Kumo fell down on his bed and let his sore body relax on the cool sheets. He let out a sigh and pulled off his goggles letting the soft morning light flood in. He stared up at the white ceiling his eyes finding the familiar shapes in the plaster. His body was exhausted from a long night in the snow and the cold cave he had slept in for only a few hours. He had also had to carry Kengo back to the village's hospital to get his leg healed up. Despite his intention to keep the Genin as safe as possible his razor wire had still sliced through his ankle. It was nothing an hour of medical ninjutsu could fix. His other students had returned to their homes to have a real meal and sleep in their own beds without the fear of being ambushed in the middle of the night. He should be feeling his own exhausted demeanor take a hold of him and bring him to sleep. But he couldn't relax even in the safety of his own home. His body was tired, but his mind was wide awake.
The ANBU's words echoed though his mind, and now that no kids demanded his undivided attention the cat masked man's talk of his mother consumed him. Kumo rolled over on his bed and reached into the breast pocket of his jacket hanging on the coat hook he had installed next to his bed in case he ever had to grab everything and leave in a hurry. Even after coming to call this place his home he remained prepared to leave everything behind in a moment's notice should he need to. Zabuza had taught him to always be able prepared for a quick escape no matter where he was. A shinobi carried no advantage with their back to the wall. And a home became a cage for many ninja in the past, their own comfort becoming there downfall. His jacket carried his scrolls and puppets, his kunai holster and marionette blades also remained in reach. If an attack or anything happened here he could grab it all and be out the window in three seconds, five if he used the door, and seven if he used the kitchen window. He knew, he timed himself and made sure of that. If he was going to live anywhere for an extended period of time he was to be able to escape within ten seconds. Zabuza had trained him for that, and if the place was too big to be out within ten seconds he was to stay close enough to the exits to escape within the allotted time. If that was impossible then he was to find an alternate safe house. Zabuza had never used the word home, in his world the word home never had any meaning, home never existed. There was only temporary housing; it was the only thing that made sense in the simplistic hand to mouth existence they held. Kumo wondered if the rules would be different if he knew that he would one day call this simple studio apartment his home. If his late master knew he would one day be treating such a place as his permanent residence would he tell him the rules no longer applied as such? That when an entire city of shinobi watched over him at night that he was allowed to relax and not apply the rules of a swift escape.
Kumo didn't have to think on it for very long, Zabuza didn't have to be there for him to know what his master would say. The legendary swordsman would have probably have called in weak and complacent for thinking he could drop his guard for one moment, and that he deserved to be killed while sleeping in the comfort of his home for even trying to get around the rules. And if Zabuza was still alive he could expect to have his master attack him in the middle of the night just to prove his point. And thus Kumo kept to the rule of ten seconds even here in the place he now called home. Kumo pulled the worn photograph from the jackets breast pocket. He looked at the sandy blond smiling at the camera that had taken the still image so many years ago before his birth. Could she really be alive? He had thought he had seen the Kazekage's men cut her down. He had buried her body; he still remembered how cold her corpse was. But he was young back then, he hadn't even finished his training at the Suna academy. And a full year before he had been taken under Zabuza's wing. He didn't know how to spot an illusion or break a genjutsu; his mind and eyes were untrained and easily fooled. He was emotional as well, just a small ten year old child who had just lost his mother, unable to analyze what he had seen, what he had heard, and what he had felt. Distraught as he buried his mother's cold corpse into the cold hard ground in an unmarked grave.
If he had been as keen back then as he was now would he have found something different? Would he have even looked for signs of treachery? Or would he have simply conceded defeat at the sight of his mother's supposed corpse?
He had kept his mind sharp when he was being held prisoner, he had been able to tell that the Ino they had sent to him was a genjutsu. But that had been simple. He knew Ino, better than the people trying to deceive him, and it was because of that he was able to be the wiser. But how well did he know his own mother? Could the corpse he buried have been a simple cadaver made to fool him? He knew his mother's face of course but he had never checked to confirm it was her body. He didn't know what scars or birthmarks she had. He had never looked for them and even if he had he wouldn't know what to find. And even if he did a skilled shinobi would be able to make a perfect copy or hold a genjutsu powerful enough to fool even a trained eye. All they had to do was known the finer details of the body they wished to duplicate. And back then it wouldn't be hard to fool a distraught child without any formal training.
And what of Nenshō? Would he have told him if his mother was still alive? Kumo liked to think so. But then again the details of his exile had yet to be fully defined. He felt like a fool expecting to understand everything about his friend. Zabuza had taught them both to play there cards close to their chest and trust no one. It was surprising they had managed to trust each other as much as they had. But this wasn't a secret stash of armaments or a hidden safe house in a foreign country. This was his mother, his own flesh and blood; it wasn't the kind of secret he would keep from him. Nenshō was entitled to a few secrets but not like this. Nenshō wouldn't keep this from him, not without a reason to hide the truth.
Kumo pulled himself off the bed ignoring the protests of his sore muscles. He wouldn't be able to sleep no matter what he tried and it was the middle of the day. Nenshō should be over at Tenten's apartment playing with Eri. Kumo pulled on his jacket and tucked the photo of his mother back into his breast pocket. He pulled on his kunai holster and slipped his goggles over his face and left out the door. All within the allotted time. He closed and locked the door behind him as he walked out into the snow covered village illuminated in the light of the morning sun. The tinted glass shielded his eyes from the light shining off the white powder. The winter weather chilled the air outside but he barely noticed the cold wind blowing through the streets of Konoha. He cold air make his breath visible as he walked the icy paths to Tenten's apartment. He needed to talk to Nenshō. He trusted his friend, but he needed to get answers. The ANBU wouldn't have approached him unless there was some form of truth behind their words. If everything they had said was a lie it would be a pointless fruitless attempt to cause strife between them. This card had to have a purpose behind it this enemy was too smart to make such a bold move without reason. His enemy was smarter than to just make a baseless accusation and expect results from it. He had to expect purpose behind his enemy's actions. And they would gain nothing by lying like this to him.
Kumo had to talk to Nenshō, he'd make sense of this he'd know why they would offer him such a deal. His friend would make things strait for him. He could trust Nenshō to answer him if confronted about it. Nenshō would have the answerers and they couldn't wait.