A/N: Hello! Hope you are all well.

If you want to talk about Uzumaki with me, join my discord and ping me! You'll have better luck talking to me there. discord . gg / WAdaFkV


Uzumaki Chapter 34


Dear Sakura,

I'm not writing to you to talk about Naruto, so I hope you will respond.

There was an incident in Suna the other day – it's confidential, so I can't tell you by messenger bird. But I am returning home.

I will visit Suna again someday. It's nice here. But I'm looking forward to seeing you.

I made jounin here, and I heard you made rank too a while back from Ino. I don't know if Konoha are going to recognise it officially or not, what with taking them externally, so I might have some administrative difficulty when I arrive. I hope it's been working out for you.

I've missed you, and Kakashi. So I hope we can go out for dinner when I get home. I'll pay, and you can pick where we go.

Take care of yourself.

Satsuki


Tsunade dragged her mahogany chair to the middle of the room before responding to Sakura, and Ino sat on the desk, running through her fingers through her long hair with a nervous disposition. Sakura felt like they were going to tell her that her mother had died – or that she had cancer. Something similarly dire. She supposed it was quite dire.

"The Third was killed by Orochimaru in the Oto invasion," Tsunade said, her brows knotted. "I'm sorry I have to tell you like this."

Sakura felt like her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. "Killed? The Third was-"

"Damn good is what he was," Tsunade snapped, biting her lips, and massaging her temples. "He taught me. Sarutobi was a damn good man, and I feel like a fucking fool for not being in Konoha to do something at least. In a straight fight, Orochimaru wouldn't have won. But he's a conniving bastard, and he had the advantage. It's not like Orochimaru invaded Konoha to engage in a fair fight. If I'd been here...

"But I wasn't here." Tsunade let out a sigh, and leaned back in her chair, looking watery-eyed. "I was gambling, somewhere- God knows where. I don't know even know where I was when he would have died. A messenger came from Konoha eventually, from the Elders, asking me to come ask as substitute Hokage until an appropriate substitute could be found. If I came, the Elders would pay off my debt. If I didn't, they'd tell the debtors where I was. So I came, and I am here. If you didn't know, I had a horrendous gambling addiction and I was in a hell of a lot of debt. It wasn't really a choice."

Sakura stared, feeling dumbfounded. "I see. So you're… Tsunade of the Sannin. I've heard of you. You were… Orochimaru's teammate."

"Don't call me that," Tsunade muttered. She fumbled for a bottle of sake she didn't have by her feet, her hands grasping at the air, and then she sighed pulling it back to her lap. "I was Sarutobi's student. I hadn't seen Orochimaru in a long time. A very long time. I was doing my very best to hopefully never see him again. Anyone from here, actually."

Ino was braiding her hair through her fingers, anxious. The air of the office was sweltering somehow, with that gentle autumn heat.

"In the end though," Tsunade murmured, "I took you on as my apprentice. You proved you were, well. Exceptional. I taught you in those years you don't remember. You were a focused and fantastic student.

"Your teammate, Uzumaki Naruto, is much more complicated. Much more personal. If your teammate Satsuki was here, I would have her explain it to you, but she went on a trip to Suna for training. Fan experts and so on. It was an offer that the Kazekage's children made to Satsuki after the entire incident, and given that we didn't want to lose friendship of Sunagakure in that… time of political weakness, it worked out."

The new Hokage looked genuinely dumbfounded, rubbing her forehead and leaning back in her chair. "I wasn't even there for that," she muttered. "Yamanaka, can you-"

"Of course, Tsunade-sama. Just a second, " Ino gushed, rushing back to Tsunade's desk and pulling out a bottle.

Tsunade, despite herself, laughed. "No, I- uh, I didn't mean that," she chuckled, waving Ino off. "I meant that you know more about this than I do. I'm going to speak to Shizune about making a full examination of Sakura, testing her working memory and so on to measure the full extent of the amnesia. Could you go over this?"

Ino blinked, putting down the bottle. "Oh- yeah, of course."

Tsunade leaned over then. Although it seemed Sakura knew her well, there was barely a flicker of recognition as she looked into her honey brown eyes. Those eyes sparkled with tears, a wistful smile and a forlorn look to her as she ran her eyes over Sakura's features. What affection could she offer this woman who'd she never seen before now? But the Hokage looked at her with such real feeling.

"I'm really sorry, Sakura," said Tsunade, squeezing her shoulder. "I'll do all I can for you. But I'm sorry for this awful news when you're already going through all of this. I'll get Shizune and we'll figure out what to do. Yamanaka, the rest's for you."

Tsunade stood upright, pulled her green coat from her desk and left, walking from the office. Then it was just Ino and Sakura.

Ino's company should have felt more comfortable than the company of a stranger, but it was more similar than Sakura would have liked. The longer she looked at Ino, fumbling behind the desk, the more she felt like she was in a foreign world: Ino was similar enough to be familiar, but not similar enough to be the girl she knew. She had gone through puberty, sure - tall enough to be a walk-about jounin – but not only was she not the Ino that Sakura knew, Sakura wasn't the Sakura she knew either. Foreign scars, foreign muscle, even. But Ino had foreign maturity as she sat in front of her, and she'd shared moments with Sakura that Sakura herself couldn't even remember. Either she knew Sakura better than Sakura knew herself, or she was seeing a ghost. Neither felt good.

"So," Ino began, sitting down on Tsunade's seat. She crossed her legs. "Can you walk me through the last things you remember? Just - y'know, so I know where to start."

Sakura nodded, and walked Ino through what she remembered. It was fuzzy in parts, horribly clear in others. She remembered the whole bloody mess, the awfulness, the way Suna betrayed them, the way Ino went ahead the way she did – watching her back – and she knew no feeling like it. Now it was far off, like Sakura had felt many feelings after it, but they were gone now. She was she.

