Hiro almost continued out into the hallway, absorbed in planning what to make for his much-delayed lunch, but stopped when the voice followed him. Wait, the man was talking to him? That almost never happened--he was starting to think that rookies were actually invisible, or something. Usually he had to work to be so ignored.

He turned around and started to look up, before realizing that the blinding smile attached to the voice was actually only around eye-level. Now that was different. Also different was the seemingly unending torrent of words, as compared to the more typical grunts and monosyllables that he'd gotten from the other veterans when he tried to strike up a conversation. But... this could be good; finally someone in ANBU who was genuinely friendly. It was always best to learn the way of things from an insider, after all, and he wasn't so foolish to expect that he'd picked up everything he needed to know from a bare two weeks in the service.

He paged through his memory, calling up details and images from his visual scan of the building. Sakamoto Ginta: apartment 301, just down the hall from his own. Lacquered wood furniture and calligraphy on the walls, candy and scrolls and rich silk sheets. The grandson of Sakamoto Gousuke, Hiro recalled--and he'd better make a positive impression. "Pleased to meet you, Sakamoto-senpai," Hiro bowed, then looked up with a polite smile. "Coffee sounds great."

He didn't actually like coffee. But to talk to a friendly veteran, he would drink as many cups of the bitter, stomach-churning drink as he had to.

Bowing. Wow. What a Hyuuga. Ginta grinned and bowed back, just as stiff-necked and formal as if he'd been in full kimono, attending one of Grandfather's council meetings. "The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure, Hyuuga-san." He couldn't quite keep the laugh out of his voice. "You have a name, or do you really like that whole senpai-kohai thing? Also I'm positive I've met you before. You sure you don't know me?"

Where was this kid from? A short Hyuuga wasn't all that uncommon, though a short Hyuuga good enough to get into ANBU was. Actually, how many Hyuuga were there in ANBU anyway? Counting Haruichi and this one, that made... two. Ginta raised his eyebrows. "I know you have a cousin who works here. Total bastard of a medic. But unless I'm remembering my history wrong, your stuffy uncle or whatever he is has a rule about none of you Byakugan-types in ANBU. And I know I've met you before."

He pushed the door open to the stairs and looked at the Hyuuga expectantly. "Come on, let's go get spicy noodles or something. I'm starved!"

Hiro blinked as the other shinobi topped him in formality while simultaneously making light of the pretension. But then, he was a Sakamoto; he'd probably lived and breathed this kind of thing for his entire life.

"I'm Hyuuga Hiro," Hiro responded fluidly, relaxing his shoulders and easing his stance; if formality wasn't called for, he wasn't going to complain. "But are you sure we've met, Sakamoto-san?" Blond hair and sharp, slightly squinty blue eyes... it rang a bell somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but that didn't make any sense. He would remember meeting a Sakamoto, surely. Still, it was impolite to not remember, but trying to pretend that he did would be worse.

Haruichi, on the other hand... Hiro winced inwardly. He still had no idea what had happened to Haruichi-sama, and it had been almost constantly in the back of his mind in the weeks since their meeting. He was almost frustrated enough that he wanted to just ask. But you couldn't ask questions like that to a--former?--Main House Hyuuga, certainly not as a member of the Branch House.

Hiro didn't reach up to rub his hitai-ate covered curse seal, but his fingers twitched.

Change the subject. "Would yakisoba be okay?" he suggested diffidently. He'd rather not subject himself to spicy noodles, if he could help it. But the other ninja had already started through the door to the ascending stairway, pausing to look back at him impatiently; feeling a bit overwhelmed, Hiro ran to catch up.

"Yakisoba would be great! We could go to that place by the other place... You know what I mean? That place where they do the one with the little shrimp. Not the big ones, but the little ones. What's that place called? You know it, right? Or am I thinking of the okonomiyaki place?" Ginta took the stairs two at a time, bouncing up them as if gravity were a law that applied to other people.

"You can call me Ginta, by the way. I'll be Sakamoto-san when I'm on the Village Council, but that's a loooooong way off yet." He flashed another grin. "And I'll use Hiro for you, because if I say 'Hey, Hyuuga!' in a crowd I'll get at least three sets of white eyes staring at me. Except here in ANBU, of course, but even here there's already another one of you."

The door at the top of the stairs banged open under Ginta's cheerful assault, and he sprinted out into the lobby. "Signing out to get some chow. Sakamoto Ginta and Hyuuga Hiro here," he told the sentry at the desk. "I'm on standby," he added for Hiro's benefit. "They told you about standby, right? There's always a few guys on call for urgent missions, and when you're up you gotta clock in and out." He gave the sentry another big smile. "If anyone comes looking for us, we've gone to get okonomiyaki. Or yakisoba? At that place with the shrimp." He glanced at Hiro, making sure the kid--he was definitely still a kid. Mid-teens maybe?--was still following. The sentry gave Ginta a long-suffering look, rolled his eyes, and shuffled through a stack of papers on a clipboard, marking a tick next to Ginta's name in a column marked 'in village'.

Ginta was already pushing open the lobby doors, stepping out into brilliant sunshine. "Let's take Canal Street; the cherry blossoms are starting to open. By the way, I have no idea why they'd relent and let another Hyuuga into the ranks, unless they're trying to get rid of you. Did you piss Hiashi-san off really badly or what?"

Hiashi-san? Sakamoto family or not, that kind of disrespect from anyone ruffled his fur. But Hiro buried discomfort with long practice, merely tagging along behind Sakamoto out the door, his eyes narrowing against the bright afternoon sunlight. "Lead the way," he motioned broadly, with a smile.

Ginta's last statement wasn't even worth dignifying with another remark--was he even in Intel at all? Either he was very good and was attempting to get through Hiro's defenses by playing clueless, or he actually was that clueless. Though really, it seemed impossible for any ANBU agent to be quite that oblivious--so probably it was the former. Hiro silently bumped up his private opinion of the man several notches, and resolved to watch closely.

In truth, there were two theories that Hiro had come up with for how he'd ended up as the second Hyuuga in ANBU. The first was that Sandaime-sama or one of his underlings had heard about Hiro's special techniques, and wished to recruit him; since that was the most flattering explanation, he thought that it was very unlikely to be true. The second option was that, during a political negotiation between Hiashi-sama and the Hokage--of which there were many--the Hyuuga head found himself needing to make a concession. As the most recently-promoted jounin, a specialist in the lower-prestige intelligence ops, and of a dubious genetic line to boot, Hiro knew he was the most likely target to be thrown to the wolves.

Sakamoto certainly had no need to hear about any of those speculations, though--however often he asked.

As they walked (or occasionally ran, in Hiro's case--the other ninja's legs weren't any longer than his own, so how did he manage to walk so ridiculously fast?), Hiro wondered if he had seen him before. It would have to have been a very long time ago, if so, probably while Hiro was still a genin; after his intelligence training, he rarely forgot a face.

