Chiyoko's mother had instilled in her daughter the importance of treating all houseguests with excellent manners, with an emphasis on how to adjust her hospitality to the circumstances. Her mother had been an excellent hostess.
However, at no time had her mother instructed her on the etiquette for informing a foreign ninja with whom your country was about to be at war that he was the father of your four year old temper-tantrum throwing child.
She must have tuned out for that particular lecture. Maybe it was wedged in between that one talk about how to scrape pine sap off of glass surfaces that eventually transformed into yet another rant about how important it was for Chiyoko to get married before she was twenty two. Her attention had always faded away about fifteen minutes into that one.
Anyway, she was running out of ideas for how to handle this situation. Jiraiya-san refused to sit, and had been standing awkwardly in the living space for the past five minutes, looking wide-eyed in the direction of her child's room. It was as if he'd been told that the room held an explosive capable of destroying the world and he had ten minutes to defuse it or the destruction of modern civilization would be laid at his feet.
Chiyoko sighed and knelt at the table, finishing her daughter's chocolate milk and waiting for Jiraiya to snap back to his senses. If he took much longer, she was going to go tend to her daughter and see if he'd be ready to talk in the morning.
Jiraiya emitted a muffled squeak and she looked up from putting her daughter's coloring sticks back in the box, in the correct order, of course. If they weren't arranged in the order of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and then violet, there would inevitably be a meltdown the next time the box was opened. And no, she had no idea why that was deemed the 'correct' color scheme or why it was so important. It was just one of the many little eccentricities that made Katsumi, well, Katsumi.
"That's not possible," is what Jiraiya chose to say first, voice high and strained.
She put the black color stick in the box and closed it. "Choose better words," she said, using the tone of voice she reserved for her students when they said something that would get them in trouble. Everyone deserved a chance to correct a mis-statement.
Jiraiya wisely issued an amendment. "It's entirely possible," Jiraiya conceded.
Chiyoko's brother emitted a loud snore form where he was passed out on the floor.
"It's just," the shinobi seemed to be scrambling for his thought. "It's not very probable."
Chiyoko took the empty chocolate milk glass over to the sink. "I don't know what type of sex education they provide to ninja in Konoha." She purposefully avoiding gazing at the shinobi as she washed the glass. Men were always such babies when it actually came around to discussing the mechanics of sex. They'd catcall and make all the innuendos in the world, but when it came to talking about reproductive consequences—she sniffed. "My mother made it very clear that it only takes once, Jiraiya-sama." She flicked soap suds off her hands and dried her hands with a ratty dish towel, before turning to face her guest, who, as predicted, was looking flustered.
"I've only ever slept with one man, Jiraiya-sama." She worked to keep all the expression from her voice. "I know exactly who fathered my only child." Her fingers clenched at her dress nervously and she braced herself for the difficult part of the discussion. "Which is why I asked you here."
Jiraiya's eyes widened in alarm and he opened his mouth to speak—
Only for a louder than usual crash from her daughter's room to startle both of them. Suspicious silence followed the disturbance. Chiyoko tensed, thinking the unnatural quiet might be her daughter inhaling before a pained wail—but no cry came.
"I—" started Jiraiya.
"Hold that thought, please." She held up a finger and swept from the room. "Excuse me."
Chiyoko padded down the hallway and gently slid the door open to her daughter's bedroom. She took in the mess that greeted her when the creaky door inched open with unruffled poise.
Her daughter had pulled the majority of her rather large (considering her age) book collection off the shelves and strewn them about the room in disorderly piles. Chiyoko detected no apparent rhyme or reason to their division.
The clear distress on her daughter's face kept Chiyoko from scolding her child. Her daughter hated disorder and loved her books, she knew better than to mistreat them and something must have shaken the girl badly for her to behave this way.
Katsumi sat in the middle of the room, pouring through the geography book she'd mentioned earlier with a mad frenzy.
Chiyoko knelt down in front of her daughter. "Honey, what's wrong?"
Katsumi shook her head, brown curls bouncing back and forth, framing her pale face. She gazed intently at the large map of the shinobi world, looking at it as if seeing it for the first time, gripping it so tightly the pages were tearing. Chiyoko would give a month's salary to know what was going on in her daughter's head. Katsumi had picked the book out from the local book store months ago, seeming to find it funny for some reason. She'd stuck it on the shelf and Chiyoko hadn't seen her with it since, but now the girl was looking at it as if it were her most important possession.
Chiyoko leaned forward and slowly unclenched her daughter's fingers from the book. Once Chiyoko had her daughter's hands, she pulled the tense girl into her lap and pushed the book away, closing it.
"Katsumi-chan?" She asked the child again, curling around the smaller body and combing her fingers through her daughter's thick hair in a soothing manner.
Katsumi shook her head and buried her face against her mother's shoulder. She mumbled something, but it was muffled against the fabric of the older woman's outfit.
Chiyoko focused on rocking her four year old for a few minutes, waiting for the trembling limbs to relax and for the little girl's breathing to even out. When it did, she pulled back and tilted her daughter's face up toward her, brushing the tips of her fingers against her daughter's soft cheeks. "What's wrong, Love?"
Katsumi's green eyes began to tear up again. "Everything," said the four year old dramatically, face falling into misery.
