IX.
Where Leaves Dance

They return to the Hidden Leaf on a windy afternoon, dragging along a scorching sunset at their backs.

Tsunade's mood decidedly cheers as they near the village, to the point where Orochimaru actually has to hammer on his step to keep pace with her. The woman has definitely been in a rush throughout their journey into the Land of Fire, and, while his reasons diverge vastly and darkly from hers, the same can be said about her dark-haired teammate. Of course that doesn't stop her from taking no less than one hot springs, three drinking, and five gambling detours, from which they both come off as good as broke.

Well, Orochimaru is broke. Tsunade has managed to go broke and in debt.

Orochimaru doesn't even shake his head at her financial recklessness anymore. He attributes it to a fatal combination of being born into good fortune, having grown up under the bad influence of a bettor grandfather, and having a natural inclination to spend—or invest, as she likes to put it—more quickly than even her enviable missions record can earn back. What's even worse is that since their childhood years Tsunade has made a nasty habit of dragging her snake teammate to these unsavory, seedy cabarets she takes to, and for no other reason than out of silly superstition. Snakes bring good luck, she always tweets, as if that explains the half of it.

Orochimaru never grasped the logic behind the woman's obsessive urge to bet away everything she has laying odds on dice, sweepstake, roulette, poker, wheel of fortune and Lord knows what other hokum, relying on something as imponderable as luck to dip the scales in her favor. Truth be told, whenever she falls into one of her fits she is not at all unlike Jiraiya.

Honestly, the stupidity of both his teammates sometimes. Tsunade with her luck and Jiraiya with his fate, equal parts slaves to this Fortuna they both can't stop going on about. It's irrational, usually ends up leading to catastrophe, and Orochimaru doesn't get it in the slightest.

"It was the snap," Tsunade has tried justifying her latest failure, as if the excuse would somehow magically materialize between her wiggling fingers.

Orochimaru recalls quirking an incredulous eyebrow. "Twenty-six times in a row?"

She rewarded him with one of her impossibly sweet, notorious smiles. "Shush, or I'll kill you."

He has not dared press her any further.

Orochimaru decides not to dwell on the little irritations that have punctuated their laggard trip anymore, choosing to turn his focus to the myriad of activity sprawling ahead of them. At last, the Hidden Leaf. People are scuttling like ants in the shadows of motley buildings that sprout over one another with all the orderliness of bumbling mushrooms, the entire village resting at the feet of the Hokage Rock like an exotic oasis of peace and quiet in the middle of a war-torn desert.

Neither for the first nor for the last time in his lifetime does Orochimaru swallow down the scoff before it reaches his pale white face. The gullibility of them all. Sarutobi-sensei's governance has bred a herd of complacent, perfectly docile sheep. Nurtured with ignorance and nourished with hope or some such nonsense. The wolves could come at your doorstep and you wouldn't even recognize them…

What matters is they have returned. The customary outline of the ever-open central gates manifests languidly before their eyes. A few more strides' worth of waiting and they will each get on with their much anticipated tasks.

They are welcomed by a familiar whirl of leaves—the strong wind swirling around them like a caring parent, as if to greet them, bringing the smell of freshness along with a helix of blurry shamrock dots, greener and thicker than anywhere their ventures have led them—and a very indolent Sakumo Hatake. The man is perched on the high entrance arch, effectively replacing half of the welcoming notice with his body so that now it reads 'Welcome to the village of the—lounging silver-haired ninja—Leaf'. Passersby throw their heads up at him and whisper among themselves in hushed perplexity or disapproval, yet the man's growing reputation is already enough to keep most of his opposers at arm's length. A truth proven by the fact that no one seems to dare tell him to come down. The man remains seemingly unperturbed by any of this, head rested on one of his hands casually while he holds up a carefully bound book to his face with the other.

"Sakumo!" Tsunade sings out, shielding her eyes from the bleeding sun as she squints up. "Sakumo Hatake! Is that you?"

The man doesn't seem in any particular hurry to lower his reading matter, but when he does, he casts them a benign smile. "Oh, so you've returned. I suppose that's a 'welcome home', then."

