on equal terms

A/N: I deleted the original first chapter because it's no longer the vibe I was going for. Things are a little slow, and it's been a while since I last worked on this story. I've been stuck on what to do for this, but then I realized I didn't have to stick to romance. I'm swimming back into this as a slice-of-life instead.

Genma notices sixteen things when he is allowed to stay past morning.

Post-war. Mild AU. Among other things, a ninja and a samurai try the "lovers" thing, hoping for things to go awry.

There is a dog by the door.

"Good morning."

Shikai stares at it, and it stares at her right back.

"Are you hungry?"

It tilts its head at her, then paces back and forth before choosing to lie down.

"Are you… lost?"

It doesn't do anything.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

It perks up and looks behind it, and she follows its line of sight… Nothing. There's nobody there. She doesn't find it strange. There are stray dogs and cats and other small animals around, field rats included, because she is living in the outskirts of the city. She is closer to the grass and the fields and the trees, and for good reason. Here, there is fresher air. Here, it is a quieter place. But now she's alone.

In the first few weeks of the school, this building was constantly welcoming guests interested in something new. Creative outlets help. Martial arts help too. But it was the post-war. This was unnecessary. This was insensitive. Back then, she didn't understand what it was for. Why would there be a school like this? And why should she be at the helm of it? What was her brother thinking?

"It's a good investment in the long run!" He promised her. "You'll see!"

Back then, she wondered by she would be given a school of her own so early and even after everything she had done. But she doesn't wonder about it now. She doesn't even wonder anymore why her supposed co-owner, the enigmatic and unreadable Haru, chose to move her classes onto the main street instead.

"I've found a more amicable place for the flowers, Shikai-san." Haru told her. "The students won't need to make such a long journey in the early mornings."

Shikai frowned at her. "I thought a place far from the noise would be better for your flowers?"

"Well, my students are young and they prefer someplace closer to home."

When Shikai thought about it, maybe she should have chosen a closer place too. Maybe the lack of actual students for her school was precisely because of the distance, the time it would take to travel from the main streets to here.

That might be the main reason why she had started to value what visitors come through her door. Why she even started to cook for them, which she thinks her mother would love, her being a good host. Sometimes she sees animals pass by and she thinks about adopting some of them just to keep her company.

But she hasn't seen this dog before.

"You're free to stay if you have nowhere to go," she suggests. "But I never imagined myself as a dog owner."

It tilts its head at her. Curious. She almost wants to tell it that she used to have lizards, frogs, and insects when she was younger.

"My brother owns a cat," she continues. "Well, it was a stray who'd adopted itself into the family. Come to think of it, you're almost the same color."

Her brother's cat is Ginko, a silver-haired feline who'd made itself a home in the kitchens of her family compound. But it didn't start by catching mice and fending off birds. It started off by perching itself on a high shelf and observing the kitchen.

"Are you some lord of the land, cat? Get down from there!"

She laughs at the memory, and continues to laugh at herself for even talking to this dog, who had now rested its head over its paws like it was suddenly bored with her.

"Are you a lord of the land too?" She smiles. "Came here to collect my dues?"

The dog gives an audible huff, almost a woof.

"Wait here. I think I have something for you."

She looks for some leftover beef, but when she comes back, the dog is gone. She looks around, sees no sign of it, and wonders if it had just come here out of curiosity. Like most of the people who dropped by in the first few days and weeks of the supposed school opening. Curious, but not curious enough to even enter. Like the building on the outskirts was more like a haunted house than just a formerly abandoned restaurant converted to a cultural school, and she was another ghost.

When the school opened, Shikai was aware that no one really talked about her because the only people who knew her were the higher-ranked shinobi she had met in the summit at Yuukou just days after the end of the war. She hadn't been introduced to anyone else, but she understood why. She was here as a delegate, a representative of a samurai country because she understood, even if only slightly, what Sasuke Uchiha had experienced. She thought it was an extremely big gamble for the post-war period.

And looking back at it now, maybe she really should have chosen some place nearer; not in the middle of an old training field, where passersby could mistake the building as haunted, even if she switched on all the lights at night. Well, it did look like a lantern from afar with its high shoji windows. It was like a beacon against the dark fields, something she'd only found in those old poetry books she read.

