Chapter Text
Amaya marks her page with a finger, twisting her head to peer curiously out her window, where a hawk cries. Her golden curls fall past her shoulder blades, damp from the shower she just emerged out of. The bird caws again, a message taped against it’s leg.
Sunlight streams through the window, nourishing exactly twenty-three plants sitting inside of her living room. September’s mornings are still bright enough where the sun warms her apartment up, rising early and providing the exact type of reading light Amaya prefers.
She rises, leaving her romance on the couch to unlatch the the window, letting the bird hop inside. It coos as she runs her fingers down it’s wings, plucking the message out from the compartment attached to it’s skinny foot. Amaya pauses, tilting her head. Why would she receive anything? She’s been off the mission roster for years now, and was taking a much needed break from her full-time rounds at the hospital. It was quite unusual for her to receive a summons. Figures her luck warranted a break from the break she was supposed to receive two weeks ago.
The hawk cries once more, taking off into the sky as it flies north– towards the Hokage’s Tower. Amaya sighs mournfully, and resigns herself to a day of ninja-ness.
She unravels the scroll, skimming it, mouth tugged downwards. The message seems written hastily, in Lady Tsunade’s curved script, asking her to come to the tower as fast as possible. She rolls it up, burning it with a snap of fire chakra that lights her fingers ablaze. She dresses herself, tying her navy blue forehead protector on, pushing her side bangs out of the way.
Chuunin vest, white lab coat, black cargos, blue sandals, gloves, and the standard weapons pouch later, she exits her modest apartment, saying goodbye to her plants and fat tabby cat sat in a strip of sunlight.
Amaya leaps across rooftops, brick tiles clinking underfoot. Her mind races. Why would the Hokage call on her? Was there an emergency at the Hospital? Is she being sent on a mission?
Dread pools in her gut at that specific thought as the tower arches over her, casting long shadows down Konoha. It’s incredibly unlikely she is being sent on a mission, which calms her racing heart down. Still, she was looking forward to a day of nothing, kicking her feet up, getting caught up to her recent romcom-novel-turned-soap-opera-that-has-three-new-books-that-she-has-not-touched-because-working-twenty-hour-shifts-are-apparently-the-norm.
Princess Hoshiko was the obsession of any kunoichi with taste, in her opinion. A daring and beautiful princess, a love triangle between a prince and a rugged bodyguard– set in Feudal-era Land of Fire mixed with spiritual elements. It’s really the best romance on the market. She wonders if Lady Tsunade had read it.
The Uchiha Guards stationed outside of the tower nod to her as she jogs in, signaling to the receptionist to let her up. Eyes bore into her, angry, waiting ninja sitting in leather seats fuming that Lady Tsunade has not seen them yet, despite the three pre-appointments and five rescheduling-s. As she goes up the long, winding staircase, clamoring grows– the louder the higher she ascends. Muffled yells, the sounds of things breaking, and cries of pain reverberates through the walls. Her heart races again.
Amaya approaches the firmly shut door, two ANBU standing out in the hall. ANBU Crow salutes her, black curls tightly wound sticking out of his head. Thick strands cover the tops of his ears, curling around the nape of his neck.
She wrangles her heart rate under control and narrows her eyes at him, “are you going to take a kunai to your hair again or go to a hairdresser?” She asks, putting her hands on her hips.
He bursts into laughter, a gloved hand flying up to tangle and tug at the strands covering his ears, “I don’t really know yet,” Crow says sheepishly, “I guess it’s been a while.”
He smiles lopsidedly behind his mask, ANBU companion radiating amusement. She figures that her joke helped clear the somewhat tense air, and relaxes slightly. The moment didn’t last long when a crash sounds behind the closed door, then a muffled scream. Amaya winces, “how bad is it?”
“Well–” Crow intones, elongating the vowel, cocking his head, “we have to order a new desk.” Something shatters. “Probably fix some windows, too. Brace yourself.”
“Right,” Amaya mutters, shaking her limbs out and schooling her face into apathy. ANBU Pigeon opens the door for her, and she enters Lady Tsunade’s office and the turmoil within it. Immediately, her sandals crunch across broken glass, the door shutting behind her with a deafening slam.