The man's typical impassiveness is there in his voice, as usual. If Orochimaru didn't know better, he might be left under the impression that this man has little care for anything in this world. But his devotion to the Hidden Leaf runs deep, Orochimaru knows. Much deeper than first meets the eye.

"I see you've come back before us!"

"It appears so."

"So was your mission a success?"

"Mhm. Yours?"

Tsunade lowers her head, golden locks framing her crestfallen face. "Well…"

"We had a traitor in our ranks," Orochimaru explains laconically. "Walked us straight into an ambush." He and Sakumo have something of a rivalry going on between them that dates back to their academy days—a good, productive rivalry that helps the both of them to improve, certainly nothing like his rows with Jiraiya—and Orochimaru does not like to fall behind on anything without citing a solid reason for it.

They have panned out in staying on equal ground as they progressed through their chunin years, he and the Hatake scion, forever sharing the primacy of their generation. They even got their jounin promotions on the same day, after a succession of impeccably carried out A-rank missions and Sarutobi-sensei overseeing a particularly ardent sparring session between the two of them. It was exactly three months before the war broke out and Orochimaru still remembers the pride, respect and tinge of envy with which his teammates looked upon him in those days when he was assigned the crew leadership, them no longer team Hiruzen, no, but a death squad with a clear mission.

That is until they followed in his footsteps after proving their valor through a few swift victories across the rocky dunes of the Hidden Sand. Sakumo's teammates followed too, as if only to aid him in matching Orochimaru in this domain as well.

Even now their respective fame is somewhat leveled, although they have taken to different battlefields. The Hidden Leaf's silver and onyx generals, that's what they call him and Sakumo whenever they stroll through the village side by side, countless of saucer-eyed, dull looks stitched to them, full of hope for the leaders of tomorrow.

And they certainly deserve the reputation, even if Orochimaru has no plans of fulfilling the role society seems to except from him.

Sakumo's many exploits in the torrid heart of the Hidden Sand have earned him the singular nickname of the Leaf's White Fang, renowned words that strike fear into the hearts of his enemies already. Orochimaru's own feats in the Hidden Stone and now the Hidden Rain have secured him a breath on everybody's lips, as they mention him with respect and wonderment, he who is due to surpass the Hokage himself, the prodigy, the genius, and now one of the Sannin as well—the three lion-hearted figures who stood their ground against none other than the Salamander devil himself. Of course it will be a while before that last bit gets to truly sink in people's minds, but they will come around. Orochimaru is patient. He can wait for power and influence to come to him. He has nothing but time.

And, given his recent research, he might even have more of it on his hands than the mundane chains of biological laws have predetermined. Much, much more…

Sakumo nods his head grimly, hearing Orochimaru's words now, scratches his head pensively. "A sellout, huh… There seems to be a lot of these running around lately."

They each fall silent, wordlessly agreeing with the somber sentiment.

"Aren't you going to ask about Jiraiya?" Tsunade wonders.

Sakumo smiles sheepishly. "Oh, I assumed from your happy waltzing into the village that there was nothing to worry about."

Tsunade sighs, but cracks an impressed grin. "I see you haven't lost your sharpness while we were away. I guess that early jounin promotion wasn't wasted on you, huh? Yes, you got that right. The moron's fine alright… and you'll never believe where he asked us to drop him off."

"Oh? So what is it this time?" Sakumo's smile widens, almost scampishly. "A damsel in distress? A married damsel in distress? Could it be both?"

"War orphans," Orochimaru answers impassively, keeping the curdling away from his lips. "In the middle of the Hidden Rain."

Sakumo's perceptive black eyes narrow, versatile as ever, understanding reading in their bottomless pits. "Well, I suppose it was due to come to this eventually."

Tsunade kicks a pebble out of her way, a frog of all creatures jumping out from beneath it by chance or fate. She is too young for the lines on her face. "Idiots will be idiots…"

Sakumo smiles encouragingly down at her, in a similar fashion to Jiraiya's nonchalant beaming whenever he is trying to soothe their female counterpart, but nothing quite so devoted. Still, it's an expression of friendliness that exerts a heartening effect on Tsunade, one Orochimaru himself never seems to be able to muster. "It's all water under the bridge, now. And if there's one person who can pull off such a bold move, it's definitely him."

