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On The Cusp	By : Okami-Rayne Category: Naruto > Yaoi - Male/Male > Shikamaru/Neji Views: 2208 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: NARUTO and its respective characters were created and are owned by Masashi Kishimoto. No copyright infringement intended. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
ON THE CUSP

by Okami Rayne

Chapter Fifteen

The sun spread its glow over Konoha like melted butter, soft and warm. It took the edge off the autumn chill, spilling down from a cloudless electric blue sky that could've belonged to a summer's day.

Against this stretch of clear sky an eagle sailed on golden wings – waiting.

Neji tilted his head up, bathing the strong angles of his face in sunlight. The canopies rustled, red leaves shivering, casting dappled patches of shadow-play across the Hyūga's eyelids. He leaned back against the corrugated bark of the tree, arms folded and neck arched into the sun's kiss, soaking in the warmth while he waited.

High above, Hibari's eagle let out a soft cry.

Neji slipped his eyes open and watched the bird swoop low, broad wings catching the sunlight. It vanished into a cluster of large red maples. The trees stood bunched like a giant bouquet to one side of the village gates, a blend of crimson and scarlet. Neji gazed without focus at the red hues, until a flash caught his attention, drawing his gaze down from the star-shaped leaves.

The Hyūga's eyes widened a fraction.

Amidst the patchwork of shadow and foliage, the jagged edge of Hibari's sword gleamed like a giant fang, the razor edges winking in the sunlight. The blade lay propped against the trunk of the tree, unseen but for the glow of steel betraying its position.

The Tsubasa was no-where to be seen.

Neji cocked his head, frowning. It wasn't like Hibari to abandon the weapon. The Hyūga debated the wisdom of approaching and took the surveillance method, activating his dōjutsu. What he gleaned through the mesh of leaves and branches shouldn't have surprised him really. He might have taken a cursory glance to check for camera lurking troublemakers but sensed he was the only one privy to the moment.

It certainly explained a lot.

Sakura stood with her back to the tree, palms pressed flat against the rough bark. Hibari stood leaning over her, head bent, gazing through his lashes, his presence holding her there in place of his arms. He stood just shy of touching her, one forearm braced above her head, the other hand set at his hip, leaving an exit if she wanted to slip away.

He was speaking, lips lacing a faint smile.

Sakura's gaze was fixed on his chest, lip caught between her teeth. She didn't reply to whatever Hibari said and instead, reached up to dip her fingers into the neckline of his mesh vest. She tugged out a length of silver-ball chain and brushed her thumb over two wing-shaped pendants hanging from the end.

Neji recognised them instantly, well aware that one belonged to the Tsubasa's dead sister. Guilt twisted its rusted barb into his chest. His breath cut off sharply.

Gods, if only…

If only what? If only he'd acted on instinct rather than orders? If only he'd stopped to assess rather than assume? If only he'd questioned the mission rather than executed it? The 'if only' and 'what if's' were countless and consuming questions. Such questions had no place in a ninja's conscience; or in the mind of anyone seeking ANBU.

Will that be the cost? My conscience?

"It costs nothing. Because you have nothing. You take that path when you have nothing to lose."

Kakashi's words had inspired a cold tightening in Neji's gut, a black grip that hadn't eased. Perhaps that had been Kakashi's intention, to sow the seed of doubt and hope something took root in Neji's mind. Too bad such advice would merely wither on the vine of warning.

I will make ANBU, one way or another. I will be free. This choice is my freedom.

Neji let out the breath he'd been holding, his gaze shifting away from the Tsubasa's winged pendants.

Sakura was speaking now, shaking her head. Whatever she was saying had Hibari's brows drawing together. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek, brushing pink strands behind her ear. The gesture seemed idle and innocent, but the look in Hibari's eyes when Sakura glanced up at him was far from either.

The kunoichi dodged his gaze, skittish and unsure.

She tucked the pendants back into Hibari's vest, her fingertips following along his collarbone then smoothing down to the centre of his chest, curling into the mesh vest.

Hibari hooked a knuckle under her chin and leaned down.

Neji averted his gaze, deactivating his Byakugan.

Provided Sakura wasn't planning to elope, there was no reason to judge or concern himself with Hibari's advances towards the young kunoichi. After the purple shiners she'd given Kiba and Naruto, she was more than capable of handling herself.

"Neji-senpai!"

Neji turned his head, eyes shuttered against the glare of sunlight. It white-washed the stone apron that circled the village's gates and spilled warmly across a jigsaw of cobbled pavement. The scuff of running feet echoed off the slabs.

"Neji-senpai!"

The Hyūga's gaze zeroed in on a strip of blue scarf sailing along behind the running Genin. Konohamaru's hitai-ate gleamed, but brighter still was the smile the young Sarutobi wore.

Neji shook his head, amusement twitching the corner of his mouth.

Abundantly spirited…

He had to wonder whether Naruto's influence with this youngster was bordering on infectious. If it wasn't some lewd and inappropriate ninjutsu it was bright grins that Neji never knew how to respond to. He rivalled the sunny look with a cool stare, inclining his head.

"Konohamaru," he greeted mildly, noting Moegi and Udon traipsing along at a distance.

"Aww man, I wanted to beat you to the gates," Konohamaru puffed, skidding to a halt along the stones, heaving a lungful of air. A little orange bird flitted around his head, attempting to perch on his shoulder. "Has Hibari-san left?"

Neji shook his head, wondering how economical he'd have to get with the truth. Fortunately, Konohamaru's less than subtle announcement pulled the Tsubasa from the shadows of the trees. Sakura followed a few paces behind, smoothing her fingers through her hair. The scrape of the Tsubasa's massive blade drew sparks across the stone.

Konohamaru whipped about, grinning. "Hibari-san!"

Hibari's grey gaze drifted down and he gave a half-smile, shifting his weight to heft his blade and secure it at his back. "Well how's that for special treatment? I get a send-off from the future Nanadaime Hokage."

Neji arched a brow. "Nanadaime?"

Konohamaru thrust his arm back, giving Neji the thumb's up without turning. "Yup! Naruto-niichan is gonna be the Sixth, but you can bet your butt that I'm next in line after I beat him!"

Neji eyed Konohamaru with a look of ingrained scepticism. A look he set on anyone harbouring this much hot air. He wondered whether the Genin's indomitable sense of destiny stemmed from pride relating to his Sarutobi heritage or from his deep-seated idolization of Naruto. Perhaps Konohamaru's motive didn't matter; he clearly believed in attaining his goal, if the fire in his young eyes was anything to go by.

Neji's eyes had been cold at that age, as he imagined Hibari's to have been.

He glanced at the redhead, curious as to whether his scepticism was shared. Oddly enough, the Tsubasa's jaded, slate-grey eyes brightened a little, the ash-coloured flecks catching a spark.

"Beat him, huh? I'll bet a big sword on it," Hibari said.

"Cool!" Konohamaru bounced on the balls of his feet, stabbing his finger at the Tsubasa's jagged blade. "Whoa! Like that!"

"Bigger," Hibari promised, a wry smirk tugging at his lips. "And better for swinging at child-beating Suna ladies with big fans."

Sakura elbowed Hibari, glaring without menace. "You're still fixed on that? Would you drop this thing with Temari already?"

Hibari looked across, humour scudding across his grey eyes. "I'm flattered by this public display of jealousy, Sakura. And they say romance is dead."

