Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto

Chapter 28: Conflicting Views

The hollow sound of a bamboo brush tapping against the solid wood desk in harmony with the up-and-down movement of a leg echoed loudly, almost deafening in the cramped space. There did not seem to be enough room for her, the sparse furniture and her thoughts in her quarters. Sakura rubbed her forehead slowly. She could not find the words to string together coherently on the blank sheet of paper. Reading and even re-reading her mother's letter did not provide her with either inspiration or direction. On that front, her mind was blank.

It was a giant tangle of dark string in all other scenarios. A giant mass right in the center that she could not make heads or tails of. But one thing was painfully apparent. All paths seemed to lead to one thing.

An agonized grunt, guttural in sound, left her throat. The tapping stopped as did the restless leg. Sakura pushed back in her seat to stare up at the blank ceiling. It reminded her of the blank paper. A letter waiting to be written. But she had no words.

She had too many words. Sakura shot up to her feet. Her hands folded behind her back and her head bowed as she moved in a straight line. Back and forth, using up energy to go nowhere and accomplish nothing. A colossal waste of time. The one thing she had on her hands because of what eluded her: sleep.

She gnawed on her lips mindlessly. It still hurt every time she opened her mouth. The cut on the corner of her lips had not healed. How could it, when she did not allow it an opportunity to? Sakura blew out through her lips trying to visualize the column of air moving in the same direction she was. Forward. Or was it back? Maybe it was nowhere at all.

Her hair slipped past her shoulders. She absentmindedly ran a hand through her locks. They were soft and shiny again. Even she had to admit that. It had taken it no less than three years for her hair to recover from the damage of her mother's repeated attempts to color it. Haruma did not remember the stringy, dried-out mass it was. A rat's nest is what her mother called it. He had been too young. But she was old enough to remember. With the low glow of the controlled light, her hair looked less deplorable, almost nice if she was to be so bold. The mark of her fate - of her curse - did not look so menacing now. It almost had her thinking maybe it was not so bad. It was long. It was long like hers. Long like Naruto's mother's hair was. It was soft. And for a fleeting moment, she wondered what he would think of it. A moment of pure, unbridled insanity.

She held a lock between her fingers, tugging at it as a physical manifestation of the anxiety churning away in her.

'He loved a woman with long hair.'

"He loves a woman who had long hair." She corrected herself out loud. "Red. Red hair. Not pink. Red." She clicked her tongue definitively. "Red."

She had a letter to write but it was not the one she wanted to write. Every time she sat down, the face of a stranger that had become familiar plagued her thoughts. So she made no progress. No amount of shaking her head or trying to force her brain to think of something - anything - else seemed to work. It was all futile. He was the one she wanted to write to. And it did not make any sense to her.

"What is wrong with me?" Her hands twisted in her lustrous mane in frustration. She glared at the ends of her hair.

Inspiration. She let out a long low growl.

"Forget this!" Her jade eyes burned with decisiveness. Sakura pulled the chair back roughly and sank into it. She picked up the brush. Her chin was set in defiance. "I'll burn it." She nodded her head as she continued to justify her decision. "I'll write whatever wants to get out first, so I can focus on my letter back home. Yeah. That's what I'm going to do. Write and burn. Write and burn."

She eyed the lantern sitting near the corner of the desk. She touched the tip of her tongue to the inside of her cheek. The ends of the brush dipped into the vat of black, black ink. She tapped it twice against the container, gently before bringing it to the far right corner. She began to write moving down the page. The restless thoughts that formed a jumbled mass that led to the same place eased up just enough for her to fill what once was a blank void. She stared at the dancing lick of flame, bright orange and yellow, as she waited for the ink to dry.

The next morning she moved with deliberate steps to the first door on the opposite end of hers. She knocked twice. Her palms were sweaty. She was concerned the moisture would smudge the ink which would in turn make the already low chances of a successful delivery downright abysmal so the letters were tucked away safe from her perspiration and the elements in the folds of her faded brown leather diary. Her heart stammered in her chest against her rib cage. The melodies of her plight played in her ears. Her breathing, the sound of her eyelashes coming together, the saliva she swallowed. Everything was too, too loud. It was much too quiet for her to hear everything.

Her shoulders rolled back as the sound of feet moving joined the symphony. Rhythmic and predictable. So different from how she would describe herself. A pair of dark eyes regarded her. There was no judgment or surprise in the windows of her soul. Tomoha blinked at her, just being. There was nothing that stood out. But that was everything.

With a slightly shaking hand, Sakura undid the clasp and opened the spine of her diary to the center, where the letters sat. She raised it between them. Tomoha's dark eyes had not left her face. Sakura's emerald orbs held her gaze. Her breath hitched - it changed the flow of the beat building in her head - when Tomoha's pale, wrinkly hand pulled them from the book wordlessly.

"They will be delivered."

Sakura dipped her head in her gratitude. The diary closed with a soft thud. She walked back to her room. The sound of her wooden sandals moving across the floor kept pace with the beats of her heart.

He watched the alluring movement of silk and limbs dancing in a controlled seduction with a flat red-rimmed dark eye. His pupil was constricted, nearly indistinguishable from his black hole of an iris. He did not care for the flare of the fans. The paper rustled as she flicked her wrist to the beat of the Koto. A string plucked equated to another flick of the wrist. Her long dark, black hair fell to the floor as she turned slowly in a sweeping circle. He blew a cloud of dark gray smoke, obscuring the entertainment just for a passing second. His lungs filled with the opium. He felt his mind open and expand. The pain in his body was less pronounced. The strings were being pulled in quicker succession now.

Danzo frowned. The performance was entering its last stretch.

"How many?" He asked gruffly, coughing slightly as he pulled in more smoke into his lungs.

"Seven including the girl." His companion answered distractedly. His mouth hung open as he watched the woman gyrate. She resembled a top, turned on the side. He was mesmerized by the music, the colors, and the provocativeness of it all. "She's teaching the boys as well. The servant children. There's three of them."

'He's green. Hot blooded.' Danzo noted with a frown. "Is she still attending the lessons?" He studied the young man closely. He was sitting back on his heels, his fists curled into the dark fabric of his clothes. His dark eyes glittered brighter than graphite.