Chiyoko tsked and readjusted her grip on the girl, focusing on keeping her voice calm and steady. "Everything encompasses a lot sweetheart. Are you in your home?"
"Yes," said Katsumi softly.
"With your books? With me? Are we safe?" She continued asking questions as she picked up her child and navigated her way through the recently created obstacle course and over to the futon that she assumed Hideki had laid out. Katsumi nodded affirmatively against her shoulder in response to her mother's queries and sniffled sadly as she was set down on top of the covers.
Chiyoko sat next to her, rubbing her back. "So now that we've narrowed the list, what's really wrong?"
Katsumi shook her head negatively, green eyes dull.
Chiyoko found the girl's oversized stuffed bunny and turned it over to her daughter's outstretched arms. "You made quite a mess for nothing being wrong."
Katsumi perked up a bit, enough to eye the sad state of her library distastefully. "I'll fix it tomorrow."
Chiyoko paused, her daughter's dismissal of the disorganized room setting off warning bells in her head. "Honey?" She frowned and pressed a hand against the girl's forehead, checking for fever.
Katsumi looked forlornly up at her mother. "Ninja will still be real in the morning, won't they?"
Chiyoko dropped her hand. Four years and she'd worked hard to keep every trace of shinobi from her household. She'd combed through every book, screened every movie, changed the subject of every conversation—after tonight, there'd be no more censoring the existence of ninja in the hopes that ignoring them would best protect her child's future. She gave her daughter a weak smile and proceeded to tuck her into bed. "Yes they will."
"I'm going to have to go to ninja school, aren't I?" Katsumi sounded morose.
"What do you know about ninja school?" Chiyoko fluffed her daughter's pillows and tried not to sound too interested in the answer.
"…I read about in the dictionary," Katsumi muttered, picking absently at the fur on her rabbit.
Chiyoko bit back a groan. She was never going to be forgiven for that. Instead of indulging in the rant that was playing in her head, which would have no positive effect on her daughter at all, she gave a resigned sigh. "I'll send your uncle in to read you your bedtime story, ok?" She supposed she should be grateful her daughter wasn't pestering her with questions about their other guest. She leaned down to kiss her daughter on her forehead. "Love you, Honey."
She pulled back, confused when Katsumi didn't respond.
"Mom." Kastumi blinked earnestly up at her. "Kermit the frog's Grandpa is in my doorway."
Chiyoko twisted sharply where she sat, glaring at the door. Sure enough, a strange old frog was sitting in quiet observation. He considered the two females with an intelligent gaze, stroking his beard. "Well I'll be damned," he eventually said, before turning and hopping back down the hall.
Chiyoko blinked at the empty door frame.
"Grandpa Kermit said a bad word." Her daughter sounded impressed.
Chiyoko didn't have an explanation for this madness. "Mommy will have to talk with him about that." Her stress level had been inching steadily higher throughout the night, and cursing, bearded frogs— she was drawing the line. She had no idea who Kermit the frog was (maybe a cartoon her daughter watched?), but she would be having words with their guest about inviting individuals who used foul language in front of impressionable children.
She finished saying goodnight to her daughter, stubbed her toe on a book as she tried to leave, swallowed a curse of her own, and prowled back into the main living space.
Which was suspiciously lacking in elderly talking amphibians. Her brother, however, was awake and conversing with Jiraiya in low tones, giving his typical one word, grunt-ish answers that seemed to be irritating the white-haired shinobi.
"Where's the frog?" She snapped out, setting her hands on her hips.
Jiraiya raised his eyebrows, sounding scandalized. "He's not a frog! He's Elder Toad!"
"Where is he?" Demanded Chiyoko.
"He went home," drawled Jiraiya, expression closing off and implying that the whereabouts of talking frog-san weren't any of her business.
Chiyoko felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and she coiled internally in anger. "Hideki-kun, Katsumi-chan needs a bedtime story."
Hideki blinked himself awake a bit more, but slumped in submission before working up a rebuttal. He shrugged his shoulders apologetically when Jiraiya shot him a betrayed look as he departed.
Chiyoko waited until her brother left the room before she crossed her arms and did her best to sound confident as she addressed a man who probably knew more ways to kill her than she knew meals to prepare for dinner.
"Jiraiya-sama," she began, "You are a guest in my home. I do the best I can to ensure the safety of my daughter, and part of that responsibility is screening visitors and guests and denying or limiting access to anyone who might wish her harm or negatively affect her. I can't do that if you are bringing in—" she didn't know how to describe what had just happened so she decided to be as tactful as possible. "Visitors who I don't know about. When you do that without my permission, you are completely undermining my authority as Katsumi's mother and you are putting my child's safety at risk."
"I wouldn't-" Jiraiya wilted a bit. "I wouldn't hurt her."
"I'd like to think you wouldn't," said Chiyoko, throat dry. "But I don't know you very well, Jiraiya-sama. I really don't know you at all. You just discovered you are a father today, you've had no time to think about the ramifications of that realization, and we have not determined yet what the extent of your involvement will be, if any, with my daughter."
She gripped her arms tightly, feeling cold as Jiraiya gazed back at her with a blank face. "I know you have the power to go over my head, to take her completely out of my life. But while you are in my house, please indulge me and treat me with the respect that I deserve as an independent person and the head of my household. And, if not that, at least humor me by honoring the fact that I've taken excellent care of your offspring for the past four years." She wasn't sure how well she was hiding the fact that she was shaking with emotional vulnerability. Probably not well, considering that when Jiraiya began to respond, he spoke as if he thought one harsh word might bowl her over.