"Well," said Ino, nodding, "What happened after that whole incident was… well, since Satsuki stopped Naruto from killing Gaara then and there, that was a pretty big fracture. They started fighting, not talking to each other for a while. We tried to patch things up – you really tried, super hard. But it just didn't work. We made a last ditch effort on the Fourth's festival day, but Naruto ended up defecting. You tried to stop him – Satsuki did too – and Naruto, well. He kicked the shit out of Satsuki, particularly, but he broke your ankle pretty bad. And then he was gone, to Orochimaru."

"To Orochimaru."

"To Orochimaru, yeah." Ino sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not getting this," said Sakura. "I'm not… why would Naruto go to Orochimaru?"

Ino sat back, frowning and letting out a long breath, a trail of blonde hair on her lip. "I'm not sure. I couldn't tell you why exactly. But when I used my Shintenshin on him, I honestly saw things that made me wonder – not about his sanity, but about just how much he was seeing. I think Naruto thought about things more than he ever let on."

"What difference does that make?" Sakura said, feeling detached almost. "I still don't understand. Is there something I'm missing?"

"I think," Ino began, crossing her arms, "and full disclosure, you were never satisfied with, or y'know - well, you never really believed this. But Satsuki told me – and you – that Naruto told her before she left, that he was going to kill Orochimaru. And that was why he went.

"When I used my Shintenshin on him, I saw a lot of stuff that would make sense if that was what he wanted to do. He seemed obsessed with, well, people. Mizuki-sensei from the academy and… Hinata, particularly. I know they both died thanks to Orochimaru, if by proxy. So it makes sense he would want to go and stab him in the back using that offer he got. I don't think the Third's death helped either."

That made more sense, Sakura supposed. She nodded slowly. "But you're saying I never believed that."

"No, you didn't," Ino confirmed. "You thought it was cheap if it was true, and maybe not true at all – that Satsuki was lying to make you forgive him. You told me you thought it might be to dissuade you from hating him."

Sakura didn't say anything.

"So I don't want to lie to you," said Ino, "make you… you know, forget about that. That was your vendetta, and you're entitled to it."

"Yeah, I get it. Thanks." Sakura didn't know what to think. That explained the cutting in her room. Those letters – maybe she needed to see those.

Ino sat back in the chair, exhaling deeply and pulling her hair from its tie. It was a long stream of blonde now, reaching far past the seat of the chair as she scraped it into a fresh ponytail.

"So," Sakura said, moving on awkwardly. Even fidgeting in this foreign body wasn't comforting: every motion felt new and strange like she was wearing prosthetics. "I heard from the doctors after I woke up that I was on a jounin mission when I got that head injury, so I know about that, but… I don't know much else about it. Also, I made jounin?"

"You did, yeah." Ino looked pained. "We were on a mission. It was to investigate Orochimaru's hideout for a later retrieval for Naruto – just espionage. But it went wrong, Orochimaru's guys clocked us, and we had to get out. But you got concussed hard, really bad head injury on the way out, and me, and everybody else had to pull you out. It was a failure in pretty much every respect, actually, because the intel we got afterwards from the area was the Orochimaru left almost immediately, and probably Naruto with him."

"Did we find Naruto?" Sakura frowned.

Ino shook her head.

Now that sounded strange to Sakura. She felt sure, not certain or anywhere close, but there was something – she remembered Naruto in strange clothes, older. Was she imagining it? A month long dream?

"You're sure?" she repeated, looking Ino in the eyes. "There's no way I could have met with him – I definitely never saw him?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Ino said, shaking her head. "You weren't really separated from us – we were even together when you got injured."

"Huh." Sakura frowned. "Who's 'we'? Like, was someone else there on that mission?"

"Yeah, there was a guy, but I honestly don't know his real name," Ino chuckled, looking a little sad. "It was a guy from ROOT, you know Danzo's division? He didn't actually have a name. He had us call him Sai. No surname or anything. Think he had a number before he came there. A real weirdo, but not a bad guy. Seems kinda screwed up that Danzo is allowed to do that to people."

Sakura stared at Ino, the ghostly older girl who was looking at her with a careful affection. She had no idea what to think. Who was she? What had happened? Why did she feel so uncomfortable?

"This is a lot," she said at last.

"Well, ask me anything you need to ask me!" Ino motioned to herself with a flourish. "Reconstruct yourself, y'know? I'll try and tell you the truth about everything."

"You'll try, huh."

"I sure will," Ino winked.

Tsunade came in with a creak of the door, Shizune at her foot. "Sorry," she said. "Figured you'd be done. The wound there is fairly cut and dry, it's just the reason it happened that's complex."

"Complex is an understatement," said Sakura, rubbing her head. "I don't think I understand it at all."

Tsunade nodded, walking behind her desk as Shizune fumbled with papers on the other side of the room. "Well, if we knew why people defected, I'm sure it wouldn't really happen as much as it does. Anyway, I need a drink."

Ino looked to Tsunade, about to stand up and pour her one when Tsunade lifted a hand. "It's quite alright. Sit down. I'll pour us all a drink for Sarutobi."

"Hokage-sama, I'm not-" began Sakura.

"Legal?" Tsunade finished, raising an eyebrow. She scoffed, setting out three choko cups from her second drawer. They were embellished with sparrows on their sides, and clean as a button. She picked the bottle up from below the desk. "Well, not technically. But let me tell you, Sarutobi Hiruzen could throw 'em back with the rest of us. Let's have a cup to him."

Sakura nodded slowly, and Tsunade poured with a deft hand, one, two, three, four. She pulled over Shizune, and passed her a cup as well.

"To Sarutobi-sensei," Tsunade said, "The Third Hokage, a strict teacher, and a man with an insatiable thirst for knowledge and an endless trust in the good of man. May the Will of Fire you nurtured in your lifetime burn through this country, so someday from the ashes might rise a man like you again."

"To the Third," said Sakura, lifting her choko. The four of them clinked choko, sake spilling from cup to cup, and drank.


Satsuki did not enjoy the Kazekage's office. It was more of a meeting room, filled with ominous statues of the previous Kazekage's looming on the walls. It was as lightless as a bunker, and filled with – usually – decrepit old men. Next to baby-faced Gaara, who was carefully situated near the statue of his father, the room felt cult-like.

