Arakaki set the bottle down on the map, obscuring a cluster of villages that straddled the border between Fire and Wind Countries. As he did, he slid the map a few inches, so that the border between Waterfall and Earth Countries was squarely on the table. He set the wheezing pug on the chair, laid the folders down next to the Go board, and remained standing. Where to begin?

"Well--" he started. Pakkun made a thick snorting sound, drew a ragged breath, pushed himself to his feet, and started to interrupt. Arakaki held up a hand cocked at the wrist, fingers bent, in an unmistakable and deeply ingrained field sign for 'hold back, do not advance.' The dog whimpered.

"It appears," Arakaki continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "that he and Shiranui Genma, who were tracking Inouye Suguru, succeeded in their mission to catch and eliminate the man, but not without consequences so thoroughly dire it will boggle your mind. And require the trickiest and most unpleasant bit of diplomacy we've had to face since the whole Hyuuga kidnapping debacle."

He sighed heavily and watched as the Hokage poured out two generous measures of whiskey. The old man's face was unreadable, but he was clearly waiting for more.

The pug started to interrupt again. This time Arakaki put a hand on the dog's head to still him. Maybe to comfort him, though there was something that seemed almost wrong about making the attempt. He pulled the hand away, picked up the whiskey, and swirled the amber liquid in his glass.

"From what I've gathered from Pakkun, in the course of taking down our rogue agent, both of them ended up poisoned. Genma successfully treated Kakashi but missed it in himself. Then Kakashi attempted and failed to perform a medical jutsu on Genma, which has given Genma seizures and a serious chakra coil injury. In the brain." Arakaki shut his eyes a moment, picturing it. "And though that in and of itself should be more than sufficient to categorize the mission as one of those fantastic success-based failures, Kakashi--" He took a deep, exasperated breath. "Kakashi, because he is such a genius, has decided that the only way to save their souls was to run to Iwagakure for help, and rely on the fact that we now have a treaty in place."

Despite himself, Hiruzen's lips twitched. He smothered the slip with a generous draw of whiskey, putting out flames of horrified amusement with flames of alcohol -- the good stuff, as always, because Arakaki was a good man -- and considered this latest catastrophe. The likely consequences.

"It has a certain equanimity about it, you must admit," he murmured, watching Arakaki's black brows sweep up like mantling hawk wings. "As desperate plans go. This might actually be the lever we need. Iwagakure's latest representative has been stonewalling me since last Thursday."

Arakaki's mouth opened, hesitated, then closed. He swirled the liquor in his glass again but didn't drink, frowning, fingers tapping against the fine-cut crystal. Pakkun watched him silently, with the kind of hopeless, anxious faith so common in dogs. Arakaki's dark eyes flicked to the folders.

Hiruzen followed his gaze. The uppermost belonged to Shiranui Genma, the one beneath it was Kakashi's. Layered below them were half a dozen files devoted entirely to Iwagakure, its current political situation, and the fragile treaty existing between the Village of Stone and Konoha. And in those folders, Hiruzen knew, were a thousand accounts of wartime torture. Deaths inflicted on both sides. Atrocities committed in the aftermath.

X-ray films of Genma's shattered hands, broken by Iwagakure interrogators. Delicately scripted letters from the Uchiha clan demanding the removal of Kakashi's Sharingan eye, achieved in Stone from a thirteen-year-old chuunin.

Hiruzen could not think of two agents he would have liked less to end up in that particular stretch of enemy territory.

"I presume you have a retrieval team already prepared and ready to go," he said, without insulting Arakaki's intelligence by making that a question. "Send Shida's latest prodigy with them -- he'll have training in Iwagakure's techniques, if they've been foolish enough to employ them. The medics will need that information. And at least two S-class diplomats: Sugimoto Miho and Fujita Kenshi, I think."

He reached for documents, shuffling files and alcohol aside as a pen appeared back in one hand, and a fresh sheet of parchment in the other. Arakaki moved the Go board aside. Pakkun flopped limply across the seat of his chair with something that looked entirely too much like relief. Hiruzen gave him a gentle smile.

"You didn't think we'd leave them there, did you?"