“–IMBECILES, IMBECILES I TELL YOU!” Lady Tsunade roars. She stomps her foot so hard that cracks spiderweb through the wooden flooring and up the ceiling. The entire Hokage‘s Tower shudders as she growls and throws a chair at the wall, it’s legs breaking.
Amaya pales a few shades lighter, thoughts racing. It’s rare for Lady Tsunade to get this upset– incidents mostly occurring from the Elder Council harping over some stupid thing, or a foreign delegate being difficult. The last council meeting was a week ago, and Konoha wasn’t establishing any new trade, so it couldn’t be because of that.
Shizune holds Tonton in her arms as she tries to calm the rampaging Hokage down. Lady Tsunade grabs a crystal glass, chucking it at the wall again. A nin blurs, dodging the follow-up glassware as an expensive-looking bottle of gin splashes against the concrete and dribbles down to the floor.
“How STUPID can ELITE SHINOBI be?!” She yells, launching her desk with a mighty kick. It splinters before it even hits it’s intended target, wood flying in different directions. The dust settles, Lady Tsunade’s pants echo through the destruction as she puts her head in her hands. Amaya stares, completely unharmed. Shizune sighs by the window, not a hair out of place. Tonton oinks.
“Shizune,” Lady Tsunade says tiredly, pointing a painted fingernail to the door, “get me the tequila that the Kazekage gifted me last month, the one with the poem about the sand– it should be in my quarters, in the cooler.”
Shizune hurries off, sandals clacking as she shoots Amaya a grimace and a mouthed, ‘sorry.’
“And three glasses! The one in the fancy Suna set!” Tsunade yells behind her. The door closes. “That bottle better be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” she mutters, glaring at the ANBU who materializes in front of Amaya with a replacement floor mat. Tsunade grabs it, placing it in the middle of the room and sitting down cross-legged as the ANBU disappears. It re-appears with two more, dropping them, and leaving.
Tentatively, Amaya approaches, using her foot to move some debris to the side, kneeling on the cushion. She bows respectfully, rising, “is everything all right, Lady Hokage?”
“No,” she grouches flatly, waving Shizune over as she returned with a bottle and three glasses. Shizune kneels on her respective mat, beside the Hokage, placing down three crystal glasses. Cacti and flowers bloom across the silverware, iridescent when the light hits. The bottle is decorated similarly, intricate kanji detailing down the neck of the bottle. Lady Tsunade uncaps it with a flick of her chakra-coated thumb, the bottle hissing, smoke pouring out of the top as she pours all three of them a glassful of multi-million ryo alcohol.
“Soft tranquility,” Amaya blurts into the silence, green eyes sparkling, lifting her glass, “burrowing beneath the sand, a scorpion sang. It’s a famous Suna poem, written by a shinobi after the Second Ninja War when the only thing that remained after the battlefield were families of scorpions crawling over corpses.”
“There better not be scorpions in my sake,” Lady Tsunade says sourly, taking a large swig.
Shizune smiles, nodding, “the Kazekage said that there are only a handful of bottles existing, since the poet fermented his own alcohol in batches meant only for himself. When he died, and they found the alcohol, and then the poem– the drinks were refined in a brewery and left beneath the sand to deepen the flavor.”
Amaya examined the clear liquid, a golden tint radiating off of it’s reflections. She sets it down with a clink. “It’s a delicacy. My mom had a sip once, and she said it was like tasting the purest water from an oasis.”
Shizune laughs, “I don’t think I could compare any sort of alcohol to water, but I can see her vision.”
Lady Tsunade gathers her bearings, pinning Amaya with a hard look, ignoring their small conversation, “I’m assigning you on a mission.”
Amaya recoils slightly, her mouth drying up. Oh God– this was everything she was afraid of– and with that thought, her palms started shaking. It could be non-combative, she tells herself, before nodding, a knit in her brow. Lady Tsunade continues, “I know you’ve been largely off the roster, but this is a very special mission. One I just made on the spot, actually. Ideally, my apprentice would take this, but she’s far too young, so it’s going to you.”
Amaya nods slowly again. Lady Tsunade plucked her glass and swallows the amber alcohol in that one too, setting it down. “You’ve been under Hyuuga Junko’s thumb for a few years now, so you’re competent enough not to step on our Chief of Surgery’s toes. Upon completion, you’ll be promoted to Jounin, and given compensation equivalent to an S-Rank.”