Haru joked one evening, "Before you know it, people are going to say it's like a candle by the window."

Shikai frowned then, knowing the undertone of that joke wasn't lost on either of them, and it wouldn't be lost on the older generation either. They've all survived wars too young to not know what that image meant. In the days after the Third World War, lit candles sat by windows tirelessly; the sight of it at night is just as haunting as nights sleeping with eyes open and bloody hands. Shikai knew it was one reason patrols didn't stay around the area for too long. Nobody wanted to be reminded of the war.

"Back then, candles were placed by the window to help ghosts find their way home." Shikai frowned. "And we've survived too many wars to know candles don't attract the ghosts we want."

In the aftermath of the Fourth World War, no lit candles were left by windows or doors. The only candles lit were either by gravestones or held in the hands of funeral goers and visitors. It was a reminder. It was a symbol of life. It was proof of survival. Those who lit candles weren't the dead, they were the who survived, who brought the dead with them each and every day of their life.

Haru reassured her, "Maybe the candles weren't meant for ghosts, but for people."

Back then, Shikai didn't even have candles with her.

But long before the school even opened, in the foggy starting days of the post-war, people didn't think of candles or the dead. The weight of it all hasn't been lifted. The bruises haven't healed. The wounds haven't stopped bleeding. The post-war wasn't even called the post-war, it was just called a lull period. The silence before the killing. The calm before the storm. Tensions were at an all-time high between countries, and the scattered forces just meant that in-fighting was bound to happen sooner or later.

And in places like these, shinobi, samurai, and civilians alike just knew that a bar brawl was bound to happen. It was only a matter of time.

"Maybe we're all ghosts. Maybe we've been dead for a long time, but we just didn't know it."

It wasn't every day one might overhear the "living legend" Hatake Kakashi wax poetics on a spring night, much less witness him under the influence of alcohol. How he drinks and eats with his mask still on was an S-rank technique in itself, but it was understandable. There was the pressure of becoming Sixth Hokage and the unexpected attention of too many people from too many villages. For a man like him, that was too much to handle sober.

"Everything's too much to handle sober."

And for a man like Shiranui Genma, that should hold true for everyone else. Reports of unrest and disputes have started to come in by the dozen. It seemed that in-fighting was going to happen sooner rather than later. Too many people have started to come in and out of Konoha, but it wasn't that big of a deal. Konoha was the village of the war heroes themselves, and whoever wanted to start a fight– No. No one would dare start a fight. In this lull period after the war, they have it easy, he and all the shinobi that would have had to work double or triple just for this. He goes ahead and orders another bottle.

"The last one's already sold, sir."

The bartender pointed to a corner booth where a hunched figure was nursing a tumbler. The said bottle sat unopened on the table, beside another that's already empty. Anyone would have thought it was just another person drowning their sorrows away, but the empty bottle was the expensive kind. It was the kind usually bought for celebrations. Were they celebrating? Were they an enemy? But nobody at the bar wanted to think about it, so nobody at the bar did anything about it.

"What about beer?"

And for men like Namiashi Raidou, that was how it should be. There weren't any enemies, at least not in the normal sense. In this war, enemies became allies for the sake of a common goal, and since the war wasn't over yet, nobody here was an enemy. For men like Raidou, whoever would buy entire bottles for themselves should be left alone. Ally or former enemy, straggler or passerby, they're all in Konoha now. Raidou didn't want to risk a bar fight over a bottle of gin, no matter how good it was.

But everyone else at the table didn't think so.

"Anything after this tastes like piss."

Neither Aoba nor Iwashi.

"Whiskey?"

Ibiki sipped whatever's left of the gin in his glass, almost desperate.

"And deal with a shitty hangover in the morning? No thanks."

Definitely not Anko.

"One for the road, huh?"

Kakashi was face-down on the table, fingers pressed against his empty tumbler.

"Go get it, Raidou."

Genma said it like it should have been automatic, like he expected Raidou to do it.

He scoffed at him then. "You're paying."

So Raidou approached the drinker with a casual ease, careful not to provoke, lest he unwittingly start a brawl over something so trivial.

"You drinking for one, or for an entire platoon?"

The lone occupant didn't move to stand or shift in their seat, they simply moved their head to acknowledge him.

