Top of the Tree

II

I spent a lot of time, as a baby, thinking. Processing. Planning.

If the timeline in my head was correct, I'd been born during a war, the Second Shinobi World War, to be exact (Tsunade was still in the village, from what I could recall).

Funny, I left an army only to join another.

During my—as I liked to call it—"thinking time", I became aware of how dire my situation was: I was an adult, stuck in the body of a baby who, when older, will most likely be forced to become a ninja due to the parents I have.

So pretty much, I'm going to die young. Again.

Breath. Breath.

Who am I kidding? I knew that I'd regret it if I didn't become a ninja. I mean, I was in an army in my past life. Let's face it: by nature, I'm an adrenaline junky.

Fighting for something larger than me, even if insignificantly so, makes me feel important. Sob.

So, I'd have to survive about eighteen years of war (I remember the Fourth Hokage hadn't yet reached the age of thirty when he sealed the Kyuubi into Naruto), two invasions—the sound invasion and Pein's invasion—and a Fourth Shinobi War. Fun.

And if I was going to make it through such events, I'd have to be strong—insanely so. Luckily, however, I was born into a family with prominent ninja, and had an absurdly strong father. So all hope is not lost.

And to be realistic, I already knew the basics of war. And when the time came, killing wouldn't be such a problem, for it wouldn't be a first, nor would being put under such stressful conditions affect me too drastically.

But fortunately, I had thirty-some years before it'll all happen—not including the presently raging war, that is.

Anyway, life as a baby, for the lack of a better word, was boring.

Eat—sleep—cry—crap my pants—cry some more—eat—sleep—sleep—eat—nap—barf—sleep.

My Mom would constantly pick me up and carry me around, which was annoying to say the least; I felt like an invalid. Two months into my new life she took me outside for the first time—if you don't include the walk from the hospital to my house. We dropped my older brother, Hiro, at the ninja academy and proceeded with our stroll.

My first impression was, well, everything was so… weird. The architecture was somewhat similar to that of my old life, but there were differences, for sure. Just about every building had tags slapped on them with some sort of seal written on them. There were also a lot of cracks on the wall, for some reason. And the roads were indeed dirt ones. My mom took me to the park, and we spent time, what felt like an eternity, there socializing—well she socialized while I awkwardly remained on her lap letting a constant flow of saliva run down my chin. So by the time we left the park the streets were crowded with people, it was probably around lunchtime, so everyone was on their lunch break. There weren't all that many trees in the city itself—or at least the heart of it, which was where Mom carried me around—but there were a lot of ninja all over the place; war times and all.

We approached a really tall building—this coming from the eyes of an infant—and entered it. We reached the last floor—but not after being stopped by numerous strangers cooing on and on about my cuteness (or at least that's what I thought they were doing)—and Mom spoke to some secretary lady—who also, by the way, went on the admire my adorableness—and led us strait to an office. There we found my Father perched over some paperwork, just about pulling his hair out in frustration.

I heard a chuckle come from Mom, and Dad's head shot up—a grand smile smothered his face when he saw me, and Mom, but mostly me. I shrieked in delight and let out a joyful smile—not really me, the baby side.

During my first two months I came to the conclusion that I wasn't in complete control of my body and mind. In the simplest way to explain it, I was sharing a mind and body with a baby. Sometimes the baby side would overpower my adult side, and I'd lose control over my emotions among other things. I had to constantly remind myself that despite the age of my mentality, I had no other choice but to accept that I was, indeed, a baby, and that, much to my chagrin, I'd have to literally start from zero. It wasn't a very comforting thought.

They exchanged some words, and off we were again. We walked to a restaurant and grabbed a table. They ate, while I hungrily watched, missing real food. I let out a whimper. They merely glanced at me before continuing eating their meal. Selfish bastards.

They spoke some gibberish here and there, finished their lunch, paid the bill, and off we were again.

Mom handed me over to Dad and we strolled down the streets, he pointed out things and said their names. Whenever he was home—being that he was the Hokage he was always in that office of his-busy, busy, busy—talked to me a lot. But alas, I didn't understand a thing. And it aggravated me beyond belief. What interests me, however, is that he spoke to me with a mature tone, as if I wasn't really a baby. I wonder if he was suspicious about my quiet attitude. Hm. Maybe I should cry more. Or maybe it was the staring?

