Yamanaka Sakura (the one with Freckles) was heavily pregnant—less than three months left—and tired.
Her sister, Yumi, was humming to her son as she paced the kitchen. He'd had a bit of a stomach upset, and Yumi hadn't thought she should visit pregnant, but…
"I just don't know what to do," Freckles said. "Hibiki—"
Yumi frowned.
Freckles froze.
It had been months. Literal months.
And still no one quite believed it was only a one-night stand.
It had been, was the worst thing.
If she hadn't missed her period, if she hadn't begun freaking out, then it might not have remained one night, but—
It was.
It was.
And she didn't like Hibiki anymore!
And she didn't know why no one would believe her.
(This was a lie. Freckles wanted it to be true, though, so perhaps if she said it enough…)
"What are you arguing about this week?"
"Did you know that Uchiha Mikoto is pregnant?" Freckles snapped out, then froze.
Yumi froze too.
"You did not tell me that. You did not just tell me that." Yumi said.
Freckles—"I am so, so sorry. Oh my god, I'm so sorry."
"You did not just tell me that. How do you even—no, I don't want to know. You did not just tell me that."
Freckles swallowed.
Yumi was right, after all.
She shouldn't know.
(She didn't know, technically. She'd just seen Mikoto slipping into the doctor's office as she was leaving once, heard that the Clan Head's wife had a 'stomach bug' when she was visiting Hibiki last. She might not even be right and, on top of that, even if she were correct—
You never said someone was pregnant before they did.
Too much could go wrong.)
"You did not just tell me that," Yumi repeated, once again, and Freckles suddenly remembered that she'd mentioned her suspicion to Hibiki.
That… wasn't good.
.
It was pitch black.
There were a few hours until dawn, though how many was lost to Inuzuka Kegawa.
It had been a cloudy evening before the sunset, and even now—hours later—not a single star could be seen.
They were far enough from any city, any village, too, that no lamplight could be seen.
There was no fire.
It wasn't necessary, not in the heat, and anyway Kegawa had never enjoyed anything which made it harder to smell the rest of the world.
It did—
It did give the world a certain… aura, though.
When it was dark, like this.
So dark there weren't any stars, any light at all to give anyone an idea of what was around them.
Made you feel like you should just close your eyes, try to go on living in the morning.
Some of it was tiredness, a sort of external push towards sleep.
But the rest of it was—
Was the feeling of danger, really.
Of the unknown.
Of humanity's inherent inability to keep safe from every danger.
If Orochimaru were to appear just before her, close enough to feel his breath, there was nothing she could do to stop him.
(This was true in the daylight, as well. It just felt… truer, at night.)
Kegawa sniffed, shuffled.
She could smell something.
She'd like to look to her partner, but she couldn't see her.
She tapped lightly on the ground instead, trusting in the hearing of the ninken.
An unusually long breath—she'd picked it up too.
But what to do?
Kegawa closed her eyes—couldn't see anything, anyway—and remembered where her teammates were.
Had they gotten lucky?
Was their bounty mere heartbeats away?
Her teammates were well-trained, woke without issue.
They were older—she'd joined their team after the death of their last Inuzuka partner—and she could hear no hesitation in their movements.
The scent grew stronger.
It wasn't one she recognized, wasn't one her ninken recognized either: definitely not their bounty.
So who?
Whoever it was didn't mind walking in the dark.
So—no need to keep it up, then.
"Light!"
The Uchiha Kegawa worked with didn't hesitate—
Dozens of small balls of fire, unlikely to set off any of the foliage, spread in every direction.
There—
There?
Kegawa ducked.
The man in the mask didn't hesitate, chucking out another three knives as Kegawa and the Uchiha managed to get out of the way of the first round.
Soma Aizo, the third member of their team, wasn't so lucky.
"Shoulder!" He shouted, hesitating a second before falling back.
Kegawa swallowed.
She needed to give him time to work with his poisons, to get something set up.