The Intelligence Division's leader coughed, continuing through his notes. Satsuki snapped to attention.

"We don't, unfortunately, have many specifics on the Akatsuki as an organisation," the Intelligence Division went on. "The poison used on the border patrol is likely to belong to Sasori. However, we don't have enough information to determine the scope of the organisation, how many members, and their goal. Konoha corroborated Uchiha Satsuki-san's account that they are likely to be chasing the Jinchuuriki, but it seems that Konoha and the other nations are keeping most of the information they have under their belt. Reports from Kumo and Kiri confirm…"

Satsuki considered herself patient, but she was always impressed at Gaara's patience. He was simply very focused.

"So," Temari interrupted. Satsuki could still see the smears of her late-night makeup. "What do you advise we do next? I get that we don't know enough about the Akatsuki to track them, or prevent this from happening again. But what if it does happen again? Are we supposed to be twiddling our thumbs, or what? One skilled bomber almost vaporised our town. If Gaara wasn't here, Suna would be molten rock-!"

The head of the Intelligence Division nodded, looking alarmed, but Gaara raised a hand, looking a little tired. "Thank you for your concern, Temari," Gaara said, inclining his head, and then turned to the head of Intelligence. "And thank you for your report as well, Kamakura-sama. Council: what do you make of this, then?"

The Council obviously had something to make of this: Gaara was too young, they needed someone experienced, and so on. Also, what was a young Uchiha from Konoha doing in the office of the Kazekage, some might call it treasonous! Those Uchiha were known for a disposition to violence, a history of instability one might say… but Gaara's asking put the Council under a pointed scrutiny. Satsuki, in particular, kept a firm gaze on the older woman Miyajima, who had a tendency to bring up these things.

"Suna has always been an independent nation," began Miyajima, keeping her gaze firmly away from Satsuki.

"However, after the Oto invasion failure, it is safe to say relations with Konoha are of utmost importance, and Konoha's goodwill in espionage and in diplomacy are eminent." The slightly older council member, Nakano, tapped the table. "We cannot underestimate the powers Konoha has. Sasori made evident that our borders, along with our weaknesses, have been circulated, and that spies have entered our territories. We will be better off in every way if we communicate this threat thoroughly to Konohagakure, if not every nation. We may get information, and the act of goodwill might allow us to get into better positions for future negotiations."

Miyajima, with visible displeasure, sighed, the lines working around her mouth as she ground her teeth.

"Then are we decided?" said Gaara. "I will send a bird to Konoha, our trusted ally, about these proceedings. Uchiha Satsuki-san, our esteemed Konoha contact, should pen this letter as a sign of our goodwill, in the Konoha cipher."

No one dissented, so Gaara nodded to the scribe, who began quickly noting the new direction.

"Furthermore," said Gaara, "Uchiha Satsuki-san is returning home soon, after her trip. This will consolidate our goodwill with Konoha – they will know she is well, and we can send accompanying persons to inform Konoha in detail of our situation. My sister Temari should be ideal, as she is present, participated fully and should be able to update the Hokage fully on the situation without compromising on our administration."

Nakano nodded, as did the various other clan heads. "That works well, Gaara-sama," he said. "Satsuki-san, please work on that letter as soon as you can, and we should prepare for the trip to Konoha sooner than expected as well. This situation is dire, certainly, but politically the consequences we could face could be far worse than anything so far."

Nods came from around the table, and with Gaara's adjournment, they all began to leave. Miyajima, the older woman, shook her head, still sat at the great stone table.

Gaara bowed respectfully. "Miyajima-sama, is something wrong?"

"No," she said, sighing. "It astounds me."

The other council members continued packing away, bustling amongst each other as they set about their established tasks, but Miyajima sat still, and as she did, so did Gaara, who sat back down in the seat just beside her.

"Do you disagree with my ruling?" he said.

Miyajima shook her head. "No," she said. "You've bloomed like a rose through rock. That's the insult of it."

Gaara was quiet, but nodded.

"You've become such a respectable Kazekage, even despite your age," she said. "Perhaps age really is just a number, and I'm not just told that whenever I go shopping on my own. It's amazing how a young man like you can do what you do."

She stood upright, straightening the scroll of notes in front of her and putting it away. "Few will thank you for what you did last night," she said, "because we are a meritocracy, and you are expected to be the best of the best. But you were sublime. Thank you for protecting us all. I know you could be doing many, far worse things with that power of yours – I think you taught us that."

"And I wish I hadn't," said Gaara. "But thank you all the same, Miyajima-sama."


Kimimaro was prepared to become Orochimaru's new body, having been covered in the appropriate seals. When Naruto came to him, laying in that sterile room, Kimimaro had looked somehow empty, docile beneath crumpled sheets.

"Hey," whispered Naruto. "You're gonna become Orochimaru's new vessel tomorrow, huh?"

Kimimaro gave him a slow nod, detaching his gaze from Naruto and lifting it to the ceiling again. "Yes," he said quietly. "It's my greatest pleasure to be of service to Orochimaru-sama."

The words made Naruto's heart sink, but he smiled anyway. "Let's go outside, then."

"Why?"

He shrugged, opening a hand to Kimimaro. "Why not? It might be the last time you ever get the chance to, as you, yourself. I've never seen Orochimaru stop to admire the scenery. Dunno, maybe he does- never seen it though."

Kimimaro gave him a long look, with those pale green eyes that brought out the red rings around them. He didn't say anything, shake his head, sigh or roll his eyes; he was different to say Satsuki, or Kakashi, that did show their exasperation with him. Kimimaro wasn't like that. He was difficult to read, and Naruto's only real skill in the world was understanding other people.

Even so, the boy took Naruto's hand, climbing off his gurney and following him into the hall. They slipped past corner after corner in silence, the only sound the soft scuffling of their feet. Turn after turn they passed, torch after torch blown out as they walked and walked and walked. Soon they saw the dim white light of the moon gaping through the exit, and quietly Naruto pushed through.

The gibbous moon was waning, peeking through misty clouds like a smoke-shrouded face; most fantastically, there was snow, coming down in thick, shapeless flakes. Naruto held little snowflakes like amorphous little ships upon the air, chunks of cotton.

