Chapter Text
“I’m worried,” Kurenai says. It is past midnight, and she’s over by the lone table in Jōnin HQ, slouched over a cup of coffee and a sheaf of papers. Other than herself, Shiranui Genma is the only person here. “About the recently-graduated genin.”
“Why? Is there something wrong with them?” Shiranui asks. He shuffles over to where her chair is, peering over Kurenai’s shoulder so that he can see what she’s looking at. “Are those . . . mental evaluations? Student files?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “To both of your questions. Here, take a look at this,” she says, sliding a sheet of paper out to her left so that he can read it more easily. “Uchiha Sasuke’s file. Tell me what you see.”
“Uchiha Sasuke. Only survivor of the Uchiha massacre. Put under a Genjutsu by Uchiha Itachi, missing-nin, and forced to watch family members die repeatedly. Shows antisocial behavior, fixated on taking revenge on his brother. Direct quote: ‘I will do whatever it takes, even if I have to do it alone.’ Current age: twelve. Status: genin.” Shiranui furrows his eyebrows, turning the piece of paper over so that he can look at the back of it. He finds nothing but the unbroken pale color of a blank sheet of paper. “Is—that it? Are you keeping something from me? This doesn’t seem thorough at all.”
Kurenai sighs. “Nothing, Shiranui. This is the whole report. It’s—appalling, really. They should have more information. They should have a therapist listed. He should at least have emergency contacts, for the gods’ sakes. And It should also state how much of a flight risk he is. This is only a few sentences, and even I’ve figured that out. ‘Even if I have to do it alone’? He’s all but stated his intent to go missing-nin if things don’t go his way. And judging from what I’ve actually seen and heard of him—he probably means exactly his way. I’m concerned. With that kind of mindset, he’s—he probably shouldn’t have been allowed to graduate. And don’t get me started on the Uzumaki child. You know—of course you know. But goddamn it, Shiranui. I just found out he lived on the streets for three years before the Hokage even noticed, and now he’s living in an awful apartment in the poorest part of town. And he’s on Hatake’s team, which is just asking for disaster because you have to know how close he was to—to him, and if anyone is the walking definition of a guilt complex then it’s Hatake. Who’s in charge of this stuff?”
“The files? Or the graduating shinobi? Or the people that let the poor kid live out on the streets? Because if it’s any of those then don’t ask me. I have no clue.”
“Both. I mean—all of them. Probably some lazy chūnin in the administration building, for the files.” Kurenai restlessly tugs on a strand of her hair. “And as for who gets to graduate—actually, this should have been a no-brainer. That would be the head of the Academy. Whose name is . . . Hanazawa Yonko.”
“I’m—bothered,” Shiranui finally says, after a long silence. He shifts his trademark senbon around in his mouth, and it clicks loudly in contrast to the dim, quiet room. “Shit.”
Kurenai almost wants to scold him for his language. Almost. But they aren’t around any children, so she doesn’t really have to, and she lets the compulsion go easily.
“Exactly. The report is so empty. They go from documenting a huge trauma like this to just—current age: twelve. I don’t like it. My own file is way more filled out than this. It was when I was a genin, too. And the other thing I’m worried about is that almost all these kids are like this. They’re going through some really hard stuff, and I have yet to see the name of a single therapist or psychologist listed on any of these papers.” Kurenai takes back the Uchiha’s file—although it can’t really even be called that, it’s so small—and carefully arranges the pitiful stack of papers until it is neat. “I have Hiashi’s eldest daughter, Hinata. She should, by all rights, be a confident young woman with a well-versed knowledge of her clan, her peers, and the workings of Konoha. Do you want to know what happened when I introduced myself to my genin?”
Shiranui, who has just finished pulling up a chair and is now seated across the table from Kurenai, gives her a vague noise of what she correctly interprets to be affirmation, and gestures for her to go on.
“I told them—‘Three clan heirs on my team who aren’t Ino-Shika-Chō. I almost can’t tell if this is a blessing or a curse.’—and Hinata says to me—she tells me that she isn’t the heir. Her younger sister, Hanabi, is the heir. Because Hinata isn’t good enough, apparently. And throughout this whole conversation she is a stuttering, blushing mess, tapping her foot and steepling her fingers in what are so obviously nervous tics, and if I were any ordinary person I wouldn’t have been able to hear her.” Kurenai leans back in the cheap, back pain-inducing folding chair that she has no other choice but to sit on and crosses her legs. “I watched her, and I didn’t say anything, because the gods know she must have enough people on her case at home, but I couldn’t help but think that what I was seeing was wrong.”
Shiranui drags a hand down his face. He looks tired, and it’s a perfect reflection of how Kurenai is feeling at the moment. “And?”