"Do you remember anything else about when we might have met? I think I might remember, but... I admit I'm having trouble pulling the situation to mind." He lifted one shoulder, apologetic, and ran fingers nervously through long bangs, taking the opportunity to observe Ginta through his hair.

Slight and bubbly, ambling down the sidewalk with hardly a care in the world, Hiro thought that this man should have been difficult to forget.

Stonewalling about why he was in ANBU? That wasn't surprising. He was a Hyuuga, so right off the bat that made him closed-natured. And he was in Intel--unless Ginta very much missed his mark, which he was sure he hadn't--which added to the degree of difficulty of getting anything out of the guy.

He glanced over to him--He's still shorter! Awesome!--and saw what really looked like contrition on Hiro's face. Even the milky Hyuuga eyes, which on most of his clansmen were a cipher, conveyed an apology. Ginta frowned sympathetically.

"Let's see," he said, as he turned onto the path along the canal. "Usually if I can't remember why I know someone, its because I met him in a club. But somehow I'm getting the impression you're not the clubbing type. I know the last Hyuuga I hooked up with--Junpei? Junichiro? It was Jun something--was a lot taller than you. Taller than me, too, obviously." He laughed at what he thought was a tiny flash of irritation in Hiro's eyes. Or was that surprise? Had he just outed a closeted Hyuuga? Oops... If he ever ran into Jun-whatever again, he'd seriously owe the man a drink.

"If it was a mission, it was before I was in ANBU, since obviously you're new. I've been in three years. What were you doing four years ago? Because I definitely get a mission feeling from this."

Four years ago... Hiro had been a chuunin, training in intelligence techniques and running every mission he could get his hands on. For that matter, he had been doing the same thing three years, two years, and one year ago, the only difference being his rank. That added up to a lot of missions, but he didn't remember this man at all. Coupled with his previous assumption that it must have been before he had trained much in intelligence techniques, that left--

Five years ago. The Kyuubi attack.

Hiro had encountered a lot of other shinobi on that nightmarish day, and under circumstances in which he would be very unlikely to remember them. People looked different when they were covered in blood and dirt, limbs twisted, skin blackened and torn. But there was one way...

"I think I might remember," Hiro said carefully. "But in order to verify I'd need to use the Byakugan." Every person's chakra system was unique, and it didn't much change as they aged, only increasing in capacity. If it had been during the Kyuubi attack, Hiro would have seen the man's chakra channels, and would most likely recognize their particular arrangement.

Some people reacted very badly to the idea of having the Hyuuga bloodline limit used on them, but Sakamoto seemed genuinely curious about when they had met before, and coming from such a noble clan he must know something about how the Byakugan worked. Enough to not get too upset at the suggestion, Hiro hoped.

"That's a great idea! I mean if you looked at me with your Byakugan before. Do you have a photographic memory for people's chakra? I know the Sharingan just memorizes everything it looks at, kind of against the Uchiha's will almost..." And Kakashi's. Why did he have to keep thinking about that stupid man? He tossed his head back and stopped, framed by a pair of grey-barked cherry trees just starting to show blooms.

"OK, give it a look!" Banishing Kakashi from his mind was just a matter of focusing on something else. Cherry blossoms, the sound of a frog in the canal behind him, and Hiro, for example. Veins bulged around the Hyuuga's temples as his bloodline limit came to life. Ginta flexed and posed like he was mugging for a camera; he flashed Hiro a peace sign.

"Is it working?"

Hiro ducked his head, hiding the unsightly appearance of the activated Byakugan behind his hair. Sakamoto didn't seem unnerved by it, but it was always better to be cautious. Besides, it wasn't as if he needed to look at what he was looking at.

His doujutsu pierced through skin and sinew, bringing glowing blue channels into sharp relief. Channels he had seen once before, on one particular night.

His gaze lingered for a moment, then he let the thick chakra flow to his eyes fade away, raising his head slowly as color returned to his vision.

"I remember you," he said quietly.

The Byakugan didn't imprint sights directly into memory the way the Sharingan did. Still, Hiro generally remembered chakra-rich images, with their clean depiction and bright lines.

Even if it had been blurry and faded, weak and dull, he could never have forgotten that image. It was burned into his retinas. The Kyuubi, rearing red and blinding above the battlefield, afterimage lingering in his sight for days--and this chakra pattern crouching thin and terrified to the side, thready and uneven but clearly recognizable.

Hiro had a difficult time reconciling that desperate and broken chuunin with the obvious strength of the man now, but... there was no mistaking it.

"The Kyuubi attack, five years ago. I was the little Hyuuga genin." A bitter, self-deprecating twist of the lips. "Do you remember me?"

The sun was still bright and the cherry blossoms still blooming, but the visceral memory seemed to carry him back to that chilly October night, red fog and blaring alarms blotting out the cheerful sound of the birds.

Kyuubi. Hyuuga. It all came spiraling down at once, and so did Ginta's smile. There had been Hyuuga Mayu, whose dead body had been one of the first Ginta recognized, when he started seeing faces on the corpses, and not just broken bodies. There had been a Hyuuga in command of one of the sorties he'd been part of, when the Fox was still on the far side of Little Tiger Creek. Not a genin.

There was only one little Hyuuga genin from that night. He'd stood like a three-headed monster, holding a pair of corpses, with firelight at his back.

"Dude, wait. That was you?" Shock gave way to something else. Not quite pleasure. "You're the kid who carried me in right before it breached the lines at the Gate."

His memories were fragmented and nightmarish. Bits and pieces that were more like little horror movies. Ichiro-sensei's face, covered in blood. The roar of the demon over the screams of the dying. The Hyuuga boy, too small, too weak, hoisting Ginta onto his back and running for both their lives.

"I remember you, too."

They locked eyes for a long moment. They were both caught up in it, he could tell--the screams and the stench and the demon, right there, just behind them and gaining.

Hiro was the first to look away. He shifted his feet, not hiding his discomfort. What did you say after that kind of revelation? 'Yes, five years ago I saved your life.'

Yeah, right.

But it was good to see him again, Hiro had to admit. He vaguely remembered one of the nurses reassuring him that the chuunin was okay, at the very end of that Hell on earth. Well, the end for him anyway; Yondaime hadn't sealed the demon until at least several hours after Hiro had collapsed. But when he had finally woken up--several days later--no one could tell him who the man he'd brought in had been. And after the initial shock of jerking awake frantic about his mission, well... he'd had other things to be concerned about.

Chiyo and Takuro dead, their bodies never recovered. Tetsuo-sensei back on active duty, leaving him without a teacher. Eventually the chuunin exams, with a hostile team that accused him of not carrying his weight, and then a mysterious and strict new sensei.

Yes, he'd certainly had other things on his mind. But...

"I'm glad you were okay," he spoke quietly, and was surprised to find that he was truly glad. Glad that out of that nightmare, he had managed to salvage something, at least. Something worth saving.

It wasn't quite pride that he felt, and it certainly wasn't strength. But whatever it was, it felt good all the same.

