Published: 1/6/2019


When we returned to the village, we rushed Rin's frozen body to a more stable hospital environment. Then we had our two concussed teammates examined. After that, we reported the results of our mission directly to the Hokage's office, which I had never done once in all my career as a ninja. In fact, I'd only seen the Sandaime two or three times in my life—once at the beginning of my Academy career, once at the end, and once in passing at the Missions Office.

As the eleven of us walked through the halls of the administrative wing, people whispered and nodded meaningfully at Minato. It was then that this rumor first reached my ears: that the Sandaime had nominated the war hero Minato Namikaze to succeed him as Hokage, that this mission had been a test by the council, and that Minato would become the Yondaime because he had returned in success.

Minato, for his part, seemed utterly unphased by these mutterings. Of course, he was a consummate shinobi who never would have shown his shock even if he had been, but at that point I realized that my brother had been posed to receive the title of Kage for some time now.

But despite the moment of all these matters—despite the gravity of a direct report to the Sandaime, and the rare chance to see the administration of the village at its head—I found my gaze drifting away. We lined up in ranks before the Hokage's desk and Minato began summarizing the operation, but I barely took in my surroundings. All I could think about was the the itch in my shoe, the ache in the small of my back, and the pile of blood-rusted, newly-bought chakra conductive wire stored in the Strings of Fate's master seal. I hadn't thought to clean them after either of my battles. Would they even be salvageable at this point? Was it going to be worth trying to save them, or should I just cut my losses and buy a new set of coils?

I was so consumed in this line of thought that I hardly noticed when the Sandaime dismissed the two Ordnance Corps teams. But as the door shut I realized that Minato had moved to stand by the Sandaime's desk, and that Kakashi and I were alone in the center of the room.

The Hokage and Minato both regarded us silently. I had to consciously arrest a move to hide behind Kakashi's shoulder, and as a result ended up jerking rather convulsively. Kakashi seemed to make some sort of aborted motion himself, but he concealed it better than I did, so he only twitched.

"In light of this recent mission, Sandaime-sama, I'd like to request Team 7 be put on standby," Minato said softly.

"Indeed," the Sandaime agreed. "I will grant this request. Team Minato is in no shape to continue active service. Additionally, I'm mandating young Suzu-san and Kakashi-kun both undergo full psychological evaluations. You'll both report to the western wing of the hospital at 0800 tomorrow morning."

I had expected nothing less for myself, but I was a little surprised to hear that Kakashi would also be evaluated. Taking stock of the Earth girl's memories, it seemed to me that most of Kakashi's trauma as a teen had been carried through quite unhealthily into adulthood. Then again, as long as he didn't display the sort of dangerous tendencies that I had—that is, having a psychotic break and going on a blind, panicked rampage—the village could do nothing to make him face his demons. He only had to maintain enough sanity to carry out his duties as a shinobi.

What did that say for my sanity? After spending a quiet night at home, slipping in while the household was abed and heading out after eating a late breakfast alone, we found out. Kakashi and I arrived at the same time and walked together into the western wing for our appointments, but at the end of the hour only Kakashi was permitted to return home. The results of my evaluation dictated that my presence would be retained until further notice.

So I went to the counter for patient intake while he scheduled a follow-up at a later date. We met gazes as he was leaving, but the look in his eye was unreadable.


Because the western wing had no official designation it was not a psychiatric ward as such. But the lion's share of patients were in residence for various psychological ills, and I had not quite known what to expect going in. Considering the differences in era between this world and the Earth girl's, one part of me had felt rather worried, but my fears proved to be unfounded. Staying in the western wing was not unlike being hospitalized for a physical ailment. The biggest difference was that instead of going to physical therapy we talked to psychologists instead.

It was a great blessing that the western wing was Hayato Yamanaka-sensei's home turf, and I was blisteringly grateful for his familiar presence. He was a true professional, level-headed and completely matter-of-fact, and he dismantled any incipient feelings of awkwardness or shame for my admission with great aplomb.

"Shinobi have to learn their psychological limits just as much as they have to learn their physical ones," he said, calm and businesslike. "You'd be surprised by how many ninja sojourn here at least once in their careers. I doubt any seasoned shinobi would look down on you for it. We've all had our own blunders."

Another unexpected development was that there were other young shinobi my age currently confined to the wing. Their names were Masaki and Koharu. They were both a year my senior and they were former squadmates, though not as genin graduates. Their teams had been consolidated after Koharu's sensei and teammates had been killed.

