"Tell me what you claim your purpose,

When a world collides,

Can we say we tried?,

As we form a brand new surface,"

-Oceans, Voices From The Fuselage

Crouching, I stared down at my reflection in the water, a black and red silhouette with purple, spiraling eyes and messy, sweaty hair.

I looked slightly to the side, where Yahiko was mirrored in the water. He was on his back on a small patch of grass, his arms and legs spread out.

"It's hotter than Hot Water," he panted, eyes closed. "How is it hotter than Hot Water?"

The water was clear enough that I could see sand at the bottom, and a wavy outline of the sun on the surface. If I looked up, the sky would be cloudless.

The pool was a little way off the road that marked the border between Rain and Wind, a path only different from the rest of the sand because it was flatter and had tracks from a wagon, or something else with wheels.

There was a sign, too, but we'd passed it a while ago.

Yahiko reached back, scooped out a handful of water, and let it fall over his face. "Why did I think wearing cloaks in the desert was a good idea?"

"Because we didn't know what it would be like," I answered, absently rubbing a limp strand of hair between my fingers. "I knew it was hot, but I've never been to a desert before."

Yahiko splashed himself again.

"Even if Mamoru-sensei or Joji told you to leave your cloak behind, would you have listened?"

He draped a hand over his eyes, but I saw his grin. "Mamoru-sensei would call us stubborn, irritating kids, you know."

"And he'd be right."

He laughed, a dry, croaking sound. He raised his arm a little. "You're not hot?"

I waved my hair at him in answer, and he jerked too late to avoid the sweat that came off it. He wiped his face with his sleeve and stared at me until I saw his disapproval, but I only smiled.

"What I meant was that you don't seem very 'all-the-water-is-being-boiled-out-of-me-body' to me," he stressed, squinting up at the sky. "I don't I can stand."

I hummed. "Maybe you should be less stubborn."

He didn't answer, but I thought I understood why he didn't.

It was because he missed the rain, but it was also because our cloaks meant we were from somewhere. They didn't mark us out as missing-nin or say we were Hanzo's shinobi, but the Akatsuki. Even if no one other than him and me knew it.

I squeezed a red cloud, because it meant we were something we chose to be, unlike in Suisai.

I unclenched my hand when I caught Yahiko looking at me, and then he rolled over with a sigh and pulled his cloak over his head.

His olive shirt was drenched in sweat.

He stared down at his rumpled cloak, and he didn't smile.

I stood and pulled mine off, too. I didn't want to, but I knew the heat would be worse the deeper we went into Wind.

I heard Yahiko's quiet laugh and glanced down at him.

He shook his head. "You didn't have to do that."

"I didn't do it for you," I denied, and it made him laugh louder.

He was grinning as he pulled a scroll from his pouch, unrolled it at the edge of the water, and sealed his cloak inside. He tossed it as me and I did the same with mine.

"Better?" I asked, adjusting my mesh shirt and the tank top beneath.

"Not really," he answered, sitting back. "But I do feel less boiled-alive and more serious-case-of-heatstroke."

I didn't say anything to that, looking out at the road. "Did Mamoru-sensei or Joji say it would be this empty?"

"Nah, but it makes sense," he said. "I think the only ones who would travel during the day are two foreigners that don't know any better."

I shaded my eyes as I squinted up at the sun. "Will we reach Hyozan before dark?"

"A mile isn't that far, little sister," he answered lightly. "The real question is whether we can find another oasis on the way there and if we have enough time to boil it so I can safely fall into it."

I glanced at the water. "You could boil this one."

"Too close to the border. If I were a desert shinobi, I'd keep track of the water levels around here," he said. "A civilian might take some to feed a horse, or fill a canteen if they have a way to purify it, but boiling it? It would be a lot faster to write my name in the sand if I wanted them to know we were here."

"So? What if they did?"

"Mamoru-sensei was right about you," he said to himself, shaking his head.

I moved in front of him and held out my hand.

Yahiko glanced at it. "You know, I wouldn't have to boil anything if you used a water jutsu on me."

I tilted my head. "I can't use water style."

He stared at me for a second, and then scoffed. "You've been using water style this whole time and never even knew it. Why am I not surprised?" he asked, but took my hand and did most of the work pushing himself up.

"Have I?"

Yahiko slipped the scroll in his pouch and zipped it closed. "Earth clones don't explode into mud naturally, Oka," was all he said.

玉虫色

Two stone, rectangular containers filled with water marked the entrance to Hyozan. They were on each side of the road and had small fences behind them.

Yahiko stopped near the left one to look at a signpost, hands laced behind his head. He'd been sweating so much that his hair was flat, and his face had blotchy red spots.

I wondered if mine did, too.

I looked to the right, where a dark brown horse was beneath a wooden overhang, drinking from a container. I'd never seen one up close before.

