Naruto 1. A Maelstrom Beneath the Waves

**AUTHORS NOTE**: Standard Disclaimer applies. I don't own Naruto or any of its canon characters, events, situations, locations and the whole shebang. All that belongs to the genius that is Kishimoto. What I do own however, is whatever madness seeps and oozes from this demented oubliette I call my imagination.

That being said, I know that I primarily write about another anime (_*cough*KHR*cough). _That being said, I adore Naruto fanfiction for some inexplicable reason despite my annoyance for some of its major characters (Sasuke because I could never understand what the fuck he has to be so EMO about and Kakashi because...well, it would take too long to explain) to name a few. That being the thing, you might wonder why I'm even bothering to attempt to write for such a troublesome anime and the answer is simple—_**my Muse is a sadistic, obsessive, utterly compulsive demanding piece of annoyance and the idea just won't leave me alone!**_

I am telling you! I have spent weeks trying painfully to figure out a way to write a Naruto fiction that would not have me butchering jutsus, creating improbable, highly inaccurate fight scene or even repeating the inescapable "Dattebayo". I couldn't in all conscience do it. _I can't, I just can't_! It's not in me. I swear it on every book I ever owned. And I couldn't just make a hash of it—it's an insult to the poor sap that might read such hapless revolting trash. I couldn't risk someone's sanity for that. I couldn't afford to pay their shrinks fee.

So I decided to compromise and say fuck it. I'll do Naruto the only way I know how. So get ready and meet the Underworld Naruto. Because as my sadistic screw-up of a Muse pointed out to me: _either I write it the way the story wants to be writ or I make a hash of it and hate myself for it every freaking day of my life plagued by writer's block; either way it's out there and there's nothing anyone could do about it._

Yeah, right.

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**2-1-14 Update:** Tweaking the timelines. So here's the 411 on this madness that spouted from some corner of my brain:

The characters will be from the canon and as much as I am able, I will keep them in character—to some degree. Their lives however will not be. The story is centered towards a turf war that's about to erupt within powerful clans and the only way to save everyone else from a long, pointless and utterly protracted bloodbath is to find someone to unite the warring families. The only problem is that the candidate that's best suited for the job has been conveniently lost for more than a decade. Now, everyone involved is scrambling to find the One. There. That clear enough? Good. Let's get cracking then.

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**CHAPTER I:**

**A MAESTROM BENEATH THE WAVES**

_**It is a mistake to look too far ahead.**_

_**Only one link of the chain of destiny can be handled at a time.**_

_Winston Churchill_

_**Mt. Myõboku**_

_**Fire Nation**_

_**Present Time**_

The mansion stood atop the hills surrounded by ruins and the sound of a tempestuous sea. The structure was elegant though forbidding on the outside with its high fortified walls and cold cool façade. The entire mansion was painted a pleasing shade of white trimmed with crimson and gold. The carefully tended and manicured garden evoked a scene of tranquility and serenity that's undeniable even in the faint illumination of the stone lamps that were scattered all around.

The interior of the mansion was a sumptuous feast for the senses. The faintest perfume of incense lingered in the air for those privileged enough to gain entrance inside its walls. Dark polished wooden floors gleaming in the soft light of shaded lamps gilded the long open halls and the grand rooms. Arch ways were framed by intricately carved lattices. Beautifully rendered pieces of tapestries lined the walls as alcoves bore within their protective wombs elegant vases or sensuous lines of calligraphy.

Here and there flowers set upon dark wooden furnishing gave a much needed touch of color in the otherwise coldly formal and somber space. The graceful decor and affluent trappings however could not conceal nor diminish the echoing silence of the rooms nor downplay its odd emptiness. Only the presence of sentinels stationed at random turns showed any sign of life within.

The figure moved along the empty shadow-laden hallway without pause or hesitation, movements betraying long familiarity and assurance of permission. With nary a look at either direction the figure approached a pair of intricately detailed doors and paused for a single breath. Smoothly the figure raised a hand and gave the door a single tap.

The sound echoed in the cavernous hall and undoubtedly inside the inner chambers. Receiving some kind of signal, the figure gave a short nod before pulling the doors open and stepping smartly into the room. With a smooth and nearly silent tread, he gained access to the room's interior until he reached a fair meter or so away from the room's most prominent feature.

The figure sank into a kneeling position and gave a low bow before speaking softly. The voice, cool as silk and undeniable in its inherent authority cut across the room's echoing emptiness.

"Forgive the intrusion my lord, but we have urgent news and I must speak with you."

The massive bed was festooned with a diaphanous canopy that wrapped all around its carven frame. Silken sheet gleamed from beneath the weight of numerous pillows strewn with careless abandon as the figure cocooned within gave the faintest stirring of awareness. The voice that issued from beneath the mound of beddings was deep and gravely with faintest taint of slumber.

"As close as we are, my dear seneschal, I do not recall issuing an invitation to my bed for this evening. I will issue an apology if that hurts your feelings but alas I find no burning need for your company tonight. You know well enough my preference on the matter."

A small smile slashed across the figure's thin lips and reply when it came, was filled with clear, if aggravated affection. But eyes, though downcast in customary respect, held traces of urgency that cannot be held at bay for long.

"As tempting as you may think that notion to be, I must thankfully disillusion you, my lord. My presence here has nothing to do with my unending battle not to end up in your bed. It is for a different pressing matter altogether. One that I believe would please my lord."

A snort and even more rustling of the bed covers filled the darkened room. This time the voice was a bit clearer though the allure of its deep register was not diminished nor it's lazy, teasing inflections.

"You hurt my feelings so dear Yahiko, especially when it is you who came into my bed chambers so imperiously and with no apparent cause. And you didn't even bother to dress for the part—or undress for that matter. Any self-respecting seducer should know their part well; otherwise, it's just an utter failure of the plot."

"My lord—!" the figure sputtered in outrage when a large hand bid him to be still.

"Did you even bother having someone send for some sake? You know as well as I do that my brain refuses to function without some stimulation. "

The figure straightened from his bow and nodded, settling on his knees once more, feet tucked politely beneath the fall of silken robes.

"I would not have dared if the news I bring were not of import my lord. As for refreshments, I took it upon myself to send for the sake, it is on its way even as we speak. I have a feeling you will need it very soon my lord."

"You should hope so. I would have despaired for you had you ordered tea instead. At times I fear that you have no seduction or imagination in your soul, young man. If Nagato wasn't such a bore with his idealism, I knew I should've insisted that Konan be my attendant even if she did threaten to inflict bodily harm. At least I would found something pretty to look at.

"My lord…need I remind you of the threat that idealistic Nagato already promised to inflict upon your person should the matter of Konan's duties be ever brought up?"

"Fine, fine. You've made your point, spoilsport. Speak your mind then Yahiko so that I may attempt to sink back into my dreams which you so rudely interrupted."

"The council has made their move. The selection for the next candidate will begin come late spring of the next year. All eligible clans within the village have begun preparing their heirs and champions for the inevitable battle."

The rustling of blankets suddenly fell silent and everywhere else the night held its breath in anticipation. The slither of silk curtains parting made only the slightest of sound, as if even it would not dare intrude upon the tension that currently grips its every corner. Yahiko's ears heard the faint sounds and wondered at first what the unfamiliar noise was. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was the sound of a clearly amused chuckle.

"My lord?"

The rest of the room remained unlit but there was no mistaking the gleaming lights that were burning merrily in the dark pair that was staring straight at him. The slash of white that flashed at him did little to intimidate Yahiko. The figure bounded out of the massive bed and prowled towards the intricately designed sliding doors without a word.

"They have grown impatient over the years, I see. Is there any reason for this shift in the tide of time and man? Why are they re-instituting such antiquated methodologies again?"

"I believe that the current Head has expressed some desire to retire. With no other available heir at hand, the only solution that may be had falls into the chaos of outright battle. The Head wants to avoid any bloodshed such conflicts would inevitably cause. The council expressed their intention and from our sources, it seems like the Head would approve of their decision."

"He would have had no alternative anyways. Though I pity the Head for his situation—he has had the perfect heir and that has been taken from him in such a manner. Still, I find his council distasteful in their blatant power-mongering. It is time to settle the matter and make them remember their place in the natural order."

He stalked forward and with a quick flick of his wrist slid the shoji doors open with a bang. Uncaring for his apparent nudity or the noise that his actions caused, he stepped into the porch and stood beneath the bright illumination cast by the moon, lifting his shadowed face towards the cool breeze that blew into the room. Eyes closed and arms spread out wide, he spoke once more.

"I guess it's time for us to get started then. _Good_...I was getting bored. Time to provide myself with suitable entertainment, I cannot allow myself to fall on the wayside, now can I? I have idled my days away long enough."

"My lord?"

"Call for the others Yahiko. Tell them that our little game of throne's about to begin."

"I will inform them right away lord. Shall I also inform My Lady?"

"You know better than try and stop her from participating in this little scheme. I do not wish for an early meeting with my maker Yahiko and that's likely to happen should I try and keep her away."

"I understand. That's a very smart move on your part milord."

"Yahiko?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Why is it that when you compliment me it faintly reeks of the stench of an unmistakable insult?'

Yahiko merely blinked at his master's inquiring look before waving aside the man's inquiry. "I dare say you are merely imagining things, milord."The man gave his seneschal a brief glare before his eyes turned introspective once more. This time Yahiko's eyes narrowed in concern. "My lord, what troubles you?"

"I wonder, is the child being treated well?"

"From the few reports our men has given I assume that the child has been treated as well as could be hoped, my lord. It seems the child lives a pleasant existence."

"Good…that is good to know." The moment of silence settled into the room, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Indeed it was filled with quiet speculation. "I had thought of assigning someone to oversee the child's growth but I fear someone stumbling across them and finding out about the child. That is something I cannot allow."

Yahiko watched as his master slowly paced the smooth floors of the wooden porch that wrapped around the mansion. His master's movement like always were smooth and coordinated, seemingly flowing from one step to the next, his head bowed in thought even as his eyes continued to hold such intense introspection. When he spoke, his voice has lost much of its teasing quality and has reverted into more formal tones. "What troublesome imaginings disturb my lord's thoughts so?"

"Do you know what manner of person found the child?"

"Reports stated that it was an individual who runs a small country school, I believe."

"A teacher? Well, that is something wholly unexpected isn't it? The child could've done much worse than a limp-wristed pencil pusher. By the gods, can you imagine the irony of the child being raised by such a peace-loving, tree-hugging mother hen?"

Yahiko watched as an unusually wicked smile bloomed on his master's usually droll visage. Although his master has long since displayed outright and at times, ill-timed glee—this time there's no denying the mischievousness of the grin decorating his animated face.

"Yes, indeed my lord. However, I dare hope that this might prove beneficial to all in the end. Someone reasonably tractable and already educated will go a long way in making the proper impression."

"Indeed. If only impressions are the least of our problems but I very much doubt that. The child would need much in terms of training. It would not do to send such paschal lamb to the slaughter."

"My lord, if I might be so bold as to ask, how did you find the child? Not to demean our resources—but we've found nothing—no hint, no clue—for years and suddenly, after more than a decade of silence the location was brought to us."