In my eye they seemed normal. Koharu was a little twitchy and tended to clam up in the presence of adult males, and Masaki had a habit of sliding into a thousand-yard-stare at odd times, but they seemed fairly well-put together for psychiatric patients. Then again, they said much the same of me, and I had killed a score and a half of Iwa-nin in a fit of flashback panic. I suppose we all were just putting on good shows.

They had been in for some time before I had arrived, so they knew the routine of the place. They were also more or less willing to include me in their daily activities, share their favorite lunch spot in the courtyard, and generally spend time with me, so I began to hang out with them when the opportunity arose. Masaki knew the names of every nurse on the floor so he took an afternoon to show everyone to me and tell me about their personalities—who was laidback, who was strict, who would give you candy if you asked for it, and so on. Koharu pointed out the ones "who were safe to go to if you ever feel like you're having an episode," which I took to mean as the ones who wouldn't tattle to a doctor if you confided in them over a nightmare or a flashback or something similar.

As far as shinobi teenagers went they were very friendly. The one thing they absolutely would not share, though, was why they had been admitted to the western wing to begin with. But I supposed that was fair. I was not sure that I would be willing to tell them my story, either.

So instead we whiled days away together, folding origami in between therapy sessions and forced journaling exercises. Sometimes we would gather outside after curfew spitefully, brace ourselves against the now-cooled autumn wind, and cynically mock the whole premise of shinobi crying and writing in their diaries. But sometimes we would take it seriously, too, and on a rare occasion even discuss the things we wrote about. Koharu complained about how the sounds of doors opening always made her jump when she least expected it. Masaki confided with a distant look that he hated the smell of nadeshiko flowers because his sensei had worn perfume and it reminded him too much of her. I told them that I had been a little relieved when I thought I would die on my last mission because it meant I wouldn't have to worry about the stuff going on with my team anymore. Masaki gave me a sympathetic look and said that if he had been in the same situation it would have been tempting. Koharu looked like she agreed.

"So my assignment this week is to write about what happened right before the mission," I told them one evening, frowning at the blank pages. We were sprawled on our stomachs on the rug in the common room, spread out with our pens and notebooks. "But I honestly don't remember most of what happened that week at all."

"How do you mean?" Masaki asked.

"I mean, I know I did stuff like train and shop and eat with my cousins, and I remember random conversations, but Hayato-sensei told me to be more specific. Like write about where I went that day, who I was with, what I worked on in training. But I don't remember that stuff hardly at all."

"Oh, I know what that is," Koharu said. "Or, well, I know what it might be. I have the same problem. We talked about it for a while and Hayato-sensei told me it sounded like I was having issues with dissociation. Sometimes if something stresses you out too much, apparently your brain can decide to forget about it so you don't have to deal with it. But then it's not good because you can get upset and not know why. If you ask him he'll probably help you figure out what you've forgotten. We're working on it in my appointments, too."

Hayato-sensei did not seem at all surprised when I brought Koharu's idea with me to the next session, which made me suspect that he had known all along why I couldn't remember. This suspicion only deepened when he revealed that he had already spoken extensively with Minato about all of our activities since the reassignment, and had since assembled detailed notes about all the various fights and drama Kakashi and I had gotten into. When he caught sight of my disgruntled stare, he smiled apologetically at me.

But something still wasn't right. Hayato-sensei seemed to think that I had been dissociating to cope with my senpai's hostile behavior, but I did not think that that was quite true. The gaps in my memory did align with unhappy encounters with Kakashi, but there was something more. If I were just reacting to Kakashi, that didn't explain why I couldn't remember going to the store or getting a new chuunin vest fitted. There was another piece to the problem that I wasn't seeing.

I had been sitting in a windowsill and musing on this when I sensed that someone was looking at me. It was not exactly a chakra-sense feeling—though once I stopped to listen I found that the song of the air had changed—and I tilted my head, puzzled. Then I turned my face away from the glass and looked over my shoulder.

A slim man, brown-haired and fair of face, was staring at me. He was standing at the desk and he had the look of a someone who had seen a thousand battles—not because of scars, but because of his stance. Despite his seemingly innate gravitas, however, he was staring at me comically wide eyes. I shot him a questioning look.

His lips parted. "Suzu-chan?"

The sound of my name in his voice, which was surprisingly low-pitched for a man with such soft features, made my heart leap in my chest. For a long moment I was utterly bewildered. But then he turned his head to look me full on. We stared at one another in shocked silence.

Then I asked softly, "Sensei?"

Sure enough, that was the face of Itsuki Mikawaya. His hair had been cut to his ears and was shorter than I had ever seen him wear it. No wonder I hadn't recognized him at first; he looked like a different man without his long ponytail.