Sakura's eyes flared wide, cheeks dusted with pink.

Konohamaru laughed. "Nice!"

Neji pressed his lips, containing his amusement with enviable poise.

Blushing scarlet, Sakura crossed rigid arms over her chest, green eyes sharper than thorns and stabbing wordless venom at Hibari. It had absolutely no effect on the Tsubasa. Hibari's gaze never wavered and he made no attempt to water down the heat in his eyes, which only threw flames on her flustered state.

Sakura sniffed and thrust her chin to a mulish angle. "You're an irredeemable ass."

Hibari inclined his head. "All part of my charm."

Sakura rolled her eyes, shifting position irately, but her hip cocked towards him rather than away. An unconscious signal.

Interesting…

Neji glanced between them, curious at this exchange, cross-referencing it with the one he'd glimpsed a short moment before. He didn't have time to consider the nature of how this would benefit or botch the recent Peace Treaty.

Provided Naruto doesn't find out, it shouldn't matter either way…

Konohamaru broke into the moment with a chuckle, dodging Sakura's glare by ducking his head down, shoulders raised and hands held up in surrender. He backpedalled towards his teammates, not willing to risk a wallop if he turned his back.

"See ya, Hibari-san! Thanks for the birds!" Konohamaru waved, catching up with his friends to head back into the village, adjusting his hitai-ate when the small orange bird nestled on his head. "Naruto-niichan is gonna freak!"

"He already did," Sakura muttered beneath her breath, shaking her head. "And Kiba was dancing with them."

Neji adopted a nonplussed expression, catching Sakura's eye with a quirk of his brow.

Sakura rolled her eyes. "Don't ask."

Neji shook his head at the mental image, watching the young Genin team scamper off, stealing a glance at the puff of orange feathers chasing after Konohamaru. "Any other parting gifts, Tsubasa?"

Hibari glanced at Sakura, but stepped towards Neji, extending his hand. "Just an open invitation to drop by whenever you Leaf shinobi are around my neck of the woods."

Neji shook the Tsubasa's hand. "We will. Travel safe, Hibari. Keep to higher ground."

Hibari took his meaning and glanced skyward. "Good thing I've got eyes above me at all times. If I see any suspicious activity close to your borders I'll be sure to send word and garner whatever information I can."

"Appreciated." Neji cast a grim look along the open road leading out of the village. "But like Tsunade-sama warned, keep a wide berth of this enemy."

"Very wide," Sakura hastened to add, shooting the redhead a look. "Which means more than an arm's length, Hibari."

"Having a big sword helps with that," Hibari joked without smiling.

Sakura frowned. "Seriously, don't do anything reckless. Our information on the Akatsuki is sketchy at best. You could come up against anything."

"Yeah, the joy of S-rank criminals, huh?" Hibari muttered, shrugging off the concern, though his brow furrowed in consideration. "I hear they're quite the motley crew."

Neji nodded. "With a vast range of abilities. After what they did to the Kazekage, we can't afford to underestimate them."

Honestly, Neji wondered whether they could even begin to estimate them at all. He frowned, recalling Shikamaru's earlier words.

"It's like doing a puzzle without having the pieces."

And those pieces were already moving, charting their way across the Land of Fire. The game was in motion. The hour glass had been tipped on its head and time was gaining an ever-increasing momentum. With every passing hour, they seemed closer to running on double time; maybe even borrowed time.

"Can't stop the clock, right?"

Neji's gaze strayed back towards the village. "Hibari?"

The redhead lifted his brows in query.

"Get Hanegakure strong again," Neji murmured.

"That bad, hnm?"

Neji set his jaw, but his silence confirmed what was already apparent. He imagined Shikamaru already had all the negative outcomes circled in mental red pen.

I don't envy you, Nara…

All three shinobi were quiet for a moment, feeling the play of wind like a gust of foreboding. Red leaves scraped across the stone, skittering into the village, bloody omens that swirled and crackled in the currents of a fickle breeze. And yet the sun shone on, bright and clear, appalling in its indifference to the darkening mood.

"Tsubasa," Neji eventually spoke, looking across. "You once said that our alliance is more than ink on parchment."

"I meant it."

"And should the time come when we call on you to prove it?"

Hibari tilted his head like he'd misheard, grey eyes narrowing. "You're already predicting war?"

Neji sighed through his nose, wondering whether such fatalistic thinking would encourage a self-fulfilling prophecy. But if fate continued on in her capricious manner, she wasn't to be underestimated either.

The Akatsuki aren't going to stop at the last Jinchūriki…

Neji could sense it in his gut. There were more menacing moves being made behind the scenes – a bigger game, with bigger players. And these fractious political gambles left them in the dark with only prediction as the light – and they'd need to be prepared for anything.

"Nothing can be ruled out at this stage," Neji eventually replied. "I won't lie to you, Tsubasa. But Hanegakure signed this alliance in hopes for peace, not for aiding us in war."

Hibari let out a quiet breath, grey eyes casting skyward again, fixing on the lazy orbit of his eagle. The bird let out a shrill cry, sailing into a free-fall before rising again on a fresh current, making a lazy-eight path through the clear skies. Hibari's frown etched a little deeper.

"Hanegakure's elders may have signed in ink, but I've signed on in blood," Hibari murmured. "And those contracts are the only ones that matter to me."

Sakura shook her head, watching him out the corner of her eye. "Your people are still recovering from their own civil war."

Hibari shrugged. "I'm a Tokujō commander. I'm bred for war."

"That's not an excuse to jump headfirst into another battle," Sakura argued, half-turning, her words toeing a thin line between concern and anger. "And Tokujō commander or not, that's not why they elected you as their Peace Ambassador, was it?"

Hibari's features cooled but his eyes heated. He reached back to grip the hilt of his blade, as if her statement had impugned his integrity. "And I'll preserve that peace by fighting for it."

"But—"

"The council want to muzzle me for biting too hard but sometimes that's what is needed to keep the people safe."

Neji raised his brows at the edge in Hibari's voice, pale eyes on the sword, though he knew the other ninja wasn't going to use it. "Sakura has a point. Regardless of your honest motives, Hibari, I doubt your council would agree to involvement in an open war."

"Then I'll have to brush up on my non-violent persuasive skills, won't I?"

Sakura shot him a look. "And get exiled."

"Well…" Hibari smirked dryly, not looking at her. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Sakura stiffened, her slim fingers digging into the pale flesh of her arms. Neji turned his head, trying to read her, but Sakura's hair had already swung down to obscure her face. The Hyūga made a mental note of her strange reaction, his focus drifting between them before settling on Hibari. The Tsubasa was watching Sakura closely now, making no effort to disguise his stare.

Neji spoke up after a moment. "Becoming a nukenin won't help anyone, Tsubasa."

A muscle in Hibari's jaw pulsed, but his hand fell away from his blade. He looked across at Neji, his grey eyes hot as tempered steel. "If you call on Hanegakure, our shinobi will be there. If the council refuses, then I will be there with those loyal to me. Either way, I'll honour my word."

Neji took a moment to absorb the pledge, letting time and silence stretch as he searched the stern lines of Hibari's face, seeing past the embers of the redhead's hot-temper to what was fuelling the fire of his conviction.

Justice.

