The old man looked up from his counter as the bell above the door jingled, holding a packet in his hands. "Hello, and welcome to the post office." He put down the packet, his brush-like mustache wiggling as he sniffed. "How may I be of service today, young lady?"

Deidara gave him her best smile, holding up a pile of letters. "Some envelopes and stamps would be nice, hm."

"Right away."

The man reminded her of an ancient broom, languidly swishing about as he performed his duties as best he could. The door jingled a second time, but he didn't hear.

Kiba glanced over Deidara's shoulder. "The old lady told me you'd be here. Who are those for?"

"My friend back home," she answered, casually shoving him away. He grumbled. "I didn't realize you were on speaking terms with Kazebaba-san again."

"We were never not on speaking terms," he corrected, picking up an empty brown box the size of his palm and fiddling with it. To his credit, he didn't pocket it (though it would have been quite worthless at the pawn shop anyway). Kiba let out a deep sigh, tossing the box up and down. "She won't tell me what's up. Just that she's sorry. Man, I know Tamaki's been pissy at her lately, but I'm not a mind reader."

"I have doubts you can even read your own mind at times," Deidara snarked, and Kiba spluttered. "Relax, dog-boy, I'm pulling your tail, yeah." She paid upfront for the stamps and envelopes. "Don't worry, oji-san," she reassured the clerk, "I'll sort these out myself, hm."

"Thanks for coming." The old man picked up the packet she had first seen him with, putting it on a nearby shelf. "See you next time." He paused then, noticing Kiba for the first time. "Inuzuka... sama."

Kiba gave a noncommittal grunt. "See you."

"Hmm..."

Deidara shot him a glance as they walked to a small corner of the post office, where she could seal her letters and then send them off the mailbox outside. "I take it you're not the most popular guy around town anymore?"

"Ever since I started robbing 'em blind... nah." Kiba shoved his hands in his pockets. "But you reap what you sow. Honestly, I don't mind." Deidara nodded slightly as she stuck stamps on each envelope, using her remaining tongue-hand to lick the back of said stamps. "As long as it means that she hangs on for a bit longer."

Brave. She sealed the last envelope, then stacked them in chronological order, even though they would probably be scattered during the transfer. He's got his own admirable traits... A lot of kids his age would have broken down and given up ages ago.

"I'm going to the hospital," Kiba said as they walked out of the post office and to the mailbox outside, Deidara lifting the flap and pushing her letters inside. "Gonna get info from Aika-san." He grimaced. "It's going to be like pulling teeth." When Deidara didn't respond, he gave her a sideways glance. "Deidara? What about you?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry." Deidara pushed her hair out of the way, frowning a little. "I was just thinking, hm."

"Of... that night?" Kiba tread carefully.

"What? No." Her frown grew deeper and she exhaled. "I try not to think about Kou. Or okaa-san. Or anything bad that happened, hm. It's what keeps me going—knowing that things are going to get better in the future." At least... that's what I used to tell myself. In a way, she still did—life, while ever so fleeting, was filled with endless possibilities—but with everything that had happened recently she was beginning to doubt that.

Mirai. It's just leading back to the beginning. It's like my life's coming full circle or something. She brushed her fringe back again, a little annoyed by it on this windy day.

Kiba gazed at her thoughtfully. "Why don't you get a haircut?"

She stared at him. "What?"

He made a cutting motion at the spikes of his hair. "Y'know, the thing that people do when their hair gets too long—"

"I know what a haircut is, Kiba."

A cheeky grin. "If you want to focus on the future, then change your appearance. I used to have long hair when I was younger, but then one of the girls I used to play with at the market said I looked like her mom."

Deidara groused, picking at strands of her hair, wincing when the back of her hand accidentally hit a bandage on her cheek. "If I did, I wouldn't want it to be too drastic, hm..."

"At least trim your bangs. Those are getting really long."

A seagull cawed as it flew overhead.

"I'll think about it, yeah."

Deidara deadpanned as Kiba held out a skewer to her.

"What?" he said defensively, biting into the other skewer. "He won't miss a few."