“I want to help her. It’s clear that she has anxiety, primarily social but most likely it’s general—she has massive self-esteem issues and is terrible at speaking up. I talked to her after our initial meeting, when Shino and Kiba had gone home. I asked her if she was okay, if she’s ever seen a therapist or a psychiatrist for any trouble with her anxiety. She told me that there is no clan psychiatrist or anything like that, and that she isn’t allowed to do many things outside of the Hyuuga compound. I can honestly say that I am appalled. Everyone should have access to mental health care. I’m glad that most of the jōnin here do even if they don’t actually use the resources that they have, but—I hardly know anyone in the administration building, and those are the people who are supposed to be providing children with information, the ones who are supposed to be telling the Academy that it needs to make sure that its students are well taken care of. I don’t know who they are, and I don’t know what’s happened since I was a genin. Things were better. I’m pretty stable.” Kurenai grins, tiredly, at the man sitting across from her. “You’re not too bad yourself, all things considered. But things have changed. And I’m not too sure that I like it.”
Shiranui licks his lips. He looks—pensive, like he’s trying to come to a conclusion but the process is slow, almost unbearably so, and Kurenai wants to pat him on the shoulder because if there is anything she knows so intimately, it is that. “And your other genin? What about them? What about the rest of the graduates?”
Kurenai, whose coffee has cooled down significantly—but not enough to taste bad—takes a sip out of her mug and sets it down with a loud thunk. “Inuzuka Kiba is an idiot. A loud one. He seems well-adjusted enough, although I think he might have ADHD. He never pays attention, and while I’m sure that he will be able to focus on many things at once during a battle, it might be the death of him in a drawn out fight. One wrong move, as they say.”
“Don’t I know it,” Shiranui says in return. He’s quiet. Assessing. Kurenai is certain that he means no harm, but the almost-intensity that the man is radiating is enough to make her just the slightest bit wary. “And the Aburame?
“He’s quiet.” Kurenai stops here for a second before adding, “Well. More so than any Aburame I’ve seen so far. It’s enough to warrant some suspicion of anxiety problems. He spoke about twenty words to me and then clammed up, and from what I’ve learned by asking around, he didn’t have any friends in the Academy. I asked the Haruno kid what she thought of him. She said she can never tell what he’s thinking. Has never talked to him, actually. The Yamanaka girl said that his clan is ‘pretty cool’ because they keep harmful insects off of the Yamanaka grounds, away from the gardens and greenhouses. Nothing related to the actual kid. And then they both left. Said something about—training, was it?” Kurenai leans forward again and rests her palm on her cheek. “I don’t know what to do about all of this. Not just my kids, but Hatake’s too. And Asuma’s, because I love the man but I’m not sure that I trust him with children. The only thing I know for sure is to find a reliable psychiatrist, and also a well-respected therapist, and set them up with a few of the children. A Yamanaka, I think, would do nicely, if there are any in the mental health area. They would of course both need to be equipped to dealing with shinobi. I just—I already care for these kids. So much. I’ve barely known mine for a day, and I’ve hardly ever even met the others.”
Shiranui nods thoughtfully. “And what of their skills? I’m assuming you assessed those?”
Kurenai groans and puts her heads in her hands. She laughs, involuntary, at the memories of this morning. “Yes, but—the Inuzuka, Kiba—he’s Hana’s younger brother—is abysmal at everything but taijutsu, and that’s only because he’s ‘never used that lame-ass Academy style, what do you take me for, a loser?’ I really can’t blame him, even if I wish that he would choose words that are . . . more proper. Kiba has horrible chakra control—only just barely good enough to make a clone of him. His reserves are average, if a bit on the small side. Horrible with genjutsu, and besides that he doesn’t have the chakra control for casting them. He works well with his ninken though. Akamaru compliments him very well and will be a valuable asset to the team, once they’ve honed their skills. And—Kiba has a good nose on him. My team’s suited for tracking, I can tell you that.”
“Shino, now, is a different story,” Kurenai continues. “He is skilled with his kikaichu, so I assume that he’s had some clan training. His taijutsu is lacking, but his chakra reserves are huge. During introductions, he said that his bugs have fed off his chakra since he was very young. I think that having his chakra constantly drained in such a way forced his reserves to expand. I didn’t sense any damage to his coils, so it must not have been detrimental. It’s a pretty effective technique, really . . . In any case, his chakra control is average, but can and will be improved upon. He is below average in terms of ability to detect low-level genjutsu, but . . . he’s good, for a new genin. I must say that I am impressed.”
“Hinata knows the basics very well. If her Byakugan is activated while I am casting the genjutsu, she can easily identify and dispel it. It’s a little harder for her if I cast it beforehand, but she isn’t bad. Her taijutsu style is typical to the Hyūga clan, but she doesn’t take to it well. I’ve offered to teach her a quicker, heavier-hitting style that I think is better-suited to her body type and personal preference. She said she’ll think about it. Her chakra control is exceptional, but she has average reserves. With the right training, some proper chakra exercises, and meditation, those will easily expand. I had expected that her clan would have trained her more, but they haven’t, which is disappointing. She’s around the level that I would expect from a regular genin, minus the fine chakra control. That’s just a happy bonus. I think she’ll do well, if I can get some confidence into her.”
Kurenai snorts, remembering the days of her own genin team. How unpolished, untested, unpracticed they were. “They’re rough. But they’ll get there.”
