Mari

Close to the edge of a low, rocky promontory, Mari sat and stared out over her knees at the surf – a deep, infinite blue flecked with foamy crests and rippled with bright ribbons where its rolling surface mirrored the late afternoon sun.

A dense cluster of thickets and thorny acacia trees shaded and shielded her from view from the ridge above while an old naval marker, a simple, weather-worn obelisk of white-painted concrete, towered off to the north.

Haku…the lean, black-haired girl thought again in deep introspection, but the emotions that accompanied the fugitive's name swayed uncertainly. Just what is it about him?!

Mari remembered with vivid, crystal clarity the first time she saw him, lying on the gravedigger's cart, bloody and still beside the form of his slain master. Life in the Land of Waves was hard and this was not the first time the lone Tezuka daughter had seen dead bodies.

Normally such sights engendered in her a somber, reflective mood, but that time had been different. His face, she recalled, picturing him in her mind once more. He was so beautiful, so tragic…like a fallen angel.

Mari rolled her eyes at the callow notion and shook her head reprovingly, shattering the dreamy spell the remembrance had cast over her. Nobody's an angel in this world, she reminded herself, especially not him!

The ocean wind picked up for a moment, stirring through her hair. In the sky above, seabirds banked and wheeled as they responded to the change.

The girl knew she was being unfair, maybe, even though unfair was exactly how she felt like being. After all, she'd known who and what Haku was from the start; her brothers had all told her of the young ninja's exploits: his many gruesome battles; the lives he'd claimed; and how he and his master, Zabuza, had almost killed the Mizukage and turned his fabled palace in Kirigakure into an abattoir so horrifying that even veteran mist-ninja could hardly bare to enter it after the two had finally been forced to withdraw. How then could she be surprised at finding out that what she'd never doubted was true, really was?

Mari grimaced. It wasn't as simple as that! Hearing stories about terrible battles where blood flows and people die is not the same as bearing witness to one, not the same thing at all!

A great wave crashed against the cliff's face down below, making the rock shiver from the impact and sending up an eruption of mist and spray. The girl closed her eyes and let her tan, freckled face lift toward its cooling drizzle and salty, elemental scent. This was one of her favorite places to be alone and think – here, where the land met the open ocean.

It's location was one of the few things she'd been able to keep secret from her numerous brothers, Far too many if you ask me, she thought sourly, and a village where everyone minded each others' business far more carefully then they minded their own.

When her dark eyes opened, they turned toward a visiting sandpiper which spared her a curious glance before it raced off. Smiling briefly at the bird's caprice, Mari's gaze wandered along the coastline then drifted up toward the old naval marker.

It had been there forever, or so it seemed, built to help passing ships orient themselves. And though the sea drew closer to it every year, battering at and infiltrating its foundations, it was not yet ready to surrender.

Mari, unable to bear distraction any more, turned back to the matter at hand.

So what was this whole last month? the girl asked herself. Was staying with us just part of his plan to hide out until the ANBU got tired of looking for him? Was he just playing a part; not just with mom, dad and my brothers, but with me too?

Probably, she concluded with a disgusted sigh. Deception was a ninja's food and drink, at least, that's what everyone said. And that 'everyone' included people who'd studied the subject a lot more than she ever did.

How could I be so dumb?! Mari's thoughts railed bitterly. As the girl considered this, she suddenly felt sick – her limbs convulsed, her cheeks flushed and she almost wanted to wretch. I should have known better, I guess.

Though young, Mari was certainly aware of the concept that ugly faces belonged sometimes to those whose hearts were golden, while pretty faces sometimes disguised those whose hearts were black.

Then too, living in a household packed wall-to-wall with boys had taught her practically from birth that even the most callous and awkward of them could be incredibly charming and convincing when they wanted something. It was like a faucet they could turn on or off, whenever it was convenient.

But…she allowed at last, her harsh verdict dissolving into a sea of second-guessing, is that Haku? I mean, he's not…well…not like normal boys.

Mari cringed at the brutal summary, however apt, but knew herself well enough to be mindful of her own innate pessimism – an inclination to always assume the worst. With everyone around her poor and desperate most of the time, she was rarely wrong.

Still…

Mari had watched the battle on the street unfold, for what seemed like a long while, between Haku and that mist-ninja, Eiji. She remembered how her heart sank at seeing Haku almost killed right there in front of her, and then again, when the ANBU had managed to get behind him with his knife. In a flash, though, Haku had turned things around and beaten him using a ninja art, a strange and terrible power called jutsu.

She'd seen too what had happened when that scary-looking girl, Juri, joined him, and how she'd gone after the ANBU captain while Haku's brutal fight with those other two ninja ensued.

Shortly after that, Jimon, who'd been as entranced by the spectacle as she, noticed the danger they were in then slung his protesting sister over his shoulder and fled.

By the time Mari had wrestled herself free, Haku had gone, along with the ANBU and that weird girl. Mari had spent futile hours looking for him, but knew from the start it was pointless. There was nowhere she could figure out where to look for him that his hunters wouldn't.

And just who the hell is this Juri person, anyway!? she fumed with surprising intensity. But that was a whole separate, yet integrally-related issue.

So is that how it is…Haku's a liar AND a killer?