The smile that painted his master's lips was bitter and just a tad vicious. "The location was sold to one of our information brokers by a certain individual who owed someone a considerable debt. A distasteful means of paying off one's responsibility, to be sure, but in our world tradable commodities flow in all shapes, sizes and forms. And though the information traded was priceless—the informant was not someone who deserved having his reward."

"Is it safe to assume someone sold off the information to pay off a financial obligation? He betrayed someone's trust to get out of debt?"

"Indeed. You must understand that while I was grateful and relieved to finally know the child's location after so long—it was the nature of his reason for revealing the location that made me resentful of the largess I had put up in hopes of finding reliable information."

Yahiko nodded in understanding. While it was true that his master—indeed his master's connections and inner circle—were happy with the knowledge that they now held, it was the nature of the man who brought it that tainted the joy his master felt. The man sold out his friends, betrayed them for the prize his master so willingly offered to save his own neck. In essence, the man endangered the child to the highest bidder. It was only fate's benevolent hand that led the betrayer to the one person who would not abuse the information. Even he could not fathom the magnitude of trouble that would've arisen had the information been given to anyone else.

"My lord, forgive my presumptuousness but may I inquire as to where the child was found? I admit to being a poor prey to my curiosity."

This time around the expression that painted his master's visage could only be described as nostalgic. "You would not believe it, but ironically the child has been very close this entire time."

"Close? Oh? How close?"

"The child has been located in Wave Country."

Yahiko's eyes widened in delighted surprise. "_Oh_…isn't that rather poetic?" He gave in to the urge to grin and flashed twinkling eyes at his clearly amused master. "The land of waves?! How utterly fitting, is it not?"

"The irony will surely not be lost on anyone once that knowledge is made public. I assume many would find it amusing once the matter becomes known."

"Indeed, milord."

"Now, Yahiko, I have a special need for you and seeing as how I am already awake at such an ungodly hour I might as well deal with the matter."

"You have my sincerest apologies milord for every inconvenience I have brought upon you."

His master merely snorted. "I would rather have your speed than that. Send word out to those whose talent we will need…tell them that we have found a little maelstrom hiding just beneath the concealing waves."

The wording of his orders amused Yahiko and he couldn't help but relish the image of surprise that he knew would paint a few faces that morning. "It would be my pleasure, my lord."

The man turned from his servants and with a grace visible even in the waning light of the moon, stepped out from the covered porch and into the dew-kissed grass below. He didn't pay much mind on the sliver of shadow that detached itself from its dense counterparts to follow him. Without a single parting thought for his nudity or the coldness of the night, he strolled towards the edge of the mansion that faced the sheer cliff's end and the churning sea below.

Silhouetted against the dark, star-laden skies, the figure stared at the waves that broke against the rock face and murmured as if to the very winds

"_I have found him…I have found your heir…and soon…soon, I will restore him to his proper place and your spirit will have found peace at last…"_

The sliver of shadow fluttered briefly before a gust of wind blew it away, allowing it to take form and glide out towards the quickly lightening horizon.

TBC


	2. When A Kit and A Dolphin Meet

**2-14-14 Update: **As I mentioned before. This story is being tweaked until I grow comfortable with it. I decided to split the first chapter into two. I don't know if this will affect the reader's over-all impression of this tale but somehow it feels right to me so I'm going with my gut here. I am a novice writer for this fandom and I am still feeling my way through most of it. I wish I could say I am confident—or at least—as marginally confident in my writing here as I am for my other fics but alas—that is not the case. I am a nervous wreck and I can't even blame that on prescription medicines, caffeine or the odd sugar high. Woe is me.

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**CHAPTER II:**

**WHEN A KIT AND A DOLPHIN MEET**

_**Destiny grants us our wishes, but in its own way,**_

_**in order to give us something beyond our wishes.**_

_Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

**Mist Country**

**Dead of Winter**

**Ten years before Present Time Line**

_**KIT**_

The cold seeping through the tattered remains of clothing he wore wasn't new. The grimy feel of dirt beneath his hands, the burn of cuts and bruises on his skin, even the calloused blistering heat beneath his bare feet wasn't new. The gnawing edge of hunger pangs scorching through him wasn't new either. He might have grown even warier had there been longer intervals before he received his daily dose of pain. They were the only constant in his world and he has grown to expect them in the changing sea that was his life. He has expected them since he was taken from his home three years ago and kept in a cage in the bottom of nowhere. For as long as he could remember those were the only sensations that seemed constant in his new life.

_Well, that and pain. Pain wasn't something new either._

He lived with the pain, knew it at the most basic of levels, lost track of time, of passing days, of everything because of pain. He became so well acquainted with it in fact and the growing, escalating levels of it since he woke up in that dark damp dilapidated shack that he forgot for the longest time what it was like waking up without pain. He has forgotten what life was without the endless bouts of beatings and tortures, the punches and the lacerations. He has forgotten what it was like to be open his eyes and not be greeted with bruises and dried blood or go to sleep without thinking that lying down would be an annoyance he couldn't manage with a broken rib.

The first few weeks were the hardest and definitely the most excruciating. He couldn't remember being that cold, hungry or in so much pain before. All he had were his questions and his fears and the never-ending pain. There wasn't actually any time he could recall when there was an absence of pain or violence during those early weeks. He couldn't recall before when he had shed so many tears, screamed so many times he grew hoarse or whined and begged and pleaded to anyone who would listen that he didn't do anything wrong. But nothing changed except whoever it was that took him increased even more the beatings and the torture until he learned to endure, learned to survive. _**And learn he did**_. He learned well enough not just to endure pain but to never show it. He didn't just learn to survive through the beatings he learned how to give it back—punch for every punch, kick for every kick.

_Only a fool didn't learn how to master the pain. Sooner or later something will give and either the pain will win or the spirit will. The body may break, but it will heal and continue on healing. Only the spirit remains and it's the only thing left that can be broken. Once that breaks, its game over and death wasn't something to look forward to._

Sometimes, during the dead of night when the beatings ceased and his tormentors vanished into whatever black hole they came from he would think and try and remember another time and another life. He remembered waking up to warm mornings in the sun, the smell of trees and grass and other things that grow. He could recall the sound of someone's warm laugh and the heat of someone's hand rubbing his back and carding through his locks. He could recall voices calling out his name playfully—_lovingly._

But as the days of his in turned into weeks and then months and the months bled into actual years he has grown to doubt his own memories until they seemed more like dreams rather than actual truths. The darkness…the cold bars and the aching loneliness fast became the only things he strongly remembered ever since. And though he could still remember his name, there was little else that he could hold on to about his previous life except for the persistent snatches of voices and impressions of scents that called to a far different place than the one he currently occupies.

Sometimes the cold became so bad and the hunger so intense that he was beginning to doubt he ever had any other life but the one he has now. Those times when he would remember became rarer as the days progressed until they became few and far between and he has grown to thinking that maybe the images of another place filled with different people—with people who cared for him—were all just a dream or worse, a desperate fantasy his brain created in order to help him cope. He often argued—with his mind, his own consciousness—that if they were real, then where were the ones who once cared for him? Why haven't they looked for him yet? And why have they abandoned him? What terrible crime has he committed that made them leave him in the hands of his tormentors?

_But I know once there was someone with eyes like mine and hair that shone like flames…I know that I saw them once and that they were the ones that gave me those warm feelings…_

He couldn't convince himself fully at times though, that they were memories and not dreams. His dreams are usually filled with dark images splashed with fire and blood and rivers of tears. Those were the ones he recalled the most. That and the unmistakable ache of loss that tightened around his heart with the sight of trees,

_Well the loss was now just as common as pain too. I've learned to live with that too. I'm not the same and nothing ever will be for me._

He hasn't thought of those memories or fantasies in a long time. He never had time to think of anything else except surviving and finding a way to get out. The pain wasn't anything new anymore. They came as predictably as the rain. Well pain and the never-ending stream of hateful words—those howling snarls and wicked whispers, hissed curses and disgruntled screams. They've numbed his ears and made his poor mind whirl around in confusion. He couldn't even figure out what half of those words mean but he could feel their malevolent intent just the same.

The heat of their anger...the frigid touch of their disdain and disgust...the bitterness of their hatred and fear...and the paralyzing sharpness of their contempt as they gazed and muttered and whispered and snarled at him...as they spat and threw things and pinched and punched and…the maliciousness of their intents as they whispered to him what they planned to do to him…the next time and the next.

At times he would wonder whether the pain was worse when it was their fists that they would use or their words. The cuts, bruises and lacerations at least were wounds he could see when they healed...the words just go around and around inside his head, infesting his dreams...fueling his nightmares.

If only he could figure out why they felt the way they did maybe he could fix it...maybe he could find a way to make them not feel the way they do. He would do anything to stop the constant flood of hatred and dislike if only he knew how…and if he couldn't well he hoped he could find another place to live and stay. Any place might be better than the dark dank place he currently stayed in.

_Maybe then I could find somewhere safe to stay. Somewhere not so cold, not so dark, and not so lonely anymore. Maybe then I could even find someone to care for me. Maybe someday, I could actually find a place to call home._

But until that time comes, he will learn to endure. He will learn to live. He will learn to survive.

* * *

_**DOLPHIN**_

"**HE DID WHAT?"**

It was the shouted, one sided conversation that broke through his concentration. His eyes sought out the cause of disturbance and landed on a hulking figure of a man who was clutching at a small mobile phone that looked like it was just a few seconds away from being crushed within the behemoth's tight grasp.

"_What the hell do you mean he's gone you idiot!? Do you have ANY idea what that maniac would do to us if he finds out about this?"_

He sat on his idling truck for god knew how long, staring at nothing, his mind as usual in its run of riotous might-have-beens and reminiscing when the raised voice forced him to pay attention to his surroundings. He cut off the power to the motor and the sudden silence made the conversation even clearer to his strained senses.

"_You idiots never think! What the hell are you standing around here for? Go out and look for that bastard! He couldn't have gone far! Find the bastard! You have to find him even if that means burning the damned forest to the ground! Now move your sorry asses or I will shoot you lot myself!"_

He heard the furious grunting's of discontent as he pulled back the door that led to the only diner in town and tried once more to block the sound from his mind. He was in no frame of mind to listen to the sound of other people's discontent. He had his own misery to tend to. The kind that comes once every year. The kind that really makes you determined to hate particular days in the year.

Today marked yet another anniversary—the kind that never seemed to get any better or any less sorrowful despite being nearly a decade old. The date that's been branded into his very soul—October the tenth. A simple date that would forever remind him of darkness, death and loss. _The day of the attack. The day he lost everything_.

All day today he resented every little reminder of how his life has differed. How empty and quiet and lonely his existence seemed to him now. He resented the weather for being too cold, too bright and too unforgiving. He resented the silence of the mountains and the pristine façade created by the mist covered peaks. He resented especially the resilience of life that made everything around him seem more vivid, more vital, and more alive despite his desire to be surrounded by the same echoing emptiness that howled inside him.