Tsunade seems to dust off the dejection from her face with some effort. "Yeah…"

"So, have you two spoken to Lord Hokage yet?" They both shake their heads. "Sent word that you were coming, at least?" Another negative. "Oh my. You better hurry along, then. I swear that man has gained a white hair for each day you three have been absent. I'd expect to be in for some serious loving if I were you."

Tsunade dips her head in acknowledgment and grabs Orochimaru by the sleeve, hauling him along like a human trailer.

He gives a half-hearted struggle to break his wrist free from her grip, which is proving to be a difficult enough task, considering she has the physical prowess to snap him in two. "Not your bag of groceries, Princess…" Orochimaru mutters lowly, so lowly he'll be surprised if she's even caught it.

Tsunade disperses his annoyance with a royal, dismissive wave of her finger in front of his face. "Yes yes… It's just that you can be such a sluggish hiker sometimes." The accusation is entirely out of hand. His strides are perfectly adequate. It's just that he refuses to keep pace with her moods, and that irks her. "If anyone gets to be that, it's me, you know. Get it? I summon slugs."

Orochimaru barely suppresses an eye roll. "That's hardly of consequence. I am perfectly capable of walking by myself. You don't have to always lug me like one of your underclothing boutique shopping carts—"

"Keep it up, Orochimaru!" Tsunade glances back up at Sakumo—who is observing them from his improvised daybed atop the arch, the deep lines creeping under his eyes turned up in mild amusement—and smiles nervously at him, cheeks flaming up. "Uh… Thanks for giving us the heads-up, Sakumo! We'll see you around!"

"No problem. By the way, Orochimaru," Sakumo calls after them. Orochimaru turns to face him. "Competition's becoming a bit stale these days. Don't be a stranger. Come spar with me again sometime."

A smile ghosts across Orochimaru's colorless lips. "Perhaps I will."

They haven't even made it to the elongated shade of the dome-like Hokage mansion when Hiruzen Sarutobi intercepts their path, scant of breath and in slight disarray, his customary full-length haori flying around him in agitated carmine-and-white waves, the Hokage hat just a bit askew as it mounts his grizzled head.

Tsunade saws the air in greeting, shouting out their arrival from afar. "We're home, sensei!"

The Hokage sashays across the busy street with the swiftness of a panther, drawing the surprised gazes of chance passersby. The man moves all too quickly for someone who is supposedly treading the beginnings of his dotage. Their teacher stands before them, Orochimaru already towering a few inches above him, the oddest mixture of gratitude, relief and a touch of heartache tautening his senescent face.

Tsunade greets politely, bowing her head in respect on behalf of the both of them, her typical concern of a medic apparent in the way she worriedly inspects the livid expression of their former tutor. "Hey, Sarutobi-sense—"

The man catches them both off guard when he steps forward and hugs them, throwing his arms around their necks and pulling them down for an unadulterated display of misguided teacherly affection.

"My pupils…"

Orochimaru finds the crack in their quondam teacher's voice nothing short of pathetic. That and the way he clings to his students like a drowning man to straws, unbecoming of the Hokage, nearly breaking their vertebrae in his momentary spur of rushing emotions. On top of that, the close proximity of the man has always unsettled Orochimaru on more than one level. He usually does not like to be touched, but when he does it, it galls him even more than the act of physical contact in general. Not so much for its somatic aspect as for the misplaced parental undercurrent he always detects from these ordeals. Orochimaru has not been in need of a parent's touch in years, a simple fact Sarutobi-sensei cannot seem to absorb in his principled little mind, and subsequently let go of.

"I sent you on that course of action," the Hokage yammers bitterly, his words full of honorable, nonsensical regret. And people wonder where Jiraiya gets it from. "It was my foolishness as a Hokage that led you on a path to Hanzo of the Salamander. If something had happened to any of you three, I would have never forgiven myself."

"There there, it's OK, sensei," Tsunade mumbles, patting their teacher's back and shaking shoulders soothingly. "We made it back in one peace, didn't we?"

