Author's Note: Yeah...it's been a small eternity since I updated, oops. I'm trying to do better. I put this (and several other stories) on a rotating update schedule that requires me to work on them weekly as well as pushing chapters out in an order (which is yet to be determined). So, um, I hope some of you are still around? XD

Mission Report - Month Two:

Continuing to develop leads, better intel within the month. - S

Kakashi read the report, then tucked it beneath a pile of similar documents that needed his attention. He rubbed his temple in frustration, wondering how often he'd sent such cryptic messages during his years as a jonin. Being Hokage was a lot harder than it looked. In fact, as important as the mission not detailed on that scrap of paper was, it was only one of dozens that required his attention.

A soft knock interrupted Kakashi's mental grousing. He frowned and checked the clock, the end of the business day had come and gone. He'd sent Raido home shortly after, citing that he hardly needed a guard if there were no meetings planned. Shifting on his chair, Kakashi's hand slipped to the weapons pouch that he needlessly wore these days. It was laughable; an assassin wasn't likely to knock. "Come in," Kakashi called.

The heavy door swung inward, and a splash of brilliant pink appeared in the drab space that it had occupied. Kakashi released his weapon, bringing his hand back to the desk. "Sakura? What brings you by so late?"

Sakura dipped into a bow that made Kakashi uncomfortable, much like her insistence at using his thrice-dammned title, then straightened. "I stopped by to check on you, Hokage-sama."

Kakashi arched one eyebrow at the response. Sakura still wore the rumpled, blue scrubs that proclaimed that she'd come straight from the hospital. "In a professional or friendly capacity?"

A blush slid onto Sakura's cheeks, staining them the same shade as her hair. Kakashi hadn't expected her mind to turn that direction so quickly. Warmth flushed his face as she tucked a strand behind one ear. "Friendly," Sakura answered, recovering with a smile. "Unless you were injured and word hasn't reached me yet?"

"Papercuts," Kakashi deadpanned, holding up one of his hands so that the fingerless gloves were obvious. He didn't know why it mattered that Sakura saw he wasn't injured, but it did.

Laughing, the pinkette crossed the space between them. "The famous copy ninja brought low by office work. Imagine what your enemies would say."

Kakashi chuckled as Sakura caught one of his hands between hers, turning it to fully examine both sides. He allowed her to hold it there for two stumbling heartbeats before pulling it away. She released it without struggle, and Kakashi brushed the still tingling fingers through his hair. "So, what really brings you by?"

"I wanted to check on you," Sakura repeated. She smoothed the front of her scrubs, then shrugged. "You know, make sure you're eating, sleeping, and all that good stuff."

"Shikamaru makes me eat from time to time," Kakashi teased, tipping his chair back to gaze up at the woman. She rolled her eyes, so he continued. "At least once a day."

"You kind of sound like a puppy for Shikamaru to take care of." Sakura leaned one hip on the edge of Kakashi's desk and grinned. Even so, Kakashi read the exhaustion in her eyes; her work at the hospital was equally as difficult as his. The woman raised her right shoulder in a shrug before returning to Kakashi's earlier question. "Honestly, I'm just looking in on you. I was heading home and noticed the light. Tsunade often pushed herself too far, but she had Shizune to pull her back when necessary."

Unsure what to say, Kakashi didn't answer immediately. Before donning the robe, he had expected that he would find things easier the longer that it dragged on. A year into his term as Hokage, and Kakashi was still waiting for that to happen. If anything, the weight of the mantle had grown heavier.

Kakashi's mind slid back to the report that he'd tucked away before Sakura's arrival. The mission that Genma and Setsumi had been assigned would have been slated for Anbu before the war. The difficulty and time commitment were the same, but both were tokubetsu jonin. Even though Kakashi was certain that the pair could handle it, he hated each decision that put good jonin in danger. It became more about strategy than personal attachment, forcing him to move his friends like pieces on a shogi board.

Another difficult scenario had come to Kakashi's attention, requiring the same level of finesse and skill as the mission that Genma and Setsumi were tied up with. He'd already decided to send Tenzo, knowing that the decision would put one of his closest friends' lives at risk. The man and his partner might not come back from it, but there was no one else to send. Kakashi hated everything about this part of his job.

Warmth drew Kakashi away from the troubling thoughts. He realized that Sakura had curled her fingers around his shoulder, gazing down with a frown. "Everything okay? You spaced out for a moment there."

Kakashi hummed under his breath, banishing the worries to the back of his mind. He could deal with those another time; right now he had other things to focus on. "Yeah, it's just been a long day."

