Mitokado Supaku was an unflappable man. He was the sort of man that was so unflustered that you couldn't imagine anything, even a hurricane, might cause him to react.
This was, of course, all an act.
He was as human as anyone else.
He loved his family, his clans, his students, his protégé Shin—he hated too, and envied and missed and grieved and—
Well, the point was that he felt, just as much as anyone else.
He just didn't tend to show it.
Now, at Miyagi, the largest port-city in Kuni, he was very specifically not showing how much of a headache he had.
Miyagi's port was like no other, or at least like no other in Kuni. It sprawled across the seafront, it had multiple stories of wooden boardwalks, and it had so many piers that it sometimes felt impossible to count them all.
Most of the samurai's fleet was built and maintained in Miyagi.
Miyagi was also the most popular Kuni-port destination for merchants.
Even when Kuni had begun their attacks, both chakra-based and chemical-based, the port hadn't shut down.
It couldn't, really; too many relied on it.
Instead, even more samurai were shifted into the town, even more ninja too, and an increasing amount of security attempted, as much as was possible, to protect Kuni from external threats while still allowing the external benefits through.
It was…
Well, smuggling had certainly shot up.
And now he was here, miserable and frantic and completely done and with an utterly placid countenance.
His samurai counterpart looked similarly flat-faced, but the two of them both knew better.
Still, there was no point in showing it - nothing good would come out of displaying just how freaked out they were, just how insane they thought the situation was.
The samurai - Supaku really needed to start referring to him by his name - let out a soft woosh of breath as the latest of the frantic employees rushed out of the room.
The place was a mess.
With the increased smuggling, the constant danger, the needless and painfully slow bureaucracy -
Fourteen days.
He'd been here for fourteen days.
It felt like a lifetime.
It was springtime, Supaku knew, but it didn't feel like it.
It felt like some sort of cruel, stupid joke.
The world seemed to agree with him; for all that the calendar might say they had passed the winter months the temperature and weather were still hovering in the same place they had been two months ago, and even the month before that.
It felt like an endless winter, the sort that sapped one's strength until they had little to nothing left.
Of course, he knew that wasn't true.
It was chillier than usual for that time of year, true, but if he hadn't been thrown to the wolves, so to speak, he wouldn't have cared nearly as much.
Now, though, dealing with the clusterfuck that was Miyagi's port, all he could think of was how a little warmth would be nice.
The samurai sighed, shuffled papers, and then began to write.
The many, many scribes that scattered in front of them, desperately trying to reorganize what had by now been recognized as decades of scatter-brained leadership, couldn't do everything alone - it was their duty to guide them, to coach them to success.
Supaku straightened, stood.
The scribes' eyes shot up, their bodies frozen like frightened deer. Neither he nor the samurai had done anything to deserve such treatment, but they were both elite military men who led every other man of their ilk in the town, so it wasn't as if he'd expected them to act any different.
It just grew a bit tiresome.
As he walked out into the main courtyard it calmed him somewhat, though admittedly not much, to see the day-to-day functions of the port continuing unabated.
His shinobi were perched here, there, and everywhere, keeping an eye out for hidden dangers, while the samurai checked papers and rifled through bags and crates and the hired men loaded shipments on and off various ships. One man was being led away, just at the periphery of Supaku's vision - it was only by two samurai, though, and none of the others nor any of the shinobi seemed much interested, so he supposed it must've been a typical smuggling issue.
It was less the smuggling he minded, and more that they thought they could get away with it right under Kuni's nose.
They were in the port, the port that held the samurai's navy, and still people couldn't seem to help themselves.
It said something about the human condition, Supaku was sure.
He didn't care for it.
The sun was beginning to set, it was cold, he'd been put in charge of a wreck only after it had begun to crash, and the man he was working with had such a long, frustratingly noble name, that Supaku refused to even think of it out of principle.
He was days behind the paperwork—had been days behind since he arrived—and he'd been placed here specifically because Konoha expected Kiri to do something, soon, and they needed to be in top shape before that happened.
At least, he considered, he wasn't fighting Kumo.
.
"I hadn't expected the Land of Lightning to be so wrinkly."
"Wrinkly?"
"Yes—the mountains. You know, up-down, up-down. Like the forehead of a very angry continent." Genma squinted, tracing the lines of the mountains on the map as he tried to describe his vision.
Kurenai, at least, was paying attention. "What's Fire, then?"
"Hm… a cheek, I guess. With lots and lots of stubble—that's the forest. Iwa's the nose, all pointy and big and pock-marked with acne. Wind's what's below—its river's like a drooling mouth."
"And the islands?"
"Spittle."
Asuma rolled his eyes, shuffling the shogi pieces in frustration as he waited for Ibiki to arrive. "The continent looks nothing like a face."
"Yes it does—"
"No it doesn't!"
"What's gotten you into a mood?" Kurenai said, looking up from her leaf exercises.