"Ah, whatever." She took the kebab from Kiba and bit into it. Huh... It tastes like home. Of course it does. And it was delicious.

They took a seat on a nearby bench, and Deidara recognized it as the bench she had sat on when Kiba had taken her money on her first day here.

"Y'know," Kiba waved his skewer around as he spoke, "I thought for sure you weren't gonna take it. You're not as morally correct as I thought."

"I genuinely wonder what I did to give you that impression," she said dryly, ripping particularly viciously into a capsicum, which was the next layer of the kebab. "Or are you just off-kilter, hm?"

"Off-kilter?!"

"Weird," she clarified.

"I know what that means, dammit! You're so full of shit."

She gave him a sharp-toothed grin. "Yeah, I know. But aren't you supposed to be heading to the hospital? Hm?"

"Yeah, about that..." Mumbling, Kiba leaned back against the bench, throwing his hands behind his head. "I dunno what I want to hear from them. What if it's something bad?"

"How bad could it be?" Deidara was picking her teeth with the pointy end of the skewer now. "Trust me, it's even worse not knowing, hm. Plus," she added pointedly, "I don't want you following me around all day either, yeah. So go."

Kiba nodded tersely. "I know... I wish I hadn't let Tamaki play with Akamaru today. Then he could come with me." Stretching, he stood. "See ya around, Deidara."

"Hmm.." Deidara glanced after him, a niggling sort of feeling in her heart. It's almost as if I'm watching him grow up, somehow. Yawning, she stood as well and headed back to town, scanning her surroundings for the nearest barbershop. Good for you, kid. I think I might try to do a little growing up of my own. I've been meaning to cut it, anyway.

Chatter came from all sides as she walked down the streets at a comfortable pace, twirling the kebab stick in her fingers. There was the sound of rapid footfalls, and a small group of children came charging past her.

"Haha!"

"Can't catch me, Ichinose!"

"Takeo, you run too fast!"

"Oof!"

Deidara barely budged when one of the boys slammed right into her metal leg, grunting and falling on his backside, but she did stiffen when he looked up at her, his face eerily similar to Kou's. Then she relaxed, and offered him a small smile, her hair falling over her face a little. "Don't sweat it. But mind telling me where the barbershop is, hm?"

"O-oh." The boy stood up and pointed down the street. "Just keep going straight and there's one on the left. You can't miss it, nee-san."

"Thanks, kid."

With that, she was off, the boy's friends gathering around him and pestering him with questions about how it felt like to 'talk to a mature girl'. He basked in the attention, rubbing his nose bashfully.

Deidara pushed the door of the barbershop open.

Ding-a-ling!

A woman doing the hair of an elderly woman looked over. "Oh! Excuse me, Nanako-san, give me a moment." Putting her scissors away, she went over to her newest customer. "Hi! My name is Makoto. What can I do for you, ojou-san?"

The blonde undid her hair, letting the top layer fall out of its ponytail. Then she smiled. "Just a trim on the front will do, yeah."

It was a strange thing to get used to. Her head felt considerably lighter, but she couldn't help but feel people were paying more attention to her left side—the ugly scar beneath her clouded eye.

It was much shorter than she had bargained for, but she could get used to it.

In a few days, she would be going home as well. The wind on her face calmed Deidara as she walked back toward Kazebaba's home, ready to get working on Tsume's—no, Kiba's—story.

"Etto..." Aika examined her nails. "I'm not really obligated to tell you anything, stray... But I'm surprised that you picked up on it."

Kiba smiled at her, but it was more like he was baring his teeth. "You are, are ya? Any chance of you telling me anything useful?"

Muttering, Aika leaned back a little, a bead of sweat dripping down her cheek. "Calm down, mutt. I can't tell you anyway. The one who pays, like, eighty percent of your mother's bills is listed as anonymous."

His heart fell. "... Oh."

"Yeah." Seeing him deflate made her feel a little braver, and she smirked. "So what are you still here for then? Go see your precious okaa-chan or scram."

"Who the fuck put you in a healthcare institution? Bitch." Kiba growled at her as he stomped away, up to Tsume's room.

