Chapter 2

“So, you're saying someone has a grudge against you? I can't imagine how that could be,” Takeo drawled, glancing wryly out of the corner of his eye.

Secure in the private training grounds of the Torture and Interrogation Unit, he'd pushed the ceramic tiger mask up onto the crown of his head. Smirking at the kunoichi's answering grimace, the ponytailed shinobi went back to watching a likewise unmasked Yuichigo set up for a throw.

Closing his eyes, the younger ninja exhaled, then flicked his wrist to snap a kunai dead center into the vitals of a man-sized target twelve meters away. The two jonin had spent the morning in competitive target practice. From the numerous kunai and shuriken bristling from the eight canvas-covered wooden wall hangings, it was unclear to Soriya who was winning the impromptu contest.

“Nice shot,” she told the spiky-haired brunette.

He and Takeo both wore the typical ANBU uniform: black leggings, sleeveless black tunic, gray leather bracers, vest, and shin guards over open-toed black sandals. They carried ninjato strapped to their backs—a shortened version of a katana and the usual weapon of choice for ANBU operatives. On their left biceps, they sported the customary deconstructed leaf tattoo of ANBU, drawn in black ink. A swirl with a vertically-oriented tail, it was edged at its rounded bottom with a single, wavy line. Kakashi had the same tattoo on his left bicep. A holdover from his ANBU days, Soriya knew, like the metal-backed fingerless gloves he favored. Frowning, she cocked an eyebrow at Takeo.

“Laugh if you want, but this could be serious. There are a lot of outsiders here for the summit. We can't possibly keep track of them all. What if someone recognized me from one of my past assignments? It could mean trouble.”

“Where you're concerned, I'd say trouble's a given,” Takeo remarked. “But I hear you. We'll tell Ibiki-sensei as soon as he gets back.”

“Tell me what?” A baritone voice boomed from the open doorway. The Head of the Torture and Interrogation Unit strode toward them, the tread of his open-toed sandals making no sound on the dojo's polished wooden planks. Black eyes pierced the kunoichi. “What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Pretending to be affronted, Soriya's eyebrows rose in mock outrage. “I'll have you know, I've done nothing wrong.” She grinned cheekily. “At least, not that I know of.”

When his brow furrowed in warning, her grin faded. “But I've sure made somebody mad at me. On my way home ten days ago, I sensed a strong outpouring of shock and anger from somewhere in my immediate vicinity. It was over too quickly for me to pinpoint the source, unfortunately,” she answered her mentor's unspoken query. “Since nothing happened and the feeling didn't reoccur, I figured it was just random 'noise' and not directed at me personally. Tempers flare when there're too many people in a confined space and the village is a bit crowded right now.” She shrugged.

“But the same thing happened again today, on my way to Madame Yuki's shop. No shock this time, just a sense of overwhelming rage and hatred. I tracked it as far as the marketplace, but there were too many people—I couldn't pin it down.”

“You were alone both times?” Ibiki questioned.

Soriya nodded, then qualified, “Well, I was in the restaurant district the first time, and near the markets this morning. So there were plenty of people in the general vicinity.”

Rubbing a gloved hand over his clean-shaven jaw, the scarred shinobi prompted, “Tell me exactly when and where you've had these feelings.”

He listened carefully as she detailed the timing and location of each event, including--as best she could remember--the transient feelings she'd had of being watched. Grimly, he said, “I'll have ANBU look into it. If someone from outside the village has recognized you we need to know it. I don't want any unpleasant surprises when the Crimson Rose makes her first appearance.”

Yuichigo interrupted. “Just what is the Crimson Rose? Soriya hasn't really told us anything.”

Ibiki looked at the kunoichi. “You want to tell them, or shall I?”

“No,” she sighed heavily, “I'll do it.”

Turning to the two jonin waiting with ill-concealed curiosity, she explained, “The Crimson Rose, or Shinku Bara, is an old identity of mine. She's a high-class entertainer who operated out of Boss Jirocho Wasabi's district in the Land of Tea, among other places. Her clientèle at the time included some of the most wealthy and prominent men in the land. Including one Omatsu Toshida.” By the end of the recitation, Soriya's face had smoothed to resemble a mask as impenetrable as the ceramic mask of any ANBU operative.

Takeo's low whistle shattered the sudden silence. “Shinku Bara...that sounds familiar...” he murmured. “Wait--! Wasn't Shinku Bara a courtesan from the Land of Wind? She's actually pretty famous there. I'd heard she originally came from the Grass King's domain...” He stared at Soriya incredulously. “That was you?”

