Beneath the Sun

Chapter 15

Tsunade's pointed look and cocked eyebrow should have been Tenzou's warning.

"Well, you look like shit." It's an unmitigated admonishing wrapped in general concern. Tsunade's gaze slides off Tenzou in favor of opening a secured drawer open, pulling out a dossier that she pushes across the table. "And to think a few days ago, you had wanted an assignment. Should I be concerned?"

"No, Hokage-sama." Tenzou dips his chin just the smallest bit, a chastised gesture because he should have known better than to think that he can put it past Tsunade to no realize that something was off. It isn't like Tenzou's been neglecting himself; he's been meticulously maintaining a strict scheduled routine, even though he wakes up poorly rested and food still tastes like ash in his mouth. In what is almost a sheepish gesture, Tenzou reaches up with a hand to rub the back of his head, tugging the hood of his sweater down with the motion.

Tsunade simply hums, throwing Tenzou another pointed look before she laces her fingers together under her chin. "Well, you're getting what you want. T&I has provided intelligence that requires confirmation. As you know, the skirmishes outside our gates have not stopped; we've already lost too many lives in casualties alone. After Orochimaru and Akatsuki, we can't afford to lose more. I'm sending you back to Snow."

Tsunade pushes a scroll across her table. Tenzou accepts it, quickly scanning through the contents. It's another undercover mission, except this had to be severely air tight. There's a high chance that it'd be a dead end again and with the Chuunin exams looming around the corner, Tenzou looks up at Tsunade with doubt in his eyes.
"Hokage-sama..."

Tsunade sighs, dipping her head down to press her forehead over he knuckles. Like this, she looks tired, fraying a bit at the edges. Tenzou can't imagine the weight she must carry, especially with her forces dwindling, more so when Konoha is trying to remain strong. "We won't be defenseless. That's one of three places where intel is being shared. I know what you're thinking; we aren't so defenseless yet." Tsunade leans back into her chair briefly before she stands to look out the village. "I've pulled ANBU retirees back into the active roster. Just until your team, Boar and Viper returns. Someone is leaking information about our operations; it needs to stop."

Tenzou dips his head in understanding – T&I has narrowed down their issue to something more in-house. In a way, Tenzou thinks he should be surprised; after Orochimaru, Kabuto and so hundreds before him, he can't say he is. "I understand, Hokage-sama."

This mission, at the very least, ought to channel his energy and frustrations in a more productive manner. It'll give him something else to study and be concerned about, something to focus on rather than the warmth his arms crave and alluringly sweet and heady scent of orange and cinnamon tea. After all, if someone really is deliberately falsifying his loyalty for personal gain, then the worthless sack of flesh has chosen to sink into the worst depth any shinobi can choose to descend in.

Traitors, after all, don't deserve to breathe under the shade of Konoha's trees.

Tenzou turns to leave, but stops when Tsunade's voice carries across the office. "Oh and Tenzou, try to get some sleep before you leave, I need you at your sharpest. I don't need to remind you that I would preferably, want this mission completed before the six week timeframe allocated? We're short on luxuries here."

Tenzou stiffens before he can stop himself; he masks the action by tugging the hood over his head once more, cheeks warming at the admonishing.

"No, Hokage-sama. I understand your priorities."

*

The next morning, Tenzou calls for an urgent meeting with his team in a small corner office at the headquarters, with none of them in their uniform.

Judging by Stag's state of dress, it would seem that Tenzou has interrupted him in the middle of a family breakfast. There is a very faint smell of miso clinging to the sleeves of his dark gray yukata. Tenzou knows that Namiashi Ryuu takes his dad-duties very seriously when he's in the village, that he dotes on his only daughter, taking every possible opportunity to show photos of her first walk, her first time holding a spoon, her first smile and countless others firsts to anyone who asks and is willing to listen. Stag matches Tenzou in broadness with the exception of two inches in additional height. Patches of discolored skin peeks out from the slight rumpled parting of his yukata, a result of a misfortunate accident with poison. Outside of his mask and uniform, there is always a haggard sort of air hanging about Ryuu peppered with a hint of dorky-naiveté, like he's just spent the past hour or so chasing after his daughter in a dusty field for no reason other than because he didn't know how to manage her, and when called into duty, had done nothing more but give himself a quick dust off, finger brushing dry ended wavy dark hair back and reigning in the toothy smile that is always on his face when he isn't being Stag.