That was Hibari's credo, after all. Neji understood that word in its black and white context and even in all its shades of grey; what with the injustices he'd suffered most of his life. Gods, even Naruto was a victim of such discrimination, surrounded by a mass of eyes that burned with judgement, feeling justified in the blackest of ways. But justice was still a value worth fighting for. Neji might have considered it…if freedom didn't take precedence.

"I'll remember that. Take care, Tsubasa," Neji said.

Hibari nodded, but his gaze was back on Sakura. The fire in his eyes had banked to something softer. The warmth in his look melted the frown from Sakura's face and pulled colour back to her cheeks. She looked away, then back at him, darting glances that communicated just as much – if not more – than his steady stare.

"Sakura," Hibari said by way of farewell, inclining his head.

The kunoichi fanned her fingers across her arms, rubbing them with a sigh. "Goodbye, Hibari," she said softly.

Hibari smiled, touched a knuckle to his hitai-ate and tipped his brow to her. The kunoichi's eyes gentled and she smiled, nodding. The gesture obviously held some kind of significance for them.

Neji made no attempt to interpret anything further from their non-verbal signals, though he did recognise the next gesture the Tsubasa made when Hibari turned to face him.

The redhead touched his right hand above his heart and curved his palm towards the sky. "Fly free, Hyūga."

Neji considered the blessing, his opal gaze straying to the large eagle soaring on ahead down the open road. As if sensing she had an audience, the bird let out a shrill cry, golden wings fanning wide, scaling higher until her silhouette stole across the sun.

Fly free…?

Neji blinked slowly.

One day…

The bird timed it.

The serial, sadistic, dive-bombing little shit.

It must have been waiting in the damned wings, beady eyes calculating every step until Shikamaru came into range. Then it plummeted, swooping down to graze its talons through the spiky ponytail with a high screech.

Shikamaru wheeled around, turning a complete circle. "Crazy fucking bird!"

The falcon let out a soft 'kee', whirling above him in a fancy loop. Shikamaru knew this game well enough to know it was far from over. He eyed his house, guessed the trajectory the bird would dive at and estimated how many ways he could avoid the playful attack. There was usually a pattern in its movements – and Shikamaru took no pride whatsoever in having worked that out.

Ugh. So stupid.

He slung his knapsack over one shoulder and braced his right foot forward, squinting up at the feathered menace. "You eat my Shogi pieces, claw up my friends, ransack my room and chase me around – what the hell do you want!"

The falcon sailed another calculated ring above his head, no doubt preparing for the next assault. It answered his shout with its standard shrill screech. Shikamaru shook his head, resigning himself to the inevitable.

Here we go.

A mental count of three and he feigned a dash to his right only to spring left off his right foot, launching into a dead run towards his house.

The falcon shot after him like an arrow.

Shikamaru clocked the bird's shadow and veered to kick off the base of a large sandstone statue of Kwan Yin. He butterfly-flipped over the koi pond and avoided the falcon's swoop, landing in a neat crouch on the porch. Barking out a hoarse laugh of triumph, the shadow-nin glanced over his shoulder.

"You lose, you crazy…" Shikamaru trailed off, eyes widening.

The falcon took a slingshot spin around the Kwan Yin statue, dispensing swift retribution on the stone goddess before Shikamaru could even blink back the shock.

"NO!"

The bird's talons cracked into the sandstone and gouged across the statue's smooth face, marring the Goddess of Mercy without a drop of remorse.

Oh…

"SHIT!" Shikamaru shot to his feet, dropping his knapsack, waving his arm around.

Unrepentant, the bird took to the skies, soaring beyond reach and reproach, ignoring the curses that shot from Shikamaru's mouth in a rapid-fire stream.

"Dammit!"

The shadow-nin hopped off the porch and jogged over to the statue, his voice cutting off though his lips still moved to frame silent insults, as if profanity might offend the precious and sorely mistreated statue.

Little late for that…

Shikamaru's expression pulled into a grimace. He lifted a hand to cup the goddess's stone cheek, brushing his thumb over the scratches. The grooves weren't too deep, but Shikamaru knew his mother would spot them, magnify them and blow them out of proportion.

He winced, shaking his head. "Stupid bird."

Like a bizarre warp in perception, the statue's smile seemed to morph before his eyes, those pale lips tucked up like he'd amused the goddess in some small and endearing way. Shikamaru shook his head, brushed the dust from the scratches and traced his fingers over the delicate features.

It occurred to him then that he'd never actually taken the time to study the statue before. His mother had installed it after the death of the Sandaime. The purpose? Shikamaru could only guess at it, never having delved further; never having wanted to.

"Not sure if I believe in gods…" Shikamaru thought aloud.

The idea of gods came with the risk of devils, demons and all those dark things that gained a grotesque and almost gargoyle definition in his dreams. He stroked his hand down and touched the tips of his fingers against the lip of the stone vase that the goddess cradled in her left hand. Symbolic of the 'cup that runneth over' but never ran dry; the well of unconditional love and compassion that Kwan Yin was said to pour into and onto the world.

Shikamaru gazed at the statues smiling eyes, his own pinched by a sudden emotion he couldn't have named. "Can't wash everything away, right?" he whispered.

No answers in that enigmatic smile. No divine message to construe from the carved expression no matter how hard he searched it.

Troublesome woman…

He smiled a small, embarrassed smile and slotted his hands into his pockets with a grunt, feeling a little foolish. He wasn't one to give his brain over easily or willingly to those kinds of thoughts. They didn't have any bearing on reality, so why bother?

I don't get it…

And oddly enough, there was something comforting in that. Because it was one more thing he didn't need to figure out – but could still feel.

Damn if that didn't sound familiar.

Tilting his head, Shikamaru continued to gaze at the statue, pondering the mystery in the goddess's curved lips. He didn't notice his mother standing by the window, wearing the same subtle smile.

"That bitch."

He hissed the words out, but got no reaction.

He wanted a fucking reaction.

Oh he'd got one hell of a reaction earlier. She'd screamed so pretty. But pretty didn't cut it. He wanted the fear to howl. To open those jaws so wide he could see down the gullet and into the soul. He wanted to gorge himself on that fear, smell it in sweat, see it in tears and taste it in blood. A holy feast.

The kunoichi kitten hadn't been scared enough.

Bitch…

Fear made torture musical. When he was conducting the ceremony he wanted to feel the music in his bones, rattling and radiating outwards with the pain. He wanted the arms outstretched, head thrown back, preacher-fever kind of shit. A zealot's high. Mayhem wasn't a good performance unless it had some of that animal keening and screaming thrown in.

Ecstasy.

It should have been. But he hadn't hit nirvana. He'd fallen just short of it. The bitch had promised him heaven but only taken him to the pearly gates. Then she'd started screaming to God. To GOD.What the hell? That was like screaming out another man's name during sex. Talk about an anti-fucking-climax.

"Biiitch."

"Shut up," the figure walking ahead of him intoned, the voice deep and guttural, resounding like the lowest note on a rusty pipe organ.

Finally! A reaction. Yeesh, talking to this prick was like having a conversation with the walking dead. Though come to think of it, his partner had that weird sort of mummified dress-sense going on. He didn't like that he couldn't see the bastard's face; felt it gave the guy some kind of mystery edge. He didn't like mysteries. All that messy mental shit gave him a headache. He liked life clean cut. Death, however, was another matter.

"Aww, don't be all pissy just 'cause I whacked her before you could."

