(Thank you to ScarredPunLover and MetalDragon for their help brainstorming and editing.)
"He is expecting you, sir," the masked Anbu guard murmured, stepping aside. "Enter."
How appropriate that the old man's final protector wears a gorilla mask. Deliberate choice or happy coincidence?
It must have been a choice, decided Orochimaru of the Sannin, amusing it would have been as a coincidence. The Anbu are the tool of the Hokage, after all. Stripped of personal identity, clan affiliation, and personal relationships for so long as the faces are obscured by their masks, they are free to carry out their orders unburdened by scruple or individual responsibility.
Of course, we all know that isn't really true. No matter how intricate the mask, the man within remains the same.
In this, Orochimaru spoke from experience. He had spent years behind many masks, both the outward bestial faces of the Anbu and much less obvious false faces.
And yet, no matter how many times a snake may cast its skin, the animal remains the same. And… he peered closer at the stock-still guard, anonymous in their black uniform and pale gray flak vest, don't I recognize you, my comrade? Hmm?
"Thank you, Koga," said the Sannin, smiling as the guard stiffened just enough to betray himself. "Keep up the good work."
The tower-top office of the Hokage remained much as it always had; perched above the Academy, bright with the sunlight flooding through the broad windows, and austere, almost free of decoration save for the great banner of fire that hung behind the desk, framing the military leader of Konohagakure against that village's symbol in the eyes of visitors.
Now, that impersonal, picked-bones impression served only to emphasize just how cold it was in the office overlooking the village. Though the windows were shut tight against the January chill and several braziers glowed with hot coals, the office was still cold, the winter warming its way through gaps in the sills and chinks in the walls. Eating into that flagging warmth.
Like a cooling corpse, the heat still lingers within the core even as the skin grows clammy. How appropriate indeed. If I didn't know Teacher as well as I do, I would suspect he'd developed a belated taste for the dramatic.
His Teacher sat behind his desk, just as he always had. As if Orochimaru had come only to deliver a regular report, or for a briefing on a standard mission.
Perhaps in a way I have come for just another briefing, though hardly for anything so transitory as a standard mission.
Thin smoke rose from the old wooden pipe clenched between Sarutobi Hiruzen's teeth as he surveyed his student, not deigning to say a word. Unbothered by the silent treatment, Orochimaru took the opportunity to survey the old man right back, making no effort to conceal his open appraisal.
All he found were more indications of the same flagging strength. His teacher's back was still upright, as straight as ever, but firmness had been replaced by rigidity. Hands that remained dangerous weapons were all but swallowed by the voluminous robes of winter-time felt, leaving the thin old man almost lost within the heavy fabric. A beard, once brown but now nearly completely gray, retreated from the world to a liver-spotted face lined with age and stress.
His hat of office, Orochimaru noticed, was not on his head. Instead, the headpiece of state, the weighty enameled iron construction passed down from the brow of Hashirama, sat instead atop the neat desk before the old man.
I get the distinct impression that he was staring at it before I came in.
"I believe," said his Teacher, his voice still powerful though faded with exhaustion and grief, "that you already know why I have summoned you here today, Orochimaru. Let us not mince words, then."
Not mince words? Hah. "The Professor" neglecting an educational opportunity? I'll believe that when I see it.
Outwardly, Orochimaru nodded. "As you wish. Yes, I think I know why you called me away from all of the various tasks I should be working on right now. Let's get this over with – there's plenty of work to be done. More now," he added, "than there was a day ago."
"Yes," agreed the Hokage, unflinching before the vague accusation. "There is much to be done. So be it."
With a clack, the old man set his pipe aside. Though his face remained as stoically neutral as it had been these last three years, long experience told Orochimaru that he was now the sole focus of the Sandaime Hokage's full attention.
"It is clear that my time as this village's protector has come to an end," pronounced the Hokage. "I have trusted too easily, and time and again my trust has proven misplaced. Lord Fugaku and Lord Hiashi have already stated in no uncertain terms that they have lost confidence in my leadership as a result. They are right to say as much, for I am forced to agree with their righteous anger. I have made too many mistakes to continue in good conscience as the leader of Konohagakure."