Still even he knew that living in mourning wasn't something healthy. He needed to start letting go and living the rest of his life, beginning with how he dealt with his parents' death anniversary. And that's why, after so many years of being a recluse he decided to break patterns and get out of his house rather than remain and mourn like he has done for the last eight years. He decided to travel in order to stop the usual downward spiral of his thoughts and forget—even if for a few days—the lingering laceration of anguish. He was eager—no, desperate—to still the ache festering inside him, to stave off the gnawing sense of loss that continued to assail him despite his every effort.

He tried everything save out rightly killing himself—partying, working himself to exhaustion, walking until there was nowhere else to go, pursuing adrenaline-high activities, sports that risked life and limb. He tried everything that would keep him feeling alive and not just an automaton with a flesh and blood shell and an empty core. He gave up the death-defying games after one particularly harrowing one scarred his face and reminded him that it was the same face his mother once kissed fervently whenever he would receive the smallest blemish.

He even tried boozing his way to stupor short of getting his blood alcohol raised to toxic levels just to have a few more minutes of forgetfulness—of oblivion. But nothing seemed to work. The endless nights only paved the way for the nightmares to reach in and make him even more vulnerable, leaving him battered, exhausted and even more despondent. He gave up the boozing after he realized that it lowered his inhibitions to the point that his mouth would open and his every thought would come pouring out like torrential rain uncaring of who his words hurt or harmed. He was in pain—it didn't mean that he wanted others to feel as shitty as he did.

He tried distracting himself by concentrating on pursuing his education, taking on course after course so that he could be busy all the time, distracted from the past by simply focusing on the now, not thinking of anything further than the next subject, the next test, the next requirement but the effort he poured in **only** made the studying end that much quicker. He gained his degree a on education full year ahead of schedule and his master's degree on history the year after. He tried supplementing it whenever he could especially around the dreaded date so that he wouldn't have the luxury of time to think but the seminar he had just attended ended. And today was actually the tenth. And all he had waiting for him was the silence and his empty hotel room. All in all, his plans were going to hell on a beribboned hand basket.

Even the weather today seemed determined to mock him. Instead of being gloomy or somber or even cloudy—it was autumn after all, blast the gods—it was sunny and the skies was a brilliant blue. It was then that he decided to while away the hours in a conveniently open bar. He could drink the rest of the day away and walk out when night descends a happier and hopefully, not so sober man for it. For the first time since waking up to the date that he loathed the most a small smile bloomed on his lips.

Three hours later and he can't even recall feeling anything worth smiling about. It was just his rotten luck when he found out it was more diner than bar and that the strongest spirit they offered wouldn't even down a half drunk rabid squirrel on sugar-high. They had beer but that was all that he had the stomach to accept. The fare offered at the diner was pleasant enough but even indulging in his sweet tooth and considering all the ways being high on sugar would be detrimental to his already tempestuous mood, he couldn't shake the feeling of depression that was creeping up to him. After four hours he finally gave up and stepped out, annoyance and bemusement warring inside of him for the utter failure of his plans. He was wrapping his scarf around his neck absentmindedly when he heard it and found his head whipping around in alarm and concern. He couldn't mistake the sound.

It was the distinctive sound of gunshot coming from the woods that stood no more than a few feet away from him.

* * *

_KIT_

_Those bastards were shooting at him! The hell was wrong with these people! I'm a freaking kid, you overeager bastards!_

Another shot echoed just behind him and he could finally feel the heat of the cuts that flying shrapnel cut into him after his chaser got a little too close for comfort. There was a deep cut already burning at his side, not to mention the sorry state of his feet and arms but they were tolerable for the most part. He tried to think past the pain but it wasn't the easiest thing to accomplish—especially when the only thing he could tell was that he was in a freakin' huge ass amount of pain. _Everything_ hurt and he knows that if he had to run for an extended period, he wouldn't make it very far. His feet were already blistered and bleeding and them being bare and nearly frozen certainly wasn't lending him any aid.

_Not like I could've asked the bastards that 'cared' for me for any shoes. _

The dumbasses never even gave him socks let alone decent shoes. Nevermind that, they didn't even bother to check if he was still alive at the end of the beating, the stupid stooges. Hah! Well he showed them of the errors of their way now, didn't he? Those dumbasses wouldn't know what'd hit them once they try beating up the dummy he left behind and by the time they discovered his little gift, he would be, god-willing , well away from their stupid clutches. And as he continued to run heedlessly forward he prayed that he was actually getting out of the woods rather than any further into it. He couldn't afford to get lost or get caught. He didn't think he had the strength to run for very long or even fight much if it comes to that.

_Gods am I hurting or what? Great…now I'm turning insane too! This is what I get for talking to myself for so long. Gods why does everything hurt!_

Of course everything about him would hurt. He was beaten pretty badly last night and it wasn't It seemed like even his teeth ached...it hurt to move the smallest bit, to even blink and every time he would draw a breath it was like heated knives were being plunged into his flesh. The pain confirmed that the fall he took from escaping through the second floor had done him some major damage. But then again, what was a broken rib to someone who has had them broken so often he wonders if there was even one left without a single fracture mark. Still running and panting with a broken rib that nagged at him like a huge-ass splinter on his side was a huge pain in the ass.

_Well what the hell do they think I'm supposed to do? Sit around and complain and have them catch up so that they could beat me up again? And they call me an idiot, morons._

Hell no, he's had it with the beatings and the hunger and the pain. He was running away and this time, he would not be getting caught. There was nothing for him back at the hellhole they call an orphanage. Nothing there but misery and pain. Nothing but hatred and endless days of loneliness and hunger and despair. He would run away and do things his way. No more getting hurt. No more hateful words. _Never again_. Not as long as he had strength in him. Death might be more appealing than a single moment back in that shithole.

He looked around and noticed that he has reached the town square. He's seen the place lots of times from his tower but he never been there before. He hasn't been anywhere since they took him from wherever it was that they found him. His stupid guards knew that he would run the first chance he got.

When he came close enough to a bright, well-lit building he leaned against a wall, keeping well into the shadows and tried to catch his breath. His arms were trembling and his knees were knocking so bad he knew someone was bound to find him soon. All they needed was to listen out for the sound of two knobby knees rapping like a pair of percussion sticks in the dark.

He knew he couldn't stay out in the open for very long. That's just like hanging a neon sign over his head inviting the idiot people chasing him to descend like demons to beat him up. He had to find somewhere to hide and fast. He could feel the tendrils of exhaustion just beckoning near and soon he would have to succumb. He could already feel the spell of unconsciousness beckoning, pulling him under.

And oblivious as he was to most things, he knows that he couldn't afford to become even more vulnerable than he is. So he did the only thing he thought he can do—he moved towards the battered pick up just parked in front of the diner and climbed into the open truck bed. He burrowed beneath the dirty, dusty canvass tarp that draped the open truck bed floor and made sure that it looked as undisturbed and lumpy like it used to, praying all the while that whoever drove it would come out soon and leave. He couldn't afford to stay out like a sitting duck praying that the ones chasing him would ignore the vehicle that conveniently stood before them.

So exhausted was he from running and the rush of adrenaline running through his entire system that the moment his back touched a flat surface he was out like a light, never knowing that this was the one time his exhaustion brought him exactly what he desired—the means to finally escape.

* * *

_**DOLPHIN**_

"_Well? Did you find the little hellion?"_

"_N-not yet. He ran into the woods and we lost track of him after he has been there for a few hours. W-we are calling for reinforcement—t-trackers—!"_

"_You fool! You better make damn sure they find him or I will string your innards like a damned pennant. Damnit! Where the hell did that spawn of a hellion go"_

"_We had him cornered back in the base—!"_

"_And just like the incompetent fools that you were you just had to let him go! Now he's gone ground and we don't know where the fuck he is! The boss is going to eviscerate us when he finds out how he got out! But before that happens I will kill you myself."_

"_Boss, the fucking bastard bit me! You try to hold on when something that vicious sinks his fangs into you and you'll understand!"_

"_No I won't and I don't understand. There's only one thing I DO understand and it's fairly simply. If he doesn't come back neither will any of you. Now stop standing around like idiots and go and find that bastard! We can't afford to lose any more time! You! Go and searched the woods again. The rest of you come with me and we can scour the city."_

The voices outside the diner were escalating to mob-like proportions and he wondered idly how it was that no one had interrupted them yet. The men making ruckus certainly looked like they were bad news. Well the gunshot certainly reminded him that he was in a less-than reputable part of the country after all.

_Well-dressed bad news from the looks of it. But bad-news all the same._

It was then that he recalled exactly why the area of the country he was currently visiting was listed under a special advisory. Although the five elemental nations were at peace and the Land of Fire was said to be the most peaceful and powerful, there was nothing to signify that there weren't any unrest at any given point in time. Especially when one ventures close to Konoha, said to be the stronghold of the most powerful clans in all of the Fire Nation.

The people who visit near this tourist spot were given extensive instructions regarding causing any kind of chaos or disruption and for the most part people obliged them. Despite the archaic theme and the true-to-god drool-worthy scenery, only a fool would forget that technically, Konoha is a specialized village filled with people with unique skillsets. After all who would like to antagonize a bunch of people who could kill you with nothing more than a randomly plucked toothpick or even a passing piece of paper?

But the disturbance this night was more than just the sounds of nighttime disagreement or random marital spat. Nor were the drunken ramblings of the few who imbibed and were actually loud enough when they do. No, the sounds were similar to those of a hungry pack closing in on a kill. This was a pack out on a hunt and from the vibe he was getting, they weren't very successful at it.

_I doubt that they would remain as relatively restrained as they are now. Their nerves seem to be fraying quickly._

He didn't know who or what they were chasing but no one deserved to be hunted like that. Least of all by these group of men who he would be willing to bet what remained of his entire fortune wouldn't be the kind to simply vent verbally on whomever it was that they were tasked to capture. He didn't doubt that they would be ranting using their fists along with their mouths.

_Best leave them to it. Ignorance in this case might be for the best and I am in no frame of mind to speculate. I can only pray that they never find whoever or whatever it is that they're looking for._

Without any further thought to the matter, he turned towards his old battered pick up and started the drive back into the hotel he was occupying during the duration of his stay. He would go home tomorrow and forget the events of this painful and ultimately fruitless night. Perhaps tomorrow, he might be in a far better frame of mind. He always adjusted better after the anniversary date has passed. And so, after one final apprehensive glance at the group of grunting frustrated men who never threw him another look he drove away from and carried with him, unknowingly, a cargo that would soon turn his entire life and world upside down.


	3. Flawed Starts and Stops

**AUTHORS NOTE:** Yeah all the standard disclaimers proclaiming my non-ownership still applies. And if you're wondering why I'm updating this and not any of my other stories—I'll give you the standard spiel that I'm sure all other fiction writers would agree with (reluctantly or otherwise)—creative juices flow where they may and you can either harness it and go with the flow or ignore it and suffer from writer's block.

I took the easy way out and simply gave in to the dark side. If my imagination is working overtime and wants to produce for this fic, I say let it. If it's a choice between being frustrated by not having anything to write and having something for a fic no one's bothered to read, well I say, just let the words keep on coming. People would read what they will and I can't seriously predict which of the things I write would make sense to anyone anyways.

