Anko didn't believe it. She couldn't believe it. Were it not for the fact that it was a toad of Jiraiya of the fucking Sannin himself sitting in her living room and giving her the news, she would have considered it a scam, or a lie, or that she had woken up on reverse day or this was someone's idea of a practical joke.
It was a cold morning, and her nips were freezing as winter was rolling in. She had only just woken up, found a window she remembered locking last night open, felt the cold wind was blowing through, and saw a fucking fat assed black toad wearing a scroll on its back sitting on her chair. She had almost eviscerated the thing to make frog leg soup, before it opened her mouth, and a voice came out of it.
It was the voice of Jiraiya of the Sannin, giving her news that she'd once have gotten on her knees and deepthroated anything to hear.
She made sure the toad wasn't using the transformation technique, as low as the odds were, and triple checked that her chakra was flowing normally to make sure there was no genjutsu fucking with her.
At the same time, hearing the voice from the toad's mouth was something that was simply too good to be fucking true.
It couldn't be fucking through.
"You're saying the bastard…" Anko's lips were dry. "He's really… he's really been…?"
Jiraiya's voice came from the toad. "He won't be hurting anyone else."
"So he's… dead?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Hello? Is this toad working? I fucking asked if he's dead."
"He's in a place where he can't hurt anyone."
So not fucking dead, Anko wanted to snarl. She wasn't stupid. The man wouldn't beat about the bush and try to euphemize words if that bastard was dead. He would come out and say it bluntly, and even parade fucking the corpse around Konoha for all to see.
This meant he wasn't dead, just captured and imprisoned somewhere.
"I need to see him," she said flatly.
"You can't."
"I can't?"
"The only reason I told you this much, Mitarashi, was out of courtesy," his voice came on the other end, firmly. "To try and give you peace of mind."
"I'll not have any peace of mind until I see his fucking corpse," Anko snarled. "What? Haven't any of you learnt anything by now? That snake cannot be allowed to live! You of all people should know that!"
"He won't be going anywhere."
"That's even fucking worse!" Anko screamed. "Are his hands at least bound? Is he kept in some sort of chamber where he can't so much as take a shit without assistance? Did you fucking make sure to seal his chakra, so he can't use any jutsu?"
"You don't need to worry about that, Mitarashi-san."
So they didn't, Anko wanted to scream even louder. Do you not know what the fuck he's capable of?
She, more than anyone, knew never to underestimate that snake. She thought Jiraiya, of all people, having been the man's teammate for years, would have a firm grasp of just how dangerous, and just how much of a slimy, cunning son of a bitch that serpent was.
She was wrong. Either Jiraiya was underestimating Orochimaru, or he was overestimating himself, or he had far too much faith in whatever fucking prison they kept him in. Anko didn't know which was worse.
Was her former teacher a bastard? Yes. But was he a magnificent bastard? Anko would begrudgingly admit that he was. He was a fucking genius. Giving him time and locking him in a prison where he could think and plan and plot was just asking to spread their legs and lather their assess with lube so he could sodomize them with a ten-foot long pipe called 'I Told You So.'
"I need to see him. Call it closure, call it a favor, call it whatever you want to fucking call it. I need this."
She had to make sure the man wasn't just left about free to do whatever he wanted. She had to make sure he wasn't plotting to put that disgusting seal on someone else. No, she had to make sure Konoha was not so fucking stupid as to try and 'reform' him, or put him to use, despite how he had made her life a living hell, and ruined the lives of hundreds, if not thousands of others like her.
The silence stretched for a long moment.
"Even if I wanted to allow you, you don't have the authorization required."
She grabbed the toad and squeezed, watching its eyes go wide and pop. "Then I'll get the fucking authorization!" Anko snapped. "What do I need to do? Who do I need to kill, or fuck or both?"
There was another beat of silence.