She looked at him steadily. After a moment, he frowned.

“So, you're going to become this 'Crimson Rose' again for the summit.” He eyed her narrowly. “Does Kakashi know?”

Uneasily, Soriya looked away. She knew what he was asking. “I don't know. Maybe.” She bit her lip. “Look, I don't want to talk about this now.” She sighed, then turned a pleading gaze on her mentor, “Don't you have something new for us to do?”

“Actually, I do,” Ibiki assented mercifully. “I stopped by Madame Yuki's on my way here. She said the gowns will be ready in four days. I'll have them delivered to the luxury suite we've prepared for Shinku Bara. It's near Kikyo castle, where most of the nobles are staying.

“In the meantime,” he looked at the faces staring back at him expectantly, “you three are going to practice dancing.”

“You want me to do what?! Like hell I will,” Takeo snarled.

Great, thought Soriya. This is starting out oh so well.

Sighing inwardly, she cast a look of long-suffering at Ibiki-sensei. She'd warned him Takeo would react exactly as he had: like a cat caught in a thunderstorm. Not that she blamed the incensed shinobi one bit.

Their relationship, while better for the most part, was still trying at times. And occasionally awkward. Once Soriya had simply acknowledged Takeo's feelings, much of his bitter anger had drained away. Still, she knew it wasn't easy for him to see her with Kakashi day after day...

And now this. It seemed wrong to force the man into such intimate contact, specifically for the purpose of reading his mind. It was bound to make him feel angry and resentful. Briefly, she wondered if Ibiki-sensei had anticipated that and was looking forward to the fireworks. She sighed.

And we were finally beginning to get along, too.

Coolly, Morino fixed the affronted shinobi with a penetrating stare. “Are you refusing a direct order, Takeo?”

“You bet your ass I am,” he shot back indignantly. “If you think I'm going to slow dance with her while she crawls through my mind, you've got another think coming. Orders or no orders.” Stubbornly, he crossed bracered forearms over his chest.

“Now, now,” Yuichigo broke in smoothly. “Let's all calm down. I'll dance with Soriya.” He glanced at her. “Just promise me, if you see anything horribly embarrassing from my teenage years, you'll keep it to yourself.” He grinned.

Gratefully, she smiled back at him. “It's a deal. Anything in particular you want me to discover?” This last was directed to her mentor.

“Something obscure. And don't let him know you're looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, of course not. That would defeat the whole point of the exercise, wouldn't it?” Turning back to Yuichigo, she spread her arms invitingly.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.” Stepping forward, he placed a hand on her waist, taking her right hand in his left. Ibiki gave Takeo a dark look, then flipped on a small, hand-held tape machine. Strains of a violin waltz filled the air.

Dancing slowly around the room, Soriya struggled to keep the smile plastered on her face. It was much harder than it looked. Her brow kept wanting to descend in a frown of intense concentration. Though Soriya was a good dancer, managing the steps--simple as they were--was exceedingly difficult while trying to keep up her end of the light banter and sift his mind. She had to be so very careful.

Lightly, lightly...

Just a feather touch, nothing more. Remaining undetected was, by far, the most difficult—and important--part of her task.

When the song finally ended, the telepath breathed a sigh of relief. Already, she could feel a headache brewing behind her eyes.

Bowing over her hand, Yuichigo murmured politely, “Thank you for the dance, Soriya.”

She smiled at the handsome shinobi. “You're welcome. And yes, I think Akina would be thrilled if you brought her flowers and took her to Amaguriama. What woman doesn't love flowers and sweets?” she joked.

Flushing, Yuichigo grinned. “Thanks. I'll try that later this week.”

Takeo smirked. “That all you got? That's hardly deep, Soriya. He's been thinking about her nonstop for weeks now.”

“Okay, Mr. Smarty, so try this one.” She looked at Yuichigo. “You began training with the sword when you were four. Your grandfather, a retired ninja, taught you. On your seventh birthday, he gifted you his katana.” She smiled, remembering the young boy's poorly restrained excitement. “Kendo was your favorite sport at the Academy and you took first place in the annual tournament four years running. During the chunin exam--which you took at age thirteen--your sword was broken in the final match by an opponent who could turn his skin into armor. Although you won anyway, its loss devastated you. Your grandfather was gravely ill and he died shortly thereafter,” she murmured quietly, watching him with sympathetic eyes. “You gave up the sword, turning to various other weapons over the next few years. It wasn't until ANBU enlisted you at sixteen, that you petitioned Aruka Yamota for another blade. Which he granted at the Hokage's behest.” She arched an inquiring brow at Ibiki-sensei. “That good enough?”

