Chapter Text
Hiruzen can’t wrap his mind around it.
‘It’ being the fact he’s somehow found himself in the unheard-of position of continuously having to play catch-up with the happenings in his own damn village. Very bizarre happenings at that, yes, very unusual, indeed. That is not to say they’re unwelcome, but… He would very much appreciate a little forewarning, for Sage’s sake. He is a man of advanced age, after all, and shock isn’t really good for his constitution. Neither is stress, for that matter, not that anyone (read: Kakashi) seems (read: cares) to take that into account these past few years.
(Kakashi will definitely be the death of him one of these days, of all the crazy Uzumaki seals, why did you have to go and use the Shiki Fūjin, Minato? Not a day goes by that I don’t regret showing you the Scroll of Seals, you inconsiderable, self-sacrificing, foolish—)
So, yes, Hiruzen is the dictionary definition of stressed out. His desk is swamped with all manner of tedious paperwork, his students are three different kinds of disappointment, his village is on the brink of civil war, international relations are at an all-time low, and the possibility of peaceful retirement is but a dream. Or, well, no, that is how things used to be before it.
Now, all of a sudden, there is such an abundance of promising Hokage candidates, that whoever his final choice may be, he honestly can’t go wrong. The Uchiha clan has discarded all notions of rebellion in favor of throwing their everything into the medical field. Two of his students have temporarily renounced their wandering ways and come home. Three Kiri refugees are crossing Konoha’s gates of their own volition to seek political asylum. Last but not least, for some unfathomable reason, his most recent correspondence with Kumo is being personally conducted by the Raikage’s brother, which… What does ‘Mister Eight thinks Miss Pink is cool, name the time and place, ya fool’ even mean? Or, well, no, Hiruzen has an inkling of what it means, it’s just…
Quite frankly, it boggles the mind. Then again, ‘Miss Pink’—better known to Konoha as Haruno Sakura—lives to boggle the mind. Hiruzen hasn’t even met her face-to-face yet, merely observed her from afar through his crystal ball, and he can already tell there is something rather fey about this girl. Others might have described it as ‘having an old soul’; Hiruzen’s more inclined to describe it as ‘there is something wrong with this child’. She’s…too mature, too self-aware, too clever for her own good, and not in the conventional way child geniuses tend to be. Hiruzen’s seen his fair share of child geniuses over the years, and whatever Haruno Sakura is… Well, child genius isn’t the right word for it. Most certainly not.
Except… His gaze leaves his crystal ball and travels over to the left corner of his desk, the spot that used to be laden with Uchiha-related paperwork, now miraculously bare, then trails over to the right corner, the spot that used to be laden with Kakashi-related paperwork, now also miraculously bare. If he’s being honest, Hiruzen’d forgotten what kind of wood his desk was carved from. (It’s mahogany, actually, and what a lovely wood it is, truly, an exquisite piece of carpentry.)
Haruno Sakura is the one Hiruzen has to thank for this much awaited miracle. She’s a revolution all on her own, a force of nature, the kind that sweeps you up and throws you into chaos, that breaks you down and builds you up and asks for neither permission nor forgiveness. She’s the whole reason behind it. When Hiruzen looks at her, at what she’s accomplished so far and the grand plans she’s set in motion for Konoha’s future, he doesn’t see an anomaly that needs to be investigated or an insurgence that needs to be stopped. He sees Hashirama-sama’s ideals, and Tobirama-sensei’s ruthless efficiency, and, gods willing, the possibility of peaceful retirement becoming a reality.
(So, yes, there is absolutely nothing wrong with this child. Why? Because. Hiruzen says so, and he is the Hokage, which means his word is law.
Konoha will thank him for it someday. Or not. Being Hokage is indisputably the most thankless job in the world.)
Hiruzen smiles at the motley crew of adults and children occupying his office, cataloging everything of importance as he smokes his pipe. When his stare comes to rest on Tsunade’s face, he can’t help but drink her in like a parched man lost in the desert. She’s pressing her lips together, like she always does when she’s fighting back a smile, and it’s just so quintessentially Tsunade, that it almost brings him to tears. Gods, but he thought he’d never see her again…
“Welcome back, Tsunade,” he begins, and if there’s a faint quiver in his voice, nobody is quite so rude as to point it out. “I am so glad to see your face. You haven’t changed at all.”
“Yeah, well…” Tsunade appears unaffected, but the deep concern that wells up in her eyes tells a different story. She’s an emotional creature, a stunning dichotomy, tough as nails but fragile as glass, all beauty, brains and brawn. Of course, rather than expose that tenderness, the precious heart that makes her care, she goes on the offensive, because that’s always been Tsunade’s way of showing love. “Can’t say the same about you, Sarutobi-sensei.”
Hiruzen’s smile turns a little self-deprecating. “Stress, I am afraid. It takes its toll on the body, as you know, and I’m not getting any younger.” Tsunade raises one finely sculpted brow, severely unimpressed, and Hiruzen barks out a laugh. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Tsunade. That is all there is to it, I promise.”
