.

Home isn't where you're from, it's where you find light when all grows dark.

I first glimpsed the deer from the corner of my eye.

I shifted, angling my torso to get a better look at it as it took a couple of steps past the tree-line. The blanket draped over my shoulders cascaded to the ground at the movement.

It's head poked out from the forest, nose in the air to sniff whatever scent the wind carried its way. It hesitated for a second before it broke through the tree-line and stepped into the clearing.

Another one followed, then a third, a fourth, a fifth.

A soft breath slipped past my lips. I knew there were deer in the Nara forest, but in all the days I spent perched on that window sill in the bedroom, staring off into the expanse of the compound, this was my first time seeing them.

Their movements were tentative and their heads were all held high, as if they were watching out for something. Two of them appeared to be doe, with their smooth heads and wispy tails, while the other three were all fawn who tottered behind their mothers on unstable limbs.

I pushed the window open a bit further to get a better look. The evening air, chilled by a day filled with rain, swept across the room and sent goosebumps dancing up along the skin of my arms.

The sprawling forest behind the deer was lush, nourished by spring rains and weather. The day was drawing to a close and as the sun sunk below the horizon the sky became enveloped in a shroud of purple and orange. At the hooves of the deer were clumps of meadow flowers, spanning all the colours of the rainbow.

I shoved the window open the rest of the way. In a single movement, I tossed my legs over the edge of the window frame and hopped off onto the ground, a minor jump as Maen's apartment was situated on the ground floor of the building.

One of the doe lifted her head to stare at me as I inched my way across the grass.

My movements were slow, coming to a stop in between each step. I held my shoulders back and forced the muscles in them to relax. One of my hands was held out in front of me, outstretched, while the other hung limply at my side.

By the time I was halfway there, both of the doe watched me while the fawn continued to graze behind them. One of them took a couple of steps in my direction, bobbing her head up and down.

I stood still but left my hand extended in the air, my head tilted to the side.

I was certain that the gesture meant something. The action was deliberate—what it meant, though, I didn't have a damn clue. I hadn't even seen a deer prior to that day, nevermind learnt anything about their body language.

After a second the deer raised her head again and held it there, swishing her tail back and forth; she plodded forward and one of the fawn followed. I got the distinct sense that somehow she was testing me and from the way she approached, letting her fawn trail her dutifully, I must have passed.

My lips pulled into a small, victorious smile, an unnamable warmth blossoming in my chest.

I took a few more steps. The wet grass tickled the soles of my bare feet.

The deer covered the rest of the distance and I stood there, still as a statue. The doe pressed her nose up against my hand and inspected it, her breath puffing out onto my palm. She nudged my hand and let out a snort. She moved closer, dipped her head down to my hip, and her snout brushed against my elbow as she nosed around in my pockets.

A startled laugh bubbled out of me and I placed a hand on her head, the fur short but smooth against my fingers.

After giving my pants a thorough search the doe pulled her head back to stare at me.

"She's looking for treats."

I jumped and spun to face the source of the noise, my heart jumping into my throat.

Shikaku gave me a smile and held out his hand to display a palmful of pellets. His posture was open and non-threatening, almost sheepish, something of a non-verbal apology for scaring me, but his eyes caught my attention—there was a calculating edge there that erased any chance he startled me on accident. His gaze wasn't cold or unkind; he seemed to be prodding me out of mere curiosity, like I was an interesting puzzle that he was trying to solve.

"Oh," I murmured.

"I always come out here 'round this time," Shikaku said. "They probably thought you were with me."

I turned to look at the doe who, along with her fawn, had moved a few feet away to watch the two of us. My reaction spooked her. I bit my lip. "Can I, uh… can I give some to them?"

"Hold out your hand," he said. I did as he requested and he tipped some of the pellets into my chubby fist. Shikaku jerked his head in the direction of the deer. "Go on. Just move slowly like you were, they'll come back to you."

I stooped down and held the treats out in their direction. The doe hesitated, bobbing her head at me again, but the fawn had no such reservations and skipped past its mother to nibble at the treats. Its lips brushed up against the skin of my hand—they were scratchy. A smile once again took over my face and an airy giggle escaped me.