So here is the second installment. I figured it would be best to set the scenario before I create any chaos. And I think I (and any reader who wishes it) to see a relaxed life for our two characters before I introduce any problem for them. And I know, their relationship isn't the usual serious, cuddly thing that we normally see and read about. I figured two men probably have a relaxed, bantering atmosphere between them.

**2-3-14 Update**: I am tweaking this story a bit to fit into my Underworld mindscape—and no I am not talking paranormal underworld. It's more like organized crime kinda underworld okay? And you don't have to tell me how silly that sounds but the way I figure-what's the bloody difference between mercenary ninjas carrying out assignments for cash and the dark, convoluted Underworld? Not a damn lot. Organized violence the lot of them.

* * *

**CHAPTER III:**

**FLAWED STARTS AND STOPS**

_**Laugh so hard that even sorrow smiles at you.**_

_**Live life so well that even death loves to see you live.**_

_**And fight so hard that even fate accepts its defeat.**_

_Nishan Panwar_

_**Land of Waves**_

_**Present Time Line**_

_**Shizue Manor**_

Dawn was breaking…and a sleepy seventeen year old woke up reluctantly to face another day.

He turned his eyes away from the feel of sunlight burning crimson fire behind closed lids. Consciousness was slow to come, an affliction a cause for complaint among those tasked to wake the wayward sleeper but when it finally did, it was to the color that reminded him of things long past, a color that reminded him of another morning, a far different morning, of one that he hadn't thought about nearly half a lifetime ago.

_Red…_

_The color of fire…_

_The color of blood…_

_The color that for him would forever remind him of rebirth…_

* * *

_**(**__**Flashback) **_

_**Shizue, Ten Years Ago…**_

_Red…yes… that was the color of the coat that I found myself wrapped in when I woke that day. The day Iruka-daddy found me. A red coat that carried with it the scent of sandalwood and oranges. A smell so soothing and strangely familiar. Iruka-daddy called those days the Dark Ages. I had a far simpler term for that period in my life. I called them B.D. Before Daddy. _

_That's what we called those two years I spent on what I could only recall as some sadistic fuck's version of hell on earth. The kidnappers that took me from my original home tortured me so much that I couldn't recall anything at all but for two things. My full name and my age at the time of my abduction because I remember I had just celebrated my birthday when those sadistic maniacs snatched me away. Everything else about me—where I came from, who my parents were and what happened to them the day I was taken—those were blank canvasses in the oubliette that calls itself my mind. I wasn't able to recall anything back then and I couldn't recall anything now._

_And they were truly dark ages. I couldn't even walk properly when Iruka-daddy finally discovered me at the back of his truck. My leg muscles have declared rebellion and nothing I could say dissuaded them of their decision not to move or even unbent. The bruises I already had after the beatings the night I escaped were so bad they were causing internal bleeding it was a wonder to them how I managed to walk, let alone run as much as I did back then. The heat from the 'stings' I so joyfully ignored when I was running were actual gunshot wounds that grazed through my skin, they were infected and inflamed from all the dirt that got to them that night. Add to all that the fact that I was malnourished, anemic and had a cough that was bordering on pneumonia and I was declared one wormy signature short of a death certificate._

_Iruka-daddy was beside himself with worry when he found me on the truck bed. He was fluttering so and muttering like a nervous mother-hen even back then. I remembered being bundled into Iruka-daddy's thick red coat and then being brought into the dark cool interior of the house. It was very late then and I was swimming in and out of consciousness but I couldn't forget that Iruka-daddy hadn't left my side—hadn't let him out of his arms since he found me. I heard daddy's voice ordering people around and there were sounds of things being done, pots and pans and running water and the door slamming closed and a phone ringing in the distance but I guess I must've lost consciousness then._

_When I woke, an old man was there. Iruka-daddy said his name was Teuchi and that he was a doctor and he would take care of me. He came into the house to check on me and I would've declined but even then Iruka-daddy understood and he didn't let me go alone. He held me close and comforted me with soothing murmurs and rubbing and tight warm hugs. I recalled the warmth of the bath that Iruka-daddy gave me to soothe my wounds and make me feel tons better before I was dressed in something clean, soft and smelled like sunshine for the first time in three years._

_The weeks that followed were a blur of doctor visits, therapist and tutors but eventually things got better. Iruka-daddy insisted that I live as normally as possible and exposed as much as I could to all the things that I never got to see during The Dark Ages. Things like going to parks, and watching movies and attending school. He wanted me to know what it is like to be as normal as possible and to forget the darkness of the world I had been in. He didn't have to do much convincing since I wanted to be as far removed from everything that former life represented without actually discarding my skin and still be the same person._

_Iruka-daddy vowed that since he found me, I was his now and he would do everything to keep me safe. He said something about remaking me—making me new again. I knew then that I would love Iruka-daddy for the rest of my life and that no matter what happens I will take care of him. He promised me a chance to be renewed—remade into someone worthy of standing beside him. That was all I wanted. A new beginning. A new life. I wanted no part of my previous life. Everything else—everything that I wanted to remember in my life that happened was set in A.D. After Daddy._

_And the first thing I wanted was a new name. I remember Iruka-daddy giving me his solemn look before nodding. He told me what my name would be after two days. It was the step we took in remaking me._

_But the changes we wanted weren't so easily gained. I had a lot of hang ups and a whole lot of things to unlearn. I also had a hole in my memory the size of a continent and a gap in my education that made my tutors tear out their hair in frustration. That's how I knew I found a saint for a father. During those early years no one normal could've withstood my caveman nature with as much aplomb as Iruka-daddy. He simply brushed off every obstacle like so much dust and simply moves on._

_There were a lot of things for me to cover and the worst thing was that I knew it too. There wasn't much that I did know and everything else that I did couldn't be used within civilized context. I was nearly eight years old and I didn't know anything about the world worth a spit. I had issues with everything—the rigid ruling in school, my questionable hygienic practices or lack thereof, my abysmal manners, my objectionable language and the strange obsession I developed over a certain food. In truth, it wasn't so much as something to fix but rebuild from scratch. Whoever I was and whatever station in life I might have had before, it was all wiped clean and all that was left as a boy who was nearly as feral as one raised by wild animals._

_But Iruka-daddy simply faced the challenges with his usual earnestness and tackled each one that popped up with his usual determined smile and patience. He insisted on getting me therapy and all throughout those days, daddy stayed by my side and plied me with food and soothing companionship._

_Then came the music._

_(END FLASHBACK)_

* * *

Thick, golden lashes fluttered and finally eyes the unusual shade of cerulean slid open. As the sun poured in and light glinted off the viridian and golden tints from the art deco panels that framed the old stained glass window that directly faced his bed into a much lighter hue, his ears finally noticed the faint strains of a string concerto that came from a record playing just outside his room.

For a moment longer he tried to cling to the fuzzy semi-unconscious state that promised oblivion and snuggled deeper into the bed allowing his consciousness to be lost in the soft dips and lilts of violins that even now ushered and cajoled him back into the dream world. He closed his eyes once more and wondered why the haunting tune sounded so familiar, all melancholy sighs and poignant cries that seemed to pull him under…calling to him…bringing him back to a forgotten time that hovered just a breath away.

_If dreams could be given form and love be given voice, it would surely sound like Elgar's Salut d' Amour. Maybe I would meet my soul mate when I walk into my life accompanied by such a beautiful song._

The fanciful thought flittered through his mind like quicksilver before sanity and humor asserted itself with a snort and making the feeling vanish completely, leaving him bemused and still.

_But then again knowing my luck, I'd bet I'd be listening to something depressing and dreary and looking like an idiot when that time comes. They'd probably be playing some god awful techno stuff that would make my ears bleed and I wouldn't see the One because I'd be too busy mopping up all that remains of my brain matter off the floor._

The morbid image sobered him for a moment before he shook his head sharply to clear his thoughts once more. The darkness that sometime seeped into his thoughts were not unusual…though they came rarely now. They used to come at night during the first two years he stayed with his Dad but eventually they too faded like all bad dreams, but just like anything dark and haunted they come sneaking back when he least expected them. Lately, they've been occurring every time his mood plunges. It irritated him to no end when it happens and it never bode well for the people around him when they come with any frequency. With luck the stray dark thought was a simple fluke resulting from stresses from school. Otherwise he would be breaking out the shovels and increasing yet again the size of his rose garden. As it was, he already covered nearly fifty square meters of land filled with a wide profusion of blooms.

_Maybe I should try something more challenging and time consuming. Like ferns. Those things take forever to grow._

With renewed effort he concentrated once more on the music. A moment or two passed, maybe more, but caught up as he was at the odd flicker of memory or imagination that shot through him, he could hardly credit the passage of time. Classical music always made him feel just the slightest bit emotional, much to the glee of those who know of it and believed that with his rambunctious personality he couldn't possibly appreciate anything as refined as music, let alone the classical ones.

_That only goes to show how much of an idiot people can be, dumbasses. With a dad like mine, what did they expect? Did they actually think I'd only listen to punk rock or something?_

_Dumbasses._ Outside his room, _Serenade_ played out and he listened with half a mind for the following piece. The CD was a new one and he hasn't memorized the flow yet. So when the opening bars to _Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No.2 _began, it caught him unawares, plunging him back to his past and calling to his mind the first time he ever heard that particular piece.

* * *

_(FLASHBACK)_

_**Land of Waves**_

_** Five Years Before Present Time Line**_

_Yes…above all music…that was it…music…_

_We have been browsing in the mall like we usually do during the weekends, the way we've always done since I turned twelve. Iruka-daddy felt that enough time has passed and it was finally safe enough to bring me out of my perpetual hiding. I felt like someone that's been released for a second time._

_It wasn't that he kept me prisoner, and it wasn't because he was afraid I would run away. I wasn't idiotic enough to run away and have those idiots that took me once find me again. And there really was no way in hell I'm abandoning my most precious person. He just wanted to make sure no one followed him home the night he found me and no one would come and ask awkward questions. He became decidedly even more protective once the therapist revealed just what my captors did during B.D._

_Contrary to what most would've expected I didn't mind the delay. Those first few months with Iruka-daddy weren't horrible, but they weren't pretty either and much of the blame falls squarely on me. I was more like a wild, untamed beast than a boy when he found me. I barely spoke anything but curses and swearwords that would make a prison inmate blush. I didn't have any social graces—I barely had any discernible normal skills to speak of. I ran around the first week bundled in Iruka-daddy's red coat—the feeling of being warm, dressed and clean the first time in years and I wanted to savor every minute of it. Of course the issue came when I didn't want to let go of the coat, but like always, daddy found a solution to my crisis—he bought more red coats so I could have one for every day._

_Eventually I adapted once more to the notion of changing clothing, and footwear on a regular basis and manners such as they were. And through it all I had Iruka-daddy with me. He insisted that we do something fun every week whenever we could. We've been doing it since I came to live with Iruka-daddy and now that I could go out even farther; needless to say I looked forward to each trip._

_Sure it was a gigantic pain in the ass since every time we had to get out we had to be bundled up, my hair hidden beneath a beanie, our faces hidden behind scarves and coats and we always had someone with us for 'added protection' during the first year or two, but it was still the first semblance of normalcy I've had in my rather tumultuous young life._