"I could have whacked several people on my hit-list in the time it took you to finish the job. Your ritual bullshit costs me more than time."

"Man, you really grind my gears with all your blaspheming, you know that?" Violet eyes flashed with fanatical fire and thin lips pulled into a sneer. "Your money excuse for killin' is gonna stand up about as good as a dead man's dick when you meet your Maker. Judgement will fall. You're goin' straight to hell. Money is a cardinal sin!"

Silence.

His partner stopped. But it wasn't to react. It was to consult the large map in his hands. The navigating man tilted his wrists, turned right and headed up a steep path that hugged the side of a mountain. Or more accurately, a massive range of hell-hewn rock that stretched its geographical tit so high one couldn't even see the fucking peak.

Nature was the biggest bitch of them all.

"No fucking way, MORE stairs!"

"Shut your mouth before I stitch it, Hidan."

Hidan scowled with all the petulance of a tantrum-prone child and glared mental daggers at the other shinobi. "Tch. Inconsiderate ass."

The violet-eyed Akatsuki combed his fingers through slick, silver hair and tipped his head back, sighing long and loud. He gazed up at the cloudless sky, squinting at a golden eagle too far out of range to bother attacking. That sucked. He was itching to rough up anything that'd squeal, shriek or scream. So long as he could kill it. None of this half-cocked bullshit.

Damned Jinchūrikis.

Better dead and delivered than half-alive. That was just wrong. Sighing, Hidan hefted his triple-bladed scythe and stretched out a kink in his neck.

Then he began to climb.

The path was tiered but rugged, the trail increasingly steep with the surrounding rock hurling itself up towards the sky. Hidan felt sweat glistening on his body, stinging the deep gouges in his back.

Feisty cat.

Boy had that two-tailed kitty had claws. Big, fuck-off, Tailed Beast claws. He didn't mind the pain, just didn't like that she couldn't share it with him. What a waste. This thought needled him like a splinter in his heel, driving deeper as he scaled the mountain behind Kakuzu. His irritation pervaded everything, the dust catching in his throat, the grit grinding beneath his feet, the rustle of Kakuzu consulting that stupid map.

Ugh. When are we gonna see some action?

Hidan gnashed his teeth and stroked his tongue around the inside of his mouth, searching for the lingering taste of that bitch's blood. He'd need a lot of blood. Leaving her half-alive left him deep in Jashin-sama's debt and the commandments were absolute.

"I just wanna rough something up," Hidan growled. "I'm starting to get bored of traipsing around like this."

Kakuzu ignored him.

Prick.

They pressed on up the incline, cloaks billowing, sandals scuffing to kick up dust. Their shadows distorted into jagged angles across the rock, reaching on ahead of them. And then, like a bug buzzing at his ear, Hidan heard it. A deep, sonorous hum that shook the air and charged it, took control of it in a way that made his skin crawl.

The fuck is that?

The sound rumbled through his body, setting off vibrations in a gentle harmony. His expression soured with disgust. By the time the resonating hum lodged itself into every raw nerve in his body, his partner stopped walking.

"Yo, Kakuzu, you hearing it?" Hidan halted a pace behind. "The hell is that shit?"

"Chanting," Kakuzu answered. "Idiot."

"Eh?" Hidan wrinkled his nose. "Who's chanting?"

"We're here." Kakuzu slotted the map away, walking on ahead.

"Hey! Asshole, " Hidan snarled, lengthening his strides to keep pace with his partner, the swish of his Akatsuki cloak lapping its black, fabric tongue across the blades of his scythe. "I said, who's chanting?"

He was about ready to bury his weapon into Kakuzu's antisocial ass for dragging his ass all the way up to the summit of Mount Waste of Time just to be stonewalled by the materialistic bastard. Which probably meant this was some crappy, filthy side-job again.

At least his rituals had a purpose and a point.

Kakuzu's little bounty hunting games just felt degrading.

Hidan opened his mouth to quote scripture only to snap his jaw shut with an audible click. The Jashinist's wide-eyed gaze cut straight past Kakuzu and across a long stretch of road, his violet orbs zeroing in on the massive Temple stationed at the end.

"Monks," Kakuzu grunted. "You should enjoy this."

Hidan's lips pulled into a sneer, his nostrils flaring.

"Monks…" he breathed out, scorn crusting his voice. "Infidels singing songs instead'a screaming…" He rolled his shoulder and the loud clang of his scythe struck the ground like a death knoll. "That shit just don't fly in my religion."

And if there was one thing Hidan hated more than his victims calling out to their pathetic Gods to save them, it was monks believing that such Gods existed.

There was only one God.

One Lord.

Hidan reached up to catch the pendant around his neck, pressing the cold silver of the Jashinist amulet to his lips. He stroked the tip of his tongue along the triangle dominating the centre and tasted blood in the metal.

Finally…

He hefted his scythe back up. The Grim Reaper come to play.

Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this.

Seduction is a clever mistress. She's coy and cunning. She knows how to woo a man's common sense into a web of confusion. She makes predators her prey. Renzo knows he's the fly wrapped up in the spider's silk. And this black widow makes him want to scream. But seduction doesn't scream, she whispers, breathy and hot. She leans down and purrs in his ear–

"You seriously need to get laid."

Kakashi jumped, a curse slamming into his throat, right behind his heart. He shot a sharp look over the top of his Icha Icha book and the newspaper he'd used to cover it.

Asuma's eyes sparked devilishly, a thin stream of smoke curling up like whiskers around his Cheshire cat grin. "Caught with your pants down, Hatake?"

Kakashi fought hard not to broadcast his embarrassment and gathered his indignation into a cool glare, valiantly resisting the urge to dog-ear the page and skip to a less raunchy chapter.

"Mind if I cut in?" the Sarutobi drawled, already sliding into the opposite seat, hooking a finger over Kakashi's newspaper to tap the top of the Icha Icha book the copy-nin refused to snap shut. "Or were you at the good part?"

Kakashi stared back, deadpan and refusing to look guilty.

Asuma leaned back in his seat, casting a cursory glance around the dim lair of the establishment that looked more like a run-down tavern than a frequented bar. The lost-cause atmosphere of the dilapidated place made it a hot-spot for Konoha's hopeless drifters, a shelter for lost souls unwilling to check out of their personal purgatories.

Kakashi hadn't come here to do penance.

He'd come here, somewhat absurdly, for peace and guilty pleasures.

He'd ensconced himself in the furthest, darkest corner, taking a private booth seat. He'd hidden himself away in the hopes of avoiding the company of misanthropic patrons brooding over lost loves, lonely life and lessons learned too late.

Much too late…

While Kakashi carried the ghosts of all three of those regrets he didn't intend to ease the pain by dissecting his mistakes with the blunt razor of drunkenness. He preferred to bypass said drunkenness and the company of others just as well-versed in the art of fucking up and not forgetting it.

"Damn." Asuma let out a low whistle shot through with smoke. "People come in here looking for damaged dates and deep, existential conversation. You come in here to get your rocks off with dirty books. This is tragic, Hatake."

Not as tragic as the fact that Kakashi had spent the last couple of hours meticulously re-arranging his day around Naruto's hectic training just to make space for some alone time with his favourite series.

I'm hiding in Niji next time…

There was no way in any devil's hell that Asuma would set foot in the rainbow coloured coffee place. How the Sarutobi had managed to find him in this slit-your-wrists joint might have piqued Kakashi's curiosity under less embarrassing circumstances.