It was astounding the places the mind could take you in an eye blink. That was the essence of genjutsu, Ginta's specialty since he'd been a genin. A series of careful seals, the rush of chakra flooding through pathways in body and brain. The shimmery stillness inside that the chakra left in its wake, as the illusion took form.

But a flashback was not a genjutsu; you couldn't break it with a pulse of chakra and a muttered kai. You could only tell yourself that the cherry blossoms, the frog in the canal behind you, and the Hyuuga standing in front of you, all grown up to be an ANBU Intelligence agent who asked smart questions, were more real than the memories.

"I should probably say something like 'my life is in your hands' or some cheesy line like that," Ginta said at last. "But that's stupid and my life was already in your hands once. I'm betting you'd rather not have it there again."

He stepped away from the cherries, back onto the path next to Hiro. "I asked about you, actually. They told me you survived. But that was right after. I think I only asked about you once, because I'm a selfish bastard like that." The smile he tried to put back in place was as insubstantial as any genjutsu he'd ever cast.

"Selfish bastards live," Hiro tossed back lightly, but his tone was as brittle as Sakamoto's smile.

"I asked about you, too," he added softly, "but no one could tell me who you were." Blond, blue eyed, chuunin. There were any number of shinobi who fit that description, Hiro had discovered during his initial investigation, and three quarters of them were dead.

The medic had said that the man he'd brought in would be fine. It was only when Hiro woke up again, three days later, that he'd realized she could have been lying.

Not waiting for a response, Hiro turned away, inviting Sakamoto to follow. The cherry blossoms were indeed lovely, falling petals swirling in the mild breeze; the peaceful hubbub of the city streets cocooned them, just like always, as they continued towards the restaurant. But Hiro wasn't hungry anymore.

"So..." Ginta shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, catching up easily to Hiro. "How about that for a mood-killer? Damn Fox, still fucking up nice days five and a half years later. You remember what an awesome day it was, before it showed up? Most of the trees were turned and gone, but there were still a few really red maples. And it was warm. Well, warm for the end of October."

He kept a slower pace now, not quite so lively as before. "I had a mission... I was on my way back from a mission, just enjoying the day. Easy pie mission..." He trailed off, looking far down the walk. Cherry trees lined it, a sweeping pathway of pink against the blue sky and the cool grey waters of the canal. Ari had argued that they should stay overnight at an onsen, since they weren't expected back until the next day. But Ginta had wanted to get home in case the man he had a crush on, Fuji Tomoya, might be free.

Tomoya. First Kakashi and now Tomoya. Dammit, brain, shut up!

He looked quickly at Hiro, shaking dead teammates, former lovers, and current obsessions out of his head.

"Where were you?"

The day before the Kyuubi attack. They hadn't had a mission, or even a team training session; just bloodline practice with their families in the morning, and then the afternoon off. The three genin had each meandered to the training grounds at around noon; the fact that they all always chose the same training ground was, of course, entirely coincidental. But since none of them would give up their claim on the field without a fight, there was nothing for it but to battle it out and call it practice.

Hiro had never won any of those fights--not once. He didn't win that day, either.

It hadn't been any kind of special day at all, really; just an ordinary, crisp Friday in autumn. Warm, like Sakamoto had said. They'd teased Takuro when his kunai kept going wide of the mark, subtly helped along by Hiro's wind jutsu--but if the Uchiha didn't notice, then he deserved the teasing anyway. Then Hiro had helped Chiyo with her henge, in return for a bug-clone to practice his Jyuuken on.

Around sunset they'd all collapsed from exhaustion, just lying on the thick grass and talking about nothing in particular. Hiro had promised earlier to take Chiyo out for sushi that night, but he'd begged off--there was going to be an exam in his Jyuuken class that morning, and Hiro had been hoping to go to bed early and wake up several hours before the test, to practice.

Instead he'd been woken in the middle of the night, by the blaring of the alarms.

"I was... around," was all he said finally, not meeting Ginta's eyes.

Sakamoto's eyes. He didn't actually know the man; an hour of near-death experiences five years ago did not a friendship make.

No, it took more than one hour for that.

"Like... still a kid? You look pretty young," Ginta said. "You were a genin, right? You had to be. They told me you were one, I think. When I asked. I mean a kid wouldn't be out on the battlefield unless he was at least a genin..." His picked up his pace a little, freeing his hands from his pockets, then shoving them back in. Coins and keys jangled between twitchy fingers.

"That musta been one hell of a mission upgrade. Did they give you credit for it? What were you, a medic? I thought maybe you were a medic, since you're a Hyuuga, and you were out there and I was hurt and Sensei..."

The torrent of words ground to a halt, leaving awkward silence. Ginta shook his head.

"You're not a medic, are you? You're an Intel guy, right?"

"Yeah," Hiro confirmed, after a brief pause, "Intel field ops." He wasn't on a mission; this was a fellow ANBU, a teammate. There was no reason to conceal information, just because bad memories had called up field reflexes that had no place here. No reason at all.

He kept talking. "I was a genin, back then. Not a medic, just a stealth specialist. They sent me to collect the wounded, since I could find them with my eyes"--he gestured vaguely towards milky Byakugan pupils--"and I'd have a better chance of getting them out unseen." Actually, he doubted that the emergency mission desk coordinators had thought that far; who would have given a lone genin a chance in Hell against the Kyuubi no Kitsune? But he would have been useless at the front lines, and he had no medical skills, so... grisly cleanup duty it had been.

He fished for more words. "A mission upgrade? Wouldn't that have been an instant S-class for everyone?" He managed a short, choked laugh--a bit bitter perhaps, but not too bad, considering. "No, I got my paycheck and my gold star--" congratulations and thank you for surviving "--just the same as you." Considering how many hadn't survived, having that generic note in his record probably meant far more than any equivalent-ranked mission they could have granted him instead.

Now, change the subject. Again.

Originally he'd thought Sakamoto was in Intel, since why would anyone else attend the cryptography lecture? But Hiro's Byakugan had shown off the man's hefty chakra reserves and peak physical condition, and that coupled with his obvious disdain for political maneuvering...

"So, you're a Hunter, then?"

"Is it that obvious? I thought I was doing okay blending in, except for the fact you and I were the only ones asking questions. Seems kind of counter-intuitive, really, that the Intel guys don't ask a lot of questions." Ginta grasped at the conversational bar and used it to execute a neat flip away from Foxes and dead teammates. That had been a nice trick, Hiro offering him that. He was definitely an Intel guy.

"I'm a Hunter, yep. You think that's why she got so flustered? The speaker, I mean. I know we Hunters bitch about you guys all the time, like when we get bad Intel on a mission and it gets us compromised. And I've hung around with Intel guys enough to know you think we're all idiots who can't think our way out of a paper bag. Well, most of us." His chuckle was less brittle, the smile on his face more firmly married to his actual emotions.