Seeing her lying on that bed made his heart hurt every time. This time was no different, the anger and frustration he had toward Aika utterly disappearing when he opened the door to her room, a ball of ice forming in his belly.

Gently, he closed the door behind him and drew up a seat next to her bed. "Hi, okaa-san."

It doesn't matter, anyway. Whoever's paying for us... As long as they keep doing it, I don't care. Heck, I'm grateful. I won't even be mad if I ever meet them one day.

"Caw."

Kiba looked up to see a crow with a white spot on its eye perched on the windowsill.

"Caw," said Karasu.

"Um, hey." Kiba warily lifted up a hand. The first time he had encountered Kazebaba's wind spirit, he had nearly had his eyes pecked out. "You gonna say something or keep pretending like you're actually a crow?" Karasu flapped his wings, landing on Kiba's shoulder. He was as light as air.

"Kazebaba-sama wants to apologize." Karasu spoke like a true gentlemen with a baritone that would make ladies swoon until they saw his appearance. Unfortunately, being a shape-shifter did not come in the job description. "For deceiving you."

"Oh. She could have come here herself." He waved a dismissive hand at the crow, who flapped his wings in annoyance.

"Stop that, boy. You know she cannot leave the house." Karasu pecked at his ear, and Kiba squawked in surprise. "She knew everything, and she had to let it happen. It was the best outcome."

"Was it really?" Kiba bit out. "I was beaten within an inch of my life and Deidara's even worse off."

"You do not have the burden of knowledge upon you. Had she intervened, there would have been every possibility of things changing for the worst. Why do you think she invited Deidara into her home on that fateful day? She had to take the same actions as her counterpart premonitions foreshadowed."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Just... Get out of here, Karasu."

"Very well."

There was a noise like the air had been sucked away, and then the wind spirit was gone. Kiba pressed his hands into his brow, longing for Tamaki and Akamaru's comforting presences and even Deidara's prickly remarks. Maybe, he even thought, that he shouldn't have sent Karasu away so quickly.

It was too empty in here.

They looked surprisingly normal. Clearly travelers, but harmless. Using the limited amount of money that they had been given for this mission, Sasori paid for an apple from a vendor, rubbing it with his sleeve before taking a bite.

Sai gave him a short glance before referring to the scroll he had been reading since they had arrived.

"We should arrange lodgings for the sake of normality and convenience," the boy told his partner. "Somewhere moderately busy, but not overflowing. We'll attract less attention that way."

"Hmph. Sounds good." Beneath hooded lids, Sasori eyed him. "I suggest we split up to cover more ground. Not to mention it'll be less suspicious."

"Yes, that will work." Sai snapped his scroll shut, lifting a hand to his face to block out the sun so that he could see further. "There's a tavern over there. I have little doubt that it doubles as an inn."

"Hn." Maybe it sounded like he was turning into an Uchiha now, but Sasori's noncommittal grunt drew Sai's attention away from him. The sleeve of his plain black travelling cloak swept past the window of a popular florist shop; then the fabric was gone, and in its place was a scorpion sculpture with E4 carved into its hide sitting on the windowsill.

The tavern that Sai chose was noisy with the shouts and bellows of inebriated men, and the barkeep was far too hassled to be of any service to them at the moment. So they waited near the back, postures seemingly relaxed but in actuality poised to strike.

It was during their wait that Sai turned to him and smiled. "We are partners now, Sasori, though I hold more authority than you do. Let's not keep secrets."

Sasori met his unnerving stare without a flinch. "Of course. The mission is everything."

"The mission is everything," Sai echoed, and Sasori inwardly sneered at how genuinely earnest he sounded when reciting the maxim (one that Danzo was fond of saying—drilling into—to his subordinates).

When the bar was finally relatively clear, Sasori exchanged words with the barkeep, and he gave them the key to one of the rooms upstairs before Sai even forked over the cash.

They had little to leave behind in their shared room (two single beds, thankfully); they'd not brought many belongings that would serve no purpose in their missions, and only bags of clean changes of clothes were tucked away, and miscellaneous weapons that would be inconvenient to lug around, which they carefully hid in spaces no one would ever look.