Shiranui hums. “You’ve got your head on straight, at least. Now, Hatake? That man couldn’t take care of even the most easy-going genin. He’s going to fuck something up, and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to watch him spiral into that same mindset that he gets in whenever he’s assigned to a team that he has to work with for more than a week at a time. So here’s the plan,” Shiranui says, uncharacteristically serious. Kurenai looks up at him, and sees that he’s taken the senbon out of his mouth and placed it on the table. “We’re gonna take these genin, these nine genin who’ve not yet been out of the Academy for a week, and we’re going to help them. Shit, Yūhi, I’ve been looking over these files,” he says, gesturing to the papers that have somehow made their way across the table, “and they’re all—well. I don’t like it, is what it is. We can do something to help them. So I say we should. We should round up a bunch of the other tokujō and jōnin-sensei, because I’m sure that they want to help with this too, and we should help these kids.”
Kurenai finds herself laughing, because this is exactly what she’d been getting at, and then Shiranui had picked it up and made it his own without her even noticing. “Okay, Shiranui,” she says. “But tomorrow. First, I need some sleep. And I’ve got a long day ahead of me with my team. I’ll be here at around eighteen hundred hours tomorrow, and then I’ve got a date with Anko about an hour later, and she . . . doesn’t like lateness.”
“Tomorrow, for sure,” Shiranui says. When he hesitates before speaking again, Kurenai raises an eyebrow at him. He continues. “And—you know what? Just call me Genma. We’ve worked together for more than a year now. I think that warrants first-name usage.”
“Genma it is then, and it’s Kurenai for me.” She yawns widely, and stands up to put her mug in the tiny Jōnin HQ sink. She’ll deal with it tomorrow.
(She actually hopes that some other poor unfortunate soul will be there and will do all the dishes before she does, but, well. She often finds that she’s the only shinobi with half a mind to do any actual work around here.)
“Go to bed, Kurenai,” Genma says, picking up his senbon, before climbing up onto the windowsill and then leaping out of the open window. The next time he speaks, it’s distant, and Kurenai just barely catches it. “You look like you’ve been stampeded by a horde of angry genin.”
Kurenai stops to scowl from where she’s setting up some blankets, because like hell is she running all the way across town when there’s a perfectly serviceable couch right here, and then she takes the advice, and promptly passes out on the HQ sofa.
Hinata is—confused, to say the least, as she walks to training ground 16. She's never had someone care so much about her wellbeing, about her training, and yet Yūhi-sensei seems to care so much—
Is there an ulterior motive, perhaps?
And that voice sounds suspiciously like her father, but, well. Hinata has been listening to orders from him for as long as she’s been old enough to walk.
But really, though, she asks herself again. Is there an ulterior motive?
Hinata shivers at the thought, before deciding that, no, her new sensei doesn't seem like that kind of person. Her new sensei is nice, and smiles at her, and had even looked a little angry on her behalf when she had told her about not being the clan heir.
To ask about therapy, though . . . Hinata just doesn't understand. There is a good motive for her to get training, and that is because she will be more of an asset to her team if she is strong physically. But why would she need therapy? How would she even get therapy? Are children allowed to have therapists? She's the daughter of a clan head, even, wouldn't that make him look bad? The crazy daughter of an upstanding noble sounds . . . Hinata doesn’t exactly know how it sounds, but she’s hedging on somewhere between bad and disowned-bad. She wouldn't want to risk making Hiashi angry for something as unimportant as her mental state.
Hinata would need to fix this—her anxiety. It's a risk for a shinobi to have. She could potentially get a teammate killed because she would have stuttered at the wrong moment, because she would not have been speaking fast enough to warn them of a danger. Or she would not have spoken loud enough, and nobody would have been able to hear her in time to dodge, or to run.
She could—
But she already knows, she knows every little thing her anxiety could cause, every little consequence right down to the dent on the clan’s honor that she has apparently brought about. She is, after all, yelled at about it every time she's home.
(And, really, what she would give to get rid of this mental handicap . . . )
Hinata sees half of her team there, waiting for her and Kiba to arrive. She notices Shino twitch whenever Yūhi-sensei looks at him. She can see how the woman makes an effort to seem less intimidating, even though it’s probably ingrained into her very being that she has to look fierce, has to look brave and unwavering at any given moment.
She thinks she might be able to trust her sensei.
“G-good morning, Yūhi-sensei,” Hinata calls out as soon as she draws close. “I hope I’m not too l-late.”
“Good morning, Hinata,” the woman greets her, warm smile rising on her face like the tide. “You’re not too late at all. In fact, the both of us are here early. I might have gotten a bit excited to see you all today, so I got here a bit too soon.” Yūhi-sensei smiles sheepishly, and then adds, “Although, I’m not sure why Shino is here this early.”
Shino is silent, for a few long moments, and Hinata wonders if he’s missed the verbal cue, but then he says, “I value earliness. Why? Because being late irritates one’s comrades. Irritation leads to a decrease in teamwork, which leads to a greater chance of failure on missions.”