Not that mere words can allay her worry. “Che. We’ll see,” she scoffs, in full-on healer mode, tone hard and unyielding, an unmistakable command of you’re getting a full checkup the second we’re done here and an implicit threat of you better pray your test results don’t make a liar outta you.
And oh, he’s terribly missed this prickly bedside manner of hers. No one has tried to strong-arm him into taking care of himself in years, not since his dear Biwako… Ah, well, best not touch that. There is only so much his poor heart can take before it gives out on him.
“I suppose we will,” Hiruzen acquiesces with a sigh and a smile, both soft and tired, but as he shifts his focus and greets his other wayward student, his expression becomes fixed. “Now, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? I am very happy to see you, Jiraiya.” Still fond, still sincerely elated, but there’s a chagrin, something atypically displeased, the weight of failed expectations crushing half the joy of this reunion. “How long will you be gracing us with your presence, if I may ask?”
Jiraiya freezes for a couple of seconds, then starts to fidget and sweat and ramble, gaze frantic and darting towards every possible exit, like a rabbit caught in a snare. “I, uh, don’t rightly know? A few day—” Hiruzen’s immaculate control slips, his chakra a razor-sharp noose twisting around Jiraiya’s neck, an acute, wordless rebuke. “—weeks! I meant, uh, a few weeks, yeah.”
“Excellent.” Hiruzen beams at him, smile remaining fixed, carrying across all those failed expectations for which Jiraiya now has to atone if he knows what’s good for him. Also, adding a subtle reminder to speed things along. “I am sure there will be many people who will want to reconnect with you. Why, I can even name someone who has been waiting to meet you for a very long time. You won’t deny them the pleasure of your company, now will you?”
A grimace flashes across Jiraiya’s face as he steals a glance at the frame that holds Minato’s portrait. It’s an ever-present, silent judge, one that Hiruzen’s had to face after every visit to Naruto-kun. Jiraiya’s never experienced this kind of soul-flaying pain—how it feels to look into the boy’s warm blue eyes, so much alike his father’s, and not know where to even begin to apologize for how much he’s failed them.
“‘Course not, sensei!” Jiraiya’s laughter reverberates throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and drilling into Hiruzen’s ears. As per usual, his student’s up to his clownish antics, chipping away at Hiruzen’s patience with each deflection and booming guffaw. “You know me, I like to make connections everywhere I go. I mean, obviously, who wouldn’t wanna meet me, the gallant Jiraiya, the one and only Toad Sage of Moun—”
“Yes, indeed,” Hiruzen cuts him off, not amused, not willing to entertain his charades this time. “Who wouldn’t.”
Enough is enough, Jiraiya. Clean up your act, or I will seriously reconsider allowing you to apprentice Naruto-kun. Judging by the way Jiraiya’s eyes go wide with panic and please-don’t-do-this-sensei, his message’s been received. What will come of it, though… Well, only time will tell.
“Now, Kakashi…” Hiruzen addresses the Copy-nin, who doesn’t even stand at attention, as if being contrary just for the sake of being contrary is wired into his DNA. Oh, Kakashi, why. For the umpteenth time, Hiruzen curses his predecessors’ martyr syndrome. Next time someone has to play the martyr, Hiruzen’s going to be the one, duty be damned. This…this is where half a decade of dealing with Kakashi’s bullshit has driven him to. Hiruzen’s been trying—gods, but he has—to be sympathetic and lenient and understanding and all that ‘we should be supportive’ nonsense Inoichi preaches (but doesn’t actually use himself in Kakashi’s case). Nothing works. There is only one solution when faced with the batshit crazy that is Kakashi: embrace the madness yourself.
Hence, Hiruzen smiles at him, his Kakashi-smile, the one he’s perfected for whenever that brat is being a royal pain in his ass, the one that lets Kakashi know he’s blown it and and now’s the time to pay the piper. Kakashi realizes it, too, staring at Hiruzen with this tortured look of deep-seated self-hatred, spine gone ramrod straight, his copy of Icha Icha Paradise nowhere in sight.
“As I understand it, you, my boy, have gone above and beyond the line of duty. It warms my heart to see you taking initiative, especially when it brings such outstanding results. Well done, Kakashi, very well done. I believe you have earned yourself a bonus this time. Shall we say, one month of paid vacation?”
Why, he asks with a thousand-yard stare. “Oh, it was nothing, Hokage-sama,” is what actually comes forth. “Really. It wouldn’t feel right taking sole credit when it was, uh, the result of team effort, you know? I’m good, honestly, no vacation time needed, none at all.”
Because, Hiruzen answers with a thousand-watt smile. “Nonsense, my boy,” is what actually comes forth. “I have already filed the paperwork and it is being processed as we speak. Enjoy your free time, Kakashi.”
Translation: If I have to be stuck here, waist-deep in this new insanity you have brought to my village, then so will you. Let us see who breaks first.
“Thank you…Hokage-sama. I…appreciate it.” Excruciatingly slow, chock-full of whys and misery, like pulling teeth.
Kakashi looks like Hiruzen’s just kicked his puppy. Hiruzen couldn’t care less.