The Hokage draws back, sucking in a deep breath before reassuming a more becoming stance for an industrial and military leader. The many spectators that have discreetly gathered round to bear witness to the scene get on with their afternoon chores, but not before smiling at the heartfelt reunion, or leering jestingly at the Hokage's softness.

"And where is Jiraiya, that rascal? I heard he wasn't with you on the border." As usually, news reaches the Hokage more quickly than anticipated. "Someone even said you two had initially reported him dead, but then went and marked him off-duty. You cannot imagine what you've done to my health!"

"See, Orochimaru," Tsunade scolds. "That stunt you pulled has nearly given Sarutobi-sensei a heart-attack."

The Hokage smiles indulgently. "Well, I wouldn't go as far as this…"

"I mean," Tsunade goes on in her scientific tone, oblivious to the irritated vein that throbs on their former scholar's forehead, "he's practically an old man now. We should be more careful with how we deliver our news because his cardiovascular system is that much more likely to burst to bits—"

Their former sensei coughs loudly. "Ahem! I am in perfectly good health, thank you very much. But it's always nice to hear a confirmation from a specialist, Tsunade."

Tsunade bites her lip and crosses her arms, pouting, sliding back into the role of the thoroughly spoiled village princess in a heartbeat. Orochimaru honestly prefers her like when they are out there, surrounded by enemies, as war pulls out the raw lioness from within her and puts a wild glimmer in her eye; when she is covered in blood and killing with little hesitation. That's when he sometimes feels, briefly, as if she could one day grow to understand him and his reasons. But then their missions draw to a close and those thoughts slip far away from his mind. How could she possibly understand? He wonders how the idea has ever crossed his mind in the first place, whenever he gets to see her like this, all soft and harmless, sheathing her claws of her own free will. The change in her almost disgusts him. She'll never be able let go completely and utterly the way he has, Orochimaru realizes. Deep down, Tsunade is still a coward.

The Hokage sighs tiredly. "So where, pray tell, did Jiraiya run off to? Don't tell me it's an angry husband all over again."

Orochimaru finds it slightly comical, how everyone keeps expecting the same sort of depraved indiscretions from their white-haired teammate. Not that the perverted man hasn't given them plenty of cause to presume the worst of him in the past.

Tsunade shrugs in seeming indifference, but it's clear to Orochimaru that she is trying to keep the emotion form her voice. At least she has some sense of preserving her self-image as a respectful ninja. "No, he's off resolving daddy issues with some Hidden Rain orphans this time."

Sarutobi-sensei's face obtains a reflective expression, a touch more appropriate for the Hokage title. "I suppose it can't be helped… Jiraiya has never been one to look the other way when faced with troubled individuals. We shall simply have to put our trust in him and await his safe return."

Orochimaru crosses his arms, serpentine eyes drifting towards the village aviary, where birds fly in an out on a string of clapping wings and distant croaks. "His was not the only return that got hindered, of course… None of this would have happened had we been able to carry on with our mission."

"Yeah, sensei. We got double-crossed. We don't know who did it. There was barely enough time to exchange introductions so we didn't get all of their names." Tsunade lowers her eyelids guiltily. "It all happened very fast so we aren't sure who died when... We weren't able to identify most of the corpses during the battle, but we counted them, and one had definitely escaped." She steps forward, clutching her precious necklace. "If there's anything we can do to help, sensei—"

"The matter is being looked into," the Hokage cuts her off sternly, confirming Orochimaru's suspicions that the man has already delved into the affair personally. "You two can rest assured."

Orochimaru closes his eyes. So you'd sooner leave your students in the dark than allow him to be privy to these secret matters, sensei… Not very fatherly of you, now, is it? Not at all. "Hm."

"What took you two so long to get back anyway?" the Hokage inquires, shifting the subject all but blatantly.

Orochimaru clicks his tongue, side eyeing Tsunade pointedly. "We would have arrived sooner if someone hadn't stopped to gamble, repeatedly."

Tsunade groans, but throws her head to the side in capitulation. Sarutobi-sensei sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh dear. I trusted you'd restrain her this time, Orochimaru."

