Chapter 14


Soriya stared at the black-clad ninja. His aggressive posture radiated determination and eagerness.

So, you want your pound of flesh, do you?

The kunoichi's lips thinned.

Just what will it take for you to let go of the past, I wonder?

Aloud, she asked, “So tell me, Takeo. Say you win here. Beat me to a pulp and complete the mission.” She could not bring herself to say “kill my father.”

“Will that do it? Assuage your wounded pride? I've apologized as well as I know how, but it's never been enough for you. What more do you want?”

He paused, considering the question. Soriya wished she could see the expression on his face. The shinobi's shoulders dipped slightly, hesitant, as if Takeo himself were not entirely certain of the answer. Softly, he mused, “It is amazing to me, that after all the hours we've trained together, and with a gift such as yours, you still have no idea. No idea at all what you've done to me.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You honestly have no clue.”

“Perhaps, if you would just tell me!” Soriya exclaimed, exasperated. “We could move past all this!” Awkwardly, she ventured, “I know what I did hurt you. The class assignment—taking Mei's form. It was wrong of me to deceive you that way. Then later... I've tried to make it up to you. What more do you want from me?” she demanded.

Takeo was silent. After a moment, he replied cryptically, “Something you can't give, more's the pity. It's not your fault, I know. You can't help it. And therein lies the crux of the problem.”

“I don't understand you!”

“No.” He shook his head. “And you never will. I can't explain it.”

“You mean you won't explain it,” she accused.

He shrugged. “If you prefer.” Wryly, he added, “I do have some pride, wounded though it may be.”

Soriya lifted her chin. “So, then. Where does that leave us?”

“Right here. Right now,” he responded gesturing around them. There was something in his voice—regret?--that she could not define. “Maybe if you can get past my defenses, you'll find the answers to your questions.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A challenge, Takeo? I've always tried to respect your privacy during our battles, keeping to surface thoughts, going just deep enough to incapacitate you. Are you saying you want me to read your mind?”

“I'm saying,” he replied patiently, “that if you truly wish to understand the nature of my grievance, it's the only way. I will not yield otherwise.” Drawing his shoulders back, the shinobi resumed his arrogant, mocking tone. “But all that hardly matters. You won't be able to do it—at least, not today. Really, Soriya, you look like hell.”

He struck without warning, the speed of chakra-enhanced movement faster than her eyes could track. Acting on sheer instinct, she reared back, getting an arm up just in time to deflect the fist flying at her face. Instead of smashing her nose (not again!) his gloved hand grazed along Soriya's cheekbone, just missing her right eye. Staggering back, she crossed both forearms over her chest, intercepting the follow-up kick to her torso. She grunted as the force of the blow knocked her backwards.

“Come on, Soriya. Don't disappoint me. It's been so long. Surely you can do better than this,” he chided.

Lifting a hand to her bruised cheek, the kunoichi observed, “Always the face with you, Takeo. I wonder why that is?” Blood welled from the cut on her forearm, trickling down into her palm to drip onto the ground. She clenched sticky fingers around the red fluid. Unfortunately, it was not her own blood she needed. Still...

Sheathing the kunai, Soriya brought slender fingertips together. Steeling herself, she burst through the first Gate.

“Crimson Blades!” she cried, flinging her left hand outward. Blood flew in a wicked spray, sharpening to fine needles. They zeroed in on the masked shinobi, who dodged to his right. Unexpectedly, the razor-thin needles changed direction, lancing along the ninja's left side, slicing through the fabric of his shirt. Clutching bloodied ribs, Takeo rasped, “That's more like it! That's the kunoichi I remember!”

The redheaded jonin huffed, shoring up new-found strength. The chakra-controlled blood was effective, but tiring. And of finite supply, she thought ruefully.

“I'll take you apart piece by piece if I have to,” she told him. Long hair rose, independent of the rising wind at her back. Lightning flashed and thunder answered almost immediately, as if attuned to her emotions. There was something wild and freeing about fighting Takeo. A testing of limits, against an opponent who understood her capabilities. Anticipation rose within her.