_The therapist Iruka-daddy found for me was a bit odd and loud and relatively less sane than anyone in that profession ought to be but the methods employed worked. Why and how that was—wasn't very big parts of my consciousness at the time and so when the therapist went and suggested during their last session that music might be a good avenue to channel my excessive energy. So that week, we decided to look for something that I could develop into a useful hobby other than pitching a fit whenever I lost my temper and bouncing off the walls whenever boredom hit me._

_Sports might have been another avenue but Iruka-daddy insisted that I try that when I was a bit older and had a little more control. He didn't like me getting exposed to acts of aggression so soon after my experience. He said I might have a little problem dealing with violence and confrontation. He and I agreed on it and though it was grudging on my part I accepted the temporary denial of sports. Oddly enough, gardening became a safe and non-aggressive enough alternative and that too became one of my other hobbies. It was to the amusement of our entire household when they realized I had an inadvertent green thumb and that my rose and vegetable gardens were the envy of all our neighbors. More than one neighbor found out the hard way that when I told them I would not take kindly to people poking in my garden I meant it. Iruka-daddy had to explain a couple of times to other neighbors that I was protective of my gardens and that it simply wouldn't do to try and take from it lest I use the spade for something more anatomical rather than agricultural._

_That day we decided to browse through the selections of hobby shops and bookstores. We ventured into sporting stores, gaming stores, even a handicraft store that offered lessons. We've been at it for a good two hours when we finally stumbled along a nearly deserted section of the mall. The spaces were filled with run-of-the-mill art galleries and interesting if a bit eccentric bric-a-brac that most mall shoppers never cared for. In front of the actual music shop was an old fashioned stationery shop that sold fountain pens, calligraphy brushes and actual wax seals. It was the shop that we—well Iruka-daddy—was actually looking for since he was old-fashioned and fastidious enough to want to handwrite everything using pretty paper and good pen. It was the cause of his eternal frustration that my handwriting was so atrocious chicken scratching's actually looked legible. No matter who he hired or threatened or bribed into improving my deplorable penmanship it ended up in failure. The best he could do is actually achieving legibility._

_So while Iruka-daddy was busy choosing from the selection offered in the shop, I turned around and stepped out with an absentminded wave and agreement that I would be behaving myself. The promise lasted for all of two minutes. _

_It was the music that called to me first. It was faint, would've been hardly noticeable had the shop been in a more shopper-laden area of the mall but here, in the quiet hallowed halls surrounded by galleries, the music was just loud enough to be heard. I didn't really know why I liked what I heard…there were no words for me to hum let alone remember…there was just music, pure instrumentation…but the unmistakable sounds would seduce him from that moment on at the age of 7._

_The music playing was Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 2 and it held me spellbound._

_Iruka-daddy told me afterwards that he has never seen me so still or so silent before. _

_Apparently I just stood there listening attentively with my head tilted to the left just so, my eyes closed and there was an expression on my face that made every employee in the shop stop and stare. He couldn't recall what I did afterwards or what both of us said or did, but I knew that night that we came home laden with a bunch of CDs, two pairs of quality earphones and a brochure for the closest music school._

_(END FLASHBACK)_

* * *

_Speaking of music school, he has class today_.

The faint thrills of music as always put him in a contemplative, lazy mood that it was any wonder how he ever managed to do anything. But instead of jumping out of bed and trying to get an early start, like every other mornings before this one, he sat thus, eyes closed once more on their own accord, allowing himself to be lost in all the sensations that surrounded him—the faintest sounds of life that early morning silence allowed him to hear, he lifted his head a bit on his pillow to better savor the scent of salt-laden breeze billowing into his room, the perfume of the nearby woods mixing with the unmistakable clean scent of freshly laundered sheets and pine.

This was his magic moment—that small pocket of time he always stole before pandemonium breaks out and the inevitably short-lived solace he desired vanishes.

He knew full well that he would not have to wait very long before his morning became a little less musical and a little more cacophonous. Early morning precipitated the inevitable invasion of someone or a whole bunch of someone's who would dare enter his room. He took a deep breath and resigned himself to the inevitable act of morning mayhem.

His morning's peace and solitude didn't even last five minutes today. Pity he didn't know that today would mark the last day he would actually have any kind of day that even resembled the word peaceful. If he did, he would've kicked out the person who disturbed him and locked the door behind him for good measure.

Unfortunately for him, hindsight really was a bitch. It never played fair.


	4. Attempting and Failing Normalcy

_**AUTHORS NOTE:**_ Standard Disclaimer applies. The whole nine-yards of it. Naruto is still Kishimoto-sensei's baby and I am just renting them out. Well, here's some break from the original posts. The chapter that will follow will contain more of those pesky tweaks I've mentioned. And while I know that I am writing this piece for me as an exercise and a writing challenge, I do hope you'll enjoy it-whoever you are who are fortunate or otherwise-to stumble across this piece. Well, here's to hoping someone does.

* * *

CHAPTER IV:

**ATTEMPTING AND FAILING NORMALCY**

_**My fate cannot be mastered; it can only be collaborated with and thereby, to some extent, directed. **_

_**Nor am I the captain of my soul; I am only its noisiest passenger.**_

_Aldous Huxley_

**_SHIZUE Manor_**

**_Land of Waves_**

**_Present Time Line_**

The aged oak doors creaked loudly, before finally opening with a bang, telling me without words that an intruder has gained access to my private sanctum. Without bothering to open my eyes I allowed a welcoming smile to bloom on my lips and acknowledged my intrepid trespasser with a languid wave.

"You do know that what you're doing can be considered trespassing?" I murmured teasingly.

"Alas, there resides my lazy, messy little young master, snoring the day away without a care in the world."

The voice that answered me was a voice that was all at once soft, genteel and steely. A voice that called to my mind all the comforts of childhood, of warmth and hope. A voice that called to me from the depths of even the deepest nightmares and soothed my troubles away. Cracking an eye open, I grinned at my trespasser cheekily.

"Still trespassing and don't call me that. It sounds weird coming from you of all people."

"Oh? But would it still be considered that when I happen to live here as well? Your argument is flawed. And I can call you whatever I want. I'm the boss of you, remember."

I opened my eyes and wide, clear cerulean orbs met with amused eyes the color of pure chocolate. That the eyes were now slit with resigned annoyance and chagrin didn't matter much to the grin that bloomed on my lips as I cheerfully retorted.

"That's what I tried to tell you when I was ten and you never let me get away with it. Besides, you didn't have my express permission. I never gave it."

The figure gave me a defiant, uncaring snort before brandishing a broom threateningly in my direction, one hip cocked and left eyebrow raised haughtily.

"Is that so?"

"That is so."

"My, my, someone woke up in a debating sort of mindset. Well then, pray tell, _Mr. I-have-all-the-answers_, would you argue over the fact that I happen to own the place, in case your self-acting amnesia has reared its ugly head and you've forgotten that little fact?"

"That's not the point—!"

"Ah you mean you have a point?"

"Of course I do. I always have a point and the thing is—hey don't open those—it's too bright! And it's not even morning yet. See—there's still a bit of darkness in the sky!"

"That's because it's already late in the morning. It's so late in fact that I should call it afternoon because you've certainly snored your morning away. And that's not dark skies—those are storm clouds forming. Something you would know if you did your school work as diligently as you worked those roses of yours."

"Hey! Don't you be dissing my roses!"

"_My apologies._ And as for your supposed argument, as far as I can tell, I _AM_ the boss of you and until the time comes when our roles are reversed, or god forbids you finally manage to annoy me to death, I have free rein over the place. Your room included."

If you still haven't figured it out yet, this is my Iruka-daddy or as he calls him now, _Just-Plain-Dad_, my father. If you really want to go and be technical about it, he is my adoptive father. Every day he invades the privacy of his son's inner sanctum without any heed. He also always begins my day with a threat to clean my room and not feed me. He would've been more threatening had he not chosen that moment to ruffle my head as was his wont.

"My room is terra incognita Dad!" I pointed out defensively. He merely cocked his other eyebrow at me before continuing on his cleaning spree, unaffected and unconcerned at my affronted wail. He picked up a shirt that decorated a corner of my bed and wrinkled his nose in resigned despair.

"That term wouldn't even apply to this sty. This isn't terra incognita. This is no man's land. The only thing you would need is a hanging and this would redefine the term badlands."

Iruka-daddy loved learning seeing as how he's a teacher and all. In everything he says, he imparts the weirdest, at times disturbing, but ultimately coolest information and trivia ever. Dad had a way of making every single conversation into a life lesson. Not that I would ever complain—well I do, constantly and vocally—but everyone knows that's just me being me.

People have been telling anyone who cared to listen since I was eight that I adore my father. It was one of the things other people could tease me about and not expect any kind of violent retaliation. I myself would proclaim it from the roof should anyone dare me to.

Dad is my treasure, my entire world—my everything. Literally, in my case, since I really didn't have anything before him. I had no hope, no home, and no life. Everything else that meant anything to me is tied to dad and I couldn't imagine any life before him nor do I wish to.

"Dad, seriously, who gives an educational sound-bite in the middle of a rant? Come on, dad, leave it alone."

"I wouldn't come with you if you paid me—that's if you can even manage to find anything to pay me with. And I can't leave it alone, or else I may never find you again. Have you looked at this place? This might as well be the next 'Hoarders' feature. Soon, I'll be waking up and there you'll be on television crying '_don't touch it—those dirty unwashed clothes are mah treasure!'_ "

"Dad!"

He made a sweeping gesture around the cluttered space, taking special note of the small mountain of clothes that steadily grew next to my bed. I waved off his comments with my customary shrug.

"Dad, don't exaggerate, it's not nice. You told me _that_ yourself. And stop picking up my stuff Dad, I could do that…I meant to anyways and if you'd just wait—!" I moaned complainingly when he started stuffing dirty clothing into laundry hampers and tried to stop him from folding away clean ones into the proper drawers but this was old ground between us.

"If you could do that, why do you wait for me to do it then?"

He pinned me with those tell-tale chocolate orbs and I could feel myself blushing despite the fact that people would swear up and down the entire Wave Country that me and chagrin weren't even on the same island let alone acquainted. I rubbed the back of my head self-consciously, pulling at my hair and muttered softly.

"I'm just a little busy dad."

"Like you're ever not busy, kit. If it wasn't for the hair, I'd think you're a bee except you're certainly not as useful. Is school becoming too much?"

"Nah, I can handle it Dad. I'm in high school now and it's not like you didn't teach me nothing, you know…"

I knew the protests wouldn't mean so much to my dad. Just as my protest regarding his favorite nickname for me was often wholly ignored. Ever since dad found me, he's been calling me kit or when he's feeling especially vengeful 'lil kit'. He said I snuck into his life like a cunning little fox and so I deserved the moniker.

