Sarutobi Hiruzen coughed weakly from his bed.

It was late—too late—and his wife was asleep; he didn't want to wake her.

He was tired.

He was always tired, nowadays; his doctors assured him it was merely old age, not illness, but he wasn't that old.

Not really.

He'd just—

Well, he'd been on the battlefield since four.

He'd been in charge of a Great Nation's Shinobi Force through multiple Great Wars.

He'd lived through the deaths of his siblings, of his parents—

He'd lived through the collapse of one of his students, the betrayal of another.

The betrayal of his closest friend, who'd planned his death without remorse.

Hiruzen had been frothing at the bit to retire, eager to regain his strength, regain his free time…

He had been eager.

Now, however, he found himself dying to get back to work.

He'd felt healthier, then.

Stressed, but—

Alive.

Important.

He'd thought—he'd planned—to continue being important, even after retirement.

After all, wasn't that what elders were for?

But then, Minato hadn't liked the Elders.

Had taken the wrong lesson from Shimura's treason.

He hadn't forced them out entirely—he was too kind for that—but it was obvious with every meeting that Hiruzen's view was given only passing importance.

It galled him.

It ate at him.

He'd brought it up with Minato, of course—he still had that ability.

The boy had brushed him off, pointed out those few instances where he'd listened to Hiruzen's advice.

When Hiruzen had pointed out all the times Minato had not listened to him, the boy had argued that there were many people who had made opposing points, that altogether their side was more persuasive.

Hiruzen tried to explain that he was the Hokage, that he still had a say—

And Minato agreed, and then said, straight-faced, that Hiruzen's word didn't automatically trump everyone else's.

Hiruzen had even kept most of his thoughts back, only spoke when he thought his views should be listened to.

To be told that—

To be—

Hiruzen coughed again, trying to muffle the noise in his elbow.

His wife wanted him to spend some time with their youngest, tomorrow, get him started on the summoning contract, but Hiruzen didn't have time for that.

Minato might think Hiruzen was willing to go gracefully into the night, but he was about to find out how wrong he was.

.

Something had to be done about the byoki.

Something had to be done about the war.

Something had to be done about the Daimyo's unusual reluctance to support Konohagakure.

There weren't many viable options to deal with any one of those problems, much less all three.

But that didn't mean that life could just be paused until a solution was found.

.

Sakura cursed softly to herself, shoving her notes back in their respective sealing tags with one hand as she signed one final form with the other.

She was late—very late—but there was nothing to be done for it; the materials shortage was getting worse, and she'd had to spend all morning on the radio and telegram working remotely with Diplomacy to strike a deal with Wind—a deal which kept them temporarily in the green, but only temporarily.

She snatched the gift—purchased weeks in advance, because she wasn't an idiot—and finally managed to leave her office, a full six hours earlier than usual.

Sakura didn't spend any time wandering through the city (she'd have to rush if she still wanted to make it by a slightly respectable time), but she still took a moment to smile at Ibiki as he and his teammates dashed down the street with their arms full of packages—they still weren't getting along great, a lot of growing pains, but Ibiki was already learning a lot, and Sakura was glad Tsunade was better at teaching than taking care of herself.

Finally—only thirteen minutes late, not good but whatever—she arrived.

Aiko grinned as she entered.

Bokuso waved hello from the kitchen, where he was putting away some groceries.

Juro nodded a hello too, but didn't move away from his spot next to Aiko.

"How's Yasuo's brat?" Sakura asked.

Aiko laughed. "My brat, too. Or mostly mine. I've been the one putting in all the work. Did you get me a present?"

Sakura held the box out with one hand, gesturing with another towards the baby. "Trade?"

"Only as long as I get to keep both."

In a second Sakura was holding the tiny child.

He was so young—copper-haired, something he must've gotten from Aiko's parents, with big, dark eyes. His skin was still a ruddy red—they'd only gotten back from the hospital a couple days ago—and he looked quite comfortable, swaddled as he was.

"Hello, Miki," Sakura said, her voice dropping to a softer tone instinctively. "Oh, you're so cute, aren't you?"

"He is, isn't he?" Aiko looked up from the gift—her favorite shampoo, now hard to get thanks to the rationing and supply issues—and smiled at her son. "Takes after his Dad, I can already tell."

"He has Yasuo's nose," Sakura agreed.

"Yasuo's manners, too," Juro assured her. "Kid pooped the second Bokuso and I arrived."