It was one of Shikai's first nights in Konoha. And while she has been to this village several times, it was under different circumstances. In the times she had been in Konoha, it wasn't for anything as admirable as this. She was no delegate or representative; she was a criminal messenger. She was a courier. She was a spy. Under the employment of a certain organization, she misused–abused–her title and whatever right it granted her, but that has long past now. She had cut ties long before rumors of this war even started brewing. Yuukou had already forgiven her now, gave back her name and her title and honored (or mocked?) her with the position of delegate to the shinobi countries. Yes, she was far from being a criminal now, but when she looked at the shinobi in this bar, she felt as if she was intruding on something. She, the lone samurai, intruding into such a bleak atmosphere.

"You drinking for one, or for an entire platoon?"

She didn't expect anyone to approach her, much less a shinobi. She only wanted to drink tonight, to help her sleep as she had done in Yuukou; alcohol kept the shadows bright and the ghosts at bay. She didn't see the need for physical company. Not as much as before, when she frequented brothels and pleasure houses, when she looked for auburn hair and brown eyes in hazy, incense-filled rooms. But in this post-war lull period, she wanted nothing but to drown herself in alcohol and bright, bright lights.

She turned to look at the man standing by the table. At that moment, she started to regret not taking the bottle home instead.

"Depends on what the platoon's level of tolerance is."

She found the sight of him easy. He was tall and lean, tanned. The scar on his face drew her attention more than anything else. He was a shinobi, judging from his attire, and she knew better than to cause trouble. She only came here for a drink. She was a stranger in this place, with no prior ties to protect her.

"What about that platoon?"

He pointed to a table where people like him, all shinobi and all still in uniform, were making do with whatever was left of their order. A tinge of pity started bubbling in her chest, and she couldn't help but feel for them. She already had an entire one for herself, anyway.

She slid the unopened bottle toward him.

"Bottle's already been paid for."

He took it in his hands.

"Well, thank you for your patronage, miss…"

"I'm just another barfly here. Goodbye."

She took it as her cue to leave and walked away quickly. Like there was no alcohol in her system. Like she was clean and sober and just fine. She had built quite the tolerance over the years, and that wasn't good. In order to drown the shadows, she would need to drink more, drink expensively and excessively.

What happened to her–to all of them–during the war was certainly not good. Visions of a better future, of a life lifted from the most selfish of dreams, with the most vivid of sensations... that would do no one any good. It didn't do her any good, that's for sure. It only made her relapse. Her recovery had been going so well, and now...

Now there was a ghost lingering in the shadows, a ghost with too many faces and too many voices.

"Let's go home."

The ghost could speak, but she kept pretending not to hear it. Each time it appeared at the edge of her periphery, it tempered her. It dared her to see whose face it decided to wear. But each time, she would choose to look away, to look ahead and hold her head high as if she was still so righteous and pure.

She sees one shinobi at the table, a face she remembers from the summit in Yuukou. But she had never been good at putting names to faces, so she just walked past them. And the shinobi didn't remember her either, because he didn't even look at her. That is how it should be.

Yuukou gave her a building of her own. They gave her a school of her own, to pattern after her parents'. Her mother's school was the Kongoukengo-ryu, focusing on a firm and solid style of swordsmanship, and their line of samurai extended far longer than most shinobi lineages. Her father had a school of his own too, as he was born into the lineage of the legendary swordsmith himself, Amakuni Yasutsuna. But such names meant little in this age of shinobi; their names collected nothing but dust when they used to garner fame throughout.

And that's just how it is now. Her name doesn't matter as much anymore. Her title doesn't matter as much as it should have. No one in Konoha has heard of her or her family. She has a school of her own now, but no students and no distinct style or teaching. Did Yuukou really consider her to have a high promise to establish her own school? And in a shinobi country, no less.

And because she still couldn't sleep that night, she decided to do her katas inside with all the lights turned on. There was no moon out, and the field was too dark. When she was younger, she would do her katas in the darkness with only the light of the moon and stars. But now, the dark is too dark, too reminiscent of the time she was trapped in her own head, fighting against her own self.

So she does her katas under the bright artificial lights, savoring what breeze comes in through the windows. She does each and every movement like clockwork. She's just going through the motions instilled into her from a young age. It all flows easily, like a river through its ancient course. None of this is difficult. Everything comes naturally, like prayers in a temple, like rain in the summer.