"Witness one Hatake Kakashi," Asuma began, assessing the other Jōnin like a criminal profiler. "Eligible bachelor, prize catch, nose-deep in porn, perusing filthy pages whilst giving off an impression of depth and damage that screams 'please fix me'. So hip. So cool. Ah, your bullshit smells like roses, Hatake."

Kakashi's lip quirked beneath his mask. "Guilty as charged."

"So take off the mask for your mug shot."

"It would be a greater crime, to break hearts with my looks."

"That ugly, huh?"

Kakashi chuckled quietly. "I doubt you came here for a verbal round, Asuma. Or a drinking round for that matter."

Asuma smirked, his eyes tracing along with the words 'LIFE BRUISES BUT LOVE BLEEDS'etched crudely into the dark grain of the table. He swept his palm across the graffiti as if he could erase it.

"Yeah, I'm still recovering from the last round," Asuma muttered, not meeting Kakashi's gaze. His cigarette slid to the corner of his mouth, ash falling to pepper the stained wood. "I've got a question for you."

Kakashi arched a brow at the tension in Asuma's face. He considered responding but glanced down at his book, pretending to read. A beat later, he sensed Asuma's gaze swinging up again, studying him.

"Purely hypothetical question," the Sarutobi added, drumming his fingers at the edge of the table, turning sideways in his seat.

Kakashi didn't reply. He flipped a page instead, grey eye scanning lines without reading a word. This method tended to work on Asuma when the Sarutobi was feeling edgy. If his turn away from the table was any indication, he sure as hell didn't want to be here.

Which makes it all the more important that he is…

Therefore, the fastest way to get Asuma to talk was to dance around the edges of the topic with him before a skip and a hop – or a kick – directed the Sarutobi towards the point. It was a weird conversational tango, but Kakashi knew Asuma well enough to sense the Sarutobi appreciated him following the steps.

"Mnhmn," Kakashi hummed, giving an impression of barely-there attention.

"Census data for the village," Asuma said, taking a pull on his cigarette. "How'd one go about accessing that?"

Kakashi flipped another page. "One wouldn't."

"Wouldn't? Or couldn't?"

"Shouldn't."

"Right." Asuma turned a little more in his seat, tapping ash into a cracked and yellowed tray set beside a drink's menu. "So let's pretend I have a friend in need and you're a friend indeed."

Kakashi's brow quirked up. "Do you have a 'best friends forever' bracelet to go with that?"

"Ah come on, you love that corny shit."

"Let me guess," Kakashi began, flicking Asuma a glance. "This hypothetical friend of yours – and mine – isn't doing a demographics study."

Asuma flashed a grin that didn't warm his eyes. "Razor-sharp, aren't you?"

The edge in Asuma's voice upped the ante and Kakashi wasted no time in shifting conversational steps to kick rather than skip Asuma towards the point.

"Then allow me to cut straight to the chase," Kakashi returned, taking the lead in the verbal dance. "Who are you trying to find, Asuma?"

Asuma leaned back, jaw tightening. "Someone called, Naoki. Heard of him?"

"No. Clan name?"

"Who the fuck knows."

Kakashi gave him a dry look.

Asuma smirked mirthlessly around his cigarette, smoke misting out in a thin ribbon between his lips. "Yeah, that's the sad truth. Hence my detective work."

"You might be at a dead end. Information provided by census can never be used for investigative purposes without the express permission of the Hokage, Asuma."

"Rule books, school books, Hatake. Not scared of a little detention time."

"You'd get more than detention. Those rules are there for a reason."

Asuma acknowledged the breach with a tip of his head, raising a hand to ward off further warnings. "Just trying to track this guy down, nothing to worry about, just can't exactly ask around."

Kakashi was quiet, his gaze hovering for a moment. "Why can't you ask around?"

"Why?" Asuma snorted and rubbed at his mouth, attempting to disguise the sneer that pulled at his lips. "Might trip over some sleeping dogs."

Kakashi cocked his head, detecting more than just scorn in the deepening gravel of Asuma's voice. There was something shaky there. Thinking fast, Kakashi's eye clouded like smoky topaz then sharpened like flint, searching for clues in the other man's face.

"And what breed of dog are we talking about?" he asked.

"Wish I knew," Asuma muttered, taking a quick-hit pull on his cigarette, frowning. "Right now all I've got is a stray without a collar. Your guess is as good as mine – probably better."

Kakashi shook his head. "I don't know anyone by the name of Naoki. If I did, I would tell you."

Asuma paused and looked across, eyes deadly calm. "Would you?"

The question knocked Kakashi's head sideways but he remained pokerfaced despite his surprise. He set down the newspaper and book. "Why wouldn't I?"

For a long second Asuma held off answering, an odd aggression hanging in his aura like a palpable entity; dark and heavy. Tension buzzed, nerves twitched and tightened.

Kakashi blinked slowly. "Do you think I'm one of those sleeping dogs, Asuma?"

Just as fast as the frustration and suspicion had sprung to Asuma's eyes, it retreated, leaving him momentarily stumped. He shook his head, passing a hand across his face, running it back through his hair.

"Shit. I don't know…" Asuma sighed and his shoulders dropped only to roll back up, tense and agitated. "That might sound harsh. No offence intended, Kakashi."

"None taken."

If he felt anything about Asuma's suspicion towards him, it was a potent blend of curiosity and concern. Rather than offer any kind of reassurance, the copy-nin looked on in silence, measuring, monitoring, making more mental notes and checking them against the ones he already possessed.

This must be to do with Kurenai or his Team…

More than likely Shikamaru, given the recent vein of guilt that Asuma had opened up under the blunt knife of drunkenness. He'd spilt out a slur of words Kakashi hadn't stopped turning around in his mind.

"Damn kid didn't tell me. So I'm telling you I'm gonna find out who He is and then I'm gonna kill him…"

Was the 'He' who had harmed Shikamaru this mystery man that Asuma was trying to track down? The name Naoki didn't even pencil in on the register of names and faces Kakashi kept on instant recall. Identities were usually accessible at a moment's notice, but the copy-nin had nothing on this one. Not even a vague impression.

Naoki…

Kakashi clocked the name, attaching it like a paperclip of thought to the mental notes he needed to follow up on.

What's your story, Shikamaru?

Judging from Asuma's drunken rant, the kid had closed the book on whatever his said story was; he'd left it untitled, unread, maybe parts of it unrecorded.

No…there's always a trail…

And Asuma was obviously trying to uncover and follow it. Perhaps drunkenly confessing his concern and guilt had forced him to take the action he claimed he should've taken two years ago. Considering that, Kakashi couldn't help but feel the scabbed veins of his own guilt itching for a bleed.

Sasuke…

He shook his head against the image of the Uchiha's angry, coal-black eyes, burning with a fire of vengeance the copy-nin felt he should've tried harder to extinguish in his student.

But he hadn't tried harder.

Thus, he'd failed.

He'd been too cool, too controlled, too cerebral and too cut off – all of this compounded by the ghost of ANBU's mask resting atop the one he already wore.

So many mistakes…

And no second chances that would make a blind bit of difference. At least, that was Kakashi's thinking. Asuma might have shared this view on some level, but the Sarutobi possessed something Kakashi didn't: the willingness to hunt down and seize these second chances regardless of whether he felt he deserved them…and regardless of whether it would change anything.