What? Amaya blinks rapidly, “I–”
“I don’t want to hear an argument,” Lady Tsunade says, drinking out of the bottle as Shizune nurses her glass, “all I want to hear is, yes ma’am.”
Amaya swallows, “yes ma’am.”
“Good. Now– the exact parameters are up in the air, since I just came up with this exactly five minutes ago. You will be required to instruct the ANBU corps in first-aid and medical-ninjutsu. The duration will be up to you, and you’ll still be working in the hospital with reduced shifts to accommodate your mission. Keep it under a year, though, okay? We’re not as short-staffed in the hospital as we once were, but it’s not exactly great.”
She nods again, “I…understand?”
Lady Tsunade pours Shizune another glass, “Fujiwara Amaya, do you accept this mission as outlined above?”
“I do, Lady Hokage. I accept.” Amaya bows once more, hands flat underneath her. '‘Although, I’m a little confused,” she continues, rising, “I was under the impression that ANBU already had sufficient first-aid skills.”
“Apparently not,” Lady Tsunade growls, shooting the wall a dark look. She takes another sip of the sake, cheeks coloring, “there is currently only one medical-nin in the ANBU ranks, with a total of twenty active members and ten on rotation.”
That meant– one per thirty? That was completely absurd, and– made a lot more sense why most ANBU barrel into the hospital and stay for a total of three hours before disappearing.
Though they recruited from all ranks, ANBU was elite of the elite, the best of the best, handling hard, soul-crushing missions that would be suicide for your run-of-the-mill Jounin. One Medic per thirty people was downright a death sentence. Amaya knows Medics are invaluable, which is why she believes that every shinobi should have basic training.
“There are some more ANBU on standby, but they’re not active right now, so they’re not important to your mission. Hopefully, with your assistance, we’ll be able to lower the death rate per mission from fifty-six percent to somewhere around the twenties,” Shizune adds, smiling hopefully when Amaya sends her a dismayed look. Fifty-six? FIFTY-SIX?
Lady Tsunade assesses Amaya with a hard look, snapping her attention back, “I wouldn’t assign this to someone I didn’t think was competent enough to handle it,” she says firmly, “you’re the first person who ever said no to me girl, I haven’t forgotten that. You’ve got a backbone of steel, you won’t crumple under the nin in ANBU.”
Why… would she crumple? Amaya’s face seems to betray that emotion as Shizune interjects with a weak laugh, ”you’ll be just fine, Fujiwara. Just think of it like teaching your new hires.”
Amaya nods hesitantly, unconvinced. Lady Tsunade waves her hand, muttering something under her breath too low for her to hear as she rose, bowing at the waist once for good measure.
“Shizune, fill out form QF-five, put in a repair order, and get the ANBU Commander and Owl in here,” Lady Tsunade barks, tipping back the last of the tequila, “and tell Rasa to bring more damn Tranquility!”
Shizune gets up with a bow, setting her glass down, and scurrying out of the office. Amaya leaves beside her as they part with a smile and a wave.
Heading out of the Tower, Amaya winces when sunlight hits her face, blinding her momentarily. She blinks it out of her eyes, raising up an arm to shield herself. Chatter and movement bustles around her as she enters the merchant district, heading down the main cobblestone road back home.
She still has most of the day to herself, which is nice. A smile ghosts her lips as she figures she’ll still get some reading time before her shift tomorrow. Amaya figures that Shizune or Lady Hokage would inform Junko about her hour change, though it’s up in the air whether she’ll go in soon. A lot of details are going to be ironed out, so she’ll have to play it by ear. Still.
Amaya’s smile fades, gut churning with anticipated dread. She has no idea what she got herself into, and the anxiety feels like it might kill her. Civilians move around her, parents and children, vendors and laughter. She ducks into an alleyway, the shade providing a reprieve from the garish sun, using a shortcut to access a smaller, side-road.
Down the side road was conveniently Amaya’s favorite sweets shop as she enters, the bell chiming softly.
An iced coffee later, with triple the amount of the lethal dose of chocolate syrup– Amaya starts heading home. She takes a sip.
“You are being summoned–”
Amaya jumps, whirling around and chucking her cup with all of her Chuunin-induced strength at the man who just– appeared out of thin air. It explodes against his chest, cap flying off into the air as coffee and ice slide down his mask, armored torso, and cloth pants.