Mari thought back to the time they'd spent together, desperate now for an answer. Even added up, it hadn't been very long; not nearly long enough to really get to know someone. But those hours had really meant something to her, those little moments here and there – the walks home from work; talking in the basement.

Again she came back to his face – that haunting image of him in her mind, pale and beautiful.

Love at first sight? Mari hissed with disbelief. How could that be? It doesn't make any sense. How can you love somebody on sight? You can't really know anybody like that! It takes months, years. Otherwise you only know what they look like, what you think they're like under the surface.

Mari sat, tried to still her thoughts and listened for awhile to the entrancing rhythm of the waves below – at the long, peaceful, languid lulls when the gentile surf caressed and lapped the shore, then suddenly, the thunderous interruption of a breaker spending itself in collision.

The uncertainty -- that's what really made things intolerable. Haku had gone and there was no way to tell if he would ever be back. At this moment, there was nothing Mari could do to find out how he really felt. Maybe she would never know.

So…what 'cha gonna do about it? The question, which took her by surprise, made her grimace with distaste.

It was exactly like something Jimon would say: no deliberation, no reflection or analysis, no delving into the deeper meanings of her situation, just a brute-force sledgehammer-and-shoehorn demand for decisive action…to wit: 'what cha gonna do about it?'

Mari's eyes narrowed to slits. Stupid boys, she thought acidly. I've lived with them so long, they're in my head!

But the question returned, this time in her own voice. So…what are you going to do about it?

Somehow the girl knew that unless she put forth an answer, even something quick and made-up, that the same stupid refrain would repeat over and over in her mind until she told herself something or she went completely crazy.

Do you love him? the question rose, and again that feeling swelled in the pit of her stomach. Mari closed her eyes and nodded reluctantly.

Do you love him enough to risk being made a fool of? This question hurt more and hit harder, but the girl sucked it up and again she nodded.

Then that's it. Wait and see.

Breathing a sigh, Mari Tezuka picked herself up and took another long look toward the horizon where the setting sun met the blue sea in a blazing river of light.

The decision she'd come to bolstered her, though it was neither satisfying nor comforting.

Preparing herself for the journey home, Mari started off, climbing up toward the ridge above.


Haku

The walls were stark white, freshly-painted concrete block, and the big, rectangular windows on the outside wall were a grid of closely-spaced, rusty steel mullions in-filled with textbook-sized panes of glass. Though the floor was bare concrete, it was smooth and clean. In an earlier day, the room might have been an office suite but the way it was furnished now suggested a Spartan but comfortable apartment. A small, round table flanked by two chairs sat in one corner, while a wardrobe stood in the other. The middle of the room was occupied by a futon, the frame of which could convert between a couch and a bed.

Haku knelt on the floor close to the window, bathed in its light, with his knees rested on a folded towel that served as a cushion, while the doctor Juri had called Dokonjonosuke finished up tending to the wounds on his bare back.

The man summoned to treat the wounded ninja didn't appear to be that old, having dense, brown hair, dull eyes, and an incurious sort of expression. He'd kept strangely quiet too, having said nothing more to his young patient than he'd had to. Whether this was from fear, distaste, or per some instructions the surgeon had been given, the ninja couldn't tell.

Whatever shortcomings as far as a 'bedside manner' were concerned, Dokonjonosuke was capable enough, thorough, and had brought with him a salve that seemed to 'weld' skin back together. After Eiji's knife, the rat ANBU's sparrow-dart and the horse ANBU's eel jutsu, this was exactly what Haku needed.

Once finished, the doctor simply packed up his medical bag and left, leaving the somewhat confused teenager all alone in the strange room.

Rising smoothly to his feet and wearing only a towel, Haku went to the window, resting a hand on the inoperative radiator hunkered below the sill. By all he could gather, he was on the third floor of some sort of factory building that had not been used in some time.

In the courtyard of the 'U'-shaped complex below, a contingent of men trained using practice weapons. The young ninja could tell from their attitudes and almost-artless movements that they were mercenaries – not driven by the pursuit of martial excellence for its own sake or some other deeply compelling purpose, but inspired only with as much passion as they were being paid for.

Haku couldn't help but scowl. Even if it wasn't these men specifically, it had been men just like them who'd killed Zabuza – not fairly by any means, but by spearing him in the back after his harrowing fight with the leaf-jonin, Kakashi.

Toward the back of the courtyard, at the base of the 'U's cup, sat an elegant, immaculately cared-for garden composed of trained shrubs, geometric flower beds, and winding gravel paths all centered around a pond stocked with fish.

What now? Haku thought in appraisal of his situation as he turned back to survey his chamber. He had no idea.

At once, he thought of Mari – a spark of painful recognition that forced his eyes closed and drove the breath from him in a slow, seeping exhalation. The girl had seen what the ninja hoped she never would. He need not ever ask her what she thought of him now, that look on her face had been enough.

Maybe it's better this way, Haku summed up and bit his lip, knowing it would take far more than that to drive her far from his thoughts. What were you going to do, he thought critically, take her with you on the run away from her family and friends so she could share your fugitive's life? Or give up your heritage, training and everything you've ever been to live near her in her parent's basement, praying every day that your many enemies wouldn't find you?