It was a moment of comfort.

It was the first time since Mama and Papa died, since I had walked through the gates of Konoha, that I felt genuinely happy.

.

.

Maen let the minor cloaking genjutsu drop from around him and gave Shikaku a short nod as he approached.

"Have you considered having your old genin teammate give the kid a look?" Shikaku asked, not bothering with any preamble.

Maen's eyes moved to Kasumi. She ran her hand along the fawn's back, letting it take the treats from her palm. His mind flashed back to the genuine fear in her eyes when Shikaku snuck up on her, the way her meagre chakra signature had spiked in panic, and he let out a sigh.

"You think that's really necessary?" he countered.

Shikaku shrugged. "That's not a normal reaction to being startled and you know it. She's still having nightmares too, right?"

"Yeah," Maen said. He rubbed a hand over his face; the bags present under his eyes could attest to that. "They've gotten better over the last couple of nights, but I doubt they're going to go away anytime soon. She's only been here a week; I'd have been more surprised if she wasn't still working through what happened."

"Having both your parents killed and then being shoved into an unfamiliar environment isn't the type of mental trauma a kid her age can work through on their own."

"I know."

Shikaku quirked an eyebrow. "So?"

With a sigh Maen crossed his arms over his chest, his lips twisting into a scowl. "I'm not sure there's any point," he said. "Even if Inohara did agree to give the kid some therapy—and that's a big if, she's got a bunch of clients as is—there's no telling whether the kid would be able to keep it up after the mission ends."

"If you mention it, Lord Hokage might be able to work something out."

"Not if she goes to the orphanage," Maen countered.

"Well, you know how to fix that," Shikaku said. "Make sure she doesn't go to the orphanage."

"That's not up to me, you know that. The village's child services get to decide all of that."

"It doesn't have to be."

Maen turned his head in to look at his cousin, his eyes narrowing. "You can't seriously be saying what I think you're saying."

Shikaku's infuriating smirk didn't waver. "The kid doesn't mind you," he pointed out. "It's like Lord Hokage said, she's familiar with you."

"She hasn't exactly had much of a choice in the matter."

"You told me she's been improving already," Shikaku said, undeterred as if Maen hadn't even spoken. "You think she's going to keep that up in the orphanage, where she's just one kid out of a couple hundred?"

They both knew the answer to that.

"It doesn't matter. I can't take care of a child, Shikaku."

"Not with that attitude you can't."

"I don't even like kids."

"Neither did I, but I still gave you a chance and I think you turned out pretty all right."

Maen shook his head, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a cigarette. He put the bud of it between his lips and snapped his fingers together, adding enough chakra to make a flickering flame spark to life. The end of the cigarette glowed a dull red, like old embers in a fire. He took a drag of it and blew it out again while Shikaku watched him.

"That was different," Maen finally said.

"Was it?"

"I was ten years old and already on my way to being a genin. She's four. If I take her on, I won't just be keeping an eye on her to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid, I'll be raising her."

"Trust me—as a man with a four-year-old son, I can say with certainty that the two things aren't all that different."

Maen scoffed. "I'm barely ever home and I don't know the first thing about raising a kid."

"Yoshino can help with both of those."

Maen let his head fall back against the tree. A low chuckle left his lips. "Good to know Yoshino's in on this."

"She thinks it's a good idea."

"It's not," Maen countered. A wisp of smoke curled from his mouth at the words and fanned through the air between them. Shikaku swatted it away. "I'm not sure why you two even started on it in the first place."

"Because it's a good idea," Shikaku answered. He punctuated his words with a flick to the side of Maen's head. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think you were capable of doing it."

"Thinking you're right doesn't make you right."

"My track record would beg to differ."

Maen shoved his hands in his pockets, choosing to not deign that statement with a response.

He wasn't lying—he didn't like kids.

They were loud and gross, always yelling about something and always running around with sticky fingers. They whined, they cried, they destroyed everything in their path. They took more attention than Maen was capable of expending.

Kasumi wasn't like that, though, and Maen supposed that was why he didn't dislike her—not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

"I'm not the only one involved in this," Maen said. "The kid might not want to stick around."