"I'm not her keeper," Orochimaru answers plainly.

Sarutobi-sensei rubs his temples, as if fighting to fend off an impending headache. "Just how much is this going to cost me?"

Next to him, Tsunade is already giggling nervously. "N-not that much! I only played a little this time, you see..."

"Nine hundred sixty-seven thousand, three hundred fifty-eight Ryo," Orochimaru clarifies.

Tsunade shoots him a homicidal glare. "Didn't you, like, just say you weren't my keeper?"

"Now now, don't start on it, you two," the Hokage cuts in in a didactic fashion. "You've both just made it back from a long and tiresome mission; don't let your frustrations get the best of you."

They both stare their teacher down wearily. "Didn't you kind of… just do that same thing when you went all cuddly on us, sensei?" Tsunade mutters quietly.

The Hokage brushes off the accusation with a fit of throaty, exaggerated laughter. "Ahahaha! Let's not point fingers from day one, eh, Tsunade? You must be very tired, and trust your old sensei's word for it when I tell you that you could both use a good shower! Ahahaha!"

They visibly cringe at their teacher's pitiful attempt to get out of the tight spot. And to think the man is an accomplished diplomat…

"You two go on ahead now," the Hokage urges them with a pat to their backs. "But make sure you stop by Shushuya later tonight. We'll be arranging something of a celebration to honor your and Sakumo Hatake's return."

Tsunade's eyes glint mischievously at the mention of free alcohol. "A party? How nice!"

"Will you have the time, sensei?" Orochimaru scoffs, already dreading the idea of another loud, overcrowded, and utterly redundant get-together.

"I always make time for my students, Orochimaru," the Hokage answers earnestly. "Just like you will for yours one day, if you so happen to wear this hat…"

The man's fingers skip over the triangular token of the Hokage authority, lowering it over his head, and it might be just Orochimaru's imagination but he senses a certain degree of protectiveness in the gesture. How could I wear it, sensei? You don't seem to be in a hurry to take it off yourself…

That last bit is treading muddy waters. Orochimaru narrows his hazel eyes at the man before he and Tsunade depart for their respective houses, not at all certain whether their sensei's final words have been a warning, an educator's naive hopefulness, or something else entirely.

At evening, the Hidden Leaf is as sparkly as a long and twisting garland. The mercantilism of it all, the sheer meretriciousness of every lantern goggling down with its single yellow eye at bustling crowds—bare shoulders brushing against one another casually like it's nothing, the scent of salty sweat that Orochimaru's sensitive tongue picks up involuntarily dampening the air to the point of constriction—every colorful, umbrella-like rooftop that floats lower level ninja's junket on the occasion of completing their first C-rank mission or something equally negligible, all of it has slipped Orochimaru's memory in the weeks past. But now he is being unpleasantly reminded as to why he hates roving the village at night, unless it's to take in a fresh test subject for his latest experiment from the local prison.

Which brings him to another sour matter. Thanks to being forced to partake in this little sociable roundup, he has had but a few moments to tend to his apartment, which has been empty and neglected for weeks, see to his grooming and take care of his stacked chores without being late for the stupid carousal. Because he will absolutely not leave his house without dusting.

Jiraiya might have sneered at his rigor, but then again Jiraiya likes controlled chaos. Clings to it, even. Causes it when it is not there. Orochimaru is a man of order. He detests it when his house falls into a state of shambles and nothing has its rightful place anymore—something he most graphically remembers as a natural aftereffect of his teammates' coercive sleepovers, when they'd come to his quarters uninvited and invasive and grinning, sporting goofy smiles, footie pajamas and questionable personal hygiene tools that made his blood curdle in fear for his property. He still recalls the events vividly, like straight out of a horror show, when those two used to violate his lounge in the cruelest ways imaginable with their movables scattered into incoherence and their muddy sandals staining his carpeted floors.

But those fits of terror have thankfully diluted over the years.

They rarely come to visit anymore—they haven't the time, what with their team disbanded and all of them occupied as prominent jounin. Orochimaru is thankful to be spared the headaches, but it does get… quiet sometimes. At least there was movement back then. He hates it even more when things go stale around here, must and cobwebs coating his scanty possessions with their grey blankets.