"She is." His mouth was open wide enough that the hilt of Danzo's cane could fit. "She's encouraging other women to come. They moved locations to accommodate the headcount."

"I see," he looked back at the woman. She was swaying as she touched her shoulders and neck. He sighed. He set down the black and gold ornate pipe on the tray in front of him. He finished the last of his tea before he slid money to the man to his left. "Keep me updated. Don't be late for your shift."

He barely noticed. He was too busy leaning forward as the woman began to shed layers. Her obi was the first thing to fall to the floor, forming a red pool of silk.

Danzo pulled himself to his feet. He closed the door, not acknowledging the sounds that were now coming from the room. He had made it to the entrance when he felt a presence behind him. He slowly turned. A woman dressed in dark green silk with bright peonies in the colors of pink, white, and yellow adorning the bottom third of her kimono bowed lowly at him. Her gold hairpieces glittered in the soft light. The golden cranes slid forward over the left side of her face like hair.

"Was something lacking, Shimura-sama?" She addressed the floor in her smooth lilt.

"I got what I came for." He answered gruffly. He watched her straighten. The cranes fluttered and chimed as they settled. They rested by her chin. Suspended in air from her clip with thin wires adorned with small white pearls. Her face was painted white, pink slathered across her cheekbones, and her lips as red as the seeds of a pomegranate.

"What a relief. It would not do for a guest of Reimi to go without being satisfied." The woman's coy smile complimented the gleam in her glittering onyx eyes.

"Hn," Danzo grunted. His lips pressed into a line of impatience. "Out with it. Unlike you, I do not have all day to squander to whims." His gravelly voice cut out harshly.

"Of course, Shimura-sama," the woman bowed. She swept her arm out gracefully. "Your cane, my Lord."

He stood with a stony expression as a young woman hurried towards him with her head bowed and his black cane held out. With a scoff, he all but snatched it from her hands. His lip curled in disgust at the quick steps back the woman took until she was behind the Madam of the house.

"May the rest of your day be as productive as your time here, Shimura-sama." Lady Reimi bowed graciously to her patron. The coy smile did not slip off her face into something more neutral until Danzo was long gone. "Come, Sakuno-chan." She led the shaking brunette with a gentle hand between her shoulder blades. "Let's go have some tea." She uttered with forced temperance.

He trudged through the melted sleet. The hallowing wind bit at the exposed skin of his face through his helmet. Blond locks of hair whipped across his face. His boots landed loudly by the flap of the tent. He inhaled deeply. It no longer felt like tiny spears of ice were stabbing him in the chest repeatedly. His nose was pink and his hands practically blue. He could not wield a sword in his current state. The armor made damp by the rain joined the boots. Minato's muscles sighed in relief to not be carrying the extra weight that felt close to fifty pounds all thanks to the moisture absorbed by the leather under the steel.

He set his helmet on the table in the center of the room. He gathered his hair into his hand and pulled it towards the crown of his head. The locks that were too short fell back down. He secured the rest in place with a thin strip of fabric, wrapping it around three times before tucking the end in. The brown sat atop of a sea of yellow. He flexed his fingers, alternating between rubbing his hands and blowing on them.

"You alright?" Shikaku's dark eyes looked from his eyes to his arm.

"It's nothing," Minato looked down at the gash. The head of an arrow had grazed him. It could have been - should have been - a lot worse. It was the strangest thing, the arrow seemed to change trajectory at the last minute. It would have caught him in between the eyes but instead, it whizzed past him barely touching him. Luck and the wind were on his side today. "Worse than it looks."

"They had more soldiers at the second base." General Namikaze's voice was devoid of all warmth when he spoke again after a brief, tense silence. Cold and calculating.

Shikaku rubbed the bottom of his goatee between his thumb and index finger. His mind was preoccupied with thought. "What are the numbers?" He did not look up from the map.

"Thirteen," Minato said tightly. He looked at the piece carved out of stone; brown to represent the Land of Earth soldiers. He gripped the sides of the table. His hands, the ones that were back to their usual warm hue were turning white under the strain.

"And the result?" The full weight of Shikaku's gaze was on Minato's solemn face.

Minato's right hand darted out. They watched the piece tip over, and rock back and forth before it ultimately settled on its side. The blond moved a red piece onto the location of the second base.

The Nara refrained from rolling his eyes. It would have been faster to just answer his question verbally. It was funny, for a man who claimed to value time and efficiency Minato did have a flair for the dramatics.

"Everything is quiet on the fourth front." Shikaku anticipated the next words out of Minato's month. "He will be joining us in two days, if not tomorrow."

Minato leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He could feel his wound bleed sluggishly. It was saturating the fibers of his dark blue shirt.

"That gives us about four days of rest before we head back to the first base," his cobalt eyes moved further to the west, coming to a stop at a tiny marker that was a day out from the disputed border.

"Should be enough," Shikaku let out a slow, exasperated sigh. "It will be the hardest to take back. It is the closest to the border with Earth and Waterfall."

"We'll be ready." Minato pressed his lips together. "Eyes wide open." He added dryly.

Shikaku nodded. "I have information."

Minato regarded the tactician and strategist who stood across from him. His silence and alert gaze communicated his receptiveness.

"He was a foot soldier and he was discharged on account of injury a little over a year ago just like you said." Composed and collected with undertones of muted curiosity. Shikaku's body language said about just as much as his words without speaking.

"But?" Minato prompted with detachment. The interest in his eyes was harder to mask.

"The official report says he broke his leg. Nothing about an amputation."

The sound of the wind bullying the outside of the tent broke up the suffocating silence. Minato stood unmoving as he felt the weight of the statement.

"Are you sure that he -"

"I'm sure," Minato said firmly, cutting him off. She had no reason to lie to him. He believed her. "If it was just a break he would have had to reenlist. Is there any record of that?"

"No, there is no record of Haruno Kizashi reenlisting or being on active duty," Shikaku answered in a tone as flat as his expression. His eyes narrowed slightly. "It is not completely unheard of that injuries are downplayed in the official record. Especially with low-ranking families. The Haruno name falls under that group."

Minato rubbed his brow. His jaw clenched slightly, barely noticeable. But Shikaku's sharp gaze noticed it nonetheless.

"He reported under General Kazuma," Shikaku revealed the final piece of the puzzle.