As if on cue, Kasumi turned to look in their direction. Her eyes focused on Maen and her lips tipped up into a lopsided smile, gave him a little wave.

He thought she had a cute smile.

"I don't think that'll be an issue," Shikaku answered.

"Cocky son of a bitch," Maen muttered.

"I'm not being cocky if I'm actually right." Shikaku turned on his heel and gave a short wave over his shoulder, heading in the direction of his home. "Yoshino said to drop by around noon tomorrow so the kids can have a playdate."

"Do I get a choice?"

"Nope."

Maen pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a gust of smoke, his shoulders sagging into a slouch.

He didn't think his reservations were unfounded.

He was barely able to take care of himself on most days and he didn't think throwing a little kid into the mix would help that any. It wasn't fair to the girl if he took her in without actually being able to care for her. She needed stability in her life, something he wasn't sure he could provide her with. Though, when he thought of it, he could recognize that the orphanage, the place she was most likely to end up, wouldn't give her that either.

He dropped the cigarette onto the grass and stamped it out.

Kasumi settled down on the ground, her legs crossed under her, and observed the deer as they interacted with each other. He was tempted to drag her back inside so he could finish the work he was doing but found that he didn't have it in him.

It was the first time he saw her happy. He couldn't pull her from this.

That it was a valid excuse to put off finishing his work helped, too.

Maen prodded me between the shoulder blades, a gentle push towards the house. I turned my head to look at him and frowned, but that reaction seemed to amuse him as the tips of his lips twisted into a smirk that I swore was passed genetically through the Nara.

I tugged off my shoes and tossed them onto the mat that sat on the porch.

Maen reached over my head to pull the slider open. The sounds of food sizzling in a pan drifted out of the house, bringing with it the smell of fried rice and fish.

"Yoshino," Maen called.

"Oh!" a voice cried from in the house. "Come in, come in. I'll go grab you some slippers from the front door!"

Maen stepped past the threshold and I followed him.

I was nervous.

While the lack of scarring on Shikaku's face had been enough to throw me off of recognizing him at first glance, the second I heard his name his identity had clicked in my mind. It was the first time I had begun to get an inclination as to when I had been born in regards to the timeline—given that I was about to have a 'playdate' with Shikamaru, it was safe to say that I was at least near, if not the same age as him.

Some may have been excited to know that they'd get to experience the story first hand, but I was too busy shitting my pants for that.

Being the same age as Shikamaru meant being the same age as Naruto, and that meant there was a war in my future. Had I been able to live my life out in Kiso, I would have never been touched by the war—living in Konoha entailed the exact opposite. When everything went to hell I was going to be right in the eye of the storm.

While I had never considered training to become a ninja, as the whole business of killing for a living sounded rather distasteful, the thought of being defenceless in the face of danger wasn't particularly appealing either. A loss of my morals was a small price to pay to avoid the loss of my life.

It wasn't a decision I was agonizing over, though. There wasn't much point in doing so until I had a better idea of where I was going to end up. For all I knew, I could be shoved in with a family of civilians who were staunchly anti-ninja and have that door slammed in my face.

A woman with a mane of chocolate brown hair bustled down the hall, half of it gathered into a bun at the back of her head while the rest of it flew out behind her. There was a stained apron pulled over her torso and the hints of a bright pink sundress peeked out from behind it. She looked every bit the beautiful, delicate, well-bred woman that most traditional men sought as a wife.

She set a pair of light pink slippers down in front of me and smacked Maen upside the head with the other, shattering that image with ease.

To his credit, Maen took it without so much as flinching.

"Why is this the first time I'm meeting her?" Yoshino demanded. "She's been staying with you for an entire week and you've been hoarding her in your house?"

"Mah, Yoshino, come on."

"That's not an answer."

"It's complicated," he said. "I'm sure Shikaku's told you the short of it, at least."

She rolled her eyes. Her gaze hit me and everything in her demeanour softened once again, shifting from hell-bent demon to nurturing mother in a heartbeat. "Oh, dear, it's lovely to meet you."

"Hello," I murmured.

Maen nudged my foot with his. "Introduce yourself."

"I'm Kasumi."

