Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Beta'd by Drowsyivy.
Kiba's not waiting for her when she finishes up her night at the bar, and Old Man Kouga is just as worried as she is, because her little brother's rarely late to walking her home. Kiba is nothing if not reliable on that front. He does take the job rather seriously, more so than most things.
She might not need it, being five years older than him, and though he's fifteen already and growing up fast, he's still a bit wide on a pistol and slower than her on the draw of a pocket knife.
Which is, of course, why she's so happy to have him walk her home. She hesitates at nothing and fears even less.
No god above, no hell below, just the streets and her wits, the switchblade knife in her pocket, and her willingness to throw a punch.
If that has the side effect of protecting Kiba too, then she'll take it.
She's his big sister, and ever since they'd ended up in the streets, she'd been the one to look after him.
No god above.
No hell below.
Only two children who deserved better than what the world gave.
"Are ya sure he said he was coming tonight?" Old Man Kouga comes round the counter to start mopping the floor.
"I know what my little brother said to me." She taps her fingers on the counter for another moment more. "Well, I best be going regardless. If he comes 'round, send him on home, yeah?"
It's half past two in the morning, and getting later all the while.
She has the numbers racket to run again in the afternoon, which earned plenty. Her uncle takes a thick cut off the top, but the rest would still be hers. There's cooking to do for the week, which she will have to pay for, and since she'd given away a good deal of personal money, there will be a distinct lack of coffee in her life until she gets paid again.
And if something really bad was going on here in the Pleat, then she would've heard it regardless, because the bar ebbs and flows with customers all night long.
Covering up a yawn, Old Man Kouga nods. "Yeah, yeah. I'll send him after ya if he arrives 'round here." After a pause, his craggy face makes an expression of concern, unpracticed on the old bartender. "Ya stay safe out there, yeah, girl?"
She shrugs on her old coat, buttoning up the front and straightening up the sleeves, bracing herself for the chill of the November wind. "Thanks, old man. 'Preciate it."
Gaku's sitting on her front step when she gets back, face grim, red fangs standing out stark and bloody against his lightening tan. She has yet to get the fangs inked on her face, if only because they didn't like bar dancers coming in that shade of bold.
And right now, what she needs is the bar gig and the numbers racket.
Running anything more important and up there in the Wolves would need more assets than she's got at the moment.
"Somethin' the matter?" She fishes her key from the chain in her pocket and unlocks the door to let them in.
Gaku shoves his hands in his pockets, stamps off the mud on his shoes outside on the steps before coming in. "Well…" She's always surprised when he starts talking with the snappy upper crust accent he'd picked up while in college. She's still far more used to the lower city drawl he used to use, but then, he hasn't been the same since college. "They've posted the bail for Kiba down at the station earlier this evening, but the Boss didn't want you to know in case something went down in the bar. He heard there were some straight and narrow regulars down there and didn't want to scare them off."
She sets the kettle on for a cup of hot water at least. Even if he's here bringing round rotten news, it wasn't like that was his fault.
He didn't stick Kiba in jail after all.
"So he sent ya t'wait 'round for me after my work?" More importantly, he's doomed her little brother to sit the night in a cell, and she doesn't like that.
No, not the least little bit.
Gaku sighs. "It's nothing too serious, flower-girl, he's only in for picking pockets. They've set the bail low, you'll be able to go get him in the morning without trouble."
"What," she drawls, pressing a cup of hot water in his hands. "None o' ya big men wanna be caught dead 'round the station in the cold light o' morn?" She narrows her eyes. "Tell me the bail figure, cousin mine. I'll get him tomorrow, since no one else wears britches big enough."
Another thing to do, then, since her uncle probably won't put out any money for them on this matter either. And there she'd been just days ago shelling out for the health of their poor boys after the war.
Well, ain't like she can take it back now.
She's already cut the coffee, but with winter coming, she can't consider cutting the heat, too. But she'd consider cutting the heat before she considers cutting her justice.