Naruto's face eclipsed Sasuke's in the copy-nin's mind.

Just like Naruto…Asuma's will takes a unique kind of courage…to risk so much…knowing it might gain him nothing…and maybe cost him everything…

Kakashi remained quiet for a while, weighing all that he himself was and was not. And then he took the sum of those damaged parts and weighed them against all that he could offer and all that he couldn't afford to lose.

Those were dangerous scales and slippery slopes.

This has nothing to do with me…

And yet…

"Naoki…" Kakashi said again, glancing off to the side as he considered it. "Having no clan name could indicate ANBU."

"ANBU…" Asuma echoed, sounding dubious, almost reluctant.

"It's a possibility," Kakashi said, summoning a mental list of names from his time in the black-ops. "Yamato might know. I could ask…" he paused, looking over. "Unless you're worried he might be one of those sleeping dogs you want to let lie."

"I don't care about letting them lie," Asuma muttered, his jaw tightening so violently the tension radiated down his neck, tendons pulsing. "I'll keep on kicking every damn dog until one of them yelps something useful."

"Keep on kicking?" Kakashi echoed, leaning into the table to invite confidence and offer support. A calculated move he made look casual. "Did you get bit, Asuma?"

Asuma's jaw turned to granite. He waved away the question, crushing out his cigarette in the tray. He made no move to reach for another one and Kakashi called himself ten kinds of fool for having asked his question.

Damn.

Asuma looked ready to cut and run, his gaze already shifting towards the exit. "Never mind. Thanks anyway, Kakashi. I appreciate it."

"Stay for a drink," Kakashi said, his tone casual, his intention anything but. He didn't like the rogue edge in Asuma's expression or the possibility of the other Jōnin doing something foolish. "I might even pay this time."

Asuma grunted something, his eyes wandering the bar. He hovered at the edge of his seat, frowning hard, his mind elsewhere. "You were ANBU…"

Kakashi sat perfectly still, but the breath he sucked in pulled hard at the fabric of his mask. He waited for an elaboration on those words, not sure whether there was accusation lurking in Asuma's tone.

The Sarutobi looked over. "Why did you quit?"

The feelings that question inspired were sudden, surprising and uncomfortably strong. Kakashi didn't answer. His hooded gaze remained trained on Asuma's face, giving away nothing of what roiled beneath the surface.

The Sarutobi offered a slim smile, a shadow of apology in his eyes. "Forget I asked that."

Kakashi shrugged. "I'm sure you could ask more dangerous questions."

"I could," Asuma admitted, turning back in his seat again.

Kakashi managed not to look relieved. A slim window of opportunity had opened up again – one that he'd have to slip through before Asuma locked down on the topic completely. If he could keep the other Jōnin talking just long enough to bring the blurry clues into focus.

"So ask," Kakashi said, letting the words hang.

Asuma continued to look askance at the copy-nin, stuck at the edge of suspicion. "I get the feeling this is gonna be an 'all kiss and no tell'."

"You're not my type."

"You're not funny."

"I can't guarantee I'll have the answers. But you have nothing to lose by asking."

"Yeah? How would you know?"

"I don't, but neither do you otherwise you wouldn't be here," Kakashi said, giving Asuma a long, level stare that the Sarutobi returned. "Though it seems that whoever you asked last gave you a kick in the teeth for opening your mouth – am I right?"

Asuma's jaw hardened again, as if in memory of that figurative kick. He let out a hot breath and stared hard at the ash tray stationed between them, clearly contemplating a cigarette.

He didn't light one.

Kakashi eased back in his seat, sensing he'd cut deep enough with those words to come close to a vein. "Asuma, what ha—"

"Genma."

Kakashi's expression froze and his stream of calculated thought stopped completely, like breath cutting off. "Genma…?"

Asuma pinned him with a flat look. "Well, I was working more of a 'you've got to be shitting me' expression myself, but it's kind of hard to tell with you."

Kakashi blinked from his blank stare, cocking his head. "Genma?"

"Well done, Hatake, want me to write it down for you? He even has a last name."

The sarcasm snapped Kakashi back, allowing the copy-nin to gather his thoughts before they rushed down all the mental routes without a map. "You asked him about accessing census data?"

"No, I asked him if he knew this Naoki guy." Asuma shook his head in response to Kakashi's questioning look. "Well I wouldn't still be digging up dirt if he'd come clean, would I?"

"You think he knows?"

"I know he does," Asuma corrected without a shred of hesitation.

"But he didn't volunteer this information," Kakashi surmised.

"Delicately put," Asuma muttered. "He didn't want a big black stain on his record, so why the hell should I think you'd want one either?"

"ANBU painted my record an entirely different colour, I assure you," the words came out harder than Kakashi had intended and he recovered by lifting his shoulder in a lazy shrug. "We work in all shades, Asuma. Genma included."

"But the rulebook is always black and white, isn't it?" the Sarutobi pointed out with a sour smile, his gaze straying away. "Look, I get it. You don't have to play truant just because I am, Kakashi."

"I'd like to think of it more as playing devil's advocate."

That got Asuma's attention. Brandy eyes cut back to Kakashi in a heartbeat. "Devil's advocate huh? Gee, does that make me the bad guy?"

"Sounds to me like you're trying to catch the bad guy," Kakashi returned neutrally.

"If he's the bad guy."

"And what will determine that?"

Asuma gave a gruff chuckle, passing a hand across his mouth, casting Kakashi a begrudgingly impressed look. "Oh you're good, Hatake. Very smooth."

Not smooth enough…

Kakashi blinked at him in innocence.

Asuma didn't fall for it, looking away with another quiet chuckle. "And you didn't even need to ply me with saké."

Rather than digress into banter, Kakashi took a measured pause to reassess tactics and read any tells in the other man's face, speaking only when he sensed the Sarutobi's gaze threatening to turn towards the exit.

"I have no agenda here, Asuma."

"Yeah?" Asuma rubbed at his jaw, glancing back. "Tell me something, Kakashi...if it came down to choosing between following the rules or doing what's right, which would you pick?"

Kakashi's gaze lost focus. Suddenly the word 'rules' raised an ugly flag in his mind – red and tattered. A bloody streamer of thought…

"Those that break the rules and regulations are scum…but those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum!"

The copy-nin's gaze dropped down, deep down, staring inward through the dark portal of time that opened up in his mind's eye. The tomoe in his Sharingan orb spun into a pinwheel dance, bringing back the memories…the moments…the mistakes he could never make right…

Obito…Rin…

Pain knifed into his left eye, shooting through the swirling centre, stabbing through to the back of his skull. He flinched, his visible eye squinting from the pain. The portal of time vanished, sucked up into that lockbox in the back of his mind.

Kakashi blinked slowly and reached up to adjust his hitai-ate.

Asuma's brows pulled together in concern but he knew better than to ask.

Taking a moment to blink away the pain, Kakashi answered softly. "It's easy to say I would do what I thought was right. But in our world, what's right is always relative."

"Sure it is," Asuma muttered, almost to himself. "And how about what's wrong? Is that relative too?"

Kakashi lowered his hand from his hitai-ate. Anything he had to say in response to that wouldn't be anything Asuma would want to hear. Honestly, right and wrong were always relative terms – relative to the person, relative to the world in which that person operated. ANBU had taught him that. ANBU had sliced up his conscience into threads that slipped between all the loopholes that existed within 'right' and 'wrong'.