Minato sighed deeply. His eyes darkened as the math added up. "So he wasn't compensated fairly." The blond held the back of his neck. Something started to boil in him. Anger or his blood he did not know which.

"Another name in a long list," Shikaku said with a frown. "What is this about Minato? It's not like you to keep things from Kakashi. And it certainly isn't like you to stick your nose in another general's business."

"Fair is fair, Shikaku. Every soldier, and every family, deserves to be treated the same. Regardless of what their last name is." His eyes had an edge to them. "Compile a list. Lean on your connections and your network. No man forgotten."

"And the funds will magically appear for each name on this list?"

"Everything has a cost, old friend." Minato countered the sass with calm.

"You don't get to be the Shogun through popularity." The Nara said in exasperation. He was not one for debates or arguing. Neither of them were.

"I don't see how it can hurt."

Shikaku's face settled into a long-suffering expression. "Anything else?" He conceded.

"Please and thank you," Minato answered with genuine gratitude.

There was something different about Minato. He could not place his finger on it. "The People's Shogun," Shikaku scoffed at the absurdity of it all.

"Wouldn't that be something?" Minato asked with marvel adding gravity to his voice.

Shikaku studied him closely. Something different indeed.

He stood in the same spot in front of the same gate that separated the same house from the street. He could not help but wonder if he would receive the same reception. He did not think he had it in him to withstand another verbal onslaught from Sakura's intimidating father. Even at his age, he gave the impression that he could snap Kabuto like a twig over his knee if it came to it. Only positive thinking was what shielded him from the possibility of it coming to be.

"It's a different day." He gave himself the resolve and confidence he needed. His fingers curled around the rusted bars. "Haruno-san." His voice carried over the sound of the faint wind and birds overhead. He could see over the bars. The door to the far left opened. His heart was pounding against his ribcage.

A severe face with bottle-green eyes and blonde hair brightened at the sight of him. He released the breath that he was holding.

"Sensei!" She called out in a mix of warmth and relief. She finally looked her age and not a decade older. Mebuki all but ran across the courtyard to the gate. She pulled it open. "Come, come!" She ushered him in with as much excitement and desperation as the last time.

"Haruno-san," Kabuto greeted her with a small smile. He crossed the threshold. He could smell something bubbling away on the stovetop. "How are you?" He asked her kindly, his dark eyes trained on her face.

"Good, Good!" She was bursting with gratitude. "My husband is doing so much better. His head is clear. He had enough energy to walk around the house!" Her palm pressed against her chest. "I can't tell you the last time he did that," unshed tears glistened in her eyes. "You gave me my husband back."

Kabuto stood mutely as she took his hand in hers. There was so much swimming in her eyes that he felt overwhelmed. He needed a boat. He was drowning. His shoulders curled towards each other. His white eyelashes met their companion at faster intervals.

"I'm so sorry," Mebuki let go of his hands at the perturbed expression on his face. His clear discomfort was palpable. "I got carried away." She took two steps back giving him room to breathe and collect himself.

"It's okay," Kabuto held out his hand. "I just wasn't expecting it."

Mebuki's eyes softened. "Sit down, Sensei. I'll get you water." She busied herself with doing just that. By the time she handed him the ceramic cup, he was no longer perspiring. "Does that happen often?" She asked him kindly.

"I get overwhelmed sometimes," Kabuto said after taking two gulps of water. He used the side of his hand to capture a wayward droplet of water that missed his mouth. "I'm sorry." He muttered in embarrassment.

"Whatever for, Sensei?" Mebuki asked him incredulously. "It was my fault." She held out her hands. "Sometimes they have a mind of their own." She chuckled lightheartedly. "Honestly, I did not even let you get settled before I bombarded you with everything. Sakura's always telling me I need to dial it back. But do I listen? No." Mebuki clicked her tongue. "If anyone should be embarrassed it's me."

He chuckled softly. He moved his handkerchief to his forehead, dabbing it gently for sweat. "Thank you, Haruno-san." His lips pulled into a small smile directed at the space between his feet. "I can see where Sakura gets her kindness from."

A pained expression crossed Mebuki's face. "No," she shook her head. "Sakura didn't get anything from me."

He turned his head in perplexion. Before Kabuto could ask what she meant by that she was already next to the door that he knew Sakura's father was behind.

"Come on, Sensei. My husband is waiting for you." The light and warmth were gone from her person.

The bottom of his cup clicked against the ground. His knees creaked as he pushed up to his feet. His black medical bag was in his hands. He counted the twelve steps it took to reach the threshold. The man with nearly red hair styled in the shape of a cherry blossom was sitting up ready. His blue eyes lacked contempt and outrage.

"Sensei," he uttered in a voice he did not recognize. It was too calm and collected. The tenor was new to his ears.

"Haruno-san," he stood in the doorway unsure of how to proceed.

"Please," Kizashi gestured to the empty spot next to him on his right, directly across from Sakura's mother.

Kabuto slipped out of his shoes, leaving them at the door. The floor was cold and textured under his feet. It was clean but the cheap material was falling apart into a particularized coating. It stuck to his skin. Kabuto lowered himself onto his heels. His eyes moved between her parents' faces. Aside from her mother's eyes, Sakura did not resemble her parents in the slightest. Maybe that was what her mother meant when she said with regards to Sakura not getting anything from her.

Blue and green stared at him expectantly. Kabuto cleared his throat. He willed the nerves he felt to calm enough for him to work out a couple of words.

"How are you feeling, Haruno-san?" He trained his eyes to the spot between the Haruno family's Patriarch's eyes.

"Better." The man certainly looked the part. He was sitting up on his own, without the support of a bolster. He knew because he could see the bolster sitting off to the side. His skin had a healthy glow to it.

"I'm glad, what a difference a couple of days makes." Kabuto pushed up his glasses. He felt their eyes track his movements as he procured round, white medicine balls. "These will help your recovery. Two pills a day. One in the morning and the other in the evening. Take them with meals." He held up the container.

Mebuki reached over her husband's leg and gently pulled it towards her. She cradled it to her chest, protectively as if it were a child.

"Thank you, Sensei." The tears were back in her eyes. "You have no idea how much this means to us."

"I am glad that I am able to be of help," Kabuto dipped his head in embarrassment at the overt display of gratitude.