I'll find something. Can't be that hard, we don't own much and we need even less than what we've got.
Gaku departs, hands shoved in his pockets, heavy wool scarf pulled up over his nose to keep out the bite of the wind.
She hopes his toes get frostbite.
She's down at the station bright and early the next morning, despite sleeping very little the night before, thoughts too heavy and too loud to get quite the rest she needed to keep going for another long night down at the bar.
This is why she swears that one day, one day, they're going to rise above their stations. They're going to get out.
By her father's gun, by her mother's grave, by her little brother's life, they're going to get out of the position they're in, and they're never going to worry about something happening in a holding cell ever again.
One day, she's not going to feel her heart pound in her chest as she smooths down the front of her old coat, wincing at the chill biting into her wool stockings, strap shoes a bit too loose on her feet, standing in front of the desk at the police station, watching as the officer before her counts out the bail.
"You his sister?" The officer looks up at her, shakes his head when she gives him a curt nod. "A pity, you look like an honest young woman at least. Teach him not to get hungry over what other people've got, and you might be able to save a little bit of what you have."
She can offer nothing on that front, being a young woman, but not a particularly honest one, as she'd dressed up as a working class woman from the lower city and then given her name as Hana Kawahira, knowing that Kiba would've given the matching last name.
Being from the low city and being street rats means that there are names too powerful to say out loud, especially at the police station, especially for bail.
Inuzuka is one of them.
Iwa is another.
But then, she contains multitudes, owns more than just the one last name.
She can only assume that the officer thought she was a factory girl, and she isn't about to dissuade him.
Still, Kiba gets escorted out to her, looking a bit worse for wear for his night in a cell, a bruise dark on his cheek, flakes of what might be dried blood in his hair, and raw chafed wounds where he'd been handcuffed.
But he's alive and they're blowing this joint, so that's all she asks, leaning up to straighten the collar of his shirt, brush the unruly strands of his hair into some sort of semblance of order.
"Thank you so much, sir." She makes sure to enunciate properly, though the words no longer fit right on her tongue. The crisp polish of an upper crust accent isn't something she's had to use for ten years now, and in the meantime, it's gotten lost and wandered off. In its place lingers the drawl and burrs of the streets and the company she keeps.
But then, she's long lost the mannerisms that young ladies of class have up there in the Avenue and the posh styles they wore nowadays.
They make it down one street before the click of new boots on the cobble streets alerts her to someone following them.
She turns to find Mister Itachi coming towards them, the click of his new boots loud to her ears.
"Miss Kawahira," he says as he gets closer. "Could I have a word with you please?"
She exchanges a glance with Kiba, who has been unusually subdued. "Why don't you go home?"
Her little brother frowns mightily, but sensing that there's no way for him to open his mouth right now without spilling more beans than normal, he only presses his lips tighter together.
"Go on," she says, nudging him slightly. "It won't take more than a few minutes, I'm sure." There's a smile on her lips, but her heart is still pounding. "I'm sure Mister Uchiha doesn't plan to keep me long."
With another few glances, Kiba starts off down the street.
She doesn't want to let him out of her sight either, especially since he'd clearly been injured by whoever had brought him in and possibly more, and that made her grind her teeth together.
"Did Battalion Sergeant Major Hatake loan you the money?" He's remarkably soft spoken now that it's just the two of them, and though he walks with military posture, shoulders back and spine straight, his face seems rather more...concerned than suspicious. "I can't imagine it was easy—" he breaks off and looks away, a hand over his face for just a moment.
She trusts him no further than she can throw him. The police and the mob have never gotten along, and she doesn't think she's about to start trusting anyone who works in the station one whit. "I think that would be between me and Mister Hatake, Mister Uchiha. Though I thank you for the concern."
"You call him Mister Hatake." He frowns, stress lines dragging deep upon his too young face — is he any older than her? — but a moment later, he shakes that away. "Is he alright? I haven't been able to contact him and I've heard no response from him ever since the war ended."
Oh, so Mister Hatake is as solitary as she first assumed. Which, yes, is rather sad.