"I respect you." He frowned, as if the next words were costing him something of excessive value, "I'm sorry."
At least he sounded sincere.
Jiraiya groaned and his shoulders sagged forward. "I don't often apologize and mean it, and I do so even less to civilians." He ran a hand through his long white hair in irritation. "You've thrown me off guard tonight and I haven't exactly responded well."
Chiyoko pushed down her anger to accept the apology and forced herself to cross the floor, taking a seat on one of the abandoned cushions. "You haven't run away screaming yet," she offered, trying to lighten the mood.
"It crossed my mind," he agreed wryly. "I shouldn't have called Fukasaku-sama without asking you first. He was just the easiest—" Jiraiya's eyes widened in sudden alarm, and he hastily tried to explain himself, holding out his arms as if trying to prevent Chiyoko from getting angry. "Not that I don't believe you, but if I hadn't checked my teammates would've had my ass! Elder toad was just the easiest way to confirm things, and I didn't think it would matter that much. Obviously, I'm a guest and it was rude—"
"Jiraiya-sama," Chiyoko interrupted wearily, fighting the urge to rub her temples. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Oh," Jiraiya blinked, shoulders sinking. He cleared his throat and further explained himself. "Well, Fukasaku-sama is a sage, and one thing he can do is sense a person's chakra."
Chiyoko stiffened; she was quickly coming to hate that word.
Jiraiya noted her discomfort, dark eyes cataloguing her reactions, but he continued when she didn't lodge a verbal objection. "Every person has a unique chakra signature; some people are natural sensors and can sense these unique signatures. Fukasaku-sama is able to do so; I'm not—well, not in this state. I could do it, but it would require me to use some techniques you'd probably me rather not use in your house. It would also, most likely, draw unwanted attention."
"So you," Chiyoko tried to follow his train of thought. "You sent him to check if Katsumi-chan had chakra?"
"Not exactly," muttered Jiraiya, "Everyone has a unique chakra signature, but part of that signature is passed from parent to child, so any child of mine would have a signature somewhat similar to mine."
"So you sent him to confirm that Katsumi was your child," Chiyoko said slowly.
Jiraiya hummed his agreement.
The woman nodded jerkily. "I understand." She straightened. "It would be silly of me not to try and expect you to confirm paternity in some way. I didn't know it would be so easy, thank you for taking that into consideration." She bowed her head in acknowledgment and gratitude.
Jiraiya looked uncomfortable. "I should have explained beforehand. Anyway," he fidgeted. "Fukasaku-sama confirmed she was my tadpo—er, kid. And I just," Jiraiya looked to be at a loss for words, eyes searching the sparsely decorated living space as if hoping an answer would jump out from under the frayed tatami mats. "I don't really know what to do about that."
Chiyoko kept her head down, eyes locked on her clasped hands, not able to voice the words which might lead to her daughter's permanent removal from Grass Country. Even if that looked to be the best option for Katsumi's future.
"Will you be taking her with you?" Hideki's gruff voice carried through the quiet room.
Chiyoko jerked up, eyes teary, gazing at her brother as he leaned against frame of the hallway entrance.
"Kid's asleep," was all he said. He avoided looking at her eyes.
Jiraiya looked stricken. "I mean—it's not that I don't want anything to do with her ever, but I don't know what to do with a kid." He looked between the two siblings, distress on his face. "Isn't she happy here?"
"It's not that she's not happy," Hideki explained. "It's that Kusagakure's preparing for war, and the country is bracing itself for becoming a battlefield. Kusa's drafting kids left and right. They're taking any kid who shows so much as a hint of promise, taking 'em up to the hidden village for training."
Jiraiya leaned forward. "So you're worried the Kusa-nin are going to draft her into their military? Send her to their Academy?"
Hideki didn't verbally respond, hazel eyes drifting to his sister.
Jiraiya's gaze followed Hideki's and landed on the anxious young mother.
Chiyoko focused on her hands, on getting each word out, one at a time. "She's so smart. She's too smart. And she's been—not on purpose, at least the doctor doesn't think so. She's been producing chakra, but she doesn't know what to do with it. It's just building up and irritating her. The doctor says it will dissipate eventually, if not used. But he also said— they'll notice. The shinobi will notice, sooner rather than later." She hiccupped. "And they'll take her. They'll take her away." Her voice was shaking by the end, and her eyes were wet, but she was proud she hadn't completely broken down into sobbing. If she kept leaning forward like this, hopefully the hair covering her eyes would keep the men from seeing how distraught she was.
"What a mess," grumbled the shinobi, leaning back. "I know what your objections to Kusagakure's military are."
And he did. Probably better than most, considering he'd been fighting in the same war in which her brothers were killed. Kusa and Konoha had been allied at the time, and still were supposedly. Somehow her brothers had wound up on the front-lines, fighting a battle in which they were hopelessly outclassed. They were where they had no business to be, but that was where all Kusa-nin civilian born shinobi wound up, on the frontlines, in over their heads, and dead. Kusa just didn't have the resources that Konoha did to invest in proper training and the necessary medical care to keep ninja up and running for a long time. Not when compared to the five great shinobi nations, at least.