He turned impenetrable eyes on Yuichigo. “Did you notice her mental intrusion?”

“Not even a whisper,” the younger shinobi swore, awed.

“It's acceptable,” Ibiki allowed graciously. Soriya stuck her tongue out at Takeo.

“Oh, real mature,” the ponytailed shinobi tossed back. “Now what?” He looked at the scarred shinobi.

Without hesitation, Ibiki replied, “We do it again. This time to a faster tune.”

Soriya blew out a breath. “You know, if the dance is too complex, I'm not going to be able to handle it. I can't split my concentration that much and still be effective. This is harder than it looks.”

“That's why you need more practice,” Ibiki stated unsympathetically. He switched on the tape machine once more.

Tossing a wry glance at Yuichigo, the kunoichi asked, “Ready for another round? Sounds like the salsa this time.”

“I'm game,” the younger shinobi replied, holding out a palm. “I need the practice for when I take Akina out dancing.”

Smiling in spite of herself, Soriya reached for his hand.

Two hours later, the kunoichi sat, head hanging, on a bench lining the back wall of the dojo. Rubbing her fingertips in slow circles, Soriya tried to massage away the dull throbbing at her temples. Idly, she wondered whether Ibiki-sensei would object if she asked for a longer break. She was in desperate need of an aspirin. Or several.

“I think we've exhausted all the possibilities with Yuichigo as your partner,” the scarred shinobi commented matter-of-factly.

“You think?” she remarked sarcastically. She turned a wan smile on Yuichigo. “Though I thought it was kinda cute that you named your childhood cat 'Mr. Tinkles'.”

“I've always had a cat,” he replied, grinning. “But, I guess you know that already.”

Takeo rolled his eyes. “What's wrong with you? Real men like dogs,” he opined decisively.

“I like dogs, too,” Yuichigo countered, “but cats are easier to take care of. Especially with crazy schedules like ours.”

“Huh,” Takeo snorted, unconvinced. He turned to Soriya. “What's Kakashi think about that? He like your slinky felines?”

Soriya smiled ruefully. “I don't know if 'like' is the right word. Let's just say they have an understanding and leave it at that.”

“If you three are done chatting,” Ibiki cut in frostily, “we need to consider how to proceed. I think you could use more practice—the sifting has to look effortless or people will be suspicious. But it's clear we need a new victim...er...dance partner.” He shot Takeo an annoyed glance.

“Go on, sensei,” the undaunted ninja urged. “We want to see you dance!”

Ignoring the ridiculous suggestion, Ibiki mused, “I suppose we'll have to enlist Enya. The Hokage's been keeping the hospital staff busy prepping the facilities, but they should be able to spare him awhile.”

Soriya spoke up. “I could ask Kakashi. He's still in the village, at least until tomorrow.”

Ibiki considered. Before he could tender a reply, Takeo cut in sharply, “Forget him.” Turning unreadable almond-shaped eyes on the affronted redhead he added, “He's not a good test. You can't slip past him. He always knows when you try.” His gaze shifted to Ibiki. “I'll do it,” he conceded grudgingly.

Soriya's eyes widened in surprise. Hesitantly, she asked, “Takeo...are you sure? It's okay if you don't want to. We'll find another way.”

Angrily, Takeo shook his head. “I don't need your pity! Let's just get this over with.” He couldn't resist taunting, “Or could it be that you're the one who's afraid?” Stalking to the center of the dojo floor, he faced her, black eyes snapping in challenge.

Stung by his sudden hostility, Soriya's lips thinned. “Hardly,” she replied, straightening to her full height. Rolling slender shoulders to dispel a sudden unease, the kunoichi stepped forward. Despite the effort to relax, she felt uncomfortably tense, as though she were about to enter into battle.

This is a bad idea...

Approaching warily, Soriya stopped in front of the ANBU operative. Slowly, she reached for the gloveless hand he presented, fingers hovering briefly over his own. Abruptly, Takeo snatched her palm, yanking the redhead into his arms. His free hand settled against the bare flesh of her back. She heard Yuichigo's weary sigh.

“Takeo...”

“Just give us some music,” the shinobi directed harshly, eyes trained on the kunoichi's face.

The tape machine clicked on and the sound of the violin waltz filled the room once more. Rigid in his embrace, Soriya followed the disgruntled shinobi's lead mechanically, without much of her usual grace.