"For me too," Sakura answered, releasing his shoulder and standing up to stretch like a cat. Kakashi could hear the bones popping as she realigned her back. Then, she smiled. "Why don't you buy us some dinner and make up for it?"

"Us?" Kakashi questioned, giving the words a moment to sink in. Once they did, he chuckled. "Be careful, that almost sounded like you were asking me out."

Sakura laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry. We wouldn't want anyone thinking that, now would we?"

Before Kakashi could answer, the woman turned away from the desk and crossed the room. Sakura paused by the door, then glanced over her shoulder. "Coming?"

Shaking his head at the turn the night had taken, Kakashi rose and flipped off his desk light. "Sure, why not?"

A noise from the hallway drew Setsumi's attention from the notes that she'd been perfecting at the kitchen table. She slid one hand behind her back to brush over the shuriken secreted there and tensed her body to move in any direction. Something heavy thumped against the door, followed by a hiss. Then, the handle turned and the shoddy wooden plank swung inward.

Genma stumbled into the kitchen, hair disheveled and clothes muddy. His jaw sported a motley of pink and purple that hadn't been there the previous night. The puffy skin surrounding his left eye had started to blacken, reducing the bloodshot hazel to a slit. Genma grunted, struggling out of his shirt without seeming to notice Setsumi's presence. A deep gash crossed the man's ribs and dried blood flaked off as he twisted to check the damage.

"You look like shit," Setsumi observed, closing her notes and following the man into the bathroom. "What happened?

"You should see the other guy." Genma's chuckle morphed into a grunt of pain. Swiping a damp rag from the counter, he ran it across the angry red skin, Fresh blood smeared behind it. He frowned, trying to examine the cut in the mirror. "It's deeper than it looked last night."

Genma left the bathroom, crossed the kitchen, and dug through the pile of clothing, notes, and assorted junk beside the bed that Setsumi had asked him to clean up half a dozen times. After a minute, he came up with a battered medical kit and tossed it onto the table. Pressing the cloth over his wound, Genma fought to unzip the bag with one hand. Setsumi frowned at the spectacle. "What are you doing?"

"Stitching it, obviously," Genma answered without looking up. He spilled the contents of the bag onto the table, sorting through the untidy assortment until he found a needle and hopefully medical grade thread. The sodden cloth dropped to the floor as he fought to thread the needle. The senbon that normally sprouted from his mouth was missing, and in its absence, Genma caught his lower lip between his teeth to help his focus.

"Obviously," Setsumi mimicked, pitching her voice to match Genma's. The man ignored her, frowning in concentration. Squinting, he held the needle toward the light in an attempt to get it threaded.

As she watched, Setsumi realized that this might be the first time she'd seen Genma without a weapon perched on his lower lip. She rolled her eyes and stepped forward. "Give me that," she demanded, reaching to take the needle from his hand and almost getting stabbed in the process. "You can't even thread it, much less reach the cut."

"I've got this," Genma grumbled as Setsumi prepared the supplies. Her sharp glare silenced his objection, but did little for the annoyance on his face. Rifling through the mess, Setsumi found a couple of alcohol swabs and laid them neatly beside her. Kneeling, she scooped the cloth from the floor, considered for a moment, then wiped around the puckered edges of skin. "Dammit woman," Genma hissed, squirming to the side.

"Don't you 'dammit woman' me. Hold still." Setsumi pressed the cloth harder than strictly necessary to see if the bleeding had stopped. Genma grit his teeth but remained silent, so she continued her lecture. "If you hadn't been out getting in bar fights like a teenager with something to prove, you wouldn't have these problems."

Genma's answering grumble was cut short when Setsumi poured antiseptic over the wound. His entire body jerked as he danced forward half a step, liquid running toward the band of his pants. "Oh, sorry," Setsumi murmured, faking sympathy. "This might sting a bit."

The string of expletives that left Genma's mouth would have made Setsumi blush in her younger days. Now, she hardly noticed except to catalogue a few of the more creative ones. She pressed a hand on Genma's shoulder. "Stop being a baby and sit down." The man obeyed, sinking sideways onto the chair that Setsumi had pulled out. "Be still, or I'll have to start from the beginning. Neither of us want that."

Grumbling, Genma remained seated while Setsumi knelt beside him. She walked her fingers over the smooth skin, looking for the best starting place. Finally, deciding that it didn't make much difference, Setsumi picked the right side of the cut and worked backward. Genma's opposite hand tightened into a fist, muscles in his forearm and bicep standing out under the strain. He held his other arm straight up, allowing Setsumi access to the area.