A door that was narrow even for his slender proportions led to a bathroom that had a small, tiled shower. Deciding to avail himself of it, he went in, turned the handles then stood beneath the steaming water and tried to think about nothing.

Once refreshed, Haku toweled himself dry and went to the wardrobe. Whoever his host was (and it was abundantly clear that Juri was not the mastermind here) had surmised his need for a surgeon, seen to furnishing a room he gathered he was intended to stay in, and disposed of his torn, soaked and blood-stained t-shirt, soggy boots and jeans.

It followed then that if there was a wardrobe, there would be fresh clothes in it.

Haku, not sure what to expect, rested his hands on the handles and pulled the lacquered wood doors open. A full length mirror hung on one leaf, while on the other…

The ninja's mouth fell open and his breath stopped in his chest.

On the other leaf, displayed nicely, hung the uniform he'd worn for years – a knee-length, short-sleeved robe of muted jade-green trimmed in tan, a brown, turtle-necked shirt and baggy, black hakima-style pants. Close to the opening for the neck, rested a white ANBU zodiac mask – the same, exactly the same, sort he'd worn what seemed like a lifetime ago; the same one he'd worn when he and Zabuza almost killed the Mizukage and seized control of the country, the same one that had been smashed to bits by Naruto Uzumaki's enraged fist on a bridge not far from where he now stood frozen, eyes wide.

Haku's hesitant fingers reached toward the mask as if uncertain of its existence. Making contact, they took tentative hold of it and brought it up before the young fugitive's face. Almost paralyzed by the power the too-familiar object had over him, Haku forced himself to put it back, then perused the wardrobes other contents.

In the big, bottom compartment at his left, were some fitted vests, lined with pockets and quivers full of senbon throwing-spines. Haku grinned, then withdrew one of the long, steel needles. His hand responded at once to the feel of it, and the ninja sent it spinning around and around between his dexterous, practiced fingers.

On a small shelf above he found various grooming accessories, a hairbrush, comb, lip gloss, nail kit and polishes in an assortment of colors. A pang of remembrance coursed through him as he selected a deep green; his favorite color.

On the clothes racks, he found an assortment of shirts, pants and…dresses.

Haku gulped then picked his way through the intoxicating selection of solid colors, geometric patterns and florals, elegant evening wear, quarter-shoulder, puff-shouldered, and triple-knits.

Taking one, he held it against his body and looked at himself in the mirror appreciatively. He always had been beautiful…as a girl. Even now with his long, raven hair cut a bit shorter, his slender waist infinitesimally thicker due to Mrs. Tezuka's home-cookin', and his smooth-featured face and long arms tan from working in the sun, Haku's distinctive, undeniably-feminine grace remained undiminished.

The ninja's grey eyes flickered up warily. Something wasn't right. No, the dress was fine; that wasn't it. He held no doubt that he'd look truly amazing in it, but that wasn't the problem.

Whoever's in charge here knows me awfully well, Haku considered, reappraising his situation and realizing the depth of his understatement, whereas I know nothing about them.

He looked again at his reflection and sighed.

And, he added, knowing he should know better, a shinobi should not allow himself to be moved…so deeply by inanimate objects.

"Sorry," Haku said to the dress then put it back, opting instead for loose-fitting, cloudy-grey fatigue pants, trail shoes, and a deep blue, wide-sleeved, thigh-length tunic to wear over an undershirt and senbon-laden vest.

The teenager tensed as the door opened quietly and a woman dressed all in gray entered, carrying a tray full of covered dishes and a steaming teapot. The savory aromas made Haku's stomach growl instantly.

"Excuse me…," said the ninja, bowing slightly, but the woman set her tray down on the small table, turned right around, and went back the way she'd come, closing the door behind her. She hadn't even looked up.

"Hmm," Haku considered then remembered that particular class of servants they had back in Water Country, the kind that served in the great old households – manciples who were trained to perform their duties without seeing or hearing, and expected to blend into the background without being noticed.

Staring at the door, Haku walked to the table and poked through the offerings – scallion pancakes, sweet, marinated beef, white rice, a variety of spicy, pickled vegetables, and hot tea. Being ravenously hungry and intrigued by the unusual board of fare, the young fugitive sat and ate. He'd already surmised that if Juri or her masters intended to poison him or do him any harm, they'd had more than enough opportunities.

A while after the ninja had finished, while he was trimming, sanding and painting his long-neglected fingernails, another manciple in grey appeared, cleared the table and departed. Haku decided not to press him with questions – it would be a challenge to the servant's training that he'd had possibly since birth.

Footsteps approached then stopped deliberately at the door. A knock followed.

"You may enter, please," announced Haku after a time he thought seemed neither rushed nor delayed, then rose to greet his guest…or more probably he presumed, his host.

The door opened and a man entered. Though very old, he stood tall and straight-postured. His confident, steely blue-eyed face was crowned by a mane of impeccably-groomed, silver hair.

The newcomer bowed to the surprised Haku, who returned the courtesy but made sure his bow was much lower.

"Ah," the man noticed then ventured, "do you know me?"

The young ninja smiled politely. "We've never met," he stated, a little ill at ease, "but I know you by reputation, Councilor Hirai."

