...

If you think that I am ruined

I'm not ruined, I am whole

I am fine, not even broken
Maybe soft-spoken, maybe so
Although my bones you may have shattered
It's only matter, it's not my soul

And when you crushed me like a flower
The final hours but how to go
I thought you loved me
The way you touched me
Your wicked violence I did not know

I thought the father was the protector
Was the creator but you are none
Although my bones you may have shattered
It doesn't matter, 'cause I am whole

~ "Ana Lama" by Cocorosie

...

Chrysalis

...

Evening darkened over Konoha's Summer Solstice like a bruise.

Danzo grimaced as he took a long draw of sake, elbow crooked against the patio railing, and watched the crowd drift by. The streets below were positively blazing. Some fool had strung up a seemingly infinite array of string paper-lanterns in an erratic zig-zag between nearly every building; which served Danzo's purposes just as well: no patch of central Konoha's stampeded dirt-roads was left unilluminated.

All were open to his perusal. All were subject to-

-the sudden appearance of the Yondaime, belied by his repulsive sunny locks, directly beneath the Root-Founder's perch, arrested his focus. The Yellow Flash sighed deeply before sinking to the wood of a faded, deserted bench. Danzo peered down at the man shrewdly, un-bandaged eye narrowing, and swished a mouthful of sake slowly over his tongue. He allowed a pleasant burn to roll through him, waiting till it reached a clear line of discomfort before finally swallowing.

Nothing more than a looming shadow, he slipped his net of spider-like observation over the Fourth Hokage.

Ever since Minato Namikaze had been elected, Danzo had been forced to relocate several of his classified laboratories, reroute funding for a number of top-secret (possibly illegal) factions and partnerships-all of which he'd painstakingly cultivated through years of deliberate and orchestrated planning-and exterminate a mess of potentially damaging paper trails, most of which only he had full access to in the first place. And all with a falsely optimistic and cheerful smile upon his grizzled face.

Since when had transparency and accountability ever done the shadowed realm of the shinobi any good? As far as he was concerned, that was how graves were plotted.

Danzo grumbled darkly to himself upon finding that he'd emptied another bottle. He snapped his fingers tersely. Instantaneously a bowing shinobi, her face concealed by one of ANBU's pale, moon-faced animal masks appeared by his side, one fist pressed to the floor, the other cradling a slim-necked bottle.

"Just leave it here."

She straightened and bowed, pouring a generous cup of the colorless liquid, before setting the bottle down carefully, bowing again, and then dissolving back into the black night.

"Tch."

Thoughts simmering viciously, the self-professed Shinobi of Darkness tossed back another burning swallow. If only he could find some way to distract the Yondaime... The man was so energetic. Self-righteous. He was-

"-concerned."

Minato was saying, slouched uncharacteristically against the wooden, sun-bleached slats of the bench. His girlfriend, the fiery Jinchuriki with those flashing green eyes and that obnoxiously loud voice had joined him from the vibrant, yukata-garbed throngs. She was curled into the blonde's side, her cheek resting along his outstretched arm. Her gaze was patient,attentive, and deep. Open.

It made Danzo want to swallow a kunai.

"I mean it, Kushina," the Yondaime said after a moment when the Jinchuriki had said nothing, "I'm losing sleep over this."

Danzo's ear pricked with interest. Well, now, perhaps tonight wouldn't turn out to be such a waste after all. Revolting as the two love-swans were. The Root-Founder shifted his weight, trying to dissipate a surge of impatience. What was it? What could possibly be causing the Leaf Village's most esteemed and heavily admired Fourth Hokage to toss and turn?

"He's always been that way though, hasn't he?" Kushina said, auburn brows dipping thoughtfully, "Distant, I mean."

Minato's mouth pursed as if he were chewing something. His azure orbs danced, flitting back and forth over the multitude of faces passing by in the street. Kushina brushed the pad of her thumb over the crease that always seemed to form between the man's blonde brows nowadays. Minato blinked, smiled half-heartedly.

"I'm frowning again, aren't I?"

Kushina chuckled softly, her vibrant green eyes twinkling. Her fingertips slid down to his chin and she turned his face to hers slowly, relishing the blush that rose high in his cheeks. She kissed him smartly on the forehead. Danzo rolled his eyes.

"Yes." she said, her tone teasing but her eyes searching, "You were."

Danzo sighed. Shoved his cup aside and reached for the bottle. He was going to need a lot more than a cup could provide if he was going to spend the night listening to transient, overly sentimental talk about feelings and other such useless, and-Danzo knew-ultimately hollow intimations. How could they stand each other?

"You know sometimes he doesn't even say hi to me?"

Kushina's mouth twisted. It was the look of someone who'd listened to some version of a conversation before, perhaps many times, but felt helpless to offer any lasting comfort. Her fingers rolled the cuff of his white Hokage's coat absently, bunching the red, orange, and yellow flames over the tanned back of his hand.

"I'm the Hokage, for Kami's sake!" Minato said, face falling into his spare hand wearily, "He's obligated to address me."

This was starting to sound interesting. The Root-Founder watched a curious range of expressions slide over the man's face. Danzo raised a brow.

"Oh, you know how he can be sometimes." Kushina tried lightly, "He's always got that nose of his buried in one of Jiraiya-Sama's books. His head in the clouds."

Minato said nothing for a while. Danzo nursed his bottle in delight as the Jinchuriki's reassurance fell flat. This was turning out to be more entertaining than he'd hoped.

Finally, the Yondaime shook his head.

