"Did you hear about the revolution in Ame?"
"There is no revolution. Just a bunch of starving orphans."
"Shh, not here!"
Jiraiya tapped his feet impatiently.
Getting into a village was easy. She and Jiraiya had been doing it for years. They had the routine down to an art. They simply walked up to a gate in a crowd and nobody raised an eyebrow at the flash of wrinkled paper and smudged ink, occasional ryo pinned on top.
And her mentor proved to be the most excellent distraction when the heavy wooden box he was carrying popped open to reveal stacks of newly minted porn, hot off the press. From a logistical standpoint, it would have been much easier to seal the books inside a scroll. But Jiraiya was a salesman as well as a showman and he was adamant that the books sold better when customers could see the wares, when they could touch the pages and get a glimpse of ink, a stroke of character, and inevitably handed over the crumpled ball of cash.
Gross.
But she was already inside the gates while Jiraiya was not. She would look for him at the public bathhouse if the Anbu didn't pick him up first.
As the heavy doors closed behind her, she allowed herself to be pushed along with everyone else, marched single-file down the street. The streets were wide and open to give an impression of welcome. Empty houses almost managing to reassure the visitors. But she and her fellow travelers stayed packed like sardines, wary as cattle were warry of wolves nipping at their heels.
A man was singled out by an Anbu agent. He stumbled as he was pushed against a wall, Dog cutting him out of his raggedy clothes. The man seemed to shrink on himself, blanched white with terror.
There were no more whispers of Ame or their failed rebellion afterwards. A woman behind her muttered reassurances and prayers to her son. Rin, with her sunburnt scalp and downcast eyes, was indistinguishable from one traveler to the next. Eventually, streets opened up and they began to part ways. Some went left, some went right. Those who were familiar with Konoha walked with purpose. Others, timidly stepped on shadows.
Rin knew where she wanted to go.
She didn't go home.
Instead, she found herself in front of Ramen Ichiraku, on the tail end of service when customers were hurriedly gulping pork bone broth and getting it everywhere.
Ayame, no longer the petite, little girl making deliveries on a rickety bike, collected dirty dishes in one hand and wiped tables with the other. Teuchi, when he saw Rin, waved her over to a seat that was still warm from the previous occupant.
Rin sat down and without looking at the menu, rattled off a few things that she liked. She was only a little disappointed that Teuchi did not recognize her considering how many times she had been by as a genin, then chunin.
Ayame blanched at the order and asked timidly for payment. Rin put down the money. If she was being honest, Ramen was not her food favorite. She could have easily gone somewhere else, take her business to shops with regional specialties. But ramen was familiar. Ramen meant plenty. Ramen was something Minato and Kushina treated her to back when she had a team.
A flight of dumplings were placed in front of her, golden and crisp-skinned. Rin immediately placed one piece off to the side.
Teuchi placed two cups of sake in front of her.
He may not have recognized who she was but he knew what she was. And she was grateful that the rest of her feast was served without a pause, including extra slices of char-siu.
Suddenly, the awning flapped as though struck by a whirlwind. Rin kept calm because Teuchi and Ayame was calm. She was in Konoha; she was among allies. There was no reason to be afraid.
"Oy chef!"
Rin stopped mid-slurp. She recognized the voice.
"Five bowls to go!"
Teuchi laughed.
"The usual Anko?"
"Like I have a choice."
Mitarashi Anko used to remind her of a scalded cat when they were young. A cat that had swam ashore by the skin of its teeth after being dumped in the river. Haughty, even as it shook in its thin bones and paper skin.
Rin understood pride. Ten years was a long time.
Anko's face, which had been moodily pinched and short at the chin, had filled out into a more pleasing shape, softening the edge of her slanty eyes, making her appear less sullen and resentful. Despite her sharp words, she maintained an air of fondness and exasperation, no longer the attention-starved teenager who had stood beside her at the Hokage's inauguration, but a veteran shinobi.
And Rin could not help but stare at her open collar, at the swell of her breasts under the mesh shirt.
Anko noticed her looking and Rin quickly turned away, fighting off the hot blotches that choked her neck.