Sometimes I wonder if that's an indication of how he feels about me—an interloper, an intruder in his life. I made the mistake of mentioning it to him once during a terrible rash of temper tantrums. It took me two days to heal from the beating he gave, my ears took a full week before they stopped ringing and it took me the better part of a month to make him look at anything I did without shedding any tears. Suffice to say, I learned never to doubt his feelings or sincerity since. During those endless days I would've joyfully broken every bone in my body, cut every rose in my garden and beaten every one that ever stepped foot into our house if that meant he would smile at me without sadness clouding his lambent warm gaze. I also learned never to piss him off about anything—especially his pet name for me. The consequences were beyond dire and the simplest recollection gave me nightmares. We simply decided to bestow names as we or the situation see fit.

"If _Amaterasu_ herself declared that the world must be populated by slobs then the gods would never have allowed someone like me to be born. Nor would she have permitted the creation of cleaning implements."

I slid from my perch on my bed and stretched out fully on floor, legs splayed out untidily in front of me, looking at him from beneath my lashes as I flashed him a toothy grin.

"_Amaterasu_'s a really old broad by now Dad. I mean she should be, being a goddess and all; she'd be like ten thousand years old or so. That's just far too old. She should be so lucky you weren't around during her time. You'd have driven her and every other god crazy."

"Any god or man who thinks the world is better off being run by a bunch of whiny babies should never be given a potted palm, let alone the cosmos."

"A _potted palm_...? That's pretty small don't you think so Dad and I really feel quite insulted in behalf of my tea roses. But at least you didn't say a bonsai cause then that would be pretty darn tiny."

"And so is your value to me at the moment, you smart ass."

"Really now Dad, such coarse language does not become a gentleman." I chided, wagging a finger imperiously, eyes still stubbornly closed to the world at large, an unrepentant smirk flashing on my lips. He gave me a sharp poke and then cackled at my affronted look.

"Hey!"

"Yeah, well I tried training you to be one and look what that got me. I got a smart aleck when I just wanted someone sensible for a change. When and _if_ you finally become one, you can reprimand me. Until then, I own your smelly hide and I will speak however I wish. Now get up and get decent."

"Hey! I am always decent and when I'm not, I'm not around for you to know!"

"Are we having an early-morning debate on the passes for decency as defined by the male of the species or shall I commence on his crackdown on this pigsty disguising itself as a human domain?" he raised his eyebrows at me suggestively. I sighed and decided to do what he ordered. It would be pointless to do otherwise. I tried mutiny once and he withdrew my ramen rights for a month. I knew then that no matter what happened, I would _never ever_ rebel again. Losing those precious ramen days haunted me even now.

"How come I never win an argument with you Dad?"

"Because the gods saw it fit to give you to me. Anyone else would have committed you to an asylum or forced to declare war. That also means that from now until the end of perpetuity I am the boss of you."

His barbs came easy—we have had years to practice and get used to the fact that we show affection through hearty trading of insults. It didn't belie the fact that I adored my Dad to the high heavens and the truth that I knew he loved me to pieces. It's our way of bonding and it drove people crazy whenever they hear us going at it.

"Well, that's not really fair."

"Life seldom is, kit." He turned towards my pile of clothes and sniffed. He immediately turned away in disgusted affront. _**"Lord love you child, what is that stench!**_ Would you stop hoarding things you will not be able to use in this life or the next and leaving them around for me to clean up! I swear you're becoming more like a deranged pack rat every day that passes. You have exactly thirty seconds to hide that in your stash or I will throw them out the window." he muttered under his breath as he stumbled across another one of his 'piles'.

"Oh Dad, come on, you wouldn't—!"

"_Twenty nine, twenty eight, twenty seven, twenty six—!"_

_"No!Wait!Dad!"_

He cackled his signature evil laugh as I scrambled to get to my stash before he truly sends them sailing straight into the ocean below. I know my dad, and idle threats he did NOT make. As I gathered the assorted pile of magazines and manga I collected over the weeks I muttered.

"Slave-driver…"

"I got ears, kit."

"I just bet you do Dad. How do your students get anything past you?"

"Who says they do?" he gave out another of those cheery, scary laugh of his and I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

Seriously, my dad should've been cast as a villain somewhere with that laugh. It's just not natural for someone that nice and kind to have that kind of manic laugh, I tell you.

"Now, I want you off your butt. You should learn to wake up on your own Naruto so that I won't have to invade your precious room. Although I have serious doubts anything here, save the bed frame's precious. Most of the things I find here—barring you and the bed—should be called rubbish."

I gave a mock offended snort. "Rubbish indeed. You ask for the impossible Dad. If I manage to do as you ask, then I won't have your handsome face to greet me every morning. Come now, you won't deny your beloved son his one pleasure in life, now will you?"

"Who says I won't? And who told you you're my beloved anything right now? Right now, you're my perpetual pain in the butt. You wouldn't know where to find anything unless someone hands it to you already."

"And that's another thing. Please stop picking up and tidying it away Dad…really I can do that myself. I meant to do it anyways—and after you clean up my room I never could find any of my things again." I moaned in complaint but this was old ground between us. He pinned me with those startlingly piercing brown eyes, snorting dismissively as his hands, already full of clothes that littered my floor, continued to pick up yet another item.

"That's because I end up throwing away most of what you consider your stuff. Seriously son, who in their right mind hoards an entire collection of different flavored ramen by the box-full? Have you even considered the expiration dates on those things?"

He stared at his father askance, "But Dad, you know I love ramen! Ramen is the food of the gods! It's precious! Besides, it's my emergency stock in case something happens and we can't get anything else to eat! You never know what will happen in the future and everyone needs to be prepared. As for the expiration dates—don't worry, I know for certain none of them would be spoiled four years from now."

"Like they would even have the chance to reach close to expiration with you around. I swear, you are proof-positive that the gods themselves must've declared that every gift they bestow be given an equal curse."

"Oh that's a rather intriguing philosophic line of thought. Why do you say that Dad?"

"Because that's the only justification I could think of for why you came into my life. I can't for the life of me understand how such someone as simple and uncomplicated as me ended up with a problem-laden ramen-obsessed battery-bunny like you."

"But Dad, just imagine how boring your life would've been if you only had your obscene wealth, your huge-ass mansion, your to-die-for good looks, those insane people you call your friends and your bratty students who give you migraines and make you frown. Think of it Dad. Just like you taught me—"

"Or tried and failed to…"

"Yes, yes, but that's beside the point. You and me Dad, it's like yin and yang. Balance, such as it is, is necessary evil of the world. My messiness with your neatness. My godly good looks with your cuteness—!"

"Hey!"

"—your bookishness with my natural smarts, your adorable dorkiness with my utter coolness—!"

"You're treading on dangerous ground brat—better stop before I hurt you."

"And finally—think of the sheer genius of having your brainy good looks complimenting my handsome, charismatic self."

"Huh. All that and all I can see is that it's more like my animal tamer to your beast."

"Dad!"I clutched at my chest as if wracked by imaginary pains. I stared at him accusingly, giving in to the urge to sniff piteously. "The things you say! Have a care for your dear son's delicate nature! If I allow you to say whatever comes to mind, well, whatever would be left of my ego let alone my sense of worth?"

"I know what will happen to your bloody hide if you don't get a move on and march down to eat the food I had to make at such an ungodly hour just so you can have a meal before haring off to your class. Now go and take a bath or else I will tell every girl you tried to proposition in campus that you sleep with a plushy fox and you suck your thumb and that you borrow my clothes every time you sneak off to go to a bar you didn't think I knew."

"You wouldn't! And how did you know anyways?"

"Is that even a legitimate question? And I'm your father, I know everything." he raised his eyebrows suggestively. I sighed and decided to do what he ordered. It would be pointless to do otherwise. Dad could be so creative when he's feeling miffed and especially so when he feels vindictive and thinks I deserve it. Really the things I've had to endure in the name of parental love. I gave my smirking father one final pouting glare.

"You are remarkably mean today. I don't know what has gotten into you."

It didn't escape my attention that he suddenly lost much of his playful air. There was something so disturbing about seeing my dad losing that spark that characterized him so well. I tried not to call any notice to the struggle he was clearly having between himself and whatever it is that robbed him of his cheer.

"You don't want to know. Come on, I will give you a free pass for today."

I stood my ground. My father was the epitome of serenity. I however, am a rescued wild child considered to be a human sunspot by everyone that knew me. I know when someone is spouting bullcrap from their arsehole.

"Oh and why this sudden spike of generosity Dad?"

Dad gave me one of those pleading looks that never failed to move me but I steeled myself against the urge to simply yield. He never had much reason to be sad and when he is—I feel like buying a whip and flogging someone like a wayward mule with everything I've got. My ADHD would guarantee that anything or anyone that I focus on would feel the attention.

"My honorable Uncle called to say he's coming for lunch."

That would do it. I swore and this time I didn't bother censoring myself.

"Bloody fucking hell did you say?! That two-bit son of a pimpled mummy is slithering back into our house."

Dad gave me a tight smile and nodded. He didn't have to say anything else. My skill with description always gets a healthy work out whenever we venture on people I hate. I have—according to my dad—a real flair for insults.

He turned towards the door, carting along the hamper that held my soiled laundry, when he suddenly stopped and gave me another smile—this one a bit better, a bit more normal and nodded towards my sleepwear.

"Just a simple advice kit, you might want to rethink your current wardrobe. And oh, son?"

"Yeah Dad?" I replied, my voice muffled by the sleep shirt I was already pulling off my head.

"I know it's not really something I should ask of you but could you please avoid putting toads in his seat this time? I couldn't find a replacement for the antiques you destroyed last time and I would rather not try and find someone who could refurbish a hundred year old upholstery on short notice."

"I'm not making any promises Dad."

"I know dear. By the way, I'm sorry for today."

"Sorry for what Dad?"

"Well, while he's here I need Kazuto to come out and play nice."

"Don't worry about it Dad. I can totally manage, believe it."

"I'm sure you will, dear."

"Dad?"

"Yes dear?"

"I'm banned from using toads right?"

"That's right son."

"But everything else is fair game, right Dad?"

"Naruto…"

"That's all you need to say Dad."

"Naruto…"

"What Dad?"

"Try not to destroy the china okay? There's no replacing centuries old Meissen."

"Got it Dad. No china then."

Hey, Dad only specified the chairs and the china. I had an entire entryway, hall and dining room given to me _carte blanche_. I had plenty of options right there. Time to prepare my arsenal. I have a snake to eradicate.


	5. LookingThrough Murky Mirrors

2-20-2014 UPDATE: Ever notice how tiresome disclaimers can be? I never bothered to notice before but it can be such a pain in the hindquarters after while. It depresses you and enforces the idea that you basically don't own anything save the man rantings inside your own mind. How oddly off-putting yet strangely liberating. You can probably see where my madness is going. I really don't quite know why I persist on writing this, only that I have to. So here goes another.

Story Notes:

Normal Narration

"Dialogue"

_Thoughts/Feeling_

_**Internal monologue and ranting**_

* * *

**CHAPTER V:**

**LOOKING THROUGH MURKY MIRRORS**

_**It is the strange fate of man, that even in the greatest of evils **_

_**the fear of the worst continues to haunt him.**_

_**Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**_

Needless to say Umino Kazuto was not in the best frame of mind. He was in fact in one of his uber-rare towering rages that spelled disaster for anyone who caused it. Years of living with a pacifist, bleeding mother-hen type lent him enough practice regarding patience. Any other time and most would say that just like his father, he favored peaceful times and peaceful solutions even when unlike his father he does it with shouts and wagging fists.