But even if this young man assumes that she and Kakashi Hatake are sharing the same ride now, she still can't shake the knowledge that he's the son of the police chief. She has nothing she can give away, everything in her life something at least mildly illegal.
"If he won't tell you that, it's not my place to."
He sighs, suddenly looking very pale and tired. "Well, I can hardly argue with that." He tips his hat at her — a bowler, not new, but clearly not often worn either. "A good day to you, Miss Kawahira." And quieter still, "please take care of him."
She patches up her brother the best she can when she gets in, careful to make sure he's not hiding any injuries from her just because he doesn't want her to baby him. "Sis," he starts shrugging off her hands halfway in. "Sis, I'm alright. It's fine."
"You were arrested." She'd done the best she could for his scrapes and bruises but that doesn't erase the fact that they existed for a reason. "But someday," she sighs, "someday, this'll all stop, y'know that?"
Kiba frowns — more of a pout than a frown, really, lips pressed together and hands clenched. "Yeah, but even if it stops for us, it won't stop for everyone."
"It's not my job to look out for everyone." As much as it pains her to say it, it's true. Her love only stretches so far, and sometimes it feels like it's only as far as the boy in front of her.
Life takes, is all.
It takes, and it takes, and it takes, and no one can hesitate for a second, not even a second, or someone will take something else away.
Something she couldn't afford to lose.
She'd thought once, back when she was a child, an heiress still, living up in the Quarter on Lombard Street, that she could afford to lose anything.
But that's the thought of a child who has yet to truly lose anything.
Watching her father get shot and the blood pooling under his head had put paid to that.
A debt ten years in the making. A grudge ten years buried. A name she can no longer wear.
And underneath it all, what had sustained her was anger, raw and bloody and throbbing in every heartbeat.
One day, she'll get paid for this debt.
"I'm not like ya." Kiba grumbles, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I can't just sit on my hands and do nothin' and think it's okay."
"Gotta help yourself before ya help anyone else." She stands up, stretching out her legs before heading to the ice box. There's a bit of leftover ham in there and a few potatoes set next to it leftover from her grocery trip two weeks ago. "Can't help anyone else in this ocean if you're drowning, just like everyone else. Just try not to drown anyone, and that's the best ya can do."
He grumbles, but doesn't try to argue with her further.
Just as well, really.
She won't give in on this front, not even if he's gonna talk himself blue in the face.
There's someone knocking on his door again. He exhales a cloud of smoke into the already smoke-filled room.
He stubs out the cigarette between his fingers on the nightstand, leaving a burn mark on the oak wood. "What do you want?"
He has a headache, ears ringing, and he doesn't even know what he's doing.
On the other side of the door out to the kitchen and associated living area, one of the dogs scratches at the door, whining.
"Kakashi, it's me." Ah, so that's where Gai got to. Looking up an 'old friend' yet again. He'd thought that Gai would've learned after last time.
(But Gai never learns.)
"Doesn't tell me what you want, Gai." He doesn't get up, the hand still holding the cigarette stub slowly falling off the side of his mattress, the wrought iron of the bed frame growing colder because he couldn't be bothered to turn on the heat.
Hadn't managed to make it to the bar last night.
Wasn't even half a block down the street before his head started spinning, delusions of what Obito and Rin were saying crowding out all other thoughts.
So he'd retreated back here and chain smoked til the early morning light started filtering in, falling into a fitful, glazed half rest.
There sure is nothing left in his head now. Not Obito. Not Rin. Not that damned invitation he'd planned on mailing this morning. Not the Senator or whatever the hell his son is up to now.
Or well, there wasn't until Gai had to ruin it with banging on his door at an ungodly hour of half past noon.
"Kakashi, if you do not get up to answer me, I will notify the police."
He almost doesn't get up. Would it really be necessary?
What would Gai even say to the police anyway? Excuse me, officer. I have a friend, you see, he won't open his apartment door. Could you go break it down for me?