For a moment, Setsumi felt bad about being testy with Genma. He was injured, and clearly in pain. Then, she remembered the first couple of nights on this hell mission and wondered if she was going too easy on him. He was supposed to be a trained operative after all. Pushing her annoyance away, Setsumi focused on the firm press of the needle through skin and the almost rhythmic grunts of pain that accompanied each. Genma's body tensed every time, then relaxed in anticipation for the next.

After several minutes, Setsumi snipped the edge of the thread off and nodded to herself. It wasn't as pretty as a hospital would have done, but it worked. Genma tipped his head down to look at the cut, then moved his arm. The sutures held with minimal tugging. "Where'd you learn to do that?".

"A woman never tells," Setsumi answered, drawing a laugh from Genma. She pushed back to her feet and moved toward the sink to wash her hands. When she looked back at Genma, he was pulling a mostly clean shirt from his pile. She rolled her eyes. "We have to bandage it still."

The man sighed, tossing the garment aside. "Fine."

Ignoring the juvenile outburst, Setsumi found some ointment in the medical kit and smeared it over the stitches. She put a piece of gauze across the wound and taped it into place. It would have been easier if she had the medical training to close the wound with chakra, but that was a moot point. "So, how did you get this anyway?"

"A bar fight," Genma quipped, testing his range of movement again. Content, he pulled the shirt over his head. "Your concern is touching, really."

"I'm more concerned about you blowing our cover than getting yourself killed," Setsumi clarified, pouring herself another cup of coffee from the decrepit pot that she'd found in the apartment. It was strong and almost bitter, but the caffeine helped her focus.

Genma didn't answer at first. Instead, he returned to the table and started scooping up the items from his medkit and stuffed them back into the bag. Setsumi watched with an arched eyebrow, surprised that she hadn't needed to browbeat him into cleaning up. After a minute, Genma shrugged. "I've got an in with Gouu. It's low level of course, but better than nothing."

"How does getting the shit beat out of you get closer to our objective?" Setsumi asked, rolling her eyes. She hated that Genma had gotten the first real lead that they'd had in over a month. His stupid, brash methods weren't supposed to work better than her refined ones.

"He needs guards." Genma carried the bag across the room and set it neatly beside his pile. For a moment, he stared at the mess as if considering cleaning it up, then shook his head. Setsumi supposed she'd seen enough miracles for one day, maybe tomorrow. Genma ran a hand through his hair as he turned to face her. "It'll be grunt work at first, but hopefully I can get something useful."

Setsumi considered the situation with a frown. "Are you sure they didn't mark you for a shinobi? They might be letting you get close so that they figure out who you are rather than the other way around."

"Right," Genma laughed, gesturing toward his battered face. "Does it look like I fought like a shinobi?"

Humming under her breath, Setsumi nodded. While she didn't like Genma personally, Setsumi knew the man was a capable shinobi, more or less. He wouldn't have taken this much damage, especially to his pretty face, unless he meant to. Not from a civilian anyway. She nodded. "Fine, but if you do something stupid and blow your cover, don't expect me to bail your ass out."

Genma offered a flash of white teeth. "If I blow my cover, there won't be anything left to bail out."

Sighing, Setsumi shifted the basket of produce to her hip as she walked through the crowded marketplace. She had spent almost the entire day filtering gossip from truth, and still wasn't sure that she knew which was which. Anytime she started asking questions, fear flavored the air, as if saying too much would bring retribution down. But, Setsumi hadn't been able to determine who people were afraid of. It irked her that Genma had gotten better intel by employing brutish tactics. His job as a guard hadn't provided actionable information yet, but at least he knew he was on the right track.

The sun had passed its peak and started toward the horizon when Setsumi finally admitted defeat. She wasn't going to glean any additional information today. While pretending to shop, Setsumi had bought several packets of dried herbs, some flaky white fish that she didn't know the name of, and some equally foreign vegetables. She planned to spend the evening trying to combine the ingredients into something edible. A length of blue cloth nestled next to the food; its purchase had nothing to do with the shopkeeper insisting that it matched the exact shade of Setsumi's eyes.

The exhaustion of small talk and gossip was nearly as consuming as physical training. Not that Setsumi had been doing much of that since coming to the village. She hadn't wanted to risk anyone seeing her and concluding that she looked like a shinobi. The chances of that were slim, however. Setsumi had always been more of an infiltration specialist than hand to hand fighter. Combat wasn't a foreign concept, of course, but she preferred using her brains instead of her fists. And her body, though not to the extent that Genma did. She wasn't going to sleep with someone simply to get information, at least not unless they were exceptionally attractive.