"You'd need to be a Jōnin at the bare minimum.. You would need to prove yourself an exemplary kunoichi and have full rein over your outbursts and emotions, Mitarashi-san. You would need to be a person we trust is capable of keeping a secret and incapable of being compromised. When you have met all of these requirements, we will consider it. Until then, I'm sorry, Mitarashi. The answer is no."
You son of a bi— "I can keep a sec—"
"That will be all. Gamakuro-kun, end the connection."
"Hey, wai—"
The toad in her hand flipped her the middle finger before it vanished into a puff of smoke.
"FUCK!"
She grabbed a nearby mug and smashed it into the wall.
"FUCK!"
Anko cursed, bit her lip, and paced about the room. Was he joking? Jōnin? Even before her chakra control was fucked to all hell by the removal of the Cursed Seal, she had been a Chūnin, and a somewhat average one at best. Her chakra control was shot, her emotions were all over the place, and her teammates, two damned Genin, were so much better than her in skill and abilities that she was the burden of the team.
What the fuck was she supposed to do? Even Genin could run circles around her as she was, and Jiraiya wanted her to be a Jōnin just so she could have his big red seal of approval stamped on her forehead?
In what world was that possible?
In theory, her new sensei, Guy, was supposed to help her, but Anko doubted the effectiveness of the help, considering he was a taijutsu expert. In theory, because her chakra level was dog and her chakra control was shit, taijutsu was the only path forward that would allow her to be effective on the field. However, unless your name was 'Tsunade fucking Senju' there was a reason the vast majority of kunoichi avoided taijutsu.
Getting close and personal was never the smart thing to do when your enemy was, on average, stronger than you, faster than you, and sturdier than you. Doubly so when those bastards stronger than you, faster than you, and sturdier than you were sizing you up like a cut of fuckable meat.
The only way she would consider learning Taijutsu was if she figured out a style that involved taking down others as quickly as possible, without getting hit in turn. A glass cannon type method of combat that involved hitting vulnerable points, softness, and speed rather than force and strength.
The worst of it all was her emotions. She needed a way to control her emotions, to avoid being deadweight on the field. But how? Who the hell was she supposed to meet, that would teach her to have the poker face of a Geisha, and walk about without showing any emotion like there was a stick permanently lodged up her ass?
A particular face flashed in her mind. A particular clan, of people, who were known for their ability to move about and function with a stick up their ass.
A clan of people who, coincidentally, had just the 'glass cannon' fighting style she was looking for, and would no doubt understand just how to fight and take down others swiftly.
…Fuck.
Anko gritted her teeth.
Fuck me.
There was no helping it.
If she hoped to become a Jōnin, if she wanted to get a reign on her emotions, if she wanted to be able to confirm with her own eyes that the bastard wasn't in some new fancy lab sipping on fine wine and concoting some new, fucked up Juinjutsu, there was probably no better person to go to.
A knock came on the door. Anko stomped towards it, swinging it open and snarling, "Who—"
The visitor was a small white-eyed girl with long, luscious raven hair. The girl's skin was eerily smooth and white and flawless, and Anko swore the chilly air outside had gotten even colder with her arrival. This was not the first time this girl had come to her home. The last time was to deliver that spandex outfit.
Don't tell me—
"Ni-sama instructed to deliver this to you."
She stared at the package. The other spandex had been slightly damaged during the mission to rescue Tsunade. She didn't think he'd care enough to replace it completely.
The girl bowed with more grace in her fingertips than Anko had in her entire body, and as she turned to leave, a wild, insane idea came to her.
"Wait!"
The girl paused and turned about.
"You're… Hinata, right?"
She nodded.
"Do you… can you…"
Anko swallowed. This isn't a time to worry about your pride, Anko. He and the Uchiha brat managed to take down a fucking Sannin working together. He'll look down on you if you ask him directly… well, he'll look down on you even more.
"I was wondering if… You can…"
"Yes?"
"...teach me?"
Hinata tilted her head. "Sorry?"