“What the hell?!” She cries.
Amaya stares, horrified, arm still outstretched as the ANBU stares at her silently. His mask is painted in black and white, swirls and shapes creating an animal that’s frankly beyond her. An ice cube falls out of his sleek, black hair.
“You are being summoned,” he says again, voice distorted. The cube clatters to the ground, followed by the cup, and then the lid, “by the ANBU Commander. Tomorrow, at HQ, oh-seven-hundred hours.”
“I am so sorry,” Amaya blurts, cheeks coloring, retracting her arm, “oh my God, I hope that washes out– I– I’m really sorry. Um.”
He stares at her for a moment, “I was under the impression that you were a sensor.”
Amaya’s cheeks color a darker red, “well– I am, kind of.”
The ANBU nods, “I understand. You are incompetent, then.”
“I–” she recoils, “excuse me?”
“You are a sensor, and yet I startled you,” the man says slowly, as if he’s speaking to a small child, “your files indicate that you have been off-duty for long, you did not throw a weapon at me, nor did you enter a defensive stance. Ergo,” he finishes his thought like he’s summarizing a mission report, “you are not competent enough to finish this mission.”
Amaya frowns, “that’s– incredibly rude, you know. You don’t even…know me, or what I can do, and my file doesn’t count.” Her rebuttal sounds incredibly weak, even to her own ears, and she mentally kicks herself for not being more domineering.
The ANBU shrugs, “I do not care. Oh-seven-hundred hours at HQ to discuss your mission with the Commander.”
“Yeah, I heard you,” she grumbles, “wait– I don’t even know where HQ is.”
The man sighs, “we will send an escort then. Anything else?” His honeying tone sounds like a mocking one.
Amaya glares, “they don’t dry-clean armor, as far as I’m aware, asshole.”
The asshole in question pops, leaving a plumb of smoke in it’s wake. Shadow Clone. Amaya directs her glare to where he stood, turning back in a huff and stomping the rest of the way home. She sends a flicker of chakra to smooth out the flush her face started taking, relieved that she went down the side-road where there weren’t many people around to witness the embarrassing conversation.
Her walk home was uneventful. The second she shucks her sandals off, Amaya crouches down, pressing her hand flat to the floor, her other hand curled in ram. A thin film of chakra extends in all directions around her, painting her mind’s eye in hues of blue. A distinctly human-feeling thing sits perched up in the tree facing her apartment. Bored, earth-type. Water too, with a little bit of fire.
Amaya lets the jutsu up, storming to her window, drawing her curtains shut. Where he couldn’t see her, she flips him off.
—
“Squid,” the Commander booms, sitting at the head of a long table, salt-and-pepper hair curling around his jaw, “report.”
Seven ANBU sit in a dark, stoney room, white fluorescent lights rimming the top edge of the walls. Harsh shadows dance in the darkness, breaths puffing out in whispery white smoke. Squid, the eighth, kneeled by the Commander’s side.
Squid bows, “sir. I tailed the target, Fujiwara Amaya for thirty minutes after she left the Hokage’s Tower.” He rises, “she did not notice me, and I sent a clone to intercept her. She threw a refreshment at it.”
Crane snorts, blonde hair cascading down her back in waves. The Commander shoots her a withering glare.
“She possesses sub-par awareness skills despite being having sensory abilities noted in her file. She also is likely non-lethal, since she did not pull out any sort of weapon after my clone startled her. This theory is also confirmed in her file since her last flagged mission with possible B-Rank and above threats was approximately ten years ago.” Squid says in a bland tone. “She has a soft temper and a strong proficiency for the medical arts, working under the Chief of Surgery's thumb for three years.”
“I don’t care for her healing,” the Commander says, blank mask stark against the painted animals sitting silently in their seats. “Tell me about her skills.”
Squid nods, bowing shallowly, “she possesses the rank of Chuunin. She is classified as a genjutsu-type, and was promoted early at eight years. Her Genin squad is deceased, and she was shuffled between teams before given a field promotion at ten and assigned to the frontlines of the third Shinobi World War. In her reports, she learned medical ninjutsu on the field. She is proficient in the sensory arts, as well as medical ninjutsu. Her taijutsu is average, and her ninjutsu is average. She is of average intelligence.”