Kizashi cleared his throat roughly. The action had Kabuto instinctively stiffening. He looked towards the man once more. His blue eyes were downcast and glazed over. The set of his face was thoughtful, reflective even.

"Sensei," Kizashi's crystal clear eyes rose to meet Kabuto's. "I apologize for my behavior the other day." The man brought his right hand across his body, resting it over his heart. He bowed lowly.

Kabuto regarded the crown of his head. Low and vulnerable and felt discomfort start to swirl inside his stomach once more. "Haruno-san, please." He said in a gentle tone. "You were merely looking out for your daughter. You are a good father."

To his surprise he saw the blanket covering the man dampen. First, it was one drop, then two, and within a few short blinks, it was countless. Kabuto turned to the woman with genuine confusion as to what he had said or done wrong. Mebuki's own head was bowed. The air seemed to have been sucked from the room and replaced by propane. One wrong utterance and everything went up in a ball of flame.

"I am not a good father," Kizashi said through ragged breaths. His fingers clenched the old, hole-riddled blanket. "A good father does not let his daughter out of his sight. A good father protects his daughter. A good father does not allow his daughter to work outside of the home. A good father does not rely on his daughter's money. A good fa -." His voice was broken by a sob.

Kabuto lowered his eyes. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe properly. He vaguely registered the sounds of Sakura's mother clearing her throat and sniffling. They sat there, the three of them, barely moving, weighed down by the gravity of it all.

"I am not even a man anymore," Kizashi uttered with ample bitterness.

"Dear," Mebuki reached out and put her hand on his arm. "You're getting too worked up. Please," she pleaded with her eyes. "Think about something else. We're doing our best."

Kizashi shook his head, too overcome with emotion to speak. The weight of his failures had settled on the back of his neck keeping his head angled down. His shame did not allow him to meet his daughter's eyes. Nor write to her. He did not have a face to show her and he did not have words.

His dark eyes moved in circles around the room. They settled on a painting that hung behind Mebuki's head on the far wall. A small child with hair not blond and not pink with green eyes stared back at him, unblinkingly. At first, he thought it was Sakura. But the longer he looked he saw the differences. The child's jaw was more square and the nose was slightly wider. The child's eyes, while the same color, were smaller in size. The skin tone was darker than Sakura's. The child in the painting was not her.

"That was our son," Mebuki was looking over her shoulder to follow her gaze. "Sakura's younger brother."

"I'm sorry." For what he did not know. Just from her tone alone, he deduced that he had stumbled onto yet another painful topic. Mebuki's expression was haunted and Kizashi's jaw clenched.

"He died ten," she paused, "no, eleven years ago," Mebuki said with a broken sigh. "He was such a happy child. Always laughing and smiling." She smiled sadly at the memory. "Maybe if Tonika had a sensei of your skill he would have been alive today. He would have been fifteen going on sixteen." Her mouth moved without her even realizing it like she was talking to herself. Maybe she did not realize that there were two sets of ears listening to her. "He loved to play."

"I'm sorry for your loss." The words felt so hollow and flimsy especially when they faced everything she had just uttered. He gripped his knees just to give himself something to do other than stare at either of them.

"Mebuki," Kizashi covered her hand that was on his arm with one of his own. "Get a hold of yourself. He's gone." His tone was not unkind, especially given his words. Sakura's parents exchanged a long look that ended in both of them grimacing.

Kabuto swallowed thickly. The fingers of his right hand tapped against his knee restlessly. Yet another uneasy silence settled over them. The urge to get as far away from here as possible was growing stronger and stronger with each passing painstaking second.

"I should take my leave," Kabuto began awkwardly, not waiting to be in the tense environment a second longer than strictly necessary. "I -"

"You're not leaving until you have dinner with us." Mebuki insisted. She rose to her feet. Her eyes were clear and her expression determined. "I will not hear otherwise." She left the room not even half a minute later giving him next to no time to protest.

"You better go follow after her," Kizashi looked at him with an impassive expression. "Otherwise she'll come right back in here to say the same thing only she'll be less patient and even less pleasant." He patted Kabuto on the back roughly. The doctor's whole body rattled. The glasses on his nose became unbalanced. "Are you married, Sensei?" Kizashi regarded him with a measured look.

"No," Kabuto mumbled whilst correcting the position of his glasses.

"Smart man," there was an undertone of envy in Kizashi's voice.

"Haruno-san," he gathered his resolve from the very air around him. "What changed your mind?"

Kizashi sighed gravely. "My wife," he stated. "She reminded me that we are Kami-loving and Kami-fearing people. You came to my - our - door to help and I was rude and inhospitable. But you helped anyway. Your medicine," he looked down at his hands. "I feel strong again. Almost like I did before I lost my leg. Before I drowned my sorrows in a bottle. I feel like myself. You are very good at what you do."

Kabuto dipped his head. "You humble me, Haruno-san."

"My wife, she, reminded me that there are still good people out there. Honest. And you proved that to me." He folded his fist over his heart and bowed. "Thank you, Sensei."

Kabuto fought back the urge to twitch. "I am merely honoring my oath, sir."

"A man true to his principles is a man to be admired." Kizashi nodded his head. He regarded Kabuto with an open expression. "You're too old to not be married." He almost said with a frown.

"I present older than I am in large part due to the gray hair." He let out a nervous chuckle. It did not soften Kizahi's stoic mask. "I am merely twenty-three," Kabuto pushed up his glasses. "My life's work, medicine, always took precedence." He looked between Kizashi's brows.

"That is hardly a reason," Kizashi's eyes narrowed a fraction. "A woman makes a man's life easier. In certain aspects at least." He said with a scoff.

"I'm an orphan. I do not know of my parents." Kabuto explained with an impassive expression, keeping his unease to himself.

"Ah," Kizashi nodded his head in satisfaction at the mystery solved. He looked quite pleased with himself. "That will do it. Most are not willing to give their daughters to a man without confirmed lineage. Regardless of occupation or character." He crossed his arms.

"Being unknown is the only thing less desirable than being poor." Kabuto's voice contained a texture that was not unlike grains of sand. It was painful to push the words out. "And I am both."