“Come, Takeo,” she challenged, “If you've got it, bring it.”

So intent was she on the tiger-masked ninja, Soriya barely registered the arrival of two highly interested watchers.



“I'll take you apart piece by piece if I have to.”

The Copy Ninja checked sharply at the kunoichi's tone of voice. Sensing the ominous build up of chakra, he and Morino had approached the area at a dead run, fearing the worst. The enormous amount of power flowing around and between both combatants confirmed it, in Kakashi's mind. They had dared the Gates. Such a thing was expressly forbidden in duels between Leaf Village shinobi.

Soriya, what are you doing?

He hardly recognized the beautiful kunoichi. Crimson hair drifted around the woman's slender form like fire. Under her right eye, a purpling bruise marked the pale skin. Her left arm and hand were covered in blood. Yet she seemed fiercely jubilant as she faced down the ANBU operative. Defiantly, she dared him, “Come, Takeo. If you've got it, bring it.”

“With pleasure.”

A streak of shadow flashed past Kakashi's line of sight, reappearing directly behind Soriya.

“Too slow!” the man shouted, kunai slashing downward at the woman's unprotected back. In horror, Kakashi watched as the kunoichi spun at the last second, accepting a light scoring across her shoulder blade from the tip of the knife. She didn't flinch at all, turning leftward into her attacker, one hand bracing the other as she jabbed viciously upwards with the heel of her palm. White light flashed at the point of contact as she cried, “Second Gate—open!”

The blow caught the tiger-masked ninja under the chin, rocking his head back and cracking teeth together with brutal force. Momentarily stunned, Takeo staggered, catching his balance awkwardly on the injured leg. Capitalizing quickly, the kunoichi snapped a front kick up into his face. A gloved hand caught her left boot an inch from his chin, forcing it down and away. Suffused with power, Soriya's entire body rotated in mid-air, right leg whipping around in a windmill-like motion. She flexed the foot as it neared his face, freeing an inch long blade concealed in the boot sole. Barely parrying with his kunai, Takeo fired off a burst of chakra from his palms, throwing the kunoichi backwards. She stretched, vaulting into a back handspring, landing several meters away.

Kakashi was taken aback by the feral gleam in her eyes. Outside of genin training and the chunin exams, he'd never seen Soriya fight in earnest. He'd assumed that, as a deep cover operative, her tactics tended more toward subtlety, relying on genjutsu or ninjutsu, rather than the physical brutality of taijutsu. Watching her now, however, it was obvious the kunoichi was no stranger to this type of combat. Still, the man she faced was gifted. Maybe too much so for his own good. He took a step toward the kunoichi. Morino gripped his arm.

“It's unwise to disturb their concentration. If we go blundering in now, we risk making things worse.”

Kakashi eyed the older ninja coolly, pointedly dropping his gaze to the offending hand. Impassively, Morino stared at him, then loosed his hold.

Dryly, the Copy Ninja observed, “I don't know what kind of training you put them through, but it already looks pretty dire from where I'm standing. They've opened the Gates. And not just one, from the look of things. There's a reason it's forbidden. I don't know how good your man is, but Soriya killed twenty men with a mere thought after opening four Gates. We should stop this now, before it's too late.”

“Relax,” the grim-faced shinobi advised. “Watch, and be ready to act. Be assured this is not the first time they've used the Gates against one another. I know it is forbidden. But there is a line they do not cross. Mostly,” he conceded, turning to watch the battle with a critical eye. “It amuses me to see them approach that line again and again. There's a history there—some old grudge that lies between them. Something from their chunin days, I believe.” Slyly, his eyes slid over to the Copy Ninja. “I've often wondered about the particulars. Watch closely, and you'll see it. When the time comes to act, you'll know.”

The two combatants closed and broke apart with the ringing of metal as their kunai clashed. The air whistled and thumped with the sounds of strikes evaded, blows landed. A hard, steady rain began to fall, soaking the ground under their feet.

