Thanks to everyone who's been following this fic. It's great to see that so many people have read this. I wasn't expecting it to do well at all due to the relative lack of Orochimaru fans. (A real shame, that!) Thanks to those of you who are helping to spread the word of this to others. We Orochimaru fans have to stick together!

I didn't intend at first for this chapter to turn out so angsty, but you've gotta go where the inspiration takes you. I hope you all enjoy.

Please continue to read and review!

-sor

Sandaime had been timely in his intervention and thanks to him I found things to occupy myself for years to come. Not only was I granted access to more secret materials, I was also trusted with more important missions that took me farther from Konoha and even into the surrounding countries. True, due to the tensions that existed between villages at the time, even jounin never wandered too far, and never into countries occupied by another village if it could be helped. Yet still with such limits in place, there was the potential now for outside knowledge from exotic places like Suna or Iwa.

Missions, however, provided me with the resources I needed to make use of the team's increased travel. I formed connections with clients, or even with intriguing strangers met along the way, so long as they were men whom I felt had the potential to be of use to me. Usually my new associates were of the crafty sort, smugglers and thieves who knew a little too much about a few too many things. And what they didn't know, they could easily inquire about with their other shady friends. To underestimate the union of thieves throughout the land was foolish indeed, for they have provided me with more loyal service than most Konoha ninja. Money is a strong motivator, and I had more than enough to spend on something so valuable as rare and ancient scrolls.

Things were going well – so well, in fact, that I was beginning to feel a bit spoiled, so just after I turned twenty-two, when the conflict between Konoha and Iwa intensified and I found my supply of jutsu nearly cut off, one can imagine the feelings I developed for Iwa nin. It probably made me one of the best soldiers Konoha had to offer as I battled the enemy with ruthless efficiency. They had stolen something precious from me, after all. But Iwa was fond of such pastimes… stealing precious things from Konoha.

It was in this conflict that Tsunade lost her little brother.

The brat had run off, infused with the same ridiculous notions Jiraiya had always possessed, that he was young and invulnerable. Immortal. The grandson of Shodai-sama and destined to become Hokage. He thought it was impossible that he might die. He thought he would return a hero after having done more against the enemy than even Konoha's finest jounin. He hadn't stood a chance.

I was the one who first followed after him. I'd seen him that morning, feeling invincible as ever, though I wasn't entirely sure just what had brought on this new wave of confidence. Whatever it was, I found it ridiculous that a brat of his age and inexperience should even think himself capable of standing up, even for a moment, to any trained enemy nin. But that was the way the village was turning. The brats were encouraged and coddled. There was never any fear placed into them. They never had to face the reality of what might happen in battle. No one ever told them. Becoming a ninja was simply the thing to do, the dream of the future. So very few considered it for what it truly was, an occupation in which a man risked his life every day and whose only goal was to do his duty. A duty to improve himself constantly for the sake of his village, not for himself.

But Nawaki was just a kid. True, I had been jounin at his age, but I often consider myself the exception to any rule. Exceptional men require exceptional rules, after all.

I had followed after him that day, after contemplating for a time at the gates if I should. There was no clear indication of his intentions, but I knew well enough. He was enough like Jiraiya, minus the perversions, for me to understand his need to prove himself through manly deeds and what better way than through battle? However, I wasn't worried. There had been no sightings of enemy activity for days. True, this didn't mean much, but I allowed it to lull me into a sense of security that was nearly as negligent as Nawaki's own.

I was amused by his eager pace, the way he darted to and fro along the path as if he'd seen something more startling than a bird or squirrel. I scoffed at such childish behavior and allowed my mind to wander. I thought of what I would say to Tsunade when we returned to the village. I would scold her for allowing him out on his own and for allowing such thoughts to run rampant through his head. I would insist she keep closer watch and tell him stories of the men who had died so violently in this war and the many before it. War between hidden villages was not something to be taken lightly.

Yet here I took it lightly and thus I missed the trap just as Nawaki did. I did not take notice until it was too late and the boy had so foolishly triggered it without even the smallest hint of notice. It came as a shock to us both that the rain of shiruken was so dense. I lost sight of him for an instant among the bright flashes of sunlight against metal mingling with the rising clouds of dust from the wounded road. It was only when the dust cleared that I saw the boy again. Had I not been following him not moments before, I would not have known him.

The boy had become little more than a mass of torn flesh and blood. I could not have imagined he might survive such a thing, which was why it came as such a shock to note that his chest still rose and fell, albeit at awkward intervals with far too much stillness between. He was alive, though even I knew well enough it would not last. I had seen my fair share of dying men and after enough war, a man became intuitive about death. I could see clearly the point at which he began to let go and give in, the point he abandoned the will to fight, as happened to all men. There was first denial and fury and eventually sorrow and acceptance. It was a credit to the boy that he was able to reach such a stage on his own.

