Chapter 26: Muddy Waters

(Friday September 26 Morning Outskirts of Amegakure Random Inn Room Unknown)

~Tsunade~

The world spun the moment Tsunade cracked her eyes open, and she immediately regretted it. The dim light filtering through the window felt like a kunai stabbing directly into her skull. Her mouth was dry, the bitter taste of stale sake clinging to her tongue. Pressure pounded through her head, every throb exacerbating the nauseating rolls of her stomach.

"Ugh," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the edge of the futon as if it would stop the room from spinning. She cursed herself for not stopping after the third bottle. But, in the heat of the night, after Jiraiya had found her in that blasted gambling house, she'd been too far gone to care.

Now, the hangover was punishing her for every drink she'd thrown back.

"Morning, sunshine," came Jiraiya's annoyingly chipper voice from somewhere far too close for comfort.

Tsunade groaned again, clutching her forehead. "Shut up, or I swear I'll kill you."

Jiraiya chuckled, not at all deterred. "You look terrible, even by your standards."

"Thanks," she mumbled, her stomach turning over. She barely made it to the side before nausea overtook her, and she heaved into the bucket Jiraiya had—thoughtfully or mockingly—set beside her.

"Whoa there," he said, crouching beside her and, to her absolute mortification, holding her hair back with one hand. "Take it easy."

Her body trembled as she gagged again, her stomach rebelling against the night of excess. "I hate you," she rasped weakly between retches.

"You'll hate me more when I tell you what I found out the other night," Jiraiya teased, his tone laced with that infuriating mix of humour and concern he reserved for her. "But let's get you through this first, shall we?"

Tsunade squeezed her eyes shut again, gripping the edge of the bucket, willing the nausea to pass. She was going to kill him. Not now, because she could barely keep her head upright, but soon. The moment she was back on her feet.

"I don't need your help, you arse," she grumbled, but the usual bite wasn't there.

Jiraiya smoothed her hair back, his hand warm against the nape of her neck. "Maybe next time, don't try to out-drink the entire bar."

Tsunade wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She leaned back, the exhaustion pressing into her bones. "Don't tell me how to drink."

Jiraiya snuffled a laugh through his nose as if biting back the obvious retort. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He stood up with a grunt, grabbed the bucket, and disappeared into the bathroom. Tsunade listened to the quiet splash of water, the only sound in the room aside from her own uneven breathing. When he returned, he set the bucket down and slid back onto the futon next to her, saying nothing, just... there. Like he always was.

Tsunade eventually managed to sit up, though her head was still swimming. Her stomach had settled, if only slightly. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, her hands gripping the futon.

"Better?" Jiraiya asked, offering her a bottle of water, his eyes scanning her face.

She took it, too drained to acknowledge him beyond a faint nod, and drank deeply. She flicked the bottle cap between her fingers absently, her thoughts already drifting to other things. "Why are you still here?"

Jiraiya leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed loosely. "Oh, I couldn't leave without seeing you in your full post-gambling-house glory." His grin was wide. "That, and I wanted to check in on our wager."

Tsunade narrowed her eyes. "The wager."

He stretched his legs out beside her, looking entirely too comfortable for her liking. "You still don't believe they'll—"

"They won't," she cut in. She brought the bottle to her lips, staring Jiraiya down over the rim as she took a long sip of water.

"Oh, but they will."

Tsunade groaned, this time from more than the nausea rolling in her stomach. "What do you know?"

He idly adjusted his wrist guards, his tone casual. "I ran into Tenzō the other night."

Tsunade sighed, rubbing her temples with one hand. "I know. You bribed my informant with that poor man's smut and got nothing useful."

Jiraiya placed a hand over his heart, feigning offence. "You wound me, Tsunade. Icha Icha is a literary masterpiece."

"It's trash, and you know it," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "You don't know Nina like I do. She's not interested in complicating her life with someone like Kakashi."

Jiraiya's grin softened. "Maybe you're right. She's tough. Focused. She's got her head on straight."

Tsunade nodded, relieved that, for once, he seemed to agree with her. Jiraiya leaned back against the wall, the picture of casual confidence.

"But…" Jiraiya didn't laugh this time, his tone shifting. "You sure you're not projecting a little?"