“I am sure you do,” he drawls as he relights his pipe and takes a long, satisfying drag, all the while observing their…guests. Hiruzen’s not one to stereotype or put people into boxes, but… These two boys have seemingly nothing in common with the savage monsters spawned from Bloody Mist—
(For example, Momochi Zabuza, whose jaded glare has never left Hiruzen, absorbing every word and action, a black hole of distrust and resignation feeding into his paranoia, as if this is all an ill-fated series of coincidences that will lead to an inglorious death. Amusingly enough, he is the only one to think so.)
—holding hands with Sakura-chan, being adorable and deceptively harmless as all baby carnivores, all three flashing him their own version of puppy-dog eyes and please-adopt-me. On any other occasion, Hiruzen’d have dissolved in a puddle of goo, and taken them out for dango, and, yes, maybe even secretly adopted them.
(What, everyone knows Sakura-chan loves dango. Hiruzen’s not a stalker or a creeper or—heavens forbid—an Uchiha. He just—he loves children, alright? All children. Goodness, he even liked Kakashi as a child, not to mention Orochimaru used to be the cutest thing ever, Hiruzen’s not exaggerating, not at all, it is not a character flaw, Danzō, and I have not taken it to extremes; in any case, there are far worse traits I could have inherited from Tobirama-sensei and, more to the point, I don’t want to hear that from you—)
Hiruzen’s smile adopts other qualities, more diplomatic in nature, even though he’s well aware that he’s not fooling anyone. Still, as far as he is concerned, there are certain procedures to be followed. Becoming a political animal is kind of an occupational hazard when you’ve been Hokage as long as Hiruzen has, and they’re shinobi, not savages, despite their place of birth.
“Momochi Zabuza-san and Haku-kun, is it?” he prompts, ever the politician-slash-genial-host-slash-god-of-desk-shinobi, which earns him a grunt from the adult and a smile from the child. “Allow me to welcome you to Konoha. You have come to seek political asylum, yes?”
“N-yeah,” Zabuza agrees, rather gruffly, and it’s clearly not what he would’ve said had Sakura-chan not viciously stamped on his foot, green eyes blazing with an inner fire, a non-vocal warning to behave yourself, that’s the effing Hokage you’re speaking to, for kami’s sake. What a delight, this girl. “Yeah, I guess we have,” he reiterates, albeit a tad conflicted, not wholly committed.
“I thought so.” Hiruzen tilts his head, graciously, dismissing the byplay as nothing out of the ordinary. When your measuring stick for lack of deference is Kakashi… Well, Zabuza comes off as grudgingly respectful at worst. “There will be certain conditions, of course, but I would be willing to come to an arrangement that would be beneficial for both parties.”
Zabuza squints at him, warily, his hackles raised, his paranoia coming back in full force, until Sakura-chan stamps on his foot again, digging her heel into his toes, another non-vocal warning to stop being a brainless moron and listen to his offer first. If he strains his ears, Hiruzen swears he can almost hear his ANBU trying, and failing, to contain their snickers up in the rafters.
“Alright,” Zabuza releases a growl-like sound, furiously embarrassed and possibly nursing a couple of bruised bones, eyes pitch-black and burning holes through the ceiling, and oh, if glares could kill… “Name your terms.”
Hiruzen maintains his I-strongly-believe-in-compromise smile, having spontaneously developed a case of selective deafness, and rattles off said terms. The sooner they can reach an agreement, the sooner he can kick them out of his office. Whatever happens between Zabuza and his ANBU afterwards is not—and will not be—his mess to clean up. Thank the gods for small mercies, that honor falls to Kakashi. Or his ANBU Commander. Or anyone with a sufficient degree of authority over his ANBU Corps who isn’t Hiruzen.
“If you can prove that your intentions are genuine through a series of tests—nothing too invasive, I assure you—and if you agree to take missions for Konoha as an independent contractor, then I see no reason to turn down your request.”
What little skin remains on display—i.e. not covered under his bandages and his hitai-ate—folds into deep creases. Hiruzen assumes this to be Zabuza’s ‘thinking face’. It looks a tad…constipated.
“So, what you’re saying is…” he mulls out loud, disgruntled, but not outright hostile, merely stating facts. “I let your Yamanaka rummage through my head to prove I ain’t a spy and I work for ya during my stay here—and that’s it?”
From the corner of his eye, Hiruzen watches as Kakashi claps silently, mockingly, applauding the Kiri-nin for his brilliant powers of deduction. Determined not to break character, Hiruzen also spontaneously develops a case of selective blindness. “Essentially, yes,” he confirms, without pause, pretending he doesn’t see Zabuza flipping Kakashi off either. My, the perks of old age…
Zabuza’s expression changes from constipated to something feral, awfully defensive, a wild beast backed into a corner and coiled to lash out at the barest provocation. “What about Haku?” he challenges, bold as brass, a rumble of killing intent thundering through his tone.