First sensible thought you've had in months, Teacher, thought Orochimaru, entirely untroubled by any sympathetic pangs.
The burden of leadership was heavy, the burden of wartime leadership was heavier still; that great weight did not justify a peace-at-all-costs policy, certainly not after the sheer scope of the damages of what had already been termed the Third Great Ninja War.
Peace without rancor or reparations from Iwa would have been bad enough, but could have had a chance of lasting, thanks to Minato's annihilation of their fighting strength. But peace with Kumo, without a decisive battlefield victory to wither their potential? Orochimaru was half tempted to shake his head in disappointment. The years had worn down his respect for the old man, but he could never forget the pillar of strength and wisdom his mentor had once represented. Teacher, you fool, how could you have grown so desperate to not spot the obvious trap? Easy enough to see why Fugaku is so mad, doubly so to understand Hiashi's fury.
Just a week earlier, two days after the signing of the already infamous "Peace Without Rancor" into effect between Iwagakure and the Sunagakure-Konohagakure alliance, envoys from Kumogakure had arrived, led by their second-in-command, the Head Ninja Yoshitoki. They had come at the invitation of the Hokage to establish a peace accord of their own, to put an end to the Eastern Theater of the war in the same way that the Peace Without Rancor had closed the North.
Before the ink even had a chance to dry on the duly signed treaty, Kumo had broken their word and betrayed Konoha's hospitality. Taking advantage of the momentarily lowered guard of his hosts, Yoshitoki had attempted to kidnap the Heiress of the powerful Hyuuga Clan, Hiashi's infant daughter Hinata. The enraged father had pursued the abductor and, with the aid of his twin brother Hizashi, had cornered and killed the Kumo officer. The Hyuuga brothers had returned to Konoha with Hinata tucked in Hiashi's arms and Yoshitaki's severed head in Hizashi's.
The "Hyuuga Affair" had proven the last straw for a village already infuriated that their battlefield success against Iwa would go unrewarded. That the Village Hidden in the Rocks would escape their shameful defeat without paying the bloodprice for the war they had begun was one thing, but a betrayal like this was beyond forgiveness.
"I agree," Orochimaru said, his reply simple and unsmiling. "It is past time, Teacher, that you retired."
"But to whom would I entrust Konohagakure and the Will of Fire?" countered Hiruzen, eyes meeting Orochimaru's squarely. "From where I sit, and from what I have heard from my old teammates, only two options have presented themselves. Namikaze Minato… and you, Orochimaru."
Because Jiraiya already refused the hat, Orochimaru added, and the other clans are too wary of Uchiha supremacy to allow Fugaku to become the Yondaime. Minato's inclusion was inevitable, after his triumphs on the battlefield…
"Previously, you have expressed concerns regarding my fitness as your successor."
The words, already hanging in the cold air, seemed to almost coalesce from the braziers' fumes, spoken aloud at last.
That utterance had been what this whole meeting was leading towards.
What has changed, and what assurances will you require?
"I have," came the implacable agreement. "Some of those concerns I still harbor. Others… Others I have been forced to relinquish after re-examining the events of these last three years.
"You and I are quite different men, my student. I will not pretend that I understand you fully, nor will I pretend to countenance all that you have done.
"On the other hand, I see much of myself in the young Minato. He would be the successor of my heart, a kindred flame dancing with the Will of Fire, yet one who could make that flame blaze even brighter than I'd ever dreamed.
"But of late…" the old man sighed, suddenly Hiruzen again, no longer the Hokage, "Of late, I have come to doubt my heart. I have failed too often and too deeply to still think mine is the only path for the village. I still firmly believe that only through love will we ever find peace… But peace with those who seek only war is impossible, and there are many ways to love the village.
"So tell me, Orochimaru of the Sannin," asked the Sandaime Hokage, in a voice burning with the last embers of his authority, "White Serpent, Summoner of Manda… What is the Will of Fire to you?"