Her body stiffens the moment the lights burn out.

She breathes stiffly, sharply. She feels like she's drowning, as if the dark had become as heavy as water. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. She shouldn't panic now. This was only a blackout. Something must have short-circuited. She can go out and check. She should go out and check.

So she rushes out, fast and nearly stumbling. She fills her mind with images from memory. She tries to remember shapes and distances and levels. But it's not completely dark. Some objects glinted where the light hit them.

"Do you remember those nights–"

She shoves past the door before the ghost finishes its sentence.

She didn't expect a guest, much less a familiar face.

"A bit late to go out, don't you think?"

It's the shinobi from the Yuukou summit. Should she feel threatened? But she straightens herself and adjusts her eyes to the light to see him.

"I'm sorry. Should I know you?"

"No, I don't believe we've met personally." He offers a hand. "Hatake Kakashi."

Oh, now she remembers him! He was the future Rokudaime Hokage. That's why he was at the Yuukou summit. But what was he doing here, so far out of his way, so far from the main streets, at this time of night?

"Amakuni Shikai," she introduced herself. "What brings you here at this time of night?"

"I was just in the area. I thought I would pass by."

She doesn't believe him, but doesn't ask any further. It wasn't her place, anyway.

"I can see why you chose this place." He looks around. "Open fields. Fresh air. Away from everything else."

None of it answers her question.

"I have to thank the Godaime herself." She admits. "She allowed for this to happen, she and all at the summit."

"I can only imagine how you feel."

He sounds like he sympathizes, but she doesn't understand why. He doesn't even know her.

"So what's your opinion of having a partner?"

She didn't expect his question.

"I'm sorry?"

He clears his throat. "A sparring partner. Or partners."

Well, she hadn't really considered it. She was here to teach students once she has them. And sure, she's had sparring partners when she was younger, but none of them stuck because they all had to go be in service of whoever hired or wanted them. She didn't think of having one, or some, here where there are no other samurai.

"I would be sparring with shinobi?"

"Well…" he shrugged. "You can think about it. We're in no rush."

"We." The word intimidates her. There are more people involved in this than she thought. Probably more than just him and the Godaime and the council. That would mean there are more people waiting for what she does, what she says… Would Yuukou be involved in this too?

"I think that would be a welcome change."

He agrees with her. "It would."

As if on cue, the lights come back on, bright and burning like a signal in the dark.

"Now that it's settled," he takes his leave, "I'll be on my way now."

She acknowledges him, thinking it was still too strange for him to go out of his way just to tell her that.

"But why ask now?" She called after him. "Not in the morning?"

"Godaime's orders." He waved. "Can't delay it any further. And thanks for the drink, we appreciated it."

Huh. How strange these shinobi are.

She turns to the open door and appreciates the light pouring out. She likes that it's too bright, too burning. Here, no shadows can exist.

As the days passed, the old and decrepit building began to look cleaner and friendlier, like it was being refurbished and renovated from the inside out. Raidou hears about this like everyone else does, through gossip and hearsay. The grapevine in Konoha runs far and deep into the crevices and the cracks. If the walls could talk, they would chatter endlessly.

So when Kakashi asks him. "What do you think about taking up the blade again?"

He has one question. "For the samurai?"

Everyone knows that Raidou prefers the sword over everything else, but standard-issue shinobi weapons are fine. Kunai and shuriken can do the job just fine, and the occasional use of a tanto is good, but he knows nothing can beat the sleek edge of a fine katana.

"Swords are more your thing, right? She'll appreciate it, as will you."

Raidou thinks Kakashi is setting him up.

"What about the off-duty ANBU?"

"Busy with what's going on in the post-war."

"Post-war." Could they really call this period that? After everything that had happened, and with everything that was still happening, could they really call this period that?

He deadpans. "You want me to play a student to the samurai."

"No, more like… a companion." Kakashi suggested. "A sparring partner."

Raidou doesn't believe him. They're both aware of the near-dismal state of the supposed cultural school. With the ongoing transfer of the creative arts to somewhere closer to the main streets, nobody was really going to the samurai's place unless it was just to see what it was about.

"And this is one of your initiatives, Rokudaime-sama?"