It’s probably the most that Hinata has ever heard from him, and it brings a small smile, along with a light dusting of red, to her face. Shino seems impassive underneath the high collar of his large, pale jacket. Hinata wishes that she could see his face. She thinks that it would just be so much better if she could take a look at him and know how he was feeling, how she should act around him that day.
And then she remembers that Shino must have a reason for not wanting to show his face, so she lets that thought lie and brings herself back to the present.
“How are you, Hinata? We’re still waiting on Kiba, but I can get you started on stretches, if you'd like.”
Hinata responds, slow and quiet, “F-f-fine, sensei . . . I think—I’d r-r-rather w-wait. For Kiba-kun.”
Kurenai smiles and nods. Pleased, Hinata would assume.
And isn't that just odd?
Hinata speaks once more, “And I would—I th-think I-I-I’ll, um, take your o-offer . . . for the taijutsu. Style, the t-t-taijutsu style.”
And the smile from her sweet, caring sensei evolves into a full-blown grin.
Sensei begins to ramble, “That’s great! We’ll need work on your strength, in addition to the rest of your training, but other than that, I believe this style will suit you amazingly, especially once you have the strength to back up your speed—oh, and I’ll need to gather some additional tips to help you along, maybe I’ll ask Gai for his help, I’m sure that he would love to look after another student, and he’s the expert on taijutsu in Konoha at the moment—did I mention this style was founded by Tsunade-hime of the Sannin? It works well with your Byakugan, too, because although it is a devastating style, it’s still quick enough for you to seal off an opponent’s tenketsu with, perfect for small, powerful jabs. I’d love to see you become as physically adept as her. It would be—”
Yūhi-sensei cuts herself off. And turns tomato-red.
“Ah, sorry, I’m just really excited for you. Maybe we could . . . ”
The woman trails off, appearing to be lost in thought.
Hinata doesn’t notice that a smile has lit up her face until the corners of her mouth start to hurt.
Kurenai really is so caring and kind.
Hinata trusts her, even if she's still a little confused about her.
She trusts her. And that’s what counts.
Sasuke is walking home from his final mission of the day, mentally cursing Hatake for the severe lack of training.
If this goes on, he will never be able to be strong. If all their sensei does is give them stupid tests and preach to them about friendship, then Sasuke will never be able to—
He’s so caught up in his train of thought that he nearly startles when someone starts to walk beside him, steps blending smoothly in with his. He reaches for his shuriken, instinctually, upon seeing red eyes and long, black hair.
Itachi, he thinks. Sharingan, he thinks, and there’s panic buried deep inside that thought, deep under all the layers, except it’s not Itachi, and only then can Sasuke relax, even if it is only marginally. A woman. No tomoe. Just a regular kunoichi.
(Nothing to worry about. He’s safe, he's safe, he's perfectly fine. Nothing will happen, nothing will happen. He is not here. That man is not here, and he will be fine as long as this is the way it is.)
“My name is Yūhi Kurenai, jōnin of Konohagakure. You are Uchiha Sasuke, correct?” the woman asks, calmly, and there’s some kind of aura around her that feels so warm, and that makes Sasuke want to close his eyes and go to sleep. He likes it, and he hates how weak it makes him feel.
Sasuke doesn't drop his guard, even as he confirms that he is indeed Uchiha Sasuke.
“I’m only here to talk, and to ask you a question. You can leave or you can ignore me if you don't wish to answer. I will repeat this: an answer is not mandatory, and neither is speaking. This is a yes or no question, so you may choose to answer non-verbally if you wish. A nod or a shake will suffice.”
Her voice is soft, reassuring, and she tells Sasuke things more than once to make sure that he understands, which he is so grateful for because nobody ever does that for him even when he needs it and of course he needs it now when his thoughts are still broken from the panic—and yet, Sasuke feels trapped.
(He wants to run, run, he wants to hide, he wants—)
“What do you want?” he asks, irritated by his thought process.
(How weak. How very, very weak, Itachi says to him in his head. Itachi, Itachi, Itachi, running circles around his mind and calling Sasuke weak and telling him to live and be strong—)
She smiles. “I work with Hatake Kakashi, your jōnin-sensei, and I noticed that your file has no mention of you ever seeing a mental health specialist. I would just like to know if this is accurate, or if someone didn't deem it important enough to record.”
“So, you want to know if I've ever been to therapy?” Sasuke asks, his fingers still hovering over the button on his weapons pouch, ready to grab shuriken or a kunai at a moment's notice. The woman—Yūhi—nods.
Sasuke slows his pace as he thinks. Yūhi slows down with him. “Answer’s no. No one ever mentioned anything like that.”
(He feels appalled at his own easy speech, at the way he wants to answer this woman who is asking not about his brother or his dead clan or anything that anyone usually asks about but is asking instead after something so insignificant as his mental health—he is absolutely appalled, but the woman just feels so trustworthy. And he’s tired. He’s tired of not talking to anyone, and he doubts that this Yūhi will go and blabber everything to Hatake. Or his teammates, or any of the other genin.)