The water bottle crumpled in Tsunade's fist, its brittle plastic offering no resistance. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jiraiya didn't flinch, didn't argue back. His silence was enough—leaving her alone with her thoughts, forcing her to contend with the uncomfortable truth he'd thrown at her.

Nina's not me.

Couldn't be. Nina was a shinobi first and wasn't the kind to let her heart get pulled into something foolish like—

Damn it.

Tsunade stared down at the mangled bottle in her hand, her thumb brushing over the crushed plastic. She didn't need Jiraiya's words to remind her of what—who—she had lost. She could feel it, the old ache in her chest, rising up like an unwelcome ghost.

Nawaki.

His face came to her first, just like it always did—young, bright-eyed and determined, carrying dreams that were far too big for his small frame. He had wanted to be Hokage, had been so certain of it, so sure that he could carry Konoha's future on his back. And she had believed him. Kami, she had believed it with everything she had. She had wanted it for him more than anything.

But the world doesn't care about dreams.

Her baby brother. Gone. Ripped away so quickly, so violently. The details had been told to Tsunade in clipped, emotionless reports—how they'd found what was left of him scattered among the debris, torn by the very thing he'd wanted to use to protect Konoha. They told her she wouldn't want to see, and a part of her was grateful for that—for being spared the sight.

Regardless, the image of it lived in her mind. Haunting her.

She hadn't been there to protect him. Hadn't been able to do a damn thing. And when they took him from her, it felt like they'd wrenched something out of her chest along with him. Some essential part of her she could never get back. The world had chewed his young life up, and what it spat out was a cruel mockery of the dreams he'd carried.

After that… well, nothing had felt safe anymore.

Until Dan.

He believed in a future for Konoha and peace. His dreams weren't as wild as Nawaki's had been, but they were just as impossible. Yet, there was something about him that made Tsunade want to believe again. She had let herself care, even after she'd sworn she wouldn't. Just once, she had let herself hope, thinking she could build a life outside the chaos. A life with him.

But that dream, too, was shattered.

Dan's life had bled out right in front of her, and Tsunade had been powerless to stop it. The wound was too deep, the bleeding too fast. No matter how hard she pressed her hands against him, no matter how many jutsu she tried, the blood kept coming. Kept spilling out. The others—her comrades—had been there, pulling at her, begging for her to accept what she already knew deep down: that Dan was dying. Was dead. But she had screamed at them, her voice raw and broken with grief.

"I can save him! Don't tell me I can't save him! I can save him!"

She'd tried—Kami, she'd tried—to save him. Every bit of her medical ninjutsu, every ounce of skill she had, but it hadn't been enough. Dan's blood—warm and sticky—had soaked her hands, staining her in a way that would never wash clean.

That had been the final blow. Tsunade hadn't just walked away from Konoha—she had run as fast and as far as she could. Throwing herself into the clattering dice and shuffle of cards while drowning herself in saké, trying to numb the pain that never went away. The losses had piled up, too heavy to carry, too painful to face.

Tsunade had spent years building her walls, keeping everyone out. But Jiraiya had always been there, just waiting on the other side, as if he knew the walls weren't as strong as she pretended they were.

Projecting?

Maybe she was. Or maybe it wasn't that she didn't think Nina could fall for Kakashi; it was that she didn't want her to. She didn't want Nina to open herself up to something that could destroy her. Because that was what caring—letting yourself care—did in their world. It took everything and left you hollow.

That was the reality of being a shinobi, wasn't it? You lived, you fought, and you lost. Over and over again. Until there was nothing left. Until all that was left were scars. It was a vicious cycle, an endless loop of life and death that gave no space for breath, for recovery.

Tsunade clenched her jaw, refusing to let the thoughts swirl any longer. The past was where it belonged—locked away.

She let her head fall onto Jiraiya's shoulder, exhaling a long, tired breath. "If you're wrong..." Her voice trailed off. The gambling, the drinking, the damned hope she kept tossing into the fire—how many times had she done this? Played the impossible odds, never knowing when to fold? "You owe me double."

Jiraiya wasn't a gambler—not like her—but somehow, he'd always been a part of her bets. They gambled, both of them, just in different ways.