"No, it's... it's not that." he said softly, his hands falling limply to his lap, "Kakashi's always been different. I've known him since he was very young, Kushina, since before you even. It's always been hard for him to relate to others his age. He's so intuitive. Responsive." Minato shook his head, "Sometimes, I've often thought it's like he's so eager to-to please it's as if he's trying to predict my orders before I can even give them... He's terrified of failure. Of not measuring up. Even if it's an honest to Kami mistake, something anyone could have done. He's... It's hard to watch. How he corrects himself... And, after what it did to Sakumo, I can see why."

There was a brief silence, speckled only by the light, pealing laughter of children and the joyful, completely unaware, murmuring of the crowd.

'This village is ready for change in so many ways," Minato breathed, and Danzo struggled to hear him, "but the past hangs over us like chains.'"

The blonde man sighed, leaning forwards to rest his elbows upon his thighs, cupping his face in his hands. Kushina's gentle figure leaned into him, her fingers sifting through the man's flaxen locks. The two were quiet for a moment, watching as a band of children giggled and tore through the street, rainbow-coloured pinwheels and cotton candy clutched tightly in their little hands.

Danzo drew a ponderous swig. A welcome heat had begun to waft through him, rising with his thoughts. It swam and curled about his ears, heady and delicious.

"Hatake..." he whispered into the chill night air.

An emulsified grin bloomed slowly over the man's scarred jaw.

"Kakashi Hatake."

The boy's name tasted better than the sake he was drinking. Something about how the syllables flexed and rolled against his teeth was fascinating. Magnetic.

Surely, surely there was a way for the Shinobi of Darkness to use that for his purposes.

He held the bottle's cool glass absently against his numb lips, allowing his thoughts to drift. The answer was there, he knew, hanging somewhere in the crisp, smoky night air. It was right before him. He had only to grasp it...

"One day at a time, dear heart." Kushina was sighing into Minato's neck, wrapping a freckled arm over her lover's shoulders. Minato nodded belatedly, his thoughts evidently still fastened on the new distance that had erected itself between him and the last living member of his first genin team.

"It's not my heart I'm worried about." the Yondaime muttered.

Kushina frowned. She stood up, and held out a hand somberly.

"Maybe we'll be able to catch him tomorrow." she said, and then grinned impishly, "You can use your new-found Hokage powers to coerce him into spending an afternoon with us. We'll go to Ichiraku's, my treat."

Danzo's furrowed brow shot up suddenly, mussing the bandages that concealed the stolen Sharingan that had been planted-and hidden-within his skull.

That was it.

Minato was laughing, and although the man was only several arms-lengths below him, already the Hokage's voice seemed flatter and more faraway somehow to Danzo. A slow, maliciously gleeful smile stretched and lounged across his down-turned face. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of this before?

The Yondaime allowed the Jinchuriki with the twinkling green eyes to pull him to his feet, and lead him away gracefully into the crowd.

The Master of Shadows snapped his fingers again.

"Yes, Danzo-sama." The quiet voice of the ANBU who'd served his drinks before melted into the darkness as she reappeared beside him, crouching, "Would you like another drink?"

The lights strung between the buildings danced and flickered. Their filmy pink, yellow, green, and blue sides swung dully above the mindless crowd with a staggering gust of cool wind.

"Never mind that, soldier." Danzo clipped, even as he tossed back another sharp swallow, "There's someone I'd like for you to retrieve..."

...

...

From the burial grounds, the Summer Solstice sounded like a dream.

Airy, tinkling; the loose sounds of happy voices and of food being chopped, simmered, diced, and pounded seemed to reach him from very far away. Someone squealed, giggling as a fire-cracker popped, fizzled, and spat into the night. An unseasonably icy wind rattled through the graves, jouncing the parched leaves of the towering trees that laced the clearing.

Kakashi sucked in air. Something inside him was collapsing. Must have been collapsing. The bald, gleaming face of the cenotoph glared back at him. He felt himself weaving, tunneling. Knees thudded to the grass, but it couldn't have been him because he had been leaping, springing forwards-Rin's body was a limp, heavy weight that gushed, fluttered, spurted, twitched and burned against the crackling length of his arm. So much more real, more visceral than the thrust of a kunai to him now. He thinks that he had even anticipated it; that wild swoop of thrilling nausea, that sharp, broken inhale as he braced himself for the unrelenting plunge into another living creature's body.

"Ka.. Kashi," and she's trying to say his name. His knuckles have burnt through her lungs though, and there's no repairing this. He feels the meat of her squeeze and catch as she tries to draw in air. A staggering downwards roll of surreal awareness slams through his body. Guts him.

And, and he's not even sure if he's in Konoha or if he's there-spine tingling in a primal spike of horror as he realizes that he can feel the swift drop in her heartbeats with every slackening wash of her pulse, like a glove around his wrist.

White-silver strands tumble, whipping over his eyes-both open, only one seeing- as the young man shakes his head. The moon stares down at him through a sheen of glacial light, silent and accusing.

He rocks forward, then back. Choking.

"Hatake-senpai."

Kakashi judders, reeling back. His body assorts itself into a defensive stance, hand slinging back to palm his katana reflexively. He is hidden beneath two masks, but he knows, with a deep ache, that he'd allowed himself to be weak. Open.

Shame flurries through his stomach in a rush of melting heat. Kakashi straightens, bows. His arms feel cold at his sides. His mask is thick, bloated with tears beneath the cool firmness of his ANBU mask. He resists the urge to adjust it.

"Come with me."