Hideki had had been too old at the time the Second War broke out to draft into shinobi work, although he was certainly no older than Jiraiya. She supposed Jiraiya had started his own training young, voluntarily. The two had met in a bar, and Jiraiya had coaxed enough alcohol in the other man to get him to let loose about his frustration with his brothers' deaths and Kusa politics. Since then, Jiraiya'd wandered back every few years. Chiyoko didn't usually see him; her brother would mention the man's visit in an off-hand manner after the fact. She never pressed, was never even curious. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time the last time he was in town, and they'd accidentally wound up in bed together. She doubted Jiraiya had even realized she was Hideki's sister at the time. She hadn't informed him of their relationship.
"That definitely puts a different spin on things, doesn't it?" Jiraiya spoke rhetorically, eyes lost in thought.
"So, you'll be taking her then?" Chiyoko asked. Her mouth felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton.
"Well," Jiraiya murmured. "I can't really leave her here, can I? I mean, technically it's a foreign military, even though we're allied. Alliances fall apart. If they found out she was my kid…if I ever had to face her in battle—and you're right, they won't leave her alone." Jiraiya seemed to be thinking out loud, trying to work through the possibilities. "She could be used against me, against Konoha—better to prevent that possibility now, when it's easiest, than try to find a way to resolve it later once things become more complicated." He rubbed at his face. "What a mess."
"So," repeated Chiyoko, dully. "You're taking her."
"Looks that way," mumbled Jiraiya, sounding a bit cross. "But I need—I should get back, I'll need to soothe some feathers, get some paperwork taken care of so that everything will be ready when she gets there. Get passes and permits and such."
Good. She'd have a week or so then to prepare Katsumi. Tomorrow morning wouldn't be goodbye forever.
"The longer we wait, the more likely it is she'll get drafted, if what you're saying is true about Kusa's strategy for 'recruiting.' And it'll be a pain in the ass to get her out if they draft her before we get her to Konoha as a civilian. I don't have any authority or sway over Kusa shinobi, and it'll raise questions if Konoha requests the transfer of an academy student. They'll dig their feet in and demand concessions, and I have some influence, but I don't know how far I could press the Council to go to get her." Jiraiya tapped his chin thoughtfully. "In short, best to get out as soon as possible."
Chiyoko nodded, focused on keeping her voice even. "A week then?"
Jiraiya blinked, surprised. "You think you'll both be ready to go then?"
Chiyoko started. "What?"
Jiraiya was perplexed by her confusion. "You and the kid, will you be ready to move to Konoha then? I mean, you're a teacher, right? Is that enough time to quit your job and get ready to move?"
"I'm—" Chiyoko felt a strange flutter of something in her chest. "I'm coming too?"
"Yes? Why wouldn't you?" Jiraiya looked a bit green. "I can't take her by myself! I wouldn't know the first thing to do with her! I'd screw her up within three hours!"
"I can come?" Chiyoko needed to be sure, needed to hear direct confirmation. She ignored how desperate her voice sounded.
"Why wouldn't you?" Jiraiya repeated, sounding genuinely baffled.
"The hidden village here in Kusa doesn't let civilians in, any civilians." Hideki spoke up, trying to figure out what Jiraiya was offering.
"No civilians?" The shinobi huffed, crossed his arms. "That's ridiculous. Who runs the restaurants? Who manages trade and businesses? Who takes care of their kids?"
Hideki shrugged. "I don't know. They run it all themselves as far as I know. When they take the kids for training, I meant they take them. The kids write letters home when they can, sometimes they get leave to come home, but most parents never see 'em again."
Jiraiya raised his eyebrows and looked on the verge of continuing his barrage of questions, before he had an epiphany and his head snapped back to Chiyoko. "You thought I was going to take her and never come back, didn't you? Is that why you've been all," he gestured vaguely with his hands. "Weepy? You thought I would take her and you'd never see her again?"
Chiyoko couldn't trust herself to speak; she just nodded and buried her head in her hands. She was crying again, but for a completely different reason.
"I don't want to take her from you," Jiraiya sounded pained. "That's not how it works in Konoha at all. Kids go to the Academy during the day, they might have an overnight field trip or two while attending, but other than that they live with their families and see their parents every day. She'd live with you, you'd still take care of her. I don't—I'm no good for that."
Chiyoko nodded. "Thank you," she managed to gasp, struggling to breathe now that she was overcome with relief.
"I mean, don't get me wrong," Jiraiya added. "This isn't a proposal or anything, not that you aren't a, err, wonderful woman." He winced, eyeing Hideki as if he thought the civilian man was going to lash out at him any second. "I'm just not a commitment guy like that, sorry. I'm not interested."
Chiyoko hiccupped, trying not to laugh. "No offense Jiraiya-sama, but I'm quite fine on my own. I think we'd both be happier left to our own devices."
"Right," agreed Jiraiya slowly, trying to determine if there was some veiled insult in that statement. "Just call me Jiraiya, though. Cut out this 'sama' business."
"Ok, Jiraiya-san." Chiyoko nodded amiably.
"Just—," he gave in with a sigh, wisely deciding this was not the argument to have that evening. He shook his head. "I'll go back to Konoha in the morning. I'll see the Hokage; get things smoothed out so that you and the kid can immigrate. I'll get an apartment set up for you, with furniture, and I'll pay for it until you can find a job to support yourself."