The Commander scoffs quietly, “average, huh? She won’t last a day, pity.” He waves his fingers, leaning forward, lacing them together, “dismissed, Squid.”
“Sir.” Squid disappears.
Owl sits down the left side of the table, the first one after the Commander. Her long, blue-black hair lies flat against her back as she shifts, “a competent healer is what ANBU needs.” Her voice rings like little bells, soft and melodic.
Boar crosses his meaty arms, short brown hair jutting out of his scalp, sitting across from her, “competent is the last thing she sounds like,” he says, voice low, “I’ve seen her running around, she’s a pipsqueak. I give her three days.”
“Are we betting?” Crow chirps from beside him, slouching in his chair, legs spread, one arm thrown across the back.
Crane rolls her eyes, sitting beside him with her long legs elegantly crossed, “please. Crow just got promoted, can we stop pretending his opinion is worth anything?”
“Wha– hey!”
She ignores him, turning her nose up, “besides, I agree with Boar. Medics are soft-hearted, and the soft-hearted don’t belong in ANBU.”
Owl narrows her eyes from behind her mask, turning to face Crane, “what does that mean?”
Crane waves her manicured hand, “ugh, you don’t count. You became a medic after ANBU, or something, and you have poisons to back you up. Fuji-whatever has nothing. She’s a bum, bland an inconsequential. I don’t even recognize that last name.”
The Commander shoots her a dark look, “excuse me?”
Crane holds her hands up, “I’m just saying she’s not a Clan kid. I seriously don’t think we should pretend that that’s not relevant– that much deceit seriously clogs my pores.”
“You seriously piss me off,” the Commander mocks, “watch what you say in front of me.”
She shrugs, backing off with a toss of her blowout.
Fish speaks up from beside Owl, purple hair cut in a sort of a choppy shag, “I think learning first aid would be beneficial. Owl is always overworked and under appreciated–”
“Thanks,” she says softly.
“–so most of us learning how to heal should bring down our fatality rate.”
Crane squints, leaning forward with a tilt of her blonde head, “I forget, are you guys like– fucking? Or something?”
Fish recoils as Boar chuckles. The Commander rolls his eyes in tandem with Crow.
“Enough,” he orders, the table falling silent, “you’re all squabbling like academy students. Crane, keep being mouthy and I’ll demote you. There are plenty of other candidates that could easily take your place.”
“Like Weasel!” Crow adds, ignoring the sharp glare that Crane shoots him.
Across from the Commander, sitting between an empty seat and Crane– at the other end of the table, is their seventh Captain. Largely not paying attention, Hound sits there, with his orange R-rated book in hand and tufts of silver hair shooting out of his scalp.
The Commander regards him with a keen eye, “I’m interested in your take, Hound.”
Hound tilts his head slightly, flipping a page, “Weasel would make an excellent captain,” he muses.
Crow grins, Crane rolls her eyes, and the Commander huffs, “about Fujiwara, Hound.”
“Hm? Who?” He asks lazily, “she’s bland and inconsequential,” he continues, echoing Crane, turning another page in his book, “I’ve never heard of her, and medics piss me off as a rule.”
“Amen,” Boar murmurs.
“That makes you biased, then,” Crow says simply, “you hate medics as a rule, so you hate her as a rule. She could be different.”
Hound hums, “Do you know her, Crow?”
“In passing,” he answers honestly, “she’s nice, and good at what she does. Is it really so crazy to allow her to help us?”
Owl nods along, and Crane laughs, “funny how you’re suddenly the jury on crazy, Crow.”
He darkens, tensing, “now what the fuck does that mean?”
The temperature in the room plummets, all ANBU save for Hound jolting up in their seats. Crow goes still, cocking his head like a bird.
“Easy,” the Commander says sharply.
“No, no, I’m curious, Crane,” Crow continues, deceptively calm, “what exactly do you mean by that? Because–” his leg shoots out, kicking her chair out from under her. She flickers out of the way as it smashes into the opposing wall, shattering. At the sound, the rest of the ANBU jump into defensive positions, except Hound.
“Easy!” The Commander yells, cutting him off. “Everyone calm down! Crow, get your temper in control or I’ll kick you out of this meeting!”
Crow scoffs, clenching his fist. He brings it down on the table, hard, the sound reverberating through the room as the table trembles momentarily. Slowly, he forces himself to relax, slouching back into the seat. Crane takes the empty seat beside Fish.