Kakashi touched the headband slanted across his brow.

A history, huh?

He wasn't reassured by Morino's words. Taijutsu was one thing, but Soriya's Kekkei Genkai was quite another. There was no defense against it. If Takeo pushed her too far and she lost control, they could all die. And he knew she had to be tired, despite the chakra that practically resonated throughout the clearing. Really, she hadn't had a proper rest since assisting Sumiko's birth.

The Copy Ninja wondered what Morino would do if he interfered with the battle. Using the Sharingan, he could do so with relative ease. He frowned. The scarred shinobi hadn't said whether he intended to cancel the kill order, though Kakashi was inclined to believe he'd already decided to do so. Otherwise, he'd be helping Takeo right now. He glanced at the man's impassive visage. Or perhaps not. He didn't understand Morino's motivations well enough to be confident he was reading the inscrutable man correctly.

Now I understand Soriya's frustration with him.

Unhappily, Kakashi turned back to watch the deadly dance play out between the woman he loved and the man seemingly intent on killing her. He would wait just a bit longer before taking matters into his own hands.


Soriya panted, crouching wearily on her haunches. A steady stream of rainwater dripped into her eyes and down her nose. Gingerly, she probed at a loose tooth with the tip of her tongue, inelegantly spitting a gob of blood and saliva onto the wet grass. Gods, she was tired. A half-second slower, and Takeo's foot would have crushed her nose. She knew he targeted it deliberately, to mar her looks, though why he should want to do so eluded her. Clearly, he got some kind of perverse enjoyment out of it, but at the moment, she was too fatigued to care.

At least the tiger-masked shinobi seemed to be slowing as well. They'd been at it for almost ten minutes—an eternity for combat between high-level jonin. The problem was, they knew each other's moves too well.

Familiarity breeds...stalemate.

Grimly, Soriya conceded that two Gates were not going to be enough. She could open the third Gate at will, but would that do it? As for the fourth Gate... The telepath wasn't certain she wanted to go there. While doing so would certainly win her the battle, the danger--both to herself and others--was immense. If she lost control of the power...

Takeo was an ass at times, but she didn't want him dead. Not to mention Kakashi, Enya, and the others. If she breached the fourth Gate, they would all be at risk. No. She dared not gamble with their lives that way. She would not fall victim to the destructive power of her gift. Not as her father had done. The Hokage wouldn't need to order her death, should that ever happen.

Soriya supposed she should be grateful Ibiki-sensei had thus far chosen to remain neutral while she battled his operative. Idly, she wondered if Kakashi had had something to do with that. More likely, the scarred shinobi had told the Copy Ninja to stay out of the fight, tacitly implying he himself would refrain from interfering.

That would be just like him.

Regardless, she needed to settle this soon, one way or the other.

The tiger-masked ninja spoke, refocusing the kunoichi's wandering attention. “Getting tired?” he jeered. “One more slip like that, and I'll have you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered irritably, wiping water out of her eyes, “you're not looking so great yourself. That leg is practically a dead weight.” She nodded toward the thigh with the protruding crossbow bolt.

She'd focused the majority of her attacks on the wounded leg, forcing Takeo into awkward adjustments in order to protect it. Gradually, the masked shinobi's maneuverability appeared to be flagging. On the last pass, she'd almost swept his good leg out from under him, but at the last moment, he'd shifted his weight to the injured limb and it had held. The kunoichi's overextension had been a calculated gamble, albeit one that resulted in a swift kick to the face and a loose tooth, rather than the take-down she'd intended. Even now, he was just slightly quicker than she. It was proving to be enough.

“You're right, my leg can't take much more,” Takeo admitted candidly. “So, let's finish this.”

She tensed at the resultant chakra surge. Gray eyes widened in shock as she recognized the sequence of hand signs for a deadly ninjutsu.

No!