Chiyoko paled. "That's too generous—"
"Don't." Jiraiya cut her off. "She's my kid too, and I want to help where I can. I bet you'll find a job before you know it. Konoha has several civilian schools, and a bunch of rich brats that pay for private tutoring. And I have the finances; it's not any difficulty really."
The woman nodded hesitantly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes and ducking her head as she tried to rub the drying tears from her face. "So, you'll be back in a week?"
"Yeah—actually," Jiraiya looked thoughtful. "Let me go talk with some people. I need to make some arrangements." He brought his eyes up to meet hers. "Do you mind if I stop by in the morning before I return to Konoha? I'll update you on the timing of things and—," he fidgeted, trying to look as if the answer to his question wasn't important. "I think I'd like to talk with the kid before I go, if you'd let me?"
Chiyoko smiled—her first full, real smile of the night. "I think that would be good. I'd like for her to meet you properly too."
"Right." Jiraiya smiled back, uncertainly. Perhaps not quite sure about meeting Katsumi being a "good" thing. He rose to his feet. "Well, glad that's settled. 'Til morning," he nodded at her awkwardly and stepped toward the door to let himself out.
Hideki pushed off from the wall to follow him, pausing to clap his hand on his sister's shoulder. "Told you it'd be fine," he gave her shoulder a squeeze and she scowled, shrugging him off.
"That's not what you said at all," she grumbled under her breath as she watched the two men leave. Then she headed to bed, ready to get the first good night of sleep she'd had in a month.
Jiraiya hadn't felt so off kilter since the last time he'd dragged Orochimaru out of that damned lab of his and the snake spiked his saké with a new poison in retribution. He'd walked around for a week periodically seeing double and just feeling, well, off, until Tsunade had worked out an antidote. Admittedly, it'd been nice to hear Princess screaming at Orochimaru for once about experimenting on comrades without first creating anti-toxins, but it wasn't something he'd been keen to repeat.
He shifted his weight uneasily as he stood on the porch of the unassuming traditional house. It was strange to come through Grass Country again and realize that they truly were gearing up for war. Sad to think that after the last nightmare, people weren't pressing harder for peaceful resolutions. Even more awful to think he had a kid that might get caught up in this mess.
A kid.
A daughter.
A tiny, defenseless person he'd had a part in creating who was now somewhat dependent upon him for making it to adulthood.
Fuck.
Good thing this kid had a mother whose head seemed to be screwed on right. That wasn't necessarily a requirement for his bedmates. Luck was on the brat's side in that one, even if it wasn't with getting a father who automatically made her prime target practice for every other nation.
Jiraiya ran a hand over his face. He'd always known this was a possibility with his, err, preference for past-times, but still—Tsunade was going to beat him black and blue. She'd been nagging him about being irresponsible and consequences and that this was going to happen for years now. And Snake Face hated kids so much that he stuck to men to prevent the remotest possibility of this exact occurrence.
Fuck.
Well, he tore his gaze away from examining the shrubbery around the house and stopped mentally tallying all the ways this house could be broken into without attracting the attention of neighbors. That wasn't helping his state of mind. The first thing he had to do was work to get his kid and her mom out of ass-backwards Kusa. Preferably before the kid got picked up by recruiting scouts or actual war broke out and everything went to hell in a giftwrapped handbasket. Sadly, that could be any day now according to Sensei's reports.
He straightened his shoulders and knocked on the weather-worn red door. He heard footfalls inside and the tinkling of a chain lock unhooking. Like that would stop anybody who really wanted in.
Crap. He was going to have to modify security seals for whatever apartment they were in—usually the resident shinobi activated them, but he'd have to figure out if he could tweak them to be operated by a civilian—
The woman—Chiyoko-san, looked better this morning. Not that he thought she was unattractive the night before, but she'd been an emotional mess: uptight, anxious, generally giving off bag full of crazy vibes that any sane man avoided. She smiled at him and let him inside the house. They exchanged pleasantries, and before he knew it, she was showing him to a sunny bedroom, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter ahead of her.
He paused, looking uncertainly at the teacher. "Does she know?"
"I talked with her this morning," she murmured, waving him on in. "She doesn't bite. Really, aren't ninja supposed to be fearless?"
Jiraiya scowled at her and stepped inside the –he blinked, adjusting to the strange décor, it was a very pink room. A very civilian room. And there was a little girl sitting at a child-sized table with four incredibly tiny modern wicker chairs by the window, sipping something from a miniature plastic teacup, a book perched in her lap. She appeared to be reading to a large stuffed rabbit and mouse that were propped in two of the other chairs at the table.
She looked up at his entrance, falling silent. Her mother's big green eyes were set in a smaller face, framed with long, dark brown hair.
She was adorable.
She looked absolutely nothing like him.
That was probably a good thing, actually.
He cleared his throat, rocking back on the heels of his feet and hooking his thumbs into his pockets. "Hello, Katsumi-chan."
She was silent for a few moments, seemingly content to study him with those wide eyes. Eventually, she looked away, down at her table and her toy companions. "Would you like to join my tea party?" She gestured to the empty chair at the table.
Jiraiya looked at the chair incredulously. There was no way—he would crush that wicker thing. "I think I'll just stand."