Yoshino, for her part, looked thrilled. "Hi there Kasumi," she said and gave me a warm smile. "I'm Yoshino. I'll show you where Shikamaru is, and you two can play while I prepare some snacks. Maen, go in the kitchen and make sure the food isn't burning."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That's a good boy."

Maen snorted at the comment but did as he was asked.

Yoshino led me through to the living room where a nappy little thing was sleeping on the couch, curled in on himself and snoring, who I knew had to be Shikamaru. The woman took half of a second to coo before she tipped the couch forward and dumped the boy off of it.

Shikamaru landed on the laminate floors with a thud so loud that it made me wince. He gave a light snore and turned over onto his side, unfazed, much to Yoshino's dismay.

"Shikamaru Nara!" she snapped.

That woke him up.

He jolted, bolted up and gave the woman a deer-in-the-headlights look. "What?"

"I told you we were having guests over, why were you sleeping?"

"'Cause I'm tired."

At least the kid was honest—from the look on his mother's face, though, that wasn't going to earn him too many points in her books. I expected her to yell at him, but she rolled her eyes skyward and said, "You can sleep later. Come over here and introduce yourself!"

The boy meandered over and gave a languid wave. "I'm Shikamaru."

"I'm Kasumi."

Yoshino clapped her hands together. "Good! I'm going to go finish the snacks—you two have fun!"

"Yeah, yeah," Shikamaru answered. A jaw-cracking yawn followed the words.

I could see the reprimand on the tip of her tongue. I grabbed Shikamaru by the wrist and dragged him over to the shogi board, nipping that in the bud. He didn't bother resisting.

Yoshino muttered something to herself but took her leave after that. I waited until her footsteps had dropped off before turning back to him, taking in his glazed eyes and drool-stained shirt.

"You can go back to sleep if you want," I said.

He blinked. "You don't care?"

"Not really," I answered.

If the kid was as tired as he looked, the last thing I wanted to do was deal with him; I had learnt from experience that even the nicest kids could turn into complete monsters when starved of sleep.

"Can we go up to my room? Sleeping on my bed is way more comfortable than sleeping on the couch."

"Sure."

.

.

"She seems nice," Yoshino said as she breezed into the kitchen.

Maen shrugged, stirring the rice with a wooden spoon, the heat of the pan licking the skin of his fingers. "She's a good kid."

"Any reason she's so hesitant to speak around adults?" she asked. She took the spoon from him and scooped out a chunk of rice to hold under her nose for inspection. Without turning to look she made a flapping motion with her hand to shoo him away.

Maen settled down at the kitchen table. "No clue," he answered. "I've just kind of assumed it's a coping mechanism for her."

Yoshino hummed. "Odd. I barely got a peep out of her, but as soon as I left the room she was talking to Shikamaru no problem."

"Is that so?" Maen asked, eyebrow raised. "I only started getting more than basic 'yes' and 'no' answers from her a couple of days ago."

With a flick of the wrist, Yoshino turned off the burner and moved the pan over onto the other side of the stove. She reached up and grabbed a lid, placing it over the rice, steam rising up and clouding the glass in an instant. "Well, she is from rural Fire Country," she said. "It might just be how she was raised to behave, all formal around adults—those people can be as strict as the Hyuuga when it comes to manners."

"Maybe, but she's not really all that polite—she's just quiet."

"She seemed pretty polite."

"Didn't Shikaku tell you that she stared him down the first time she saw him?"

"Really?" she asked. When Maen nodded, she let out a chuckle. "Man, I would have loved to see that."

"It's hard to pin down her personality or mannerisms right now," he said. "I'd say she needs another few weeks before she'll be back in a state of mind where those come out."

Yoshino grinned. "You'll only know for sure if you're there when it happens."

Maen could kick himself for giving her an opening this early into the conversation. He gave her a flat look. "I don't need this from you, too."

She reached over and smacked him upside the head with the handle of her spoon before he could dodge. "Don't get prickly with me."

Maen scowled and rubbed the back of his head. "I wasn't," he mumbled. Somehow, retiring from active duty and having a baby served to sharpen Yoshino's reflexes rather than dampen them.

She rolled her eyes. "Give me one good reason you can't take her."