Uchiha Kisaku was working with fire, trying to keep the someone away—
Kegawa tried to loop around—
The someone was better than her, kept her from flanking while focusing on Uchiha—
Hadn't noticed the ninken—
(Had, actually. Must have had. Could see in the dark. But didn't consider her a danger, Kegawa realized, and then there were two things to keep the stranger distracted from.)
The stranger wasn't using ninjutsu, which was interesting, but had managed to pin them back with weapons.
Uchiha was hit, now.
Kegawa was convinced, now, that the weapons had some sort of poison—the knives smelled weird.
It had been some time since she'd last heard from Soma.
And then Kegawa sensed it—her ninken was in position.
Together they leapt.
Kegawa ignored the scrape of two knives far too close to her neck—this might be their only chance—and gave into her bloodline, feeling it twist her shape, combine it with Josei's –
Another scrape of the knife, this one against her stomach, and they hit.
The stranger splintered apart, Kegawa landing in a heap.
Puppet.
.
The storm was as bad as any in the bay between the Land of Lightning and the Land of Earth.
Of course, this one wasn't natural.
The boy trembled, feeling the eyes of his superiors behind him.
Kiri's latest attempted coup had just ended, and the boy's family had chosen the wrong side.
The boy trembled again, collapsed.
It would take hours for the storm to dissipate, but the effect of his collapse was immediate: the rain lessened, the lightning stopped coming in half-second increments, and the wind stopped roiling around them.
The boy, oldest of the still surviving Arashi clan, turned trembling to the Third Mizukage.
"I serve you," He implored, "I swear. Please allow me and my family to prove our loyalty."
He could see, from his position on the beach, his siblings and cousins.
Bound.
Gagged.
Waiting to see if they, too, would be sentenced to death.
The Third Mizukage pursed his lips.
Killing entire clans, particularly when their leaders chose the wrong side of the latest of the never-ending internal struggles of Kirigakure, was common.
But it had become too common.
The mainland wasn't aware, likely wouldn't be for some time, but Kirigakure was beginning to have manpower issues—such severe ones, in fact, that kidnapping children had become an official goal of every raid—a goal every faction agreed with, too.
The problem was, the winners never wanted to appear weak.
Never wanted to allow the other factions to believe there was an opening.
And this one—
The boy's uncle had been an infiltrator.
Had hidden his identity (the Arashi had well-known allegiances) and—
Well, waited.
Until the right moment.
The storm had been sudden, severe. Overwhelming.
It had allowed their lightning-natured allies, the Denka, to have plenty of lightning to pull from, to have jump from enemy to enemy to enemy in a seemingly endless chain.
The Denka had been overwhelmed by the Hunter-nin, all clanless, all entirely loyal to the Mizukage.
The Arashi had not, but at a certain point it became clear that it was only a matter of time.
And so the adults had attempted to surrender.
And been slaughtered.
And now the boy—
The Mizukage grinned, sharp-toothed.
"Kill those without shinobi potential. Put the rest in the Academy—loyalty division."
Loyalty.
The boy keened.
Loyalty.
Where, out of every class of twenty, there were a maximum of ten surviving graduates—because to graduate you had to kill a classmate.
Loyalty.
And right now, killing him would prove theirs—would be a sign, to the Great Mizukage, that they wouldn't turn.
Wouldn't play sleeper agent.
Loyalty.
A death sentence, with just barely enough hope that the boy felt obliged to stay alive, help his kin train in the desperate hope that he could keep them alive too.
It was easier without a clan, the boy thought.
It was easier when you had no family loyalty beyond your immediate kin.
But he hadn't been so lucky.
Perhaps, however…
An older ninja, muscle-bound and heavy with an intimidating aura, grabbed the boy, began dragging him by the neck back to Kirigakure.
And the boy began to plan.
It was too late for him; they knew his face.
But his younger siblings—and the Arashi didn't have distinctive features, anyway—perhaps—
He would need to find trustworthy strangers, always a difficult task, but if he tried, if he got lucky…
Perhaps his clan wouldn't die out totally.
And then they could have their revenge.