Many of the house's denizens declared that Kazuto never met a stranger in his life and that in some weird cosmic hand of fate, he makes certain that anyone who crosses his path never stays a stranger for long.

However, even his near-legendary (or at least in his head) tolerance and friendliness there are obvious and in this case—glaring exemptions. The snake and his ilk just happened to be one of them.

The news of his Dad's slithering mummified corpse of a lunch date immediate soured his mood and it took much of his vaunted patience to resist the urge to trample everything underfoot in a fit of temper. As it is he is already glaring down at his shirt that's crumpled beyond repair in his fist. It would be the first of the many victims for him today.

He could feel the burning heat in his eyes as frustration waged a furious battle inside him, recalling the anxious look that marred the usual cheerful, serene brown of his father's eyes. It didn't ease the sudden cramp of restlessness that filled his stomach when the man tried to smile for his benefit. It was all he could do not to give vent to his feelings and punch something. _Or someone_.

_Preferably the smug son of a mummified snake that would be disgracing us with his presence very soon._

The day's lunch guest was his dad's uncle. Truthfully the term should be toke uncle since like him; they don't share a single drop of common blood between them. His father had the blood of angels running through his veins and that man had something that was certainly of the cold-blooded persuasion.

The man was adopted by his dad's paternal grandfather and as such was treated as his dad's uncle. When his adopted father's grandfather died, the snake, as his lawyer at the time, was assigned as conservator for the family estate until Iruka became of legal age. To Dad and everyone else's eternal joy, his father was only a minor for all of three months and with such close scrutiny paid to the man by all of the friends of Dad's father, the slimy man couldn't do much except follow the will to the letter. Not that damage to the family fortunes never materialized. By the time got his inheritance it was less than what anyone expected. It certainly didn't help when Dad chose one of his own friends to become his lawyer afterwards, dismissing the snaky slime ball from his services.

Not that it stopped the man from trying to snake his way into Dad's life and influence it anyway he could. He was adamantly against my adoption and tried every roadblock imaginable to make Dad change his mind. He railed against my looks, my origins—which he found seriously questionable.

_**It wasn't like Dad shared that information with anyone. He found me in the dead of night and the only ones that knew of THAT fact was my dad. **_

_Besides, what the heck does my looks got to do with anything, stupid pedophile?_

He even raised the issue of my gender and the implications it would have on dad. _Not like that would be much of an impact considering as I mentioned, my dad is cute and he just looks like a bleached up thing that cant decided whether to be male, female or even human. _He said that other people would wonder where I came from because he simply didn't believe Dad's story that I was entrusted to dear old dad by an old friend.

_**Most of Dad's friends believe he found me lost on some backwater town he visited. Actually they have a lot of theories about where I came from, but we'll get to that later.**_

Now, most folks would wonder why, knowing how he—adopted son and all—would feel such enmity for a fellow adoptee—and the answer would be quite simple. The man was an out and out snake.

You see, a few months after his Dad got him he had the luckless misfortune of crossing path with his dad's slimy, bandaged guardian. That single glance when they met on the hall might not have been enough to consider it earth-shattering but damn if it wasn't memorable.

_It was those cold golden eyes that got to him. There was no ripple of emotion in that soulless reptilian gaze. Not one that could be considered human anyways. Even the men who took him had more emotions hidden in their gazes than the ebony haired, golden eyed figure that swept past him that day._

_His gaze was colder than even the winter seas...and just as unfeeling. He could feel it—the disgust and the condescension—the judging gaze that declared him unworthy. The thin lips that curled with distaste so cleverly hidden behind a bland smile every time he would call out his father's name._

Never before has he met a man who simply oozed deviousness and malevolence. It wasn't like the man was outrageous or anything though looking like a slimy androgynous git already marked him in the dark corner of Kazuto's books.

_**Hey, you end up being kidnapped, tortured at shot at for two years and let's see if you don't develop some healthy paranoia of your own.**_

Now, paranoia aside, on paper and in the eyes of many, the man should have been above reproach. _Should have been being the operative word._

No, the reason why he personally loathed the man, was not because of his less than usual looks or the rumored preferences he seemed to exhibit especially with that equally snake-oil slime personal assistant he kept with him at all times.

No, he hated the man for something even more visceral and primal—he loathed the way that man looked at his Iruka-daddy when he didn't think anyone was looking. And unfortunately for his bleached-up lily-white ass—Kazuto always very conscious of the people around him. He understood that look better than anyone else. It was the look many of those in that dark dank shank wore whenever their gaze would fall on him.

That hungry, almost slavering look that was tinged with hatred and scorn and undeniable malice. The look of a cruel predator that's growing frustrated with a cunning prey that continually manages to evade capture.

The man always pretended to be pleasant and smiling whenever he was in the manor but he wasn't fooling anyone except maybe Iruka-daddy alone and that wouldn't go on for very long. Kazuto never cared for anyone except his dad and he would make sure that his father was safe—even from his own naiveté. Even if he has to conceal his retaliation behind petty pranks. Or not so petty ones.

The man was relentless after all. Ever since that first meeting when his father introduced him as his son, the snake has done everything under the sun—save for outrightly killing him in front of his father to get him away from Iruka. Suffice to say that damned snake did nearly everything to discredit his suitability and he never trusted for one moment that he was already adopted when he met him. _(It was true though, but not that he'd ever care for that information)._

It got so bad that it reached the point when Dad was actually contemplating taking legal actions against him. Thus, the monthly visits instead of the near daily ones that occurred during his early days. Thankfully or _not_, the man ceased his ranting's and grudgingly acquiesced to his Dad's wishes when Iruka declared that he would sooner sell the manor to a passing tramp than have Kazuto's presence in his life constantly questioned. The ultimatum certainly shut the snake's trap and sealed in Kazuto's mind the grain of truth regarding the snake's enmity towards him.

To this day, he finds himself grateful that it was one of his Dad's friends, his lawyer Hayate, who handled his adoption. He could only shudder in revulsion if he were to think what would've happened if the snake knew everything there is about him, including the less the usual way he found himself in his dad's custody.

Honestly if he had known exactly the kind of events that would soon come to pass, he would've been doubly thankful of Hayate's presence in both his and his father's life. As it were, he would soon have even more reason to owe the man more than just his legal and personal gratitude. Soon he would have more reason to be eternally grateful that on that fateful night, he decided to climb into Umino Iruka's benign looking truck and trusted his young life into fate's hand.

* * *

_**Mt. Myõboku**_

_**Fire Nation**_

_**Present Time**_

The morning transformed the usually tranquil mansion into a veritable hive of activity. Unlike the usual absence of bodies, save for a few key attendants and the usual hum of a well-run household, now the mansion is bustling with an unusual amount of commotion. All day today there has been a constant traffic of bodies and vehicles coming and going from the front gates. The mansions many rooms have been summarily aired out, guest quarters dusted and replenished with fresh bedding, their accompanying bathing suites supplied with all the necessary accoutrements in preparation for their soon-to-arrive occupants.

Members of the staff kept pouring in as they scrambled to accommodate the influx of visitors that were poised to arrive for their master's impromptu meeting. The head of household, the master's regent, a red-haired quiet man stood communing with the head housekeeper, a small statured women with pale blue hair who ran the house with clockwork precision regarding room assignments when a loud booming voice sounded off somewhere within the vicinity of their master's private receiving room and they became the unwitting witness to their lord and master's uncharacteristic ranting.

"**What the hell do you mean he's going on ahead?! I told that insolent brat that we needed to plan and strategize! What the hell is he thinking going on ahead! Who in Toad's hell gave him the goddamned location!"**

The sudden silence that descended upon the mansion was profound. As one, lower level servants tried unobtrusively to face into the background so as to avoid detection. The mansions many guards remained impassive and quiet. The only ones who reacted to the sight and sound of their master's obvious outrage were the three personal seneschals that ruled over everyone save their master, and a svelte-figured, blonde-haired voluptuous woman who held a brandy snifter in one pale, long-fingered hand with an amused look in her eyes and a blood-red smirk on her lips.

"You old goat, you told him the information yourself. What right do you have to go thumping all over the place like an enraged idiotic bull-elephant?"

"Look, woman, I wanted them here so that I could brief them on what to do. Aren't you worried that mutt will ruin everything?!"

"That mutt happens to be a certified genius."

"That certifiable nutcase belongs with the other certifiable geniuses I invited here to plan out the perfect strategy. What I don't need right now is his maverick ways and convoluted sense of humor."

The woman pinned her host with a look from her golden-brown eyes and resisted mightily the urge to laugh when she noted the carefully hidden panic swimming in his gaze.

"You're worried."

"Of course I'm worried. A decade of waiting and he's risking everything. What do you think will happen when that man confronts the child's guardian and simply spits out everything for the heck of it?"

"Well…" a sly smile bloomed once more on her red lips as her eyes swept towards the endless blue skies framed dramatically by the mansions open shoji doors. "Then it will be to our best interest to learn how best to react."


	6. A Phantom Without Delight

_**2-21-2014 Authors** **Note:** _Finally caught up. I have a few more drafts in the offing and I will work on them as soon as I get this one off my screen. I have been staring at the drafts since Christmas Break. As for the new title-well, I don't know. It felt right. It also avoids pesky questions regarding a show I know but haven't even watched yet. There.

* * *

_**CHAPTER VI:**_

**A PHANTOM WITHOUT DELIGHT**

_**The torment of precautions often exceeds the dangers to be avoided.**_

_**It is sometimes better to abandon one's self to destiny.**_

_Napoleon Bonaparte_

**Fire Nation **

**Konoha**

**Present Time**

Red…flames and fires…and pain…the endless, licks of flames that brought pain after unceasing pain…blood flowing everywhere while the murmur of voices…the burning heat that just wouldn't go away…voices that called out familiar name…voices that pleaded and begged and voices that screamed and shouted and cursed…and the unrelenting heat…the burning cold…it was everything and nothing…heat and cold and darkness…

He awoke to the glare of flame colored glass as sunlight poured through the stylized glass carvings of flames and falling autumn leaves embedded upon the steel frames of his open windows, the dark curtain fluttering softly in the wind as one of his hands clutched desperately at some quickly vanishing mist, trying to hold on to something he feared he would not be able to keep.

It took him a while to realize that he still had an arm stretched out and reluctantly pulled the appendage back down to his side, clenching his fist against the sense of loss that assailed him once more and one he no longer bothered to deny. It happened before…since he turned seven he has had the dreams, periodically at first, once every year, then once every couple of months, then when he turned sixteen almost once a month. Now, in the year he would turn eighteen he has had them almost every week. He knows that as the year progresses and the days come closer to his eighteenth summer, the dreams would come every night and so he has grown used to the sour aftertaste of loss even when he knew such phantom sensation made no sense.

Why do I fear for something that has no name? Why do I long for someone I can't even remember? Why do I yearn for something I can't even understand?