“What about Haku-kun?” Hiruzen repeats deliberately, blithely, with such naturalness that Zabuza relaxes before he’s even conscious of his body’s instinctive reaction, which, of course, doubles his tension once he becomes cogent of it. Hiruzen’s old, and bone-weary, and prefers to avoid confrontation, yes, but being all that is a sign of danger, not weakness, and any shinobi worth their salt knows this. You don’t survive to Hiruzen’s age by being nice; no, you have the luxury to be nice because you’ve survived to this age. “He is a child, Zabuza-san. I cannot allow him to attend the Academy, if that is what you are asking, but what you choose to teach him in your own time is none of my business. As far as I am concerned, Haku-kun is not a registered shinobi of Kirigakure and thus not a part of our negotiations.”
Zabuza bristles, then forcibly shakes it off, then bursts out laughing, a low, harsh chuckle that grows into an enormous belly laugh. “You know what, Sandaime-san…” He looks Hiruzen dead in the eye as his laughter ebbs into something sober, like blood on hands, cold and dry and stuck under your fingernails. Killer to killer. “You might be the first Konoha-nin who’s kinda alright in my book.”
Hiruzen, too, laughs. “I will take that as a compliment.” An ANBU agent materializes at his signal, slipping a money pouch to a smug Kakashi with a sulky mutter of damn you, senpai, we won’t forget this, while ‘accidentally’ bumping Zabuza on the shoulder, as if the Kiri-nin’s to blame for their collective poor discipline and Kakashi swindling them out of their hard-won earnings. Good thing Hiruzen’s selectively deaf and blind; otherwise, he’d be duty bound to reprimand them for their lack of proper conduct, and he’s really not in the mood for this crap. “Uma will escort you to T&I. Once your evaluation has been concluded, you will be required to attend a meeting of the clan head council where our negotiations will be finalized and your claim for refugee status will be officially recognized. I look forward to seeing you there, Zabuza-san.”
“Ya will,” Zabuza promises, with a brazen assurance Hiruzen privately admires, and follows Uma out of his office, though not before ruffling Haku-kun’s hair and shooting Sakura-chan a loaded stare and a guttural, “Take care of Haku while I’m gone, pink brat,” to which he receives a thumbs up and a cheeky, “Sure thing, Peaches n’ Cream.”
“Sakura-chan.” For the first time, Hiruzen feels an easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—no sorrow overshadowing his joy, no strings attached to his kindness, only pure, undiluted warmth. “It is lovely to finally meet you, child.”
“You, too, Hokage-sama!” Sakura-chan grins an infectious, Youth-inspiring, toothy grin she’s clearly copied from Gai in every respect—
(Behind her, Kakashi groans and makes a valiant effort to brain himself with his Icha Icha Paradise. Hiruzen’s already mentally stamping those apprenticeship forms Gai’s taken to leaving on his desk before every single mission briefing and after every single mission report for the past two months, all the while rhapsodizing about the joys of teaching and Sakura-chan’s youthful progress. Free entertainment of this caliber doesn’t come his way ofte—er, excuse him, young talent should be nurtured is what he meant to say, and Gai is the best teacher for Sakura-chan, yes, no question about that. Separating them would be nothing short of cruel at this point; Hiruzen isn’t in the business of breaking up happy families of choice, for goodness’ sake.)
—then squares her shoulders and says, straightforward, with refreshing familiarity, “By the way, I like your chair. It looks super comfy, like my couch.” A pitiful sigh escapes her lips as she gazes at his (very, very comfortable) chair, eyes full of longing, green like spring, but flecked with autumn. “I missed Kuma-chan.”
And oh, it is a meeting of the minds. Right then and there, Sarutobi Hiruzen understands Haruno Sakura; he connects with her on a deeper level—an unbreakable bond between two people who’ve been cursed by the gods to live in interesting times.
“It is the little things in life that count, true.” Hiruzen nods gravely, and they share a meaningful ‘we be of one blood, ye and I’ glance, acknowledging one another as kindred spirits. “You named your couch Kuma-chan?” he asks, all too happy to indulge her, in part because Kakashi’s background suffering is a balm to his aching soul, in part because he has faith she will come to him when she wants help. That one glance told him all he needs to know about Haruno Sakura. Truth, and trust, and Hashirama-sama’s dream living within the grasp of her tiny palms.
Sakura-chan makes an unladylike sound, a snorting sort of giggle, and shakes her head. Hiruzen has a gripping feeling of déjà vu—she’s so very like Kushina, prancing around in his office and liberally speaking her mind, a whirlwind of red hair and mischief, all witty banter and laughter.
(If his next outing with Naruto-kun just so happens to take place in the Uchiha district…in clear view of Mikoto by chance… Well, Hiruzen hopes Sakura-chan likes Mikoto’s homemade ramen as much as her dango.)
“Nah, tō-san did,” she explains, tone fondly amused, if a touch exasperated. “I used to call ‘im honey bun, but tō-san said no self-respecting son-in-law of his should be named that. It’s gotta be like, manly or something, so. We compromised. Kuma, ya know, ‘cause bears like honey and are super protective and strong?”
“That is a wonderful name, Sakura-chan. Perhaps I should name mine as well. This old girl has been faithfully supporting me all these years without ever asking for anything in return.”