This is a really bad idea.

She could feel the controlled anger pulsing just under the surface of the man's olive skin. Anger, and beneath that, desire. Her breath hitched as his hand splayed open against her spine. Looking into those inscrutable ebony eyes, Soriya cringed. She really didn't want to attempt his thoughts.

Sensing her reluctance, Takeo pulled the redhead closer, fingers idly stroking satiny skin. Unwillingly, her body responded, bringing a flush to her cheeks. It clearly remembered the feel of his hands, his scent, despite her efforts to shunt aside the memories of their previous intimacy.

Not good, this is so not good...

The empath in her fought not to respond to his barely-contained desire. A weakness of her particular power, it was more difficult than she would have liked. The man wielded masculinity like a blade. Her breath caught.

“That won't do,” Takeo breathed softly. Dangerously. “You've got to at least pretend to be enjoying yourself.” His voice lowered still further, for her ears alone. “You used to be good at that.”

Gray eyes widened in shock. Furious, she tried to pull away from him. He tightened his grip, refusing to let her escape.

“Bastard!” she hissed.

“Now, now,” he chided mildly as he spun her around the dojo. He was careful to maneuver her so that she faced away from the two shinobi at the other end of the room. “We're supposed to be training here. Keep your cool. Or do you want to explain your reaction to our audience? I'm sure Ibiki-sensei would love to hear all about it.”

Inwardly fuming, she smiled with poisonous sweetness. “You asinine jerk. I'll make you pay for that.”

His lip curled mockingly. “Oh really? How, pray tell? You going to punish me with visions of making love to you?”

Soriya stumbled as his memories assaulted her.

Mei's elegant Asian features shifted as she gasped in pleasure. Her slim, small-breasted body writhed uncontrollably, caught in the throes of passion. His excitement mounted as she neared her peak. He'd waited so long for this...

Momentary confusion when the black-haired beauty cried out in ecstasy, then morphed into a crimson-haired goddess. Sudden comprehension combined with a helpless anger as he lost himself in desire.

The image shifted.

Lust-filled gray eyes gleamed up at him. The scent of honeysuckle and a secret, heady musk permeated the room, his sheets, his nostrils. She tasted like fruit and whiskey. His breath caught as she pressed upwards, rising eagerly to meet him. Crimson tresses spread like blood over the white of his pillow, entangling his hand. The rosy flush of her skin captivated him. When her eyes drifted closed, he swallowed. By the low moan building in her throat, he could tell she was almost there...

With effort, Soriya tore herself out of the memory, left hand clutching at his leather breastplate. Had it really been like that for him? Before she could decide how to react, Takeo leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of her ear. Tauntingly, he breathed, “Been there, done that. I'm so over it.”

She gasped in shock. “You--!”

Words failed her, as they so often did. Heedless of the dance, she halted abruptly, forcing her partner to stop as well, unless he wanted to forcibly drag her around the room with him. Struggling to maintain composure, Soriya stared up at him, expression shifting slowly from outraged to slyly calculating. The scent of honeysuckle rose in the air. No longer smirking, the ponytailed shinobi tensed, suddenly wary.

In a low, amused voice, she murmured, “I'm sorry, Takeo, but I don't think you're 'over it' at all. If that were true, you wouldn't be acting like such an ass right now.” Provocatively, she smiled, pressing closer to him. “Shall we find out?”

Before he could disengage, the telepath entered his mind. Long hair stirred at her back, swaying with the invisible surge of chakra. Dimly, she heard a sharp intake of breath from the back of the room. No doubt, she'd be hearing from Ibiki-sensei later.

So much for subtlety...

Grimly, she constructed an image, projecting it onto the helplessly ensnared man.

Silken tresses wrapped around his upper arms, sliding against bare skin, binding him in place. Full lips hovered just above his own, tantalizingly close. She breathed his name and he swallowed. Pulling back slightly, she traced light fingertips down his chest, over the taut abdomen. Smiling a feral smile, she let her hand drift lower.

“Don't ever do that again,” image-Soriya told him, voice low and throaty. Slowly, she moistened her full lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Unable to help himself, the captive man jerked against her palm in response.

Caught in the vision, the real Takeo swallowed, breath fast becoming ragged. Soriya could practically hear his heart pounding. Silently, she told him, “For five years, this was my life. When it comes to using sex as a weapon, you can't hope to match me.” Plunging him back into the fantasy, she drove the message home.