It was for that reason I went to him as he lay there bleeding out the last torn moments of his life. I pried the shuriken from his back and rolled him over as gently as possible. He gave a small cry, but then lay still again, gazing up at me with a foggy gaze in his eyes: eyes so like Tsunade's. There was recognition there and he tried in vain to speak to me, but the effort only caused his unstable breaths to grow rapid and frantic.

There have been so few times in my life that I have felt utterly lost and without direction. I was a genius. Why should I have so much trouble dealing with a dying boy? He wanted to speak to me but couldn't, so what then was I to do? Speak to him? Offer false hope and reassurances that everything would be fine? Why do such a cruel thing to the boy? I could only hope to watch over him until he breathed his last breaths and then return him to the village. That was the proper thing to do. Protocol called for such things.

Still, it was instinct that drove me to place a hand atop his bloodied chest, only to feel the terrible rhythm of his heartbeat, erratic and weak. Only then did I notice his small hand clenched tightly against his chest, using every last once of his strength to protect something that hung around his neck. I carefully pried his fingers away and he did not fight me. He allowed it, making a hollow, sick sound at the back of his throat when I finally saw what it was.

Shodai-sama's necklace. The very necklace that Tsunade had always treasured so. That necklace was a symbol known by every ninja in the village. Tsunade had worn it to honor her grandfather and carry on his spirit. There were those who insisted that with Shodai-sama's spirit came the will to protect and lead Konoha, the will of fire that was found in every man who had ever loved the village, who had ever become Hokage. Of course, Tsunade had laughed them off, insisting she had no desire to follow in her grandfather's footsteps. Becoming Hokage was not her path.

If she had given such a symbol to her foolish little brother it could only mean she wished to pass the will of fire on to him. She had believed in his foolish dreams of becoming Hokage. I knew even then it was foolish to think such a thing, but it struck me quite firmly that she had never really believed in my ambitions. Yet she encouraged them in her fool of a brother, who was no more ready to have such ambitions than a fish was to fly. There was no place for bitterness now, though. He was looking my way again with those same honey colored eyes.

I have never been one to understand the finer points of human communication, but I understood then exactly what he wanted. "Of course. I will see it safely to Tsunade."

My words seemed to ease his pain and Nawaki smiled up at me for an instant, pouring the last of himself into that tender gesture of thanks. And that was the end of it. I saw to the safety of his body, as it struggled through those last few moments, concealing him expertly in a matter of minutes. True, I could have returned immediately to the village, but there was a final duty I had to tend to on the boy's behalf. I hunted down the men who had set the trap and slaughtered them to the last man. It was a message to Iwa. Konoha did not take such things lightly.

When I returned to Nawaki, I found him in the company of a trio of Konoha ninja, all of whom looked, to various degrees, as if they would be sick. The boy still breathed very faintly then, but there was no medic among them. Not a soul was equipped with even the faintest knowledge of what to do.

Nawaki died there nestled in a bed of leaves, a blanket of gold and red.

It wasn't until evening that I saw Tsunade as she rushed into the darkened halls of the hospital. The doctors hadn't spent more than a few moments with the boy. What would be the point? There was nothing that could be done. I couldn't bring myself to care, in any case. My focus was again on the small stone clutched in my fist, hidden behind the flaps of my tunic. Perhaps it was only due to my own selfish, bitter feelings that I spoke so harshly to Tsunade. Or perhaps it was only because it was my negligence that had caused her such pain.

I didn't understand pain. Not pain of that kind, in any case. I had never mourned my mother or father. Certainly I had been sorry to loose them to some degree, but I'd been long prepared for the coming of their deaths. I couldn't understand the shock that had paralyzed Tsunade, nor could I understand why Jiraiya thought me so cruel for only being honest.

I kept my word to Nawaki and saw the necklace safely back to Tsunade. She said nothing of it, though and I left things as they were between us. I let her be. Even I had instinct enough to know she would have rather killed me than spoken to me.

It was nearly a week later that she came to me. It is amazing that a man like myself, whose memory is second to none, cannot recall the details of the words we shared that day. I suppose I told her what had occurred and that the men responsible were dead. Or I told her how long Nawaki had held on. I only recall that things were better between us once all was said and done. Better, but not the same.

Things were never the same again.

We three did not know it at the time, but this was the first crack in the close bond we had developed. Tsunade became obsessed, pouring her heart and soul into her medical studies, leaving Jiraiya and I to complete missions on our own. She never joined us again in the field, the first of the legendary sannin to break away.