“I know—that’s what they do. You better treat her right, or you’ll have to answer to Kuma-chan.”
“I promise I will.”
“Good. Glad we had this talk.”
“Yes, I enjoyed our talk as well. Thank you for indulging this old man, Sakura-chan. Know that my door will always be open should you wish to have another talk. Please keep up the good work.”
A smile blooms on her rosy lips; a full-power Gai-smile, so luminous it nearly sears his retinas. Additionally, it drives Kakashi to another suicide attempt—suffocation, this time, via cutting off his air supply as he buries his face into the pages of his Icha Icha Paradise with a woeful groan. Hiruzen returns her smile with one of his own, not as blindingly radiant, but just as heartfelt. There’s a wealth of unsaid things that passes between them in the course of this light-hearted exchange, they’re both aware. Ah, retirement. So close…
“You got it, Hokage-sama! Leave it to me—I won’t let ya down, promise.”
“I have no doubt, dear girl.” And Hiruzen means it. Believing in her is as easy as falling off a log, truly, one of the easiest decisions he’s had to make in a very long time. Shinobi are so used to sticking onto every surface with an instinctive application of chakra, that they’ve simply forgotten how to fall. How to trust. It saddens Hiruzen. But while he’s on the subject of bullheaded shinobi… “Oh, before I forget, a missive has arrived for you.” Hiruzen keeps his gaze on her adorably curious face, but his attention is reserved for Kakashi as he delivers the killing blow. “From Kumo.”
Kakashi enters a lifeless state, more statue than man, skin an ashen gray, a pale imitation of his eye color. Sakura-chan blinks once, then blurts out, “What, really?”
“Yes, really.” Hiruzen nods, handing over the aforementioned document, which she then proceeds to read aloud for everyone’s benefit. Apart from Kakashi’s.
Abruptly, Sakura-chan flies into a frenzy, an eruption of manic gestures and phrases such as gotta find Gai-sensei and time to up our training and ohmigods, it’s so happening, interspersed with hell yeahs and a variety of triumphant exclamations in the same vein. Each squealed word creates a new fissure in Kakashi’s marble-like exterior, takes his will to live and grinds it up into dust. In the middle of her daydreaming (something about punching the Raikage in the face?), she grabs both Kiri boys by the hand and bolts out—in search of Gai most likely—at which point, Kakashi’s spirit is hovering over the debris of the man he used to be in mournful silence.
Surprisingly, Tsunade stomps off after the children, cursing about damn hyper brats under her breath. Unsurprisingly, Jiraiya skips off after her, hollering about stuff no sane man would ever utter in public at the top of his lungs.
Kakashi stares at Hiruzen. Hiruzen stares back. Then Kakashi breaks down with an utterly piteous noise, almost a canine whine, that is music to Hiruzen's ears. Hiruzen will savor its memory for the rest of his days.
“Why.”
“Because.”
It takes Inoichi two days to give his verdict on Zabuza, mainly because their personal views on the medicinal properties of Konoha’s native flora massively clashed. Never let it be said Inoichi’s known for his ability to let things go. His ability to destroy all sense of ego, on the other hand… Infamous.
All but having camped in T&I to smooth their ruffled feathers, Hiruzen spares no further thought to his students’ whereabouts. Honestly, how much trouble can they stir up in the span of two measly days? Tsunade’s made it abundantly clear she’s only here to treat Itachi-kun and assist the Uchiha clan with their medical project. And Jiraiya… Well, in the event of an unlucky bathhouse encounter with Fugaku, he may be enjoying the hospitality of the KMPF’s special Jiraiya-proof holding cell for the foreseeable future, but that’s the worst of it, right? Right.
(That’s his first colossal mistake on a long list of colossal mistakes. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.)
The moment Tsunade slams the doors open and strides into the chamber with all the belligerence she’s known to possess, the status quo goes to hell in a handbasket. Hiruzen feels as if the world’s just tilted out of its axis and shifted into this new reality where pigs can fly, hell’s frozen over, and the Senju clan head and the Uchiha clan head have somehow become casual drinking buddies. Tsunade’s beaming at a grim-faced Fugaku with a crow of delight— now that’s some good shit, Uchiha-brat—as Hiruzen keeps on watching, pipe nearly slipping off the seam of his mouth, an aftertaste of something categorically wrong lingering on his tongue. Did that really just happen? Yes, Hiruzen thinks, terribly blindsided, yes, it did. He may be old, but he still has a mind like a steel trap; now, it’s gone all topsy-turvy, so much so that he’s half-convinced someone’s switched his tobacco with…well, whatever Zabuza accuses them of smoking. Good gods, will wonders never cease?
(They won’t. Evidently.)