He seemed to fight back a flinch at the sound of my voice. Then he let out an incredulous half-breath, heavy with the surge of unexpected emotion. Seemingly involuntarily, his hand lifted as he walked forward, but his fingers stopped an inch or so from my head. Blinking as if he did not know how to speak, he lowered his arm to his side.

"Your hair…" he began haltingly. "You… you grew it out."

I blinked and glanced down. I had hardly bothered with my hair at all this morning; as a result it was tumbling uncombed all the way down my back, exposing its full length. These days it hung to my waist. How strange—hadn't there been a time when his hair had been longer than mine? Somehow we had reversed.

"...How long does it take to grow hair that long?"

Itsuki-sensei swallowed heavily. It was a question that disguised another question, but the answer to both was the same.

"It's been about two years," I replied quietly.

Itsuki-sensei stood as if dumbfounded. I sat up from my slouched position and turned so my legs were hanging off the windowsill, making space for another. But he didn't sit. In fact, he stared at the spot next to me like it was a thing out of his nightmares, and after a moment his hands began to shake.

I wondered if he would turn away and leave me again. But eventually he seemed to steel himself, took a deep breath, and sat. His scent was different from what I had remembered. Rather than the smell of oil and weapon polish, the fragrance of fresh fruit clung to him instead.

"What are you doing here?" I asked after another pregnant pause.

"Oh, I—" Itsuki-sensei shifted. "I have an appointment at nine."

I looked at a nearby clock and read the time as 8:25.

"You're awfully early."

"...Yeah, I am. I've—I've been kind of anxious the past few days. I thought I would show up early on the chance that—in case I might be able to meet with my doctor ahead of time."

"I see."

I could tell by the way he looked at me that he was putting the picture together quickly. Dressed in a hospital-issued jinbei, lounging about the hallways like I had lived here all my life… it was obvious that I was a patient here. A faint dread began to form in his expression, and I wondered what he was thinking.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, but he couldn't seem to form a sentence. He was trembling so hard that I began to pity him despite myself. Seeing him now reminded me of how I had felt in the days in camp at Tatsumi River; seeing him now, I was unable to resent him at all for absconding from my life. It was clear that he couldn't have met with me even if he had wanted to. It had been two years and he could hardly stand to see me me now.

"Mikawaya-san?" a nurse called, emerging from around the corner. "I talked to Ochida-sensei. She said she's fine to meet with you now."

Itsuki bolted to his feet, breathing tightly controlled, and all but fled to her side. But as I watched him move away, feeling strange, he turned back to look at me.

"I'll come back," he said. He was still shaking, and his voice wavered, but his eyes seemed suddenly ablaze with determination. "When—when I'm done. Give me time. I'm coming back to see you."

I looked at him, surprised. And then I found myself cracking a smile, and then a laugh.

"That'd be great, Sensei. See you then."


And he did come back. I was back in the common room with Koharu and Masaki, taping the pieces of a flower kusudama together, when a voice called my name.

"Suzu-san." Hayato-sensei appeared in the doorway. "You have a visitor."

Itsuki-sensei's face appeared over Hayato-sensei's shoulder. Koharu's breath hitched and Masaki went into full-on defense mode, shifting in front of his teammate. His grip on his pencil was white-knuckled as he quickly got to his feet. Grabbing onto Koharu's sleeve, Masaki tugged and immediately moved towards the opposite door. Koharu let herself be pulled from the room, staring wide-eyed at the doorway, and then they were gone.

After a moment Hayato-sensei sighed, paused to give me an encouraging look, and then strode after them.

"...Friends?" Itsuki-sensei questioned after a moment.

"Maybe," I said, though in that moment I felt rather doubtful. It had all happened in seconds, so I wasn't sure, but I could have sworn Masaki had given me quite an unhappy look as he was leaving. "We hang out, but we haven't known each other long. But they're nice to me."

I sat up from the floor and shifted onto a nearby chair. Itsuki-sensei only hesitated for a moment before he came over and sat down on the couch across from me.

"Suzu-chan, I'm sorry," he began after taking a deep breath. "For everything. I—I was your sensei, but I couldn't protect you and Yoshiya-kun. And when it was all over, even though you were the one who had borne the brunt for all of us, I did nothing for you. I… I don't know what you've been through since then, but I can tell it hasn't been good, and I should have been there for you. But I wasn't. I'm sorry."