But that is nothing compared to the frustration of not getting as much as a wistful glance at either of his laboratories. This, this has been the true blow. After so many weeks away from his carefully wrapped bloodline tissues and stem cell samples, he doesn't even get to say hello on his first night back, forced to sit through a night of pointless socializing that will not benefit his strivings in the slightest.

Orochimaru scrubs his room clean in screeching silence, all the while feeling like he's had something precious snatched away from his grasp by cruel hands. Soon, he tells himself. Patience. Power comes to those who know when to bide their time.

The Shushuya inn is and has always been a sabbatical nest for the better part of their generation, a dimly lit tavern where sake flows freely, as do people's tales. Strictly speaking, Orochimaru's and Sakumo's teams are the better part of their generation, the most accredited one at least. But that never seems to stop the others from flocking in around them, as if they have any right to share their air.

They are all sitting alongside an oblong oaken table, Sarutobi-sensei helming the unfortunate brunch, ordering beverage, sashimi and sweets for everyone, albeit, Orochimaru notices, without making any explicit commitment to the final bill. Orochimaru has lost count of just how many people have been able to fit into the medium-sized restaurant. It feels like half the village. Knowing his luck, it's probably the more annoying half.

"And, and that time when lord Orochimaru saved me," Amanone, Sakumo's former teammate, frets and flusters next to Orochimaru, blushing heavily. It's a terribly crass hue that makes the young woman's face look like a ripe plum more than anything, certainly nothing like Tsunade. Orochimaru doesn't remember the incident she is jabbering on about. In all honesty, no one seems to remember it aside from the girl herself. Probably because it never happened, at least not in the way she's telling it.

"You were so awesome that day, Orochi!"

Orochimaru hates hearing that nickname when it isn't Jiraiya—or occasionally a drunken Tsunade—that uses it. His teammates, who have been the original progenitors of the obnoxious appellation, have earned the privilege of only slightly annoying him at this point whenever they catcall the sobriquet facetiously. Any outsider, however, should never have the audacity to presume to call him that.

The woman leans her shoulder blatantly against him, her short kunoichi skirt riding up her sleek crossed thighs. It causes Orochimaru to drift ever so subtly in the opposite direction, and subsequently bump into Tsunade who is sitting there at his other side, which in turn ends up with his female comrade pressing uncomfortably against the wall.

"Hey, Orochimaru..." Tsunade murmurs tersely. "Keep your girlfriend at bay, will ya? Five more minutes of this and I might as well skulk off through the wall."

"She's not my girlfriend." Orochimaru has never considered what would make an agreeable partner for him should he suddenly get interested in these matters, but binding himself to a female that would bear him stupid children is definitely out of the question. "And you might recall I was against this whole charade from the start."

Amanone squawks right over their hushed conversation, threading a manicured fan of fingers through her midnight blue locks, a touch similar to Orochimaru's own but nothing so refined, blinking up at him with her doe-like eyes.

How is this creature even a jounin?

"Well..." Tsunade whispers agitatedly in his ear. "Girlfriend or not, she seems quite spellbound by you. She thinks you're very hush-hush, you know. Some girls like that sort of thing."

"I'm not interested in what girls like or dislike, Tsunade."

"...Want me to roughen her up a bit, woman to woman? Buddha knows that giant head of hers could use a good bashing."

Tsunade doesn't like it when girls take a closer interest in him, no more than Orochimaru himself. He can't find a reason to complain against this particular trait in her character, inexplicable as it is, as it's spared him many embarrassing situations in the past when she has dealt with obsessive, clingy girls for him.

She's probably even more eager to take full advantage of the occasion this time, considering the fact that she and Amanone faced off during the chunin exam finals, with Tsunade winning the match along with the promotion by narrow margins. Orochimaru recalls some unpleasantries being exchanged, vain words and empty threats that long since mean nothing to anyone save for the two women. Girls have a ridiculously long memory, Orochimaru has come to understand.

"Princess, I don't need assistance fending off a simple—"

"Orochi senpai, pay attention to me!"