"I'm never home and I don't know how to raise a kid," he said, the same answer he gave Shikaku. "There. I gave you two."

"And I'm offering to help with both of those," she said. "I can watch her when you're on missions or if she gets on your nerves—because she will, I don't care how quiet she is now—and I can give you advice for anything you're unsure about. You won't be raising her completely on your own."

"I don't want the kid, Yoshino."

"Liar."

"I don't like kids. I've never liked kids—Shikamaru is an exception."

"Liking her isn't the point. It's that you empathize with her. You look in that kid's eye and you see yourself." She jabbed a finger at him. Her lips twisted into a very Nara-like smirk. "That's the point."

Maen heaved a sigh. She wasn't wrong, and that was the worst part.

He remembered the grief-numbed senses, the helplessness of having your entire world taken from you and flipped around. The last one was to a lesser extent since he was taken from his home but not his entire village the way Kasumi was, but he could still relate to her.

"Does your husband ever win when you guys fight?"

"That question implies that my husband ever bothers trying to fight with me, which he doesn't."

"Right. Of course."

Yoshino turned back to the counter, pressing the fried rice and fish into little balls then wrapping them in a layer of seaweed. She split them among three plates as she finished them, bringing one over and placing it in front of him, the other staying in her hand as she walked to the kitchen entrance. She paused in the doorway. When she turned back to face him, her lips were pursed.

"Shikaku took a chance on you when you needed it most," she said. "He didn't think he could do it either. Just… imagine what would have happened to you if he had let his doubts get in the way."

With that, she turned and left him to his thoughts.

Each day when he woke, Maen sensed a little signature in his guest room, felt the sun against his closed eyelids, heard the ambient sounds of the forest through his cracked window, and felt the rough fabric of his bed sheets against his bare arms—in that order. This morning was no different.

His chakra sense wasn't strong, not like a natural-born sensor, but what he picked up throughout his career was enough that he can easily feel any other signatures within his house. He still wasn't used to there being other signatures and it stood out like a sore thumb.

Maen gave himself a couple of minutes in bed to enjoy the morning before he dragged himself up to start the day. A quick shower, a fresh set of clothes, and a few stretches for his hip that the medics suggested—a strong suggestion that involved sharp objects and a potential month of bed rest if he didn't comply—later, Maen headed off towards the kitchen.

He reminded himself to let his footsteps echo on the way there. Each thudded step marked his trek down the hall, a beat that grew louder for a few seconds while he walked past the guest room and dropped in volume again for the rest of the way. When he started breakfast, he continued the song, let the pots clang on the counters and the spoon hit the side of the bowl.

Maen didn't realize how much of a silent presence he was in his own home until this week. It was funny the first time he scared Kasumi out of her mind when she came into the kitchen in the middle of the night looking for a glass of water and found him, in the dark, making himself a cup of tea. She screamed, he jumped, and when she was out of earshot he got a chuckle out of it. But the idea of scaring a traumatized child shitless lost its humour quick.

Aside from making noise, Maen worked on autopilot.

He cooked the rice, fried the eggs, and grabbed a couple of cups from the cabinet for tea. He found that tea was a safe thing to give Kasumi. Food could be hit or miss. She never told him why she didn't want it, but the displeased stare and shove across the table she gave the plate spoke for itself. Tea, though—she always drank the tea, even after he started adding the supplements.

It was a trick he learned years ago. The original intent was to get nutrition in a sick teammate if their stomach stopped taking solid food, but it worked just as well in this context. Green tea with honey in it, and a piece of a ration bar crushed up into dust. When ground fine enough the bar would dissolve into the tea and the honey masked the taste.

He wondered what kind of lecture Yoshino would hit him with if she found out. He imagined something along the lines of: "Those aren't meant for kids!" or "You should just try harder to get food into her!"

A bit of chakra in the back of his sense pulled Maen out of his thoughts. Without turning over his shoulder, he said, "Ten more minutes."

He expected her to head back to the guest room while he finished making breakfast, as she always did. Instead, after a minute hovering outside of the kitchen, he felt Kasumi move into the room and take a seat at the table. It was unusual for her. Most of the time, it seemed she went out of her way to avoid being near him.