Stag is the last to come in, a touch late and looking a little sheepishly apologetic, "Sorry, everyone."

Tenzou shakes his head dismissing the apology. He didn't like cutting into time with family, tries to avoid it as much as he can if he is able.

From the corner of the room – Sparrow - Hyuuga Chiharu straightens from where she is perched under the window, straightening her standard issue uniform. Outside the mask and armor, Sparrow passes off as an adolescent trying to be a grown up. She's all soft features, narrow shoulders and long brown hair customary of the Hyuuga clan that she always keep in a tight braid. Had it not been for the eerie blankness of her eyes, the stark red, jagged scar cutting across her neck like a choker, and crumpled burnt skin on the back of her left hand, Chiharu could pass off for a porcelain doll – all she had to do is stand so still.

"We weren't here long," Sparrow says, voice deep for someone of her petite size.

A soft hum leaves Raccoon – Yamanaka Kosuke – the youngest member of the team, lean and wiry, with longer fingers and eyes as vividly green as the treetops of Konoha in spring. Whether he had the uniform on or not, Kosuke always stands straight backed like he's an official guard in the daimyo's court, the kind that kept his chin as smooth as a ten year old because he shaved every morning with a clean cut razor as opposed to a disposable razor. His blonde hair remains short cropped, but long enough not to be rebellious. Raccoon is neat, orderly, everything about him pristine, just like how he takes down his targets and his deadly accuracy with the bow and senbon.

Tenzou gives his team a bit of a helpless shrug, unfurling the scroll from his pocket on the table for all of them to read. "We're going back to snow." He points at the mission parameters. "And it's going to be our all-time favorite type of mission. Prison. Except this is a diamond mine."

Tenzou teammates' mannerism shifts in a blink of an eye. It's like they're in their uniforms and masks, even when they're in festive, casual clothing or a jounin uniform. Gone is Stag's easy go-lucky-dad attitude, gone is Sparrow's air of demure reservation, gone is Raccoon's almost arrogant air. What stands around the table are three well seasoned ANBU under Tenzou's command, scanning the information and putting whatever personal business they may have had before they stepped into the office.

"Reliable or so-so intel?" Raccoon asks, eyebrows narrowing as he continues to read.

"We'll know when we get there." Tenzou spreads out a map and points a rendezvous point, two nights run away from the prison they're about to spend the rest of the horrid winter in.

"It's as good as prison, taichou," Sparrow says, milky eyes glossing over the details. "It's run by Saito Industries. They do not cut corners with their hired shinobi. Saitou hires the best to keep watch over the miners."

"It's a good thing we're not there for diamonds, then. It's their security. Someone's been feeding Sound our shinobi and missions roster. T&I got as far as deducing that this may be one of the feeding points considering that Saito Industries has recently switched security contracts with Sound instead of their usual go-to, Rock and Cloud." Tenzou shrugs. "We're only there to confirm and rule out possibilities." Tenzou's gaze tracks towards the team gathered around the table, taking note of the resignation in Stag's eyes and the soft sigh that leaves Sparrow and Raccoon. "We'll leave in two days at dawn. So enjoy festivities while you can."

The team disperses without complaint – tools of the trade, there's really nothing they can do about it.

*

Tenzou had no intention of spending time enjoying the last day of the festivities. He didn't even want to be a part of it at all when everything about it stirs the image of Iruka in his mind.

But staying in his apartment had only served to remind him of how he had ended things with Kakashi. His living room remains shrouded in shadows, the blinds drawn, with nothing but the very faint smell of Kakashi's scent hanging in the air and clinging to the sheets that had been stripped from the bed and dumped into the hamper in the corner of the room. Kakashi had left the bottle of whiskey on the counter, the two glasses in the sink unwashed, a reminder of the conversation that had gone between them, a remembrance of just how it might have come across – betrayal, abandonment, dishonest.