"Was I crashing that meeting? It didn't say Intel Only, so I figured it was alright for me to be there."

"No, I think all were welcome..." Hiro said carefully. Though he got the feeling that Ginta wouldn't have cared, even if it had been Intel-only; an innocent look and some selective cluelessness could get one a long way, when used properly, and he thought that Ginta seemed like an expert.

Hiro, after all, would know.

"I'm sure you could've blended in, if you'd wanted to," he added behind an easy smile. "You could have been a field agent like me, I suppose. But that question about if the new coding scrolls were fireproof-- no Intel agent would have bothered to ask that," he laughed lightly. The mirth tripped more easily from his tongue this time, and he relaxed a little.

This would be a good time to fish for a little more information. "I'm not surprised there's bad blood between Intel and Hunter agents--so why do you spend time with both?" He cast the question off absently, face turned to admire the sakura blossoms framed soft against the brilliant blue sky. The gambit was reasonably obvious, but how Sakamoto responded to it would tell Hiro just as much as the answer itself.

"There's some fantastic tail to be had in Intel," Ginta answered, winking at Hiro. "I mean fantastic. A lot of you guys are both skilled and frustrated. Must be all that skulking around under people's floorboards spying on them while they're screwing someone else's spouse. Sure, your stamina isn't always what ours is, although to be honest I think most of you Field-ops guys can pretty much keep up."

It wasn't the answer Hiro had been looking for, that much was plain. But Ginta wasn't the sort of man to give you the answer you were looking for.

"Do you know a guy named Hideyuki, works in Forgeries? He's kinda tall, and has light brown hair. Not as built as a field agent, but then he has a desk job. I used to see him, for a while. We'd do some sudoku, get some takeout, and screw all night long. Perfect combination as far as I was concerned. Brains, food, and sex."

And there was, if Hiro was paying attention, a clue there. Brains. Not that there weren't some plenty smart Hunters... Stop thinking about Kakashi, dammit!

Ginta's fingers twitched around his pocket change.

"I was almost Intel, anyway. I do a lot of covert ops. Only difference is, I don't just spy on 'em, I usually kill 'em."

Almost Intel? That much was clear. Sakamoto's evasive and disconcerting reply served to cement Hiro's evaluation: the man was smart.

But two could play that game.

"Hideyuki-san? Oh, no, I haven't met him yet. But perhaps--" perfect innocence "--you could introduce me? I love sudoku." His over-the-top expression, guileless and blinking, said: I see your ridiculousness, and raise you one.

Ginta hung out with Intel types for the sex? Hardly likely. Or at least, he wouldn't do it just for the sex, not if there truly was the sort of schism between the two divisions that he had described. Despite Ginta's claims, Hiro imagined that the average Hunter was still... better in bed... than the average Intel agent. Some of the in-house analysts, Hiro wondered if they even knew what a girl looked like without her clothes. Hiro knew, of course--but admittedly, that didn't mean much, coming from a Hyuuga.

But to be driven to Intel for companionship... that Hiro could understand. You couldn't achieve this level of verbal sparring while sharing beers with your typical hack-'em-up taijutsu specialists, that was for sure. And even among... well, sexual deviants was the Hyuuga term for it, but Hiro shied away from the phrase uncomfortably. Even among those of Ginta's persuasion, it would presumably be preferable to be able to carry on a certain amount of intelligent discourse with one's partners.

Sakamoto Ginta's persuasion. And why such a prominent noble family would allow that sort of behavior in their only scion was beyond him. But such things were very different outside the confines of the Hyuuga Compound; Hiro knew that far better than he wished to. Sakamoto's first statement about catching targets "in the act" was more true than he probably realized, especially for a reconnaissance agent with the Byakugan.

"So, you were forced to break ranks and come to us for sex?" Hiro mused lightly. "I'm sure your fellow Hunters are very sorry for the loss."

Lob and catch! and lob again. Hiro was good. Ginta laughed like a child with a new plaything, and pulled his hands free of his pockets. "I don't know if Hideyu's your type. Although you're definitely his type, seeing as we're built pretty similar, and he liked me. Unless it was my hair and eyes that got him, then you'd have to either go in for some bleach and contacts, or do a henge, and a henge can be a real bitch to try to maintain while you're, you know, doing sudoku." His wink was just as campy as Hiro's little lash-flutter had been.

Was that a flinch? A hint of anything at all? No. Wow, poker-face to beat the best of them.

"Do you play cards? I play cards. Although you can cheat too easily with your eyes, but then everyone around here knows what an activated Byakugan looks like, and I imagine any Hyuuga who activated his eyes in a poker game could pretty much expect to get his throat cut. Or at least to get into a nice big brawl, since you guys could Jyuuken the hell out of whoever you were trying to cheat when they caught you cheating."

Hiro let the flow of words wash over him. Particularly noticeable was the total lack of response to his last remark--did Sakamoto have difficulty finding sexual partners within the ranks of the Hunters? Hiro found that hard to believe; the man was built more like an Intel agent, it was true, but ANBU was notably hedonistic and Hiro doubted anyone had much trouble finding a partner if they wanted one. Or maybe it was one particular bad relationship? Regardless, it seemed that at least someone didn't mind that this particular Hunter was looking elsewhere. He filed away that choice tidbit for future reference.

The rest of it was mostly nonsense, but he could glean a few things from it. Sakamoto cheated at cards; well, that was obvious, he was a ninja. The momentary pause after his wink and innuendo indicated that he was still attempting to unnerve the uptight Hyuuga--unsuccessfully, thus far. Hiro was an uptight Hyuuga, but he'd never let it show on his face.

Watching Sakamoto's hands, though, proved most useful. Laughs and smiles could be faked with impunity, but body language was harder. Wide gestures and spread fingers--all signs pointed towards genuine relaxation. The other ninja was having fun.

Hiro was too, he realized suddenly. He hadn't had a casual conversation this engaging in... well, he couldn't remember when. The fact was that reconnaissance agents were rarely sent on missions with other reconnaissance agents, and the ones that he did meet were generally not the friendliest of people, particularly to Hyuuga. Sayuri-sensei crossed words like a kenjutsu master, of course, but that was different--she was his sensei, and he had known her for years. This was fresh and new. Hiro's smile, still tentative after the tension of their earlier conversation, slid a fraction closer to genuine.

"Any Intel agent who needs to cheat at poker is clearly not doing it right," Hiro tossed back with an amused lilt. "Do I need to doubt your sudoku skills, as well?"

"My sudoku skills are top notch." Ginta grinned and put a little swagger into his walk. "Feel free to ask Hideyuki. Or you could ask my friend Genma. He's a Hunter. Eros guy. Excellent sudoku player, but then he has to be." The joy of the repartee crackled up Ginta's spine, chased by something else a little more sober. "Although he hasn't been available to play much lately. He's found a new hobby." Fallen in love, the idiot, with the most closeted, repressed... Ginta rolled his eyes at himself.