Shikaku, unprecedentedly, is wide awake—he’s propped his chin in the palm of his right hand, content to observe the proceedings for the time being, but there’s an awareness in his silence, in his languorous posture, that only an imbecile would mistake for boredom. Inoichi seems more preoccupied by the fact that Kakashi’s chosen to attend a clan head meeting instead of sending a (two-to-four hours late) shadow clone as he’s wont to do than the drunken Senju-Uchiha alliance. Hiruzen can’t blame him; also, he foresees an unscheduled psychological evaluation in Kakashi’s immediate future. Chōza, bless his big heart, is taking everything with his trademark good cheer, predisposed to see the best in everyone; it’s why he’s probably the happiest (and sanest) among their sorry lot.
Tsume appears supremely entertained; then again, Tsume always treats these meetings as a renewable source of entertainment, usually at her fellow clan heads’ expense—most notably, Hiashi’s, who, in total contrast, appears supremely not-entertained. That man… If sucking-the-fun-out-of-everything had a face, it would be his. Hiruzen can’t fathom how Hiashi, of all people, got blessed with a cute angel for a daughter, whereas he got punished with an uncute rebel for a son. No, seriously, how. If anyone’s even listening up there, Hiruzen demands a swap; he rather thinks he’s earned it after putting up with everyone’s bullshit for forty-plus years.
As for Shibi… Well, Hiruzen’s going to take a shot in the dark and say he’s in his element; he can never actually tell with that one, but it’s an established fact that all Aburame have four common denominators—a strict adherence to logic, weird speech patterns, OCD tendencies, and (what’s relevant here), somewhat paradoxically, an insatiable love for gossip. Hiruzen’s willing to bet his prized Icha Icha Gold Collection that two thirds of the Kakashi-centric rumors can be laid at their feet—the murderously jolly look Kakashi’s directing at Shibi every now and then reveals Kakashi’s harboring the same suspicion.
The Council triad remains the only constant, unfortunately, which is par for the course. Hiruzen used to think it was a good thing—Homura’s officious nature, Koharu’s focus on the greater good, Danzō’s war hawk ideology, their differing opinions, that they were hell-bent on pushing and pulling until Hiruzen examined all angles before he made any kind of important decision. Once upon a time, they’d been the best support staff any leader could ask for, often toeing the line between advising and dictating, yes, but still helpful. Only, it hasn’t been that way ever since the accursed Kyūbi attack and the beginning of Hiruzen’s equally accursed second tenure. Perhaps it is simply due to old age. Some people (Hiruzen included) mellow out and like to see the glass half-full; others become ornery old military bastards who see it half-empty.
Case in point: Koharu is the first to voice her opinion, but at least she has the sense to wait until Hiruzen’s wrapped up his speech, unlike Homura, whom Hiruzen’s had to glare into shutting his mouth six goddamned times so far.
“If anyone has no further objections, let us move on.” Hiruzen leans back in his chair, exhaling a spiral of smoke that mimics the shape of the Konoha leaf, and everyone understands he even says as much out of courtesy. Except for his Council, apparently.
“Temporary or not, Hiruzen, someone will need to supervise these…recent additions.” Koharu’s acidic tone, her expression, as if she’s bitten into something sour, how she turns up her nose at Hiruzen’s decision—they all broadcast her derision for his ‘soft-hearted acts of sheer folly’ as she calls them.
Normally, Hiruzen’d have had to fight tooth and nail to secure their conditional approval, sacrificing something else in the process—the Uchiha clan, if they had their way, the short-sighted fools—but not this time.
“That so?” Tsunade drawls in his place, a sly smirk playing on her lips, then drops the bomb. “It’s fortunate Kaguya-brat’s staying with us then.”
Gods, but he missed her, his bold, crafty, mercurial, sharp-tongued, beautiful girl. Especially the ease with which she steamrolls her way to victory. With a sigh of euphoria, Hiruzen sits back and lets her run this show, something that every clan head in attendance keenly notices.
“And how long will you be staying in the village, Tsunade?” Koharu elects to ask instead of contesting Tsunade’s guardianship claim, because she’s learned to choose her battles wisely, if nothing else.
“Who knows? Does it even matter?”
Tsunade even has the gall to shrug. Koharu’s expression sours further.
“Of course, it matters. If you aren’t here to supervise—”
“And who said I’ll be the one doing the supervising? All I said is that he’s staying with us.” Koharu’s unrelenting stare says she won’t drop this matter until Tsunade puts something of substance on the table, and Tsunade tsk’s under her breath. “If you must know,” she huffs, with an air of innate self-importance that grates on Koharu’s nerves, the ‘you don’t need to know’ almost palpable, “Shizune and Tenzō will be responsible for the brat. Satisfied now?”
Koharu, quite obviously, isn’t. And thus it begins, this battle of wills.
“I understand Katō Shizune is your apprentice and thus under your full authority.” Unlike Tsunade’s biting way of speech, Koharu’s words are slow and careful and it is transparent how she makes a concentrated effort to rein in her affront at being spoken to in such a lofty manner. “Tenzō, on the other hand, is a shinobi of Konoha—”
“—and has the Mokuton. Which means he’s family. Even if I ain’t in the village, he’s got the right to bear the Senju name and live in the clan compound, to say the least of what he’s entitled. End of story.”
