Chapter Text
“Natsuko!” she hears as soon as she opens the back door. “Stop coming in early!”
“Sorry, Aijirou-san, I just wanted to beat the rain.”
“Your shift doesn’t start for another hour,” he scowls.
Natsuko shrugs, putting her small bag on the back of a shelf in the kitchen so it isn’t in anyone’s way.
“I’ll ban you from the restaurant if I have to,” Aijirou says quietly, but firmly. “You’ll work yourself into an early grave if you keep on like this.”
She smiles at the concern. “We’re just so busy,” she tries to reason.
“Not busy enough that you can’t take a break tonight,” he says. “You’re here an hour early, you take an extra long dinner break. No arguments.”
“Yes, Aijirou-san.”
Uoshin has been busier than expected, especially over the last month. The business doesn’t exactly suffer - no Akimichi-owned business ever does - in the summer, but people are far less willing to sit in close quarters to enjoy their food when they can instead order to go and take their meals in a shade that is not shared with several open grills. But the rainy season has come early, so anyone looking for a good meal has been forced indoors. Most of Natsuko’s customers over the last few weeks have been wet.
“Naksuko, order for twelve; the dango is for sixteen,” Hisashi says, setting the last plate of fish on her tray.
“Thank you,” she says.
The restaurant is no more busy than it normally is on a rainy evening, but Natsuko feels unusually overcrowded. Maybe it’s the noise or the heat from the grill. The order for table twelve is several sushi rolls and another bottle of sake for a party of five; they’re civilians as far as she can tell, and they hold their liquor like it. Passing off the dishes should be smooth - Natsuko has been doing this for almost ten years - but the man closest to her right decides to “help” by taking plates himself, which nearly upsets the balance of the tray. They laugh as it wobbles and she quickly finishes handing out food.
The dango and the second bottle of sake on her tray - the third bottle for a party of three - are for Mitarashi Anko, a regular, and two of her friends.
“Natsuko,” Anko says, slamming her cup onto the table top, “settle something for us.”
“Absolutely not,” she says kindly, setting the food and drink on the table. She tucks the tray under her arm. “Do you need anything else, Mitarashi-san?”
“Natsuko, please ,” the other woman says urgently. “We need an outsider’s perspective! And just call me Anko.”
Natsuko sighs. Anko is one of her favorite regulars, and while she wouldn’t say they’re close enough to be friends, they are at least friendly, but the kunoichi gambles like every last ryo is burning a hole in her pocket.
“What are you betting on now?” she asks, but Anko shakes her head.
“No money, just an opinion. Promise!”
“No wager?” Natsuko asks again, glancing at the two men at the table.
They also shake their heads.
“Alright. What needs settling?”
“What do you think of Hatake Kakashi?”
Natsuko blinks. “Who?”
All three of the ninja stare back at her like she’s suddenly started speaking another language.
“Hatake Kakashi,” one of the men says; his light hair is held back from his face by a damp bandana. “Sharingan no Kakashi? Friend Killer Kakashi?”
“What do you mean who ?” Anko demands.
“Mitarashi-san,” she sighs.
“Really?” the second man asks; his skin is darker and he has a scar across his nose. “You’ve never heard of him?”
“The name is vaguely familiar,” she admits, “but, as I have reminded Mitarashi-san several times, I am not a ninja and we do not share the same social circles. Just from our conversation I can tell you that he’s a man and people probably don’t like him.”
“If you don’t know who he is then how do you know people don’t like him?” Anko asks, pointing an accusatory finger at the waitress.
“People don’t call you “friend killer” if they like you.”
She grimaces, pours herself another cup, and throws it back like it’s a shot of cheap liquor from the capital and not a mid-range plum sake.
“What about him?” Natsuko asks.
“He’s back from a long mission,” the first man says. “Ten months.”
“Okay,” she says, but she doesn’t understand why coming home from a long mission would leave him the subject of gossip. Natsuko knows ninja have been gone longer. “Is there…something wrong with his return?”
“It’s nothing,” Anko sighs. “Forget I asked.”
“Is there anything else you need?” Natsuko asks.
The three of them shake their heads.
“I’ll come check on you in a bit,” she promises, and leaves them with their sake and odd questions.