Yeah right, that'll go over so well. That'll show him, teach him to waste his life like a vagrant.
No, his father never taught him to be an idle slacker, living off of inheritance and other people's generosity.
But Kakashi Hatake hasn't turned up to a job for longer than a few days for nearly a year now, and the clock's ticking.
Twenty-eight years old, never amounted to anything much, living on the expense of others.
The clock's ticking, and Gai bangs on his door again, a flurry of pounding that makes his headache worse.
He peels himself from the bed, cigarette butt slipping from his fingers. "No need to break my door," he aches, joints set weirdly during the night. "I'm coming, yeah?"
The pounding doesn't stop, and he makes his way through the smoke filled haze, still aching, before picking Bisuke up so that he doesn't run off into the street at the sight of Gai and with deep unwillingness, unlocks and opens his door.
Gai's done well for himself, as much as a boxer could do well for himself in the stress of the war era, earning the nickname of Green Beast and training up a few young students down in the practice gym.
Why a successful man bothered with him, he really couldn't tell.
"Am I glad to see your face!" Gai claps him on the shoulder, one rough hand worn with calluses and steps aside to reveal…
Corporal Uchiha.
Ah, yes, he knew there was a reason he didn't want to open the door, but now Gai's already halfway in so he can't just slam it back shut again to lock up.
Well, I don't know if I'm glad to see yours. "You've brought a friend with you?" is what he settles on, half aware of the sparseness of the apartment and half resigned to the smoke that refuses to dissipate. Wasn't even really like he tried, to be honest.
Gai frowns, trying to peer around him to look into the apartment. "He said you were his superior during, well, you know."
Ah, so Gai doesn't know Itachi Uchiha. Not as well as he thinks at any rate. Bisuke whines, begging to be let down. "Well," he says lightly, stepping aside to let the two men in, "he's not lying on that one."
Uchiha flinches.
Good to see nothing's changed.
Uchiha stays behind by the time that Gai reluctantly takes his leave, a hand over his mouth. "I didn't know you smoked, sir."
He leans back in his chair, two chair legs tilted and hovering above the floorboards, his arms around his head, another cigarette between his lips, a cloud of smoke about his face, hazy in the light struggling to break free of his closed blinds. "I doubt this is really your problem, Corporal."
He smiles, struggling, as though there's a mask about to crack off his face.
But then, he doesn't have any particular energy for a more genuine attempt.
Uchiha seems to be struggling to find the words, through the smoke, through the distance of the kitchen table between them, through the near decade of age difference and emotional fragility.
"Sir, I'm glad you found someone, but isn't a monetary loan a bit fast?" Uchiha finally sets his hands on the table, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "Station arrested her little brother for pickpocketing the other day."
"I don't see how what I do with my own money is your affair, either, Corporal." He has no idea what fool concept Uchiha's managed to stuff into his brain now, but it's the principle of the thing that matters more than even bothering to correct a former acquaintance from wartime on his own misconceptions.
His money, his problems. His life, his problems.
Uchiha doesn't get to figure in it.
"Sir—" and the young man sighs, as if speaking and being here is such a chore. But if it is, Kakashi has no idea why he might be here to even attempt the messy business.
"If you're here to shame me into some sort of straight behavior, you've come as the wrong person." He plucks the cigarette from between his lips and makes an attempt at whistling a jaunty tune.
It sounds more like funeral ragtime, but then, can't have everything.
You lose some, and you lose some.
Uchiha frowns, a whisper of something unsaid lingering in the stress lines on his face. "Sir," he tries again, and Kakashi stares at the ceiling whilst still whistling the snatches of some random tune he might've heard back before the war ever happened, and tries to tune him out. "Sir, are you feeling alright?"
What a question. Really, what a question.
Uchiha is as idealistic as ever.
He resists the urge to light up another cigarette.
He's mostly out anyway.
"Well, why on earth would you ask me something as nonsensical as that, Corporal?"
Why indeed.