(But Kakashi should understand. He, of all people, knows love more than anyone Tenzou can think of.)

Tenzou spends no more than thirty minutes airing out the apartment, doing inventory and preparing his travel pack while the washing machine hums with everything that Kakashi may have touched spinning in a swirl of hot water and soap suds.

Only when the flap of his travel pack clicks shut does Tenzou slips his shoes back on, zips up the jacket and tugs the hood over his head, stepping into the crisp, cool autumn breeze that carries fine drops, each one a promise of the rain to come. Tenzou cranes his neck above to catch clouds lazily being drifted away by the newly chilled air, streaks of brilliance piercing through the cracks from a patiently setting sun. Tenzou pauses about a block away from the quiet bar where he intends to spend the rest of evening relaxing and nursing a bottle of sake with a plate of dinner he had full intention of consuming this time around. Lanterns remain hung over head, criss-crossing along the street, yet another reminder of the unrestrained joy that still shows in the excited, bustling groups of a teenagers crowding around vendors and musicians, of couples dressed in their finest threads and children still wearing colored masks, swinging round lanterns with Konoha's fire symbol painted in striking black paint.

Even though the main celebration has long ended, people continue to rejoice, an open memento to Konoha's oneness, a good time to be alive when not so long ago, a beast with nine tails had almost eradicated all of Konoha.

Tenzou a spares the gaggle of children and young adults cheer on a street magician a short glance before he steps into the bar that curves into the room, the space dark and sparsely lit. The place reeks of cigarette smoke, beer and a certain dampness that is between sour and sweet, sallow light from the street lamps trickling into the diamonds of the wooden panes. It's a place most shinobi prefer to be at if they're looking to be alone for the evening over a few glasses of beer or strong liquor, only to end up heading out with someone; hardly anyone who walks in ends up leaving alone. Places like this aren't exactly known for its cleanliness and always-waiting staff; it does however, offers privacy despite the large windows.

Tenzou happens to come upon this place because he is fond of the meals. The owner happens to be a retired ANBU who had chosen to put the skill she had acquired in a deep undercover mission as a chef to good use. Tenzou picks a corner, away from most of the crowd, and orders a beer and the house special.

A place like this, despite it catering to individuals craving for solitude, is still a den of debauchery amongst shinobi, a few of the bolder locals, alcoholism, and to put kindly, the great unwashed of the village. It isn't by far, the most popular place to go for such encounters if desired – there are several others that are better for that kind of company. It is why Tenzou chooses this place, because he knows better than to think anyone he knows or is acquainted with would come here for anything remotely wholesome. Everyone he knows would either hop on over to the Silver Swan where beauty and choices comes in abundance or the Golden Barrel right next door, where the slightly darker, if not bolder, kinkier choices happen to lurk.

(Tenzou doesn't think he'd step into the Silver Swan again – not when it reminds him of the first time he met Iruka, wracked in grief that with time, Tenzou had watched disappeared. He had a hand in alleviating that grief, only to replace it with something worse.)

He expects to not be bothered at all as Tenzou keeps his head down and starts revising the details of the long trip ahead in his mind.

Which is why, to say that Tenzou is surprised when warm beer starts to seep as he instinctively reaches out to steady the person who had all but bumped into him just as he had stood from his chair to leave after his meal, is an understatement.

Warmth blooms under Tenzou's fingertips as skin and soft, deep, wine red cotton press into his palms. Under the fall of long brown hair, tips curling under a slackened with surprise jaw, eyes the color of the earth after a torrential rain widens in surprise, startled – except it slowly melts into something unnaturally feigned. Something else burns under the hood that suddenly sweeps over those eyes like a veil, glistening like a piece of copper coin being examined in the warmth next to raging flames, licking away at the barriers that contain them within a fireplace. This veil, however, fails at trying to hold secrets within, not when the gleam of something fiery gold burns so bright in a mixture of anger, bitterness, shock and under it all, something wholesome and homely like joy and a love unrestrained.

Iruka is so fucking beautiful that Tenzou forgets to breathe.