The trip ended with Mom and I escorting Dad back to his office and after, heading home. I was put to bed—nap time—and I suppose Mother went to do whatever she did when I was not around.

When I woke up Hiro was staring at me just outside my crib.

Having a sibling wasn't as perked up as I though it'd be, I mean, sure Hiro would play blocks with me, and try to read me a children's book, but I scarcely saw the little boy. He was always in the academy, and if he wasn't, he was too busy training or hanging out with his friends. I couldn't help but feel a little neglected and jealous. But what stopped me from seeking a little revenge was that whenever I did see him, he'd always be so happy to see me. He'd always kiss my cheek, and pat my head. I was too afraid that these little moments would be yanked away from me, so as a good little sister, whenever I'd see him, I'd smile and ask to be picked up (not with words; still hopeless in that area).

He, with great difficulty, took me out of the crib (hey man, I am so not that fat!) and placed me on the carpet lying on my back. Then he'd take out a children's book and lie next to me and read the book, pointing to the pictures as he read.

I heard a "ka-cha" coming from the door, where my Mother stood with an old-fashioned camera—they were hard to find, and rare (in this world), but no doubt the Hokage's wife would have one. I suppose she'd eventually frame it and hang it up in one of the living room's wall.

I was wide-awake at night in my wooden crib—I was about four months old—when I found myself becoming painfully aware of the phenomenon called Chakra.

I suppose at first it was quite uncomfortable. It felt as if some sort of hot liquid was pumping through my system (not blood, excuse you), overwhelming to the point in which I couldn't breath. I'd wake up in middle the night wailing with a high fever for weeks. My parents were forced to take me to the hospital one night, because it had gotten out of hand. Apparently my chakra coils were maturing—finally taking their shape—so that's the reason it had been so, for the lack of a better word, weird. The temperature of the Chakra dropped eventually, or maybe I just got used to it.

But it was always there. And I was quite conscious of its presence; there wasn't a second when it wasn't at the back of my mind, silently reminding me where I was, who I was, and what I'd lost. It became a source of comfort at night, when everyone was asleep, and I couldn't help but flinch at the moving shadows coming from the trees outside my window. I came to the conclusion that Chakra wasn't so bad.

And with that in mind, I started experimenting. Nothing too difficult, just summoning Chakra to my hands, feet, and other body parts. I'd cover my hand with a glove of chakra, carful not to use too much, otherwise I'd end up burning my skin.

I did it to occupy my mind, instead of staring off into insanity, which was where I was headed to if I didn't find a new hobby.

I was six months old—crawling everywhere (an entirely new sense of freedom!)—When my Mother (whatever her profession was) went back to work, off of maternity leave, and my Father started hiring genin teams to take care of me—D-rank missions, if you will. It was usually rather annoying; the genin were always so loud, and most of them couldn't get along with each other, so they'd bicker on and on. In these times I'd make sure to torment them. Okay, so call me mean, but it was amusing as hell. I'd sometimes play the selfish baby, never wanting to share my toys; I'd sometimes play the weepy baby, crying at every little thing; and I'd play the dangerous baby, always getting into dodgy situations (i.e. mysteriously getting my hands on a knife or pair of scissors).

There was only one team that I didn't pull that crap on: Jiraiya's team.

In my old life, Jiraiya was my favorite character in the manga. I mean, sure he was a pervert and all, but the dude was hilarious. And strong—though granted I'm not a big fan of toads. And I recall briefly when he died I cried a little, so yeah, I didn't have the heart to make him suffer; his allegiance could come in handy in the future anyway.

So they arrived at the door, and my Mother opened it, I crawled towards them (trying to figure out who'd be my next victim) and there they were: my favorite team. I went up to Jiraiya's feet, looked up and lifted my arms, wanting to be picked up by him. Normally the sensei doesn't stick around to watch over the D-rank missions (too boring, I suppose), so yes, I was cornering him with my cute baby face. He let out a wholehearted laugh, and picked my up.

My Mom said skeptically "Well, that went well" and it was the first time I understood what she said. I let out a squeal of joy (embarrassing for a woman my age).