The bar's about to close, but still, Mister Kakashi Hatake sits at the counter, fingers toying with the stem of a cheap shot glass, half in shadow in the smokey light.
Really, she wonders how he's possibly not been picked up before with a face like that and the faint scent of money that followed him especially in this place where most everyone is poor and most everyone wants something better out of life than the factory work, the sweat, and the creaking wheel o'years.
No, he didn't dress like he had any fortune to his name, but a man who blows hard cash on giggle water every night isn't exactly a cheap shot either.
Old Man Kouga looks at him for a long time as she helps Jugo with the chairs. "We're closing."
"I know." He sets the shot glass back on the counter and unfolds himself from the barstool. "I'm waiting for Miss Hana to get off work."
Old Man Kouga raises a brow at him. "What do y'want with that girl?"
Mister Hatake doesn't really respond, staring with nothing behind his eyes at some point right behind Old Man Kouga. That's a weird look to have and a weird sight to see, so it's no wonder that Old Man Kouga shudders and leaves him well alone.
"Hey, hey Sis!" Kiba stamps his workman's boots when he comes in, a light dusting of snow in his hair, pooled slush around his feet.
Old Man Kouga throws a rag at him. "Get your rotten sludge out o' here, ya loud young fool. I ain't cleanin' up after ya when ya track filth in here."
Well, now, she better figure out what Mister Hatake wants, but first, send Kiba out ahead of her. The curious man who somehow needs to speak to her is shy enough already without Kiba scaring him off by questioning him.
"Kiba, Kiba, say," she catches her brother by the shoulders. "Can ya get me something?"
He blinks at her, nonplussed. "Well, what is it, Sis?"
"Tell Cousin Kosha I want the dress."
Since earlier on that summer, she'd wanted to snag a military man for the Christmas Gala, ever since she'd known it would net her the eye of Councilman Shimura.
And to that end, there's an expensive red dress that Kosha's been keeping for her, on the off chance that she could go on someone's arm instead of through the back door.
It seems like she'll need it now, despite not exactly having the money to pay for it after paying Kiba's bail earlier.
"The red one?" Kiba considers it. "It's a pretty dress, but does it gotta be now?"
She glances briefly at the man sitting at the bar. "Yeah, it's gotta be now."
Kiba heaves a heavy, put upon sigh, but turns right around. "I'll be back in no time, Sis!" Thank God for Kiba's willingness to fulfill her requests.
"Meet me at the house, Kiba," she calls after him. "Don't come back here, I'm going home."
And now, for Mister Hatake.
He startles slightly when she approaches, but also rises, slightly unsteady on his feet.
"You could've found me earlier before my shift began too, y'know, Mister." She offers him an arm to take if he needs one, though he does not take it. "Wasn't no need for ya t'stay out so late, yeah?"
For a brief moment, she wonders if he has anything or anyone in the world at all. She might not have much money or that many people anymore, but she has Kiba, and her little brother would always come for her, through fire, through flame, through the winter snow and summer rain. They might not have much, but they have each other.
And yet, she's seen no one with him ever, or even really, ask after him, except for that one time the Police Chief's son did because she'd been around and that'd been convenient.
It's been a year now since the war ended, and the man hadn't gone to find Mister Hatake himself.
So what's his worry really worth?
"Kakashi," the man slurs. "Got a name, y'know. Not much, but I do got it."
"You got anything else, Mister?" At the street corner, under one of the broken lights, glass littering the ground below, he stumbles and she catches him, keeping him at least partially upright though he's about as straight as a noodle in boiling water. "A home, perhaps?"
"Nah," he stumbles again, and she uses her shoulder to prop him upright. He's strangely cold despite that coat of his, not as worn down around the elbows and short about the wrists as her own. "Can't call a coffin a home, can ya?"
It feels like holding a corpse, the snow coming down all around them, thick and white, this winter scene a scant few weeks before Christmas, and all she can think of is perhaps, those silent moving picture shows, black and white 'cause neither of them own any color.