Maen watched her fidget through his peripheral. She was visibly nervous, like she wasn't sure what she was doing there, either.

He made the tea early and set it in front of her rather than make her sit at an empty table while he finished up.

She gave him a fleeting look, a second of eye contact, before her gaze dropped back down to her hands. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"Sure, kid."

He finished cooking and divvied up the food. He set their plates down on the table, the pristine white dishes a stark contrast to the muddied cream of the table, tainted from the layer of dust that covered the table top for years.

Kasumi picked at her plate. Her attention seemed to be more focused on him than her food. Each time he looked away from her, in turn, her gaze locked on him. He let her think he didn't notice. The staring continued even after she pushed her plate away and emptied her tea, her unnerving violet eyes following every micro-movement he made. She was studying him.

Finished with his food and assuming Kasumi was finished with hers, Maen picked up their dishes. When he went for her teacup, she pulled it to her. He raised an eyebrow.

Her face screwed up in a look of discomfort. One hand, gripped to her pant leg beneath the table, tightened into a fist. "I wanted, uh… I wanted more tea."

Huh. So that's what it was.

He shrugged. "Sure."

Kasumi blinked. The tension wound through her released in one breath.

It was a small thing, but it was the first time she'd outright asked him for anything.

Maen set all of the dishes in the sink. He cleaned them while the kettle boiled, yet another thing he'd started to do since there was a second person in his house. Making breakfast, not ghosting around the house, doing his dishes instead of letting them sit in the sink. The stuff most people do that Maen dropped somewhere along the way without even realizing.

He set the hot cup of tea in front of Kasumi and received another quiet word of thanks.

He'd never tell his cousin, but Maen was starting to wonder if Shikaku was right about what he said, when Maen first returned with Kasumi. Maybe having somebody else in the house was good for him.

Kasumi started coming out of her room more after that.

If he was reading in the living room, she'd come out and sit on the couch opposite of him. She stayed at the table once their meals were done. She even trailed after him when he went grocery shopping, pointing at some of the things she'd actually be willing to eat.

She was adjusting. The meaningful progress was happening, slowly but surely, and right near the time she was set to head off to a permanent living arrangement. He hoped she'd continue to bounce back once she was out of his care, but a niggling voice in the back of his head, one that sounded suspiciously like Shikaku, kept telling him that she wouldn't.

Maen stared at the door of the Hokage's office. He stood in front of it, arms stiff at his side, and contemplated slamming his head against the door and putting himself out of his misery. He raised his fist and knocked instead.

He didn't know why he was here. This was a bad idea. All of it.

"Come in."

He let out a breath and pulled it open, striding forward to stand in front of the desk, bowing to Hiruzen. "Lord Hokage."

"Maen," Hiruzen greeted, his usual grandfatherly smile on his face. "I was not expecting to see you before your debriefing tomorrow."

"Yeah, about that, sir," Maen started. He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing the tension out of his shoulders.

"There have been no problems, I hope?"

"No, sir."

"Good. What is it, then?"

Maen took a deep breath. "I would like to take her on as my ward—Kasumi, I mean."

Hiruzen chuckled, placing his pipe in the corner of his mouth. "Ah, I see. That shouldn't be a problem. I will have word sent to the Children's Welfare Council and the orphanage; it may take a few days for them to approve the request, but it will be done."

That wasn't the response he had been expecting. He hadn't thought Hiruzen would outright deny the request, but Maen also hadn't expected him to grant it without a second thought.

"You… don't seem surprised," Maen noted.

"No, I am not," Hiruzen said. "Shikaku came to speak with me regarding this matter a little over a week ago. He wished to ensure that it would be a possibility before he made mention of it to you."

"Of course he did," Maen muttered.

"He thought that the arrangement would be beneficial to you," Hiruzen said, his voice betraying his amusement. "I must say that I do agree with him."

"You both say that like I wasn't doing well already."

Hiruzen gave him a contemplative look, his eyes roving over Maen's face and then down to his still injured hip. Maen fought to not fidget under the scrutiny.

"I will give you another week off of the active roster so that you and the girl may have a chance to settle in," Hiruzen said. "Have you talked to her about it?"