Kimimaro caught a flake in the palm of his hand. As it met his warm skin, it seemed to crumple and wither away, collapsing like an icy nest of sticks melting into the lines of his palm. Proof of life, he thought. Proof I'm alive.

"They don't really have snow like this in Konoha, y'know," Naruto said quietly, as they walked into the glade ahead. Their bare feet tracked hefty tracks into the snow, the loose material pulling on the blanket of white. "I've seen it once when I was a kid, but… it's more humid there. Green. Like here, but a little less dry."

Kimimaro nodded slowly, the moon reflecting on his eyes. Naruto couldn't see where he was looking exactly, so he looked away, kneeling down to grab a handful of snow from where it had buried itself between tufts of grass. He crushed it, and it melded to the form of his hand, turning to ice: he pulled together an armful of snow, and pressed it into a snowball.

"Hey," he said, grinning and dropping it smarmily into Kimimaro's hands. "For you."

"Me?"

"I've never been in a snowball fight," Naruto said, motioning to his chest. "Go on, launch it! Gimme that patented Kimimaro overhand. Give me chest pain so bad Kabuto has to use, uh, the shrethoscope."

Kimimaro looked at him as Naruto pulled back through the snow, the falling flakes concealing his form a little. But as Naruto knelt down to gather a snowball of his own, Kimimaro did pull back, that familiar form of his as he pulled back his arm and slung the snowball into his ribs. The force of it sent him onto his back, knocking the tree behind him and sending a fresh cascade of snow from the branches into the clearing.

So Naruto gathered another snowball and threw it back; Kimimaro gathered his own, throwing it at Naruto with brutal force. Over and over again they wounded each other, until Naruto was breathless from laughter and even Kimimaro was keeled over a little, holding his knees. They both sat down in the snow, the stars twinkling through the snow clouds here and there, a flurry of flakes still pushing its way down to the ground. The glade was no longer filled with discernible footsteps: just piles of disturbed snow. The cold turned to wetness against Naruto and Kimimaro's legs, but still they sat beneath the trees, staring at the stars.

"Naruto-kun," said Kimimaro at last. "Why are we outside?"

It was something Naruto didn't even know how to broach with Kimimaro: that question of loyalty. But he liked Kimimaro. He wanted to stay with Kimimaro. He stared, then he looked at his hands, ignoring the cold water sticking his clothes to his legs, ignoring the bark of the tree at his back. He scratched his head.

"Are you really okay with this?"

"What?" Kimimaro was really looking at him. Naruto felt like he never really was. He was always looking somewhere else: but no. This time, he was definitely looking at Naruto.

"Are you really, really okay," Naruto whispered, "with like- leaving all of this behind?"

Kimimaro didn't get angry, nor did he yell or walk away. He lay there, as still as Naruto, his breath in cold puffs in front of him. "Yeah," he said.

"Did you uh, have a good life?"

Kimimaro smiled, ducking his head and lifting up a handful of snow. He lifted it right before his eyes, staring at the softness of the snow. Naruto felt, as he always felt around Kimimaro, that Kimimaro was so barely there: a spectre.

"I didn't see snow until I was older," said Kimimaro, and he was laughing, just a little. "Really, Naruto-kun. I'd heard about it. Someone told me that it was frozen water, from the sky. So I thought of little blocks of ice, crumbling down from the clouds like a rockslide. I was kept inside a long time, so I didn't see it until they were… gone, and I was free. I was not truly free."

He cupped the snow with both hands, lifting it before his eyes. The moonlight made it sparkle, little snowflakes catching the light for just a split second. "I thought it would be hard, or maybe slippery. But… it's like it isn't even there at all. It's so soft, but I can't feel it. When I can feel it, it's already melting. I can walk through it like water, it melts like ice. It sparkles like water, but I can throw it. When it hits the ground, it's completely silent, and it holds footprints like soft dirt…"

Kimimaro tilted his hands to the left, then to the right, then back again; the light sparkled from his diminishing little cup of snow, like a large gem deposit catching the moonlight.

"When I saw that snow for the first time, I realised that our lives are so inscrutable and small," he said. "Even if I lived forever, up until the day I died I would have countless moments of such wonder. Those moments where I could see the irregular, senseless form of the world. Like snow, those moments pass so quickly. Like a snowflake, or like a flower, I will die, and my life will be a mere snowflake in a flurry of wonder, and I will someday be forgotten as I am known now. One day no one alive will know my face.

"Orochimaru wants to learn everything, know everything, own it through his manifested understanding. He wants to remember others, to be known and not remembered. That is a fine life for him. But it's not what I want." Kimimaro parted his fingers, ice cold water trickling through. "Moments are moments because they end. The transience of these moments is what makes them so marvellous. The nature of things to hide themselves from us – that one day I will be a dust, inside of a tree or a fox, that will maybe bear structure to a house or feed a hunter. I am a servant to that unknowable world, and to Orochimaru-sama, who gave me the life to see it. I'm comforted by the fact I will be forgotten, Naruto-kun. I'm comforted by how much I truly do not matter in the end."

Naruto was quiet beside him. Kimimaro never talked. Now he did, what was there for it? That wasn't a logic Naruto could understand. His life was him, there was no bigger picture. He'd realised that when he saw people dying in front of him: that he had to live. That that was all there was. That wasn't it for Kimimaro, but he could at least appreciate the guy.

It was with a deep satisfaction that Naruto observed Kimimaro wouldn't get what he wanted. Kimimaro would live, and witness the world. And Orochimaru would die, and become one with the dirt.

"And what would you do if Orochimaru was gone, and there was just you?" said Naruto. "Just you, living a life. Where would you go? Who would you be?"

Kimimaro didn't shift, his bare feet buried numb in the snow. "Only God knows," he said. "But I would be me."


The evening was hot red with twilight.

