It's the rap-rap tapping of fat raindrops splattering against the windowpane that rouses Sasuke from his nap. He blinks blearily, wincing at the kink in his neck as he glances at the clock. He can't have been asleep for more than a half-hour.
It's only two o'clock, but his cramped little room is pitch-black. Sasuke gets up gingerly, rolling his shoulders as he walks over to the window. He presses his forehead to the glass, feeling the cool pane vibrate with the impact of stray raindrops as he lets out a long breath.
Sasuke hadn't meant to fall asleep at all, but he hasn't really been in the best state of mind lately. He wouldn't give up spending time with little Naruto for anything, but it brings back memories.
Lots of memories.
He grits his teeth, forcing himself to think of something else. The movement of raindrops trickling down the glass catches his eye, clear drops against a backdrop of grey-black clouds. A storm looms over the village, an incoming downpour heralded by intermittent drizzling. The towering stormfront extends thousands of feet into the sky, crowned by bright grey-white puffs that remind him of a certain ANBU's fluffy head of silver hair, and Sasuke snorts.
The Kakashi he'd known had been somewhat of a menace, dropping out of trees and popping out of alleys to startle and scare the members of Team Seven. And Sasuke has to admit, there's something strangely satisfying about the roles being reversed. He remembers Kakashi hiding in the bar downstairs, looking entirely alarmed and doing a terrible job of concealing it, and he smiles.
Just a bit.
Sasuke pushes off the windowsill, pulling away from the glass as he massages the sore muscles in his neck. He flicks on the desk lamp, sits on the hard, wooden chair, and stares blankly at the wall. It's the first Wednesday of the month, and Naruto wouldn't stop talking all morning about how it's the one day of the month that he gets to visit his beloved Jiji in the evening.
And Sasuke's not jealous. He's definitely not, because that would be childish, and he's not a child anymore. That's what he tells himself. He's just a little bored, that's all—
But he wonders who Naruto would rather spend time with if he had to choose between the two.
Sasuke tilts his head back, until he's looking at a misshapen, brown water stain on the ceiling, and suppresses a groan. Alright, fine, he's a little jealous. But it's just one evening, and running into the Hokage is only going to raise questions Sasuke would rather not answer. He can stay away for one night.
Something occurs to him, and he perks up.
Sasuke's pretty good at concealing himself. He could stay out of sight and keep an eye on Naruto, and no one would be the wiser. He can't help the sudden thrill of delight that shoots through him at the thought, a small smile spreading over his lips.
Gods, he's so pathetic, he can imagine exactly what his Naruto would say to him if he saw this. The blond would flash that lopsided smirk, the one reserved only for Sasuke, and reach over—
Knew you couldn't stay away, bastard.
Sasuke grabs his cloak, wrapping it around himself as he hurries out of the room, on his way to Naruto's apartment.
Jiraiya doesn't think he's seen a storm quite like it. The vicious summer squalls common to Fire Country don't hold a candle to the tempest fast approaching; a line of black clouds swallowing the sun and plunging Konoha into darkness. Yellow lights flicker into existence all over the village as drizzling rain and heightening winds rattle against the window of the Hokage's office.
He turns away from the window, and looks upon the very different storm brewing within this very room. While outside, an imminent thunderstorm intensifies, complete with roaring winds and crackling lightning, the storm within the office is a silent one, gale-force emotion swirling around Fugaku Uchiha and his estranged son.
Itachi and his father stand as far away from each other as possible. Between them, looking to and fro with wide, concerned eyes, stands a very frazzled-looking Shisui Uchiha. Towards the far wall, Inoichi Yamanaka and several other Uchiha police officers hover anxiously.
"Jiraiya," the Hokage says, interrupting Jiraiya's wandering thoughts. "Is something wrong?"
Jiraiya shakes his head. His former teacher seems satisfied with that, turning to address the rest of the people assembled in the office.
"Thank you for explaining your plan, Inoichi, and thank you for coming over personally to oversee the memory examination, Fugaku," the Hokage says.