Wrapped in his yukata with a splash of gold and green peacock feathers tapering off from the sleeves and bottom hem, Tenzou forgets that there is a world around him as his hands steadies Iruka on his feet, a hand gripping the beer glass that has all but spilled all over Tenzou's arm, dripping all over the sticky floor, his other hand steadying Iruka by the shoulder.

"Shinobi-san..." Iruka murmurs, soft and breathless, the same way he'd always say Tenzou's name after he's been gone for so long, a pink tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips.

Lips that Tenzou misses, lips that would no doubt be just as sweet and soft as Tenzou remembers. The attempt at playing strangers doesn't sway Tenzou in the slightest, not when Iruka is this close, not when Tenzou's lungs is suddenly filling with that wonderful scent of cinnamon spiced tea, or that refreshing splash of fresh oranges. Not when Iruka is so incredibly warm under his palms, the heat of his body barely contained by the soft cotton fabric.

Gods, I miss you, Tenzou wants to say.

(He almost says it, desperate words solidifying at the tip of his tongue.)

But suddenly there are voices cutting into the cloudy haze Iruka brings with him and Tenzou is stepping back, forcing his tightening fingers to let go when Iruka's friends appear – Hagane Kotetsu and Kamikuzi Izumo, gate guards and mission room staff member, Tenzou recognizes, both equally dressed in yukatas. They apologize on Iruka's behalf, stuttered and slurred words, while Iruka, who is still mute keeps staring at him. Iruka, who then swallows dryly, whose eyes slide away to drag walls back up with a sheepish smile, dimples barely showing because there isn't anything remotely sincere with the smile that he forces on. Tenzou is left with a dripping glass in his hand, as everything in him joins the spilt mess on the floor when Iruka finally turns to look at him, with walls as thick as prison lead.

The weight of that look burns, scorches something so deep in Tenzou that it takes everything in him to stay still and carefully blank-faced.

"Please excuse my clumsiness, Shinobi-san." Iruka dips his head in an apology, back rigid with ice, even when color splashes over his face and neck. Color, Tenzou knows, that would radiate all the way down his chest, feathering off somewhere over his stomach.

"No harm done," Tenzou dismisses, setting the glass down on the table and snagging a few napkins to dab at his hands and soaking sleeve.

"Forgive our friend, Shinobi-san. He was just so excited to meet our new friend~" Kotetsu slurs a little tipsily, exploding into giggles when Izumo elbows him, putting a stop to the suggesting wiggle of his eyebrows at someone behind him.

Tenzou crumples the yellowed napkins on the table, following the line of Kotetsu's gaze, meeting familiar piercing blue eyes boring into his with an unreadable expression. Everything in Tenzou's stomach turns almost hideously, his dinner threatening to rise past his throat, as a former ANBU teammate's unreadable expression melts away to that disarming, feigned innocence he tends to wear as a cover in public.

It isn't that Tenzou had any issues with Owl, per se.

But saying that he enjoyed being in Kurosawa Hiro's company is too tolerant of a statement if only because Hiro is a hard to read person. He's reserved, quiet, almost always pulled taut like a cocked bowstring, like he's ready to fight or run. Hiro is as broad as Tenzou, with only half an additional inch in height. At a glance, it sufficed to say that no one feature makes Hiro handsome, or head turning for that matter. It's easy for him to blend into the crowd if he chooses, easy for him to keep his head down despite his built.

His eyes, however, comes close to being called handsome.

They're a striking blue, framed by thick dark lashes, the kind that would look beautiful under any shade, a pop of color in the dark, a gleam in the shadows – Tenzou remembers Hiro saying years ago, when Tenzou had first worked with him, that the Sandaime had found it apt to bestow the mask of Owl on him. Hiro had chuckled then, something small and almost earnest – Tenzou would go as far as calling it gentle, disarming, had it not been for the intense, laser focused gleam in those azure irises. Only a fool would believe that Hiro isn't alert, even when he keeps his arms crossed around his middle and shoulder-blade length dark tresses in a messy bun at the top of his head often; Tenzou knows it's nothing but a falsified insecure body language.