Always your favorite question, Teacher, Orochimaru thought but did not say.
Now was not the time for personal relationships; there was no more room for them here in this moment than there was under the Anbu's mask. Yet, as Orochimaru lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, prepared to meet his Teacher's final examination, he could not help but allow his mind to drift backwards through time.
Back to when a clanless orphan had said his farewells to his parents.
To when that orphan had found a home, first in the bosom of the village, and then on his genin team, under the watchful eye of a much younger Sarutobi Hiruzen.
To the moment ambition had flared to life in his chest, when the white serpent had first thought of swallowing his tail.
To moments strewn across battlefields, rain-lashed and mud-soaked, secret laboratories and filthy field hospitals, brightly lit dissection chambers and dimly lit rooms thick with the earthy scents of decay.
To the simple streets of Konoha, the children laughing as they prepared to face adulthood with knife in hand, the grim-faced men and women readying themselves to sacrifice everything, the black-clad old men and women bowing before shrines to the memories of those whose sacrifice was complete.
"The Will of Fire," said Orochimaru of Konohagakure, "is the sure knowledge that the village will always be greater than any one person, but no person shall be so reduced in the eyes of the village as to lose themselves in the mass.
"It is the testament that all things, properly treated, shall burn, and thus the Will of Fire can foster any, regardless of their background or talents. Weak and strong, noble and pauper, civilian and nin, all contribute to the common flame, and from the dross of hundreds comes the alloy that strengthens us above all other villages.
"It is the certainty that all that we are comes from the village, and that all we have will return to the village in the fullness of time. The strength which the village fosters within us feeds in turn the hungry mouths of the village, while the jutsu we master expands its arsenal. That, as we were taught the lessons of our ancestors and predecessors, so too shall we teach our descendents and successors, so that the village might grow stronger with their contributions.
"That the village itself is the cycle of the young and fresh replacing the old and worn. Each person of the village is a unique and precious resource, cherished and only to be expended with due thought for consequence and cost, and only to be expended when the village will grow stronger for the loss.
"That is the Will of Fire, to find purpose and sustenance in the village and in turn to provide sustenance and purpose to the village."
The flow of words stilled in Orochimaru's mouth, his message delivered. He had not broken eye contact with the Hokage, refusing to blink in the face of this last challenge.
And every word of that was sincere, Teacher, for all I know that it grates upon you that I spoke not a word of peace. For what is peace but stagnation, and what is stagnation but death? The cycle of life moves through all of us, and only through constant rebirth can we escape the final stillness.
"...I hear your answer, Orochimaru," said the Hokage, nodding in slow acknowledgement. "It is not my answer, but that is immaterial; the Will of Fire belongs to us all, and each of us are free to define it as we wish, so long as we remember to keep Konohagakure at its very core.
"You will never be the successor of my heart, my student. Your answer is cold and demanding, and like winter, devours all. But that, again, is immaterial, for I did not call you here to convince you to see things another way. Indeed, another view of things befits this occasion, a fit answer to my failings.
"So be it.
"After three years of war, Kumogakure has slapped away the hand of peace; surely Iwa will not be far behind in renewing their aggression. Three years of bitter autumn was not enough; they demand an equally acrimonious winter.
"So be it.
"The clans of Konoha demand blood for blood, both from their enemies outside our camp and from within. I have tried for weary years to keep them from one another's throats by understanding and appeasement. I see now that in giving with both hands, I have inadvertently bound my arms in my dealings with them.
"So be it.
"Long ago, my old teammate Danzo told me that I did not have the heart to do what a leader must. He was correct in his assessment, but I was wrong in allowing him to compensate for the weaknesses he had identified in me without compensating for the weakness I saw in him. I gave him my blindness and I gave him your services. For this leniency, he has repaid me with sedition and assassination attempts.
"So be it."
Slowly, with the stately grandeur of a mighty tree toppling to the forest floor, the Hokage rose to weary feet.
