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Chapter Eight

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"I must say," said Daddy, "I did not expect to find a girl waiting in my bed." He placed his weapon pouches on a shelf and left the room, doubtless to chew out Itachi for failing to attack.

Itachi, naturally, had identified Daddy long before the jōnin slipped in through the master bedroom's window (nothing short of suicide would get anyone through Kato's and my window. Babysitter speculation favored two genjutsus and a sealing jutsu. The genjutsus kept people from looking in. The seal was a containment barrier. No one wanted to test if it would aim for an intruder or for the room's occupants). Itachi explained that he had a shadow clone on patrol outside, and said clone had recognized Daddy's chakra.

I knew better than that now, though. Crows weren't nocturnal, but several would be in the skies. Others would be watching the streets.

Itachi wasn't used to having summons. He had inherited the contract from a recently diseased clan member, and the birds hadn't come with an instruction manual. In fact, the late Uchiha had only used them as spies. Itachi'd had . . . about a month to work on teamwork and to experiment. Welcome to ANBU, kiddo.

Daddy's words equated to roughly the same meaning. "You can stay the rest of the night or go home," he said. "Either way, we may as well go to headquarters together. You get to sign on to my squad. I wouldn't suggest going by yourself, since ANBU hazing is better done on the training ground." What a pleasant statement.

"I would prefer to stay, if you do not mind, Hatake-san."

Daddy nodded, or shrugged, and went to take a shower. "What did that child get on its clothes?" he muttered. "Ma, I suppose they needed new clothes anyway." He checked on Kato before coming back into the master bedroom to eye his daughter. "Scoot over."

I grumbled, taking the pillow with me.

He climbed into his bed. I snuggled into his side. He screamed like a little girl. Or, um, not.

He did yelp in surprise and flick off the covers. "Kana! Why are there sharpened kunai in this bed?"

(There's no accounting for bad taste in greetings, Daddy.)

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Daddy remained solidly warm and most emphatically in bed until noon, at which time Itachi's miracle work of holding back Kato fell through and Daddy awoke with a start. Kato was tossed into the air by our half-asleep (or, optimistically, half-awake) father, who mumbled something along the lines of, "Funny, could have sworn there were kunai." Kato mistook Daddy's action for playfulness and promptly tried to maul Daddy's face. Or hug it. I wasn't quite sure.

I released Daddy's arm and slipped past Itachi—idealistic fool, imagine thinking that Daddy would do anything at a decent hour—to go change. Kato and I shared a wardrobe. That didn't bother me, but most of the shirts had lasted through Daddy's childhood days and could easily pass for cleaning rags. Dark-colored cleaning rags. Would it have killed the man to have worn one pastel? That was an ingrown habit. How old was he now, in his twenties?

I choked. Daddy had turned twenty last September. He would have been sixteen when we had been born. How did a sixteen-year-old possibly manage to cope with infants? What kind of agony did he go through? Perhaps I should have been a better baby, but that wasn't the half of it.

I'm older than Kakashi. I'm older than my father. I'm always going to be! How had I missed that sparkling detail?

For someone older than her father, you sure are an idiot.

Yes, thank you for showing up, logic. I could have used you at, say, Kakashi's last three birthday parties. You know, the ones where I knew how to count.

"We're leaving, Kana-chan," Daddy called. Oh, were we? I yanked my fingers through my bed head and wrestled it into a hideous ponytail. "Come on, Kana-chan! Tenzō has been waiting for us since this morning." Poor Tenzō. It was a wonder he put up with Daddy.

Kato had glued himself to Daddy like usual, and I was not going to be carried by Itachi. We flickered out of existence.

The first time I'd experienced the Body Flicker Technique (Shunshin—a very bad pun if one treated its syllables as individual, English words), I had been nine months old. The body's resilience is not very high at that age. I had thrown up all over whichever ANBU had carried me.

Flickering, like most things, required chakra. The user sent the proper amount throughout his body and effectively appeared at his destination. A skilled user could use a Shunshin without disturbing a hair on his child's head. And that was why I did not ride strangers.

Itachi's Sharingan was activated when he materialized beside us. Daddy nodded to him.

Stupid Itachi. Even when he didn't bother wearing his mask, he may as well have been wearing one. He accepted the approval for what it was and moved on with his life.

"My treat," said Daddy, and we went into a restaurant. It was the same place that gave us free samples when Fukunaga was behind the counter. She was there now, all googly eyes and excited smile. Itachi noticed, too. I scowled.

Tenzō was in a more palatable mood. "I should have known," he said, glaring. "Eight o'clock, you said."

"Well, you know. Kana-chan wanted me to do her hair. She's very particular about those types of things."

I was going to grow up very insecure, at this rate.

"Right," snorted Tenzō. "I might even believe you this time, but you're still footing the bill, Senpai."

Daddy held up his hands, apparently forgetting to support his adorable children. We hung off his neck like the tough little leeches we were. "I have two extra mouths to feed!"

Tenzō's sympathy was so overwhelming that it was not, in fact, discernible. He looked at us twins. "These are the bane of the ANBU? They're pretty cute for demon twins."

Itachi frowned. "'Demon twins'?"

Daddy chuckled. "They have quite the reputation. Most insist that they were spawned by a Tailed Beast. They seem to think that they take after their father."

"A few love them," Tenzō supplied. "For some reason, those that like the twins can't even stand children." Well, you know, if Kakashi could manage raising a family, I could subject others to the same misery. They signed up for a job full of horrors, no?

We sat down, Kato on Daddy's lap. Daddy's fangirl sidled over, playing with her sky-blue skirt. "G—good afternoon," she said. "W—what would you like?" Daddy and Tenzō ordered saury. Itachi asked for a funny dish with different varieties of seaweed. Kato wanted soup. I craved . . . fruit.