"Oy," Anko said, "You wanna fight or fuck?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I said, do you want to fight be or fuck me." Anko repeated slowly like she was talking to an Academy freshman. "You were looking at me. People only do that if they want to fight me or fuck me. Which is it?"
"I can't do both?" Rin blurted out and was at once delighted and mortified as Anko rocked back on her heels, like she'd been sucker-punched, her expression settling into something that resembled interest.
The other woman tilted her head as she considered Rin's words.
"Oh yeah?" Anko peeled a piece of narutomaki from Rin's chin and flicked it over her shoulder.
Ayame sighed in the background.
Rin hadn't washed in three days. She didn't remember the last time she combed her hair—probably around the same time as when she stopped showering, when she left the little shitty boomtown which had not been remote enough to avoid the Seifuujin—and she was sure that she smelled. She had been traveling with Jiraiya. But Anko, whom she hadn't seen in ten years, was standing in front of her, leaning with intent.
"You're ramen is ready." Teuchi interrupted, thrusting five bowls of ramen on top of the counters.
The moment was broken. Anko turned around and grabbed her order.
Rin thought, Rin was sure, Rin thought Anko might have been blushing.
Ten years was a long time.
Some things stayed the same, others changed.
"Next time," Rin said pleasantly. "I might take you up on your offer."
"Really." Anko said in distraction.
"Yeah."
Anko turned to her with a crooked smirk and disappeared.
"Ah, young love." Teuchi said, serving her extra noodles.
"Dad!" Ayame protested.
Rin shrugged. She wasn't about to argue with free food.
Ten years was a long time after all. Long enough to live and forget, long enough to recover from loss, from heartbreak and betrayal. Ten years was a time enough for alliances to be broken and remade, to murder and plot revenge, from the turbulent Land of Wind to the cold frontiers of Land of Frost.
After lunch, she walked towards the market district which was bustling with customers and vendors, squeezed tight between rows of buildings that hadn't changed since founding.
It felt strange. Rin had grown up in the markets, helping her parents manage their stall after Academy lessons. She knew the old-timers, the vendors who had been there long before Konoha had been a glimmer in the First Hokage's eyes. She knew the best places to get sweet tofu or sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves. She thought about dropping by her parents' stall, crowded with bags and jars of spices, and immediately nipped the idea in the bud.
Some things had changed. She saw that Old Sho's weapons shop was gone. In its place was a charming little bookstore which had a copy of the Tales of a Gutsy Ninja in a box for free. She took it because she had never actually read the book before and only heard about it in passing when she edited Jiraiya's manuscripts for a modest fee, too lazy to go out and find work. She nibbled on a stick of candied hawthorn as she peeled back the cover and found Jiraiya's chicken scratch inside.
'For the next Gutsy Ninja!'
Rin smiled.
As she rifled through her mentor's first book, she passed by a takoyaki stall with a sad, paper sign taped across its banner.
The takoyaki stall was permanently closed. Konoha was at war with Kiri. The waters near the Land of Waves was too warm for octopus and stock from the Land of Lightning went to feed the rich.
It couldn't be helped, she thought. And she turned around.
There were certain people she could not forget. No matter what they wore or how their skin tasted, she could pick them out from a sea of a thousand faces, a sea of a hundred thousand faces, and know them.
The hawk mask did not fool her as it would have anyone else. Rin met Uchiha Shisui when he was young, when they were both young. Ten years ago when he was a boy whose mop of curly black hair barely came up to her chest, back when he was the little cub in a clan of killers that had birthed Obito.
Shisui landed with grace—of course he did—between a throng of people which rippled around him averted eyes. Rin forced herself to walk with her chin up high instead of losing herself in the crowd as she should have done, as she would have done anywhere else, because Uchiha Shisui had come to collect and what he wanted was something she could not give.
"Nohara-san."
"Shisui," Rin said coolly. "It's been a while."
The hawk mask lifted, enough for her to see a glimpse of teeth, and it quickly slid back into place.
"It has. We should catch up, when you have the time of course."