The dark-haired woman clutches his upper arm like she is holding on for dear life, trying to force-feed him a spoonful of her miso soup. Maybe he'll take it back.

"He's not interested you cronk," Tsunade barks over him, breathing heavily. Her nostrils flare with the chagrin she's been grinding down for the past half an hour or so as she slams her fist against the wooden table so that it quakes vigorously. Drinks spill all over it to the accompaniment of muffled ululations from the unfortunate few who've had their cups resting on the plot. "So back off before I bung you up."

Amanone stares daggers with her glistening obsidian eyes. Tsunade's molten ambers match her acrimony and then some. Orochimaru sighs, feeling helpless as he gets caught in the crossfire of their tastelessly candid squabble. Not that it matters. They are both so drunk they probably won't even remember to properly hate each other in the morning.

They are well into the evening and into their cups, Orochimaru mostly an observant with his humble first glassful left almost untouched, when Sarutobi-sensei raises a drunken toast. The blood is rushing through his ears and a proud glimmer swims in his glassy eye as he speaks, keeping a hand to the table to steady his lurching (Sakumo dared him to out drink Tsunade, so he did).

"To Sakumo Hatake and my three students here, even though one is presently absent from our merry table. Let us take joy in the safe return of some of our brightest talents. Our hopes and dreams for the future may lie with all of our extraordinary youth, but know that our testament as teachers, defenders and pillars to this village is bound to you four in particular. May you lead this country down a better path than we have, and may the will of fire forever guide your hand as you do."

The enthusiastic drumming of fingers against the table plot fills the room, the entire saloon shaking from the force of their joined effort to disgrace the ninja name. "Here here!"

"Now tell us all!" someone calls out, and that is when Orochimaru knows the worst has come to be.

They are going to want the details. And they are no doubt going to want passionate narrators to describe them.

"Tell us of your grand exploits!"

"We want to hear every juicy detail!"

"Yeah, don't leave us hanging!"

Orochimaru sighs. He has feared something like this would come to fruition. His tired yellow eyes meet Sakumo's resigned black ones across the table. The silver-haired man gives him a knowing smile, shrugs with a sort of philosophical acquiescence Orochimaru just can't force himself to marshal.

"Well…" Sakumo volunteers valiantly, even though it's clear to Orochimaru that the man enjoys it no more than he will, come his turn to speak. "I guess the Hidden Sand is as good a place to start as any." His effort is welcomed by claps and coos of approval. "Shall I begin then?"

Sakumo proceeds to tell a tale of blood and sand and many dead buried in the fell folds of the desert's chromic skirts. Orochimaru can appreciate how the man does not attempt to portray himself the gallant hero—something most of their coevals claim to be but none of them truly are—does not turn the raw adagio of war into a carol, and generally reports events as they have occurred. The crowd is spared no gory detail, and by the time Hatake gets to the part where circumstances have apparently forced him to slay man and wife in cold blood and leave them with no other grave but the embrace of their broken puppets, the mood around the table has considerably dampened.

"Chiyo of the Sand won't forgive," Sarutobi-sensei muses grimly, the words coming out of his mouth slightly slurred but no less authoritative. "The death of her only son… not only she, the entire village won't take well to it."

"My sins will haunt me forever," Sakumo says humbly. "But they need not haunt our village as well. My actions are my own responsibility. If it comes to it, I shall face the consequences of what I have done by myself."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Tsunade utters sympathetically. "You've done what you had to do. The Hidden Sand would have done the exact same thing to us if their ninja were in your stead. We all do as we must in this war."

"Indeed," Sarutobi-sensei adds. "My students are no different. I'm sure they've both had to perform things they will not be proud to tell of to their descendants one day. But I am nonetheless honored to call them my former disciples." He lifts up his cup at Tsunade and Orochimaru, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Where leaves dance, fire burns. And I can easily tell the fire burns strongly within you. Even though it will be marked as a failure in the mission records, I want you two to know that surviving an encounter with Hanzo of the Salamander will be looked upon as anything but."