"Orochimaru of the Sannin," said the Lord Third, Orochimaru's Teacher, "I name you as my successor. Tomorrow, before a council of the clan heads and the jonin of Konohagakure, I shall announce your appointment. In the next breath, I shall announce my resignation.
"Go, my boy," said Sarutobi Hiruzen, sinking back down into the stiff comfort of his uncushioned chair. "Jiraiya is waiting for you at your usual place. Someone perhaps warned him of what we might be discussing, hm? Go and bring him the good news… and I shall prepare everything for tomorrow."
Stepping out from the shelter of the Konohagakure Academy, Orochimaru found a very impatient twelve year old waiting for him, shifting eagerly from foot to booted foot in the drifting snow.
Before the door to the Academy's Administrative Division could even close behind him, she had flash-stepped across the frosted lawn, almost running face-first into the Sannin's chest in her enthusiasm.
"So? So?" pressed Mitarashi Anko, genin of Konohagakure and proud member of Team Orochimaru, the three-man genin team led by the Sannin of the same name. "What'd he say, Teacher? What'd he say?"
"He said that only foolish girls stand outside in the cold when there is no need," replied Orochimaru, not without a certain degree of fondness.
He had been told that he should not play favorites with his genin, but Orochimaru had never had patience for such nonsensical rules. Of his three students, only Anko reflected even a sliver of his passion for jutsu back at him, and only Anko had proven worthy of Manda's contract. Of course she would be his natural favorite, and any attempt to say otherwise would only have come off as an obvious lie.
That wasn't to say that his other two students were useless. Hyuuga Nagamasa admittedly came from one of the various offshoots of the Hyuuga Main Family that were all collectively lumped into the Branch Family, but his Byakugan was still quite strong, as was his grasp of his clan's distinctive taijutsu style. Metani Akimi, a clanless nin of civilian parentage, was quite competent in his use of genjutsu and had even managed to pick up a few barrier jutsu. Together with Anko's proclivity for poisoned knives and needles thrown with pinpoint accuracy, Team Orochimaru excelled at pinning down and immobilizing targets before finishing them off with poison, knife, or chakra-enhanced blows.
But of the three, Anko stood head and shoulders over the others in Orochimaru's eyes.
An ideal example of youth, strong and intelligent… A worthy apprentice, at the very least.
"While I cannot divulge the contents of my conversation with the Hokage," Orochimaru said, hastily resuming his trek across snow-bound Konoha, not at all eager to linger in the cold, "what I can say is… That there is absolutely no question that you and the rest of Team Orochimaru will be taking the Chuunin Exam this year."
After all, the Hokage will hardly have time to serve as ajonininstructor on top of everything else.
"We will?!" Anko's eyes were wide with gleeful disbelief from where she looked up at him, bobbing at his elbow. "Hell yeah! We're gonna smash it, just like how we smashed that team of Kiri pukes!"
"That would be quite the surprise," Orochimaru drawled, casting an amused eye on his pupil. "I would be almost as surprised as those fools were, when young Akimi convinced them that their legs were trapped in mud."
It had been a bloodbath, that encounter on a lonely trail near the old border with Uzu, but unremarkable against the backdrop of the war. Just another patrol, sent out to scout the contested borderlands and swallowed up by the dense, misty forests.
Unremarkable, save that it had been the encounter that had seen Anko blooded with her first kill. Nagamasa had already killed by that point, Orochimaru recalled, having struck a lucky blow on an unwary Iwa chuunin during one of that village's attempts at forcing a breakthrough in Konoha's northern frontier. It had also been the day when Akimi had taken his first life as well, after Orochimaru ordered his student to finish off the two Kiri nin who had survived the initial onslaught. Seriously wounded and shocked by their abrupt misfortune, neither the man nor the woman had put up any serious resistance.
Orochimaru had been quite impressed with his young students that day, and had awarded his portion of the bounty on Kiri scalps to his genin in recognition of their true graduation into Konohagakure's ranks.
"You'll see, Teacher!" Anko vowed, clenched fists raised to her chin, almost in a boxer's pose. "We're all gonna get promoted by year's end!"