After deciding where they would go, they split up, though it seemed to Sasori that Sai was actually quite reluctant on parting from him. Probably because it meant that he could keep less of an eye on him.

And, Sasori knew, that Sai wouldn't dare follow him. Not in an uncontrolled environment like this, where Danzo's ROOT puppets weren't readily available and able to be alerted by a burst of chakra in their seal tattoos.

His gait was relaxed as he crossed a stone bridge that looked like it came out of some sort of fantasy land. Now that it was warmer, children wore looser and lighter clothing as they entertained themselves with the outdoors. Two boys and a girl were leaning across the stone bridge, throwing rocks into the water and laughing.

"Tomoko-chan, you try! I bet you'll throw the furthest," one of the boys encouraged.

The other boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right. She's a girl, s'not like she can throw hard."

"Harrumph!" Tomoko snatched the pebble from the naysayer. "Just watch, Tadashi!" Muttering, she climbed onto the edge of the bridge and drew her arm back. Just then, a breeze came sweeping in, and the boys' faces went red when her skirt flew up.

"Tomoko-chan!" both of them cried, covering their faces.

"Arggh!" In the effort of trying to protect her modesty, Tomoko's foot slipped over the edge, and she shrieked as she went tumbling forward.

Her friends covered their eyes, waiting for the inevitable splash.

When they removed their hands from their faces, they were met with a black sleeve blocking their immediate view. Tomoko was seemingly suspended in the air, but in actuality, a hand was clutching her frail wrist.

Another blink, and he had disappeared in the eyes of the children, as if he had never existed. The only thing remaining of his presence was the E3 scorpion he had left behind beneath the bridge.

More than a decade ago, there was a red-haired boy and a mirror.

I can't keep doing this.

The world was fuzzy as Sasori stared into his reflection, into his hollow gaze and the deep, dark trenches beneath his eyes. His fingers trembled as he gripped the porcelain sink, his breathing labored and heavy.

His shirt was off; a red slash that ran from his left shoulder to his right hipbone was bubbling with blood around the edges. A roll of faded white medical tape was right in front of his nose, on the vanity shelf, but he did not reach for it.

When is it going to end? The emperor was still young and healthy—it would be decades before he was free of all this. Is this all I'm supposed to be? A killer before he'd even hit double digits, the emperor's favorite killing machine, the one who stained the sands red.

He was nothing but a puppet.

Ever since Chiyo had taken him away during the night, he had been reduced to nothing but a puppet and a plaything. Panting, Sasori glanced down at his hands, tears of anger and years of pent-up frustration and anxiety filling his brown eyes. When is it going to be my turn, Rasa? Haven't you used me long enough?

As short-term relief, he longed for comfort, and for the presence of his mother and father, and maybe even Chiyo-baa-sama. But for the long run, he yearned for control. Control over his own life, his own decisions.

His lips twisted into a bitter smirk, his reflection doing the same. I'll be dust and ashes before that day ever comes.

Vilified and then forgotten by civilization, lost to the sands of time.

I wish I were dead.

But the niggling feeling in his brain always screamed for him to survive, survive, survive. Survive long enough to finally live. Wasn't that what everyone wanted? To live forever? It was an inbuilt human desire, one that stemmed from the innate instinct of self-preservation.

I need more time. Right in front of his eyes, his brain played a cruel trick on him, as his eyes were glued to the mirror as reflection wrinkled and aged before him, time reducing him to nothing more than a pile of dust. The ugly fear tightened its grip around his heart, and finally looked down at his torso to address the immediate problem.

His breathing growing more ragged than ever, he cursed and fumbled around the cabinet for a cotton swab and disinfectant. Five minutes later, the wound was wrapped up, bandages covering the majority of his upper body.

Sasori gave his reflection one more glance before calculating the amount of medical tape he still had left.

Then he slammed his head into the glass.

Eight hours later, he took his next victim—a businessman who had been giving away his money to the homeless—with a stretch bandage wrapped around his head and an indifferent gaze.

All of the dead man's money was returned to the Emperor and the country to help its dying economy.