Suna's sandstone buildings became like a terracotta town with the sunset, and as the skin spread black at the other edge of the desert, and the moon shone dimly like a white talc fingerprint on a dark blanket. Satsuki admired it from her small apartment balcony, a protected cove of stone that was not as sprawling or makeshift as Konoha's homes. Everything in Suna was built to last, to weather storms and to do so as economically as possible. Paint on buildings was soon worn away, so people learned to make the beauty of their homes less permanent. Sunagakure was a place where people didn't stick to tradition to the detriment of efficiency, but when the sun set like this and the day began to cool, it was brighter and more beautiful than any place in the Five Nations.

As the night bloomed in Suna, someone began to play a koto in the square and carried its tune with an accompanying song. The town was humming with people. Though it was past afternoon, it was as busy as noon in Konoha: the days didn't start as early in Suna, and when they did, people took break from midday to early afternoon to avoid the blistering sunlight. People worked in the evenings, and spent as much time as they could in the evening light to appreciate Suna's most beautiful and habitable time of day.

Today was Thursday, and it was Oyasumi, the holiday of relaxation here. People didn't necessarily take Thursdays off, but they did try to make time to enjoy the events that people held those days. Temari, Gaara and Kankurou were avid participants, but Kankurou was away from the village: even so, Satsuki knew she may not be back for a long time, and so she headed to the village gates, to see the events.

She walked through the town, hot evening air dotted with an evening breeze that pushed a gentle speckling of sand onto her cheeks. The buildings all around had their washing strung between the alleyways, great loose trails of red, blue, yellow material billowing from the white webs. The sun turned white to red. Everything was hot and red at this rare time of day, no more than an hour of this warmth. Satsuki savoured it as she walked to the gates: Konoha had nothing like it, no red eye on the horizon that shone down until the earth forced it below.

The familiar border guard, Haruko, nodded at her from the gate's booth with a smile. "Out to see Gaara-sama?"

"All of it, really," said Satsuki. Suna was stricter about this kind of thing than Konoha, but Satsuki was distinctive looking here, and she was almost as well-known here as in Konoha because she had sat the jounin exams here, with some controversy. But many liked her, and she had no complaints about her treatment. Haruko particularly never gave her any trouble.

Haruko scribbled on the paper quickly, and passed it to Satsuki, who tucked the receipt into her pocket with a nod. "Have fun! Tell me who wins the Sandsurfing, by the way."

"I will," said Satsuki.

Out Satsuki went. The great sprawling desert was blinding in the midday, but now it was just monotone, like a simple painting. But out to the north west of the gate were great big tents for Oyasumi, a small market, competitions, and Gaara had – as was customary – shifted a massive dune of sand to make for the sandsurfing competitions. It had a habit of wearing out if left be, so Gaara moved it for the occasion. Satsuki walked over: even this tiny bit of sun exposure used to kill her, but now she wore thin, loose and dark clothes, and she was much cooler for it. The tent grew in size, and she could hear the people jostling.

The market was tucked beneath the bright purple tent, and was to the brim with people. Makeshift tables and stools were all about, and up to the right people lugged great big windsurfing boards up the slope with difficulty. It was a steep walk, and those things were by no means light. Satsuki could smell the stalls of fruits – sugared plums, fresh dates, and there was cold coffee, too. Most of it was far too sweet for her, but it was nice all the same.

It was the windsurfing for now, while it was still sunny enough to see what they were doing. Satsuki wove her way through the throngs of the tent to the other side, where Temari among others lined up for the sandsurfing. Throngs of people sat on stone stands beside the competition, where there had, before Satsuki had arrived, been a couple other competitions – but Satsuki, quite frankly, wouldn't come out to endure that much sunlight if she could help it. Not even if this was her last Oyasumi in the country.

She reached the stands, seeing Temari lining up to compete and seeing Gaara, clothes billowing, at the top. She strode up beside the slope's track, doing her best to stay out of the way, and gave them both a nonchalant wave.

"Hey," she said to Gaara.

Gaara nodded. "Good to see you."

"You didn't call this off."

"This may be your last Oyasumi here with us," said Gaara, frowning softly. "And of course, I think people need these celebrations in times of anxiety more than ever. But, of course, you are my friend, and the village is the village. No one resents an extra celebration – I hope."

"Perhaps the budgeters do."

Gaara shook his head. "It costs nothing more than my time and effort," he said, motioning to the dune itself. "And it is a nice break. That is the idea of Oyasumi, after all."

"So it is." Satsuki turned to Temari, who was stretching her waist and pulling her legs up behind her one at a time to warm up. "Are you feeling confident?"

"No," Temari sniffed. "But I usually don't, so maybe that's a good sign. I'm just excited."

Satsuki nodded, putting her hands in her pockets and letting Temari get back to her stretching. She turned to Gaara. "You didn't displace any bodies when you moved the dune this time, did you?"

"Forgive me, but I think I'll choose to-" Gaara coughed, "sweep that incident under the rug."

Satsuki smirked, putting her hands in her pockets. "Miyajima and the rest of them are only making a stink because they know it makes you look bad."

"It doesn't help that they were bleached skeletons who had been there for perhaps decades," sighed Gaara, sitting down on a perfectly melded sand chair. With a small lift of his hand, one drew itself up beside him, and Satsuki settled into it. "I'm sure they're older than me."

"Seems likely."

"Still," he said, turning to Satsuki with a gentle smile. "That's a dark topic for now. We must celebrate, to ensure that we're well worn for the time we may spend apart."

"Could be a while."

"It could indeed," nodded Gaara. "I'm sure I will see you, or you will visit, but perhaps we won't spend such leisurely time together until better time has passed, and you've brought Uzumaki Naruto back to his hometown."

The ease with which Gaara brought Naruto up soothed Satsuki, more than anything. With other friends, it was though his name was a duck egg: too delicate to be tossed about, too heavy to be ignored. Gaara was easy with it, and it made it feel – to Satsuki – as though Naruto was still about, just stomping his feet in a huff somewhere.

Satsuki let her eyes wander to the slopes, flurrying with dust as a breeze cast over its curve. "I think so. I still have to bring him home."

Gaara nodded his head at her. "You will bring him home. There may be trials and tribulations, but I have faith in you. As we did yesterday, and as I made it to this title, it is difficult, but it will be done. What of your friend Sakura?"