"His Dad's busy again—back to the war."
"It's always the war. War this, war that, now there's a war in Tea—don't people ever get tired of war?"
"I won't!" Genma said. "I'll be so good at fighting, that I can do it for days on end—like Minato."
Minato, at least, made Asuma happy. Minato was going to take over, and soon his father would be able to spend more time with him and the rest of his family.
Of course, it felt like years now since that was first promised.
His shoulders slumped again, and he knocked his board over—he was done playing nice, just wanted to be alone. "Leave!"
"What?"
"Leave now!"
"You're not the boss of us!"
"Yes I am! I'm the Hokage's son! Watch me!"
And then, because he knew that if he stayed they'd just fight more and he didn't want to fight, just wanted to be by himself, Asuma stormed off.
He fancied he could feel the eyes of the ANBU on him, but no one stopped him.
He stormed past shops, and apartments, and clan compounds, and the hospital, and then he turned right and began stomping toward one apartment in particular.
Kato Doi seemed very surprised, indeed, when he opened his door to find the Hokage's youngest.
"You're a parent."
"Yes, I am."
"And you fought—lots—to see Shizune, got my Dad really mad and everything."
"I prefer to think I got him exasperated, but yes."
"Then don't you think my Dad should fight more to see me?"
Kato Doi stood still for a moment, then sighed, opening the door wider and pausing a second after the boy had entered to allow his unseen guards to easily get in too.
"It's a constant battle all of us shinobi fight," Kato began to explain after he'd poured out tea for the two of them, "between our careers, our families, our friends, and our hobbies. We need to have a little of each—we'd go mad otherwise—but at various points one or another might take priority. While Shizune was out of the city my worry for her safety meant that she took priority whenever I was able to do anything about her. Now I send her to the Academy, and to friends' houses, and even," and his voice here slowed, struggled to get the words out, "to Tsunade—and I work, or while she's asleep I go have a drink with some friends or indulge in my painting hobby. Maybe I combine several too—I work with my friends, after all, and I'm teaching Shizune how to garden, another hobby of mine."
Asuma frowned, sipping carefully at his tea. "How do I get to be more important to my Dad?"
"Well," Doi said delicately, "I'm sure this conversation will be reported back, for one. That might help. Also, you could ask him if there's any hobbies he might share with you—I know the Hokage spends a few minutes every morning pruning a few bonsai trees, so perhaps he could teach you that."
Asuma's face—which had initially screwed up at the idea of something so boring as miniature trees—settled into a different expression, one that announced to its watchers that he didn't mind the idea of being bored at all if it meant a few more minutes with his father.
Doi tried not to wince.
"Then, of course, you can supplement what time you can't get with your father with school, and your friends, and some hobbies of your own."
This Asuma had no interest in. "I'm already doing that," he said, his voice taking on a slightly whiny quality. He noticed it, sipped again—the boy really was very intelligent, only seven or so and already taking his etiquette lessons to heart. He even chose a man who it might be reasonably expected he'd be allowed to talk to over this subject, given that Doi had no clan allegiances but was—through his niece—closely aligned with one of the Hokage's own students.
"I have no other suggestions, I'm afraid." Doi said, some minutes later. Most of his didn't seem to be much use anyway, but at least Asuma seemed more or less assured that his father, for all his faults, did love him and want to spend time with him.
"That's alright, then." Asuma said. "My brother promised to hang out with me after his taijutsu training, anyway." And off he went.
.
Uchiha Obito stared at nothing. He could see, a little, but in the dim light it didn't seem to matter.
His team had left him behind.
His clan hadn't, which was something, but they couldn't cure him, could do nothing to fix his eyes.
Instead, he lay in bed all day, and waited.
For what, he wondered?
To get up the nerve to commit suicide?
The idea had certainly been on his mind more, recently.
His family would be horrified, so he wouldn't do it, but –
He hated feeling useless, feeling abandoned.
A gust blew in the room, and Obito's nose scrunched—he'd thought the window closed. He squinted, tried to see through the dim nothing, but the shadows failed to coalesce.
Instead, a voice spoke.
"Do you know me?"
"Oh," Obito said, "yes." He'd recognize that voice anywhere.
"Good." The voice seemed to smile, to appreciate being known. "Let's get to it, then; I have a proposition for you." In a few short phrases, each more enrapturing than the last, the voice promised Obito his eyes back, his strength back, promised him even more strength than that—an idea that the Hokage wouldn't support, the voice admitted, thus the secrecy, but only because of the risk, of the possible pain to Obito. The voice put the option in the boy's hands instead—"should it not be you to decide whether the possible benefits are worth it?"
Obito's eyes blinked rapidly against tears. This—this—this was exactly what he'd wanted. Exactly what the Uchiha couldn't give him, what his team didn't bother enough to try. What was risk, what was pain? At least this way he could look his family in the eye in the afterlife. At least this way his death—should it occur—might mean something. "Yes." Obito said, barely having to think about it at all. "Yes, Sannin Orochimaru. I trust you."