I've done my part. A cold fury burned in his brown eyes as he bowed low to the Emperor before leaving the room, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Despite the poverty Suna had sunken into, the leader was still as well-fed and strong as ever. As he passed an open window, he looked down upon the haggard people of his country. So why won't you do yours, Rasa?

The blood he had spilled for his country—all down the drain and staining the dunes of the desert.

I despise you.

Now, more than ten years later, Sasori's body was stiff as he watched the sun set from his hidden position on a rooftop. He had done his job—now it was time to wait. Hours later, he returned to his shared room with Sai when he felt a pulse of foreign chakra down his normal arm.

"Anything?" Sasori asked smoothly as he slipped in through the window.

"I have four suspects." If Sasori was impressed, he didn't show it as Sai showed him the individual drawings he had done of each woman's profile. "Assuming you have gathered nothing—"

He's not wrong. Sasori almost smiled. But what Sai did not know was that Sasori's hands were free of the wooden carvings he had done on the boat.

"—we will follow them around tomorrow." He allocated two of the women to his red-headed partner—both unlikely to be Yaobami if he's giving them to me, Sasori deduced immediately.

"Right." The man stretched, needing it after a long day of running around the town. "Then if you don't mind, I'm taking a shower and going to sleep."

Sai frowned. "You're not taking this mission seriously."

"Aren't I?" Sasori nudged past him. "You should learn to be more patient... Sai." The irony of such a thing coming from his own mouth was not lost on him, and he could feel Sai's glower boring into the back of his neck as he closed the bathroom door.

The first thing he saw was his own reflection in the mirror.

He paused.

Then he turned away from it, throwing his cloak off.

Tap-tap-tap.

Deidara's fingers moved deftly but carefully over the circular keys of the bronze typewriter. The afternoon sunlight was filtering through the window, warming her face. A hot cup of tea sat on the side, steam rising from the center.

Her eye-scope was on her face, and she occasionally adjusted it to fit her left eye's poor, fluctuating vision.

Periodically, she would glance to her left to read the handwritten notes she had made. Writing was always a slow process. She had to choose her words carefully, or she'd have to start all over again. She had been at this for almost two hours now, and she had only completed her introductory paragraph and half of the first body paragraph.

Stretching her arms up, she yawned, feeling her bones pop pleasantly.

What she did next she regretted immediately.

She took the damn paper out and, upon noticing a bug land on her table, swatted at it and knocked her tea over, spilling it all over the table.

And all over her work.

"Fuck!" Grimacing, Deidara grabbed the dry end of the paper (which was unfortunately not the end which contained her work). This couldn't be recovered, but she didn't want to lose all the writing or she'd have to start from scratch once again. She looked around the room for a towel or a tissue, but there was none.

Pushing her chair back, she took the paper and practically flew downstairs in search of a paper towel of some sort.

What she found instead was Kazebaba enjoying a cup of tea at the dining table.

Deidara slowed down, her brow lowering in distaste slightly. Then she walked past her and rummaged through the cupboards, her frustration growing when she found nothing. She was about to resort to taking off her blouse and using it to dab the paper dry when Kazebaba's creaky old voice piped up.

"Need help?"

"Hm." Deidara grunted. "Got any paper towels? Tissues?"

"Well, no." Kazebaba's tone was mild. "But I believe I can help with a trick my sister taught me long ago." Deidara took her head out of the cupboards, staring at Kazebaba.

"Enlighten me, then." She took a seat at the table, watching Kazebaba slowly lift her teapot toward the ruined paper. Is she going to pour more tea on it. How's that going to help, hm? But then it happened, and Deidara's eyes widened as the teapot began to suck the water from the paper in long, languid blobs of water.

Seconds later, it was done. The paper was fresh and pristine, not even crinkled from the abuse it had suffered.

"Th..." Deidara let loose a breath. "Right. Magic, yeah?" She snatched up the paper. "Thanks, I guess." Did I really just see that, though? She was about to leave when a thought struck her. "You said you had a sister?"

"Yes." Kazebaba laced her fingers together, her mouth turning downward a little. "I had many. But they have long passed. The sister who I loved most—the one who I owe my little parlor tricks—was the eldest out of us four. She was the water witch of the west, and also the most powerful witch of her time."