But that's rich folks' talk. The only way girls like her get a glimpse at the moving pictures is if she sneaks a look while cleaning up after the patrons of the picture palace, and she hasn't exactly been on rotation for cleaning duty in forever.
She's a grown woman now and worth more to the Boss in other places.
"Well," she says, taking stock of the situation, though it's good for neither of them, "sure would be nice if ya did, 'less ya can walk yourself to my place."
He jerks away as if she'd burned him and promptly staggers.
She catches his wrist and forces him back upright, mostly through desperation. "Really, Kakashi," she mutters. "Didja wanna cut yourself up before Christmas?"
He has very little to say to that.
Another block down, and he's gotten his feet under control at least a little bit. "So…" The snow gets worse all around them, sticking to his hair, though it's mostly the same color. "When're you gonna tell me the truth 'bout why you wanna go to this dance? Ain't like you don't dance every night."
"'S change of pace." How far would she go to obscure the truth anyway? Lying to a man who can't even stand up straight, what a ride. "I ain't got much to my name. And it's not like I'm going t'get younger, ya know? If I don't get to go now, I'll never be able to see those glitzy dresses n bright lights again."
"Still lying." He stumbles forward. "But sure, what the hell, I'll take you to the party."
And she doesn't know exactly if she should feel bad about this sort of taking advantage of a man without much, but the burn of justice lives just beneath her breastbone, a bird pecking at her heart.
If it'll bring her parents — ten years buried, disgraced beyond mention — any rest in heaven, then she'd take advantage of him again, however it takes to get things done.
Whatever it takes, there's justice out there for her, and she'll see it paid.
And softly, the snow falls.
He wakes up somewhere clearly not his own apartment, in a bed that's clearly not his own, with a headache that could only possibly belong to him. Otherwise, he's got a complaint to make to someone up there about the whole affair for assigning him headaches that don't belong to him.
Not to mention, it's cold in here, his breath in white clouds hanging about his face.
Normally, his apartment is warmer than this and smells a bit too much like cigarette smoke than the home cooking and crisp chill of winter air.
"Oh, you're awake now, Mister, that's good to know." Miss Hana's voice cuts through his brain fog in much the same way as a sudden u-turn cuts through the street traffic, squishing the unfortunate passersby on the sidewalk.
"What exactly happened last night?"
She tilts her head to one side, tapping a finger against her chin in a parody of innocence that is belied mostly by the dagger sharp smile on her lips. "Oh, nothing much."
His headache worsens. "Why don't I believe you?"
She shrugs, handing him a mug of what might be boiled water with ginger powder. "Well, nothing much happened, unless you count throwing up twice as something?"
He wishes the floorboards would open up and swallow him whole.
But luck is never on his side, because it doesn't happen.
Instead, the floorboards stay firmly stuck where they are, and he ends up stuck still, in someone else's bed.
He's pretty sure he didn't crawl into her bed by himself though.
As low as he's fallen these days, he hasn't fallen quite that low. Miss Hana, whatever her last name happened to be, because he doubted a mob girl would give her real name to a police officer like Itachi Uchiha, despite being attractive, didn't seem like the type to let that happen either.
No, the last time he'd voluntarily gotten into someone else's bed was—
Well, that doesn't matter now, does it?
"Did I say anything?" He wants to hit himself, but that would upset his mug, since there is nothing in this room to set it on.
Of course, I said things. I'm not a stoic drunk.
She smiles, a hint of fang showing. "Ya said a buncha things, Mister. Whatcha looking for me to say ya said?"
Oh, of course.
Is it too late to jump out a window?
She does tease, which is why she laughs and prods him with the knowledge of listening to whatever he'd been saying.
But she really didn't listen. She doesn't know what sorts of ghosts are haunting him, but they'd been bad with the way he was begging. War turned men's brains, that much is clear.
Even the brains of well meaning men.
She'd shut her ears and she'd made Kiba shut them too, locking her and Mister Hatake up in the same room as she did even though Kiba had protested something awful about it.
It's Christmas, little brother. Have a little pity for an unfortunate man.