She frowned and shook her head gravely. "You can't join the conversation unless you're seated at the table." She sounded like she was reciting an etiquette book. He looked back at Chiyoko for help, but she held up a hand to her mouth, covering her grin.
Katsumi turned her attention back to her book when Jiraiya didn't move to join her, turning a page with a tiny hand.
Jiraiya scowled, he wasn't used to being ignored. This was ridiculous—since when did four year olds get to make the rules? He was grumbling to himself mentally, but at the same time he was bending down to sit awkwardly on the ridiculously small white wicker chair. He had to lean forward and put more of his weight on his feet so he wouldn't simply smash the thing. He never knew he'd be using shinobi skills to attend a child's tea party.
This was ridiculous.
He felt ridiculous.
He was pretty sure he looked ridiculous and that Chiyoko-san was laughing at him.
He should probably be glad she didn't have a camera, because Tsunade would bankrupt herself for an opportunity to have a picture of this moment.
Katsumi looked up at him politely once he'd complied with her request, as if rewarding his good behavior. "Would you like some tea?"
"That'd be great," he drawled, deciding he might as well just roll with it, since he was already pretending to sit on this damned chair.
She poured him a drink from her playset teapot and held out the cup to him.
He took the teacup gravely, hooking it on his pinky finger and looking at its contents.
"…This isn't tea," he finally said, confused.
The child leaned forward, as if sharing a carefully kept secret. "It's milk," Katsumi confessed, looking slightly put out. "Mommy says tea has too much caffeine in it to use for playtime."
"Right." Jiraiya had no idea why that was important. Tsunade would probably know. Yet another reason why he shouldn't be the sole decision maker in any child's life. He'd apparently kill them from accidental caffeine overdose. He tossed back the cup gamely and then set it down.
By then, Katsumi was looking down at her book again, but she was gripping it tightly and not turning the pages.
He had no idea what to say to her. What had he even been expecting them to talk about? Poor thing looked scared of him and that's not what he wanted at all. "Katsumi-chan, is something wrong?"
She curled more tightly around her book. "You keep looking at me funny," came the quiet voice, tight with anxiety.
He pulled back at the unexpected answer. "I'm sorry. I've just not seen you before." He grinned. "I guess I keep trying to tell if you look anything like me!"
Katsumi peeked up at him, studying his own face. "I hope not," she finally said, looking earnest. "Your face is weird."
"Hey!" Jiraiya straightened in offense. "It is not!" He noticed her smile a second later and realized the kid was mocking him.
He hadn't expected her to know how to mock yet.
Huh. He wondered what else she might be able to do already. He'd gotten Minato when the kid was nine—he'd never really interacted with kids younger than that. He'd grown up in an orphanage of course, but he'd always been wandering off searching for adventures. He hadn't gotten along with most of the children his age and was never responsible for watching the younger ones. If she was already reading—he glanced down at her book, only growing more curious when he recognized it as an older collection of children's stories—how much of that did she really understand?
He played along with her teasing words. "Well, it's probably a good thing that you take after your mother since the beauty of this face," he pointed at himself, "is lost upon you. Clearly you need an education in aesthetic appreciation." He chose his words purposefully and spoke slower than usual, carefully watching the girl's fact to see if she was following along with the more advanced vocabulary.
She giggled. "You'll have to get me a book on it."
What a strange kid. Granted, he didn't know a lot of children with which he could compare her to, but he didn't recall them being so verbally advanced at this age. He was wracking his brain for memories of Kakashi, who'd clearly been quite intelligent from a young age, but had also been a taciturn, sulky brat. He didn't remember Kakashi having the grasp on humor that Katsumi appeared to have. Kakashi still didn't understand the purpose of humor.
He huffed. "I can already tell you're a lost cause."
Her smile fell and she retreated again. "Aunt Eri says I'm a freak."
"Aunt Eri is a—" Chiyoko cut her rant off midsentence as Jiraiya turned to her for an explanation.
Chiyoko narrowed her eyes at her child. "What did I tell you about trying to trick Mommy into cursing?"
Jiraiya looked back to the girl, who had grabbed her stuffed mouse and was failing to hide her smile in its fur, bright eyes peering mischievously up at the adults; mirthful mood the complete opposite of that she'd been projecting only seconds prior. "Mommy's two swear words away from having to buy me a new book," she confided to Jiraiya.
Jiraiya looked to Chiyoko for clarification, and the woman wrinkled her nose. "We have a jar that I put money into when I say something I'm not supposed to, and money gets taken out if Katsumi says something she's not supposed to. When it reaches a certain amount, Katsumi gets a new book. She gets a little impatient when it's close to the total and starts to set up situations to make me curse." She sniffed, "Which is not going to happen, little lady." Chiyoko strode away from the door, apparently deciding that she trusted Jiraiya enough not to harm her child when she was a room away.
It was nice no longer feeling the pressure of her scrutiny, but now he was alone with this child, his child, and, in general, Jiraiya wasn't confident that he wouldn't manage to traumatize her in the ten minutes or so left of this meeting.
He would honestly much rather be fighting his way through hostile territory in a typhoon on an empty stomach than trying to introduce himself to his flesh-and-blood offspring.
He focused on smiling, and trying not to appear like a man who ended wars for a living. "Well, you're just the evil little master mind, aren't you?"