“And for the record,” image-Soriya murmured, leaning into him, “except for the transformation jutsu that time, I never lied to you. Not once. Not like that.” Sliding herself down his body, eyes the color of smoke darkened until they were almost black.

“So, tell me, Takeo...” she purred, looking up at him through long lashes. Her breath ghosted teasingly over his proud flesh. “Are you actually 'over it'?”

When the image-Soriya's lips closed on him, Takeo's only reply was a strangled groan. Clutching the kunoichi tightly, he loosed her right hand, threading his fingers into thick, crimson hair instead.

Imprisoned by the steel of his arms, Soriya realized she'd gone too far. She hadn't intended to push him over the edge, not really. She'd only meant to rattle him a little. Judging by the feverish look on his face, she'd succeeded all too well. Summoning chakra to the fist clenched against his chest, Soriya's eyes widened in dismay. He was going to kiss her!

Out of nowhere, a hand descended, gripping the impassioned man's shoulder.

“I think,” Kakashi drawled in a voice of silk-wrapped steel, “this is where I cut in.”

When the Copy Ninja entered the dojo, he could tell immediately something was amiss. For one thing, Yuichigo was uncomfortably tense. Even the Head of the Torture and Interrogation Unit seemed more watchful than usual. Within moments of observing the pair “dancing” at the other end of the large room, Kakashi could see why. Not taking his eyes off the oddly stationary couple, he asked quietly, “What's going on?”

Wincing, Yuichigo answered in a subdued voice, “Soriya's been honing her ability to access deeper memories while dancing. It's preparation for the summit's evening entertainment. She did pretty well with me earlier, but now...” He hesitated, glancing toward Takeo uneasily.

Kakashi's dark eye flicked to Ibiki Morino. The older man returned his gaze evenly. Without apology, he explained, “She needed a different target.”

The Copy Ninja's eyebrow rose. “And you thought it wise to subject Takeo to that, knowing their history?”

The scarred shinobi shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Piercing black eyes narrowed as the kunoichi's tresses began to sway. Sensing the ominous surge of chakra from the kunoichi, he added grudgingly, “It appears I was in error.”

Kakashi snorted. He could smell the honeysuckle scent from here. He didn't know what the ponytailed ninja had done to incite Soriya's ire, but he was certain it must have been fairly egregious to anger her so. She had a temper—of this, he was well aware—but she'd been careful with Takeo ever since the battle at Ganji Falls. Normally, she'd balk at tormenting him with a jutsu like the one Kakashi suspected she must be using.

This is not going to end well.

He spared a moment of sympathy for the unfortunate shinobi. Having concealed his own passion (unsuccessfully, as it turned out) for the tempestuous redhead for years, the Copy Ninja knew the frustration the man must be feeling. Now that he'd made love with her, tasted her, breathed her in, Kakashi couldn't imagine never being able to touch her again. He'd probably go mad.

Because of this, and because he recognized Takeo was struggling to cope with the selfsame desire, he restrained himself from leaping across the room to break every bone in the man's grasping hands. It took effort. How dare Takeo touch his woman like that!

Kakashi's lip curled behind his mask. Funny, that. He'd never been particularly possessive--at least, not where women were concerned. Though he'd certainly known his fair share of the female sex, he'd never entertained more than a casual fling. Had never wanted to, before Soriya. The hazardous lifestyle of a shinobi didn't allow for serious attachments. Not if one were wise. Hadn't he learned that lesson the hard way, with his father, Obito, and Rin? He must be insane to fall in love with a fellow shinobi, particularly one with a power as dangerous as Soriya's.

Still, even the thought of doing without her made his stomach clench in misery.

Seeing them together day after day, what must Takeo be feeling? Watching closely, he caught the exact moment the captivated man's expression changed from simple lust to outright hunger.

Time to intervene...

Flashing across the room, the Copy Ninja appeared behind the enthralled shinobi. Gripping the man's shoulder, he broke in smoothly, “I think this is where I cut in.”

When Takeo didn't immediately release his hold on the redhead, Kakashi's fingers tightened, applying pressure to the brachial nerve. “Really, I insist.” With effort, he managed not to growl the words. He was rather proud of that.

Forward momentum halted, Takeo struggled a moment, panting harshly. Soriya froze, not daring to move. Kakashi could tell she didn't want to unleash the concentrated chakra blast held tightly in her left fist.

Finally, with visible effort, the ponytailed shinobi's jaw hardened. With a snarl, he tore free of the elite jonin's grasp, roughly shoving the kunoichi at Kakashi before turning his back on them both.