Blowing out a breath, Setsumi dabbed at the sweat on her forehead. The heat had grown more intense despite being late afternoon. Sometimes, a sea breeze cut the stifling atmosphere, though mostly, it only seemed to distribute it differently. Today was the latter. Setsumi missed the cool forests and rivers from the Land of Fire. Their first week in Arashi-gai, Setsumi's skin had burned and erupted in painful blisters that itched until she bought some salve from a healer. She had been more cautious after that, building up a tan slowly over the past two months.

Genma, on the other hand, had taken to the village as naturally as a chameleon. His skin bronzed without even a blush of pink, and his brown hair paled to gold under the sun's influence. The oppressive warmth didn't bother him, either. When Setsumi had mentioned it, Genma had laughed and pointed out that this wasn't even close to the worst mission that he'd ever been on, present company excluded obviously. Their time together had done nothing to lessen Setsumi's irritation at dealing with the overgrown manchild.

Setsumi exhaled as she climbed the rickety stairs to their apartment. The air hung around her like a wet blanket despite the thinner fabric of her clothing. She walked a fine line these days in an effort to maintain decency while not dying of a heat stroke. Men had it so much easier; they could just take off their shirts whenever they wanted. It wasn't fair, by any stretch of the imagination.

Since Genma's guard job required working overnight, he would probably be sleeping when Setsumi got back. The infuriating man would wake up just in time to give her the most pathetic puppy dog eyes that she'd ever seen until she agreed to share her food, mostly to get him to leave her alone. Then, Genma would be gone for the rest of the night. While the quiet was enjoyable, there were only so many hours that Setsumi could sit alone pouring over her notes. Something needed to give, and soon.

As Setsumi moved down the hallway, a rhythmic thumping assaulted her ears. She frowned, wondering if one of the rooms was being repaired. She hoped not; carpenters didn't concern themselves with keeping decent hours. They would keep her up half of the night, then wake her before sun to complete the project. Late afternoon was an odd hour for construction work though. Normally, mornings and evenings were favored because the air was cooler. Even Setsumi knew that much.

Shrugging off the annoyance as a problem for another time, Setsumi shifted her basket to one hip and reached for her key. She opened the door as silently as possible since Genma was likely sleeping. It wasn't that she cared enough to respect his rest so much that she didn't want to deal with him any longer than she had to. If he slept right up until time to leave for work, she wouldn't have minded.

Almost as soon as Setsumi opened the door, air tugged at the loose strands of black hair around her face. The large windows had been thrown open to catch the breeze, and their gauzy, white curtains swirled on the draft. The noise from the hallway was louder when she stepped into the room. Setsumi noticed the details in a detached manner, taking in the jumble of blankets and sheets falling off the edge of the bed, then the bodies on top of it. Her mind struggled to make the jump to reality.

Every detail seemed superimposed on Setsumi's eyes, and she couldn't tear them away. Perspiration glistened on the back of Genma's tanned shoulders, damping the hair that clung to his skin to its original brown. His arms were stretched, hands tight against the headboard as his body moved. A thin trickle of sweat followed the curve of Genma's spine downward-Setsumi's mind did a full stop at the firm muscles tensing and relaxing almost too quickly to follow. A soft, feminine moan, then Genma's answering gasp shattered the illusion that Setsumi found herself trapped in.

A half scream tore its way free of Setsumi's throat as she whirled away from the pair. She fumbled her basket onto the table, cheeks burning crimson. The woman beneath Genma made a sound similar to Setsumi's and began babbling that she'd thought he was single. Genma's deep chuckle followed Setsumi into the hallway when she slammed the door behind her.

Setsumi wasn't sure which infuriated her more, the assumption that she'd debase herself with someone like Genma, or the fact that he'd brought a stranger into the apartment. This was exactly why she hadn't wanted to be partnered with the man in the first place. He never thought of anyone or anything except himself. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath through her nose. Her mind replayed the image, narrowing to the line low on Genma's hips where the man's tan faded back to its paler shade. She forced the thought away, refusing to let it linger.

As the heat cooled from Setsumi's cheeks, cold fury replaced it. By the time that the door opened and Genma's woman stepped into the hall, Setumi had thought of a dozen ways to make the man's life miserable moving forward. The woman was of height with Setsumi, with big green eyes and a mess of red curls cascading over her shoulders. She offered a blush and murmured apology, but Setsumi waved them off. The woman hurried down the hallway without a backward glance.