That was, for no one but Satsuki, a much heavier name than Naruto right now. Naruto, she had a vague idea of what he might be doing. Sakura? None. Ino gave her a vague overview when she responded – no one else was really in contact with her. She had sent that recent letter to Sakura, and still no response. That at least, was a burden she would shed in Konoha – worrying for her teammate.

"Nothing yet," Satsuki said. "But I'll help her myself. With whatever it is, as soon as I'm home."

"Then that is one worry shed," said Gaara, and he poured her a small cold coffee from a pitcher, and lifted his own to her. "Good oyasumi to you."

"Good oyasumi to you too."

As they watched, Temari winked as she lodged her feet into the windboard. Satsuki could see her muscles pulling taut and relaxing as she clung onto it, lodging herself firmly into the sand as she waited for the whistle to below. Competitors lined up along the row, all perfectly poised like a spread deck of cards, women and men all wielding that wild looking equipment.

The whistle blew, and Satsuki covered her eyes to avoid the spray of sand that came hurtling towards them.

The crowd was roaring. The competitors cut lines into the sand like a calligrapher cuts lines into paper, effortless at every turn, sand sheering away into a fine dust: clouds of it whipped across the audience like a storm. Temari was focused, her curled hair pulling behind her as she tugged the windboard back, veering across the field and cutting ahead.

A girl, black with a white board and an illustrious blue headscarf, pulled ahead as well. They soared down the curve, sloping and cutting into the sand down the slope with unforgiving speed. The heat was gone, the sun was gone, it was just boards that disappeared into the distance like fast-flying paper boats. Despite it all, a petite young boy with a board that dwarfed him caught the breeze at the end, cutting to first as he glided across the line.

Temari hurtled past the line too, the other girl close behind, and after Temari had crashed into a barrier and destroyed her windsurfer, they shook hands amicably and Temari forlornly trawled towards Gaara and Satsuki as they came down the slope to greet her. The crowd was still seated, waiting for the juniors race.

"Very interesting play, Temari," said Gaara, eyeing Temari's savaged windsurfer curiously.

"Don't appreciate this attitude," she muttered. "Wasn't like I broke it out of anger, I just lost control when that other guy took me by surprise."

"He must be younger than you," said Satsuki.

"They've got an advantage!" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Small people basically float depending on the weather. We should have a rule about keeping your board on the ground."

Gaara had a teasing smile on his face. "You were excellent, Temari."

Temari huffed, pulling the board toward her as they headed to the tent. "Hope you're not rigging it against me by moving the sand under my feet."

"People will be unhappy if they realise I can do that," he said. "Don't tell people that."

"I won't, I won't," said Temari, grinning. "Providing your birthday presents are good enough. Let's go get some snacks."

As they headed to the tent, Temari bought her favourite snack of the day - a cream filled pancake, fried quickly and sprinkled with crushed nuts, called kataiefu - and they sat under a small pavilion, watching as the sun set.

"So you'll have the Chuunin exams without me, then," said Satsuki.

Gaara nodded. "It seems so. But perhaps I'll invite you to serve as proctor. It may to serve the bias accusations we get from other villages when we do almost anything." He took a small plum sweet and chewed on it slowly. "Then again, perhaps not. We may just get more accusations of favouring our allies."

"Maybe you do," said Temari, eating the kataiefu. "Would you invite Otogakure to proctor here?"

Gaara scoffed. The pavilion rustled with a gentle wind; the sun was a mere blip now, its edges spurring the edge of the horizon and shining upwards. A single strip of clouds was luminous above it, pink edges beaming. "If our father was alive, he might make a worse showing of diplomacy than Orochimaru."

Temari hummed. "Probably."

They finished their food, and for a time Gaara went to the other pavilions, to speak with people and make well with them. Satsuki and Temari ate quietly. Temari said about this competition or other, just small talk, until Gaara returned, the sun was silence, and it was time to go. They walked home.

"Who won the sandsurfing?" said Haruko at the gates.

Satsuki shrugged, but Gaara spoke. "It was Sanjima's son. He made quite a showing."

"Oh, that is impressive," whistled Haruko, scribbling on the receipt as she took it back from Satsuki. "But he is very good."

Temari lowered her windboard below the booth inconspicuously, looking a little sullen.

They bade Haruko goodnight, and headed home.

"What're you going to do then, Satsuki?"

"Start clearing out my home," she said, strolling through the emptying streets. "We're going sooner than I thought, so I'm going to get to it."

"Mm," said Temari. "Good plan. You could leave it last minute though."

Satsuki rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's a very good idea."

They reached the parting, and Temari stretched, lifting her board over her shoulders and sighing. "Well, I'm going to head to Kitanaka's and see what he can do for this board. Or just leave it there for parts. We'll see. I'll see you on the day we go, Satsuki, if we don't meet before then."

Satsuki lifted a hand. "See you then."

Temari hauled the board off, giving her a wide wave as she parted. Gaara, however, stood for a moment beside Satsuki, giving her a long look.

"You enjoyed Suna?" he asked.

"I haven't left yet," she said, "but yes. It was very nice. Very different, but nice."

"Your training will be useful to you?"

"No doubt. The tessenjutsu here is different, but I have no doubts it'll help me."

Gaara nodded. "That's good to hear."

They were quiet a moment.

"I may not see you before your leaving day," he said, "so take this."

He took out a small, palm-sized frame, with a single desert rose pressed in its glass. They were unusual blooms - Satsuki had seen one in the greenhouses there, but nowhere else. They were difficult to cultivate, and most likely kept indoors, she thought; its bloom was bigger than she had realised, taking up almost the entire frame with its pink, fluorescent glow.

She took the frame from him, a simple wooden border, and looked at the pressed flower, dry and perfected.

"Thank you," she said, feeling strange.

"When I met you, Uchiha Satsuki," he said, "I was not in the place I am now, as we both know."