Pakkun swallowed hard. "The kid said you wouldn't..." he began rawly, and broke off short. But I didn't believe him.

Arakaki was entirely expressionless, but there was an endless depth of lost agents, broken men, shattered women, and secret blood spilled for the sake of Konoha reflected in his eyes. The hard line of his mouth was bone-white.

Some day, Hiruzen knew, there would be a soul-deep reckoning for all the soldiers Arakaki had sent out to die. And Hiruzen would be equally accountable, and equally scorched.

But not today.

"Sit, Hisoka," he said, not without kindness, and pressed the seal beneath his desk that would summon an instant courier. Beneath his hands, a diplomatically worded demand was taking shape, caught in official kanji and soon sealed beneath hot red wax. But the bladed edge still lurked underneath, and Hiruzen smiled with grim satisfaction. "Join me in a game of Go."

While the Hokage finished and sealed his letter, Arakaki pulled a second chair up to face the desk and carefully reset the Go board, clearing off the half-played game and refilling the bowls of stones: black and white, like the uniforms his agents wore. A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the courier: a broad-shouldered woman already dressed for travel. When she stepped into the room to receive the Hokage's scroll, Arakaki motioned one of the ANBU guards from the hall in with her, and gave instructions for the additions to the retrieval team that Hiruzen had specified.

He waited for the two agents to depart, dismissing both with a fingertip-to-tattoo salute, then picked up his drink with his left hand. With his right he reached into a bowl and scooped up a small number of white stones, then set the dully glittering things on the wooden board. Hiruzen did the same, splaying out black pieces to pair with Arakaki's white. Both men silently counted stones.

"White for you again," Arakaki said with a wry frown. "It seems you always start these games at a disadvantage." He pushed the bowl of white stones towards his companion and took the black ones for himself, studying the empty board carefully before he placed one shiny counter at the traditional komoku point: 3-4.

Hiruzen played an equally traditional counter move.

"It may be too late," Arakaki said quietly. He sipped the whiskey and thought about scoured nerves, beaten bodies. "Even if the Tsuchikage respects our treaty." There were so many ways in which it could be too late. The least gruesome among them left Shiranui Genma dead at twenty-one of injuries accidentally inflicted by his own teammate, and Hatake Kakashi carrying yet another comrade's death on his conscience. And if Iwa didn't respect the treaty...

Pakkun whimpered softly from his chair, scenting Arakaki's distress.

"Peace," Hiruzen said simply, softly.

He stood in a muted swirl of official robes and made his way to the door, trading quiet words with the guard there. A flurry of movement, a double set of translocations from the guards, and he returned with his arms laden down. Food for the two weary, fraught, young ninja in his office -- uncooked steak for Pakkun, cut with thick streaks of fat; salted cod and vegetables for Arakaki, which Hiruzen knew to be his favourite, because doubtlessly the commander had neglected to eat in the past several hours. Alongside that was a bowl of deep, warm water and equally warm towels for Pakkun, if he wished to clean up, and a second smaller bowl of cold beer to slake his thirst.

And ramen for Hiruzen, because Naruto's three-year-old tastes were already beginning to influence his own, despite relatively few meetings.

Arakaki accepted his steaming plate with a dry smile, and a lurking grateful look. Pakkun fairly collapsed into the bowl of warm water, all rapturous moans and mud-caked fur (and aching muscles, no doubt), splashing the wooden floor and causing another faint smile to flash across the Hokage's face. Then the pug sprawled his small, wet body across a towel and fell ravenously upon his steak.

His people thus fed, Hiruzen sat again and regarded the move Arakaki had just made. His fingers plucked up a white stone, turning it until it reflected the candlelight.

"It made indeed be too late," he agreed, studying Arakaki's haggard, shadowed face. "But I have faith in your training -- and Kakashi's intelligence, despite evidence to the contrary." Grim amusement curved his commander's mouth, but bleakness lingered behind it. Hiruzen laced his fingers together and smiled, allowing his unquenchable pride to show plain. "But more than that I have faith in Shiranui Genma's fortitude, Kakashi's iron will. The courage they've both displayed countless times before, like all my agents. If there's a way to survive, they will find it. And we will bring them home."