Brave of her to assume that I wouldn't come after her if she thought Genma really was my lover, Setsumi mused. Turning away, she opened the door fully expecting to find a remorseful and apologetic shinobi on the other side. She should have known better. Genma stood in the kitchen area, one hip resting against the counter as he peeled a mango and ate the rich flesh directly off of his knife. A green towel wrapped loosely around his hips, disguising the tan line that Setsumi wished she'd never seen.

Smirking, Genma offered a piece of fruit on the edge of his blade. "Want some?"

Setsumi shoved the man's hand away so hard that the mango splattered against the wall with a juicy plop. The knife clattered onto the floor beside it when her open palmed slap jerked Genma's head to the side. "What the hell were you thinking," she fumed.

Genma brought a hand to his cheek, perhaps in shock that Setsumi would hit him, then recovered with a laugh. "I was thinking she was hot. I mean, has it really been so long that you forgot how to properly blow off some steam?"

"No," Setsumi snapped, pushing hair out of her eyes in annoyance. She hadn't forgotten that feeling at all, but she had her priorities in a suitable order. "The mission has to come first, always. What if she'd been a spy?"

Stooping down to pick up the knife, Genma tossed it toward the sink with a clatter. "I don't know why you find it so hard to understand; women like me. Not everything has to be some kind of conspiracy theory."

Setsumi put her hands on her hips as she glowered at Genma. A single foot began tapping in annoyance. "You can't risk that, especially now. What if she had seen our notes or gotten suspicious?"

Rolling his shoulders, Genma shrugged. "She was otherwise occupied. I'm not an idiot, you know."

Rage blotted out Setsumi's logic as she drew her hand back to slap Genma again. She'd never met anyone so stupidly arrogant, so ridiculously self assured, or so incredibly idiotic. Women might throw themselves at Genma, and many undoubtedly found themselves in his bed without knowing why, but a few had to be smarter. Would Genma be able to tell when one of his play things had an ulterior motive? Setsumi couldn't risk their entire mission and months of undercover work on Genma's assurances that there wasn't a deeper game being played.

"You have a funny way of showing it," Setsumi growled, releasing the tension in her hand without smacking Genma. Instead, she rubbed her temple against a forming headache. After several deep breaths, she brought her eyes back up to Genma's face, refusing to acknowledge his lack of shirt. "We need to lay some ground rules if we are going to continue working together."

"Ground rules," Genma repeated, voice edging toward incredulous."You do realize that you're not my mother, right?"

Setsumi rolled her eyes. "Maybe if she'd taught you better manners then we wouldn't-"

"Don't." Genma moved faster than Setsumi could believe. One moment he'd been standing there with a lazy, half-smirk on his lips, and the next he was less than an inch from her face, close enough for her to see the struggle for control in his hazel eyes. His jaw relaxed as he pushed air from his lungs in a snort. "Don't talk about things that you don't understand."

The room grew fuzzy at the edges until Setsumi remembered to breathe. She had obviously touched a nerve. Vaguely, she wondered if Genma would have actually hit her, or if the movement had been for show. Setsumi decided not to find out. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. "Fine, but stop compromising everything to get laid. Can't you show some restraint for once in your life?"

Genma turned away from Setsumi, crossing the room to rummage through the clothes on the ground. He came up with a pair of boxers and bent to pull them on. Setsumi turned away as he tossed the towel on the bed. "Fine," Genma grunted, obviously pulling the fabric over his legs then looking for his next garment. "If it will get you off my back, I won't have sex with anyone until we complete this mission."

Setsumi frowned at the wall. "You're serious?"

"Yup," Genma answered, moving back into Setsumi's frame of vision. He was fully clothed again. "Anything is better than having to deal with your constant lectures."

"They aren't lectures," Setsumi grumbled, watching Genma reach for his shoes. Had his shoulder muscles always pulled at the fabric of his shirt that way? She shook her head to clear the thoughts. "And, they aren't constant."

Genma nodded as he scooped the towel from the bed. "I'm sure you're right."

The words surprised Setumi, though she had a strong feeling that Genma was simply agreeing to get her to stop talking. She wondered if this was as close to peace as the two of them were ever going to get. Genma reached for the door, obviously finished with their conversation though Setsumi couldn't believe that he'd walk out midfight. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To train," Genma answered without looking over his shoulder. He shut the door between them.

Setsumi growled, snatching the nearest thing at hand, and flung it toward where Genma's head would have been. Her anger dissipated as water from the broken bottle pooled on the floor. It would stain the wood if she didn't clean it up soon. "Fucking men."