Everyone raves in congratulations. Orochimaru senses an undefined feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, but ultimately decides to think nothing of it. He counts the tiles that mock him with their sameness from the ceiling, utterly bored but at least thankful most of the jarring noises have died down.

"What about you two, Tsuna, Orochimaru?" someone cries out nastily amidst the many hushed conversations. "Got anything to tell us?"

"Yeah, don't think you're off the hook!"

"Don't be shy now, tell us all about Hanzo!"

"Was he tall?"

"Was he scary?"

"Did he have cat's teeth and three eyes?"

"A wart at least?"

"Tell tell tell!"

Orochimaru gives Tsunade a nudge under the table, but makes it look to the rest of them like he has been sitting uncomfortably.

Tsunade grunts, cupping her flushed cheeks with her hands. "I'm expecting sake money for a month!" she warns him grouchily.

"A week."

"Three weeks."

"A fortnight and that's the end of it."

She considers the bargain for a moment. "Hmph!" She stretches and pops her fingers. "Alright people, listen up!"

Orochimaru sets back into his seat, resting his head against the warm wall, cold thoughts swarming his mind. He registers the tale of their mission briefly as Tsunade recreates it for the rest of the group to relive, his mind already slipping towards the activities he has planned out for later tonight. By the time she is done talking, Orochimaru has dissected a hundred freshly obtained corpses in his head.

"Hey Orochimaru!" Tsunade's voice pulls him from his dark fantasies. "You with us?"

"...Huh?"

"Sakumo here asked you a question."

"Hm?"

"I was wondering how you managed to learn the Rashomon technique," Hatake repeats patiently, oblivious to the trouble his inquiry spells. "It's quite an impressive feat. I've been trying to get the formula for ages myself, but I suppose my teacher just hasn't been as benevolent as the Hokage here."

Orochimaru bites back a caustic comment. He has admittedly not paid the closest of attentions to Tsunade's depiction of their battle with Hanzo, but then again he hasn't anticipated her to get into that much detail. Sarutobi-sensei's disapproving gaze pins him like a pair of rusty, reprehensible nails. My, my. Orochimaru smirks inwardly, taking a twisted sort of pleasure in his teacher's uptight expression. Things might actually start to get interesting here soon.

They have discussed the jutsu in the past, him and his teacher, but Sarutobi-sensei has been adamant about abiding the same rules that apply to everyone else. Orochimaru considers his options. There is no direct way to prove the scroll has been… borrowed. He has taken the utmost care in replacing it with a carefully crafted forgery for the duration of his training, and when he was finished he made sure to slip the original right back where he'd taken it from.

Still, both Orochimaru and his teacher are in the know of the fact that he is capable of perfectly erasing his trails. It's not too difficult to imagine the suspicions that are probably swamping the Hokage's mind as they speak.

Orochimaru takes his time answering. This is his first major slip so far, he needs to tread cautiously. He does a fine job of ignoring his old teacher and the accusation, pain and disappointment hidden in his eyes. He'll deal with it later.

"I taught myself," he answers, carefully, his words in and of themselves a relatively truthful statement.

"Yes," Sarutobi-sensei chimes in with pursed lips. Even now, the man cradles too big an affection for his snake pupil, it seems, to condemn him openly for his actions of breaking the very law that the Hokage stands to embody. "He must have taught himself."

No one save Orochimaru appears to catch the edge the Hokage's voice has to it.

As chatter resumes and people go back to drowning their worries and their tired reflections in the bittersweet nectar of their cups, Orochimaru shares a look with his teacher. A look that, more or less, says it all.

This isn't close to being over.

notes:
Welcome aboard, UrbanDriver, Lunar Loon. Always thrilling to greet new readers who appreciate my work. Also, sorry for the long wait everyone, but school finals are just round the corner and I'm going bananas over here stressing over it all. Anyway, I hope to take less with next week's update, seeing as it's going to be a very very special chapter that I've been eager to write for a while now. [SPOILER ALERT, because I'm the only author who'll slightly spoil their own story in a fit of excitement] It's going to be a real baddie, you guys. You can expect some twisted!Oro action, and I know that's been long overdue. So you might, like, wanna stay tuned for that. Just saying.