She hums in surprise. “I see. Well, thank you for responding truthfully. I’m just fact checking—it didn't seem too realistic to me that nobody suggested counseling of any kind. I'll have to talk to someone about that. Good luck with your training, Sasuke-kun. And remember to eat a healthy dinner.”
And just like that, in a swirl of leaves and wind, the woman is gone. Sasuke feels himself relax, only just noticing how tight his posture was. His shoulders ache from the tension and the stress.
She wants him to eat a healthy dinner.
Sasuke almost laughs, but panic is still crouched at the edges of his fraying mind and he cannot conjure up anything more than a huff of breath.
(He had felt so cornered, so forced, so nervous. She had been so kind, so inviting, and—why is he like this? He’s so weak, so weak, he’ll never—he’ll never be strong enough. How can he be, when he gets so anxious at the mere idea that someone would even want to talk to him? She wasn't even—she wasn’t even anything like him—)
Sasuke opens the door to his apartment, feeling dazed and numb as he whispers “I’m home” to himself and takes off his sandals.
He’s so tired. Being awake is exhausting.
He's so . . . tired.
“I talked to Morino,” Genma says to Kurenai by way of greeting. “He’s in.”
“What?” Kurenai asks, just a little incredulous. “How’d you manage that?”
“Stopped by his office, told him the basics of our plan. He told me to fuck off, which I really should have expected, but I did tell him that some of them would fit well into T&I,” Genma answers, and shrugs. “So long story short, he’ll help. Said that he’ll send Anko over.”
Kurenai glances around at the few jōnin and tokujō that are milling around in the HQ. She can see Gekkō—Hayate, she reminds herself, Hayate. Because the man is prone to irritability when people are too formal with him, even if it’s something as small as his last name—in a corner of the room glaring moodily down at his papers. But there is no Anko.
“She’s probably pissed ‘cause this is her day off,” Genma guesses.
“Maybe. Possibly. Actually, that's very likely. But if I’m here—and yes, she knows I’m here, I practically live here—she’s likely to show up soon.” Kurenai runs a hand through her hair. It's beginning to become a habit. “So who else are we dragging into this mess of ours?”
“Not Hatake,” Genma quips, right off the bat.
Kurenai laughs. “No, probably not. Namiashi? Yamashiro?”
“Could work,” Genma says. “If any of your students are interested in kenjutsu, Raidō’s your man. He’s also very proficient with teleportation seals, but they do take a toll on his reserves to use, so you’ll want to send any kids with large reserves and average or higher control his way. You want Aoba to train any fire-inclined students. He also has a crow summoning technique, but—that’s fairly high-level, and I’m not sure your little genin could handle it.”
“They’re not little,” Kurenai interrupts. She knows that she shouldn’t let her irritation show like this, but— “That sounds condescending. Just say that they aren’t ready to perform this jutsu yet, and move on. They’ll hate you if you talk like that to them, and I don’t want even more issues to deal with on top of what’s already there.”
“Got it. Sorry,” Genma apologizes, properly chastised.
Really, Kurenai thinks. Men.
“Anyway. Go on,” she prompts.
“Aoba’s skill set is a lot more diverse, but he doesn’t have mastery over them like Raidō does over kenjutsu. His crows should be taught to all of the Rookie Nine, though, for communication purposes. Other than that, Aoba would probably be more suited as a beginning teacher, and then the genin should be turned over to different instructors after they’ve found their footing. He can still be there and provide tips, of course, but I don’t think he would be in charge.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Kurenai says. “Where are they now? Have you spoken to them as well?”
“No,” Genma admits. “They’ve been on a mission for these past few days. They should be back—today, probably. Uh—I think Hayate would be pretty good for this, too. He’s good in stealth, and I mean really good, so he’d be suited to any of the rookies who are interested in tracking, especially your team. His taijutsu is pretty solid, relying more on brute strength and quick reflexes than anything else, so he’s mainly an attacker on that front—ninjutsu, I’d say he’s okay, but what he really excels in is kenjutsu. He’s good with a variety of weapons, actually, and you know about his Crescent Moon Dance technique—he’s also well-versed in the Transparent Escape technique. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“No, no, this is solid information. Useful,” Kurenai says. “I’ll probably pair him up with my team, if he agrees to this. Namiashi and Yamashiro sound like they’re more suited to up-front attacks. I think they’ll go well with Hatake’s kids.”
“Not Hatake’s anymore,” Genma says under his breath. “You’ve practically adopted them.”
Kurenai can feel her face go red. “Stop it! Like I said, I just don’t want to see them self-destruct. I want to see them actually become strong. And anyway, if anyone would adopt one of them, it’s you. You, Shiranui Genma, are the very definition of a mother hen.”
She takes great satisfaction in seeing Genma’s face turn tomato-red. She expertly dodges the flurry of senbon he flicks her way. “Am not,” he hisses. “I just—taking care of people is important, okay? Making sure that people are well-rested and fed so that they can be in good conditions during a mission and making sure they’re feeling okay mentally so that they don’t destroy themselves by throwing themselves into their work is not—oh. Huh.”