"Y'know, Mister," she says, setting the heated ginger ale down. "I do have some respect for your privacy."
Not terribly much respect, but some. It exists, which is more than she can say about a whole lot else.
Justice doesn't exist in the world — she's seen that with her own two eyes — but it will.
It will because she'll beat her hands on the door until she breaks it down.
And the first place to start, beyond the places where she's already starting, is with Councilman Shimura.
Because his head has a date with a bullet from her gun.
"Says the one who dug me up," he mutters with bitter grace, still not really looking at her. "That's some bold claim, Miss."
She laughs. "I said some, Mister, but not so much as to not take a quick peek to make sure I know who I'm speaking to."
"I don't know who I'm speaking to." He's still bitter, sitting on the edge of her bed sipping ginger ale and trying not to look at her, his elbows on his knees, chipped mug cradled between his hands.
"I can't help ya with that, Mister." There's a lot about her that she can't say, her past and her future plans, her dreams, and all that ruthless cutthroat ambition.
She's got a lot to think about, depths that no one has ever really tried to pry too deep into.
But those depths are not for plumbing.
"You really are something," he says, elbows still on his knees, cup held between two frozen hands. He'd gotten out from under the covers right quick, though the cold does seem to rattle him a bit. He's not really made for cold like she is, what with the heat being cut and all. "And a first rate liar too, though I guess I shouldn't expect anything less of a mob girl."
"Aww, really Mister," she covers her mouth in a laugh, "that's an over compliment, so it is."
Two days later, she heads up to the big house in the Water Gardens. Her uncle wants a word with her.
He might be her mother's big brother, but Kegawa Inuzuka is a harder man than his baby sister had ever been.
Maybe that's why her mother had left and never told her about the uncles and cousins she had out there.
Her father had always been clear that he was an only child, an orphan who had gone to university on scholarship.
Then again, ties to the Mob are fatal to a banker's career, and a wife whose older brother who was a senior lieutenant would have ended her father long before he was in charge of any important accounts, rubbing arms with rich men.
Not that a gun didn't end her father's career anyway.
Her hands over her ears as she hid under the table, Kiba upstairs, getting shut in the closet by her mother.
Red, an ever growing stain on the carpet.
And there, Hana Iwa's life ended.
She didn't expect to get picked up by an uncle sharper than brittle glass with a voice like winter rain and be remade into Hana Inuzuka.
But that was a long time ago.
Nowadays, her uncle isn't just an ambitious senior lieutenant.
He's the Boss now, and as sharp as his own reputation.
The boys are quiet when she makes her way to the gate, and then up the drive.
They always looked at her weird — niece of the boss who lives alone in the rough lower city, slumming it even though she doesn't have to.
But she does have to.
She scuffs her way along, down the hallway with its polished finishing and dark wood, paintings and portraits, new photographs, gold print inlays, arched, swooping gothic stained glass windows — the whole house is over the top, almost gaudy, a pastiche of styles and time periods.
It reeks of money.
A house but not a home.
She's out of place here with her faded old coat patched at the elbows and her scuffed shoes, but that's the long and short of it.
Whatever the thought process for calling her here today, the mood in the house reeks of a grime sobriety, when normally the levity is only a front meant for playing a pretense at respectability.
Kegawa Inuzuka is in his office, alone though he is normally surrounded by his seconds, captains of various factions all jockeying for his attention.
"You asked for me, Boss?" She pauses in the doorway, watching as he methodically loads his pistol.
Colt 1911, her mind supplies.
Eight rounds.
"Shin tells me you'd been 'round Dr. Haruno's office, usin' my name." He doesn't look up.
The morning light shines something fierce right behind him, though. All she can make out of him from the door is barely more than a silhouette, one that reeked of danger.
"No, sir." She keeps her words crisp and polite about it. "I didn't."
No need to provoke the Wolf.
"Didn't use my name, eh?" He glances up at her, a flash of gold eyes and shadows. "What were you doin' down 'round the good Doctor's office?"