Desperately, Soriya broke through the third Gate, power flooding her body. Gesturing sharply, she summoned a wall of water just as the colossal three-headed Dragon Fireball slammed into it, vast orange flames hissing and popping furiously. The fluid barrier wobbled precariously under the inferno's blistering force. Not trusting the tenuous shield to hold, the kunoichi dropped, flattening herself to the ground.

Mistake.

She sensed, rather than saw, movement behind her. Rolling instantly, Soriya intercepted the shadow clone's diving lunge, grabbing its outstretched wrists. Thrusting her feet upwards into its gut, she used the clone's own momentum to fling it over her head directly into the liquid barrier. The dark form vanished as the wall collapsed, drenching Soriya and the ground with cold water. Remnants of the Dragon Fireball sizzled past, sparking hapless trees afire until the steady downpour quenched the scattered flames.

Hurriedly springing to her feet, the kunoichi met Takeo's charge. He launched a flurry of kicks and punches, driving her backwards over the soggy ground. Soriya's world narrowed to the blur of fists and feet. Block, dodge, parry. He allowed no time for a counterattack; she could barely defend against the savage blows raining down on her.

Then it happened. A minor slip in the muck, but it cost the kunoichi dearly. Retreating from the masked shinobi's unrelenting attacks, Soriya's right foot lost purchase, sliding backwards in the mud. Takeo pounced, hooking her forward leg behind the knee, dragging the jonin off-balance. Before she could recover, he thrust stiffened fingers into the soft flesh of her throat. She gagged and went down, face flushing an alarming shade of red. Almost negligently, Takeo kicked the kunoichi onto her back, dropping down to straddle her gasping form. Warding off a panicked blow, he wrapped both hands firmly around her throat. Bucking furiously, she scrabbled at black-gloved fingers, trying to break his grip. Curiously, she found she could still draw breath. Though Takeo's fingers tried to squeeze, they kept sliding on her neck inexplicably.

The choker...

Unfortunately, Takeo realized the cause in the same moment.

“How annoying,” he sighed, jamming the heel of one hand up under Soriya's jaw, slamming her teeth together with an audible snap. Holding the kunoichi's mouth closed with one hand, he cruelly pinched her nose shut with the index finger and thumb of his other hand.

“No biting,” he told her, watching with a detached air as her face purpled, gray eyes bulging in distress. She shook her head violently, trying to dislodge him, hands clawing at his mask in a desperate attempt to reach the face underneath. Calmly, Takeo leaned back, keeping just out of reach.

Vision fading to black at the edges, Soriya tried to concentrate. She was so tired. Dimly, she wondered if her father had gotten far enough away... Strength drained from her arms and the kunoichi's right hand dropped, fingers brushing the fletching of the quarrel buried in the back of Takeo's thigh. Tiny lights sparkled before her eyes. Summoning the last dredges of strength, Soriya's hand tightened on the bolt. Ruthlessly, she ripped it free from the encasing flesh.

Takeo let out a tortured scream, releasing the kunoichi abruptly. Clapping a hand to his mangled thigh, the wounded man fell sideways onto the ground, writhing in agony. Soriya sucked in a huge lungful of air and rolled sluggishly to her belly. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, she lay stunned, the rain plastering crimson hair to the mud and blood on her body. She had no thought of attacking, focusing solely on drawing great, heaving gulps of air. Just now, the kunoichi doubted she could muster the strength to stand if her life depended on it. Gracelessly digging trembling elbows into the soft earth, she crawled away from the grievously injured man, putting some distance between them.

Unfortunately, the brief reprieve didn't last. Pulling himself upright, Takeo violently ripped the tiger mask from his head. Soriya blanched at the face beneath. The wounded shinobi's fury pounded her senses like a tidal wave. Never had she seen him so enraged—he hardly looked human. His murderous intent paralyzed her as he slowly drew a kunai from the sheath at his thigh.

“Bitch!” he breathed, “I'll kill you!”

Time slowed to a crawl. As though it were happening to somebody else, Soriya watched events unfold in slow motion. Dimly, she could hear the beating of her heart.

Ba-bump.