What was the deal with all the men in his life going and falling in love with other people? The thing with Genma had been good. Might still be good, he supposed. Just infrequent. He'd been the one to turn Genma away that last time, after all. And it wasn't like Genma and Raidou were going to get around to actually figuring it out anytime soon, unless something major pushed them there. Maybe not even then...

He felt Hiro's eyes on him, and realized he'd let the façade slip.

"Anyway... Oh, we need to turn here!" He darted into an alley, away from the canal and cherries. "We're going to the okonomiyaki place, right? Or was it yakisoba? Anyway it's up here, on the left, next to the taiyaki place and that hairdressers. I think..." He paused in the middle of the narrow street and looked at the shop signs as if he'd stumbled upon a secret hidden dimension of Konoha he'd never explored before.

"Do you remember where it is?" He flashed Hiro a disarming smile, and shrugged his shoulders. "Or should we just walk up here and see if we find it?"

Hiro laughed lightly, going along with Ginta's cover-up for the moment. "I can find it for you, if you want," he offered, leaning over in a teasing gesture of generosity. White eyes flashed with obvious amusement. Before Ginta could respond, though, he stepped back and activated his Byakugan with a twitch of carefully controlled chakra and a second twitch of hair to cover his eyes, calmly scanning the bustling side-street--all business again.

He wondered what Ginta was playing at, though. Did he genuinely not remember where the restaurant was? That seemed possible--often very smart people had these sorts of quirks--but he left his options open.

It was late afternoon, well past the lunch rush, but the hole-in-the-wall taiyaki shop was still doing a brisk business. Hiro forced his focus past the delicious-looking desserts, though, passing his gaze briefly through each of the other stores lining the walk. A tailor showing off slightly shabby wares, a traditional herbal apothecary full of aged grandmothers and children running errands, the aforementioned hairdresser with a messily handwritten sign in the window proclaiming "NO NINJA ALLOWED".... It took him only a moment, continuing to search down the alley, before he spotted the restaurant. Or at least, what he thought was the restaurant.

"It isn't okonomiyaki or yakisoba," Hiro announced in what he thought was a magnanimously tolerant tone, considering. "It's curry." Probably spicy curry, considering what he knew of Ginta's tastes so far.

Maybe they'd make him something with less than Uchiha-grade firepower, if he asked very politely. He could only hope.

"No, no, it wasn't curry," Ginta said stubbornly, looking perplexed. "It had noodley shreddy things, with shrimp and... Oh wait. Maybe it was curry noodles." He looked in the direction Hiro was, seeing only the buildings and people in the way, and not the place itself. "Do you like curry? If you don't like curry, I think there's a barbecue place around here somewhere, or you could pick the place, since you can see them all. It must be kind of cool to be able to see through stuff."

He knew about the Hyuuga bloodline limit, of course, as did all of Konoha's shinobi population. It was one of the subjects they covered in Academy, one of the things you just got used to. Some of the kids in your class, some of the men and women walking around, some of the ninja on your missions, looked blind and could see through walls. He'd been friendly with a few Hyuuga--including Jun-what's-his-name--but he'd never really asked about their eyes before, beyond what he needed to know on a mission. Something about this one piqued his curiosity, though. Maybe the way he laughed, or the smart questions he'd asked, or because of their history. He looked at Hiro curiously, studying the milky-violet eyes, the barely visible pupils. The questions came burbling out like water from an artesian well.

"How come you do that hair thing when you turn on your Byakugan? Is it like suddenly going into a bright room from the dark, or looking at the sun or something? Does it hurt? It looks like it might hurt. I mean, pretty much every Hyuuga I've ever had a mission with gets this constipated look on his face when he activates. Does it give you a headache?"

Blinking at the sudden onslaught of questions, Hiro postponed his answer for a moment by latching on to the proffered escape from curry. "I think I saw a ramen shop around the corner..." He activated his eyes again to confirm it, then turned back towards Ginta, shaking the hair out of his face. The civilians were all pointedly ignoring the two shinobi, the flow of traffic ebbing around them like a rock in the tide, so Hiro felt reasonably concealed as long as his back was turned to them.

"I am an intelligence agent, you know. Konoha civilians may be perfectly comfortable with ninja in the abstract, but when there's one right in their midst doing something creepy with his eyes... It can cause a disturbance. Or at least some discomfort, which is not the best thing for relations." He shrugged. "You said it yourself, it isn't exactly the most attractive look."

Konoha shinobi all knew what the Byakugan could do, and they were uncomfortable enough with it. Civilians who didn't know were often disturbed by the evidence of ninja-ing in their vicinity, but the few civilians who knew were even worse. The idea that someone was looking through you always made people uncomfortable, and civilians weren't used to uncomfortable things--not to mention being much more prudish than the average ninja.

"It doesn't hurt to activate, though," Hiro added. "Chakra control takes care of all the adjustments." Though when you were a little kid, first learning.... There was a reason they grew so many herbs in the Hyuuga gardens--every Hyuuga child learned to make simple pain salves and headache remedies along with their first Byakugan lessons.

Oh ho, defensive. That was interesting. Or self-conscious? Maybe both. "You think it takes an intelligence agent to be able to figure out the civilians are easily spooked? Or just one to give a damn about not spooking them?" Ginta laughed. "Just because it's usually my job to scare the shit out of people doesn't mean I can't be sneaky and politic like you, you know."

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, watching Hiro, the passers-by, the clouds overhead, a high-flying bird. Hiro.

"Is this the part where you tell me Hunters are unsubtle and lack finesse?" His grin widened, and his eyes twinkled with challenge.

"Of course, I wouldn't dream of suggesting such a thing," Hiro tossed back immediately, but his offended tone was spoiled by warm undercurrents of humor. "I'm sure I've never met anyone subtler." He blinked away the Byakugan, then let his arch gaze pointedly trace the path of Ginta's fidgets, from twitching shoulders down to restless feet.

"As for your finesse, well, I suppose I'd have to ask Hideyuki-san about that," he continued airily, looking up again. "Or perhaps Genma-san? He would know?" His voice was full of innocence, the intonation light. But... You didn't really think you'd get away with passing over that, did you, Ginta-san?

"I didn't realize we were still talking about sudoku," Ginta said with a laugh. He looked Hiro right in the eye and let his smile edge with something a little feral. "You're not flirting with me, are you, Hyuuga Hiro?"

The look Hiro gave him back was impressively blank.

Very interesting. He hadn't missed that slip of Ginta's. Damn men, screwing up his life. And he definitely had no business flirting with another one here, but there was something... definitely something. Although maybe it was just the urge to crack the Hyuuga reserve that was pricking at him. They tried to pretend was all about breeding and eugenics, and not at all about homophobia. Given they can see through walls, you'd think they'd be less squeamish, not more, Ginta thought.

"If you're looking for a game of sudoku, I'm sure we could arrange something. But why don't we get that ramen first? With enough chili sauce, it'll be at least as good as the curry place. Maybe I'll get double meat."

