Kitsune no Akuryō - Under Maintenance

You are my...!!

Amidst the darkness, the cold, the sorrow, let there be light!

    Akira was looking at him uncertainly for which Minato couldn't blame her. The plan he had just put forth was mad and quite dangerous. The Shadow Clone technique had been banned for a justified reason: splitting oneself multiple times would tax the person's chakra and place undue mental strain besides, but he couldn't let this opportunity pass.

    The Yondaime had left Tenzo watching Naruto for that night after an exhausting day of work, more so because he had hardly slept the night before. Tenzo had insisted that the Hokage get some rest when last night rolled around. Thus, he was here with his wife the next morning, trying to explain over breakfast that he wouldn't be home for the next few days or month.

     He was grateful that the kids were at school or otherwise occupied; they certainly would not help his case as his wife cried, "But what about the rest of the village? What about Menma and Hanako?"

    "I'll be there for them," he assured her, but even he knew how backwards this seemed. The Hokage sacrificed everything for the village even his own life; he was never to sacrifice the village or himself for a single member, let alone over hypotheses and unknowns, but Minato couldn't change his mind, even as those thoughts battle against him. He had lost this chance once before due to taking care of the village and his wife and his children. If he could redeem himself for his passed errors, he would do anything to see his son's goofy grin just once more.

    "I'll be there for them," he repeated himself.

    Akira sighed, seeming to see the fire in his eyes. She'd just have to pull him back if he became too resolved to killing himself. "Go then," she granted, "the lest energy you waste..."

    Minato nodded to her before leaving the house. He went swiftly to the Hokage Tower, determined in his purpose. When he reached his office, seeing all the loose paper, he paused. Could he actually pull this off? Was it all worth it? It could all be a hoax, an illusion, an illusion which he had created on impulse based on a crop of blond hair. The boy just as likely wasn't---

      Unexpectedly, a stack of papers fluttered to the floor.  Minato half expected to see a little blond head peek up over the mess as big blue eyes stared up to him apologetically. The little tyke hadn't meant to make a mess; he'd clean it up afterwards. Little Naku had always promised that, and in the end Minato normally had to step in to make sure everything was organized. It was because of these frequent episodes that the counsel had encouraged, or demanded, him to re-marry.

    The rustle of another breeze through the window reminded him that he had left it open last night in a rush to leave. He shut the aperture and set about cleaning the papers. How he wished little Naku was with him making his messy stacks while he tried to keep neat.

     Once all was set and back in place, Minato preformed the hand signs and nodded to his double before he clasped his hands together, and returned to the marked seal which he left outside Naruto's bedroom through the Flying Thunder God Technique.

    What greeted him on the other side was minor chaos. Naruto and Tenzo were at the kitchen sink cleaning dishes when Naruto whipped around. For a split second his face scrunched up in something between shame and fear, Minato couldn't tell, before the boy immediately dropped to the ground on one knee. Minato opened his mouth to correct the gesture, but he stopped when he noticed Tenzo bend down and whisper, "It's okay, Kitsune."

     When the boy still did not rise, and Minato was again opening his mouth to correcting a second ANBU agent, Tenzo glanced at the Fourth quickly, almost apprehensively, before resting his hand on the boy's head in what would have been considered a strange gesture if Minato didn't recognize it on the spot. He had done it every night with Naku after a long day of work: tracing his fingers up and away from his son's head, but he was normally still in the middle of writing something, so he had often just held the stylus with his middle finger as his knuckle and fingers brushed against the younger blond's head. The motion looked a little strange now, especially without the stylus, but Minato recognized it almost immediately, yearning in hope against hope for the distant possibility that maybe his hypothesis was correct.