“Get. Her. Away. From. Me,” he bit off from behind clenched teeth. His shoulders shook as he fought to recover himself. After a brief internal struggle, he said to no one in particular, “To hell with this. I'm outta here.” Without so much as a by-your-leave, he disappeared in a hot rush of wind.

Drawing the shaken kunoichi aside, Kakashi asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

She inhaled heavily. He saw guilt in the shadowed gray eyes. “Yeah. I feel bad about that, but he had it coming. Sorry you had to get involved.”

“No problem. I'm just glad I showed up before you knocked him senseless. From what I understand, you're going to need both of your bodyguards next week. Which begs the question,” Kakashi's brow slanted downward in a frown, “why didn't you ask me for help with this training before putting him through that?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Believe me, this wasn't my idea. I wanted to ask you, but Takeo said you weren't a good test.” She looked at him. “Like it or not, he's right about that. I just can't sneak past you anymore.”

The two jonin turned as Yuichigo and Ibiki joined them. The scarred shinobi glowered at Soriya. Without preamble, he snapped, “I could feel your power all the way across the room! What the hell were you thinking? If you allow personal feelings to get in the way, this will never work!”

For a moment, the kunoichi looked as though she would argue the unjustness of the accusation. Gray eyes sparked alarmingly, but then her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “Yes, Ibiki-sensei.”

Although Kakashi knew she was angry, he could tell Soriya thought the rebuke well-deserved. For some reason, that bothered him. He frowned, but said nothing.

Appealing to Yuichigo, she asked, “Will you please track him down for me and make sure he's okay? And tell him I'm sorry.”

“You can tell him yourself, when you see him tomorrow,” Yuichigo said gently. “Knowing you two, I'm sure he deserved what he got. And he knows it. But yes, I'll check on him later, after he's had a chance to cool down. I think I know where to find him.”

Soriya nodded her thanks.

Ibiki snorted. “Worry less about Takeo and more about yourself. You're the one who'll be in grave danger if you screw this up.” Curtly, he addressed the Copy Ninja, “I need a word with her. Alone,” he added pointedly.

“Sure.” Kakashi agreed evenly, turning to a wincing Soriya. Pushing aside his earlier unease, he winked. “I'll see you at your place.” Without further adieu, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

Steeling herself for the lecture she was certain was to follow, Soriya squared slender shoulders. To her everlasting surprise, the older shinobi merely asked a question.

“Why haven't you told Kakashi about the Crimson Rose?”

She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “I don't know. It hasn't really come up. Besides--”

“That's a mistake,” Ibiki cut in softly, “and you know it. Kakashi's an elite jonin; he's not naïve. But you need to prepare him. Knowing what you do, and seeing you in action are two very different things. You don't just spring that on a man and expect him to cope with it,” he advised. “Even someone with control as exceptional as Kakashi's. He's never been one to flaunt his emotions or his power, but I saw the look in his eye just before he broke up your little scuffle with Takeo.” Black eyes pierced the kunoichi. “If that had been anyone but Takeo putting his hands on you like that, he would have broken him in half. I hope you appreciate his restraint.”

Soriya bit her lip. “I do.” She hesitated, then confessed, “I haven't wanted to talk about it with him—or anyone, really—because...” She blew out a breath. “I'm just not sure if I'm going to be able to go all the way with this.”

“With Toshida, you mean?” The scarred shinobi observed her dispassionately. “You think he'll remember you, don't you?”

She looked at the floor. “Yes. And I haven't decided how to handle it yet.”

“All the more reason for you to speak with Kakashi now, before he leaves on assignment. There may not be time once he returns. He's got to know what to expect.”

She sighed. “Okay, okay. I hear you. Are we finished?”

He grunted. “Yes. Just be prepared to work tomorrow. I'm confident there won't be a repeat of today's incident.” His tone was a threat. After a moment, he relented, adding, “I'll talk to Tsunade about detailing Enya to us for the afternoon. Now go home.” He studied the faint lines of fatigue above her brow. “Get some rest.”

Gratefully, Soriya nodded. “Thanks, Ibiki-sensei. It's nice to know you're a just a big softie underneath that stern exterior.”

He snorted derisively. Before she could vanish in the wake of her transformation jutsu, he entreated softly, “Trust him, Soriya. He'll be able to handle this.”

She paused, then smiled wistfully. “I do trust him. It's myself I'm not certain of.” Warmed by the scarred shinobi's concern, she stared at his wavering image until she faded from sight.