"Bold words," came the Sannin's dry reply. "Don't you think you should tell the others the news before making promises in their name? Go," he said, waving his hand, "shoo. Spread the word and get out of my hair. I have business tonight."
"Getting a victory pint with your friends, you mean?" Anko asked through a knowing grin, and laughed with delight as she skipped backwards to avoid his negligent cuff. "Hah! Just don't stay up too late, old man! Tomorrow's gonna be a big day!"
Message delivered, his energetic student sprinted away into Konoha's deserted streets, hellbent on finding her friends.
Orochimaru stood in the snow and watched her run with mixed feelings.
Old man? He raged in the confines of his head. I've only just turned thirty-nine! I have time! I still have plenty of time!
But she has a point.Orochimaru couldn't help but acknowledge. I am getting old, and that damned hat will only make me older.
Perhaps I will be just as gray as Teacher is now in only a decade… Going gray, slowing down…
Getting old.
An image struck his mind then, of an old man, once a pillar of power and wisdom, bent low with the weight of age, the weight of loss, and the weight of failure. A hat that had reduced one of the greatest men Orochimaru had ever known down to a thin shadow of his former self. A hat that would, by this time tomorrow, belong to him.
How long would it take before he became that old man, too tired to carry that burden any longer?
With a vigorous shake of his head, Orochimaru pushed that thought away, recognizing from long experience the spiraling path it signaled.
I have no time to mope tonight, he told himself firmly. Tonight, there is business to be done.
All must be prepared for tomorrow.
"The Old Spot," to the former members of Team Hiruzen, would always and only refer to a dingy izakaya down by the fish market called Masuya. It had been their spot for years, back before the Second Great Ninja War, back when their trio had been supplemented by Kato Dan, and by whichever girl Jiraiya had somehow managed to fool into thinking he wasn't a complete buffoon.
Fourteen years now, since Dan died, thought Orochimaru, staring up at the weatherbeaten sign hanging over that familiar old door, and a year since Tsunade lost herself, fleeing into the night with her old lover's niece. Most of Jiraiya's old conquests are gone too now, I think. I remember a few of their names, and they're all on the Memorial Stone now, just like Nawaki… The Second War was hard enough, and now the Third will continue on…
But what spurs innovation quite like war? Suffering is the mother of invention, and with the authority of the Hokage at my back, what breakthroughs could I achieve?
A smile tugged at Orochimaru's lips as his thoughts drifted away from the dreary past and towards the potentially fruitful future. War, pain, and loss all seemed as inevitable in life, as the daily trek of the sun across the sky, and so there was no need to dwell on them; certainly no need to dwell on the bleak facts of life when he could be proactive instead and search for some way to give it all meaning.
If I can lure Tsunade back home again, the situation would improve still more. With the assistance of the greatest doctor alive, or with medicalninpersonally trained by her, I could make so much progress…
His old teammate was right where Orochimaru knew he would be, tucked away in a booth out of sight from the door. In younger days, that had always been "their booth," much like how Masuya had always been "their bar," and for all that the Toad Summoner loved to wander, he was ultimately a creature of habit.
I suppose, in a way, we all are. Eventually, we always come back home.
"So?" asked Jiraiya, voice already noticeably slurred, looking up from the table to catch Orochimaru's eye. "Just gonna stand there all night, idiot? Siddown. Grab a glass and tell me what happened."
Slowly, Orochimaru lowered himself down onto the bench across from Jiraiya, and looked down at the table between them. Three sake glasses stood, arrayed around a waiting bottle.
"I'll pour," Orochimaru decided, reaching for the bottle, only to have his hand swatted away.
"No, no," said Jiraiya, shaking his head. "You're the Hokage now, right? The Hokage doesn't pour anyone else's drinks, idiot."
Orochimaru had never fully understood his teammate. Tsunade, he could always read like a book, no matter how much she tried to conceal what she was really feeling behind admittedly real anger, but Jiraiya…
For all that he grins so openly and so often, he has always remained a closed book. As such, he decided,there is no point in dancing around the matter.