I stared at him for a long moment. To be apologized to after breathing in shame and accusation as the only air for days, for weeks, for months… for a moment I had to remember what it was like to live with my face in a different wind. In the time where my brother and my uncle had told me, "It's not your fault."

"I really missed you," I said finally. "On my last mission, I really wished you had been there. I… I needed help. And I wanted you there to tell me what to do."

Itsuki-sensei's expression contorted painfully. I wondered what I wanted to accomplish by telling him this. I reflected on my hands in silence.

"But I don't think I blame you for any of it at all," I decided eventually. "It was—I don't know if anyone could have helped me. After everything the war's shown me, I don't know if anyone can really actually help anyone anymore. But I still made it in the end. And—and we're all alive this time. Even though I'm here now, we're all still alive."

Because I had chosen to live instead of die. The Iwa contingent was dead because of it, but I was alive. And Rin was, too; she had survived because I traded their lives for mine. She was living by a thread now, but what did that really mean in the end? We were all living by a thread.

Itsuki-sensei turned his eyes into his own lap. "Ochida-sensei says the same," he said. "That we can't help everyone, I mean. That teachers can't always save their students. Sometimes it's all we can do to save ourselves."

I thought about this, about Yoshiya, and about the way my body had ached and throbbed with unbearable, lancing pain when Tokiya had told him to stand aside. Then I nodded. There was truth in those words.

"I've retired from the General Forces," Itsuki-sensei told me abruptly. "They let me go on medical grounds. I'm not a shinobi anymore. I don't think I can be."

"I think that's fine. Sometimes I don't think I can be a shinobi, either."

"I run the fruit store now. Granddad's too ill so he gave it over to me."

Then that was well. He had found a different life. I regarded him with a sudden surge of wonder. There was another way of life, wasn't there? He wasn't a ninja anymore, but he was still living. There was more than just being a shinobi…

"When… when you get out, you should come see me. Come see my store. I haven't been in contact with you until now, but that was because I didn't know if you were angry with me, or if I could handle it. But I know now, and I want to be able to talk to you again. Even if you're not my student anymore, I… I want to know about how you're doing. How you're feeling. If you're well."

And suddenly all in a moment my eyes began to well up with tears. I sucked in a breath and hid my mouth behind a closed fist. I did not know it at the time, but at that point in my life, I had been cramming myself into a very narrow box, and I had been suffering for it. It was, looking back, a box in which the regard of big brothers mattered most. A box in which only excellent young kunoichi could live, in which the world turned on whether or not he was happy to see me, if he was proud of me, whether he loved me, whether he would keep loving me…

That was a moment when I realized that the were other people in the world. It was a moment when their regard and their concern became not only meaningful, but something that I began to desire perhaps even more than Minato's.

Of course, I had known that my aunt, uncle, and cousins all loved me, and their love—the quiet talks, the late-night conversations—had been the lifeline I'd been clinging to all throughout those months on Team 7. But it was still different. Even if it was not always easy, loving family was a natural choice. But loving a girl who was not family—a girl who was a walking symbol of one's trauma—caring about how she was feeling and if she was well even after all chains of duty to her had been resigned…

Itsuki-sensei was watching my face with silent concern.


I didn't see Masaki or Koharu at all for the rest of that day, but I still felt light despite their absence. Itsuki-sensei had written his store's address on a paper, which I had taped to the door of the dresser. Every time I sat up in bed and saw it a strange warmth would spread all throughout my body.


A/N: Now that we're really beginning to diverge from the previous draft, you might notice the writing is becoming less measured and concise. This is because I haven't had the chance to sit on the new content like I did the old one. Sorry if we lose some of the pith and snappiness! I'll do my best not to go on awful rambling tangents like I did in Glory, but I think it'll be all-around rougher from here on out.

Suzu never really spoke of the matter explicitly until now, but the fracturing of Team 11 was a very terrible psychological wound. Her good friend died for her, her teacher abandoned her, and then her best friend and clanmate punched her in the face, told her it was her fault their good friend died, and has not been in contact since. She had a brief moment of respite in I&E, but after that it was straight back into it, what with Kakashi seeming to spit at her very existence. Plus, her coping mechanism for trauma until now has been basically to throw herself at Minato like she did at Tatsumi River, but she can't do that anymore. Too scared to tell him the truth, too guilty to rely on him anymore…

Well, that matter will be addressed soon, hopefully in the next chapter. Look forward to it and, as always, drop a review! I give thanks to all of you who have left such meaty, thoughtful comments. It's such a pleasure when someone takes the time to write so well to me. I'm very grateful.

Happy New Year!

Cheers,

Eiruiel