“You cannot—”
“You’ll find that I can. It’s private clan business, remember? Unless clan law’s changed since last time I checked? In which case, I think it’s time we talked about the Hyūga clan and that fucked-up seal of theirs.”
Naturally, Hiashi doesn’t take kindly to her criticism. Or being dragged into ‘one hell of a catfight’, to borrow Tsume’s terminology, whose running commentary has Shibi literally buzzing in his seat.
“There has been no amendment in clan law,” Hiashi stresses, haughty and mortally offended and frostier than the Land of Snow, “and I would appreciate it if you did not bring up matters that bear no relation to your clan, Senju-sama.”
Again, Tsunade gives an apathetic, bordering on insulting, shrug; essentially, giving him the brush-off. “Have it your way, Hyūga-brat. Still fucked up, though.”
At that, Hiashi’s face closes off. Hiruzen’s certain Hiashi’d never dignify that with an answer, if not for the fact Hyūga loathe not having the last word. It is one of their major pet peeves, one of the most vexing, too, in Hiruzen’s experience. And oh, here it comes.
“Duly noted,” Hiashi replies, in a monotone, in what Hiruzen considers to be a form of sarcasm in the language human ice blocks speak.
“Enough of this,” Koharu intercepts Tsunade before she can initiate another battle of wills—with Fugaku’s blessing no less; gods have mercy, Fugaku’s actively enabling her, if his subtle ‘burn that little pissant’ toast is any indication—and she does indeed sound as if she’s had enough. “If the Senju clan takes responsibility for the Kaguya child, then someone else has to accommodate Momochi Zabuza and his apprentice.”
“No need.” And now, Fugaku’s the one to brush Koharu off, exhibiting an amazing level of elocution for a man who’s been holding his own in an admittedly inconspicuous drinking contest against Tsunade for the better part of three hours (and counting). “The Uchiha clan has already claimed responsibility for them.”
Just like that, with one flawlessly enunciated sentence, Koharu’s rendered speechless. Hiruzen’s oh-so-very-tempted to join them; they have high quality alcohol, they’ve left their patience at the door, and they’re all for protecting children. The more he ruminates on this groundbreaking coalition between Senju and Uchiha, the more inviting it becomes.
“And who gave you permission for that, Fugaku?”
Silence saturates the atmosphere, dense and oppressive and suffocating—it spreads like fog, like a lung infection, rushing down Hiruzen’s throat and filling his chest cavity with dread. Oh, Danzō… Why must you do this, old friend? How can you tar friends and foes alike with the same brush? This, what you have done, it is a disservice to Tobirama-sensei’s memory. He might have never fully trusted the Uchiha clan, but he never meant for you to go this far…
A smirk slashes across Tsunade’s cheeks; a mean slice of lips red as blood, the spiteful side of satisfaction. As Hiruzen regards her, the predatory, vengeful eagerness to her profile, everything clicks into place. Cutting down Koharu must’ve been the appetizer, whereas this…well, this is the main dish she’s ordered. Next to her, Fugaku’s gone stone-cold, the muscles in his face locked tight, the Sharingan spinning, a violent swirl of red and black. Both are out for blood—and Hiruzen… He can’t find it within himself to deny either of them.
“Hoh?” Tsunade sneers at Danzō, not disguising the sheer depths of her contempt for him, like he’s nothing but a piece of excrement she can’t wait to scrape off of the bottom of her sandal. “Since when does he need anyone’s permission? Again, private clan business.”
“They are not part of the Uchiha clan,” Danzō points out, rather reasonably, it has to be said.
Alas, Tsunade’s descended from Uzumaki stock, and the Uzumaki clan and reason divorced a long time ago. Ergo, “Still a matter between clans,” she corrects, all fire and hot-blooded passion, all Uzumaki spirit.
“Momochi Zabuza doesn’t come from a clan.” Matter-of-fact, indisputable, spoken in that same reasonable tone.
Hiruzen frowns, suddenly wary, suspicious. Danzō is a lot of things, but an optimist isn’t one of them. If a plan of attack proves to be ineffective, instead of recycling it in hopes of different results, he’ll cut his losses, regroup, and devise another plan of attack. There is something amiss about his persistence, as if he’s goading Tsunade into—
Clicking her tongue, she throws out an offhanded, “His brat does, so same thing,” and oh, it finally makes sense.
Danzō’s gaze glints with some unidentifiable emotion. He is in a bind, Hiruzen guesses, though he can’t be entirely certain. (It’s been years since he last claimed to know Danzō’s mind; frankly speaking, he didn’t want to know.)
“Does he now?” It rings out sharp and distinct, less like a question, more like a confirmation.
Dryly, Tsunade snorts. “Well, yeah. Why else would they flee from Kiri? Not that it’s any of your business, Danzō, but speaking of which—” A pause. Tsunade’s mouth curls into that red-lipped smirk. It is insidious, how it shows no teeth, and yet…it hungers for blood. “—I’d love to talk to you about Tenzō some time in the near future.” A monstrously strong pressure. “And other related matters.”
“I will clear my schedule one of these days,” Danzō says, and Hiruzen can’t tell whether that is a joke or a taunt or even an honest invitation; it falls flat regardless.