"Are you angry about that, Jiraiya?" Orochimaru asked with the bluntness he could only assume Jiraiya appreciated, considering his interactions with his toad summons. "Would you rather that Teacher had chosen you instead?"
Jiraiya stilled in mid-pour, but caught himself before spilling a drop of the rice wine.
"He did," the sage gruffly pointed out. "I turned him down. I'm not the man for the job. Me behind a desk forever? No way."
He didn't meet my eyes when he said that.
"You didn't want the job," Orochimaru agreed. The old man had implied Jiraiya's previous refusal, and Orochimaru had suspected that their Teacher had made the offer long before his recent meeting with the old man, but it was nice to have confirmation. That Jiraiya turned the position down was hardly a surprise, though. The man hated responsibility. "Are you upset that I did? That I did not turn down the offer?"
When an answer was not immediately forthcoming, he pressed, "Would you rather it be Minato who became the Yondaime?"
"Here, idiot," said Jiraiya, shoving a sake glass into Orochimaru's hand instead of answering. "Drink up. A toast to your promotion."
Obligingly, Orochimaru drank. The sake was cheap, sickly sweet garbage, just the same sort that had always been Masuya's stock in trade.
It must be nostalgia that makes Jiraiya love this swill so dearly, he thought, wincing as the sake blazed a path to his gut. I know he can afford the good stuff now, so only memories can explain his preference for this trash.
"Gotta say, I certainly expected to be taking orders from Minato," Jiraiya admitted in a gust of breath reeking of alcohol, his empty glass clinking down on the table. "I really expected the old man to pick him as his successor. Both because of the whole 'Yellow Flash' thing, and because… Well…"
"Because they are two of a kind at heart," Orochimaru said, finishing Jiraiya's sentence for him. "That was precisely why Teacher chose me. After the latest debacle, he… has admitted that he cannot quite trust that his own heart will guide him towards what is truly best for the village. Not in these times, at least."
Orochimaru examined his glass as he worked through his thoughts, analyzing the cheap vessel's rim, seeking imperfections. "I suspect that… well… if Teacher had picked Minato and had to live with seeing his successor make the exact same mistakes he would have made, all in the same endless pursuit of peace… Perhaps he would have preferred to have been sliced down by the shinigami's scythe, rather than endure such a grievous cut upon his soul."
"...Well, at least Minato will have more time with his kid, whenever the little squirt decides to give Kushina a break," said Jiraiya, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a great shrug. "I'm sure he'll welcome that, especially…"
Especially as the seal keeping the Kyuubi imprisoned within his wife will weaken when the moment of birth comes, meaning that Minato will want to be on hand for the occasion.
"Indeed," said Orochimaru, closing the topic.
It wasn't an unimportant matter. The health and well-being of the single most dangerous nin in Konohagakure's ranks was of utmost importance, as was the health and well-being of the man's wife, who happened to be the living prison of the greatest of the Biju. But the topic was a tangent away from what Orochimaru truly needed to discuss with his old teammate now, in the liminal hours between the old administration and the one he hoped to inaugurate.
There will be plenty of time to worry about the Yellow Flash and his Habanero later.
"Jiraiya…" the snake Sannin began, lightly drumming his fingers against the table, "I have a question for you, old friend."
"For the last time," Jiraiya sighed wearily, "I'm not going to give you an autograph, idiot. Don't presume on our old friendship like that – a famous author like me has no time for hangers-on."
Is that a joke? Orochimaru wondered, blinking as he parsed for signs of concealed mirth in Jiraiya's suddenly stony face, or is he just very drunk? Why would this fool think I'd want his autograph, anyway? And really, a smut seller calling himself a famous author?
The moment wavered and cracked as Jiraiya's face split with a wide grin and a bellow of inebriated laughter.
"Ahaha!" the damnable man chortled to himself, wiping his eyes. "You shoulda seen your face, idiot! One day, Orochimaru, you will develop a sense of humor, I promise! Perhaps around the time your balls drop at last, eh?"