After a moment, the rest of the ANBU relax as well. Hound turns a page, “tsk, touchy.”
Crow immediately tenses again.
The Commander rubs at his mask tiredly, “I’m too old for this. Stand down, all of you.” Crow relaxes again, rolling his head back. The Commander suffers a sigh, “you’re all dismissed.” He disappears with a flurry of leaves in his wake, Crow following with a flicker.
Crane rolls her eyes just as he leaves, “what got his panties in a twist? What a baby. He’s such a fucking freak, you guys.”
“You’re a fucking freak,” Owl quietly shoots back.
Crane gasps, placing a pale hand on her chest, fingers splayed. “What a naughty word, Owl,” she mocks, falsely crooning, “do you need to be put in time out?”
Hound chuckles.
“Watch it,” Fish warns, getting up from his seat and blocking her view of Owl. Crane laughs.
“What are you, her little guard?” She asks.
“I don’t have time for this,” Boar mutters, looking like he’s deciding on whether to stay or leave. “How troublesome.”
Hound puts his feet up on the table, reading leisurely as Fish’s shoulders hike.
“I’m serious!” Owl cries, gently side-stepping Fish. Her black hair gleams in the dim light, “really, guys! Do you know how sick I am of you people coming into the infirmary all bloody and bruised? How many people just– fucking die, because you guys are so thick headed that you won’t even consider learning medical ninjutsu?!”
“Boo hoo, bitch,” Crane scoffs.
Owl clenches her fists, “Fujiwara could change the entire course of ANBU, and you guys are so– so stupid– that you won’t even consider it!”
“Careful,” Hound warns, “choose your next words very carefully, Owl. I don’t appreciate being talked to like that.”
Owl laughs, “yeah? Well fuck you, Hatake.” She hisses, shrugging off Fish’s hand when it darts out to grab her elbow. She stalks forward, slamming her palm down on to the table. “You waltz in here– and start stirring up shit and drama, and expect us to just sit idly by?! How many times have you guys sent requests for medical assistance and I’ve been pulled out of my life to run at full speed to whatever minefield you’ve gotten yourselves into, and get yelled at for being late or being unable to completely heal all four squad members who have lethal injuries?!”
Hound looks up from his book, eye-hole spinning red. Boar looks away.
“How many times have you crawled into my office, eye pouring blood, as I have to heal it and monitor you coming off of a soldier pill crash because that STUPID, fucking eye, sucks all the chakra out of your BODY?!” She yells, “and I guess we’re all conveniently not mentioning that you have a fucking problem with those–”
Hound shoots up, book clattering on the table. Owl shuts her mouth, flinching backwards as he looms over them, taut tight like a bowstring. Nobody breathes as he stares her down, red eye spinning, spinning, spinning–
Boar gulps, “easy,” he says quietly. The spell breaks, and Hound looks less like he’s about to commit a murder spree, red glow disappearing.
Crane settles back into her skin, rolling her eyes with a shaky scoff, “we all have it rough, Owl.” She rebuts, “stop bitching and grow a pair. If you’re so upset, just resign. I’m sure the Hospital would love to have you clean up baby vomit for the rest of your life, though I’m sure you’d find a way to complain about that.”
Fish looks like he’s about to defend her, but Crane barrels past that, “that was pathetic-ville, seriously. I have much better things to do with my time than listen to whatever this is.” She continues, shooting Hound a wary look before disappearing in a swirl of flowers.
Boar swallows, raising from his seat, “I think I’m going to go too. For your sake, Owl,” he addresses her, “I’m going to forget your little outburst.” He shakes his head with a mutter of ‘women’ under his breath, slinking into the shadows and out of sight.
Owl trembles, limbs shaking as Fish tentatively takes her elbows in his thin hands. Hound picks his book up, shutting it with a snap as they both turn to look at him, in defensive stances.
Fish snarls, “leave her alone.”
Hound raises an eyebrow, “I don’t remember doing anything,” he drawls in that light, airy, tone of his, “but while we’re on the subject–” he pockets his book, “–I won’t forget your little outburst, Owl,” he pauses, “see you.”
With a flash of lightning, he’s gone. Owl stares at his empty presence with a look of growing dread.