"I'm sure an Anbu agent such as yourself has much more pressing matters than talking to a nobody." Rin said sweetly.
Shisui made a noise that might have been laughter in another person's mouth.
"But you're not a nobody Nohara-san, are you?" He leaned in. "My cousin did not think you a nobody."
A chill swept down her spine despite the sun.
"...what do you want?"
"Like I said, I want to talk."
"Does your family know?"
"Only what I want them to."
Shisui's answer carried many implications. It would be stupid to deny his request. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Fine," She gritted out. "Where?"
Shisui stared at her through the holes in his mask. His eyes might have even flashed red.
She stared back.
"Meet me where we met last." He said finally.
And as though summoned elsewhere, Shisui disappeared, barely disturbing the ground at their feet. He was very good.
The hawthorns turned into ashes on her tongue. Her lunch sat like a heavy lump in her stomach. She thought she had gotten in unnoticed. Apparently, she was wrong.
She willed herself to remain calm. She was in Konoha. She was among allies. She was home.
She threw out the stick of candied fruit.
+++++12+++++
Rin left the market with a bag of sweets in one hand, wine in the other. The sweets were to placate her great-grandmother. The wine wa/s for when her criticisms eventually cut at her nerves.
She turned her head against her shoulder and took a sniff. A bath was also in order. Rin assumed Jiraiya would want to sell his book first. Getting caught peeping at a public bathhouse would guarantee the Hokage would come down on him faster than Kushina at Ichiraku on somebody else's dime.
Therefore, bathhouses were safe for one more night. She was careful not to make eye contact when she went in. Active and retired shinobi had their own bathhouses closer to the Hokage Tower. But Rin was aiming for anonymity. She didn't want anyone to know she was in Konoha. Not her parents, not her great-grandmother, not Kurenai, Asuma, Gai, Genma or any of her classmates, not Oban or Homura, not Kushina, and certainly not Minato.
She was up to her ears in hot water but the talisman around her neck, made of silk and gold thread, floated as it took in water. An old woman, the only other person in the tub with her, squinted at the gaudy green and red stripes before breaking out into a gap-toothed grin.
"Ah, I see you also follow the way. Your parents taught you well."
"Oh no." Rin closed a fist around her talisman. "I don't believe in that spiritual BS."
"Then why wear it?" The old woman asked slyly.
Biting back an answer, she slapped away the creeping, skeletal hand. Chiyo of Sunagakure was nearing her eightieth decade if she was a day but was honored as a chief poisoner and the founder of Suna's puppet brigade.
Old women were dangerous.
Instead of being offended, the old woman cackled and pushed herself closer.
"Where are you from dearie?"
"I'm from here." She said, edging away.
"Oh? I haven't seen you before."
"I don't normally make a habit of being here." She replied.
"Hiding are you? That's alright." The old woman said before Rin could respond. "There is no shame in hiding."
Rin wanted to argue. She had an excuse lined up on the tip of her tongue. She had a thousand excuses. Her house was in the merchant district. She worked at the hospital. She was an active shinobi. Subterfuge was her job description.
But the woman was right. Rin was hiding. She had been away for so long, she wasn't sure how to squeezer herself back into the mold of chunin, Nohara Rin. Her identity dissolved like paper in water at the thought of meeting people who knew her, who thought they knew here and expected certain things of her.
She sighed.
"Well auntie, what are you hiding from?"
"Just old age my dear." The old woman chortled. "Something to look forward to yourself. Why, when I was in my prime, I was hot commodity! Isn't that right Rosey?"
Rosey, a middle-aged woman with a sleeve of red petals down both arms, scooted away, spooked by the woman's booming voice.
"Bah." The old woman spat when she was deserted. "In my days, we respected our elders."
"And when was that?" Rin asked, dry as dust. "Founding?"
A bony elbow jabbed her side.
"Just you wait, before you know it you'll wake up with wrinkles and your only friends will be the eunuchs at the Fire Temple."
"Wow. That is awfully specific."
The old woman took a bucket and poured water of her head. Her grey hair snarled and sank like snakes beneath the bubbling water.