Kurenai graces him with a knowing smile, and then redirects her attention to the matter at hand. “So now do we actually go around recruiting people for this, or do we go and look for—”
“Kurenai!” Anko shouts, as she jumps in through one of the very many windows embedded in the walls of Jōnin HQ—and really, Kurenai thinks, why does nobody use the door?—and throws herself bodily at Kurenai. “I missed you!”
“It’s been a day, Anko. I bought you dango yesterday. And I left some for you on your desk this morning!” Kurenai rolls her eyes, but lifts her arms up so that she can return Anko’s hug. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t been in your office all day.”
“I haven’t been in my office all day,” Anko says unapologetically. “It’s stuffy in there. A bitch needs to breathe!”
“Does your office have windows?” Kurenai asks, giving her girlfriend the flattest of stares. “Do you open those windows?”
“It’s hot outside,” Anko complains. “And besides, I’d rather be deep down in T&I heaven watching some poor fucker get completely taken apart. And that doesn’t even have to be literal. It’s fun! And cooler, temperature-wise. A lot fucking cooler than the aboveground floors, I can tell you that.”
“I question your idea of fun,” Kurenai says dryly.
Anko shrugs. “Eh. Does it matter? Can we get dango now? I’m hungry as shit.”
“We can get some later. Right now we’re talking about the genin. Ibiki asked you to come here and help, right?”
“Sure did. But this is boring.” Anko turns to Genma and gives him the stink eye. “And what’s he doing here?”
“He’s helping me,” Kurenai says. “And you will not terrorize him, okay?”
“Little fucker,” Anko says under her breath, and ignores Genma’s offended protestations. “And I’ll terrorize whoever I wanna terrorize! Genma couldn’t stop me even if I had both arms tied behind my back. Oh, shit,” she says when she catches the look on Kurenai’s face. “Fine. What do you need help with? I can beat anything into anyone! Just say the word, my dear.”
“Aren’t you confident,” Hayate drawls from across the room. “How about beating some manners into yourself?”
“Why, you little fucker, I’m going to gut you—” Anko tenses her legs, obviously preparing to lunge at the tokujō. Kurenai strengthens her hold around Anko’s torso, and stays strong even when the woman pouts at her. “Come on, Kurenai, the little shit’s just asking for it!”
“I’m older than you,” Hayate says. “And taller.”
“Oh, fuck you, Gekkō, I’ll show you who’s tall—”
“Anko.”
Anko whines, and then goes limp in Kurenai’s arms, forcing her to stumble a bit to keep her balance. Kurenai sighs and decides that keeping herself and Anko upright is more trouble than it’s worth, so she drags Anko over to the couch that she’d slept on and collapses there in a heap of limbs and—mad cackling, on Anko’s part. Genma follows behind them, and ends up sitting on the armrest.
To be fair, it is a very comfortable armrest.
“Fine,” Anko says, shooting one last look at Hayate. And, oh, is it a look. “But if he keeps on being—himself, or whatever—I really will jump at him.” She turns to glare directly at Hayate. “That’s a promise, you hellion.”
“Confident, hm?” Kurenai hums, thinking back a few seconds. “Say, Anko, you know about my genin team, right?”
“Yes . . . ” Anko says, peering up at Kurenai suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”
“The Hyūga girl, Hinata. She—well, to put it shortly, she’s a mess with no self-confidence and she thinks she isn’t good enough for anything. I’m working on it, but I think you would be a good influence.”
Anko laughs uproariously. “Me? A good influence? Kurenai, you’re fucking funny, you know that?”
Kurenai takes a deep breath in, and then out. One must be calm to deal with Anko properly. “Thank you for the compliment, love, but that’s not what I was getting at and you know it. If you’d calm yourself down just the tiniest bit, you wouldn’t overwhelm her. I know you wouldn’t. And she really could learn a thing or two from you, about interrogation tactics. It would help her stand up to Hiashi, if she ever gets there. And I think, for as different as the two of you are from each other, you would get along. I really do.”
Kurenai notices that Anko has gone uncharacteristically quiet, and that she looks—well, floored is the only word she can really think of that fits her expression. “Kurenai,” Anko starts, and her voice is small. It’s too small. “I don’t—do you really think I could be good with children? I’m me. I like that you care enough to think I could help some little girl who’s probably got a thousand and one issues without me there to give her more, and she’d probably be better off with a therapist—”
“Anko,” Kurenai says firmly, bringing her hands up to cup her girlfriend’s cheeks. “You will do fine. I will have her see a therapist as soon as I am able to. That’s a promise. But she does need strong women in her life to show her that it’s possible to be confident. I think she’s had enough of men telling her what to do. Chin up, dear."
Anko straightens herself up and nods. “Right. I’m going to—I’m going to meet this little kunoichi of yours, and I’m going to do good by her.” She bites her lip, seeming to worry about something for a second—and if Kurenai knows anything about anything, it’s that Anko is most likely sorting out all of her issues right now—and then her face falls back into its usual razor-sharp grin. “I’m going to make her so strong, oh my fuck. A Hyūga, under my training. She’s going to be amazing.”