The sudoku metaphor was definitely going way too far, Hiro thought distinctly.

"The ramen place is just up here, to the right," he pointed, speaking clearly--but not too clearly--without letting discomfort rush his words. "But if you put on enough chili sauce to offend my taste buds from across the table, I'm leaving." He tossed the words back over his shoulder, with an attempt to recover his smile.

Fascinating assumption, really. Proper procedure would be to carefully note it down in his mental records of their conversation, and then proceed to ignore it. Still... "What are you, the sudoku tournament master or something?"

Honestly, who asked Hyuuga those kinds of questions?

"Something like that," Ginta laughed."I'm just a player in the tournament like everyone else, but ANBU-level sudoku is a game all its own. I'm sure you'll figure it out." He tossed Hiro a quick grin and dodged to the left around a woman and her two squabbling children, then to the right, ducking under the awning of a tobacconist's shop, then back into the street.

That had definitely been... something. Poor closeted Hyuuga, if that's what he is. And please, Ginta, do you need to be doing this to yourself right now? Anyway he's just a kid... He glanced at Hiro again. Not a kid. Not really. Short, sure, and slight, and he'd been a kid five years ago, but now he had a hint of beard shadow, a physique that said puberty was a fading memory. Stop it!

The ramen shop loomed, and Ginta made a dive for its sheltered awning, securing two stools. When Hiro sat next to him, he had his brain under control again.

"So how old are you now, anyway? If I had to guess I'd say... Well, let's see, I was seventeen then and that was five and a half years ago, and you looked about twelve then, so... seventeen? That'd be funny if you were seventeen now and I was seventeen then."

Hiro settled himself on the tall stool, steadily ignoring the way his toes barely reached the ground with the ease of long practice. "I'm eighteen, actually. So, that's older than you were then..." He trailed off, still not wanting to think about those particular memories. "You were a chuunin then, right? So you're a jounin now?" He was pretty certain that Ginta was, actually, otherwise he wouldn't have asked. That cocksure swagger could have belonged to a chuunin or special jounin, but the rock-solid underpinnings that supported it never could.

"Also," he added, "I think you should know that your dashing about, just now--that was not subtle." The light teasing in his voice covered up any remaining discomfort; an open smile, one elbow against the counter, loosened up his body language. "So I rest my case, it does take an Intel agent for some things."

"Oh wait, we were supposed to be being subtle? I thought we were being hungry." Ginta shifted to mirror Hiro's posture, leaning on one elbow, and tucked one leg up under himself. "Next time I'll try to be more subtly hungry. Saunter, and all that. Is that what you mean?" He grinned and flipped a pair pf disposable chopsticks in the air.

"Maybe that's the real difference between Intel and Hunters--we have higher metabolisms, so don't get between us and food when we're hungry?" A second pair of chopsticks went into the air, and a bottle of ramen seasoning. He had to sit up straight and use both hands to keep them spinning.

"And yeah, I'm a jounin now. You?" Probably. Special jounin or jounin, or he wouldn't have been in that meeting, for one thing. It wasn't restricted to Intel, but it had required a level of security clearance most chuunin never reached.

Hiro nodded thoughtfully. "I'm a jounin too, a little over a year ago. But ANBU, that's the real distinction, isn't it? I hear even the chuunin missions are head-trips."

Turning slightly, Hiro observed the beginnings of a minor pile-up as people on the crowded street slowed down to gape at Ginta's juggling antics. Three quick flicks of the wrist, and he snatched the flying objects out of the air and set them back in their rightful locations. "I think the real difference between Intel and Hunters is that you all can't go two minutes without causing a scene," Hiro observed wryly.

The proprietor of the stand, a graying older man, looked much relieved at the return to order. His barely-teenage son, however, looked vastly disappointed; Hiro gave him a brief apologetic shrug and a smile. "Miso ramen for me, please, and tea?" he asked politely, trying to make up for the disturbance.

"Shio ramen for me," Ginta added. "With extra stewed pork. Also tea. Oolong if you have it." He smiled broadly at the ramen seller, who just nodded and turned to dishing up their orders. The son's eyes were still on them. "Tell you what," he told the boy, "add a tea egg and I'll teach you the first thing you need to know to juggle." The boy's face lit up just as his father grunted out "No barters. Tea egg's another two ryou."

"Did I say I wasn't gonna pay for it?" Ginta asked, wide eyed. He pulled out a pair of fifty-ryou coins and laid them on the counter. "I'll still teach you," he added to the kid. But later. And you gotta promise to start with things you can't break, so I can come back in here and eat again."

He turned to find Hiro giving him a look. "Was that a scene? Causing a scene can be a really useful skill to have, you know. Especially in ANBU. Because you're right, the missions... Well let's just say there are three ways to get out of ANBU, and retirement's not on the plan. You can go off active duty, sure, but you never lose your tattoo, and your mask won't be retired till your name is on the Heroes' Stone or in every other Hunter's bingo book."

That left out the third way. He wondered if Hiro would ask.

"That was," Hiro admitted slowly, "not exactly a scene." Actually, that had been... kind of charming, really. The kid was watching Ginta with nothing short of hero-worship on his face now, and none of the fear that might be expected around two high-level shinobi--one of them a white-eyed Hyuuga.

Hiro looked sidelong at Ginta, and revised his opinion to: slippery bastard with charisma, if he wanted to use it. Thinking back to Ginta's first mocking bow, that fit pretty well. Sakamoto family. Right.

"Three ways, hmm?" The Heroes' Stone for valiant death, or the Konoha bingo book for betrayal; apparently he wasn't counting retirement, so that left... "Promotion is the third?" he guessed, thinking aloud. "The Hokage isn't still in ANBU, right?"

Of course, the other option was failure--a death alone, in the field, mission objectives in tatters and no way to get home. A screw-up so serious that your name wouldn't make it on the Heroes' Stone; remembered by future generations with infamy, rather than with pride.

But the kid was still watching them with wide eyes, hanging on their every word. The older man glared intensely as he plunked down a cup of tea in front of each shinobi: keep your ninja business away from my kid. So Hiro kept his tone and attitude purposefully light, and hoped that Ginta would acknowledge the cue to do the same.

"He has to be, doesn't he? I mean, he countersigns all our mission assignments." Ginta picked up his cup and blew across it, then sipped. That look that had flashed across Hiro's blank-eyed face said he knew what that third way out was. Ginta could feel the heat of the cook's glare, and the boy's enraptured gaze. Maybe the realities of ANBU life and death were better left unstated. He changed the subject.

"Did you know there didn't used to be an ANBU? Back when Konoha was founded, there were just the regular ranks. But by Nidaime's time it was becoming clear there needed to be a special ops corps. My grandfather was one of the first ANBU, although they didn't call them that at first. It was him, a couple of Uchiha, Aburame Shingo, Nara Magatsu... I knew Nara-san. He was surprisingly old, too--older than Grandfather. I heard he lived as long as he did because he pickled himself. One of the first ever ANBU died of a stroke just like some civilian."