"Deal," Jiraiya said.

The festival would decide who won, but for now, Tsunade rested. She leaned a little heavier against his shoulder, her eyes closing. The game was set, the pieces already in motion, and neither of them was going to walk away.

(Amegakure Inn Room 302 Morning)

~Pakkun~

Pakkun perched by the low table, paws resting lightly on the polished wood, his nose twitching in constant motion, deciphering the room as only a ninken could. Wetness hung in the air—damp sheets, a sharp bite of soap, sweat. His master's scent was unmistakable, but it was overlaid with something else. Something that should've never been part of this room.

His master never left the room like this after he had been with a woman—if that's what you could call it. There was always a sense of distance and detachment. As if whatever had happened was as easy to discard as the sheets that were used. A scratch for an itch. It was never about intimacy, not the kind that left its mark like this.

Trouble had a smell, and this room reeked of it.

His ears twitched as the door to the bathroom clicked open, Nina emerging with her hair pulled into a high ponytail. She wore plain clothes—a simple shirt and leggings. The kind of thing a kunoichi like her would throw on without much thought.

She hadn't spotted him yet, which gave Pakkun time to watch. To observe. Her shoulders sat a little too high, the tension creeping into her muscles as she moved toward the futon. She stopped, her hand hovered in the air, fingers twitching like they wanted to straighten the dishevelled sheets but couldn't quite commit to the action.

A tell.

Humans were full of them. And for all her discipline, Nina was no different. A kunoichi like her, who never bent the rules, suddenly looked at a loss.

She turned away before her hand made contact, busying herself with the pile of clothes in the corner. A distraction. Pakkun huffed softly.

"Yo."

Nina's body tensed, a flash of surprise crossing her features before she schooled them back into that guarded neutrality. But he saw the way her hand clenched around the shirt she had picked up.

Pakkun's nose twitched again, this time a little louder, a little more pointed. It didn't matter that she'd showered. Soap couldn't scrub away everything.

Yeah, girlie, you're not hidin' this one.

"I'm just here to deliver a message," Pakkun said, keeping his voice blunted. "Kakashi says to meet him at the orphanage. Somethin' about the festival tonight."

She didn't respond right away. Her eyes flicked to the futon again before she straightened her posture, crossing her arms in front of her chest. A defence mechanism Pakkun recognised, having seen enough shinobi dance around the aftermath of their own messes.

You can dress it up, walk around it, pretend it didn't happen, but it's still there.

He hopped onto the futon, his nose pressing into the still-warm, crumpled bedding. They hadn't slept together, not quite—not the way humans usually did—but that didn't mean the situation wasn't fraught.

Pakkun huffed. His master was in deep this time. Real deep. They had strayed far past what any shinobi rule would deem appropriate.

Shinobi Rule #4

A shinobi must always put the mission first.

Over the years, Pakkun had seen Kakashi hold to that rule with fixed discipline, like a second skin. He also knew when something threatened that rule. He scratched his ear absently before sniffing the air once more. No immediate threat, not the kind he was used to alerting his master to, but dangerous all the same.

Pakkun snorted, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the kunoichi. He knew her well—been on enough missions with her and Kakashi to know her type. Solid. Resolute. But there was something in the air now that made his hackles rise.

"Muddy waters, Sarutobi. Stirring 'em doesn't make 'em clearer," Pakkun said without accusation. Just an observation, the kind he was good at. The kind that didn't need sugar-coating.

Nina's only response was a grunt, her jaw setting tight as her brow furrowed. No need for words. She'd already built her walls high, trying to brace herself behind them.

Outside, the rain had finally let up, the patter against the window fading into quiet.

Then, there was a knock at the door. "Housekeeping!" a bright and oblivious voice called from the other side.

Pakkun shook his fur out, a low rumble in his throat. "Guess that's my cue."

He paused just before the door, casting Nina one last look over his shoulder. She hadn't moved. She was still standing there, arms crossed tight over her chest, trying to force herself back into that kunoichi mould. Tough as nails, sure. But even nails bent when you hit 'em wrong.

"Kakashi's waitin'. Don't take too long, kid," he muttered before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

~End of Chapter~