She'd made a handsome cut from the numbers racket.
She's sure the boys all wonder where it's gone, since she never used it around the apartment and didn't intend to put it in a bank either.
Money in banks don't last.
And when it blows out, it'll be a gun to some poor fool's head.
"Our good boys from the War," she says and tries to banish the police chief's son from her mind, that sad boxer she'd picked up in a bar with his mind in dark places, all bent all out of shape. Mister Hatake would like the program if someone could ever get him to go. "The ones that came back anyway, didn't come back whole, even if they look it."
Uncle Kegawa laughs, a sharp, biting thing, setting his pistol down on the table in front of him.
She doesn't believe for a moment that makes him less dangerous.
He's a quick draw.
"So you blew the money on a soft hearted scheme." He doesn't sound impressed.
But then again, she doubts that any of the boys here would.
They don't really understand why she does it.
"It'll save lives."
Lives of people down in the lower city go for cheap.
But that doesn't mean they aren't worth more.
"The lives of broken, crippled men maybe." Uncle Kegawa barks a laugh and beckons her in. "Close the door behind you."
She takes another few steps in, just a little bit to the side.
Like this, the light from the window doesn't glare half bad.
He'd told her to close the door, so she nudges it close with a foot, never taking her eyes off of him.
"Had something to tell you in private," he says, rising from his seat.
"Yes sir," she keeps her eyes on him, nodding. Sometimes, he did need to tell her something when no one else is looking. "What do you need, Boss?"
He barks a laugh, coming to stand in front of the window. "I don't need anything from you." He waves her over, and she makes her move over quick. "Gaku's dead," he says without any fanfare when she's also at the window. "Some rat took him out in a back alley."
That…
Changes things.
He'd been one of her uncle's sharper young lieutenants. Everyone knew that he'd been sent to college because the Boss was looking at him taking over in another few decades or so.
Her uncle is down a nephew then.
And she's down a cousin.
That explains the tension and the anger.
"We know who did it yet?" She keeps the gun on the table in the corner of her eye, running through a list of names over who could've ordered a hit on Gaku and had it succeed. These things don't come cheap, and it's not like Gaku was an easy shot.
"Got a couple of lads looking into it and smoke."
Nothing concrete, then.
He grimaces. "Say, flower-girl…" The tone of his voice sets her hackles up, tension prickling on the back of her neck. "Whaddya say to movin' up to the big house? Bring Kiba too. I hear he's doing well."
Of course, this is what it is.
The Boss is down one nephew, so he's got his eyes set on another one.
But if she believes that he wants Kiba to be the next boss, then she's more of a fool than the Piper selling political pamphlets on street corners after his working days.
"Can't say that I'll be much of a help up here." She keeps her voice light. "I've always worked better when I look unimportant."
She dances at Old Man Kouga's bar at night, runs the number's racket in the mornings, but when the Boss has a rival to take out, he'd send her a runner.
Can't take his sharpshooter out of the shadows now.
Not when he still needs someone to hit whoever got Gaku.
She's just like him when he was younger — sharp and ambitious, ready to raise hell — and he knows it.
"Don't put all my china dolls in cabinets?" He considers it, fingers tapping on the window sill. "Send Kiba up here, then. It's 'bout time he goes to school again."
"Yes, sir."
She's just like him when he was younger — the last boss had caught a bullet of his in the neck — and years in the hot seat hasn't made him dumb.
A.N. We learn a little bit more about Hana's past! And why she's out for blood regarding Danzo specifically. Now is a good time to mention that while this isn't strictly a Bloodless AU, Bloodless does live rent free in my brain at all times, so here we are.
In other news: I have applied for a grant, have another interview on Friday, and (two) conditional job offers for research labs this summer, and this makes me very happy. This past week has been super stressful though, and I'm not exactly sure what the update (if any) will be next week, so if I don't see you all until the week after that, take care!
Thank you so much guys, this journey's always more fun with friends.
~Tav (Leaf)