"I need your help."
Again, the bluntness served Orochimaru well, as the laughter caught in Jiraiya's throat.
"My help?" his fellow Sannin murmured, peering across the table to stare at Orochimaru. "Don't hear you asking for that very often…"
"It pains me to ask for it now," Orochimaru deftly replied, favoring the toad summoner with a smirk. "Especially if it requires actually spending time with you…"
Jiraiya brayed another laugh at his half-feigned shudder. "Blow it out your ass, idiot!
"But now," the other man said, settling down on his elbows to lean across the table, "seriously, what do you need?"
"Your help," repeated Orochimaru. "Tomorrow, I will become the leader of a village desperate for change. I mean to give Konoha exactly what it desires in that regard, but I cannot do everything by myself. I will require the assistance of a great many people, at least a few of whom I need to trust have Konoha's best interests at heart.
"Unfortunately, you are one of only a scant handful of such people."
"I always have Konoha's best interests at heart. Always," agreed Jiraiya. Then he gave Orochimaru a sharp look. "But not always the interests of the Hokage, you understand?"
I understand that you hate being the one in charge, especially when taking command requires risking lives other than your own. I understand that it is very convenient of you to espouse a 'higher calling' whenever anybody might make demands against you. I understand that, Jiraiya, because I am much the same.
"I do," said Orochimaru, and meant it. "Despite that, you are still one of the vanishingly few people in this world I can trust, and trust is a priceless commodity these days. I would have liked for the princess to be here as well, so I could ask for her assistance too, but…"
"I wish Tsunade was here too…" sighed Jiraiya. "And not just so I could have something more pretty to look at than your snakey mug."
The attempt at humor fell flat. Both men still felt the absence of their third teammate keenly, a wound barely scabbed over. That her loss was not the product of some interloper's hands or a cruel twist of the war, but rather the deliberate result of Tsunade's own actions only twisted the knife.
It might have been easier to bear, had she simply died,the Snake Sannin mused, eyes fixed upon his glass once again. Her memory still could be treasured, then. But to desert in war, to flee away like a coward in the night…
"...Quite," agreed Orochimaru, at a loss for how else he could possibly respond to the plaintive statement. At a loss for how he actually felt about his erstwhile teammate, gone and yet still lingering in the world like a grieving ghost. "But while the Slug Princess's assistance would be invaluable, I am sure that you can pull your own weight too."
"Well… yeah," grimaced Jiraiya. "Suppose that if the war's not over after all, everyone's gonna need to pitch in."
"Yes," agreed Orochimaru, "but not everybody will be called to the battlefield. Not generally, at least.
"I have a different role in mind for you, old friend."
"Oh?" Jiraiya cocked a bushy eyebrow. "Do you now? And what role would that be, hmm?"
"Danzo must go," Orochimaru bluntly replied. "Impressed as I am by his skill at wasting the potential of others, I will not countenance a rogue unit within the Anbu, especially not under the leadership of a man convinced of his own infallibility."
"Danzo, huh?" Jiraiya meditatively poured himself another glass of sake as he spoke, voice ponderous and brow furrowed. "Can't say I'll be sad to see him go. His methods always rubbed me the wrong way. Gotta say, I'm surprised that you'd want him gone, though. You were part of Root for a while, yeah?"
"While you were playing around in Ame, yes," Orochimaru curtly replied, prompting a wince from Jiraiya. "Yes, and that is why I have no doubt that his removal is in Konoha's best interest. The man is a decrepit fool with a worrying amount of influence, to say nothing of his own private army, and is delusional enough to hunger for more."
"He does manage to get his tentacles everywhere," agreed Jiraiya. "You know that'll make removing him a real pain, right? He's been around forever, just as long as Teacher's been."
"And just as long as Teacher's old partners," acknowledged Orochimaru, "which is why the old man vacating his office represents a rare opportunity to sweep the board clean. Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu have served Konoha long and faithfully, which is why they will be strongly encouraged to retire. That will remove Danzo's above-board contacts in the Hokage's Office.