"Of course," Fugaku says, his voice impassive as he stares straight ahead, over the Hokage's shoulder. "The Uchiha are honored that you've pickedus to help investigate Lord Danzo's death."
There's a moment of silence. Itachi's perfect composure slips for a moment as his gaze drops to the ground, Shisui scratches his nose to cover the anxious expression that flashes over his face, and the Hokage forces a gentle smile, masking the pained look in his eyes.
"Should we begin?" the Hokage says eventually, and Fugaku offers up a tense nod as he turns to face Shisui.
"Take a breath," Fugaku says, leaning closer to Shisui. He rests one hand on the young man's shoulder, feeling the familiar burn in his eyes as he activates his Sharingan. For a moment, his gaze flicks over Shisui's shoulder to rove over Itachi's solemn features.
But Itachi hasn't looked at him once since he'd walked into the Hokage's office.
Fugaku forces himself to look back into Shisui's eyes, swallowing back the sudden pang of hurt. Shisui lets out a sharp breath, his hands clenching at his sides and his brow furrowing slightly.
"It won't hurt," Fugaku murmurs, too softly for anyone besides Shisui to hear, and the younger man seems to relax a little as his own Sharingan swirls into existence. Mesmerizing red-and-black eyes meet each other as Fugaku casts the modified genjutsu.
There were plenty of Uchiha that could have performed the memory retrieval, but Fugaku had quickly decided that he'd do it himself. It's not that has any particular desire to catch Danzo's killer-the only thing he'd do with that information would be to send the assassin a fucking thank-you note.
But he's known Shisui since the boy was a nightmarishly energetic child, a fearless little menace that was entirely unintimidated by Fugaku's stern demeanor. Shisui's always been there for his son in ways that Fugaku never could be. And maybe Fugaku's an awful father, a failure of a clan leader, but the least he can do is protect the boy by doing this himself.
Shisui's eyes grow unfocused and glassy as two of the officers wheel the full-sized, specialized mirror forward. Fugaku glances over at the reflective surface, letting his chakra skitter over it. His own reflection blurs and spins, and then—
Images flash over the mirror with blinding speed, as if it had turned into a window into a parallel world. Memories, Shisui's memories, flicker rapidly as Fugaku looks back into the younger man's vacant eyes and navigates through his head.
Keeping the mirror in his field of view, he probes gently. The images that appear are of a field; golden-green grass crunches underfoot as a clear jet of water arcs through the air, and the sound of faint laughter echoes through the room.
Fugaku pushes for an older memory, and the field is replaced with bright lights and fireworks tracing glowing streaks in the night sky, and the muted chattering of excited voices drifts through the air. Fugaku recognizes the scene; the Festival of Fire had happened several months ago.
He can't help but frown slightly. It's not usually this difficult to find a single memory, and it's almost as though something is clouding Shisui's mind. Fugaku lets the individual memories slide away, and starts searching for memories or sensations that seem out-of-place.
It takes a couple minutes of searching through Shisui's sunlit, optimistic mind, but Fugaku finds it. There, amidst playful thoughts and shamelessly cheerful recollections, a chilly fog swirls around a certain set of memories.
The mirror goes blank for a long moment, milky white and opaque. And then, as Fugaku pushes, a new memory begins to play. It happens suddenly, bursting into vibrant color, and everyone in the room watches with rapt attention.
A forest dies, hungry orange flames dozens of feet tall reaching up towards the moon. The crackle and popping of burning trees is almost deafening, embers hissing as they land in the water all around Shisui in the memory. By the lake's edge, the flames fade to nothingness as a black-masked figure steps onto the water.
Jiraiya's gasp is loud enough to break through Fugaku's concentration, and he glances over with annoyance at the white-haired man as the memory freezes and wavers on the mirror.
"Is something wrong, Jiraiya?" the Hokage asks mildly, an eyebrow raised. Jiraiya seems struck entirely speechless, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he gestures frantically at the chakra-mirror. It would almost be comical if it weren't so obnoxious.
"I know him!" Jiraiya sputters eventually, turning on Fugaku. "Can you examine the memories of someone who doesn't possess the Sharingan?"