It was just as tall as me, if not a little bigger. It didn't look anything like a black-and-white sketch in a book or how Naga had described in a story.

I moved closer and reached out to touch its mane, wanting to know what it'd feel like, but stopped when it yanked its head out of the container and huffed water at me.

I turned my head away from the spray, but didn't move back, watching it shake its head and whinny, shuffling as far away as the rope would let it.

"You shouldn't touch other people's horses," Yahiko said, sand crunching as he came up behind me.

I dropped my hand. I glanced past the fence, to where the buildings on either side of the road reminded me of Suisai, except they were all brown and tan and didn't look as old. They were better maintained, too.

Black, dark blue, and tan tarps had been put up over doorways, protecting the area in front of them from the heat, and there wasn't a palace. It looked smaller too, but Suisai had fields and fields of land.

I brushed water off my cheek and felt sand stick in its place. "I wanted to know what it felt like."

Yahiko stepped up next to me, rubbing his chin. "A blanket, it looks like," he said. "One of the fuzzy ones that could also be used as a rug."

I made a disagreeing sound. "I thought it'd feel like a hairbrush." A little rough, maybe, but soft.

There were more people on and around the road past the fence than in Suisai, and some of them stared at us. It told me I'd done something wrong, something I wasn't supposed to.

They wore cloth bindings over the exposed parts of their arms and legs and hats with flaps that went down to their ears in different shades of brown.

He followed my gaze. "This is what happens when I bring you along," he said helplessly, raising his hands. "You find a way to get the attention of every civilian you meet, even when you're not trying."

I looked at the horse again, but it stayed back. "It could be your hair," I pointed out.

Yahiko tapped his chin. "Not only are we dressed like foreigners, but we're foreign-shinobi," he noted. "Joji-sensei once told me I wouldn't be able to pass for a civilian if I tried."

I hummed. "Did Mamoru-sensei tell you what the bookstore looked like?"

"I don't think it would've helped much when every building here looks the same," he answered, then started down the road, waving me after him. "Come on, before I really do pass out."

.

.

.

"How much chakra are you using as a barrier between your feet and the sand, right now?" Yahiko asked as we walked by an inn, hands behind his head again.

It was one story, but wider than the one in Suisai. Minshuku was written in black on top of the tarp.

"—have a special deal, as first-time guests!" a woman called out to us, hands folded in the sleeves of her plain dress. Her hair was pinned up, and her lips were painted red.

I looked, but Yahiko didn't as he weaved around all the people on the road (or they caught sight of us and suddenly excused themselves somewhere else).

"Not that much," I answered, and he scoffed.

If they didn't wear bindings, they wore head-to-toe cloth outfits.

"Would it be less hot if we wore what they did?" I asked.

"Doubt it. Not that we could afford it," Yahiko answered. "Then again I could sell some of the tools I have on me. It might take a while, but someone will take it."

Harajuku was written on top of a different building, and another similarly dressed woman stood beneath the tarp below it.

She gestured at the front door as we walked by. "I can see you've been on a long journey," she said, sultry and practiced. "It would be awful to have to travel the rest of the way to Sunagakure on an empty stomach."

Yahiko didn't look.

"How would you know if we walked past the bookstore?" I asked him.

"How does free waters sound? My treat," she offered.

Yahiko huffed slightly, but still didn't turn his head. "I look that bad, huh?"

I glanced back at her, but she'd already turned to someone else.

"I don't think we have," he finally answered. "A tourist trap like this wouldn't work if they put the most unpopular places first."

I glanced at him. "Tourist trap or not, we haven't eaten since yesterday."

"That we haven't," he agreed. "It might surprise you, but I didn't account for no-edible-wildlife-in-the-desert. I think Mamoru-sensei and Joji-sensei did this on purpose. I can hear Mamoru-sensei saying that this'll teach me to make a plan before crossing borders, and he's not even here."

"And Joji?" I asked.

Yahiko sighed dramatically. "He'll never let me live down what I did and will do to the nagamaki. I'll be old and gray and he'll still give me a stink eye."

"He'll have too many students to pay attention to you by then," I mentioned.

Yahiko looked away, but his shoulders shook with mirth.

.

.

.

Yahiko cupped his hands around his eyes as he peered through the rectangular window of a small shop, peering in at a bookshelf.

I heard murmuring behind us, whispering, but Yahiko didn't seem to care how he looked to them, and I didn't either.

I saw part of a table below him, inside, with books propped on it, covers facing the window.

I watched him shift to lean his arms on the glass. I could hear how hard he was breathing.

It was so hot it made the sand shimmer. I looked at my sweaty palm, at the slight, uncontrollable tremble to my fingers.

I used to think nothing could be worse than the kind of cold that clung to skin under wet clothes and packed ice in my bones, but even that chill never felt like it hurt like the heat did.