Every ANBU had a quirk like that. It's almost a standard pre-requisite, to be something else when in the village proper.

But Tenzou knows that under all that, Hiro is a force to be reckoned with. It's there in the scars and burn marks that Tenzou knows are tucked under the standard issue dark shirt Owl currently wears, in the swell of his large knuckles and slightly hooded expression he remembers Owl had whenever the white mask came off.

Owl is a master marksman, quite skilled with a spear; it's a skill that makes him stand out a little more than others, when his family comes from a background of farmers that were a casualty of the Kyuubi attack all those years ago – a no name family, some would say. Owl had no one, is as broken as anyone else who remains tucked under ANBU's umbrella for so long and probably the reason he slotted into the lifestyle so easily.

But Tenzou knows ow Owl works; Owl is messy, is volatile under all that control, with a penchant for extreme violent behavior and rough handling. Tenzou remembers not exactly liking him, if only because Owl liked to mouth off and cause a lot of trouble with his rebellious attitude, something that had gotten him into multiple psych evaluations and reassigned from one ANBU captain to another. Tenzou can't say he hates the guy.

But he can't, with a clear conscience say, that Owl is a good guy. Not when Tenzou knows he had a partner waiting for him back home. Owl may be loyal to Konoha, but he clearly isn't loyal to his partner.

Owl waggles his fingers at Iruka and his friends, rubbing the back of his head a little sheepishly. Tenzou doesn't bother to acknowledge Owl beyond a blink, because they aren't supposed to be really familiar with each other in a setting like this.

"Like I said, no harm done." Tenzou dismisses, a little coldly, a little too sharply as he gives Iruka a domineering glance, wishing with every fiber of his being that Iruka wouldn't go over there to say hi, because in a place like this, a hi is never anything respectable. A hi, in a place like this, is a prelude to bruises and hitched breaths, pleasure and sloppy kisses in the dark.

"Thank you for understanding. Once more, my sincerest apologies," Iruka murmurs.

"Enjoy the rest of your night," Tenzou says, measured and calm, as he nods at the trio, his gaze sweeping over Iruka one last time before he turns and leaves as unhurriedly as he can manage, sparing Owl nothing more than a customary glance on his way out.

It's a clean exit.

But under his ribs, Tenzou's heart thunders with a swirling storm gaining momentum. Each step towards his apartment fuels an anger he didn't realize he had been capable of experiencing, a bitterness so palpable that it makes everything in his stomach slosh like riproaring waves slamming on to a boat deck lost at sea. In the cover of his apartment, as the sound of his uncharacteristically loud pacing footsteps cuts through the eerie silence, Tenzou's breathing starts to come out a little heavily, deep exhalations from his nose, faltering through the narrowed parting of his lips, as if he's trying to breathe through a wound that is bleeding out.

Kurosawa Hiro is going to touch Iruka. He's going to unwrap Iruka like a fucking present, tug at the hair tie that's holding Iruka's hair up in a half bun, spill thick silky strands over a slender neck. Kurosawa Hiro's tongue is going to taste something sweet just under Iruka's ear, around the hollows of his throat, his teeth leaving marks all over smooth, soft skin, warming under his mouth and gods, Iruka — Iruka is going to come undone slowly, unravel like the fabric sliding down his shoulders, the stuttered sighs and syllables of a fucking stranger's name brushing past his lips towards the ceiling like a relieved prayer, like he's know this stranger all his life, their bodies fitting perfectly -- Iruka would respond like he's a lover, not a man looking for a quick, mindless fuck because when it comes to Iruka, his passion, his warmth, his unbridled need doesn't come in halves.

Iruka would give every part of him in those precious few minutes.

Tenzou comes to a halt by the windowsill, palms pressing down on the wooden frame so hard as he pictures the look on Iruka's face when Hiro presses into him, fills Iruka with his cock, when Hiro takes something so beautiful, too pure for the likes of him – him, who in his own way, is a goddamn traitor. Hiro, the filthy fucking liar fucking Umino Iruka like Iruka is property to be owned, when Iruka is a man who deserves everything good in the world.