Though I preferred to stay with Jiraiya most of the time, I did allow the others to carry me, especially a ten-year-old Minato. He was a really sweet kid; pretty quiet too, which was a double plus in my book. He talked to me, mostly small talk—probably not sure if I understood any of it—but whenever he started to babble he'd blush, and I swear it was the cutest thing!

He sat me down next to some flash cards. He picked one up and stuck it to his forehead. I was dumbfounded—how the hell did he stick the thing to his head—then I realized: Chakra.

It was tempting to imitate him, but grudgingly I decided against it—who had ever heard of a six-month-old being able to manipulate chakra? I wasn't going to take the risk and paint a big, bold, and red sign saying "prodigy" on my back.

Nice try though, Minato.

I grabbed a fist full of cards and chunked them at his face and crawled to the kitchen, where I knew I would find Jiraiya.

Words came along by the time I reached my eighth month. My sentences were short, if at all. I was satisfied with one-word commands—eat—hungry—pooie—no—up—and such. It seemed that after the understanding of the language came the talking—of course later would be the reading and writing.

It was a typical morning in the Sarutobi household—we were all in the kitchen, Mom cooking breakfast, Hiro drinking a glass of milk, and Dad was working on a bit of paperwork before the food was ready. The smell of Mom's food made my stomach grumble, and my patience was wearing thin. So in an act of rage—more like annoyance—I shouted "Eat!" and you couldn't guess the look of surprise my parents had plastered onto their faces. Hiro started laughing so hard that he almost fell off his chair, and in came my parents joining him. I, thinking that I said it wrong, started blushing insanely out of embarrassment and anger. Before I could control my emotions, I started crying. My parents immediately stopped, and my Dad got up from his seat and picked me up. He said something that I don't think I'll ever forget: "In your own time, my little leaf". Right then and there my heart melted, and I stopped crying.

That day was also the first time I spent the day in the Hokage's office with my Dad—I suppose he finally took pity on the teams that were supposed to babysit me. For the most part it was rather boring—he spent most of the time filling out paperwork—but around mid-morning came barging in a team, who were pretty beat up, with an emergency situation. I was sitting on the ground besides my Dad's desk playing with recreational toys, and what stood out to me first was that I felt them before they actually came in through the doors. I think my Dad noticed my reaction because I mildly remember him looking at me with a questioning brow—not a good thing, mind you. I knew he wouldn't want me to listen to the conversation he would have with the team, so I returned my gaze to my toys, but kept an ear out anyway to find out what was going on.

The team had apparently caught sight on a fleet on Mist ninja headed toward the Fire Country. They estimated about twenty ships with all kinds of ranked ninja. And unfortunately most of our ninja were fighting against Iwa on Ame territory. So we'd have to either settle things diplomatically (unlikely), weaken the security of the village to send out men, remove a number of our ninja fighting Iwa to confront Mist, or we call in a favor to one of our allies, which at the time was Sand, thought as we have seen, they weren't exactly trust worth.

I was impressed with how my Dad handled the situation so swiftly. First he ordered the team to calm down and sent them to the hospital, he then called a meeting with the council, in which he'd inform them of the situation, and together they'd come to a conclusion.

At the time I wasn't very concerned with what would happen as long as they didn't come knocking on the village gates.

My dad forgot about me, and left me in the office alone. Revenge time. Looking back, I feel a little guilty because he came back from the meeting with the village's council completely drained, and with a few new strands of white hair. He came back to a floor covered in paperwork and blotches of ink all over the place. Granted, he shouldn't have left an eight-month-old alone for three hours, but the look on his face killed me. I never did it again, nor did he.

Well, that's the end of the second chapter!

I don't want to spend too much time on Kozue's baby phase because I have to cover around thirty years of the story. So if you do find it a little rushed, please inform me and I'll slow down.

As for the time period in which Kozue was born in, it's actually the Second War because I did the math (surprise, surprise) and in the shippuden she'd be one year older than Shizune (32), therefore Shizune has yet to be born, thus Tsunade is still in the village, Dan is alive, and the three orphans (Nagato, Konan and Yahiko) have yet to meed Jiraiya.

Thanks for reading, and please review (it helps with my motivation and confidence). Also, if you spot any typos, please tell me! I hate them, but I'm human, so they're bound to happen.

CupcakeLoopy