A smile creased the old man's wrinkled, handsome features. "I shouldn't be surprised, considering how knowledgeable and well-traveled you are throughout the Land of Water." Before Haku could say anything, his host stayed him with a gesture. "I wish to say first what a singular honor it is to have as my guest a shinobi of your caliber, Haku. Rarely have I met one who has attained such skill at such a young age – a rare combination of ancestry and dedication. You do credit to your sensei, Zabuza Momochi, who was truly one of the greatest, if indeed not the greatest, ninja The Village Hidden in the Mist has ever produced."

The teenager blinked. "I…I don't know what to say. I didn't expect you of all people, one of the three members of Kirigakure's governing council, to speak so well of my late master, or of me."

"Oh?" the old statesman said with a grin, "you mean because of that unpleasant business with our Mizukage." He shrugged and gave a dismissive wave. "What's past is past. Although I confess that you two gave us fits, I must still applaud your efforts. Most people live and die as history's prisoners; few have the temerity to create history as you tried to, and in some ways, did."

The Councilor from the Land of Water sat down and Haku followed suit, hurriedly and self-consciously sweeping the nail kit, clippers, sanding board, and nail polish from the table.

Again, a quiet figure appeared, this time bearing a fresh pot of tea. He poured two cups full, set the pot on the table then made his way out – all without a word or even the slightest unnecessary motion.

Haku's benefactor took a sip of his tea, lingered contemplatively on its taste, then settled back in his chair before he spoke.

Their conversation developed then continued on for quite awhile on various interesting though mundane topics, as Haku half-suspected it would. The higher caste clans in Water Country liked a certain amount of 'getting to know you' small talk before they got to the point, or so he understood.

Already a bit off-balance at who Juri's mysterious master turned out to be, Haku found he really didn't have much to say, and floundered awkwardly. A lot of his life he found too personal to share with a relative stranger, especially one who had unknown designs on him.

This man, Lord Kissohomaru Hirai, already knew who the young ninja was, what he 'did for a living', and where he'd 'gone to school'. Really, most of the last eight years of Haku's life (those certain well-documented roaring rampages of destruction aside) had been spent training and were hardly worth talking about.

The best the teenager could come up with as far as interests and hobbies were that he'd spent his few hours of free time over those years trying to master calligraphy, reading the works of great sages (though he confessed their wisdom eluded him), and that he was fond of animals…especially bunny-rabbits.

The old luminary, though nonplussed at that last part, expressed great enthusiasm, admiration and support for those first two of his pursuits. So engaging and animated was he on the subjects that Haku soon found himself fascinated, drawn out, and fell willingly into the ebb and flow of a conversation with one of the few truly learned men he'd ever met.

Haku studied his host discreetly. There was no doubt that Lord Hirai was finding out more about him during this exchange too, but still, the young ninja noted the man's composed demeanor and gentle movements, the development of the tendons on the back of his hands, and the alert qualities of his eyes.

Until this moment, Haku was almost convinced that people like this existed only in history, in his imagination or as characters in books – a man who was royalty in the Land of Water, a ninja lord whose family had been one of its pillars since the dawn of civilization, commanded vast estates and fortunes undreamt of. For a person of such preeminence to share tea with someone like Haku, a penniless orphan, notorious criminal and fugitive from justice seemed to him truly unreal.

The old lion arrived at last at his destination. Haku marveled at how seamless his transition had been – moving effortlessly from a discussion about the past to talking about --.

"And so, young shinobi," said Lord Hirai in a casual, disarming voice, "what do you think when you think about the future?"
Haku paused for a moment, realizing at once that this was where his host had been going all along. "I suppose," the young man ventured cautiously, "I'll do the best I can when I get there."

The ninja lord brightened the room with his delighted expression. "Ha!" he pealed, "pithy." Lord Hirai raised an eyebrow then refreshed his tea while he illustrated, "Haku, the future is like an ever-branching tree with each fork marking an event…or a decision. You've been through some trying times these last few weeks, have you not? The death of your master, forced to live as a laborer, sleeping in a squalid basement, and, of course, your recent encounter with the ANBU."

The elderly statesman leaned forward and smiled at Haku with what the young teenager took to be genuine sympathy. "Had I told you the day before your now-famous battle at the bridge, that your life would take so many twists and turns, would you have believed me?"

The young man paused to take a reflective breath. "With respect, sir," Haku replied graciously, "probably not."

"It is difficult to know what will come. Would you care for a glimpse?"

The fugitive nodded.

"By the end of this week," Lord Hirai reported, "Wave Country will be in flames. The so-called Great Naruto Bridge and all the works that compass it shall be laid waste."

Haku blinked. The fugitive shinobi was going to ask if he was serious, but decided against it. Of course he was serious. Wetting his lips, the ninja opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then tried again. "Doesn't unprovoked military action violate every standing treaty that exists between the Hidden Villages, including the Hidden Mist?" he asked instead.

The councilor nodded. "It would, but the army I have assembled for the task have no rank-and-file mist-ninja in it, but rather hired swords left over from Gato's gangs, expatriates and rogues."

The young ninja hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Forgive me if I'm missing something basic, Lord Hirai, but why would the Mizukage wish to destroy the Land of Waves?"

"He doesn't," the old man clarified patiently. "I do. The reason why is that Wave Country is in transition. No one knows for certain what's going to happen here. All anyone can do is speculate, you see.