Natsuko turns back to the bar, tray still tucked under her arm. As she passes by one of the tables, someone says, “Hey, sweetheart!”, but before she can react to the terribly disrespectful call out, something hot and sweaty clamps down around her wrist, jerking her hard enough that she has to take a step back to stay on her feet.
It’s the man from table twelve, the one that had unbalanced her tray and laughed about it. He’s red-faced and sweaty, having obviously imbibed more alcohol than the rest of his companions, the collar of his yukata damp and wilting.
“Let go,” Natsuko says.
“Aw, come on, beautiful,” he whines, gripping her wrist a little tighter.
“Let. Go,” she says again, trying to pull out of his hold.
“Hey, I’m just trynna talk to you!”
This time he yanks on her hard enough to send her to the ground, tray clattering down beside her. He’s still got her arm in his hand, but even at the urging of his tablemates, he won’t let go. He’s gone from pleading and genial to angry, as drunks often do, but he’s made the mistake of putting hands on her during the dinner rush, leaving him surrounded by a few dozen ninja and ninja-adjacent people.
Between one breath and the next, Natsuko has been carefully lifted to her feet, four shinobi between her and the customer, and a kunoichi at her back. The room is almost silent; the hissing of the grill and the general noises of kitchen work make for an odd soundtrack. Everyone Natsuko can see has at least one sharp blade in their hands.
Akimichi Aijirou, a retired shinobi with an infallible sense for trouble and the owner of the restaurant, sticks his head out of the kitchen and scowls at what he sees. He’s big like Akimichis tend to be, and people are quick to step out of his way as he crosses the room.
“What’s going on?” he asks, then spots Natsuko hidden behind the other men.
She’s cradling her wrist, and it’s already starting to bruise.
“Natsuko.”
“One of the men at table twelve grabbed me and wouldn’t let go,” she says. There’s no point in lying to her boss.
“He pushed her to the ground,” the kunoichi - Yuhi Kurenai, another regular - says.
Aijirou’s eyes narrow. “Move,” he commands of the men between him and table twelve.
They’re quick to step out of the way; Natsuko spots Sarutobi Asuma and Shiranui Genma among them.
“Which one of you fuckers put hands on my waitress?”
No one at the table speaks, though they’ve all gone pale.
“Which one put his hands on you, Natsuko?” he asks when none of the party will say.
“The one to your right, Aijirou-san,” she says.
The Akimichi doesn’t waste time grabbing the man by his collar and hauling him out of his seat. He opens his mouth to stutter out an explanation or apology, Natsuko doesn’t know, but Aijirou ignores it, shaking him until he stops.
“You’re going to pay your tab,” Aijirou growls, “you’re going to get the fuck out, and, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll come back in three days to pay for whatever treatment Natsuko needs for her wrist. And if I ever see you again after that, I will put my hand down your throat and pull your guts out through your mouth. Do you understand me?”
The man just looks down at Aijirou in fear, but shouts out a quick, “Yes, sir!” when he’s given another shake. The Akimichi drops him in a heap on the ground.
“The rest of you pay your tab and get out,” he says.
One of the women at the table opens her mouth to protest, but all of her companions shake their heads.
“Natsuko,” Aijirou says, turning from the mess before him, “head back to the kitchen and get some ice on that wrist. You think it’s broken?”
“I’m fine, Aijirou-san,” she says, but Kurenai scoffs, and she quickly amends, “It’s just sprained, I think.”
“And already turning purple,” the taller woman says. “C’mon, let's get you some ice and I’ll send Asuma around to see if any of the field medics are available.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Natsuko says, but she lets the kunoichi lead her to the back. “I can see someone at the hospital tomorrow.”
“Or we can fix it tonight and you can pocket the money,” she says simply.
The kitchen is surprisingly empty when they step behind the counter. Natsuko has no idea where Hisashi has gone, but she knows where the extra towels are and it’s easy enough to make a little ice pack even one handed.
“That doesn’t happen often, does it?”
“No,” Natsuko assures, a small smile at the concern. “Most people have manners.”
“Uh, Natsuko-san?” someone asks.
It’s one of the men that was sitting with Anko, the one with a scar across his nose.