The questions, like the dreams, would eventually fade from his mind and he would soon forget about it. He always did in the light of the coming day. For as long as he could remember—when he can and did remember—the dreams and yearning only lasted moments before he was fully awake. Whether they were repressed by the cold, stark reality of life, the endless sessions with his instructors or the rigorous demands imposed on him as a child of means meant very little to him once he was awake. His mind, his time are precious commodities he couldn't willy-nilly squander chasing after persistent nightmares.

He had expectations to live up to and there was simply no room in his life for flights of fancy. He has already wasted enough time on trying to find answers for the relentless dreams, he endured sessions with the therapist his brother thought fit enough to send him to and had many experts explain to him the nature of dreams.

Despite their taunted expertise however, not a single one of them could explain his dreams or why he would only have one certain dream plague him for years. It was one more thing that set him apart and whether this was further indication of his uniqueness or the less than usual conventions of other dreams, he wasn't certain. He learned long ago to simply let go of the matter since they have yet to intrude upon his normal waking hours and those were the hours that mattered to him.

The images that haunted him behind his closed lids bore no significant or merit the moment his eyes opened in the real world. For a moment though, he recalled a new aspect of his dreams and wondered at its presence. Instead of the usual kaleidoscope of colors—red, black, ivory and infinite green, this time around he saw the oddest combinations of gold and a shade so unusual it seemed sacrilege to simply call it blue. The color was like an odd interplay of sea and sky—a blue so riveting he knows he could never forget it—knows even while he denies it that he has seen it once—while he was awake and unaware—a blue so rich and alive that no gem in the world could ever compare.

But this time around the colors and images included the odd phantom sensation of touching something smooth, cool and silky. Something vital and fragile and alive. The realization brought a wry twist to his thin lips.

That's just great. Now I'm not only dreaming in Technicolor—it's in full 3d as well. Only my brain would be so weird. Huh. Figured somewhere along the line that some part of me would remain just the teensiest bit damaged.

He closed dark eyes once more and tried to induce his body back to slumber but like always, once disturbed, his consciousness refused to yield control once again. It was as if his cursed body had an innate affinity towards dusk and dawn. His pale flawless, the cause of envy and admiration from many a female and not a few male seemed so finely attuned to the changes in temperature that he would inevitably wake—without fail—whenever broke over the horizon. He could count in the fingers of one hand the number of times when his body's internal clock failed him since both occasions occurred before he hit puberty and both were direct results from being too sick and exhausted to pay heed to his body's own demands.

With a muttered complaint and a sad shake of his head he tossed aside the heavily lined indigo silk blankets and reached out for the robe that he discarded on the floor the night before. The cool kiss of the early morning breeze was invigorating enough to wash away the remaining vestiges of his dreams.

As he walked towards the large bay windows that displayed a magnificent view of the dark canopied forest that flanked one side of the clan main house he couldn't help staring at the rapidly lightening skies and comparing that shade with the one in his memory. As before, the color wasn't quite right and he again had to fight the sudden surge of bitter disappointment.

Turning away from the inviting view he as habit dictated, brushed back the fine strands of ebony locks from his face with an absentminded grace. The locks would stay in place for the time being and he would attend to its more proper care after he was done with his morning katas.

He commenced to do a few preliminary stretching exercises and tried to unknot the tensed lines of his shoulders, a result no doubt of his habit of tossing and turning once he was asleep and firmly entrenched in his dreams, tangling in the bed clothes until every pillow ended up on the floor and he was left cocooned in his comforter like an overgrown sushi roll, twisted into uncomfortable and often undignified positions that would've mortified him had he been awake.

The morning's ritual is a familiar one, just like the comfortable feel of his simple clothing offsets the elegant appointment of the room where he was in. Just like the fact that he would rise with eyes barely cracked open, do his stretches on autopilot only to settle in some other corner of the room to meditate and think about his schedule before venturing any further.

Barely paying any mind to the complicated steps of his kata and finishing with a spine-cracking stretch that would've made his admirers drool; he sat on the window seat that came with the room to begin his meditation. The sea one of its many features that made him chose such a remote corner of the expansive manor rather than settling in one of the more luxuriously appointed family suites.

It was spacious and sparsely furnished and he took delight in its silence and unintended privacy. It never failed to remind him that despite the mansions sheer proportion and the fact that it had more rooms than it did people, the interior could sometimes be stifling when one desired comfort and so empty when one seeks succor.

As of late, he found a growing need for more and more the solace that silence and solitariness gives. He has been spending nearly all his early waking moments wondering yet again at the dreams that plagued his nights…the series of scenes that played over and over again until he had to do something different to divert his mind or else sink into the occasional depressive, coldly ruthless apathetic mood that upset everyone around him.

True, he has learned to ignore the dreams once he was awake, learned and adapted to take them in his stride, finding a sense of normalcy and familiarity in what others would naturally call an unending nightmare but that was the best he could describe the matter. The only thing he has not grown accustomed to yet was the fleeting sense of loss and vulnerability that always accompanied his dreams

It's like pieces of me are floating just there in the ether and I have neither the sense nor the power to make heads or tails out of it. It figures that for all my purported skills, talent and privilege, I am bested by something that doesn't even exist in the real world.

The bitter, self-deprecating thought never lasts for very long, though they have been occurring with even more frequency of late. He had the uncanny ability, according to his brother, to shrug off even the most traumatic things and make the best of any given situation. At first he thought that like always, his brother was pointing out yet another fault and was prepared to ignore the matter until his brother pointed out that it made him a far better, far stronger person. After that, he has learned to simply look for the silver lining in whatever he had in his life. He always reminded himself that his fate in life could have had something far worse.

Sure he and his brother are orphans and the last of the main branch of a powerful and wealthy clan. True, they were fated to live in the overwhelming shadow of their predecessors' achievements and that as a second son his fate would be to be his brother's support for the rest of his life but that was not an unkind fate.

With a sigh he sauntered straight in to the large en suite bathroom to cleanse his skin of the usual residue brought by his restless slumber and his morning kata. Somewhere in the back of his mind minute detail regarding the day's event nagged at him—telling him that this morning was a bit different but he couldn't put enough brain power at the moment for it for the matter to fully register. Like an annoying gnat that flies around one's head in the dark, he consigned the elusive thing that nagged him into the furthest corner of his mind.

I would simply ask Juugo about the matter. Failing that I'm certain someone in my staff would have the information otherwise I would be embroiled in more violence this morning than I originally planned.

Unmindful of his resulting nakedness as he stripped the sweat soaked sleepwear from his body and uncaring for anyone foolish enough to receive an eyeful should they be brave or careless or desperate enough to brave the inner mansions security measures just to enter his private rooms, he only stopped on his move towards the bath long enough to pick up a thick black and blue towel from a cupboard. Reaching out a hand he flipped the switch to turn on the lights, pausing just at the threshold to let his dark eyes adjust to the brightness before proceeding into the shower area. He cast a backward glance at the floor littered with piece of dirty clothing shed willy-nilly the night before and made a mental note to tell his valet to see that the maids give the room a thorough cleaning and attend to his pick up climate appropriate sleepwear before stepping inside, not even bothering to close the door.

While waiting for the water to reach desirable temperatures, his eyes fell on the faint lines on his chest that hinted at the start of his mark, the tattoo that declared him a scion of his clan. Tracing the familiar distinctive tattoo that marked nearly half of his chest area with casual disinterest, he wondered anew at the complexity of the design and what most of the lines meant. As he turned on the shower and absent-mindedly adjusted the temperature, letting the water flow hotter than normally necessary, he tried to recall the words his brother spoke when he asked about the tattoos meaning as he lathered the sandalwood scented soap he favored all over his now drenched skin.

He said something about a bond and a promise but that's all. He didn't really say much except to warn me not to display it so blatantly. I wonder why he would worry about anyone seeing it when it's placed so prominently on my body.

He just started rinsing the foam from his hair when the phone in his room rang. With an irritated sigh, he quickly finished his ablutions and uncaring for the priceless Aubusson carpet being soaked beneath his bare feet, snatched his phone up and snarled,

"There better be someone dead, dying, bleeding or in jail at the end of this line for you to fucking call me so early in the day."

The voice that spoke to him was so obviously snickering even the static of long distance communication couldn't belie it. He tried to muster patience but it was strangely lying just beyond his normal grasp.

"Young Master, one of these days someone will be one of those things and you'd be even more pissed at the inconvenience."

"Suigetsu. Tell me why I shouldn't crucify your idiotic ass as soon as I see you."

"I bring gifts, young master. One that's tempting enough even for you."

"I doubt that."

"Oh? Then perhaps I should present my largess upon the cold pale feet of our dear Leader?"

At the mention of his brother, his ire rose even more and it took nearly all his effort not to crush the phone in his hand. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He knew well enough that it will not do to lose his patience. It is unbecoming for someone like him and he will not succumb to the irrationality of his emotions. Once his eyes opened, his voice was still and solemn as a frozen sea.

_**"Suigetsu."**_

This time the man spoke with his usual deferential tones. He, like most vassals in his young masters home, knew well enough that their young lord was not a morning person—worse still—he was a creature of habit. He doesn't take kindly to any interruptions in his routine and his call was most definitely an interruption.

"A thousand apologies, my lord. I bring news that might interest you." Silence followed. A beat later Suigetsu spoke once more. "There is movement from the mansion in the toad-stronghold. Messengers have been sent out and there was a witness who saw the Scarecrow coming out of the mountain fort."

"He's finally out?"

The _**he**_ was not specified but Suigetsu could hazard a guess quickly enough to determine whom his lord meant. He paused and added thoughtfully, "He was heading north that is all they could determine. They couldn't follow close enough to know exactly where. He could be heading to any number of locations within the Elemental Nations or simply heading back to Konoha."

"Who else came?"

"There was no way to determine my lord. We caught the Scarecrow only in passing and with the strangest stroke of luck—there is no way to come close enough to the Toad Mansion to know who else arrived. But there was more activity there than has been observed since the last few months. Since there is no festival or occasion to be celebrated in the offing, there really is no reason for the number of guests coming to call on the Toad Mansion."

"I see."

Suigetsu tried and failed to read the meaning behind his young master's typical short and randomly abrupt statements but he was prepared to wait until his lord deigns to speak once more. He has served his lord for most of his life and he has grown adept at reading his silence.

"What would you have me do my lord?"

"Come back. We must speak with my brother."

Suigetsu was thanking his stars that the discussion was held via phone otherwise his young lord would've been witness to the blanching of his visage. With visible effort, he pulled himself together and was proud when his voice didn't give out so much as a wobble.

"Yes, of course my lord. I shall be there as soon as I can."

He didn't wait for Suigetsu to say anything else. He dropped the phone back on its cradle and headed towards one of the bellpulls in the room. He gave it a quick tug and waited for his valet to come.

When the familiar figure of Juugo entered his private domain, he gave the man a nod and watched as his valet quickly assembled the required attire for the day's schedule. He gave his hair another pass of the towel and made another mental note to have the carpet thoroughly dried. When Juugo made a move towards the changing screen, he quickly dropped the damp towel and allowed himself to be dressed.

The day was already proving itself worthy enough for him to bother waking—even at such an ungodly hour. Perhaps today something unexpected will come his way.


End file.