"Interesting," the blonde mused, "That there were three more of you. Hah..." She passed a hand through her hair. "Magic's not supposed to be real, you know."

"Don't be close-minded." Kazebaba refilled her own cup, and Deidara was mildly surprised when the tea didn't come out inky as she had expected it to. "Magic is just another form of chakra expression and manipulation. We witches simply don't use it the way most people do. It's a thousand-year old art, Deidara-san, one that existed before modern ways, such as chakra-enhanced taijutsu."

Even more modern are guns and bombs and Zetsu. Would you believe that, old woman? Deidara leaned back in her chair, thinking back to something Kiba had said. "Say, Kazebaba-san, does Kiba have a sister as well?" And if he doesn't, who the hell is Hana?

"Oho! Very perceptive." Kazebaba beamed at her. "And I suppose you already have an inkling of who she might be. Best not to mention it to Kiba-shonen, though. He's still sore over her... betrayal."

Betrayal? Deidara's gaze sharpened a little. "Is that so?"

"That's for you to find out in the future, my dear. But you will get no answers from me, and I doubt Kiba will be much better."

"Feh! This is what I despise about you, hm. You act like you have all the answers, but you don't really know anything, do you? And if you do, there's no point in it, because you'll never tell." Deidara pushed her chair back, glowering at the old lady. "What is it—stubbornness?" She shook her head. "I don't even care, hm..." She left with the paper, and Kazebaba was alone once again.

Ah. The old witch blew on her tea. It's more of the fact... that I'm more powerless than I appear to be.

A few days later, it was time for Deidara to leave. She had already done what she needed to do—there was no point in staying here any longer, and the island was actually giving her a mild case of cabin fever. Her story on Kiba was almost finished—it just needed to be refined—she would complete it back in Konoha City.

It was Tamaki and Kiba that came to see her off, and it was oddly reminiscent of the time that Rin and Itachi had waved her off at the docks just two weeks ago.

"Come back soon!" Tamaki cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled to the boat. Deidara was already on board, leaning across the railing and waving halfheartedly at her.

"Have a safe trip!" Kiba yelled, and Akamaru affirmed by barking as loud as he could. "If you drown after what happened last week, I'll be disappointed in you!"

Deidara snorted. "Not a chance, dog-boy!"

Kazebaba didn't come, but Deidara didn't mind. She wasn't particularly fond of the witch anyway. A low horn sounded and then the boat was off. Tamaki, Kiba, and the quay became dots and a stretch of lines in the distance before disappearing completely. When she could see nothing more than ocean, she turned around to look at what she had ahead of her.

She exhaled, relaxing and leaning comfortably against the railing as the wind blew against her freshly cut hair. Finally.

Asuma wasn't entirely sure what compelled Shikamaru to drop by every so often and help around, but he wasn't complaining. Hitoshi was getting better and better at his job every day, but Shikamaru had the logic, common sense, and all-around smarts to make up for his lack of experience.

Today, Shikamaru had a simple sweeping job while Hitoshi was slowly sharpening a sword.

"Hey, Nara," Hitoshi said from across the room. "You might as well work here, y'know."

"Nah." The boy actually had the audacity to yawn. "I just come here to think. Doing mundane tasks actually does wonders for my brain." Whenever he was playing shogi with Ai Wei, his mind worked a little differently—he thought at an extremely fast pace, and strategies filled his head until it felt like it was about to burst. But then his skull seemingly expanded to fit everything in. But when he was doing effortless tasks that required no brainpower, a different switch was flipped. One that allowed him to ponder other kinds of questions that weren't restricted to game theory.

Today's question was: What do I really want to be doing?

Wasting the days away playing shogi had once sounded like a fine idea to him, but he couldn't help but imagine that he had let people down by not going further. His mother came to mind, and then his father. Shikamaru frowned.

"What's on your mind?" Asuma paused in his hammering when he noticed Shikamaru's pensive expression.

"... What can I do to help?"

"Huh?" The man scratched his head. "Well, what you're doing for me now is fine, kid—"

"No," he cut him off, "I mean what can I do to help with the war?"