The boy and the snake summoner vanished.
.
Less than twenty minutes later Uchiha Fugaku, leader of the Uchiha clan, was in front of the Hokage.
Namikaze Minato seethed just behind him, and—after no less than three attempts to throw him out failed—Hatake Kakashi glowered in a corner.
Uchiha Obito was missing, and that made a great many people very upset.
"I believe the Uchiha Police is more than capable of—"
"Have they found him?"
Fugaku's mouth opened but he hesitated, not wanting to say what everyone already knew.
Again, the Hokage repeated. "Have they found him?"
More silence.
A beat, and then the oldest man in the room turned to the student of his student. "You may expend whatever resources you think are necessary."
Minato, and by proxy Kakashi, vanished by the 'y' in necessary.
Fugaku didn't look pleased, but he didn't look angry either. Still, there were proper channels—"With the founding of Konohagakure the Uchiha were given leave to internal—"
"This isn't merely an internal matter. In case you have forgotten, Uchiha Obito is still on the rolls as an injured shinobi. We are in the middle of a war, and you and I both know the lengths our enemies will go for one of your eyes."
Fugaku nodded stiffly. He didn't think it was an outside threat—the boy had grown listless over the past several weeks, and his carers had warned of growing depression—but it was absolutely a possibility that shouldn't be overlooked. Nevertheless…
"It happened in Konoha's walls—"
"Which are merely walls. They can be breached." A pause, as both men realized their points had been made, then the Hokage shifted forward once more. "Namikaze Minato has been in here ever since the Battle of the Kannabi-Bridge asking why he's received no correspondence nor been allowed to talk with Obito directly. I have of course forwarded those messages onto you, though I'm sure you received plenty firsthand, but didn't pursue further; internal clan matters are well defended in Konohagakure.
Nevertheless, Namikaze Minato is to take my place once this damned war is over. And when he does he will expect answers, answers over why you kept the boy hidden away. You'd better hope we find him fast, or Minato will blame that on you too."
"You are admitting he relies too heavily on his emotions instead of logic?"
"I am admitting that he, as much as I or you, is human. Humans don't tend to take their loved ones being threatened very well, and Uchiha Obito was his student. I will send my own contingent of searchers post-haste. Please use your resources as you see fit."
A pointed remark, then, to finish the meeting—a reminder that actions, and inactions, have consequences.
Fugaku frowned, but dutifully left.
Ideally the police would find the boy's body before his former sensei did.
.
The police did not find the boy's body.
Neither did Minato, or anyone else for that matter.
It was as if he'd vanished.
Rin had been woken up three hours into the first rest she'd gotten after a fourteen-hour surgery, and was in her uniform and beside her sensei before she'd even had time to clean the crust from her eyes.
Kakashi's hounds seemed to be everywhere—there were only three, the most he'd ever tried to summon at one time, but they bounced all over the Uchiha compound with the energy of wholehearted dedication.
The Inuzuka ninken, differentiated by their various human partners trotting loyally behind them, weren't much calmer.
And still—
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Minato growled.
It was a low sound, sort of rumbly, a sound that spoke of great anguish to whoever had caused it.
Uzumaki Kushina, who was talking with some of the researchers—Rin only recognized Researcher Yamanaka Sakura and, of course, the Sannin Orochimaru and Jiraiya—about fuinjutsu tracking methods—stared at him.
Everyone else tried very hard not to.
By now everyone was worried.
Rin knew enough to know that the Uchiha had suspected suicide in the beginning.
She could've told them that was foolish—he'd never do that, not with his family and team to think of.
They figured it out soon enough themselves, anyway, after all the usual spots to kill oneself were checked and he wasn't in any.
Then they started to look worried too.
Her team had been worried from the beginning.
An Uchiha would be a huge boon to any of Konoha's enemies. The faulty eyes might've even been considered a boon by his kidnappers; easy to keep him under control, and then they could just indoctrinate his offspring from birth.
It had been years since that last successful kidnapping.
Uzumaki Kushina's had been the last attempt, Rin thought, so it was no wonder she'd gotten so invested so quickly.
And still –
All of these people, so many of them geniuses, so many of them experienced, and—
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Rin was just about ready to scream.
She looked around, took in the focused but increasingly hopeless faces, and decided that she was a teenage girl. She was allowed to cry.
Kakashi winced when she started, but –
She always forgot that humans tended to take on some attributes of their summons.
His howl, full of grief and anger and distrust, reminded her.
The hounds joined next, then their sensei cried out, then more and more voices, the voices of those who had known Obito, who had been touched by him, shouting in fury at his absence.
.
Far away, in what seemed to be a room without doors or windows, Uchiha Obito sat up and listened.