Gaara certainly looked different, too. He met her eyes completely, but looked a little distant too. He was a friend: he was at peace with himself enough to be a friend, which Satsuki had learned - through Naruto, Kakashi, Sakura, and everyone else who had tolerated her - that that was not always the case.

"I was struggling with my mind, and my status, and my past. I couldn't find myself because I couldn't acknowledge what had happened. I saw myself in you and Uzumaki Naruto. You were both tormented, and you both struggled. One of you planted roots, and one of you went north. It was not something I understood at the time, and it took me a time to understand what had really happened."

"You taught me, Satsuki," he said, "that this struggle may never disappear, but if I fight, it can become a smaller part of me. That despite the… damage, I can make roots.

"I'm grateful to you for that."

Satsuki stared, but shook her head in the end. "No," she said. "You taught me something too. Thanks to you, even if it was through your mistakes, I realised that revenge - that hurting other people wasn't going to alleviate my own pain at all. That I will hold onto it forever. I'd become fixated with the idea that some measure of killing would fix that pain. It won't. This pain has scarred me. It lives in me.

"The fact that I still feel it," she said, feeling choked all of a sudden, in the cooling desert air, "is a sign I still have things left to lose."

Gaara nodded.

"Yes," he agreed. But he turned away then, looking at the set sun, the sky that was now speckling with stars like bugs rising from the moss. "I had thought once, Uchiha Satsuki, that you were a monster made in ice. I thought that of myself too.

"I was wrong. We Suna are forged in fire, and so are you," he said. "My friend. You are welcome here anytime."

Satsuki took his outstretched hand. "I know, Gaara. I'll be back. Anytime."


It hurt.

Orochimaru was not above a bit of pain. He put his patients in pain, and he could happily, if necessary, remain in pain for as long as required for his science. He was a man who believed pain was part of life. So he waited, patiently, for Kabuto to prepare his body today. Kimimaro had recovered, by the grace of science, and so he thought excitedly of that body.

With the Shikotsumyaku, he would be in pain often, he fantasised. He would investigate the use of the jutsu, see how he could potentially give his next bodies such an ability. Perhaps he would harvest cells, with Kabuto's aid, from his spine or bones to make new bodies with the Shikotsumyaku. Clones, whatever was necessary for progress. Once the body was his, such research would be far easier. Wonderful. Kimimaro's graceful body would be his, as he had always hoped.

The candles flickered gently. Stony walls gently illuminated. He could see this body rotting. His arms were no longer fully functional. Walking, even more difficult. Problematic indeed. He needed to perfect this jutsu - make these bodies last longer. Cloning could certainly circumvent this issue, but he needed something new, a better jutsu for preservation. Kabuto was working on that, but Orochimaru was far better at it than he. He was an innovator, a perfect innovator.

Kabuto had been very busy these past few days. Preparing Kimimaro. But Orochimaru felt far weaker than he had during the last body transfers - the body seemed to be rejecting him so rapidly and so fervently. He could barely use chakra at all. But he reassured himself: today was the day. Kimimaro would be ready.

Sweat dripped from his brow. Every ounce of him hurt: his ears pounded with his heartbeat, his breaths came in ragged gasps. Just one more day. Just one more day.

"Kabuto-kun," he rasped. "Kabuto-kun!"

Kabuto rushed in, eager to serve. He bowed deeply. "Orochimaru-sama."

"The body. When will the body be ready?"

"Soon," Kabuto said, bowing even deeper. "Kimimaro will be ready by the end of the night."

Yes, the end of the night, Orochimaru thought fervently. Soon, soon, soon.

"Assist me," he said. "I must shower. The pain is overwhelming."

"Yes, of course." Kabuto came to his side. His glasses were still broken. Testament to the constant work, Orochimaru thought. Kabuto was truly a tireless servant. Such a loyal boy.

Kabuto assisted Orochimaru to his feet, helping Orochimaru to his shower. Quietly he stripped Orochimaru of his clothes as he kept himself steady against the tile, breathing, one, two, it hurt. God, it hurt.

"Kimimaro is almost ready, Kabuto-kun?"

His servant loyally folded his clothes on his seat, pulling the comb out of his hair to let his hair fall free. He crept to the cupboard and found a towel, pulling this over the chair as well. Then Kabuto reached under his arm to gently guide him into the shower, and put on the water, as Orochimaru held the wall and gasped at the fresh wave of ugly pain that the water brought.

As the sweat that furrowed his brow was washed away, pain brought more: it was overwhelmingly painful, excruciating, like his entire skin was burning. Everything hurt. So painful, unbelievably painful. But he would endure. Pain was temporary, he told himself. Unlike Orochimaru. He would endure forever. Body to body, self to self, Orochimaru would be eternal, Orochimaru would outlive the pain-

He howled, gasping from the excruciating sensation. "Kabuto-kun," he got out through his cries.

"Yes, Orochimaru-sama?"

"Kabuto-kun," he gasped. He couldn't take it much longer. "Wash me."

His servant reached for the soap and lathered his hands. He took Orochimaru's hair and ran his hands through it, distributing the lather all through. Then he washed Orochimaru's back and body, gently soaping to wash away the sweat and muck from this ceaseless pain. Every gentle caress was pain unspeakable. The soap itself seemed to sear his crumbling skin.

"I'm," he gasped, "Kabuto-kun. Are you almost done?"

"Almost, Orochimaru-sama," he said. "Please stay under the water a little longer to wash it off."

He could do that, he reminded himself. Pain was temporary. He stared at his hands, pressed firmly against the tile, shaking from the unimaginable agony. It was hot. It was painful. It was acid. It was constant. It was a rain of anguish.

"Kabuto-kun!" he howled at last. "Turn the water off!"

"What, Orochimaru-sama?" Kabuto turned the heat up. "I can't hear you."

"You fool," he hissed, "Turn it off."

"I can't hear you over the water, Orochimaru-sama." His servant walked from the shower, seeing to his towel. "Please stay there a little longer, to properly clean yourself."