It went so quiet they could have heard a pin drop.

"Whoa, wait a minute! Hold it for one darn second!" Hitoshi pointed at him, jaw slack in disbelief. "You're telling me that—that even after all we fucking went through out there, you still want to get involved?! This war is out of our hands, kid—we can't do nothin', y'hear?!"

"That's not what I meant!" Shikamaru glared at him. "I'm not a fighter. So what if I can put up hands when it comes to it? But there has to be some other way to influence things. To stop this all from happening."

"... You keep up with the times?" Asuma put his hammer down and grabbed his lighter and pack of smokes. A second later, he had a lit cigarette between his lips. "They say that Suna's siding with Tsuki. Iwa and Kumo... things are still uncertain with them, and Kiri are busy dealing with their own internal affairs, as always. Assuming that the rumors are true," he blew a ring into the air, "If you want to exercise any sort of influence, I'd go for Suna first. Cut off their allies."

"Hmm..." Shikamaru leaned against a wooden post, contemplative. "Hey, Asuma-san. Do you think it's possible for me to get some kind of job in diplomacy?"

Asuma smiled. "No."

"Thought so."

"But," the older male continued, "Those fancy diplomats are always looking for aides. They go through them a lot. With your background, I'd wager you'd probably be able to work something out with the higher ups."

The quiet settled over them again, the only sound permeating the pensive silence Hitoshi's sharpening of the sword.

There was an odd little smile on Shikamaru's face. "Is that so?"

Two days later, Shikamaru handed in his application form.

"Look, okaa-chan!"

Kurenai smiled lovingly and knelt as her daughter, Mirai, shoved a poster in her face.

"Today, Kawahara-sensei made us fill in stuff about ourselves in here!" Proudly, she pointed one chubby finger at the triangular thing in the centre. "This is me! I drew it all by myself, okaa-chan!"

"That's wonderful." Kurenai planted a kiss on Mirai's forehead, and the little girl giggled. "You're quite the artist, musume-chan. What else did you have to fill in?"

"Umm, my hobbies, goals, and what I want to be in the future! Look, see!"

Kurenai took the poster from Mirai, a tugging sensation in her chest as she read Mirai's answers to the prompts.

Hobbies:

- baking with Ami-onee-san

- picking flowers

- playing in the garden

Goals:

To go on a picnic with okaa-chan and otou-chan in the mountains

What I want to be when I grow up:

Myself

"Well?" Mirai prompted.

"Oh, Mirai," Kurenai sighed happily, "Never change, will you?"

"Huh? What is okaa-chan talking about? Anyway, is otou-chan back yet? He didn't even come back for my birthday." Mirai pouted. "Why did he miss my birthday, huh?"

Kurenai almost choked. "I..." She blinked the tears that had formed in her eyes away, unable to look her child in the eye as she held her by the shoulders. "I'm sorry," she had repeated this so many times that she wouldn't even blame Mirai if she got upset, "But he's not back yet. I... It's not safe here for him here, Mirai. Please wait a little longer."

Her child's eyes were filled with pain. "But why?! Does... Does it have to do with why Ohara-oji from next door is gone? And why his wife always keeps crying?"

That's exactly right, my beautiful daughter. Kurenai tried to hug her, but Mirai pulled away, running into her room and sniffling.

Every day, when she got back from school, she would always ask her about when Asuma was coming back. Kurenai hugged her arms, feeling hollow. Oh, Asuma... I wish you were here. I wish this godforsaken war would end so you'll finally be able to come back.

Feeling a breeze chill her skin, she glanced over to an open window. Sighing, she got off her knees to close it, pausing when she noticed the world moving on outside.

Women stopping to talk.

Women on the verge of tears.

Women walking slouched, as if all their energy had been drained from their being.

And yet no man in sight.

No husbands.

No sons.

No grandsons.

She looked over to the huge structure in the middle of the town. A bell tower.

Kurenai swallowed a lump in her throat as she closed the window, but not before leaning outside to check if her laundry—it hung on a wire between her and the side of the building opposite hers—was still swaying in the wind. It was.

Come back safely. All of you.