"No," she sniffed. "I'm adorable and precocious and delightfully manipulative." She paused. "I'm also four. I'm working on fixing that last one," she bitterly muttered with a pout.
"Oh?" Asked Jiraiya, amused.
"Yes," she nodded emphatically. "Mommy assures me it's a temporary condition, one which I'll eventually outgrow."
Jiraiya laughed. "Why would you ever want to be anything other than four, it looks like you have a pretty good setup here." He waved to encompass their surroundings; children's books and toys and a small horde of stuffed animals.
Katsumi turned large, sad eyes upon him. "But we're leaving, aren't we?"
Wow, those eyes are going to be a weapon one day. Jiraiya cleared his throat. "What has your mother told you about me, Katsumi-chan?"
The girl started playing with the sleeves of her yukata, rubbing at her arms as if cold. "Mommy said that you're my Dad. And that you're a ninja, but you live in another place and we're going to move where you are because it'll be safer."
"That's right," Jiraiya confirmed, throat feeling thick. "I am, and it will be. You'll be moving to Konoha." He watched as she became increasingly fidgety. "You'll go to school there, the same one I went to—Hey, stop that!" He reached across the table to take hold of her hands. "You're gonna claw your arm off!" He realized how hard she'd been scratching at her arms when her raised sleeve revealed irritated red marks against the girl's pale skin.
"Why were you doing that?" He scolded, pulling up her sleeve and examining the arm, pushing down the panicky wishful thinking for Tsunade's presence—the marks weren't nearly that bad. Chiyoko would be able to handle it, surely. He ignored the snotty inner voice that said Tsunade would handle it better.
"It itches," Katsumi whined, pulling away from him in discomfort. He felt the flutter of foreign chakra under his fingertips and suddenly Chiyoko's words from the night before were running through his head. He relaxed, confident that this was something which he could handle.
"Wait a minute," he said gently, refusing to let the child pull away, but careful not to apply too much pressure to the hold he had on her. Her wrists and hands were infinitesimal compared to the ones he usually encountered, possessed by sparring partners or enemy nin. He moved from the uncomfortable chair to the floor, coaxing Katsumi to come and sit next to him. "Your Mom mentioned this, you're making chakra unconsciously when you're stressed, and since you're not using it for anything, it's just building up and bothering you more. Let's see if we can't fix that."
He fell back into "sensei" mode, as Minato fondly called it. He recited the textbook introductory lecture on chakra and walked the girl through focusing on the substance and intentionally funneling it to her hand until it was so concentrated that her fingertips had a faint glow.
He felt a strange satisfied/proud feeling curling in his gut at the fascinated look on her face as she admired the glow to her hand. And then he remembered how quickly this should wear her out at this age. He frowned. "Do you feel tired?"
"No," she answered promptly. "What else does it do?" He wasn't too sure she was above lying to him for more information, so he made her release the flowing energy and sit still for a few minutes as he explained ninjutsu and genjutsu. He made a show of illusion-ing himself into various stuffed toys for her amusement. She clapped her hands and laughed, demanding more and wanting to try things for herself.
"Those are too advanced for you," he shook his head, refusing to be swayed by her pout. "But you could start—" he searched through his pockets for a notebook, tearing out a few blank pages. "Here, sit down, hold your hand out—" he put the paper on her flat palm. "Now," he instructed, "focus the energy back to your palm and try to get the paper to stick to it."
She hesitated. "Will it split again?"
"Will what split again?" Jiraiya asked, not understanding why she seemed so apprehensive.
"That's what it did when I went to see the doctor." Katsumi explained. "He gave me a piece of paper and it split in two and Mommy got really upset."
Sounds like wind nature then, that's exciting. Jiraiya had mastered most chakra natures, including wind, but it wasn't his primary. It was rare in Konoha, though not as rare in the rest of the elemental nations. He'd be able to get Minato to help her out with that when the time came. Konoha would appreciate another wind user. And if her current chakra levels were any indication, she could become quite a powerful ninjutsu user one day.
"Daddy." Kastumi pulled on his pant leg, demanding his attention.
Jiraiya choked at hearing the word, and then chided himself internally for freezing up over such a small issue. He reassured her that this paper was a different type of paper and that applying chakra to it wouldn't make her mother upset. He supervised her efforts in a slightly detached manner, encouraging her to be patient when she didn't succeed with this exercise as quickly as she had with the prior one.
He could just hear Orochimaru mocking him with the term "Daddy," once his teammate heard the girl use it. He was such a little turd sometimes. Urgh—he felt old. Sensei was going to laugh his head off at Jiraiya as soon as Tsunade was done using him as a punching bag.
-And the girl still wasn't tired. She was even beginning to get the exercise; the paper was sticking to her hand for a few seconds before it fluttered to the ground. She picked it back up with that rather endearing scowl and tried to make it stick longer the next time.
He cleared his throat. "I think that's enough now." He reached out and confiscated the paper.
"But I'm not good at it yet!" She reached after the paper as he stashed it back in his pocket.
Jiraiya shook his head. "You can try it later when I'm gone, with leaves or paper."
Shit.
She was going to have no supervision, and a four year old really couldn't be counted on to know when to stop, or understand the dangers of chakra exhaustion.
Shit. He was in so much trouble. Tsunade really was going to have his head. He could forbid her from practicing, but he doubted, based on what he'd observed of her behavior (and from Minato's stories about Kakashi), that she'd actually listen to him.