…Fuck. She couldn't do it. Asking the girl to ask her cousin on her behalf was just too much. Anko palmed her face. "Uh… no, just… Sorry. Forget it."
Hinata stared at her for a moment. "Do you want me to teach you how to be more ladylike, Mitarashi-san?"
Anko replied with a flat: "What."
"Women embody the concept of yin," Hinata continued. "Yang is masculinity, fire, life, and heat. Yin is femininity, cold, darkness, and death. It's all part of a cycle of balance. If you have too much yang, you're not in harmony with your nature, and it'll cause problems."
Is this some Hyūga Clan bullshit philosophy? She bit her tongue to keep herself from spitting it out. One reason was that she faintly remembered something about yin and yang chakra existing and being, roughly, accurate in that sense, and the other was, somehow, she couldn't bring herself to swear in front of the girl.
"I'll help you, Mitarashi-san."
"Why the fu— uh… hell, would you help me?"
"Do you not need help, Mitarashi-san?"
She did. She needed all the help in the world she could get. Even so, she was suspicious. "What do you get out of this?"
"Get out…?"
"No, no, I mean… why would you help me?"
The girl tilted her head once more. "You said you need help."
"I mean, yeah, but, even if I do, why would you help me?"
"Because you need help."
"No, but…" Anko's brain did not compute. "Why?"
"Because you… need help?" Hinata tilted her head, scrunching her nose in confusion.
Anko realized they would dance around this in circles for hours at this rate. Anko stared at the girl's clear eyes. They held a chill, but beneath that chill was a warmth that could have melted ice caps.
Anko wanted to pinch the girl's cheeks and check to see if they were made of the same flesh everyone else had. The longer she locked gaze with the girl, the deeper Anko's bewilderment grew. Helping someone just because they needed help? Just like that? Who does that?
"Um…" Anko rubbed the back of her neck. "I'd feel kinda shit— uh, scummy, if you weren't getting anything out of this. Is there anything you want? Something you can't get normally?"
Anko almost felt stupid for asking. Hinata was someone born in one of the wealthiest and most powerful shinobi clans in Konoha, if not the entire world. What could the little princess possibly want that she, Anko, could be able to give her that others hadn't or couldn't?
Predictably, Hinata shook her head. "I don't need anything, Mitarashi-san."
"Then… I'll owe you a favor," Anko said at last. "A request. One request. Whatever the fu— uh, hell, you want. As long as it's not betraying the village or something impossible… then…"
"But I don't need—"
"I know, damn it! Just take the favor!"
Anko's head was already hurting.. She ran her hand through her hair. Damn it, I have no defence against these pure and innocent types.
Still, this was good? Right? For whatever reason, being around Hinata made her feel like she should be a good role model, an exemplary kunoichi to the future generation. It made her want to avoid swearing and cursing, and forced her to rein in things she would have blurted around others without a second thought.
Why the fuck is that?
Was it because she was afraid she would wake up to see Hyūga Hiashi's palm strike heading for her forehead if a day ever came where Hinata said "Motherfucker" and told everyone she learnt it from her?
Anko couldn't put her finger on it. She pushed it to the back of her mind. She needed to control her emotions and get them in check, regardless. Taking 'Hyūga Princess Etiquette Classes' might help.
Besides, it wasn't like she had a better plan currently anyway.
She extended her hand forward.
"And drop that Mitarashi-san nonsense. You can call me Anko-nee."
Hinata nodded slowly before she smiled. Anko swore the frost around them melted as she did.
"Okay, Anko-nee-chan."
God damn it!
She's too fucking cute!
My teammate's cousin can't be this fucking cute!
What sort of monster could see such a pure, innocent girl like this, cute and naive to the world, and then take her and ruin her—
Anko went rigid. Her smile faded.
"Anko-nee, are you alright?"
Looking at Hinata, she understood why she couldn't swear around her and why she tried to act decently around her. She was deeply terrified of corrupting her innocence. She was terrified of becoming the sort of monster who could do such a thing to a girl.
Unconsciously and subconsciously, there was that fear that lingered deep within her bones. The fear that those around her who whispered under their breath that she would end up becoming like the man who ruined her, would be true.
That fear, that one day, she would look at her reflection in the mirror, and smile, and her smile would be the same as his.
This fear would remain in her bones, in her blood, in her veins and soul, and his capture wouldn't make it go away. It couldn't. His capture wouldn't make up for what he had taken from her, what he had done to her.
This fear would remain with her, in her, for as long as he was alive.
Fuck that.
Mitarashi Anko decided there was no choice.
She would either dance on the grave of Orochimaru of the Sannin—
Or she would die trying.
XXXXX"Ma, ma, Shizune-chan, you know, most people get executed for attacking the Hokage."
Shizune only lightly glanced up at her guard, the man lazily flipping through the pages of his smut, and said nothing as she stared back, listlessly, to her cell. Calling it a cell was doing it an injustice, considering it was a proper, fully sized room, and her arms were not bound, nor were her legs restrained in any manner. Beyond the seal they put on her back to obstruct her chakra flow, no one who saw her would suspect, or believe she was a prisoner.
No one would suspect, or think, she had been imprisoned for attempting to attack Namikaze Minato.
"Ma, ma, think of the positives," the man wearing the dog ANBU mask said.
Positives? Shizune snapped her gaze towards the man. She moved towards the door and slammed her fist into it. "What positives? What possible positives could there be?"
No one other than her had been more excited upon hearing that Tsunade had made a full recovery and could take visitors. Yet, Shizune suspected that something was wrong because whenever she attempted to go and visit the woman, she was told Tsunade was either tired, or resting, or that she needed more time.
She didn't understand it. Jiraiya had visited her, supposedly, without issue. As had Minato, the Hokage. Yet she was not allowed to visit or speak with her. Yamanaka Inoichi gave one reason or another, one excuse or another, to delay and delay, and delay their meeting.
Until, eventually, she started suspecting something was amiss. She started suspecting that not everything was being told. So, she made a ruckus. She screamed outside the door. She yelled, 'Tsunade-sama! Tsunade-sama!' and was restrained by the woman's ANBU guards, pinned to the ground, and silenced.
Yet, the door had opened. A woman had stood before her. Her hair was no longer the blood red it had been, but her usual blonde. Her features, however, were still those of a girl who looked no older than fifteen. She had looked into her eyes, pure and clear, and Shizune's eyes had watered with tears at seeing her, only to hear words from the woman's lips that would haunt her nightmares.
"Do I know you?"
All the blood had drained from Shizune's face then and there. Gagged, and carried away, and brought before the Hokage, he explained, in not so subtle terms, that the damage to Tsunade's mind had been too great, that the only option that could be taken to ensure a full recovery was to perform a wipe.
Twenty years.
Shizune had not been listening then. Inoichi had been in the room, saying one thing or the other about trauma, about how the years she spent wandering the world in a grief-ridden state of depression was cause for concern, talking about how memories of her brother and her lover were avenues for triggers, saying how it was best, for the safety of the village, for the safety of others, and for her, to simply forget it all.
She had stared about the room, Konoha, a place she had once considered home, and found herself suddenly looking into the faces of strangers and monsters.
Then, when the Hokage had said, as kindly as he could, that it would take a few years of distance before she would be allowed to slowly reintegrate herself into the woman's life. When she did, she had to mention nothing of her uncle, nothing of the woman's brother, nothing of her grief, her pain, her trauma, her suffering—
Her years drowning in alcohol, waking up to vomit, whilst she, Shizune, patted her back and washed the sheets—
Her years running from one casino or another, laughing as they escaped yet another debtor, celebrating the mundane catches of fish, groaning as they went to bed hungry because she'd gambled all their savings, those years, of being trained lightly in medical ninjutsu, years of the woman combing her hair gently, and speaking to her softly, passing on tales her mother and grandmother told her singing songs her uncle told her, hugging her and squeezing her hand as she cried to sleep—
Her years, walking by her side, accompanying her, as her apprentice, her friend—
Her daughter.
She was, to simply… pretend, as though none of it had happened.
Shizune didn't know when the senbon entered her fingers, or when she lunged at Minato, or when her killing intent flooded the room.
But she did know, the next instant, when she was pinned to the ground and disarmed by the man's elite ANBU guard. The moment she was slammed against the floor so hard she'd been given a concussion, and had multiple sets of knees pressed against her so forcefully she'd broken a rib.
Her own life or death had not mattered then. She had only screamed the truth that lay in her heart.
Give her back.
Give me my Tsunade back.
She didn't care that Tsunade had her flaws, that she was an alcoholic, that she was mired in grief for years upon end, or that, in her darkest hours, she did and said horrid things. In the end, no matter what, Shizune would never stop loving Tsunade, because the woman was the only one she'd ever known, the only friend she'd ever had, the only family she'd ever cared for.
But she was gone.
Gone.
Those memories were gone. Removed.
The woman did not even know her.
The one person in the world she loved the most saw her as a stranger.
"What could possibly be the positives?!"
Shizune roared, slamming her fist against the door.
"Ma, ma… Shizune-san, have you ever thought about living for yourself, rather than for Tsunade?"
"Tsunade-sama is the only reason I'm alive! She's the only one I—"
"I know," he cut her off. "Sensei knows. Jiraiya-sama knows. Even Mitarashi-san knows."
"Mitarashi?" The mention of that woman stalled her anger. "What does… what does she have to do with this?"
"Ma, just that, she made us give it some thought. She said that if it were Orochimaru who took you away from the village when you were young, treated you like a daughter, made you entirely dependent on him, work for him, care for him, obey, follow, and loyally serve him no matter what… we'd be using a different word to call what he did to you."
The dog-masked ANBU shrugged.
"The only reason we aren't using that word is because Tsunade didn't do it maliciously…" he slowly flipped his smut. "But she still did it."
"Don't you dare!" She slammed the door. "Tsunade-sama was grieving! Do you have any idea what it's like to lose someone you—"
"I know grief, Shizune-san," the dog-masked ANBU interrupted. "I know. I also know that no matter how much it hurts, no excuse lets you soothe your grief at the expense of others."
There was a fire burning in Shizune's throat. A heat she couldn't quench. She knew who the dog-masked ANBU was, and to him, she had no rebuttal. But even so—
What did it mean for her?
"I don't… I can't…"
Shizune gripped her chest tightly. According to Inoichi, at least a decade of separation was needed to ensure there would be no relapses in Tsunade's mental state before she would be allowed to reintegrate herself into the woman's life.
A decade.
Ten years.
"Who am I… if I'm not by Tsunade-sama's side? What… What do I live for? What am I supposed to do?"
"I'm not a philosopher, I don't have answers for big questions like that," the dog masked ANBU lazily flipped his book. "All I can tell you is that if you're looking for answers, join the ANBU."
The man snapped the book shut.
Shizune's gaze went up. "AN…BU?"
"It's the place you go when you don't know where else to go. When you join the ANBU, you wear a mask."
The man slowly lifted his mask, revealing the other mask underneath it.
"When you wear a mask for a long time, you start to forget who you are beneath it. When you forget who you are beneath it, you start to forget why you wear the mask. Once that happens, once you forget, completely, you go to a far away place, Shizune-san, and in that place, you find the answer to the question, 'Who am I?'"
The man slowly adjusted the mask back in place.
"Because in that place, only the answer can bring you back."
Shizune fell silent.
"Ma, ma, it helps to know," the man continued as he walked off. "That while wearing a mask, you can watch over those you want to protect, without them ever knowing you're by their side."
With those words, the man vanished, leaving behind a puff of smoke and leaves dancing in the wind.