"Under Gato's de-facto autocracy, the country was stable. Now there's a power vacuum pulling in all sorts of people from near and far who wish to fill it," the councilor's cool eyes leveled, "or profit from it." Lord Hirai paused then, perhaps allowing Haku time to catch up. "Simply put there are some orders of governance that are acceptable and some that are not. By their example, some will reinforce stability in Kirigakure while others will challenge it."

The corner of Haku's mouth rose in thought. He was used to dealing with life in a more immediate way, with the threats he faced right there in front of him. It took a moment for him to switch gears toward his host's more abstract and philosophical track. "Yes," he offered at last in a calm voice, though inwardly he hardly knew what to think, "I think I follow."

Lord Hirai nodded with approval. "You have the advantage over our dear leader then," he remarked then went forward, steepling his fingers. "The situation has come to a head, I'm afraid. Our Mizukage is aware of developments here since Gato was killed, but is unsure what to do about it."

The old man shared a conspiratorial grin with his young guest. "He's not as decisive as he once was," he admitted somewhat regretfully. "In truth, ever since you and Zabuza came so very close to heaving the man, kicking and screaming like a frightened child, into the hereafter, he tends now to vacillate. He's lost all composure.

"On the one hand, our Mizukage has grown suspicious, fearful, and sees plots, traitors and assassins everywhere; on the other, he wishes to see to his legacy and the completion of some great work or policy that will cement his name favorably into history."

Haku took a sip of his tea, noting the passing annoyance in Lord Hirai's voice. The young ninja couldn't help but wonder at how things had changed because of Zabuza and because of him, even though they had failed.

"I have recommended to our Mizukage the immediate annexation of the Land of Waves, on the pretext of security – that the instability left here after Gato's departure could spread," the councilor went on to inform him. "Unfortunately, my counterpart in the Council of Elders, Lady Chinami Inoue, has become enthralled with the principle actors of the new order taking shape, Yoichiro Sato and Keiya Okore, and has invested heavily in their works, though in secret. She wishes to dispatch a contingent of ninja here but, as you may gather, for peacekeeping operations only.

"Can you imagine?!" the ninja lord creaked, his voice sharp with indignation, "Kirigakure sending troops to Wave Country just to protect her private interests; the gall of that woman!"

The old man frowned deeply and shook his head. "Lady Chinami is too young and naïve to appreciate the dangers. I fear she sees Mr. Sato and Miss Okore as paragons of individual initiative. They may be, but that does nothing to change the fact which, with my advanced years, stands out quite clearly to me – that only chaos will follow in their path."

Haku nodded obligingly, a bit surprised that the man would reveal so much to him. He'd always heard that the Mizukage, his Council of Elders, and the bureaucracy that funneled down from them were always deeply involved in intrigues. That was one of the many things Zabuza hated about them. Even understanding that, all this was almost too much.

The young ninja suppressed a thoughtful sigh, but couldn't help but smile at Lord Hirai's reference to Lady Inoue, a stern kunoichi in her late fifties, as 'young and naïve'.

Everything's relative, I guess, Haku thought.

The silver-haired patriarch seemed to realize he was testing his young audience's interest, and moved on. "You served your late master well, Haku, in flashes of brilliance no one in the Land of Water could ignore. My wish now is that you serve me. I won't presume that I could replace Zabuza in your heart or that I could fire in you the kind of passion he inspired. But when I look toward the future, I see in you limitless possibilities.

"In the new order I intend to establish, Wave Country will need daimyo to rule it, and I can think of few who could serve better in that capacity than you."

"And Juri?" Haku inquired.
"Of course!" the old man crowed magnanimously. "There are more than enough rewards to share. Lest you think me overly Machiavellian, be assured that I would never abandon her, or anyone who devotes a portion of their lives to my service."

Haku's mind swam as he tried to absorb all the ninja lord had related. The rewards this man offered him were almost more than he could conceive of – for him, him of all people, to be a lord.

"You wanted a glimpse of the future," Lord Hirai continued heartily, "I offer you the chance to live as your own man; in whatever style you wish. As a daimyo, you may rule your lands and conduct your affairs in whatever manner you see fit. Never again shall you want for money or a home."

Haku nodded that he understood, but then something occurred to him. "What about the ANBU?"

The councilor gave him an incredulous look. "What about them?" he said with a chuckle. "To edit your name from their lists, for me, would be simplicity itself. You needn't feel anxious about them ever again." Lord Hirai cast his gaze out the window and he canted his head, then threw out for consideration: "I might even arrange to have you pardoned."

Haku choked on his tea but managed to set the cup down before he burst out laughing.

"You find my idea amusing?"

The teen shook his head and tried to suppress his disbelief. "I think you could easily help me hide from the ANBU as you say, but a…a pardon?" he gasped. "You can't mean it. It would have to come from the Mizukage himself, and I hardly think he'll grant a pardon to a ninja who came close to killing him."

"It would be a test of my abilities, to be sure," the old man admitted coyly. "But if you are patient and allow me the time to wait for the right moment, I assure you that a full pardon is not beyond my reach."

Haku gulped. All those years as Zabuza's disciple, he'd never once thought about the ramifications of being a fugitive. At the time, it hadn't mattered so long as he was helping his master achieve his dream. Now this strange, old man was offering to use his influence to restore him, erase his crimes in the eyes of the Land of Water, and bring him back into the fold of society's good graces.

