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.