He used the title mockingly, enjoying Kakashi's visible eye twitch.

"The Godaime's, actually," he shrugs. "I'm only here as the messenger."

"Did she say anything about increased pay?"

"It's the post-war, Raidou."

Kakashi said it like it should be obvious. If there are no missions, there's no pay. If this is the post-war, it means everything goes into rehabilitation and rebuilding. Money and resources are things shinobi countries don't have a lot of, but the nobles and samurai do. So it made perfect sense to play the student and get the resources they need. For Raidou, this should be easy.

"All right," he says. "When do I start?"

"Later, if you don't have anything else to do."

Did Kakashi delay asking on purpose?

Shikai had never been in awe of a shinobi's swordsmanship before. Maybe it's in the rarity of it all. Maybe it's how unexpectedly good he is. Maybe it's in the way he carries himself. She watches him perform katas the same way she used to watch samurai from her childhood, in awe and in envy. There's a certain grace about how he moves, fluid like water and sharp like the wind. It resembles their own movements, and she wonders if it was a samurai who taught him to properly wield a sword. She's never heard of a sword style founded by any shinobi, much less one that so closely resembles their own.

But he finishes the first set of katas. The springtime breeze brushes his hair out of his eyes, pushes past columns and beams, and fills the room with a cool, comforting air. She would have never realized that her skin might be flushed under all her clothes if it wasn't for the wind.

"Good. You're good."

She hoped it wouldn't show on her face, but her voice betrayed her all the same.

"Thank you, Amakuni-dono."

She doesn't even know his name, whether he came here willingly or was forced to. She was told they would be introducing to her a shinobi who had some skill with the sword, but she never expected him to be nearly on par with her. She assumes he had been training all his life, that she would feel the roughness of his hands if she were to touch him.

But that would be uncouth of her, after she's been treated with so much respect by these people.

"The sword is your weapon of choice? Not kunai, not shuriken," she noted the absence of a holster on him. "Not even a tanto or wakizashi?"

She knows the appeal of carrying weapons that are lightweight and effective. If she had a choice…

He replies, "Swords are more durable. They last thrice as long and don't require as much sharpening."

She eyes the blade in his hand. It's a plain katana, unsigned by any swordsmith. She supposed it's mass-produced. She had seen ANBU agents carry them on their backs. Maybe he was one of them. She didn't ask who they would be sending. All she asked was how skilled he was, and they said he was exceptional. Maybe she shouldn't have lowered her expectations too much.

She tells him, "That depends on the smith and the tempering. Swords take a bit more time and cost a bit more to make."

Her aunt once joked about how samurai would only be monogamous in one thing their entire lives, and that is their weapon of choice. Despite how they're trained in several weapons and styles, in the end there's always a choice made. Some would choose the bow or the spear. Most would choose the sword. Few would choose anything else. She wonders if shinobi are faced with the same kind of decision.

"I understand." He nodded. "My grandfather was a swordsmith himself."

She likes how he keeps surprising her with all this. Maybe she should have asked more about the shinobi they'd be sending. Maybe she should have asked for his name at least. Maybe then this wouldn't be so awkward.

"I'm sorry, but I never got your name."

She's not young anymore, neither of them are, so she doesn't flush in embarrassment or shyness. She keeps her head level and her breathing steady as she waits for his answer.

"Raidou." He says, "Namiashi Raidou."

"I'm sure he would be very proud. It's a pleasure to meet you, Namiashi-san."

She bows out of respect. When she rises, she sees that he's bowed as well. She thinks he can be one of her first new friends in Konoha. Haru did tell her to find more people to spend time with.

Her exact words were, "Keep the ghosts out by inviting more people in."

At that time, Shikai told her, "I don't think the building could take too many occupants at once."

"Then kick one out."

Shikai frowned. At that time, she wanted to ask Haru, "Where would it go, then?"

Today, looking back on everything that's happened in the past few weeks, Shikai thinks this must be what a post-war looks like, feels like. She's also started to fully appreciate living here, away from everything else, living closer to the fields and trees. This is closer to her home in Yuukou. She should feel more welcome here.

"Where did the dog go?"

But there are ghosts that linger and there are ghosts that refuse to leave.

A/N: That was… a different route.

As always, feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading!