"Morioka!"

He nearly swallowed his toothbrush at the knuckles rapping against the door, and only barely managed to hack it back out. Not Genma or Raidou's voice, but someone who could get into ANBU HQ. Which narrowed the list to no idea. "What?" He ran water, rinsing his mouth out and wiping foamy toothpaste off his face.

"Open the door." The voice on the other side didn't sound impressed. "Mission."

He hurried at that, tossing his toothbrush on the sink and heading out. He opened the door, frowning slightly as he took the scroll offered. "What for?" He hadn't volunteered for anything, and he didn't think they'd be sending him on any more eros missions unescorted for a while. He hoped.

The desk chuunin rolled his eyes. "Read it," he tossed back as he headed down the hall.

Kaito opened it, skimming the contents. Two-man mission, but not with Raidou or Genma. In fact, it had nothing to do with sex. Grinning, he closed the door and looked around rapidly. Armor, weapons--he'd gotten those put away and hung up, and it didn't take long to get them out and strap everything on, mind running through the patter of what he'd need.

Soon he was outside, mask in place, and flying toward the North Wall. This was what he'd signed up with ANBU for--not bending over or kneeling down or whatever other euphemisms he could come up with, no matter what Genma thought about how great eros was. Even if Genma was a pretty cool guy.

There was a black and bone figure waiting already, though a quick look at his internal clock told him he wasn't late. Maybe she'd just gotten there.

SHE? Yeah, obviously she, even without the long dark hair to give it away. Holy cow, was it ever a she! Kaito hadn't seen any other ANBU that hot. He'd remember. Okay, so he couldn't see her face, but the rest of her was hot. Okay, it was mostly under armor, but--

He just needed to shut up now.

"Shiota Natsumi?" he asked, landing. Girl's name. Probably should have told him something. Well, hey, live and learn.

"Yessir." Natsumi's left hand brushed her bandaged shoulder reflexively; she grimaced behind the mask. She'd seen her father perform that casual salute just days ago, when he accompanied her to her swearing-in before the Hokage, and she'd ached with the anticipation of performing it herself--but she hadn't thought about how it would look when she touched a bandage instead of a tattoo. She dropped her hand quickly, and planted it on her hip instead. "I look forward to working with you, Morioka-senpai."

He was just tall enough that she had to tip her chin a little to meet the glint of eyes in the shadowed sockets of his mask. Broad shoulders, a lanky frame still filling out with muscle, a mess of dark brown hair fringing the blank white forehead of the mask and curling over his ears. Her fingers itched just looking at it.

"I'm a ranged weapons specialist," she said abruptly, refocusing her attention with only a touch more effort than it would normally take. This mission wasn't anything to be stressed about yet; it was just the residual tension of the rushed preparation that had her on edge. She took a deep breath and added, "I did take a moment to look at a map before I left. Yoshioka's a ten-hour journey from Konoha at my fastest pace. I'll do my best to keep up with you, senpai."

He wouldn't be able to see her wry grin; these masks took some getting used to. "I hope you weren't expecting the Yellow Flash."

Kaito really, really loved these masks. He'd always sucked at schooling his expression (and now they wanted him to seduce. Right.), but with armor over his face he didn't need to, so much. Which also meant she couldn't see what was doubtless the epitome of disbelief. There was probably drool. He closed his jaw with a click.

"Uh," he said finally. Then he took a deep breath and tried to look cool. "I'm a weapons specialist." His voice broke on the not-quite-lie. He'd be a weapons specialist soon enough, damn it. "But--but I'm not your--uh--"

He really did have to break the cuticle-chewing habit. She might not be able to see his expression, but no one could have missed his hand lifting to his mask and dropping again. At least when he felt his skin go red, he knew she couldn't see that.

Why did she have to be so hot? She was tall for a girl--kunoichi often were--with strong shoulders and this amazing rack--

She was gonna kill him. That was what women did to dorks, especially pretty, popular woman--and he figured all pretty women were popular--and especially especially ANBU.

And if they didn't get moving and he didn't start thinking about something else, this was going to get worse, faster. Thinking about his limit activating ramped the anxiety right up. Panic and the need to distract himself before he really panicked steadied his voice out. "I'm not your senpai. But, uh, it can't be too bad, right? If they're sending a couple of rookies? So we should probably get moving. Ten hour run?"

Chakra coiled under his breastbone, waiting. It just had to be a pretty girl!

"I--hope so," Natsumi said. She smoothed her gloved hand down the outside of her leg, fixedly looking away from his hair, and tried deep breathing again. It didn't help so much anymore. Of course ANBU had probably changed their procedures in the last twenty years--she'd been happy enough to find out they'd narrowed the waiting time between induction and first mission! And it wasn't like hearing her teammate was as new as she was threw out any of her plans. They didn't even really have a plan yet.

Besides, if he was a rookie, too... That meant there was no reason why she couldn't take charge.

Natsumi jerked her chin up, settled her shoulders, and smiled reassuringly at him from behind her mask. "Well, then, Morioka-kun. Shall we run?"

She was already moving.

He didn't get a chance to say anything before he had to catch up to her. Maybe he should have let her think he was her senpai...

On the other hand, he could feel himself settle as he dropped into flanking position. It was easier not to have to be the boss. That was the thing about being chuunin he'd hated, when he'd started--he didn't want to be in charge of people.

He couldn't think of a single witty thing to say as they ran through the trees. And it wasn't like they were running too fast, either. Her hair, caught up in a ponytail, streamed behind her like a ribbon of ink.

Maybe, under the mask, she had buck teeth. Otherwise, pretty ANBU went into eros, right? Yeah. Buck teeth. And a really great butt. He yanked his gaze higher. Oh yeah, good rack, too. He yanked his gaze higher again, and just missed stepping on a rotten branch. Hopefully, he made the heave look cool enough.

"So, uh... you're new?" Dumb. Lame. Just be quiet and run and she'll like you better.

"Two days." Natsumi's hand drifted up toward her bandaged shoulder again; she caught herself in time. "I wasn't expecting a mission for another week or two. But I finished moving in yesterday morning, and I had nothing else to do, so I'm glad it came."

She glanced back, catching a glimpse of the bright scarlet spiral tattooed on his left shoulder. "You must have at least a few weeks on me. How many missions have you run?"

A towering oak tree loomed up in front of her; she spared a flicker of chakra to rebound off the trunk and catch another branch. He was keeping pace easily, just a bow-length behind. Was she moving too slow?

"Lots of missions," he attempted to brag nonchalantly. "But, uh, only one in ANBU." Which was what she'd meant. He mumbled it, anyway. And he really didn't want her asking about that mission. His mind worked frantically. "I've been training and stuff since. For this--thing." He didn't want to mention eros. He didn't want to mention his limit. Oh Buddha, he could practically taste his toes.

"Maybe they just think you're really good, so they sent you out early." Which was the stupidest compliment anyone had ever said! "I mean, of course you're really good, you got into ANBU. Not that you're not good even for ANBU, just--"

He was having distinct memories of the last year in the Academy, and making a fool of himself for that Uchiha girl.

"I'm just gonna shut up now," he muttered, and planted a hand to vault over a branch, legs out to hit the next one.

"Oh, don't! You were doing so well." Laughter tickled her throat; she glanced back again, bright-eyed. "Although you're completely wrong. My father pulled strings to get me in here. Arakaki-san was his kouhei twenty years ago. He let me in as a favor to my father."

Even with the mask, the wide-eyed stare wasn't too hard to imagine. Natsumi laughed again. "At least, that's what Tou-san threatened to do. In the end, he just stood behind me when I swore my oath. And almost everything he told me about ANBU has been twenty years out of date, so far. Is there anything in particular I should know?"

He couldn't stop the blush. He loved his mask. She was asking him what there was to know? He wracked his brain for anything helpful. Anything at all. "ANBU has their own medic. I mean, you probably already know that, but there's another guy on the third floor of HQ, Shiranui Genma, and he's a medic, too. Not a doctor, just a medic, but if you don't want to go all the way downstairs..."

Genma would probably be less than thrilled with his services getting pimped out. Of course, she was really pretty--at least the bits he could see--so maybe Genma wouldn't mind. And then he'd get laid. Damn.

"And, uh, everyone's pretty nice. The food in the cafeteria isn't good, but it won't kill you." Maybe if he was funny enough, he'd get another laugh. He tried smiling, but she couldn't see it behind his mask. Duh.

He swung around a tree, came back up a level too high, and dropped down. He needed a new tactic. "Uh--your dad was in ANBU?"

"He left the service when I was a little girl. He says it was because my brother and I needed more help with our archery." Natsumi pushed off another branch, ducking low under a spray of new leaves. "Well, my brother did. But I think the real reason was that the older we got, the more he worried about coming home to us... And then the war started, and it wasn't any safer being a jounin, anyway."

When she looked over her shoulder at him this time, she nearly didn't look back in time to avoid the massive trunk of another tree. She caught herself with outflung hands and another flicker-flare of chakra. The shock jarred her bones; she flung herself off again, shoulders tightening in anger.

Stupid. It wasn't like the blank white mask with its red and blue swirls gave her anything to look at, anyway; he was probably laughing behind it now. She took a deep breath, let it seep out through her teeth, and snapped a dead branch out from among its budding brethren.

"I'm following him, I guess," she said at last. "Or will be, if I don't kill myself running into trees first."

Kaito laughed, a little uncertainly. She didn't sound like she was entirely joking. But what else was he supposed to do?

"So, uh, your dad retired." Duh. She'd just said that. "He was a jounin?" She'd said that, too. "It's like, a family thing?" She was following him. "I mean--of course it is." Kaito occupied himself with running. Think of something smart! "Your dad must be proud. I mean, you look really good."

...had he just said that? While he was contemplating death by kunoichi, he missed a step, fell five feet, caught a branch with his ribs and did a hip-circle to regain height. Ouch. "I didn't mean that you look good," he wheezed, putting on a burst of speed. "Just that you move well. For a kunoichi. I mean, a ninja." She really was going to kill him. The Uchiha girl hadn't let him get this far before she'd locked him into a genjutsu and nearly made him piss himself out of fear in front of the entire class.

He hadn't really gotten any smoother since he was twelve.

"Can we start over before you consider homicide?" He hadn't slowed down slightly, just in case she turned and tried to kill him, really. He just liked this view.

NO WAIT. He wasn't looking at her ass! He couldn't even think things like that, or he'd end up saying them, too! Agh.

Natsumi faltered, balancing for a moment on a whippy branch that groaned ominously beneath her weight. She thought of the mission, the Intel agent waiting--did he even know Konoha would come for him?--and threw herself onward. This time, she watched the trees.

"I have an older brother," she said. "Both of my genin teammates were boys, and most of my chuunin teammates were, too. Believe me, you haven't managed to insult me yet."

Most of that babbling had sounded like compliments, anyway. Rather backhanded compliments, but still. Natsumi grinned faintly. "That smooth tongue must make you popular with the girls. Although I wouldn't discount the merits of homicide, either. My father won my mother by nearly bleeding to death at her feet. He was in ANBU at the time. She says it was the uniform that did it."

The uniform did look good. And at least Morioka's chestplate fit him. She was fairly sure she'd have to have another talk with the Quartermaster about her own, when she got back.

He let out a strangled laugh. "Oh, yeah. Girls just fall at my feet." She wasn't going to kill him. That was a relief. He picked up speed again. "Maybe with the uniform I got a chance, huh? 'Least if I bleed all over a girl's shoes? Does it count if she was trying to kill me? 'Cause then I got a way better shot." He grinned hopefully, but it wasn't visible behind the mask.

Okay. Starting over. He could do this. He just had to stop thinking about the fact that she was a babe.

"Your uniform looks good, too." Or don't forget she was a babe. That was also good. "I mean, it's made well." His voice nearly squeaked. "How far until Yoshioka?"

Mental math was probably a safer alternative than getting involved in a discussion about the merits of uniforms and the Quartermaster's antiquated notions of just how they should fit. Safer for Morioka, at least. Natsumi wondered if he blushed, under that mask. He didn't sound any older than her; judging by the cracking voice, he was probably several years younger. And already in ANBU.

No matter if his cheeks were scarlet under porcelain and paint; that meant he was good.

"I'm afraid we still have more than ninety miles to go," she said, thrusting off from another branch with a little more force. Her brother Takeo said most jounin could manage ten miles an hour indefinitely. Natsumi was only ranked at special jounin, and she had no idea of Morioka's rank, but they were wearing the black and bone for a reason.

And somewhere on the far side of the forest, a Konoha shinobi was waiting for them.

Maybe her fastest pace wasn't quite what it had been. Maybe twelve miles an hour wasn't too much to ask.

"Eight hours," she said, and ran on.

Kaito was five foot eleven, and much of that was gangly arms and legs. He had a long stride. He had pretty good stamina. For all that he didn't have a clue about girls his limit anything eros missions, his sensei hadn't slacked in teaching them the basics of being a ninja.

Eight hours still seemed like a lot longer. At least the girl--Natsumi--looked a little less than sterling, too, when they arrived. Not that he'd noticed how her chest expanded every time she took a deep breath.

The town of Yoshioka wasn't so much a town as a city. A small city, true, with one end dominated by the Daimyo's house. Where 'house' was about as accurate as 'town.'

Kaito perched just outside the walls of the city, catching his breath, not looking at the woman to one side of him. "Is that a castle?" he panted. He just wanted to be sure. For his report. So they didn't disagree. That was all.

"If it's not," Natsumi gasped, pressing a hand to her ribs, "his architects cheated him." The building towered five stories tall in stone and wood and tile, a torch-lit bulk against the dark sky. If they took to the roofs...

They could probably stumble around in there for weeks without finding what they were looking for, if their agent was even being held in the castle at all. Natsumi regretfully discarded half a dozen plans that mostly revolved around slipping in, slipping out, and returning to Konoha without a drop of their own blood shed.

"How do we find him?" She fumbled in a hip-pouch, pulled out her canteen, and lifted it nearly to her lips before she remembered the mask. Well, it was dark enough for safety. She tipped the mask back and breathed clean, cold air for the first time in hours. The canteen was cool against her lips; she took a long drink, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. "All my mission brief gave was our man's name and the address of the place he was staying. But if he missed the rendezvous, he's either defected or been captured."

She offered the canteen to Morioka, along with a wry smile. "I don't suppose you add detective skills to silver-tongued weapons specialist, do you?"

Kaito felt his skin flush under his mask. Not quite a blush--too much shame for that. Too much of the lousy kind of embarrassment. "We could--" He stopped. Maybe there was another way. But she was right--that was all the information he'd been given, too. He chewed on his lower lip, pushing his mask up like she had hers. The dark would hide his red face, and he needed the water and cool air. He took the offered canteen without actually looking at her, then drank before speaking again. His gaze stayed on his hands. "We could ask."

Even without her speaking, he could feel the weight of disdain. Or maybe that was in his head.

Kaito continued in a rush. "I mean, we've got where he was living. And we could find out where he hung out, which'll give us an idea of what he was working on. Once we know what he got busted for, it's easy enough to figure out where they'll be holding him." If he was really lucky, they could just ask that, too.

He could still feel her staring at him.

"Asking never hurt anyone."

And now he could feel the disbelief. Okay, that could have been in his head, too. It didn't change the feeling.

Kaito lifted his hand and tugged at the hair along the nape of his neck, gaze flicking up to look at her and away again before he registered much more than pale skin and shadows. "I know I haven't seemed it, but I'm very persuasive. With certain kinds of people. It might not work, but it can't hurt, right?" After years of playing distraction for his genin team, turning his limit on wasn't much of a problem. He didn't look at the woman beside him.

"Very persuasive?" That sounded... almost like a ninja technique. A specialized genjutsu, perhaps? He certainly sounded sincere. Almost pleading. Natsumi ran her gloved fingers through winter-killed grass, coaxing each blade to lie neatly alongside the others. It didn't sound logical. On the other hand, no one ever believed her when she said she could split a soybean at 25 meters, either...

"How persuasive is very? Could you, say, convince his landlady we've been wondering why he hasn't shown up to pool night at the bar? Or do we go in masked and...extract answers?"

Because she'd really prefer getting lost in the castle for a week over that kind of persuasion.

It was too dark to see his face well; Natsumi wasted just a touch more chakra in sharpening her eyesight. Square jaw, high cheekbones, a wide mouth set in a thoughtful frown. He still wouldn't look back at her. He didn't look like a torturer, but Ibiki said they usually didn't...

She hadn't laughed at him. She hadn't asked for specifics. He took a breath and relaxed slightly, muscles unknotting.

His mind turned toward her question, brows coming together. "I--I don't know about pool night. I mean, if he doesn't play pool and she knows that..." He shook his head as if he could rattle the thoughts free. "But 'very persuasive' kinda depends on the person. Some people are easier than others. If she's a civilian, that makes it better. Easier." Civilians practically lived by emotion. Ninja generally had more self control. Took more to get them talking. Even then, it wasn't always possible.

He glanced down at his armor. "A henge would help. I don't exactly inspire trust like this."

He lifted his hand to chew at his cuticle, then remembered Genma's annoyance and dropped it. It didn't stop his index finger from scratching across the bed of his thumbnail, though. "I can't guarantee it." After all, the landlady might privately be a sadist who would delight in making him miserable. "But it's worth a shot. Better than wandering around in there," he gestured to the castle, "or leaving a blood trail behind. Right?" The last word was almost hopeful.

Natsumi's lips quirked, more in relief than in humor. "Blood trails aren't terribly quiet." Or at least, torture wasn't. But apparently his technique depended on trust, not torture. Did he babble at people to put them at their ease?

She'd told him far more about herself than he'd revealed in return.

He was staring off at the black bulk of the castle rising against the starlit sky, now, forefinger rubbing idly over his thumbnail, brows knotted in thought. Eighteen, Natsumi decided. Nineteen at the oldest. Not that it mattered; he was ANBU. He'd do what he had to get the mission done. Just as she would.

She glanced at the sky again, calculating. The thin crescent moon had just risen over the peaked roof of the castle; the raucous noises of a busy city were beginning to die. "2100 hours," she said. "We've got two hours, at most, before it's too late to question the landlady. I need to know exactly how your persuasiveness works. And what else you can do."

He knew he'd have to tell her eventually, if only so she knew to ignore her emotions. He'd hoped he could just sort of gloss over it, though, tell her what she needed to do to stay out of it, but not really explain what was going on.

Kaito ducked his head, chewing on his thumb. This skin felt weirdly smooth, still. He'd managed not to re-tear it after Genma had healed it. Now, it gave under the edges of white teeth.

How much did he really have to explain? She'd learn some of it soon enough, if the rumor mill was any good. Everyone in his graduating class had known to stay away from him. Especially after the thing with the Uchiha girl.

His gaze slid sidelong to his fellow ANBU. She had pale skin, her eyes dark pools in the shadows cast by her lifted mask. It was hard to tell much in this light, but she had high cheekbones and an edged jaw. Not pretty so much as... well, like one of those movie stars you wanted to drool over from afar, rather than try to cuddle up with. He couldn't tell her age. Older than him, he thought from her bearing. He didn't think she'd been in his graduating class. He didn't think she'd been close enough to hear about what was going on, but he wasn't sure. She didn't look much older than him--but women were hard to tell.

She was still waiting for an answer.

"Um. Okay. I've--I've got this bloodline limit. Sorta." He winced and looked down at his boots. It was still too cold for sandals, even if spring was on the way. "It's complicated. But it's kinda like a genjutsu. People react to me like... uh, like they usually want to help."

Trying to explain it without making it sound like he forced people to want to please him all the time seemed impossible. He didn't. "It hasn't been on," he said quickly, voice low. "I haven't--I mean--"

But he could feel it trying, now. Chakra coiled under his chestplate.

"It's fine," Natsumi said. "That sounds--useful." She combed the grass sideways and, after a moment, stole the canteen back and took another drink. The cold water calmed her stomach. A genjutsu that manipulated not just your perceptions, but your emotions, would be as powerful as it was disturbing. Most shinobi were taught to guard against their emotions, not to distrust them altogether.

But Morioka was right. If he could convince the landlady--landlord? They'd need to plan for both eventualities--that she wanted to help him find his friend, they'd get the information they needed far quicker and easier than they could any other way. And after that, they'd be dealing only with the relatively simple problem of planning a prison break. Or a grave robbery.

She hoped, devoutly, that their man wasn't dead.

"All right," she said, fingers sinking into another patch of matted grass. "We'll go in henge'd, as civilians." She couldn't spare enough chakra to manage a complete disguise, but masking an ANBU uniform with the illusion of a civilian clubbing outfit wouldn't demand much. "He was supposed to meet us--it doesn't have to be for pool--and he didn't show up. Will your bloodline limit work better if we're indignant about being stood up, or worried about our friend? And if the landlady's the one who turned him in, what effect will it have on her then?"

Would it have any effect on Natsumi, standing to the side? She set her jaw and tugged another tangled blade of grass free. It broke in her hand.

Kaito frowned, trying to keep up. "Probably--probably upset." He did upset really well. He didn't want to think about that. "And it shouldn't matter if she turned him in or not. 'Cept she might sound the alarm. But I think I'll be able to tell." Because she'd probably tell them, if everything went really well--or she'd be strong enough to resist, which would be information.

There was something else. "Natsumi-san--" He hesitated, not wanting to be presumptuous or offend her at all. But... "You gotta let me take the lead, okay? She'll want to help me, but not you. And emotions are tricky. Just 'cause I can make her want one thing doesn't mean she won't feel other things at the same time." Before, he'd always been alone--or close enough to it. The center of attention. "Just let me do the talking. Okay? Even if you think I'm screwing the story up." Because if one story felt better to him, then... well, his limit wasn't exactly a science. It would work better if everything felt right.

Finally he glanced up at her, head still ducked. He couldn't tell much in the darkness.

She could feel control slipping away, centering in the hands of this messy-haired boy. He looked up at her almost as if he expected to be kicked, but the line of his mouth was firm, certain. On this, at least, he wouldn't back down.

"I understand." She hesitated in turn, almost ready to ask him whether it would be better if she hung back to cover him, stayed out of the conversation and out of his range. But he'd implied shinobi were harder to influence than civilians, and she was a past master at keeping her emotions under control. "I'll hold my tongue." Her lips crooked in half a smile. "I'll be the bimbo girlfriend, even."

His cheeks darkened; he ducked his head, snorting an embarrassed laugh. Natsumi's smile widened a little. She took one last drink, capped the canteen, and tucked it back in her belt pouch. Her fingers lingered on the scrolls that held her bows safely sealed. "After you get what we need to know, we may have to go with the blood trail. I'm an archer; I work best at providing cover or assassination from a distance. At close range, I'm down to kunai and shuriken, but I don't miss." Ever. "If we need to carry our man out, I'm probably strong enough to do it, but I might be more useful keeping trackers off our tails."

Kaito nodded, relieved both that she'd listened and that she was taking charge again. "If you'll keep 'em off, I can carry a guy out." With luck, he wouldn't need to be carried out. Maybe he'd just lost track of the days or something.

Yeah, right, that was likely.

Their missing agent had been staying in an apartment, a nice enough building with a host of shops on the bottom floor, and living quarters above. With henge in place on both Kaito and Natsumi to look less like Konoha's finest and more like civilians, it wasn't hard to find the address.

Kaito poked his head into a ramen shop and smiled broadly. "Do you guys know where the manager for this building is?"

One of the men answered without looking up. "Apartment one."

"Thanks!" He withdrew, turning to glance at Natsumi. The streetlights turned her skin sallow and her hair gold. She was kinda like one of those princesses in an old paintings. He looked at his boots and rubbed a hand through his hair, rocking from heel to toe. "Apartment one. Look, I can't keep it from affecting you, too. A kai will break it, but if I have to ramp it up it might come back. And you can't keep breaking it like that, 'cause it'll shatter my concentration." Not that he had to concentrate, exactly, but it hurt and that would shift his mood pretty effectively--which in turn would shift the landlord's reaction. "Pain will stop it, too. Yours, not mine. Otherwise... you can just ignore it." He shrugged and let his gaze flick up from under his eyelashes, watching for a reaction.