Maen chose not to dwell on the conversation shift. He wasn't sure he could blame Hiruzen or Shikaku for doubting him anymore—the words felt more like a force of habit for Maen, built in from years of refusing to assess his own lifestyle, or lack thereof.

"Not yet," he answered. "I didn't want to until I knew for certain."

"Understandable. Go, discuss this with her—I doubt she will have complaints." Hiruzen shuffled some papers around on his desk, scanning each of them until he found what he was searching for. "Take a look at this before you go, though. I was going to have these sent to you this evening but as you are here, I see no reason to not give them to you now."

Maen took it and read it over—it was a report from the ANBU patrols in Konoha's forest. "No activity, then?"

"None after the first day," Hiruzen said. "It appears whoever followed her did not wish to challenge Konoha for her."

Maen wasn't surprised. To pass the borders of Fire Country illegally was one thing, but to break into one of the five great hidden villages? There were few things in the world worth going to that much trouble for and a single child, no matter what her parents might have done or who they might have been, was not one of them.

"Has there been any information on who they are?"

"Sadly, no. All that can be concluded so far is that it is unlikely they are affiliated with any village."

Maen nodded. "We'd know about them if they were village affiliated."

Konoha's information networks were too effective to miss something like that. Given more than one ninja had used that the same technique, that odd form of cloaking, it wasn't a stretch to assume it was a clan technique, much like his own shadow abilities—in that case, there was even less of a chance that it would have been missed.

Missing one person developing a jutsu like that was a possibility, but missing an entire clan was not.

"Indeed."

"They must be mercenaries, though, to be supporting themselves if they aren't with a village," he murmured, thinking aloud.

"You haven't considered that they are gaining money by civilian means?"

"No, they wouldn't need to. They've got a technique that seems like it's practically designed for assignations and heists, and both of those are too profitable to pass up."

"Fair enough," Hiruzen said. He took back the sheet that Maen handed to him. "There will be a minor investigation on the matter, as some of the ninja in the Intelligence Division showed an interest in pursuing it further. I'm certain that any insight you can offer to them would be highly appreciated."

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Thank you." Hiruzen placed the sheet among a stack of others, then shifted his chair back and rifled through one of the drawers of his desk. He resurfaced with a neatly stapled package of papers that he held out to Maen. "These are the forms you'll need to fill out to make your guardianship over the girl legal."

Maen took them, gave them a half glance. "Thank you, Lord Hokage."

Hiruzen nodded. "If I do not see you again this evening, I will assume that all has gone well and move forward with informing the orphanage of the change in plans. Once you have the forms filled out, it would be best if you return them to the Council directly."

"Understood, sir."

Hiruzen gave Maen another one of his smiles. "Best of luck, Maen."

.

.

A knock on the door caught my attention. I dragged my eyes away from the clouds that were rolling through the sky and settled them on the door.

"Hey, kid," Maen said, opening the door and walking in. "I wanna talk to you about something."

"'Kay."

He had a small frown on his face, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep in his pockets. There was a nervous energy jittering around him—well, that made two of us.

It was my last day with Maen; my first two weeks in Konoha had come and gone in the blink of an eye. It felt like an eternity had passed since I walked through those gates, but at the same time, it was also as if the days had been condensed into a split second. It was an odd contradiction, one that I couldn't quite wrap my head around.

Regardless, I knew that when I went to sleep the following evening, I would be doing so under a different roof, in a different part of town, with unfamiliar faces watching over me.

I wasn't thrilled.

I hadn't expected to come to like Maen, but it had still happened.

He was an awkward duck emotionally, without a doubt, but he was kind in his own way and he had made an effort to help me through the last couple of weeks.

He didn't force me into any conversations.

He didn't complain that I was keeping him up at night with my nightmares, because I knew I was, as the bags under his eyes were a clear indication that his sleep schedule had been interrupted. If the walls were thin enough to pass on my cries during the day, then they were capable of doing so at night.

He didn't comment when I sat on the window ledge for hours on end, opting to leave meals outside the door and let me eat them in my own time, in peace.

He let me be. I was certain that it was due, at least in part, to his lack of ability to interact with me rather than any type of respect for my privacy, but I was grateful for the space nonetheless.