Kizashi grunted in sympathy. "It is difficult enough just being one." He sighed. "What a world." He thought out loud. "I am under the belief that hard work trumps all. Work is worship, that is my motto. And it is better to work with honor and earn less than to be without and have more." His expression softened for a moment. "My daughter takes after me in that regard."

"She works very hard." Kabuto agreed, trying desperately not to sound too eager. "Her employer has nothing but praise for her." He smiled. "She has the respect and admiration of many."

Pride flitted across Kizashi's features for a moment but it did not take much time for it to turn into something less positive. Silence blanketed them. Kabuto felt sweat begin to bead across his shoulder blades.

Kabuto licked his bottom lip to moisten it as well as to buy himself some additional time. "Haruno-san, I am not rich. I am not from a clan, but sir I am hardworking. And everything I have, I have earned myself. I hope you do not find it too bold if I ask you to consider me -"

Kizashi held up his hand, cutting off what remained of Kabuto's clear unspoken intentions. "I appreciate your candor, Sensei." The man with almost red hair frowned. "Another philosophy my daughter and I share is that family is everything." His eyes were cold as they bore into Kabuto's taken-aback face. "The man who will be my son-in-law will embody our shared philosophies."

Kabuto blinked.

"And while I understand you are here today just as you were a few days ago because of my daughter, at this time, we have no reason to discuss the topic of my daughter any further. Am I making myself clear, Sensei?"

"Yes." He nodded his head after a moment of hesitation.

"She comes from a decent home, Sensei." He reminded him curtly. "With decent morals and expectations of decency. Konoha is not all that far from here." He said in a low, clear voice. "It's nothing personal, Sensei. Maybe one day when you're a father to daughter you will understand. Even if the world contains more decent individuals, one needs to remain vigilant for the indecent ones."

A moment of stifling silence passed. Kizashi opened his mouth once more.

"My treatment will be paid for. Nothing is without cost. I intend to endure that cost."

"Of course, Haruno-san." Kabuto dipped his head. "I apologize for any miscommunication. We are in agreement."

Kizashi pressed his lips together for what felt like a full minute. Kabuto sat ramrod straight as he awaited his judgment. The medic's heart brushed against his ribcage. The stern expression melted off of Kizashi's face. "You better go, son. You have about," Kizashi pinched his face together as if counting, "sixty seconds before she's back."

Kabuto's mouth hung slightly ajar. He completely lost his wits about him. He had no idea what was happening.

"We don't get visitors often." Kizashi said offhandedly at the bewildered look on Kabuto's face.

"I'm beginning to realize that," Kabuto muttered under his breath. He turned his head and peered out the door. He did not need to strain his ears to hear the sounds of pots and pans clanging and Mebuki's loud utterances that could only be for her own benefit.

"What are you waiting for?" Kizashi asked gruffly with crossed arms and a furrowed brow.

Kabuto hung his head in defeat and sighed. He pushed up onto his feet. He wandered into the courtyard wondering just what happened and what he had stumbled upon.

Each day was longer than the one before. Both in perception and in actuality. The added moments of daylight allowed for more time to wage attacks and to defend against them. He had accumulated to the heightened state of being at one with his instincts. To become the other side of him without even a moment's notice. The side that killed as effectively and efficiently as it was to draw breath. He did not even have to think about it. It was that easy.

Even if he had the ocean at his disposal he would never rid himself of the blood on his hands. He himself had lost count of how many last breaths were attributed to him. What his mind did not recall, his body remembered and his soul retained. Death. He wondered if one day would come when he smelled more of a rotting corpse than of a living body. He was certain the day would come soon if war continued to be commonplace.

His cobalt eyes regarded the solemn face appearing from the sea of flesh and bone. His hair was like a flash of lightning against a gray sky. His outward expression did not change all that much to reflect the relief that buzzed inside of him. Minato held out his arm. Kakashi did not hesitate to clasp it.

"I'm glad you're back." The blond general nodded his head once in both greeting and silent thanks.

"Nice hair," his eyes crinkled in a manner that could only mean that he was either grinning or grimacing. The skin all healed. The black and blue was no more.

"I haven't had a chance to address it." Minato matched the grin that he knew Kakashi donned under his mask. Their arms fell slowly to their sides. "Any trouble?"

The Hatake fell into step with the general. The distinctive sounds of metal plates sliding together held a conversation in its own right as the two men moved through the campground.

"Nothing that wasn't handled. No casualties on our side. Iwa can't say the same. I left a tenth of the troops at the fourth gate in case Iwa got bold or desperate or stupid." Kakashi said with a long sigh. His hand moved through his silver hair. "What happened to your arm?" He gestured to the white bandage wrapped around his bicep.

"Just a flesh wound," Minato answered with a level of dismissiveness that put the Hatake at ease. They came to a gathering at one of the tents. Men clamored as they waited in a messy queue.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes studied the blond closely. "Made it back in time huh?" He posed his question lazily and rhetorically.

"Looks like," Minato's lips sat pressed together in neither a frown nor a smile. Completely neutral in expression. "You should get some food. Maybe bathe, you smell worse than Chidori." His pearly grin was out in full display.

Kakashi rolled his eyes. "That's rich coming from you. I smelled you before I saw you." He wrinkled his nose under his mask for good measure. He did not imagine the way the light in Minato's eyes dimmed at his remarks. Maybe he was not obvious enough with his tone that he was in fact joking.

"You know where to find me if you need me," Minato clapped Kakashi on the shoulder once before turning on his heel and stalking off to the direction in which his tent lay.

Kakashi turned his head to the left. The plethora of excited faces as they received letters from back home. Letter day. The day all the mail that was collected for the week from the various war birds and other means of transit was distributed to the soldiers. It was the fastest way to boost morale only second to winning a major battle. Before he himself knew what he was doing Kakashi's feet led him to the end of the queue. The tiredness in his frame was momentarily forgotten as he stood waiting for the improbable.

Minato turned the page of the well-worn book in his hands with a soft smile on his face. The pages yellowed from age, the link losing its pigment. The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi the red characters on the yellow cover read. It was his uncle's first book. He had written it for him shortly after his Okaasan passed. What had started as a tool for distraction had ultimately become his coping mechanism. A security blanket. The embrace of a mother's love. Minato cherished the book so much he convinced Kushina to name their son after the main character. And she had despite giving him grief and all but promising she would not allow it. Between the pages and the world built from the lines of ink, he was safe. He was somewhere familiar.