Well, that was the fun part about babies.

Sakura was more than a little happy she'd skipped that step with Ibiki.

After the necessary round of thank-yous and other pleasantries, Aiko snatched her child back, and Bokuso provided tea.

Thankfully, Aiko didn't look too exhausted—her parents had been a big help, she said, and Miki wasn't really colicky, only young—but they still only stayed a little under an hour; long enough to do the dishes and take out the trash without being so long as to drain what energy Aiko did have.

"Come back soon, okay? I know all of you aren't on maternity leave, and therefore have no leave, but I think I'll go stir crazy if I only have my family to talk to."

Juro grinned. "Don't worry, we'll be over so much you'll soon be sick of us."

Everyone knew that was a lie—working the quick visit into their schedule had set each of the three of them back so far they'd be scrambling to make up the missed time for the rest of the week—but they also knew they'd make it as true as it could be, and that was… well, something.

It would have to be enough, too—the Hokage had announced last week that they'd be further limiting the number of shinobi stationed away from the front, keeping every able-bodied ninja they could as a direct line against Kiri; and while the specific numbers hadn't been put out yet, that didn't bode well for Yasuo's chance of getting home soon.

War was a miserable thing, and it was up to Konoha to stop it.

.

Ibiki frowned, rubbing his nose as he examined Asuma's work.

"Well, it's better than last time."

Asuma groaned. "Okay, what did I mess up?"

Ibiki shuffled uncomfortably, then cleared his throat. "Really, the only problem is that this letter is written with too much familiarity."

"That's how I was taught to write them!"

"Which made sense as the son of the Hokage, but… um, you aren't. Anymore. The son—"

"I know, I know." Asuma groaned, snatching back the paper—an assignment from his Sensei to write a letter to begin communication with the son of a noble—and ripping it in half.

"Hey! The stuff you wrote's still good—use it as a base when you're rewriting!"

"I just—I hate having to relearn things. It's not fair."

Ibiki shrugged, rolling onto his back and gazing at the sky. There were some good clouds today—cirrus clouds, all feathery and all over, keeping the weather cooler than it had been in days.

"What do you want to do now?"

"Sparring?"

"Nah… I have taijutsu lessons this afternoon."

"We could explode things!"

"I'm not using any more of your fuinjutsu paper, and you shouldn't either—there's a shortage."

"Well, then what do you want to do?"

Ibiki pursed his lips. "I dunno. You don't like playing shogi."

"Shogi's boring," Asuma said.

"Well—"

"Hey, wait! I know!" And then Asuma was yanking Ibiki up, dragging him out of the Yamanaka Compound and towards the Sarutobi one.

"Where are we—"

"I'll tell you when we get there!"

Ibiki groaned but knew better than to try to divert Asuma from his mission—once he locked onto something, it was easier to just let his best friend have his way.

They were in the Sarutobi Compound in no time, then in the Main House, then in the library, and then Asuma was pulling out a book.

"What's that?"

"I found it last week. Dad was supposed to tutor me, but… anyway. I found it, and I thought—but then it was dinner time, and I'd forgotten about it, but this isn't taijutsu or even fuinjutsu really."

Asuma was still dragging him, yanking Ibiki outside along with the book.

"But what is it?"

Asuma whipped around to face Ibiki, grinning, and then flipped open the book. A quick skim down the page—Ibiki tried to read upside down, frowned as words began catching his eye, his anxiety, and then Asuma was grinning up at him, already halfway through the illustrated forms. "Reverse summoning!"

And then his best friend was gone.

"Asuma!" Ibiki screamed.

His friend didn't appear.

"Asuma!"

Nothing.

Ibiki flipped the book around, heart hammering in his chest as he flew through the pages.

Asuma—

He'd—

"Asuma!"

Silence.

His throat was dry.

Ibiki began to panic.

What if—

What if Asuma's parents blamed Ibiki?

What if they couldn't find Asuma?

What if Asuma died?

And then Ibiki was going through the very same ritual, the very same steps.

If he'd given himself a second or two more to think—as he'd always been told to, as he'd constantly been taught to—maybe he'd make a different decision.

If he'd given himself a second or two more to think, maybe that would have been enough time for Asuma's mother Biwako to make it to the garden, to stop him.

But he didn't give himself any time at all, and just as Biwako leapt over the fence—

He disappeared.