“Yes?”
“Anko asked me to take a look at your wrist, if you want.”
“Umino, right?” Kurenai asks. “I didn’t know you’d qualified as a field medic.”
“Everyone at the Academy has to,” he shrugs.
“I know I’m going to regret asking,” Natsuko sighs, “but where is Mitarashi-san?”
“Anko says I’m not allowed to tell you,” he says apologetically, blush darkening the tops of his cheeks.
“You could anyway?” she offers.
“You’ve been very nice, Natsuko-san,” he says, “but Anko will come to my apartment.”
Kurenai snorts.
It only takes a few moments for Umino-san - “Iruka, please.” - to lessen the swelling and bruising around her wrist, and he leaves her with instructions to keep it iced and wrap it for a few days to keep it from twisting wrong.
“Do you need anything, Natsuko?” Kurenai asks gently.
“No, thank you,” she says, leaning against the cool metal of one of the storage shelves.
“You look exhausted,” Kurenai says, though not unkindly. “Asuma and I will walk you home.”
As if he’d heard his name, the man sticks his head into the kitchen. “They’re gone,” he says.
“That’s kind of you, but I’m not going home.” The two of them look at her in what she imagines is disbelief. “Things like this happen,” Natsuko says, doing her best to downplay the interaction. “Umino-san was very helpful. I’m capable of finishing the night.”
Kurenai opens her mouth to argue, but the back door swings open, bringing in the smell of cigarette smoke and a very confused looking Hisashi.
“What are you doing in my kitchen?”
“Natsuko was attacked,” - “I wouldn’t call it an attack,” Natsuko protests. - “by one of the customers,” Asuma says. “Tell her she gets to go home.”
Hisashi scowls. “What do you mean attacked? Is he still here?”
“I’m fine,” she says again, only to be summarily ignored.
“No,” Kurenai says, “Aijirou took care of it. And I’m pretty sure Anko is going to finish the job.”
Natsuko winces at the thought of what ‘finishing the job’ could entail. Anko has always been nice and friendly with her, but she’s also seen ninja move away from her as if she’s a minor inconvenience from lashing out. She doesn’t know what someone has to do to earn a reputation like that, but she can’t imagine it’s anything other than wildly unpleasant.
“Good,” Hisashi says. “Natsuko, go home.”
Natsuko covers her face for a moment. She doesn’t want to go home, she wants to pretend this never happened and finish her shift. Unfortunately, she knows she’ll never be able to out-stubborn a ninja, especially a kunoichi like Kurenai.
“I’ll make you a couple of bento boxes and you can go home and spend some extra time with Hikaru,” he offers.
“Thank you,” she sighs, tucking her hair behind her ears, “but I’m fine and Hikaru is at a friend’s house tonight.”
Both ninja look like they’d like to insist on her leaving, but are interrupted by Aijirou. If four people in the kitchen make the space seem small, the addition of the Akimichi is claustrophobic.
“Natsuko, how’s your wrist?”
“I’m fine,” she says once more.
“Tell her she can go home,” Kurenai demands.
“We’re busy ,” Natsuko tries to stress.
“Relax,” Aijirou says kindly, setting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Shiori is coming to help. Take the rest of the night.”
If there’s another person Natsuko can’t argue with, it’s her boss.
“Fine.”
“Hisashi, pack her something to go.”
“Already on it,” the other man says.
“Asuma and I will walk you home,” Kurenai says again.
“You should finish your dinner,” Natsuko says. “I can walk home by myself.”
“Someone’s walking you home,” Aijirou interrupts. “That asshole may be scared of me, but he’s still a belligerent drunk and I won’t risk you by letting you go alone when he could still be around. If you don’t want Kurenai and Asuma to walk you home, I will.”
“No, it’s…that’s fine,” she sighs. “I don’t want you to leave Hisashi alone in the kitchen.”
“You worry too much about other people, and not enough about yourself,” Hisashi says, turning from the counter to hand her a wrapped bento box. “Now get out of my kitchen.”