The book was the closest thing to being home. Letter day was difficult for him. Kakashi was here. Jiraiya, while priding himself on being an author, was not much of a letter writer. It was a skill he had not quite mastered. He claimed he had no interest in it. An unsolicited letter from Jiraiya was a very, very bad thing. Minato did not want to ever receive a letter from his uncle that he was not expecting. Kushina, the only person who wrote to him while he was away, was gone. There was nothing coming for him.

At least that was what he had thought. No sooner had he entered his tent did he recognize that something was different. On his desk rested two letters. One written in a handwriting he had come to know and the other completely foreign. Tomoha's letter came as even more of a surprise. He did not know that the woman had progressed far enough in her reading lessons to be able to draft a whole page. And a whole page she had. He could see the carefully constructed brush strokes placed with gradually growing confidence. It warmed his heart. It made it all that much more meaningful the message she was trying to convey. Her words calling for his health and safety wrapped around him like a protective charm. Maybe that was what had bent the arrow that would have taken his life. Her sentiment. Her belief in him.

Naruto's letter had been a surprise as well. The messy scrawl from the five-year-old's hand was littered with mistakes and barely readable. It took a considerably longer amount of time to read the couple of sentences Naruto had written but read them he did. Each character had caused a warmth to spread through Minato's chest. It cut through the muddled thoughts in his head. Remnants of death and devastation left his frame and thoughts, chased away by the boy's light. It was like holding up a candle to the sun. Laughable. The darkness had no chance to settle. Naruto chased it out. His son's promises to be good and to be patient while he waited for Minato to come home were all the motivation he needed. Naruto was waiting. Naruto was waiting for him. He would not make the same mistake twice. He would be back before it was too late.

Lines marred his forehead and the corners of his lips tugged downward a fraction as his ears picked up on approaching footsteps. A mane of silver poked through the flap before the rest of him entered the tent.

"So," Kakashi dragged out the word just as he dragged Minato's chair from the desk before he settled into it. He rested his forearm around the back of it, his chin sat on the back of his hand. The whole thing screamed edgy and cool, at least in Kakashi's mind.

"There's an interesting development as well as an interesting predicament." The Hatake began cryptically not betraying the nature of his unannounced visit so soon after his arrival.

"Give me the development first," Minato sat up in the cot, swinging his legs to the side. The book was turned face down on the sheets. His eyes were sharp and focused. He tethered somewhere between relaxed and a controlled calm. Ready for any possibility.

"Tomoha-san can write. And so can Naruto, albeit barely." His dark eyes did not miss the way the tension seemed to ease off of Minato's shoulders. This man was a different beast than the one that roamed the walls of the Namikaze Compound. The transformation was thorough and complete.

"A little slow with the breaking news there, 'Kashi." Minato's cobalt eyes regarded him flatly. He was easing back into a relaxed state so much so that he was on the edge of being bored.

"They wrote to you too? And here I thought I was special." Kakashi said in a deadpan. He pulled a book with a distinctive orange-colored cover out of seemingly thin air. Minato knew instantly what it was despite the text being too small to read from his position.

"My condolences," the general's lips pulled upwards for a fraction of a second. He fixed his gaze on his own book. It was calling to him.

"I forget that your kid likes you now, I blinked and the whole world is upside down." Kakashi's eyes lifted slightly from the pages in front of him. "Tomoha-san is full of surprises. Who would have thought the old bat would have it in her?"

Minato grunted in response. "She's always been smart and a fast learner. She always knew you were up to no good before the thought even popped into your head didn't she?"

"I suppose there's a correlation there." He hummed disinterestedly. Kakashi flipped the page slowly. He made it to about a third of the way down before he closed it rather abruptly. Minato's eyes were on his person. Mild curiosity gleamed in his cobalt eyes.

Kakashi returned the small book to his pocket. He pulled out a letter still sealed. He held it in front of him. The ink drew his eye in on the strokes and shapes.

"As for the second thing," Kakashi scratched his neck. "The predicament," he held up the letter. "There is a letter here for a soldier that there is no record of," his astute gaze did not miss the way Minato's body tensed up a fraction. "It created quite the scene. Poor Genma did not know what to do with it. Being the good citizen I am, I offered to take care of it. Now, I'm not the most up-to-date on the procedure for these things."

Minato was being led somewhere in this long, winding path created by Kakashi's words. And he had a sinking feeling of where.

"There is no return address either for the letter. What to do. What to do." He tapped it against his head as if he were deep in thought. "I should probably just get rid of it."

The general's lips pressed together into a stern line. It was apparent to him now that things were not quite as fine between them as he had thought. There was no other reason Kakashi was doing this.

"After reading it of course." The Hatake grinned under his mask. His eyes crinkled from the action. His fingers were poised to rip open the folded-up paper that contained said letter.

"Procedure," Minato began in a tone that did not indicate his rising annoyance and building anticipation. "Dictates that such a letter should be left to the discretion of command."

Silver brows moved closer together. "Is that so? Huh," his voice held marvel at the realization. "Seems a bit beneath someone of your stature," he drew out the words along with the torture. Slow. deliberate. Thorough. And complete. Kakashi was a sadist not so deep down. "Well, if that is what is done then who am I to question it?" He added with a dismissive shrug.

Minto watched with his heart in his throat as the letter was deposited on the surface of the desk behind Kakashi. In the time it took for the blonde to count to five, Kakashi was on his feet. His brow was raised in a less-than-impressed expression.

"Uzumaki?" He asked with a scoff.

"I panicked." Minato's mouth suddenly felt dry.

"No shit." Kakashi rolled his eyes. "Happy reading, Minori."

"Kakashi," his voice called out over the silence. The man turned back at the sound of his name. He had one foot outside of the tent door. "How many?" Minato could not bring himself to look him in the eye.

Kakashi did not entertain the first, second, or third thought that raced in his mind. The slightly hunched shoulders and pitiful look on the blond's face took all the fun out of everything.

"Just the two," he uttered on his way out. Not stopping to gauge Minato's reaction.

Minato waited for thirty painstakingly long seconds before moving. His feet found his slippers that were awaiting his bedside. It took no less than five seconds for him to coax his body up. It took another seven to cross over to the desk. He peered at the brown envelope. Her handwriting addressed him, the only version of him that she knew.