“You do that,” is all Tsunade says, and hers is a promise of brutal vengeance.
(Later, with the meeting over and the chamber empty, Hiruzen will sit there alone for hours, appraising the cracks wrought by raw chakra pressure, barely deep enough to count as surface damage, and think of Hashirama-sama.
That is how Danzō will find him when he seeks him out to ‘express his concerns’ as he always does. His old friend is predictable like that.)
“Nothing good will come of this, Hiruzen.”
Danzō’s spine bends as he rests his weight on his walking stick, but his tone of voice is uncompromising, discordant to his stance, an ultimatum. Fix this, is what he implies, before I have to step in and fix it myself.
That, too, is such a predictable line, one Hiruzen’s heard so many times, that by now, he’s grown sick of it. Still, he gives the same line he always does in response. One last time, he promises to himself, for the sake of our long friendship, for the boy who loved Konoha more than anything in the world.
“What would you suggest then, Danzō?”
“Extract whatever information you can out of Momochi and then quietly dispose of him.” Of course, there’s only one type of advice Danzō can offer. Extenuating circumstances mean nothing to him, not unless he can use them to his benefit, mold them into a specific shape as one molds figurines out of clay. “The boy might be useful, so I will reserve judgement for now, but he should be trained in the meantime. I can offer the specialized training he needs—you know that will be in Konoha’s best interests.”
Hiruzen closes his eyes and just…breathes. There’s a darkness in Danzō, he knows. If Tobirama-sensei had chosen differently, it might’ve been his. As things stand, the only darkness Hiruzen knows is the kind he sees whenever he shuts his lids and lets Danzō take action in his stead.
Little by little, his sentimentality fades away with every slow breath. He expected this, yes, but still… It’s hard to accept his old friend is gone and never coming back, hard to speak the words that make it real.
“Don’t you mean in your best interests?”
“Everything I do is in Konoha’s best interests,” he says, his voice strong, his conviction stronger still.
“Once, maybe that was true—but not for a long time now. I wish I could believe you, old friend. This—the person you have become… I hardly recognize you anymore. Every night before I go to sleep, I find myself asking what would Hashirama-sama and Tobirama-sensei do were they in my place, and I don’t like the answer. You feel it, too, don’t you?”
Danzō doesn’t even falter in the face of Hiruzen’s heartbreak. “What are you trying to say, Hiruzen?”
“I am saying that change is upon us and perhaps it is time for us to step back and let it come. The new generation is full of promise, isn’t it? Konoha is on the verge of becoming what Hashirama-sama envisioned, and I have no intention of trampling over his dream. We have fought long and hard to reach this point. We have warred and bled and sacrificed to enrich this soil. If we allow our paranoia to destroy the fruit of our labors, then it will all have been for nothing. Even you cannot wish for that, Danzō.”
Irritation pulls at the edges of Danzō’s mouth, but it’s the sort Hiruzen’s familiar with, brought to the surface due to the literary devices Hiruzen employed in his speech rather than the speech itself. Hiruzen’s always been better at thinking up nature metaphors, something that never failed to draw out Tobirama-sensei’s pride and Danzō’s envy. So, there are still some parts of his old friend buried underneath the cruelty, the self-interest, the shady dealings, the immoral practices… For a moment, Hiruzen dares to hope—
“You cannot be serious, Hiruzen,” Danzō scoffs, and there’s another sort of irritation to the set of his mouth now, the likes of which Hiruzen last saw on Orochimaru’s face the day he announced his successor.
It slays the remnants of affection in Hiruzen’s heart for him, drains his capacity for mercy. He made that mistake with Orochimaru once; he’s not about to repeat it. If Danzō’s contemplating the idea of replacing him or, failing that, going rogue… Well, Hiruzen will have to strongly object. With lethal force.
“I have never been more serious in my life, old friend,” he says, and it sounds like a eulogy, the last time he’ll call him that. Sarutobi Hiruzen, Danzō’s childhood friend, steps down, and the Sandaime Hokage emerges. “Do not push me on this, Danzō. You will not like the repercussions.”
“You are a blind fool and you will come to regret this, Hiruzen,” Danzō warns, a detached look in his eye, an emotional disconnect in his voice, as if Hiruzen’s also already dead to him and he’s now speaking to a stranger who happens to wear his face, and Hiruzen can’t help but agree.
On this, Danzō is more right than he thinks. Hiruzen’s regrets are legion, yes, and Danzō ties with Orochimaru for the honor of being his greatest failure.
“Better a blind fool than a heartless monster, Danzō.” It pains him to say this, but what hurts more is that it’s nothing compared to the pain of all those children Danzō’s destroyed, all those lives he’s ruined, all those horrors he’s dead-set on perpetrating unless he’s stopped. “Oh, and when Tsunade comes to have that talk, do remember she has my full endorsement. Obstructing her will be akin to treason, and it would ill behoove you to go down that path twice.”
Danzō turns his back on Hiruzen and walks out without a backward glance. Hiruzen closes his eyes and just…breathes.