, becoming thoroughly engrossed in my father's 13-year-old self. His assumptions were right; having no surviving relations in Taki, his father defied the council and left, swearing he would never set foot in the village of his birth again. They took very little with them, but it seemed his father already had a plan. In the next village over he purchased camping equipment and an elaborate covered cart, which he then filled with books of all shapes and sizes.

"So that's how my father got into the book selling business…." I think to myself, realizing he'd never mentioned it before.

Flipping impatiently through the pages, another entry suddenly catches my eye.

We've met the most fascinating girl! Her name is Mika and I think she's read almost as many books as I have. She's been coming to the cart to browse and chat with us almost every day. Although she claims to live in the village, father believes she's hiding something. He says her demeanor is much more noble than that of a simple villager. I suppose he might be right; she's definitely more interesting to talk to than any other girl I've ever met. There's a festival tomorrow and I've invited her to watch the fireworks with me. Maybe if I confront her with our suspicions she'll tell me the truth…

Mika…my mother?! Father refused to even say her name after she was reported missing. To finally learn something new about her is more than I could have hoped for. I'm just about to turn the page when I hear hurried footsteps on the stairs and Iruka's slightly panicked voice calling out, "Emiko?! Emiko, where are you?!"

Wiping hurriedly at eyes that are once again brimming with tears, I close the journal and call out, "I'm in here – father's room!"

"No you're not! He shouts from upstairs, voice a little calmer. "I just looked there."

"Well, you obviously didn't check the closet…"

I hear footsteps getting closer until his face appears above me, looking both relieved and annoyed. "You didn't answer the door when I knocked…I got worried. What are you DOING in here?"

Smiling at his concern, I slowly pat the floor beside me and he takes a seat, eyeing me warily. Tsume quickly rises and makes herself at home in his lap. He grimaces at the over-sized furball as I say, "You know, you don't have to check on me every single day; I promise I'm not going to do anything crazy…like slit my wrists."

He looks startled for a second and then replies, "That's not funny, Emiko."

"I'm not trying to be funny…I'm just telling you…I'm okay…"

In all honesty, I'm actually glad he comes every day. Iruka's the only one who's been constantly by my side throughout everything. From my hospital recovery, to the funeral arrangements and beyond – he's helped me through it all. Of course, I did receive an obligatory visit from the 3rd Hokage, and Shikaku-sensei has stopped in a couple of times with heaping pacakges of food courtesy of Yoshino, but that's pretty much it. I vaguely remember seeing Kakashi at the funeral, but not since then. Of course, with the ANBU now watching my every move, we haven't been able to meet for our training sessions, but I keep hoping he'll stop by, even if it's just to offer some moral support. Regardless, having Iruka's company to look forward to has been (and still is) a much needed comfort. But, I don't want him feeling obligated to visit me every day, especially since his work keeps him so busy.

My friend gently eyes my tear-streaked face looking a little helpless and a little uncertain, but stays silent.

"It's only been a month," I reply to his unvoiced concern. "I'm allowed to cry if I feel like it, and…well…reading through all these journals…" I trail off, shrugging halfheartedly.

"Is that what those are?" he asks, gesturing to the books piled up behind me. "Well, I guess it explains what you're doing in here."

I nod slowly. "Apparently my father kept journals for most of his life. I got so absorbed with reading them that I didn't hear you knock…I'm sorry if I worried you…"

My friend laughs lightly. "Well…I probably shouldn't have panicked…but the Hokage still doesn't seem to have any idea who those ninja were working for or why they wanted you…I know he's got the ANBU watching this place 24/7, but…well…"

"Hey," I pat my friend's leg softly, trying to reassure him. "Everything's going to be okay. For all we know it was just a case of mistaken identity. Who on earth would be interested in me?"

Iruka looks unconvinced, but says, "I guess your right…How about I make you a deal? I promise to stop worrying so much…if you promise to start going outside again. You haven't stepped a foot out of the house since you got back from the hospital…" He continues before I can protest. "…which is why I'm taking you out for lunch today – even if I have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you all the way to Ichiraku myself!"

I laugh at his words, but I can tell my friend's serious about getting me to go outside. "Okay," I sigh in mock defeat. "It's a deal…if you don't mind an entourage of ANBU following us around…"

"The more the merrier!" Iruka exclaims as he rises and pulls me happily to my feet. Tsume yowls in displeasure over being dumped out of her prime napping place, but still follows us all the way to the door, winding in and out of Iruka's legs the whole time.


Our walk to Ichiraku is blissfully uneventful, although having the invisible eyes of the ANBU on me is more than a little unsettling. Iruka willingly does all of the talking, which puts me at ease…it's not that I don't want to speak with him, I just can't seem to think of much to say. Mostly he tells me about his students, the classes he's teaching and the lessons he's working on, and I listen happily, commenting on occasion.

As much as I don't want to admit it, a day out of the house is exactly what I needed. It feels surprisingly good to be doing something "normal", good enough that while Iruka and I eat, the idea of finally re-opening the shop sounds more and more appealing the longer I think about it. Then I remember all of those journals waiting for me back at the house and decide the shop can wait for a few more days.

After lunch, Iruka walks with me back to the house. When we get to the door he asks with uncertainty, "So…umm, I know earlier you said it didn't matter…but…can I still come tomorrow?"

Instead of answering his question, I wrap my arms around him in an impromptu hug, trying to reassure my friend. When I pull away, he's blushing furiously.

"You do realize that you just hugged me in front of an entire squad of ANBU, right?"

Laughing softly, I reply. "Iruka, today you managed to make me feel better than I've felt in a very long time. I think that deserves a hug, don't you?"

"Well…umm…that's what ramen's for, right?" He smiles, but grief flickers briefly across his features.

With sadness, I return the smile. "Exactly…thank you."

"So, then…is that a yes for tomorrow?"

"Definitely."