Maybe that wasn't really changing the subject. But it certainly put a different spin on things. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Hiro. "I learned all that stuff before I went to Academy, since I kind of lived it. So I ditched the history classes whenever I could. Booooooring, you know?"

"It's good to hear it from a different perspective, though, don't you think?" Hiro ventured diplomatically. He wouldn't want Konoha's youth--one member currently ladling out ramen and listening avidly--to get the idea that history wasn't important. "I always enjoyed hearing both the Hyuuga's and the Academy's point of view."

Especially since they had often been quite different. Sometimes Hiro wondered whether that wasn't done intentionally, as a Hyuuga child's first lesson in diplomacy--keeping the two stories straight hadn't been easy. Oh, the facts weren't any different; there were too many people still alive who had been there. But the emphasis: who the heroes were, the best negotiators, the bravest sacrifices... that was up for interpretation. Certainly the Uchiha, the Aburame, the Nara--and indeed, the Sakamoto--must have manipulated their lessons the same way.

Not surprisingly, ANBU was de-emphasized in the Hyuuga curriculum. After all, there had been no Hyuuga among the founding members of ANBU--nor were there any thereafter. The Black Ops were dangerous and unsavory; it wasn't suitable for members of such an exalted bloodline to hide their identities behind the bone and black.

Until now, apparently. And maybe for several years, depending on when Haruichi-sama had joined. But Ginta was far too perceptive to let any questions about the Hyuuga medic slip by without raising suspicion. Unless...

Hiro lifted his teacup, tasting the tea--a bit weak, but not too bad--and enjoying the the cup's warmth on his hands. "You've been on active duty for three years now, you said? That's quite a long time, or so I hear. Are there many people still active from when you first joined?"

He couldn't mention Haruichi-sama himself without drawing attention, but if Ginta brought it up first...

"More than you'd think," Ginta answered. "I think they claim a forty percent per year attrition rate, but that includes guys going off active duty back to the regular ranks, going on medical leave, getting a psych discharge, and whatever, not just the ones whose names get chiseled in stone. And I think the number is a lie. I mean, I know a lot of guys who've been around even longer than me. Genma, for one. The sudoku guy?" He laughed.

The boy set bowls of ramen down in front of them. Hiro's noodles were hidden in opaque miso soup, while Ginta's clear shio broth swam with meat and vegetables, and a gloriously halved tea egg. He grinned and picked up his chopsticks, stroking the pork slices with the tips so the broth lapped over them.

"Let me think, who else?" Kakashi, but he wasn't going to bring up that name. "Raidou--he's Genma's buddy. You see one of them, you're likely to see the other. Hideyuki and a bunch of the Intel guys have been around a long time. Same with the interrogators. Jimon's a lifer. Hunters get a little worse odds, but there's plenty of veterans. Matsudaira Ranmaru, but you want to stay away from him. He's a time bomb. Been in six years and probably should have been psyched out after his first one."

He reached for the hot pepper shaker and liberally dosed his food. "Inuzuka Tsume--she went off active duty and then came back on, so she's outlasted the odds. There's a few like her, who got called back for one reason or another. Lot of guys from the regular ranks get called back for single specialty missions or whatever."

Why was Hiro asking? Was he just calculating his odds? Or...

"Your cousin. But he was strictly an in-house medic the first year I was in, and then he disappeared. Came back not that long ago, so I guess he got called back to service. Poor bastard."

In ANBU, then out, and then back again? Haruichi-sama had been busy.

And now Hiro knew who to talk to about Haruichi's early years in ANBU--Genma, certainly, he'd realized that himself when they'd met. Or Inuzuka Tsume, maybe. (Though he'd probably take Ginta's advice and avoid Matsudaira.)

Tsume... that name sounded familiar. Had Tetsuo-sensei mentioned her at some point? Maybe one of the Inuzuka clan higher-ups? He could ask. And Hiro had already planned to talk to his second jounin-sensei--a seduction specialist herself--to see if she knew anything about Genma that wasn't in his file. That would be a start, anyway.

Satisfied, he didn't press further. "Forty percent, really? They didn't tell us that number during orientation." No wonder Hyuuga were forbidden from joining. Given their pride, they'd probably join in droves if they weren't drilled into considering it beneath them, and then... well, the Hyuuga gene pool would take a hit without its top-ranked members.

Our pride, really, Hiro admitted reluctantly. It hadn't exactly been presented to him as a choice, but... he had certainly gone willingly enough. The chance to prove yourself worthy among the best of the best--that was hard to pass up.

Hiro tossed Ginta a disgusted look at the absurd quantity of spicy powder he was adding--it now appeared to be the primary ingredient in his previously clear broth--and took a bite of his own soup. "And thanks--it's always good to know who the veterans are. Who you can rely on in a pinch. Although I guess you don't get into ANBU if you aren't reliable, huh?"

"Definitely not," Ginta agreed. "But I think the stats are pretty accurate for rookies. About twenty percent don't come back from their missions. Obviously you're going to beat those odds, right?" Of course right, because that's what every rookie told himself. And eighty percent of them made it, though some percentage of those left the mask behind within that first year, too. Forty percent turnover for ANBU overall, twenty-percent death rate in the rookie year, and even after that year it was still high enough that ANBU's reputation as the Death Squad wasn't solely because that was their trade in custom. And the numbers was higher for field ops than internal ops, highest for Hunters who took solo missions. Like Ginta.

He grinned and took a bite of his soup, then winced, gasped, and grabbed for his tea. "This is way too spicy!" He looked up at the ramen-maker's son with pleading eyes. "Can I have another ladle of broth, please? Just a little so it's not so hot?"

Even the grizzled proprieter turned to laugh. "And here I thought you were just trying to show off what a tough guy you were, ANBU-san."

"No, no, nothing like that! I'm just a regular guy and I had no idea your spice powder was that same stuff ballistics uses to make bombs." Ginta's eyes were watering, and his fair cheeks were bright red. "Can you um..."

"Yeah, I got it," the old man replied, He took Ginta's bowl away, skimmed off the floating island of red death, and added another ladle of broth.

"Thanks!" Ginta grinned and tucked into the fresh bowl. "That's much better."

He turned to smile sheepishly at Hiro.

Hiro abruptly swallowed his own mouthful of noodles, before he too ended up providing unwitting entertainment. Quickly washing it down with the rest of his tea, he looked over his shoulder at Ginta, eyes bright with restrained laughter. He didn't say anything, though, instead holding out his cup to the ramen chef. "More tea, please?"

The proprietor poured the tea good-naturedly, seeming more relaxed now that the shine had been taken off the two ANBU. The wide-eyed kid, on the other hand, looked more than a little disillusioned, torn between giggling at Ginta's antics and being mildly appalled at the cavalier behavior of one of Konoha's scariest bedtime-story terrors.