Kurenai laughs. “And I’ll be there too, to make sure you don’t get too into this. Who knows? She may want to be apprenticed to you if you keep this up. How about that? A Hyūga in T&I? Hmm, Anko-sensei?”
Anko fidgets, and her grin turns a degree sharper, which is never a good thing, in Kurenai’s experience. Kurenai narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Don’t call me that when we’re out in public, Kurenai-chan, you know how flustered that makes me. How about later, when we—”
Kurenai splutters. “That’s—that’s not what I meant! And I’ve never even called you that before—”
The sound of chuckling washes into Kurenai’s ears. She realizes a second later that it’s Genma’s voice, and then she takes a deep breath to collect herself, because she is a dignified kunoichi of Konoha, and she will not show embarrassment, even if she and Anko are the center of attention of practically all the jōnin and tokujō in the room.
“I wish she acted like this with all of us,” Genma sighs wistfully, and then quickly corrects himself. “I mean, the toned-down part, not the lovey-dovey mushy thing. I think even the best of the best would piss themselves if Anko tried to—well.”
“I’m right here, fuckface,” Anko spits venomously, and then turns to look at Kurenai. “Anyway. I’m assuming that since it’s you and Mother Hen Number Two over there who are doing this, so you’re obviously going to drag some more of the poor jōnin fuckers into this. Oh, man. Genin. They’re all going to suffer so much,” Anko says gleefully. She’s still sitting in Kurenai’s lap, and Kurenai adjusts herself so that Anko can get more comfortable.
The door of Jōnin HQ slams open.
“Mission—done—coffee, ” Namiashi gasps. He looks a little ragged, and a lot dirty, and Yamashiro, who’s following closely behind him, doesn’t look much better. They both make a beeline straight for the kitchen. “Oh, thank the gods. Whoever buys this coffee—I don’t even know if you’re here right now, but please let me marry you.”
Yamashiro nods in agreement. “We can both marry you. If it means getting more coffee like this. Fuck, this must be so expensive. I love you so much, mystery coffee person."
Genma smiles, for some reason. It’s vaguely suspicious, but Kurenai won’t pursue.
She’s just grateful that the two of them used the door.
Anko laughs at the sight of them sobbing theatrically into their coffee. “The smell of tears is reinvigorating,” she informs Kurenai. “Really. I feel younger already.”
“I got no sleep during this mission,” Yamashiro bemoans. “I hate stakeouts.”
“Steak house?” Maruten asks, from where he’s been filing a mission report on one of the . . . slightly less comfortable couches. “I love steak.”
“No, you oaf,” Namiashi says, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Stakeouts. But, really, I actually could go for some steak . . . After this coffee is finished.”
“If you take me with you,” the Akimichi offers, “I’ll pay. Gods know this mission has raked in enough cash for a treat.”
Yamashiro and Namiashi wince. They know exactly what mission Maruten is talking about; it had been an assassination that was supposed to be quick, no more than a day, really, but Maruten had been stuck tracking the target for a week because of faulty info on the client’s part. In a rare show of good will, the client had paid extra. But it hadn’t changed the fact that the mission had been an absolutely grueling one.
“Done,” Namiashi agrees immediately. “Come here, I’ll help you out with that mission report if you want.”
“Oh, thank the gods for you. You are a lifesaver,” Maruten breathes, and stands up so that he can make his way over to the kitchen table. “The counter isn’t that good of a place to work. Come here. You can just fill out some of the simpler questions. I’m sure you’ve heard me grousing about this mission enough that you can answer the simple details. And if you need help,” Maruten adds, “then you can just ask me. And thanks, again.”
Namiashi brings his mug over to the table and picks up the papers that Maruten hands him. “No problem.”
Kurenai sees this as an opportunity, and so does Genma, judging from the look on his face. Kurenai pushes a very dismayed Anko out of her lap and makes her way over to where the tokujō are gathered.
“So, Yamashiro, Maruten, Namiashi,” she proposes, “I’ve been thinking. You all have seen the new batch of genin?”
Maruten grimaces. The expression is mirrored on the faces of his two comrades. “Unfortunately, yes. I don’t doubt their potential, but I really wonder whether most of them should have been allowed to graduate. Especially that Uchiha kid—he seems like a major flight risk.”
“That’s what I said.” Genma crosses his arms. “You probably haven’t seen his file. I probably wasn’t really supposed to, either, but. It was less than a quarter of a page long. But anyway, that’s not exactly the point here. The point is that these kids need some kind of help, some kind of acknowledgement beyond ‘go out there and train yourselves to kill people’. From what I’ve observed of the new graduates, they’re mostly—maladjusted, and mentally unstable. Nervous, refuse to speak, paranoid, and in the Uzumaki kid’s case—I’m not even sure where to start. He flinches if someone so much as looks at him.”