"Sometimes," Fugaku says, frowning. "It's a lot harder, and you'll need to focus on it-"
"Do it," Jiraiya says, stepping closer to him. Fugaku narrows his eyes, but the Hokage clears his throat before Fugaku can refuse.
"Can you humor him? Please?" he says, rubbing his forehead wearily with one hand. Fugaku's jaw tenses, until it's almost painful, but he slowly ends the modified genjutsu he'd casted on Shisui, turning to face Jiraiya.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Itachi reach for a now-disoriented Shisui, worry and concern and care breaking through his son's facade. But he ignores the confused tangle of emotion, pushing it down until the only things he can see are Jiraiya's dark eyes locked on his.
"Empty your mind and think only of the memory you want to show us," Fugaku says, and then he casts the genjutsu.
The memories are murky, washed-out, not preserved as well as those of a Sharingan-user. Fugaku avoids wandering; Jiraiya has a reputation, and he has no desire to examine the wanton depths of the man's mind. Instead, he waits for the object of Jiraiya's focus to surface.
The first image that appears on the surface of the specialized mirror beside him is a wooden shelf. Details begin to appear, with agonizing slowness. There are racks bearing clothing articles, a couple people moving amongst rows of merchandise, a shelf bearing a half-dozen different masks.
Fugaku's mouth twists into an exasperated grimace as he realizes that Jiraiya had interrupted them to show everyone a damn clothing store.
Then a shape appears in the middle of the image, a black stain flowing over the golden-hued wood and bright lightning. It resolves into the shape of a man. And while the background is a little fuzzy, the details slightly blurred by Jiraiya's imperfect recollection—
There's nothing fuzzy, nothing hazy about this man. He has short, choppy black hair and a face that Fugaku can swear he's seen before. A make-shift eye patch made of ragged, torn cloth covers half his face, and his one dark eye is ringed by even darker circles. He looks pale and exhausted, but he flashes Jiraiya a lopsided smirk as he holds something out in his hand.
He's holding the mask Danzo's killer wore.
The rain's really starting to come down now. Sheets of icy water smash into the face of Hokage Tower as Kakashi runs up the side, and Tenzo is barely visible next to him except for when bright staccato flashes of lightning illuminate the murky dark.
Kakashi's mask is just as soaked and freezing as the rest of his clothes, sticking to his nose and mouth and making it difficult to draw breath. But he ignores the burning in his chest, endures the ache pulsing through his body, and channels warm chakra into his muscles as the two of them ascend.
Maybe some other time, Tenzo would have griped about how Kakashi's habit of entering the Hokage's office via the window was ridiculous and embarrassing. Kakashi never contested that fact; it certainly was ridiculous, and he had no idea why the Hokage continued to humor him. But as he finally reaches the unlocked, rain-slick window of the Hokage office and pushes it open, he's fervently glad that the man does humor him.
The metal windowsill is slippery and wet, and Kakashi nearly falls over as he barges into the office. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't think, doesn't so much as pause before he grabs the back of the Hokage's chair and whirls it around, already babbling.
"There's an enemy infiltrator in the village stalking Naruto and he's in danger-"
"Kakashi?" the Hokage says, too bewildered to even reprimand the younger man. "I-what? Naruto is in danger?"
"Yes!" Kakashi says, slowing down. "There's an enemy ninja stalking him, and-"
Tenzo very pointedly clears his throat, and Kakashi looks up. The office isn't empty, like he had first thought. A couple of sour-faced Uchiha police officers stand by the far wall, a blond man in a rumpled Intelligence uniform looks absolutely startled, Shisui and Itachi are staring at him like he's mad, and a royally pissed-off Fugaku Uchiha is glaring at him.
Kakashi doesn't really register the presence of these people, though, because there's a full-color projection of the stranger in the middle of the room.
"That's him," he says, pointing at the mirror. "That's the man who's been hanging around Naruto."
More and more frequently, Hiruzen is reminded of just how badly he's failed the village. It's becoming a regular occurrence at this point, a fact that he can't stop thinking about as he stares numbly at water dripping off Kakashi's clothes and pooling on the floor beneath him.