Had Ginta done that on purpose? Hiro wasn't entirely sure he approved; there was a reason civilians should be scared of the ANBU. A little fear in the right places made the village run more smoothly and, ironically, made the townspeople feel more safe on the whole.

Still, if Ginta's spicy noodles incident had put them at ease--intentionally or not--his grim statistics would make anyone uncomfortable. Hiro included, if he was being honest, though he could hardly say he'd expected anything different from the Black Ops.

"No one can beat the odds," he pointed out. "You're either on one side or the other." He sipped his steaming tea philosophically, and took another bite of--thankfully non-spicy--noodles. "I'd rather be on the upside, myself. But all we can do is the best we're capable of, right? And if that's not enough..." He shrugged. "Then I guess that's how it was meant to be."

Wow, that had sounded bleak. Maybe their visit's effect on ANBU's reputation would come out as a wash, in the end.

Ginta's grin didn't last long. He ate several mouthfuls of broth, and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of pork, before giving Hiro a look. "Fatalist, huh? You one of those people who believes in karma and all that bullshit? You'll definitely like Genma, he's religious."

Made sense, he guessed. Hyuuga and their formal sensibilities, and that family divide. He wondered if Hiro was from the Branch house. With his hitai-ate on, his forehead was hidden, so if there was a curse seal there... Branch house would definitely explain what he was doing in ANBU. Ginta seriously doubted the Hyuuga clan hierarchy would stand for one of the Main house serving in Black Ops.

He was about to ask, when a bird cry interrupted his thoughts. Both ninja looked up, as did a few others passing by in the street. A kestrel hovered overhead, then made an aborted dive towards Ginta, looped twice, and resumed hovering.

"Damn. I didn't even get to finish my ramen!" Ginta complained. He took two more big bites, then pushed back. "Remember I said I was on call? I gotta go." He looked helplessly at the ramen master. "I don't suppose you'd stick that in a cup to go, would you? I can maybe eat it while I'm geting briefed."

The older man scowled as if it were an onerous request, but took Ginta's bowl and transferred the contents to a styrofoam container. "You watch yourself, ANBU-san. You promised Koji-kun here you'd teach him juggling. I'm holding you to that."

Ginta's smile was as bright as his glare at the bird had been thundrous. "I'll definitely be back." He bowed to them both, then turned to Hiro. "Catch you when I get back?" Because he was definiely coming back. "I still want to ask you about those transposition chains you were talking about in that lecture. And, you know, taiyaki. Didn't you promise me taiyaki? You totally owe me taiyaki. Or I owe you taiyaki. So we have a date, right?"

Hiro's eyebrow automatically raised at Ginta's word--date?--and his eyes darted up. But the other shinobi was still standing casually, lips quirked in a non-specific grin at the world; there was no indication of any hidden motive in the tilt of his head or the cant of his hip.

They never had mentioned taiyaki, though. But Hiro surprised himself by smiling back and offering his unpracticed ANBU salute: a light brush of fingers over covered tattoo, acknowledging a comrade about to go on a mission--and, maybe, even a friend. "Sure, look me up. I'm in room 325."

He knew where Ginta lived; he'd performed a full Byakugan scan of the HQ apartments in his first week as an active agent, matching room numbers and memorizing ANBU faces. The Hyuuga respect for privacy, permeating every structure of clan life, was a hard habit to break, but after meeting Haruichi-sama he hadn't wanted to take any chances. And now Ginta, first encountered five years ago during a night better forgotten... Hiro didn't think he could handle any more surprises. Pleasant though this one had turned out to be, in the end.

"I'd certainly appreciate hearing what exactly you did when your transcription scroll caught on fire," he continued with a tilted smile. Because if Ginta had asked about it, it must have happened somehow. "And maybe you can introduce me to your friend Genma, too." They'd already met, but being on two separate sides of a debriefing didn't exactly count as a social interaction. And Hiro was curious--if Genma didn't know about Haruichi's history himself, he'd know someone who knew; seduction types always did. Besides, it was always good to keep an eye on the Eros corps--they were generally rated "most likely to crash and burn spectacularly" among all the shinobi divisions, so definitely bore watching.

"If we have taiyaki, though, I think you're paying," Hiro added. Anyone who spoke that fast and moved that quickly had to have an unhealthy--and expensive--addiction to sugar or caffeine; in Ginta's case, Hiro thought that it must be both.

"Me buying? But I bought our noodles," Ginta protested, pointing to the coins he'd left lying on the counter. "But okay, if you insist. I'm sure you can make it up to me some other way." He winked and grinned. "Maybe a game of sudoku."

The falcon dived again, lower, and shrieking louder.

"Fine, fine, I'm coming already. Keep your pants on," he told it, waving a hand as if to fend it off. "Apartment 325. I'll remember that," he added to Hiro. Then, holding his soup in the crook of one elbow, he raised his hands in seals and vanished with a translocation jutsu, leaving a swirl of vapor and a pair of maple leaves tumbling in his wake.

When he got to HQ, he waved a hand at the desk chuunin and dove down the stairs. There'd be someone in a briefing room waiting for him, he just had to figure out who looked most impatient. So he'd made them wait five minutes while he got his noodles and took his leave, so what?

As he sauntered down the halls, he found his mood had lifted quite a bit. Hyuuga Hiro was an interesting new puzzle, too young, but pretty cute. Ginta whistled tunelessly and grinned at the waiting Intel briefer when he found the right room. He didn't even notice that he'd stopped thinking about Kakashi.

Hiro blinked at the leaves through the rapidly dissipating smoke of Ginta's departure, fluttering shapes chasing each other in haphazard loops as the whirlwind died down. They were brilliant red and orange despite the season, which made Hiro smile to himself as he turned back to his ramen. Autumn leaves at the beginning of spring... what a showoff! Still, it had been a nice effect.

A nearby child apparently appreciated it as well; she darted past, take-out bag of taiyaki clutched tightly in one grubby fist, and snatched up the leaves in the other. As Hiro watched, she ran back to a group of her friends standing nearby, waving her prize above her head and chattering excitedly. The ramen-seller's son Koji, stuck behind the counter instead of out playing, turned to Hiro hopefully. "Hey, ninja-san! Can you teach me that trick?"

"No, I don't think so," Hiro told him gently, his voice mild but firm. "You'd better stick to juggling." Koji managed to sulk for about a minute at the refusal before he was hijacked back to the sink to wash more dishes; the ramen chef gave Hiro a reluctantly thankful nod over his son's shoulder.

By the time Hiro left the stand, the girl with the leaves had become queen of the moment among the crowd of children; she stood in the center of a cluster of them, handing out treats from her crumpled paper bag with the two colorful leaves stuck proudly in her hair. Koji waited in the ramen stand, his focus drifting off until his father rapped him lightly over the head with a ladle. And Hiro smiled as he walked past, content. His stomach was full, and sixty-four ryo in coins rested muffled in his pocket; if Ginta didn't contact him, he'd have a reason to find him and return them sometime.

Friends, after all, were good to have.