By the time Natsuko has gathered her bag and Kurenai and Asuma have said goodbye to their friends and Hisashi has also made them bento boxes, they’ve been afforded a slight reprieve in the weather. Reports have called for heavy storms and flash flooding all week, and Natsuko has done her best to arrive at Uoshin during the few dry spells they’ve had or, if needed, with enough time to change into a dry kimono before her shift. Even covering up with an umbrella hasn't done anyone much good.
“I hope you don’t live in the south district,” Asuma says as they step outside. “The streets are flooded.”
“No,” Natsuko says. “Hikaru and I live in the east district, nearer the trade shops than the market.”
“Lead the way.”
The walk from Natsuko’s apartment to the restaurant is usually twenty minutes, but the three of them are forced to take a longer route as they come across streets and alleys that are ankle deep in water. She can’t keep from feeling guilty at slowing the ninja down; without her they most likely could have made it to the east district and back to the restaurant twice in the same time it takes them to make a single trip.
Natsuko and Hikaru’s apartment is on the third floor of a converted inn. They’ve shared the two-room home since Natsuko got her first job at fifteen and vowed to do her best to raise her sister after the loss of their parents. It isn’t extravagant in the least, but the building has been well taken care of, and the landlady - Urameshi-san - helps keep an eye on Hikaru while Natsuko is at work. (Natsuko also suspects that she pays a fraction of the rent the other tennents do, but she’s too afraid to ask.)
“Thank you for walking me home,” she says, offering Kurenai and Asuma a shallow bow. Even if she’d felt it was unnecessary, it was still a nice gesture.
“Any time,” Asuma says.
“And we mean that,” Kurenai says. “Anyone else bothers you, and we’ll make sure you get home safe.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night, Natsuko.”
Asuma gives a little salute and the two of them disappear into the darkness.
***
Three days after the incident, Aijirou hands Natsuko an envelope. When she opens it, she nearly drops it.
“Aijirou-san,” she whispers, “I can’t take this.”
He scoffs. “This is the least of what he owed you. The coward didn’t even deliver it himself.”
***
Ninja, Natsuko had discovered upon being hired at Uoshin, are a bunch of gossips. It seems like every table over the next week asks her about her wrist or if anyone else has given her trouble. Fortunately, her wrist has healed well, and she doesn’t have to avoid the questions about further trouble; she suspects the events of the previous week have made the rounds through the market gossips, too, since fewer non-ninja have been in the restaurant, and those that have come in have been on their best behavior.
“Natsuko!”
“Good evening, Yuhi-san,” she says, setting down the first of what will likely be several bottles of sake along with the pickled cucumber, edamame, and smoked eggplant. When the party had placed the first part of their order, Anko had been the only woman at the table; Kurenai must have joined them while she was relaying their order to Hisashi. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” the kunoichi says lightly, brushing off the question. “Has everything been okay here? How’s your wrist?”
Natsuko continues to empty her tray. “I’m doing well, thank you. I was sore for a few days, but it didn’t last.” The party is sitting at one of the largest tables in the izakaya, deep and horseshoe shaped to make the most of the space available. She counts Kurenai, Asuma, Genma, Hayate, Anko, Raidou, and a silver-haired shinobi Natsuko has never met; all but the unnamed man are at the restaurant fairly regularly, Anko and Genma most of all. “We’ve been busy, but nothing unheard of for an Akimichi restaurant.”
“That asshole from the other night hasn’t been back, has he?” Genma asks.
Asuma barks out a laugh. “You haven’t heard? Anko - ”
“Please don’t tell me what Mitarashi-san did,” Natsuko interrupts. It’s rude, yes, but she doesn’t have the stomach for what Anko - or really any ninja - is capable of.
“Sorry,” Asuma says sheepishly.
Anko doesn’t look remorseful in the slightest, instead smug like the cat who claimed both cream and canary. She pulls the bottle of sake towards herself and doesn’t seem intent on sharing.
“I’ll bring another bottle,” Natsuko says, tucking her tray under her arm.
“When’s your break?” Kurenai asks.
“No break tonight,” she says. “Aijirou-san wants to close before the storm moves in.”
Being the rainy season, one storm after another has kept most of the village’s residents inside, but the one predicted for later in the night promised to be particularly heavy. Natsuko isn’t looking forward to the weather, but it will afford her a few extra hours to spend with her sister, so she figures that keeps the score even.