"You're sure of this? This man-" Hiruzen says, gesturing to the specialized mirror, still frozen on the still image of the one-eyed man, "he's the one you saw?"
"Yes, Lord Hokage," Tenzo says. His face is pinched with a grim expression, a look that Hiruzen's not entirely accustomed to seeing on the man. "Captain Hatake and I tracked him to an inn on the west side of town where he's been staying. At least one of the employees there is under a genjutsu, but we're not sure who else is being manipulated by him."
"Back to what I was asking earlier," Inoichi Yamanaka says, looking at Jiraiya. "You helped this man enter the village?"
"He had the chakra signature of a civilian!" Jiraiya says, a little defensively. "How was I supposed to know he was-"
"You-"
"Enough!" Hiruzen says firmly, cutting through the din. The room falls silent, a dozen pairs of eyes landing on him as he stands up. This isn't another political intrigue or diplomatic incident. This is something Hiruzen can handle; a conflict, a crisis.
"Where is the assassin right now? At the inn?" Hiruzen asks Tenzo, getting a mute nod in response. "ANBU Team Ro will go to Naruto Uzumaki's apartment and bring the boy back here, where we can keep him safe. Fugaku, go back to the Police Headquarters and gather all the officers you can. Once Naruto is here, Jiraiya and I will join you and bring this assassin in for questioning."
The air is filled with anxious murmurs of assent, and everyone starts moving at once. The members of Team Ro are the first to leave, with Kakashi dragging Shisui and Itachi out the door. They're followed by the Fugaku and the rest of the Uchiha police officers, until the only person left besides himself and Jiraiya is an anxious Inoichi Yamanaka.
"Is there anything I can do, Lord Hokage?" he asks, and Hiruzen closes his eyes.
"Go tell the ANBU commander to come here at once. I want ANBU teams deployed throughout the village," Hiruzen says, and Inoichi scurries out of the room. It's quiet for a little bit, a silence broken only by the splatter of rain against the windows behind him.
"Shouldn't we head out?" Jiraiya says. Hiruzen sighs, opening his eyes and staring at his desk.
"We can leave once Team Ro brings Naruto back here," Hiruzen says. He hesitates for a moment, the lines of his face growing more severe as he turns to look out the window.
"If something happens to the boy," he says to Jiraiya, "I don't know how I'll live with myself."
"Will he go back to living alone, after we catch the intruder?" Jiraiya asks.
"No. Things will be different now-"
Strobing, violet light flashes from the floor-length windows, bright enough to hurt Hiruzen's eyes as he quickly looks away. It's accompanied by a surge of crackling power, a shuddering swell of malice that makes his heart beat faster than it has in years. When the flashing fades, replaced by a steadfast mauve glow, he looks outside.
"A barrier?" Hiruzen murmurs, glancing over at Jiraiya. His former student seems frozen in place.
"Sarutobi-sensei..." Jiraiya says slowly. There's an odd note in his voice, and he's staring out the window with a strange mixture of alarm and wonder and longing. "Do you feel that?"
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he says, watching the purple-hued dome envelop the Hokage Tower. No reply comes from the still forms slumped around the guard post, but then again, he wasn't really expecting one.
Dead men don't talk, after all.
They lay around him, a half-dozen ninja in Konoha flak jackets, dreams and aspirations reduced to stiffening corpses and limp flesh. There are no wounds; he had slain them with nothing more than a glance.
Leaves scattered before the storm.
His hair is soaked, thick black ropes trailing down his back and over his face. Eyes of brimstone bulge out in maniacal glee, and he lets loose a booming laugh that echoes down the empty streets. And with one fluid motion, he steps over the threshold, through the massive gates, and enters the village.
The rain intensifies, lashing down with reborn fury. The sky shakes with the rumbling roar of thunder, and the white flashes of lightning reflect off the water pooling in the flooded streets. But no matter how hard the rain comes down, no matter how loudly thunder rings, it can't quite drown out his deranged cackling.
Orochimaru walks through Konoha once more.