Kurosawa Hiro is going to be putting his cock, into Iruka's body. When Kurosawa Hiro, belongs to someone else. Has someone else. He is going to split Iruka wide open, make him cry out, pound into that tight heat, use Iruka's body like it's his god given right, use Iruka's mouth, touch him, touch him, touchhim, touchhim, touchhim, markhim, markhim, markhim –

Wood splinters and cracks, just as the line of cacti goes flying across the room in a vicious, violent swipe.

Tenzou stares out at the village, eyes hard like black diamonds, jaw grinding and teeth bared as an enraged hiss flows out from between his clenched teeth.

Kurosawa Hiro didn't deserve Iruka.

No scum of the earth does.

*

Tenzou dreams of blood and carnage. He dreams of Owl turning into a traitor of Konoha, selling secrets for whatever shortage he had in his soul. It's how he wakes up a little before dawn, sweat sticking to his skin and breathing harshly in the dark, suffocating shadows of his empty bedroom.

The funny thing about it all, is that hypothetically, if Owl really did happen to betray to Konoha, Tenzou is suddenly hyper-aware that he'll take great pleasure in ending the son of a bitch's life with his bare hands.

It's a realization comes easy, with a twisted kind of pleasure that is far too foreign.

Tenzou can't say he hates killing, nor can he say he derives any pleasure from it. Killing has always been about completing a mission. Killing has always been impersonal, whether it is a newborn, a toddler, man, woman or elderly, none of that had mattered.

But Kurosawa Hiro, well, Tenzou thinks, now that's one kind of traitor he'd want to rip flesh from bone with his own fingers.

There's something alarming about that realization, a sort of bias that may just be a large red flag because in reality, at most, Kurosawa Hiro is nothing more than a cheat to his own partner. That if there is anyone who should be gauging those pretty, bright blue eyes right out of his skull, it should be none other than Kurosawa Hiro's partner. It certainly would be less than what he deserved.

And what's even more foreignly alarming about it all, is that Tenzou didn't give a flying fuck as he changes into his uniform, is that the urge to pummel down Kurosawa Hiro's face to an unrecognizable pulp doesn't leave Tenzou for days, even when Konoha is acres behind them.

The dream of killing Owl, doesn't disappear either.

After all, Iruka deserves better than the cock of that good for nothing, lying, little shit of a fucking pretty boy.

*

On nights when Tenzou lies on his bedroll, bundled under a thermal blanket, staring up at the moon, he wonders if he could be what Iruka deserves.

Loyal, dedicated -- he'd want no one else but Iruka. He'd come home to only Iruka. He'd fuck only Iruka. He'd give what little he had of himself, his earnings, and his meager two syllable first name that's about as good as a nobody to Iruka with both hands like an offering to a deity.

He wouldn't lie to Iruka – never again.

He would never betray Iruka.

They'd have a good life together, surrounded by children, as many as Iruka wants to adopt -- Tenzou would do it all for him if it means waking up to Iruka's smile and arms every day for the rest of his life.

But then dawn would break over the horizon, Tenzou would remember that he hurt Iruka. Betrayed Iruka even when there isn't exactly a reason for him to feel bad about their arrangement, when it had been a mutual agreement, that if anything, Iruka really had no business going about falling in love with ANBU – of all things – because Iruka should know better. He must know better.

Tenzou would remember that he isn't exactly better at all. That if anything, perhaps he never will be.

(After all, not only did he hurt Iruka, he has, more or less, turned his back on Kakashi, too.)

But at least I'm no traitor, the little voice inside him would whisper.

The statement, however whisper-soft, brings no comfort whatsoever.

*

They reach their hiding point in the glacial peaks a little under ten days later, nursing ruddy noses and flushed cheeks. Tenzou sets up a small cabin overlooking the mines tens of kilometers ahead, where black smoke rises from within the frigid white sahara. Raccoon is tasked with setting up the protective barrier around the small cabin, a skill set he is quite proficient with, and part of the reason Tenzou liked having him on the team. Sparrow may be a Hyuuga, but her survival cuts down by a large margin if she is spotted and overwhelmed in numbers.