Lord Hirai fixed him with a calm look. "Assuming if I may, that possessions and titles are insufficient to sway you, I shall ask now for your indulgence," the councilor said in a grand voice at which Haku nodded, spellbound. "Imagine that it is twenty years in the future. The current Mizukage is dead and me too, more than likely, but having enjoyed my support, you are now entering middle-age at the height of your powers. No one in the Land of Water even approaches your knowledge of jutsu or experience in battle. You are well-acquainted with the heads of all the influential clans, financiers and power-brokers. Well," he broke off, having already painted the picture, "I hardly need explain the rest.

"Right now, you are a fugitive, and your departed master, Zabuza Momochi, The Demon of the Hidden Mist, one of the Seven Legendary Swordsmen, is considered nothing more than some sort of extraordinary criminal. He died as a fugitive, Haku, at the hands of a worthless mob and some," he waved his hand vaguely and made a face, "second-tier jonin from the Hidden Leaf Village."

The young ninja's brow knitted. "There's nothing I…nothing anyone can do about that."

"Isn't there?" said Hirai insistently. "If you were to become Mizukage, then you could amend the story of Zabuza however you pleased. You could teach Kirigakure about the Zabuza you knew, about his courage, his skill, his passion. You could raise a statue a hundred feet tall of your late master right in the middle of the Piazza del Sangre, and people would cheer!" The old master's fiery speech yielded to a softer tone. "In a way, Haku, you might ultimately fulfill his dream – and hold the Land of Water in your hands."

The two men, old and young, sat for a while in silence. Haku's mouth hung open, stunned, his mind reeling before the world his host had described.

"I am not Zabuza," said Lord Hirai after a time in a heartfelt voice. "I don't expect to replace him in your heart. But if you serve me, I promise that you will be well-served."

The young ninja closed his eyes and let his face fall towards his lap. "You've told me so much today, Lord Hirai. I have to say I'm a little overwhelmed," said Haku in a voice that sounded calm only by an effort of will. "Although I risk giving offence, may I take some time to consider?"

The ninja lord nodded obligingly. "Of course."


Toru

The armed mob there assembled around The Junk's shabby precincts stirred at the sight of the returning, bloodied and battle-wearied ANBU and rose to face them.

Toru sniffed coolly, went into one of his pockets then tapped a dose of anise seeds into this mouth. "Team," he said as he began to chew, "get Eiji back to the room and see to his care. Don't come out for awhile."

"Yes, Pack-Leader," Orimi answered automatically from long-held habit, but a worried look crossed her round face. "How are you going to handle this?"

"Violently," Toru specified as he started to walk toward the crowd, pushing his glasses up as he went. Behind him, the veteran kunoichi's face went blank with shock but she then set aside her unease and wove her fingers together to form a series of seals. All four mist-ninja, Aya, Yukimasa, the wounded Eiji, and herself, vanished into a whirling mist.

As the big Pack-Leader approached the mob's front lines, wringing his fingers in anticipation of the brief battle to come, he weighed what it was he felt like doing. There're so many jutsu, he thought coolly, it's hard to pick just one. Something direct and to the point, or…maybe something messy but dramatic. Maybe I'll kill 'em all by hand, that'd be a nice physical release, although it's a little more effort than I really want to get into right now.

"So," Toru said in a bland voice to the riled citizens of Wave Country, ready to unleash devastating force and indeed looking forward to it, "how's it goin'?"

Some of the men looked at him, then at each other uncertainly. A ripple passed through the assembly and a man the big mist-ninja knew emerged from their ranks.

"Tazuna?" voiced Toru in surprise.

The grey-haired engineer brushed himself off and gave his companions an angry look for not granting him easier passage, then turned toward the Pack-Leader.

"Yeah, it's me, Yamashite," the old bridge-builder grumbled.

Toru gave him a puzzled look and gestured vaguely. "What is all this?"

Tazuna's grey eyes flickered up. His voice was deadly serious. "They took my grandson."

The Pack-Leader thought for a moment then nodded slowly as he remembered the feisty, black-haired boy. "What," he offered, "you mean the little firecracker, Inari? Who? Who took him?"

Tazuna turned and gestured, at which his cadre brought forth two men. One was tall, dark skinned and tattooed, while the other was pale and blue haired. Both looked as if they'd seen better days.

The tall one was dazed almost to the point of unconsciousness, bandaged around the midsection, and walked with a terrible, lurching limp. His shorter companion grimaced from constant pain and wore a matched pair of boxy clavicle splints.

"Yeesh," hissed Toru who winced with reflexive sympathy.

"'Big one's Waraji; 'little one's Zori," explained the engineer. "They were Gato's goons from way back…cold-blooded killers. 'Started out no good, and they've been losing ground ever since. They're with a new crew now; 'told us the whole story. They kidnapped my boy and got a whole lot worse planned for the rest of us!"

The mist-ninja blinked. "Ok, so what's that got to do with me?"

Tazuna scowled at the ANBU's thick-headedness. "We need your help," he explained as if to a child.