“What we’re saying,” Kurenai continues, “is that we think we can do what it will take to get these kids in a good place, both mentally and physically. I would hesitate, even now, to call them battle-ready. And yes, they’re genin, they aren’t supposed to be battle-ready, but I would prefer that they are. At least for small skirmishes. And the gods know that Hatake isn’t going to do anything about it.”
“The civilian girl, Haruno,” Yamashiro says. “Now there’s an inferiority complex just waiting to happen. Seems like she’s been set up to fail. I don’t like that.”
“Exactly,” Kurenai says, glad that they’re understanding where she’s coming from. “I’m asking you all, not just because I’m a jōnin-sensei myself but because I honestly want to see these kids become strong, to help with this. We can figure out areas of expertise and introduce the rookies to you, and then we can get all the other jōnin-sensei in on it too. Asuma would probably be up for it. Oh. Actually, we probably can’t tell Hatake yet."
“The man’s a walking disaster,” Maruten supplies. “Best to ease him into the whole ‘being a good teacher who genuinely cares about his students,’ hm?”
Genma nods, and smiles a bit. “We can actually start this up tomorrow, I think. Hatake’s been assigned a mission outside of the village for a few days—not really sure what the Sandaime’s thinking, giving him that when he’s just gotten a genin team—but it’s useful for us. If we gathered there and introduced them to each other, it would serve the dual purpose of having them meet each other and begin to trust in their comrades, but it would also start them on trusting their superiors. It’ll be good all around.”
“Do you actually—agree to this?” Kurenai asks, because they haven’t truly said yes, they’ve only looked generally agreeable. She lets out a relieved sigh when the three of them nod.
“Oh, gods,” Genma says. “And Anko, she’s in on this too—she’s going to turn them all into a bunch of monsters. I’m going to at least teach one of them before she sinks her claws into them.”
Hayate chooses this moment to saunter up to their little group. His papers are tucked under one arm. He interrupts their conversation with a pointed—but, knowing Hayate, probably necessary—cough. “So, am I included in this, or what? Because I am not letting that witch outdo me.”
“I heard that, you little rat,” Anko growls from clear across the room. Hayate visibly suppresses a shudder.
“Yes, Hayate, I was actually planning on asking you. This makes it easier—”
“How youthful!”
Has Gai been in the room this whole time? Kurenai wonders to herself. It’s surprising that she didn’t notice him.
“I would like to join you in this endeavor of yours! I feel that my team could benefit from a group training exercise or exercises! Young Neji is not feeling the youth of Konoha,” Gai explains earnestly, bounding over to them. Kurenai wishes she had half as much energy as this man does. In the background, she can see Anko glaring. Kurenai will never understand Anko’s deep hatred for Gai’s enthusiasm. She thinks it’s a nice touch, a lively upside to the downs of shinobi life. Anko probably thinks it’s annoying. “There is much that I could teach these up-and-coming shinobi! For youth!”
Kurenai chuckles, nodding. “Of course, Gai. I was planning on asking you to help my student, actually. The Hyuuga girl? Hinata, she doesn't do well with her clan’s taijutsu style. I was thinking she’d do much better with Tsunade-hime’s, and I wanted a little of your input and guidance.”
Gai clasps his hands over his chest. “How youthful! Yes, I am very familiar with the hip and cool style that Tsunade-hime utilizes! I will do my utmost to aid your young student in the youthful journey of taijutsu, and I will offer my assistance to any other students that would be interested! This is so that the springtime of their youth shall not be wasted! They are Konoha’s flowers, and I will help them bloom!”
Kurenai hides a small smile behind her hand. “Thank you, Gai. That’s very thoughtful of you. I think that tomorrow at training ground . . . nine would work. At least, I’m pretty sure that nine isn’t scheduled for use. Certain, really.” Upon receiving general noises of assent from the shinobi gathered there, Kurenai reminds herself to check the training ground roster and sign up for an all-day usage. “All right. We’ll probably be there the whole day, and we can all go somewhere for dinner, if that’s acceptable.”
Maruten nods enthusiastically. “Sounds good to me. Want us to bring anything special?”
“No,” Genma says, “but do be prepared to show off your specialties. Maruten, you should actually probably bring a few spare bō for any sparring that might happen. And also—I’m fairly sure that at least some of the genin will be interested in kenjutsu. And I think Gai’s student, Tenten, works with seals.” He turns to Gai, who nods in affirmation. “You might be able to do something interesting with that.”
Maruten hums. “Sealed bō, huh? Interesting.”
“Okay,” Kurenai says. It’s already dark, and she figures that she’s put Anko off for long enough. “Tomorrow, then. Someone else go inform Asuma about this. And don’t take no for an answer. Now, I’ve got a date to go on and dango to buy.”
“Finally,” Anko says from where she’s stretched out on the couch. Kurenai notes that she looks rather like a cat. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Patience, dear,” Kurenai says, crossing the room and pulling Anko up. “The dango isn’t going anywhere.”
“But what if it does?” Anko whines. “You don’t know if it’ll suddenly decide to grow legs. You don’t know if my dango will run away.”
Kurenai laughs, and bends slightly to plant a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. “It won’t, Anko. It won’t.”