Fukunaga Manami, as she preferred to be called, returned with our orders but did not leave. "What is it, Manami-san?" Tenzō, of all people, asked.

She trembled. "It's Bato-kun, my young cousin. We Fukunaga are nothing like the Akimichi clan, but Bato-kun was our strongest ninja in many generations. He was going to be a poison master to rival Suna's best. We knew he was good, so we sent him to the Chūnin Exams." Her hand fisted around her skirt. "We just heard he's been p—paralyzed."

My Bato? Paralyzed? I barely heard Kato whisper, "What does that mean?" and Daddy say that he'd check with the Hokage after finishing a mission report.

"Last week we heard that he was dead," said Manami, "so any information—"

"We understand," Tenzō said gently.

Daddy made a shadow clone ("That's a breach of protocol!" Tenzō hissed) and sent it to the Hokage's office. Daddy and Itachi disappeared the second they finished their meals, presumably to finish their business at the ANBU headquarters.

Tenzō glared. I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes.

"Ow," said Kato, landing on solid wood.

I broke the ice with a definite snap. "Is your name Tenzō-chan? Daddy's told us about you. He said that one time you dressed up like a girl."

Slowly, the grumpiness faded from his face. His new expression was very different. "Senpai told you stories?" Try to run and I'll show you just what I inherited from the First Hokage, his smile indicated. "Allow me to make a few corrections."

Somewhere in the distance, Daddy must have heard that, because he returned halfway through the second story. "Daddy!" Kato squealed.

I yelped. "Kato shocked me!"

Tenzō and Daddy exchanged glances. "Told you," snickered Tenzō.

"You're not off the hook yet," Daddy replied. "Besides, I'm the clone." He pushed Kato aside and snagged a few bites of . . . whatever was in the bottom of Kato's bowl. "Manami-san?"

The girl ran out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her skirt, which seemed to be her catch-all. She was a curious mixture of red and green.

"He's alive," Daddy started.

"Oh, thank goodness! We've all been so worried and Aunt—"

"He might not stay that way."

The red spots faded from Manami's cheeks, leaving her green all over. She swallowed.

"He was exposed to an experimental toxin. He should have died long before the medics got to him, but he managed to make an antidote out of a soldier pill and a few ration bars. The only thing that kept him from a field promotion was the fact that the toxin feeds off the chakra coils. The more chakra it eats, the stronger it grows. Your cousin is currently too weak to move. His prognosis is grim."

The green left Manami this time. She smiled, albeit grimly. "Well, that's fine, Kakashi-san. Bato-kun was never much good at poisons compared to me, and business has been slow lately." She marched toward the kitchen.

Daddy blinked. "Stronger willed than you thought, eh?" observed Tenzō. "The Will of Fire isn't limited to us ninjas."

"No, of course not."

"I'm leaving, Mother!" Manami called behind the thick, closed doors. "Bato-kun was poisoned. Where does Aunt Chieko keep her journals?"

"You go hire an escort and I'll pack them for you. Get a Nara, if you can—I'm going to cash in every favor we've ever given that Shikaku child. He might let you take one of his books. After all, we Fukunaga women may not be beautiful, but we are evil!"

Manami laughed softly. "Just tell Cousin Yoshino, Mother. She, at least, will remember Bato-kun."

"What do you take me for, girl, a fool?"

"No, of course not."

Daddy's clone cocked its head at me. "What is she saying?"

I shrugged. "She wants Tenzō-san to finish his story."

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How many ANBU captains had children waiting at home? How many other children were familiar with the hardships of ninja daycare? "Just try it on!"

"No!" I shrieked, wadding the offending garment into a ball. Exactly on cue, another shirt sailed over the door.

"Perhaps a different style?" Kurenai mused.

"Put it on, too," Anko barked, before turning to her partner-in-crime. "Was that one brown? I thought we agreed on purple!"

"All of the purple shirts have ruffles," Kurenai replied amicably as I cringed at the large collection of clothing. "I think we can both agree that that's hardly practical."

"Then how come all those dresses you picked were ruffled?"

Kurenai cleared her throat. "We don't have all day, Kana-chan. You don't want to keep looking like a boy, do you?"

I kicked the dressing room's door open and stomped out. Both women squealed. "You look like a miniature ninja!" Anko exclaimed.

Kurenai's response was a bit more ambiguous. "You look like a girl."

I looked like I was wearing a patchwork compromise. My legs were covered in opaque fishnet. My skirt was bright purple. Blindingly bright. Ino would love it, and Kurenai already did. The only thing I'd picked was the wonderfully boring brown shirt. And Daddy's scarf.

"So can we go home now?"

Anko cackled. "Where's the fun in that, brat? We've only been to one shop." She snagged my scarf as I dashed for the door. My scarf had to be made out of Kevlar or something equally tough, such as plot armor.

I whimpered. My captors laughed. "Someday," they promised, "you will change your mind."

"I won't!" I argued, and I wondered if clothes would be a good medium for Kawarimi.

Anko grinned. "Did ya know that loud noises attract hungry snakes?" That explained why they liked her, I suppose.

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~Suna: how I'll be shortening Sunagakure/Village Hidden in the Sand

I was hit by a severe writing block, but I snapped out of it a few days ago. I feel like this story is taking too long to write, but then the wordcount informs me that it is, in fact, terribly short. Eurgh.

Congratulations to Memory25 on winning the contest! Several of the other entries were relentlessly close. My thanks to all who entered and voted.

I've run out of things to say, so . . . have some "seasonal" advice: be thankful for the good points of your country and not bitter about the bad. Countries are only as good as their corrupted politicians, after all. ;) Happy Fourth!