The ANBU's face rose into a broad, comical grin. "I think you've got me wrong," Toru informed him and held up a beefy palm. "I'm not a cop, you know. I'm an ANBU Captain from Kirigakure sent here to hunt down a couple of dangerous rogue ninja -- Zabuza Momochi and his disciple Haku. Outside of that, I have no jurisdiction here."
The engineer frowned and blew out a breath. "Sounds like a pretty crappy excuse to me."

"I don't make the rules, Tazuna. I just play by them."

Tazuna raised a critical eyebrow at him, then grinned smartly. "You might just want to have a little talk with these two scumbags," he suggested. "Maybe they'll tell you something that'll change your mind."

Toru sighed and hung his head. Dealing with this crap was not at all what he was in the mood for. Nevertheless, Tazuna was something of a local bigwig and Toru was fairly certain that there'd be some kind of price to pay for not at least pretending to hear him out.

The big man scratched his ear then looked off toward where the early evening sun drew closer to the horizon, far out at the ocean's edge. Along the docks, the moored boats rocked gently in their berths.

Motioning for the two bandits to follow him, Toru plodded up the steps into The Junk's crowded patio. Tazuna's mob shoved Zori and Waraji after him.

The ANBU looked around at all the men gathered around rough wooden tables, and all the emptied bottles, pitchers and cups, then turned toward the proprietor, a lanky, light-haired man wearing an open shirt, who was busy helping his small wait-staff clean up.

"I don't ever want to hear you say how having us stay in your boarding rooms is bad for business," the ninja directed curtly, at which the man shrugged an apology.

"Sit," Toru commanded the captives in a tone that could not be refused as he pulled up a couple of chairs. "Everyone else…get out." Before the proprietor could complain, the ninja cut him off, "Not…one…word!"

When the bridge-builder's posse had gone, and Toru was alone amidst the paint peeling, concrete-columned patio, he approached the seated Zori and Waraji from behind and stood between them. Fidgeting slightly, he reached out and put his massive right palm against the right side of Zori's head, then placed his left along side Waraji's left.

"W-wait," muttered Zori worriedly, his eyes darting. "What are you doing? What is this, some kind of jutsu?"

"It's not a jutsu," Toru explained.

"What are you gonna do?" groaned Waraji.

The ANBU considered for a moment then replied, "Are you sure you want to know? 'Cause it won't make you feel any better."

Both bandits fell silent but exchanged alarmed looks. "Um, well," Zori began again. "Aren't you gonna ask us some questions or something?"

"Nah," said Toru in a listless voice. "I'm kinda tired. This has really been a bitch of a day. Besides, like I told Tazuna, I'm not a cop."

"Hold on, hold on! What are you gonna do then?" wailed Zori, as beads of perspiration started to form along his hairline.
"Well, first I'm going to finish up this little explanation," Toru enlightened them, "then I'm going to take a nice, deep breath. And then, I'm going to smash your heads together until my hands look like they're covered in bloody apple-sauce." The ninja noted the pair's reaction. "Now, you see that?" he whined knowingly. "I told you it wouldn't make you feel any better."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" shrieked Zori. "Hold on! We'll…we'll tell you everything! Anything you want to know!"

Toru shook his head. "You're not getting where I'm coming from," he complained. "I don't care. I'm not interested in serving or protecting…I'm here to kill Haku and put his remains in a bag, that's it, that's all --."

"Haku!?" the taller bandit gasped, then looked at Zori whose head bobbed up and down. "We've seen him, a couple of weeks ago!"

"Yeah!" Zori hurriedly reinforced. "He's the one who beat us up like this!"

"Hmm," Toru mused before concluding: "That's almost interesting."

A ripple of preparatory tension sprang down the dense fibers of the Pack-Leader's muscles, proceeding from his broad chest down through his thick shoulders, arms, forearms and fingers.

"Wait!" the two criminals screeched as one.

"Now what?" bellowed the ANBU, who rolled his eyes.
"Our new boss, Juri," Zori informed him, "she…she's after Haku too!"

Toru's heavy palms dropped slightly from the sides of their faces. "What's she look like," he inquired doubtfully, but they quickly described in detail the same mean-looking girl with the black hat who'd come to Haku's rescue.
The mist-ninja stepped away, brought up another chair then sat in front of them. "Do go on," he droned.


After Toru had heard everything the two hapless swords-for-hire had to say, he put his hands in his pockets and strolled out to the front steps of The Junk's patio, took a sniff of the cool, evening air, and sat down beside Tazuna who waited for him.

"And?" the engineer asked.

The Pack-Leader nodded. "It would seem that our paths intersect," he began. "Given the situation, I am willing to include rescuing Inari among our mission objectives. Understand though, that takes second place to two things: taking down Haku, and taking down that girl who attacked us."

Tazuna canted his head and grinned. "'Mighty big of you," he quipped slyly.

The ANBU gave him a sidelong glance and smirked begrudgingly at the veiled insult.

"When do we move?"

"We?" asked Toru who quickly clarified, "nuh-uh. This isn't amateur hour. We'll be fighting a full company of renegade ninja, a battalion of mercenaries, plus that girl, Juri, plus Haku. I don't know if you're up on current events, but we've all seen what those two alone are capable of. You and your crew would just be a body count waiting to happen."