To: Uzumaki Minori the neat characters read. They were written by the same hand that had addressed Naruto's letter to him, and no doubt addressed Naruto's letter to Kakashi. But unlike those letters, there was no return address just as Kakashi had said. She had been smart enough to leave that off to prevent rumors from flying. Now as it stood the letter was for a soldier who did not exist. Had she included the return address, it would have been for a soldier tied to the general's home that would have generated a considerable amount of interest.

Minato lowered himself into the still-warm chair. His heartbeat was elevated. He could feel the organ fluttering in his chest and what was more, despite the chill beads of sweat started to collect around his upper lip. He hastily wiped his palms on his dark garb before moving them towards the letter. His right hand curled around the thin katana on his desk. He poked a small hole in the top left corner and slid the blade to his right. Just as he had done for the other two letters he read. The parchment ripped cleanly. He sighed once, clearing his head of spinning thoughts before he unfolded the letter. His eyes started to read from the top right.

Minori-san,

You probably have guessed by now, but it is important that I remove all traces of doubt, this is Sakura. I am not even sure if you can read this - on account of not being sure if you can read - but on the chance that you can read, don't read too much into the fact that I wrote you a letter. It is not all that big of a deal. It was a whim. And truth be told I'm almost certain I will burn it. In the likely event that I do burn this, all of what is written is really not a big deal then.

If I do not decide to burn it - in the event I have a lapse in judgment - and you can actually read this letter, just know that I did not want you to feel left out. It is a pretty awful feeling; being excluded.

In the spirit of being honest - because you know, I'm burning this and there is no harm in being so - today was the first day that I did not immediately head over to the stables after having breakfast. Today being the sixth day since your departure. Not that I'm counting. It is strange not seeing Kaminari-san every day. It almost feels like my day is empty without that part of what had become my morning routine. I suppose time and repetition will correct the path my feet take along with the feeling.

I hope Kaminari-san and Chidori-san are in good health and spirits. Kaminari-san really appreciates chin scratches over pets. Do with that information what you will. Be sure to check his feet! I only say that because it can be easy to overlook in such a chaotic environment. Be sure to feed him on time too. And… you already know all this.

On the very, very, very low chance that you can read and I do not burn this letter please do not feel obligated to respond. I have no expectations. You owe me nothing. So write back or don't. It's fine.

I'm going to stop now as I have run out of things to say and I feel like I have made my points. Take care of the horses and the Master.

Sincerely,

Sakura

P.S. If you're not in good health you can't properly take care of anyone else. Horse or human. Just something for you to reflect on.

P.P.S. Self-reflection is very important.

Minato leaned back in his chair. His lips were pulled into a smile. One that he had no knowledge of. He reached for the brush that had dried ink on the tip with his right hand. By the time he brought it to the blank sheet, it was grasped in his left. He concentrated as the droplets of ink stained the once pristine expanse.

How quickly the body and mind forgot. For years this was her reality day in and day out. Stuck in a perpetual loop of waiting. Waiting for news. Waiting to breathe. Waiting for either a body or for her father to return home. All it took was a little over a year for this feeling to become foreign. But as the days blended together, it was becoming more and more familiar. She fell into a pattern. Into the embrace of her tried and true coping mechanism.

The feeling would not go away. Perhaps it was more accurate to say the emptiness - the lack of feeling - would not go away. It was not like broken skin that could be spotted, treated, and healed. It was not like Naruto's cuts on his hands and knees that had scabbed over and become itchy. No, this feeling lingered. It ebbed and flowed. In some moments she was fine so much so that she completely forgot only for it to come back all that more devastating. Leaving her dizzy and breathless. Worry. It was incessant and persistent.

All her knowledge and resources were next to useless. There was no medicine for this. There was no cure. She had to endure.

Her jade-colored eyes scanned the horizon. She wondered what was happening beyond the mountainside that kept them protected from an attack from the east. Only the current enemy hailed from the west.

"What is it like, Sensei?" Her distant, detached voice called out to the man sitting a yard from her. His back pressed up against the bolder she sat on top of. His arm rested on his bent knee. He turned back to regard her.

"Hm?" His dark eyes fixed on her face.

Sakura continued to absentmindedly toss a small, smooth rock in her hand. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. The repetitiveness of her game stilled the thoughts raging in her head, some.

"War."

Kabuto clicked his tongue. "I was always a frail kid. Cursed with a weak body," he chuckled wryly. "Maybe it is a blessing in just this scenario since I don't know. I honestly cannot tell you."

Sakura made a noncommittal sound. He was as much in the dark as her. Her father never shared any details of the challenges and conditions from that time in his life even on his best day in terms of his health.

"Do you think peace will ever be reached?" It was easier to be present outside, amongst the world than inside with her thoughts. Right now, the world was more forgiving.

Kabuto tilted his head back and looked up at the cloudless sky. "Peace is a lie."

The rock settled into her palm at his almost harsh statement. Sakura's brow furrowed together and her chin jilted out in a picture of confounded confusion. Her silence was an invitation for him to expand on his fragment of thought.

"Peace is what they feed the poor. To keep them - us - in line and content with what merge resources we have. How can you complain about not having enough when someone is coming to take what is there?" His question, not entirely rhetorical, cut through the air like a whip. It startled her.

"Peace is a way to reframe the reality of a failed society. The poor work to the bone only to starve. While the rich plot and grow more wealthy, it is the poor that line their chests in front of blades all in the name of peace. It is the blood of the poor that runs in the streets of every village."

His hands moved through his hair, he smoothed the flyways to his head. His volume did not fluctuate but she could feel the anger building and mounting. Words escaped her as she sat absolutely still forced to take it all in. The answer to her question that she had so casually asked.

"There can be no peace without war and there is only war because there are those who are unsatisfied with peace. Peace and war are one and the same. Tools to keep a predatory system in system where clans prosper at the expense of everyone else."

Sakura lowered her hands to her feet. Her chin came to rest on her raised knees. His tone was cold. It left her insides feeling hollow and unsettled. She had not seen him like this before, in a frigid, icy passion. What was coming out of his mouth was unfiltered and completely raw. Straight from his thoughts into the air to her ears.