He laid his white stone down with a faint click.

"And I will get a solid treaty out of Iwa if I have to break my back teeth doing it." His smile became something that was briefly lethal. "Or there will be some hell to pay. I am mortally tired of their treatment of my people."

Arakaki nodded grimly. "As am I, Hiruzen. As am I." He placed another black stone. The Hokage placed another white one. For an interval there was only the soft rhythmic snap of Go stones on well-seasoned kaya wood. Arakaki had to fight for every inch of territory. It was a close game, as all their games were, but the Hokage was showing once again why he was called the Professor.

"I wish I had your confidence," said Arakaki at length. "But maybe that's not my responsibility. You have the confidence, and I plan for the contingencies." The candle flame flickered, stirred by some tiny current of air that had gotten past the hurricane glass. "I trust my agents, of course..."

Of course trusting his agents had led to this mission in the first place. Inouye Suguru had snapped, leaving the corpses of his family to be discovered by a neighbor, and a pair of comrades to hunt him down in cold blood. ANBU was a hard service. A grim service. It never failed to surprise Arakaki that there weren't more spectacular burn outs like Suguru and Ando Shigehara, and others before them. Or that agents who had suffered brutally under the spiral tattoo would rise from hospital beds, put on mask and armour, and insist on going right back out there. Iron-willed, like Kakashi. With fortitude unsurpassed, like Genma.

Arakaki cast a glance at Pakkun, who, belly full, had curled into a still-worried ball and was fretfully trying to sleep. Hiruzen placed a stone. Click. In the soft light the Hokage looked older. More careworn. But strong. Infinitely strong, with the set of his jaw and the flame in his gaze.

"I guess that's the best any of us can do."

Arakaki, the Sandaime reflected, was still very young. Barely in his forties, with just a touch of steel-grey hair creeping in at the temples, faint lines etching the corners of his sharp, dark eyes. His work had added years, though Arakaki bore up well -- better than most, even, which was precisely why Hiruzen had trusted him in his post for so long -- but being the Director of ANBU's Operations was not a job known for fostering optimism. Or any particular faith in the human spirit.

This was not the first moment Hiruzen had wished he could catch one of his agents in a fierce hug and embrace some hope back into them, but it was one of the strongest. Of course, if he had it his way, he'd embrace the entirety of Konoha in one go and shelter the village beneath his robes of office for as long as he had breath.

Which, on yet more reflection, would give several straight-laced officials a rather spectacular view of his underwear. So perhaps not.

He set down a stone. Arakaki set down another. The candle flame flickered. Pakkun drew a whimpering breath in his fitful half-sleep, and Hiruzen made a mental note to enquire to the Inuzuka about him. Perhaps the presence of other dogs would be a comfort until the pug's master was retrieved.

Pakkun's presence, at least, was a comfort to Hiruzen. It meant Kakashi was still alive.

Another stone. Click. And another. Click.

Arakaki finished the last finger of whiskey in his glass, refilled Hiruzen's glass, and then poured himself a second healthy shot. The guards poked their heads in through the door twice and traded updates for new orders. The retrieval team had headed out half an hour ago, travelling at full speed.

Hiruzen laid down his last move, taking the game with a neat coup, and reached across the table to grip Arakaki's hand firmly, almost a clench. Black eyebrows twitched with surprise.

"The best we can do, my friend," said the Sandaime quietly, as if concluding a long debate, "is so much more. Never doubt that. We are Konoha's breath, her living pulse. We cannot falter, or cease to believe."

Arakaki's mouth opened, ready to shape a denial. Hiruzen squeezed his hand.

"However, that does not prevent us from righteously banging a few heads together when our boys make it home." His eyes glinted. "I believe I'll leave that particular privilege to you."

Arakaki's bark of surprised, low-throated laughter sounded like hope. Hiruzen smiled, satisfied, and released his hand. Then he began to clear the board. Paperwork could wait.

"Another game, I think. You can be white this time." Arakaki blinked once, lifting an eyebrow. "It will improve your game to begin with a disadvantage," the Sandaime assured him gravely.

Arakaki snorted, but a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. He helped set up the game again.

And they played.