"We're so lucky to have you looking out for us," offered Tazuna in a tone laced with sarcasm, then gave the Pack-Leader a hard look. "Listen, for my part, if anything happens to Inari then I'd rather die then go on living. So don't waste any of your concern on me. As for the rest, they know the score – there's an army sitting in the hills waiting to burn this place to the ground, and that's exactly what'll happen if we don't stop them."

Toru met the engineer's gaze, just to see for himself if the man really understood what he was saying. Once satisfied, he gave a reaffirming nod. "That is about the size of it."

"You understand then, how none of us are willing to sit back and let our future be decided by a fight we're not in?"

"I understand perfectly," the ANBU clarified, "but that doesn't turn a bad idea into a good one. If these guys fight, each and every one of them will most likely get killed."

The old man glanced away, kneading his fingers tensely. "We can't keep depending on others to fight for us – leaf ninja last time, mist ninja this time," said Tazuna when he turned back. "In a weird kind of way we've been lucky, but you know as well do that the only ones we can really depend on to look after us…is us! If we really want to have any kind of future, then we need to act like it." The grandfather paused meaningfully and leaned closer into the ninja's scruffy face. "We need to fight for it."

Toru, already worn out, conceded, "ok, ok. Enough, I get it." He gave Wave Country's vigilantes a critical glance and shook his head direly. "Maybe I can use your mob of untrained, well-meaning idiots as a diversion or something; I don't know."

"That's the spirit!" the bridge-builder crowed and slapped Toru repeatedly across his broad back. "So…when do WE move?"

"One of my guys is down," the big man reported. "The rest, me included, needs at least a day to heal up and recover; even then it's pushing it."

Tazuna recoiled. "A day!?"

"Attacking now would be useless," Toru insisted. "I know that must seem like a long time, but if Juri was going to kill Inari outright she's had more than enough time already. And as you pointed out, there's more at stake. We'll need at least a day to rest and develop some kind of strategy."

"And if their plan is to attack before then?"
"Then we're all screwed and everybody dies."

Tazuna gave the ninja a grim smile. "No need to sugarcoat."

Toru pushed his glasses up and rubbed his bleary eyes. "We have an understanding then?" he asked.

"Yup," Tazuna agreed then slapped his knees as he rose to his feet. "See ya tomorrow. I'll leave it to you to come up with a plan of attack, big fella. I'll tell you what – it better be good."

Toru watched the engineer pace away to give his ersatz army the news. Never in his life had he felt so worn out. He drew a deep breath, rose, then walked back into The Junk. The barkeep had a beer waiting for him before he even reached the bar.

The ANBU captain looked down at the tall, condensation-coated glass, the bubbling amber color with just a bit of foaming head on top. His eyes drifted back up toward the proprietor – his thin beard, sea-foam eyes and his ridiculous open shirt that revealed a bony chest. "What," Toru asked him, "you psychic?"

The man shook his head. "Just know that look…really, really well."

"I suppose we're not the best boarders you've ever had. Sorry for all the bullshit."

The barkeep shrugged. "No big deal. If it wasn't for crazy customers, what would I have to talk about?"

Toru laughed weakly then turned as Orimi joined him at the bar and ordered a drink herself.

"I didn't hear any screaming or big explosions, so I figured it was ok to come out. So, what happened, chief?

Her leader let his head fall toward her. "I'll tell you later."

Aya appeared after a few moments to inform the two in her quiet, understated way, that Eiji was resting in guarded condition and that she'd tended to Yukimasa's jaw which had to be wired shut in order to heal.

"Well, at least we'll finally get some peace and quiet around here," joked Toru. Orimi snickered, while Aya just gave them a puzzled look.

The three then looked at each other as the staccato sound of slapping footfalls approached from the road outside. Turning toward the steps, they watched a young boy stagger in. The ragged figure panted for breath, doubled over and rested his forearms on his knees. His black hair was plastered against a round-shaped head, but what drew the attention of all three ninja was his right hand which was crabbed, horribly discolored and swollen.

In painful stages, the newcomer slouched forward, drawing gradually closer to the ANBU Pack-Leader. When he looked up, his face was a sodden mask of dripping tears and sweat, the locus of emotions so profound and intense that they filled the room.

Toru leaned back on his barstool as he looked the strange, young apparition up and down. "What's your f-cking problem?" he asked bluntly, not really wanting to know the answer.

Orimi and Aya glanced at their chief then looked back at the boy.

"P…please," the boy rasped almost incoherently between sobs. His limbs trembled as if in the grip of a seizure. "Don't hurt him."

Toru looked to his two kunoichi for guidance, but only got a shrug and blank expression back. "Ok," he allowed, "what are you talking about?"

"H…Haku," the child blurted then fell to his knees before them. "Please don't hurt him. Please!"

"Oh!" Aya gasped with recognition. "I know who this is – his name is Chuuya, Chuuya Tezuka. He lives in the house where Haku was staying."

The big ANBU tilted his head back then threw up his hands in exasperation. "That's it!" he declared suddenly. "I've had it. I'm taking my beer and going back to my room."

Aya and Orimi watched as Toru slid off his seat, grabbed his glass and stalked off. On his way up to the boarding rooms, he jacked his thumb toward Chuuya and to his ninja commanded, "Y'all handle this."


Hmmm, kind of a long chapter and not much action compared to the last two. But I hope you liked it.

--J