His chuckles broke free after some moments of tension. "I don't know what got into me." Kabuto rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. His smile was uneven and disarming. "I hope I didn't scare you." His eyes shone with genuine concern for the possibility.

Her head was spinning with everything that he had just unloaded. She just had a glimpse of his worldview, his philosophy. It left her feeling hopelessly bleak.

"It's okay," Sakura stammered out. Her voice grew stronger with each syllable. "War is a touchy topic." She said in a small voice that was nearly carried away by the wind.

"I much rather spend our time conversing about saving lives, not losing them." Kabuto's soft gaze searched her muted face subtly. "Are you still experiencing tightness?"

Sakura shook her head. She did not trust her voice to betray her dishonesty.

"Good. Did you have any other questions about what I saw on my travels or about remedies?" His eyes sparkled with genuine intrigue at his query.

Sakura tilted her chin up. "It will be dark soon, Sensei. I should be heading back." Her hand felt around for the leatherbound diary that rested upon the rock with her. She pulled it closer, sliding it over the jagged surface.

"I can walk you," Kabuto was up on his feet and dusting himself off.

"No, no," Sakura held up her hand a little too quickly. "I wouldn't want to cut your time out here short. I'll be alright." She offered him a smile. "Have a good day, Sensei." She left the clearing, unable to meet him in the eyes. She missed the way his lips tugged downward for the briefest of moments.

She inhaled deeply. The comforting smell of parchment and wax filled her nose. The sense of ease it brought her combated the restlessness in her gut. The lens through which the Sensei viewed the world obstructed her perspective. Her index finger moved up and down, aggravating a hangnail on her thumb. Teasing and tormenting the skin but never completely ripping it off. She tried to remain as silent and small as she could.

There was hardly any free space in the shop. Boxes stacked on top of each other towered over her. One wrong move and it would all come tumbling down. Lee moved frantically through the labyrinth of cardboard, wood, and paper. If there was a method to the madness she did not have the eyes to see it. She was surrounded by mayhem and Lee was the agent of chaos. Or maybe he was the king.

She winched as his foot came into contact with the wooden box. She could see the pain being masked on his face. The skin around his eyes folded and wrinkled as he pinched his face together to keep his utterances within.

"Are you alright Lee-san?" She could not help but ask even though she could just as clearly see the answer as well as hear it.

"I'm fine, Haruno-san," he chuckled in a mix of embarrassment and nervousness.

She tried not to look at the clock. It would only add to her anxiety and his pressure. But she had reached up to six hundred seconds in her head. It had never taken him remotely this long to help her. In fact, he had found and handed three other patrons their letters in the span of time he was looking for hers. Her fingers danced on the side of her thigh, jittery energy emitted from her person.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth closed when she saw him go through a stack of letters for the third time. She nearly pointed out the definition of insanity but it would not be all that helpful. He put the stack back. He looked at the cubby to the right of it again. She could tell that he was moving at a faster pace. Propelled by a frantic need to find the letter and have her on her way. She swallowed audibly.

"Lee-san…."

"Just a moment, Haruno-san. I appreciate your patience. I know it's here somewhere. I placed it myself not even four days ago when it came in. With my own eyes!" He assured her with a smile over his shoulder. His hands moved quickly to search the cavity.

Her stomach was sinking further and further down in tandem with the way his shoulders kept tightening. The clock ticked loudly. It chimed. Sakura closed her eyes. Another ten minutes had passed and she was still letter-less and Lee was still searching away with abandon. The mess only grew in size. He slumped forward. Her stomach sank.

"I can't find it." Lee turned around slowly. His eyes held remorse and disappointment. "It is here," he held up his hand at the panic that had settled into her features. "It is here…somewhere. I will find it. I will not rest until I find it." His palm was pressed up against his heart. "Once I do find it I will hand-deliver it to the compound myself. You have my word."

Sakura did not know what to say or do. All she was capable of at that moment was to stand there and take it all in. The letter potentially containing an update on her father's health was missing. Each update was more important than the last. Her eyes wandered over the shop, the madness and disarray made the knot in her stomach tighten.

"Hauno-san," Lee called out her name and attention with earnest determination. "If I do not find your letter, I will shave my head and sell my shop. I will give that to you in writing." He was absolutely beside himself of being the reason she had that particular look on her face.

"Lee-san," she uttered his name in disbelief and slight shock. "It's alright. As you said, it's here. You'll find it. I'm sure." She held out two letters to him with both her hands. "It will be okay."

Lee lowered his eyes. With slow movements, he transferred the letters to his hands. "My word," he emphasized by holding the letters up.

"Goodbye, Lee-san." Sakura bowed her head before leaving his shop. She did not even register the sound of the bell or the steps required to take her back into the compound.

The rest of the day was but a blur. She went through the motions only to find herself staring listlessly at the ceiling. The Sensei's voice rang in her head in an endless loop.

'There can be no peace without war and there is only war because there are those who are unsatisfied with peace.'

The rich preyed on the weak. Peace was built on the backs of the common men while clansmen ate warm, hot meals until their bellies were round and fat. They wore their fancy clothes and gained their lands while homes across the countryside lost one more member. It was not a new sentiment or school of thought: war being used to keep the poor poor and make the wealthy wealthier. She had heard something similar come out of her father's mouth at one point or the other. But it had been jarring to hear it today. Not because of how it was said or who it was by, but rather because she found herself disagreeing. Now that she peeled it back and had a moment to think about it.

Not everyone was the same. To paint in broad strokes was a disservice. Not all poor people were saints and not all rich people were heartless leeches. The Master for one was not anything like what Kabuto described. The Master listened. He listened to a man - who by his own admission - was on the lower end of the clan hierarchy. The Master's help was treated with respect and dignity. She did not imagine the envy the pin she wore on Sundays evoked from the other servants of the various houses. He was fair. He was kind. He was compassionate. He could be the answer.

Sakura rolled over to her side. She blinked in the darkness. He could be just what they needed. A Shogun with a heart as well as a sword. A Shogun who was a father first and a warrior second. Not everyone was the same. And while she did not know the Master personally, she knew based on the people he surrounded himself with and confided in, he might just be the one to finally obtain and sustain peace. They were not the same. War and peace were not two sides to the same coin. She was certain of it.