Yahiko pushed away from the window and stretched his arms above his head. "Time to put on my best Nagato impression," he said. He shot me a weak grin, despite how bad he felt.

I lowered my hand. "Wonder what he'll do to you when he finds out you said that," I said, airily, and grabbed his wrist.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't resist as I pulled him around to the front.

"First, I don't like your tone," he said back. "Second, it'll be really hard to fool anyone if I'm being led around by my little sister like this."

I stopped and glanced back. "You won't faint. I won't let you."

His eyes widened, just slightly, and then he grinned. "I would never doubt you, but how would you stop it exactly?" he asked. "I think if you tried to catch me it would end with both of us on the ground. Right around there." He gestured at the sand behind him.

"And if I could?"

He blinked once. "I feel suddenly concerned about what Nagato's been teaching you behind my back."

I could've admitted I couldn't, but instead I left it to his imagination and slid open the door.

The air that swept out wasn't cold, but it was cooler than outside, and I heard Yahiko's relieved sigh. I stepped inside and saw that the walls were lined with bookcases.

"Hey," a blond woman behind a counter at the back of the shop yelled. "No blades or visible weaponry inside. There's a sign out front for a reason—" she stopped, eyes going wide.

Yahiko slid the door closed. "You know who we are?"

"It'd be hard to mistake you for anyone else," she answered, eyes flicking between us, then back down to the open book in her hand. "He told me to look out for orange hair and purple eyes, and here you are."

Yahiko made a noncommittal noise. His clothes stuck to his body, but he didn't slouch, and his steps didn't drag. "If we're thinking of the same person, he also would've told you a password I'd recognize."

She didn't look up, but her eyes were sharper behind her glasses. "And here he made it sound like I'd be dealing with brats."

Yahiko didn't respond, and he didn't smile. He only pretended to browse in front of a bookshelf, angling his body to give her a better look at the nagamaki.

"It's not a good password," she added. Cloth bindings wrapped up her arms and disappeared up her sleeves around her shoulders. "But he said to tell you nothing."

Yahiko relaxed slightly, turning to face her. "It's a great password. And him calling me a brat is a term of endearment."

She flipped a page. "He said you'd be talkative, too."

Yahiko smiled, but it didn't look real.

I moved to a bookshelf opposite of him and traced my thumb down the spine of a hardcover book. It came away with a light layer of dust.

"Why sell books if no one buys them?" I asked, showing her my thumb.

Sana blinked at me and Yahiko hid a grin by facing away.

"Because I have something of a passion for them," she finally said. She reached between the pages of her book and pulled out a small, clear cylinder. She held it up for us to see, then turned and pressed the flat end to the wall behind her.

A hidden door slid open. "And whether or not they sell doesn't matter if you can charge ninja any amount when they're desperate for a private place to discuss business," she said, gesturing us after her as she disappeared inside.

I glanced at Yahiko. "You okay?"

He shrugged. "Right now, I'm more worried about how many of the books around us are deadlier than they look."

"Being in a different room doesn't mean I can't hear you, brats," Sana yelled out at us.

Yahiko paused and scratched his cheek. "And now I'm embarrassed," he said, quieter.

I followed him to the back of the shop and around the counter. "At least it's cooler in here."

"There is that," he agreed, ducking slightly as he went inside.

The room was smaller than the shop itself, with stone walls and no windows. Light trickled in through tiny cracks, just enough to see by.

Yahiko immediately collapsed in a padded chair in the middle. A second one was empty across from him, but I didn't sit. Sana shut the door behind us.

I faced her. "Why show us the key?"

"Trust," she answered, and stayed in front of the door. "You have reason to doubt me, even if I gave you a password. This is my livelihood, and I'm not green enough to underestimate your ability to destroy it."

She flipped a page. "Though you do look like the worst prepared travelers from Rain I've ever seen."

Yahiko sank into the chair and tilted his head back. "I thought the sand would be like it is back home. More often than not it's too hot to stand on without chakra, but this is worse."

Sana paused, her whole body going still, and stared at him.

"Are you an Ame-nin?" I asked.

She unpaused to glance at me, so obviously that I knew what he said shocked her. "Once, maybe," she answered. "I just run a bookstore now, and occasionally do favors for old friends."

I thought of what she'd said before. You can charge ninja any amount when they're desperate for a private place.

"Ninja," I mused.

"Ah, you're right," Yahiko agreed. "She didn't say shinobi or kunoichi."

"You let missing-nin do their business here," I said, looking up at her. "You meant that we could destroy you if we told on you."

Sana didn't say a word, but it was enough of an answer.

"Just who do you think we are?" Yahiko asked, leaning forward. "Why would anyone believe the word of shinobi without headbands? Or flak-jackets?"