"Katsumi-chan," he said seriously, making sure she was completely focused on him. "When you feel tired, you have to stop, you understand? If you don't you could get sick, or you could really hurt yourself. And there's nobody here who could help you get better from that, understand?" That last one was a lie, but he certainly didn't want Chiyoko to have to take her daughter to Kusa med-nin and explain that the girl was suffering from chakra exhaustion. And he didn't know if the civilian doctor she mentioned was experienced enough to handle such a problem or whether he could be trusted not to report it. "Promise me, Katsumi-chan?"
"Ok." The little girl looked innocently up at him. "But you have to read me a story first."
"I do, do I?" Jiraiya asked, bemused. "Are we negotiating?"
"Always," said the little girl, skipping over to her well-stocked bookshelf and retracting a slender novel.
She returned to Jiraiya and clambered into his lap, opening the book to a particular page. "Read this one," she pointed.
"Demanding aren't you?" He shifted, trying to ignore how strange it felt to be holding a child like this. "Kitsune, huh?"
"I like those the best." She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Mommy is very good at it."
"Then why I am reading it to you if you've heard it so often then?" He looked at the way the light was filtering in through the window. He really should get started on his way back to Konoha.
"No," howled Katsumi, twisting in his lap and pointing to the page again. "I don't know if I can like you if you can't tell a good story," she said, deathly serious.
Jiraiya snorted. "Oh, it's a test now, is it?"
"Yes," said Katsumi, leaning back against him. "And I follow along cause I'm still learning to read it all," she traced her fingers over the shapes on the page. "Remember to do the villain voices good."
"I'll have you know I do excellent villain voices," Jiraiya informed, settling in to read the story. He thought he vaguely remembered this tale. "A farmer lived on the edge of a village…"
"She fell asleep on you, huh?" Chiyoko asked, finally rounding the door frame, following the toad he'd summoned to get her.
Jiraiya looked at her crossly. He'd finished the story fifteen minutes ago, but he hadn't realized the girl had fallen asleep sometime during the tale. He knew she had to be more tired from those chakra exercises than she let on. He felt a bit deflated, wondering what it said for his storytelling abilities that he sent her right to sleep. And then of course, he had no idea what to do with her, and was terrified of moving and waking her.
Chiyoko had no such problem, pulling out a futon and tucking the girl in to finish her impromptu nap. Katsumi protested sleepily, but didn't fully wake.
Jiraiya rose to his feet and handed the book over to Chiyoko, who returned it to the shelf.
"I should get going," he ran a hand through his hair. "I stayed longer than I meant to."
"It sounded like the two of you had fun. I could hear you laughing as I graded papers." Chiyoko bent to pick the stuffed rabbit off the floor and put it next to Katsumi, who curled around it in a little ball.
"She's a good kid," said Jiraiya with a brisk nod. "Smart, like you said. A lot of potential."
Chiyoko frowned. "She'll be safe though, in Konoha? And you will train her right; give her the tools she needs to survive?"
"As safe as I can make her," Jiraiya promised. He could only hope that would be enough. "And she'll get the best teaching there is," of that he was certain. "I want to leave Gekomatsu with you, and another toad too," he requested as they left Katsumi's room. "They'll be able to keep an eye on things here, help you if you need it, and with them here I'll be able to return more quickly than I otherwise would."
"They're summons right?" Chiyoko asked, saying the word as if it was the first occasion she'd used it. "Will they be able to stay that long?"
"Of course," Jiraiya scratched his nose. "It's only a week, and they don't take a lot of energy to summon or maintain. I'd like to put up a seal though too, somewhere in the entryway would be best. It'll keep any sensor ninja from being able to detect Katsumi."
Chiyoko perked up. "It will?"
Jiraiya nodded. "It's a short term solution, and it only works while she's in the house, but it's the best I can do at the moment."
"Thank you," Chiyoko sounded relieved. "I appreciate it."
Jiraiya had just finished activating the seal and putting up his ink when the soft patter of footsteps reached his ears and he looked down to see Katsumi, hair mussed from her nap, blinking sleepily up at him.
"Are you leaving?" She murmured, rubbing at her eyes.
"Yes," he said. "But you'll see me again soon."
"Oh." She held up her hands in the universal 'pick me up gesture.'
"I can't leave if I'm carrying you, silly girl!" He put a hand on her shoulder to turn her back toward her mother.
"No," the girl stomped her foot. "I have to give you a kiss goodbye, I always give Mom one. It's tradition. I can't do that if you don't pick me up, you're too tall!" She pushed against his knee in grumpy protest.
"Ah," Jiraiya swallowed, refusing to look at Chiyoko, who he was certain was laughing at him again. He bent down and obligingly picked up his daughter. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
"Bye Daddy, be safe," she said softly as he returned her to Chiyoko, who held her arms outstretched for her child.
"Bye kid," he said, passing her over to her mother.
Mother and daughter watched him leave from the porch. He looked back once, and they were still standing in the same place, looking out as he left. Chiyoko had Katsumi balanced on her hip, and Katsumi rested her head against her mother's shoulder.
He turned back around, not sure how to describe what he was feeling at the moment.
Ridiculous kid.
Daddy.
Delightfully manipulative indeed.
Shit.
Rev. 4/28/2016