"I could answer that question, Asuma," Kakashi replied. "But I don't think you'll appreciate what I have to say."

"Let me guess, it's along the lines of everyone just doing what they have to do, morality be damned."

Well, Kakashi wouldn't have put it quite like that. That particular rope of thought tied into need and necessity, which in turn tied into an even more complicated knot of contradictions otherwise known as the human condition. Unravelling that knot was the business of gods and drunks.

Kakashi was no god.

He had no drink in hand.

And yet his mouth moved anyway. "Morality will always have a shadow side, Asuma. It's like the moon."

Asuma stared at him, shaking his head. "The moon…are you serious? You choose the most inconstant thing to represent what should be solid and fundamental to anyone with a conscience."

"You may think so. But morality comes with many faces and it changes according to custom, culture and more importantly, according to context, which is often affected by who and what we care about."

Asuma's eyes narrowed. "Somehow, I don't think the people I have in mind give a shit about anyone or anything but themselves."

"That's the eclipse…"

"The what?"

Kakashi plucked out a coin from his pocket and brushed his thumb across the tarnished metal. "A full moon is what the best of us strive to be," he slid his thumb until a crescent remained. "As shinobi, we remain as half moons, phasing between the definitions of right and wrong." He dipped his wrist, a sleight of hand trick that left him with an empty palm. "And some of us exist within a total eclipse of conscience, not caring about either."

"You just pull this shit outta your ass, don't you?"

"It's true," Kakashi murmured, giving Asuma a pointed look. "And you know it better than most, Asuma, given what you experienced with the Guardian Twelve."

"Don't go getting all profound on me, Hatake. I sure as hell didn't come in here for this deep, existential crap." Asuma stared off towards the exit and began to rise, taking out a cigarette to press between his lips. He slid from the booth, turning his back. "Enjoy your book."

Kakashi watched the other Jōnin from beneath his lashes. "Asuma…"

The Sarutobi stiffened, glancing back over his shoulder. "What?"

Kakashi let a slow breath seep between the fibres of his mask before he dredged up a weak smile, his grey eye warming. "Being a good shinobi and breaking the rules are not mutually exclusive. And it takes a rare breed of ninja to be capable of both."

Though Kakashi hadn't given up the words to gain anything, it earned him a weak smile from the Sarutobi. "Save me a bottle, Kakashi and I might drink to that later."

"You should." Kakashi paused here, his voice quieter as he added, "You're part of that rare and dying breed."

Asuma's eyes went wide in surprise before he snorted, blowing off the compliment and his black mood with a pseudo-salute. "Well this rare dog isn't dying until that mask comes off your ugly mug."

Kakashi's brow went up, grey eye twinkling with amusement. "Have fun living forever, Sarutobi."

"Perks of being a badass," Asuma chuckled, waving over his shoulder. "Apparently only the good die young."

Focus…

The rhythmic slap of bare feet and the sharp crack of wood echoed off the lacquered walls of the Jūken-ryū dōjō. The training place for the Hyūga's Main House elite, its foundation built upon generations of clan tradition and iron teachings. Teachings that gloved the Gentle Fist style in a gauntlet of control.

Focus!

Neji turned just as Hiashi slashed out with his bokken, curving the bamboo blade in a neat arc towards the junction of the younger Hyūga's neck and shoulder.

The strike came fast.

Neji's focus wavered.

He deflected the hit along his forearm, holding the limb rigid as steel. He felt the impact judder along the bone, threatening a fracture. The burst of ruptured tissue burned hotter than live ash beneath the surface, leaving a welt that almost split skin.

Damn it.

The bruise would be ugly.

If Hiashi had struck harder and angled sharper, he might have broken his nephew's arm.

He should have.

The fact that the elder had reserved his strength suggested he could sense something was off. Neji frowned. Gods, was he still that transparent to his uncle? Even now? Pushing down the initial rush of frustration, Neji let out a slow breath and rolled his wrist to knock aside the bokken, assuming a sideways stance, chin up and jaw set.

Hiashi arched a brow, taking his time to lower the weapon. "You sacrificed your grip strength. Your focus is weak. I have killed you twice in these past ten minutes."

Neji tensed but couldn't deny these truths. "Yes."

"Re-focus or leave," Hiashi ordered, his voice radiating authority without him having to modulate his tone at all. "You are stronger than this. Faster. Sharper. Deadlier. Where is your focus?"

Neji flexed his fingers, tensing muscles to squeeze out the ache in his limbs. They'd been training for the past four hours, over and over, again and again, thousands of attacks and defences all bled into a stream of continuous movement. But he'd taken more hits than he'd deflected in the past ten minutes.

Hiashi was not a man to tolerate even a degree of distraction whilst training.

Too bad Neji's focus had divided itself somewhere between the fight and the weird sense of a presence in the dōjō with them. Neji had tried to ignore it, but couldn't shake the lingering sensation of eyes boring into him.

Ridiculous…

Hiashi would have sensed it immediately.

"Again," the elder Hyūga said, his voice filling the dōjō in a sonorous roll, smoothing over the air, lulling away the odd vibes.

Alone. They were alone.

Adjusting his mental footing, Neji got a solid toehold on his focus, feeling it slide back beneath his feet. And with that focus came the seamless flow of breath. He let it glide in smooth, live-giving streams through his body, invigorating cells, waking up reserves of strength.

He moved faster.

He hit harder.

The strength became fluid, unforced, flowing through him and out of him. It was ingrained, intuitive and instinctive. He felt…

Free…

Chakra pooled along the side of his palm, the callused skin turning harder than horn. He knifed his hand out just as Hiashi swung the bokken.

A violent crack rent the air.

Bamboo exploded, raining a small shower of wood that scattered across the tatami floor in a mix of thin needles and thick fragments.

Hiashi's eyes flashed wide but his voice rang calm and clear. "Stop."

Neji froze on the command, feeling that cyclone of power humming in his aura, a spiral of chakra in perpetual motion. He breathed deep, pulling the energy into helix inside him. Contained and controlled.

Hiashi examined the shattered end of the bokken still clutched in his hand, turning it with a roll of his thumb. He hummed. "Impressive."

Neji let out a shaking breath, flexing his toes to feel the ground beneath his feet. A giddy, weightless sensation fluttered inside him. He wasn't sure whether it was excitement or adrenaline.

He watched Hiashi turn his wrist this way and that as if checking for a sprain. "No one has shattered a bokken while I was wielding it. Their speed and precision has always been inferior."

Neji had no trouble believing that. Even Tenten would have hard time trying to keep pace with Hiashi. He'd trained in kenjutsu from a young age, taking it up as an extracurricular interest. But he'd mastered the techniques of the blade with the same precision as anything else he set his mind to.

"You've improved remarkably, Neji."

The praise came like a swing to the temple, leaving Neji stunned. It took him a moment to process the words before he bowed, his thick mane spilling over his shoulders.

"Hiashi-sama," he acknowledged.

Hiashi regarded him in thoughtful silence, turned the broken weapon over in his hand and moved across the dōjō to set it down. Had Neji been watching Hiashi, he might have seen his uncle pass a subtle glance toward the shadowed doorway leading into a Shinto prayer room.

"Do not lose your focus. You will need it."

Neji blinked, glancing up without lifting his head.