"It takes strength to live. You are strong. You have old eyes."
"Not as old as yours." Rin deflected.
"Old enough to tie that talisman around your neck." The old woman observed. "That is powerful protection."
"So I've heard."
"You make enemies if you live a long life."
"No." Rin said in faux-surprise. "Someone wants to kill you? Why?"
"Oh many have tried." The old woman said, squeezing her hair into a tight rope. "They all failed. I was always good at running."
"There is no honor in cowardice." Rin commented.
"There is no honor in the shinobi life." The old woman replied sly.
"Careful auntie." Rin said. "Someone might be listening."
Because it was peacetime. And in peacetime, idle hands sowed strife.
"Let them." The old woman dismissed primly. "You don't get to be my age without learning a thing or two."
"No." Rin disagreed with a quirk of her lips. "You just need to be lucky."
The old woman squinted at her, staring, as though perhaps seeing her for the very first time. Her wrinkled face, broiled red from the hot springs, shrank into that of a walnut.
"I think, I've stayed in too long."
"Do you need help?" Rin asked politely.
The old woman waved her off. With a slight heave, she lifted herself onto the edge and Rin saw that she had nothing below her knees. Rin looked, of course she looked, how could she not look, but did not comment. Perhaps the old woman had lost them in the last Shinobi War or the one previous. Maybe it was a clan thing, infighting between heirs.
"Thank you for sitting with me dear."
"Likewise auntie." Rin said. She hoped that their paths never crossed.
+++++12+++++
Rin dried herself off and shoved her old clothes down the trash. She put on a kimono, linen, cheap, but not visibly, violet, the exact shade of her facial markings before she stopped wearing them, and in the mirror, a stranger stared back with wary brown eyes. A young woman wiser to hardship, a young woman ten years on, to whom a long time had passed.
It was strange to be herself. To be a version closest to herself when she had pretended to be a noble, a scullery maid, a washwoman, a waitress, a farmer, all without batting an eye.
Jiraiya told her once, the hardest part of the job was remembering why.
It had been a long time since she was at the memorial stone. It was hard visiting an empty gravesite. It held Obito's name though it wasn't for him. She knew he wasn't there. Kakashi knew he wasn't there. Minato knew he wasn't there. The Uchiha knew he wasn't there. She couldn't even pretend after what happened at the-place-between-the-rocks.
She wished that she had better offering than flowers, a piece of candy that had been meant for her great-grandmother and a glass of rice wine. Some of the names on the memorial stone had been her classmates, teachers, and patients. And for them, she lit an incense. The white smoke puffed and sputtered as the flame caught and gnawed at the charcoal paste.
For Kakashi, she left a kunai at the base of the memorial stone.
+++++12+++++
Her house was unchanged. Rin didn't know what she had been expecting. The house sat in the merchant quarters, a strip of grass on each side, standing apart from its neighbors.
The chicken were asleep and didn't bother sounding the alarm. It wasn't her great-grandmother who opened the door when she knocked. Instead, her mother opened the door, brows creased in consternation at a late-night visitor.
Nohara Ruko was older, much older than the face she thought of only sometimes. In dreams in quiet times. In truth, she had nearly forgotten when it looked like.
They had the same hair. They had the same eyes.
"Can I help you miss?"
"Mom. It's me." She cleared her throat. "It's Rin."
+++++12+++++
Heavy fists thudded against the door.
"Busy." Kakashi said, slamming an answering foot forward.
"Bullshit, bull-shit!" Hidan shrieked. "You're reading porn!"
"Hmm." Kakashi agreed, turning a page.
The other man left with a curse, swearing up and down that he would sacrifice him to Jashin or whatever pagan deity he believed in. Good thing Zetsu wasn't listening in. Zetsu was more than likely to slide through the walls just to see how everything 'worked'. Tucked between his heels, Akino muttered, "You take me to the nicest places boss."
Kakashi mimed a zipping motion against his lips. The hound subsided with a sigh. Kakashi took out a piece of paper he had been using as a bookmark and slid it in his collar. When Akino looked up, he held up three fingers.
Akino nodded and disappeared.