"As far as the Root goes…"
That organization is an absolute squandering of resources, to say nothing of a running sore on the relationship between the clans and the Hokage, Orochimaru nearly sighed. I'd almost be impressed with the scope and potential of Root if it wasn't so wasted on hobbling ourselves for Danzo's petty games.
"Yes?" Jiraiya pressed when Orochimaru paused. "What do you plan to do about all of Danzo's stolen children?"
"What else do you do with stolen property but return it to its rightful owners?" retorted Orochimaru. "Truly, the Root contains Aburame, Hyuuga, Inuzuka… but nothing about their activities suggests that Danzo is getting any better use out of them then their own native clans would. Root would be disbanded, all clan members returned to the leadership of their clanheads and all clanless members mixed back into Konoha's standard formations. Truly, there's no point to Root. Everything they can do, the regular Anbu black ops teams can do just as well."
"...Danzo is also the source of much of the Hokage's intelligence about the clans within Konoha, as well as the movements of our enemies without," Jiraiya noted carefully, swirling the contents of his glass, as if he meant to enjoy the bouquet of the trash it contained. "What would you do to fill in the hole his absence would open?"
"That is not my question to answer, old friend," Orochimaru said, and now it was his turn to grin at his former teammate. "After all, I am no spymaster; I would leave such work to a professional, such as yourself."
When Jiraiya at last stopped coughing, he pointed an accusing finger across the table. "I see what you're doing, you snake!"
"What am I doing?" drawled Orochimaru. "Installing a trustworthy and capable figure with unquestionable loyalty to Konoha into a key role? I absolutely am."
"That's–"
"Also," Orochimaru continued, talking over Jiraiya's interjection, "you will be taking on students, Jiraiya. This is non-negotiable, and before you accuse me of getting ahead of myself, I would be making the same demand of Tsunade, were she still with us instead of drinking her way into a stupor somewhere. Both of you are masters of your craft, and the prospect that either of you could die without passing on your knowledge so that the village might continue to prosper for it in your absence is absurd."
"Well, what about you, then?" Jiraiya shot back, "You're the so-called 'Master of a Thousand Jutsu,' right? Why aren't you taking a post at the Academy or whatever?!"
"I foresee a rather significant incumbrance upon my schedule for the foreseeable future," dryly remarked Orochimaru, allowing himself a small and "humble" smile, "and besides that, I still have a genin team to teach. A responsibility, might I add, that you have so far evaded. Besides," he smirked, "once Anko makes chuunin, I plan to offer her a dedicated apprenticeship. She will learn my jutsu, and then she can be bothered with the work of teaching them to others."
Thwarted, Jiraiya settled back down onto the bench, still somewhat mutinous. "I wasn't born to live behind a desk," he muttered. "A man like me needs time to roam the world, to seek fresh sources of inspiration, to–"
"Get permanently barred from every bathhouse not behind Iwa or Kumo lines, yes," Orochimaru broke in with a nod. "And I would rather be in my laboratory, developing new jutsu and refining my own capabilities, then sitting in meetings or conducting court martials. Unfortunately, Konoha has called and has given me new duties. Now, she is calling you, Jiraiya, and telling you that, for now, at least, your rambling days are over."
While Jiraiya did not reply immediately, Orochimaru saw the betraying flicker in his eyes, and moved for the kill.
"You can turn your back on Konoha, Jiraiya," he told his old teammate, voice lowered so the other man had to lean in to hear over the sounds of the bar. "Just like Tsunade, you are free to run from your duty. I will not order any pursuit; I will even do as the old man did for Tsunade and will lie on your behalf, and will claim that you are simply on long-term detached duty.
"But if you are going to run, run now, old friend, before I have to put my trust in you. And if you abandon me now, when I have come as a friend asking for aid in my time of need, in Konoha's time of need, don't ever come back. If you will not contribute fuel to the fire, there will be no place in the warmth for you."
(Previously posted in my Ideas and Snippets Thread)