“We’ll walk you home again,” Kurenai says.
“Oh, that’s alright,” Natsuko says, slightly startled by the offer; she hasn’t had any more antagonistic customers and certainly nothing that would warrant another escort home. “There haven’t been any more problems.”
“And there won’t be if we walk you home,” Kurenai says.
“I don’t want to trouble anyone,” she says, holding the tray in front of her almost like a shield.
“You’re not trouble,” Asuma says almost like he’s offended at the thought.
“I’ll walk you home,” Anko says. “These two fuckers got to do it last time. It’s my turn.”
“No one needs to walk me home,” Natsuko insists.
“I’ll follow you either way,” the other woman shrugs.
Natsuko doesn’t roll her eyes, but she does feel exasperation fizzing in her stomach; she knows Anko will make good on her promise. As familiar as she is with putting her foot down with her sister, she knows she won’t out-stubborn a kunoichi like Anko. Arguing with Kurenai is difficult enough, but Anko can plant herself with the gravity of a mountain and refuse to move. She’s seen her do it in the markets, squaring off with a vendor over the price of day old fish. Natsuko is certain the same principle applies here as well.
“Alright,” she sighs. “Aijirou-san would like to close by seven.”
“We’ll stick around until he kicks us out,” Asuma says.
Natsuko nods. “Can I get anyone anything else in the meantime?”
Hayate asks for a ginger tea - Natsuko can practically hear the wheeze every time he takes a breath and she’s sure the weather is making it worse - and Raidou asks for two more bottles of sake since it does seem like Anko is going to keep the first one for herself.
Natsuko stops at another table on her way back to the kitchen to check on the couple seated there, and she isn’t far enough from her party of regulars to miss Genma ask,
“So what did you do to that guy?”
Anko answers smugly, “I just reminded him that having hands is a privilege.”
***
Like they promised, most of the large group sticks around until closing. Three disappear in the two hours leading up to the end of their early night - Hayate, and Raidou, and the shinobi she was never introduced to - but the rest of them wait for Aijirou to usher Natsuko out of the kitchen.
“Go home,” the owner says, shooing her towards the door. “We’re closed tomorrow. Take a break .”
Natsuko huffs, but doesn’t protest, and as she draws nearer to the group, Asuma asks,
“Why is the restaurant closed tomorrow?”
“The forecast has predicted eighteen inches of rain, high winds, and a good chance of hail. Aijirou-san says he’s not leaving his house ‘just to fight the weather’,” she says dryly.
“Fuck,” Genma says. “I don’t blame him.”
Asuma groans. “I’m supposed to leave out on a mission for Suna in the morning.”
Kurenai pats him on the arm. “The rain will still be here to wash off all the sand you pick up.”
“C’mon,” Anko says. “Let’s get going before it gets worse.”
The three other ninja say their goodnights and head off in two different directions; Anko takes the umbrella out of Natsuko’s hand, and turns them towards the east district. The kunoichi has never been to Natsuko’s apartment, but she isn’t surprised the other woman knows at least the general direction. They walk nearly shoulder to shoulder under the umbrella to keep from getting any wetter.
“So,” Anko says as they round a corner, “what did you think of him?”
Natusko opens her mouth to answer, but realizes she has no idea who she means. “Who?”
“Hatake Kakashi. That was him on the end.”
The only person Anko could be speaking of is the nameless silver-haired shinobi. She gives it a moment’s thought, but, looking back, she hadn’t actually interacted with the man. He hadn’t ordered anything, or even spoken in front of her at all; Nastuko isn’t even sure he’d eaten anything.
“I don’t have an opinion of him,” she says truthfully.
“You’re full of shit,” Anko accuses. “You notice everything that goes on in there, but you don’t have an opinion on one of the most dangerous men in the village?”
Natsuko shakes her head. “I never heard him speak, and I don’t think he ate anything.”
“You’re not wrong,” the other woman snorts. “Hatake doesn’t use two words when one will do. And he didn’t eat anything. Asuma dragged him out of his apartment to join us and he was pissy until he left.”
“Well, he can’t have felt too bad about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I were somewhere I didn’t want to be, I’d leave. He didn't.”
“Huh.”