It was unbearable. The water was so hot it turned to steam as it struck the tile, every part of him was burning, he could see his skin blistering beneath the stream. No, no, no. He was trembling, a foot slipped-

He stumbled, cracking his head against the tile as he crumpled into the corner. The stream, Kabuto was turning the knob, it came down yet more forceful, so hot, searing-

"Kabuto!" Orochimaru screamed. It was hitting his face now, he could feel his lips swelling, his eyes seared, he scrunched them shut, but it wouldn't stop. He lifted a hand that creaked like an old mechanical joint, it wouldn't obey, he couldn't reach, the water, it was burning-

Kabuto turned up the heat.

"Yes, Orochimaru-sama?" his loyal servant said. His cracked glasses were hot with the heat, he could barely see him at all through the steam. Orochimaru squeezed his eyes shut again, and he clawed the tile for anything, were his fingernails still there? Were they coming off? His skin, he could barely feel it anymore. It all hurt. His tongue lolled from his mouth like a dumbly attached eel.

"Turn… Turn… the heat..! Turn it…"

His devout servant took his glasses from his eyes for a moment, taking the towel and rubbing them in circles along the lenses. They were clean again, and he lifted them to examine them.

"Of course, Orochimaru-sama," said Kabuto.

He turned the heat up. The water was nothing short of lava.

PAIN, now Orochimaru knew it. This was pain. This was the pain that made his patients squirm, that made his enemies beg, that made the great men of the war and of the table and of Konoha screech and wail. The pain that made wild animals eat their own skin. His skin was fire. He was pain made man. Anything. Something. All. One. He would do it all, to stop the pain, to stop the water, to stop the CEASELESS WATER-

"Help me!" Orochimaru clawed for momentum. He couldn't move himself. His body wasn't working anymore. It was pain. His face had swollen. He was going blind. The heat. The water. The heat. The water. Every droplet felt like a hot knife. No, no, no, NO, NO, NO-

Was he dreaming? Was this a dream? Retribution? All of it? Would it end? Ever end?

"Orochimaru-sama," Kabuto said, taking his glasses off to clean again against the towel. His expression was bliss, a peaceful smile he had never seen Kabuto wear. "Speak their names."

The realisation struck him, as he struggled naked, limp against slippery tile, all known skin either crumbled black or blistered red. Fury possessed his heart only a single moment, a desperate fury that did nothing to aid him, a desperate fury that would do nothing to save him. He knew. He knew, he hated himself for knowing, to die here? NO. Someone would revive him, but another him, or perhaps he would flee from here, but this self - it may- it might-

His body rejection medications had been placebos, he realised. That was why he was so ill, why now he could not use a single ounce of chakra to summon his sword or his other form. Kabuto had been dead. It was him.

"Tohru Mizuki," said Uzumaki Naruto, facestealer. He stepped in the shower, Kabuto's face uncomfortably twisting as the scalding water boiled his legs. "Hyuuga Hinata. Sarutobi Hiruzen. Countless other fuckers you've killed."

Skin. Heat. Skin. Heat. SKIN. HEAT. UZUMAKI NARUTO.

"If you can recite all their names," his vision was blackening, but he could see the steam white cracked spectacles still. When had Kabuto died? He was to die like a fool, as Kabuto had died a fool, as countless patients had died fools- skin. Heat. Skin. Heat.

"Recite the names of every person you've killed, and I'll let you live."

Slippery wet. Snake on ice. Couldn't move, couldn't go anywhere, it was sticking to his skin like wet skin on dry ice, peeling away, he could SEE it peeling away! Right there! And Naruto was there then, looking at him one last time, blonde and toothy.

This insult of a child. That accursed face! He should've crushed Minato's spawn the moment he came under his knife. But he loved playing with his food. He couldn't help it. But how he regretted it.

"How dare you," Orochimaru spat, heaving for breath. His breath came in gasps and it was never enough, every intake misted with water so thick it was like drowning. "I'll TEAR YOU APART!"

"No? Can't remember?" Naruto smiled then. "It's a lot of people. I get it, y'know. I was never actually very good at tests."

"Burn in hell, you orphan brat!" Orochimaru howled at the blur of a boy. The steam. The heat. His eyes. His teeth hurt. It was all so hot. All so wet. "May that Nine Tails burn you from the INSIDE OUT!"

"Inside out, huh."

The boy, the facestealer, had killed Kabuto, now he would kill him, shamefully, skin, heat, SKIN, HEAT, Orochimaru's right hand was disintegrating. Blackened skin was splitting beneath the heat and water, it was separating, he could see the bone as he tried to bend a finger, protruding in the joint- curse this bastard-

"Well." The boy stepped from the shower, his legs were blistered too, the hot water ceaseless, was he going into shock? He couldn't die. But thank god the pain would end. He wouldn't die. He couldn't die. He wouldn't give in.

"Take your medicine, Orochimaru-sama."

Uzumaki Naruto, FACESTEALER, turned the knob to its final degree. Orochimaru began to scream, agonising screeches that made his own ears ache. He writhed. He howled. He reached helplessly for the knobs. His limbs trembled beneath his weight, giving out as he reached and reached and reached again. It was all for naught. Lobster in pan. Snail in salt. Ant in oil. Then the names came.

"TOHRU MIZUKI!"

Naruto closed the curtain. Hung the towel on the rail.

"HYUUGA HINATA!"

Shuffle. Shuffle.

"SARUTOBI HIRUZEN!"

Click went the door.

SKIN. HEAT. SKIN. HEAT. SKIN. HEAT.

"SABAKU NO RASA! WAKUI GENYUMARU! OKUBO DANNO! HOMURA URANO!"

Footsteps down the hall.

"YUKIMURA ISAMU! TSUCHIYA KAE! YANASE YATSUMI! TODA TANJURO!"

Footsteps fading.

"KAWABATA SEIHO! OKAMOTO KIMIE! GIMA BAIREI!"

Quieter now.

"SAWADA DOPPO! MAKI YOSUKE! UMON OME! HORA NATSUKO! HANDA FUMIHIRO! NII YOSHIAGA! SAKANE TAKURO! MASE HISATO! SOMEONE! ANYONE- UZUMAKI NARUTO!"

Sweet silence at last.


A/N: Hot, warm or cold showers?