I turned so that one of my legs was dangling off of the sill, my upper body facing him to watch as he shuffled into the room and settled down on the comforter of the bed. I pulled the blanket tighter against my shoulders.

His frown deepened. "Do you like it here?"

The question surprised me. I blinked, trying to discern where the conversation was going, and felt my gaze drift back to the window. "Yeah," I murmured, taking in the view of the compound. "I do."

"Would you want to stay here?"

My head snapped back to stare at him. "I… can I?"

He snorted, his frown easing into something closer to a smile. "I wouldn't ask you to stay here if you couldn't actually do it."

"Would I be like… living with you?"

"You'd be my ward," he said. "It means that I'm in charge of watching you and taking care of you, but you're not legally my child. You'd still be Kasumi Kurosawa, not Kasumi Nara."

I blurted out, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why let me stay with you?"

I wanted to agree—how could I not?

Even ignoring the fact that I had grown to like Maen, that I had grown to like the compound, that I had grown to like the some of the other people who lived in it, I would have stayed with him purely for the sake of avoiding the orphanage. Nobody had outright told me that that was where I was headed the next day, but the conclusion wasn't a hard one to reach. Where else would they put me?

My reasons for wanting to stay with him were clear, but I couldn't say the same about his reasons for wanting me to stay.

He was a young, active duty ninja, who had far better things to do with his day than babysitting a kid—granted, I wasn't a child mentally and wouldn't require that much care, but he didn't know that.

What could drive him to take on that level of responsibility? Was he being paid to do it, like with the mission? Was somebody forcing him to do it?

I didn't know, but I wouldn't—couldn't—agree to the arrangement until I found out.

He leant to the side, resting his shoulder on the wall, and pulled one of his legs up under himself. His eyes gained a faraway look, as if he was off somewhere else, sometime else, staring at a point past my shoulder instead of at me.

"A long time ago, I was just like you." A heavy sigh left his lips. "My older brother died when I was four, my parents when I was ten. All of it was just… gone. Like that. One letter was all it took."

He fell silent.

"What happened?" I asked, the question coming out in a soft, lilting breath, barely above a whisper.

"Somebody helped me, somebody…" he trailed off. His lips twitched up into a smile. "Somebody decided to take a chance on me. They gave me a chance." His gaze shifted, his eyes clicking back into focus as if he'd snapped back into the present. "I think it's only fair that I do the same for you. You're a good kid and you deserve some stability. I'm not looking to replace your parents or anything like that, but I'm willing to offer you a place that you can call home—if you want it."

There was an almost painful sincerity to his words.

The mattress dipped beneath my weight as I dropped down from the ledge and crawled over to where Maen was sitting. He stared at me, alarmed. My arms wrapped around him and I buried my face in his chest, ignoring the way that he stiffened at the contact.

"Thank you," I murmured, the word muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

After a second one arm wrapped around me, as hesitant and tense as the rest of him, but I wasn't bothered. That could change in time—that would change in time.

He couldn't replace my parents, nobody could do that; mama and papa would always be the people who gave me my start in this life. I was confident, though, that one day, however far in the future it may have been, however much work it may require, that I would come to consider Maen to be my family in his own right.

.

.

Maen stared down at the small child who was attached to him, her arms holding his chest in a vice-grip.

He still wasn't certain whether he could do it. All of his reservations were still in place, his reasons for doubting himself were still valid. This wouldn't be a walk in the park for either of them.

His free hand reached up and settled atop the kid's head, his other already pressed up against her back. An irrational fear that he might break her if he held her too tight flashed through his mind. She was damn tiny—he had known that already, as he had spent three days carrying her back to Konoha and had barely noticed her weight the entire trip, but it was hitting him all over again.

This was a child.

However unusually mature and intelligent she may have been, despite the fact that she'd witnessed things no child should ever have to witness, she was still a child, and she was now his responsibility. He realized at that moment that it didn't matter whether or not he thought he was capable of taking care of her—he was going to give it a shot anyways and if he was going to go down, he was going to go down trying.

Shikaku had done it for him all those years ago. Now, it was his turn.