Sana didn't answer right away. "I think that you're both more important to the village than you're letting on, because nobody sane would go looking for Sasori of the Red Sand."

"I wouldn't say that," he said, waving her assumption away. "But I am curious about what information about the village has gotten outside it. Seems like you didn't even know the rain stopped."

She paused again, another full-body freeze.

If I wasn't a shinobi I wouldn't have noticed it. If someone else picked up on it, and she was aware she did it, it'd be easy to use it to throw them off.

"There are rumors going around, but no client I've spoken to knows properly what's happening in the Land of Rain," she said. "It's well-known how volatile Amegakure can be when provoked, so espionage in that area is off the table as long as the treaty holds. Earth and Lightning are of the mind that Hanzo is still leading. Wind and Water suspect that something happened since there have been little to no defectors as of late, but there's no hard proof."

"Hot Water and Fire-nin always have an opinion somewhere in the middle," she finished. She shut her book and crossed her arms. "The only reason I agreed to help you is because the Mamoru I knew wouldn't do something like this for just anyone."

"I'm grateful for that," Yahiko said, leaning back.

Sana looked at him. "You have no comment on the rest?"

"What else am I supposed so say?" Yahiko asked, shrugging. "You have my undying gratitude? I think if I tried to get down on my hands and knees I'd crumple. Like a house of cards."

She eyed me.

I smiled a little. "I'm nobody from nowhere," I said.

Her stare lingered, but I only stared back until she shook her head. "Mamoru was tight-lipped about everything else, but he described your eyes in unnecessary detail. Now I see why. I would've thought you were using a henge and turned you away as soon as you came in."

"Henge?"

Yahiko turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Mamoru-sensei told you about her eyes?"

"It's a technique that people use to change what they look like," she answered after a second of surprise. "You should think about learning it, if only because Fire would put out a bounty for you big enough to make an Uchiha or a Hyuuga jealous if their leaders found out about it."

I considered it. "I won't."

Yahiko closed his eyes. "Just ignore me. That's fine."

She looked away and her fingers tightened around her book. "Don't make the rookie mistake of underestimating what old men and women would do for power. I know you aren't one."

I made a vague sound at that. "How many in Fire know about the Rinnegan?"

Minato had known, but the members from Root me and Naga killed hadn't.

"It's not about who knows, but who believes in the tale of the Sage of Six Paths. Konoha-nin learn of him early, but the time of the Sage isn't as flashy as the warring-states era, nor as well-documented. Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha are what most remember from Fire's history," she said.

"You believe in what they do about him?" I asked.

"I spent a long time there," was her answer. "But if you meet someone who recognizes the Rinnegan, that means they pay close attention, and that makes them dangerous."

Someone like Minato, who was S-ranked, who could teleport to us from outside of Naga's range and set up a soundproof barrier in seconds. But I didn't think there were many out there who were like him.

Jiraya would take one look at me now and know. He taught Minato, after all.

"They can try," I mused, and she finally looked at me again. "I'm dangerous, too, and I have a lot of dangerous family."

I didn't look at Yahiko, but I still saw his lopsided smile.

"How about we change topics to, I don't know, Sasori?" he asked. "It might be nice to know where he is before we go looking for him."

Sana stared at me for another second, then glanced at him. "Northwest of here, southeast if you're looking at a map. He passed through two days ago and stayed only long enough to restock."

Yahiko looked at the ceiling. "And you think he's still going that way?"

She shrugged. "As sure as one can be when my clients head the opposite way at the sight of him," she answered. "He wears a disguise so he isn't bothered by shinobi as he travels. To the general public, he's Hiruko. Anyone who wants his services will call him Sasori in private. It's not a henge, and it slows him down quite a bit. That's how I know he hasn't made it so Sunagakure yet."

"Makes sense. If I was as famous as he sounds I'd at least dye my hair," he said. "What does this disguise look like?"

"Why is he going back to Sunagakure?" I asked.

"That I don't know," she answered me.

Yahiko sighed, deep and dramatic. "She might have the Rinnegan, but I still exist."

"Short height. Dark hair that sticks up. He wears a plain robe that drags on the ground, usually brown, and a mask over his mouth," she told him.

I looked at Yahiko expectantly, and he slouched more.

"I'm not going after him right now. I'm staying here," he answered my unspoken question. "You and I both know that other chair is calling to you, Oka. Don't fight it."

It was cooler here than inside the shop.

"I never said you brats could stay," Sana said flatly.

"Yeah, but I don't think your clients would appreciate how much of my sweat is on this chair," he told her, closing his eyes. "And when I wake up, I'll pay you with information about Amegakure."

She looked at me as I took the other chair and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're cleaning my window until it's spotless."

"Done."

A/N: 玉虫色 - Iridescent

ft. Iromuji kimonos

every day I thank past me for having Jiraya teach them substitution instead of henge or none of this could happen.