Hiashi turned away to pace across the large room, his steps carrying the regal grace that distilled itself to all the elder's movements. He passed through the bars of grainy light that striped the tatami mats and moved to stand to one side of the entrance. It led out onto a porch which gave way to a set of long wooden steps, bent under the weight of age and the tread of countless Hyūga ninja who had come before.

"Hmn." Hiashi inhaled deeply, turning half-way to regard the interior. "It has been a long time since I've set foot in this dōjō. The last time…was with my brother."

Neji drew his head up, his eyes rounding.

The light streaming in through the doors cast a warm, patina glow along the cold ridges of Hiashi's expression. Neji could just about discern the squint around the elder's eyes, but that could have been him narrowing his pale orbs against the light, rather than fighting back emotion he'd never let show.

Hiashi turned his back again. "You honour your father's memory. You keep it alive."

Neji's breath snagged hard, the air thinning in his throat.

He gazed at his uncle's turned back and it occurred to him in a cruel flash that it could have been his father standing at the threshold. All he had to do was let his mind blur the lines of reality and maybe, just maybe, some small, lonely part of his soul could embrace the lie that it was Hizashi's ghost standing there.

Then Hiashi glanced over his shoulder, pale eyes catching the light – not warm, but not cold either. "Come here."

Neji swallowed, pushed down the ache in his chest and moved towards his uncle. Somehow it felt like he obliged rather than obeyed. A flutter of adrenaline returned to his stomach, the nervous sensation akin to wings struggling to test the tethers.

He came to stand beside Hiashi, squinting against the warm glare of late afternoon sunlight. It washed up to the edge of the porch, spilt over the sunken steps and turned the gravel of the dōjō's limestone path to a river of gold.

"I see my brother in you," Hiashi said, his voice deep and distant, echoing down from another time…another place…"As much as you see him in me."

Neji titled his jaw to look across, fighting hard not to let an iota of emotion touch his expression. Hiashi wouldn't appreciate it. Control was tantamount with this man, even when defences came down.

Hiashi let out a soft sigh, dark lashes shuttering over his eyes. "It is what makes this confliction more personal to me than the divide within our clan."

"What confliction, Hiashi-sama?"

"You."

Neji's brows shot up then pulled together, betraying his confusion before he looked away. He set his gaze on the ripples of the koi pond, feeling the weight of Hiashi's answer spread through his veins, stirring the blood he'd always considered to be water.

"I don't understand," he answered on a breath, shaking his head.

Hiashi took his time in responding, his words quiet, his gaze faraway. "I cannot give you my blessing…and I cannot take away your curse. Therein lies the root of my confliction…and it runs deep."

Why are you saying this? Why now?

Neji bit back the questions, a tangle of bitter nettles that still stung the healing corners of his heart. His own conflictions and confusions twisted and twined like vines, binding him into a silence with his uncle that felt heavier than chains.

They stood together, watching the light change and the leaves shiver.

Time took on a surreal quality, elongating with the shadows.

And after what seemed like an endless time, Hiashi walked away.

Neji remained. He stood at the threshold, breathing in the residual sense of loss. He didn't understand it. Couldn't even begin to process the mess of complicated feelings his uncle's words had inspired.

Your words come too late…just like before…

Neji closed his eyes and stepped back into the dōjō, fully intent on taking up another hour's worth of practice before checking his next mission assignment. Gods, any assignment would do right now. He needed both the distraction and the focus.

And I need direction…

Until he could convince Shikaku of his eligibility, the path to ANBU was barred. This left him snapping up A-ranks, which was better than crossing his fingers in the hopes that Shikaku would give him the thumbs up.

Breathe…focus…

Rolling the tension from his shoulders, Neji paced to the centre of the room, feet sweeping across the tatami mats, pulling him into the kata. Muscles grew loose, became both steel and water, flowing and shifting.

Ten minutes into the kata he felt it again.

Like cold breath at his nape.

He made a deliberate turn, pretending to flow with the movement of the kata, glancing towards the raised platform to the right side of the dōjō. A thick curtain of shadow slanted across the tier, untouched by the soft strips of orange light and the dust motes floating like amber sparks through the beams.

Neji slowed his movements, his brows tugging into a frown.

Odd…

That part of the stage was usually visible at this hour. He glanced towards the small windows higher up, assuming some of the screens had been drawn shut.

They were all open.

Neji froze, wide eyes snapping towards the stage.

The shadows pulled back like a grinning beast, curving sideways, stretching their black smile to reveal a kunai lodged into the wall at the back of the platform. Its shining hilt winked from the eyehole of a broken ANBU mask.

Neji felt his skin prickle, the hairs at his nape rising.

The half-mask hung askew, pinned like an ill omen. Neji could already guess what it augured. The shadows shrank further, slipping away off the stage like oil, running in a sensual whisper across the tatami mats and up along the walls, blocking out the light. Tendrils of black brushed straight past the Hyūga, flowing behind him.

Neji's body went electric with tension – but he didn't turn.

The entire dōjō seemed to shrink, like a throat closing up, caught in the grip of a shadow hand wringing out the light.

Neji snagged a breath, fighting off the claustrophobic sensation.

The temperate dropped several degrees, chilling the sweat on his skin. For a long, lingering moment there was absolute silence. The only sound being the throb of his heartbeat and the pounding of adrenaline in his veins.

Further silence.

Without warning, the shadows thinned near the top of the dōjō, allowing for thin slats of light to penetrate the darkness hanging in the room.

Then he heard it.

The soft brush of feet across the tatami mats, the pace slow and lazy, completely relaxed in its step. It was an understated and unguarded approach, a man making no attempt to disguise his movements.

Not needing to…

Understated men were always the most dangerous to underestimate.

Neji stared ahead, eyes glazed, his focus on the man behind him.

Finally, the shinobi spoke.

"You think you know what it is to be broken, Neji?" Shikaku asked, his rusty tones stroking like a rough palm along Neji's spine, tightening his nerves. "You can't even begin to imagine all the ways that ANBU will make you redefine that word."

A muscle ticked in Neji's jaw, eyes focused on the broken, jagged angles of the mask. He held his silence, a pulse beating strong in the side of his neck – as if an invisible blade rested at his throat. Not that Shikaku required a hidden weapon. He was that weapon. A human weapon concealed in shadow. As deadly a blade as anything forged in steel.

"Do you grasp that implication?"

"Yes," Neji replied quietly.

"Then you have four days to imagine what you think it is," Shikaku said, his voice sounding further away. "And then you decide whether you're ready for the reality."

Neji's eyes widened.

Four days?

So soon? He'd expected the elder Nara to let him hang for a while. Neji turned his head, searching out the corner of his eye for the shadow master, stretching his senses to try and detect him. He couldn't identify a chakra signature. Not even the barest impression of one.

Incredible…

Phantom movement drew his gaze.

The shadows pulled away from the walls, peeling back, drifting down to flood towards the opposite end of the dōjō. Neji looked across, following the currents of black towards the shrine room at the opposite end, marvelling at the speed and silence with which Shikaku had moved. He passed like a shade between worlds, wrapped in the velvet cloak of his shadows, phasing into the darkness of the threshold.

Neji blinked, turning a little more. "And then what?" he called.

Shikaku gave a low, mirthless chuckle, his voice fading into the same blackness as his body. "Four days, Hyūga."

When the darkness pulled apart, the Nara was gone.

TBC.
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