Takeo's hand drew back for the throw. At this range, he wouldn't miss.

Ba-bump.

The steel blade sped through the air on a deadly trajectory. Too late, Soriya reached for her own kunai.

Ba-bump.

A dark shape suddenly materialized in front of her. Belatedly, Soriya registered the ringing sound of metal being deflected.

Ba-bump.

“That's enough,” Kakashi ordered harshly, crouched protectively in front of the stunned kunoichi.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

“You!” Takeo bristled.

Soriya felt chakra surge heavily between them. After a few tense moments, the injured ninja slumped back in the muck, killing intent dissipated. To be replaced by...despair? Likely, he recognized the futility of further action.

Time resumed its normal flow.

Before Soriya could relax, hairs tingled on the back of her neck. A feeling of dread gripped her. Where--?

“Look out!” she cried, dilated eyes turning fearfully toward the river.

Like some devil from the depths of Hell, Akira Kanzin rose up from the water, poised on a cresting wave. An aura of darkness surrounded him, coalescing into grasping tentacles that reached out, seeking her fellow shinobi. His eyes were completely black.

“Father! Don't!” Soriya screamed, horror-struck as malevolent tendrils of power hungrily stretched toward Kakashi and Takeo.

Kakashi reacted instantly, dodging a whiplike chakra thread. Reaching down, he jerked the kunoichi to unsteady feet, yanking her out of the path of a fast-moving tendril. Hampered by injuries, Takeo wasn't so fortunate. The thick tentacle curved, wrapping around the shinobi's forearm, dragging him forward. The awful scream that ripped from his throat rang in Soriya's ears.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

With a strength born of fear, she pulled free of Kakashi's grasp, shoving him behind and away from her. Summoning every last bit of chakra, Soriya sundered the fourth Gate.

The resultant shock wave blasted from her, ensnaring everyone in the immediate vicinity. Pure, white light surrounded them all, easily disintegrating the tendrils of blackness binding Takeo. Suddenly freed, he slumped to the ground, dark eyes wide with awe and not a little fear.

Recoiling as if in pain, the psych-nin's malevolent aura flinched back from the bright touch of Soriya's power. Everyone froze, helplessly enmeshed in her gift, like flies trapped in honey. Abruptly, the rain stopped as chakra sizzled ominously between telepath and empath.

Shimmering with power, red hair weaving madly around her, Soriya lifted a hand. She understood everything now. Everything. She felt only a distant pain as she spoke, calm voice echoing eerily in the suddenly still space.

“Father. Stop. This is unnecessary.”

“No! You don't understand! They want to destroy you!” he responded feverishly. “Leaf Village has taken enough from me. They must die!”

Implacably, she denied, “No, Father. They are mine.” She raised a palm, reshaping the power flow to form a translucent barrier, keeping the darkness at bay. “I will not let you harm them.”

Disbelieving, he argued, gesturing wildly at Takeo, “But that one hates! He meant to kill you!”

She turned to appraise the kneeling ninja. He lifted his chin, struggling to hold his maltreated body upright. Almond-shaped eyes met hers unwaveringly. No coward, Takeo. After what seemed like hours, but was in fact, mere moments, Soriya lowered her gaze.

“Yes, Father. He hates. But it is not that simple. He loves, too.” She raised sad eyes back to the man staring at her with defiance--a pride she now knew hid desperate, bittersweet longing. “It is a fine line,” she murmured softly, gaze wandering over his unmasked face. “A very fine line.”

Soriya knew she had wounded him deeply by targeting him for the class assignment years ago. She'd done it on a whim, mainly because he'd been rudely dismissive of an empath's power, and of her, in particular. It had pricked her pride; clearly, an object lesson was needed. Besides, Soriya hardly dared go after the one she really wanted for the assignment. Though she was eighteen--almost nineteen!--Kakashi still thought her a child. The silver-haired jonin was far too stubborn to cave in to his feelings.

Soriya knew Takeo planned to target Mei, the petite, raven-haired kunoichi who had been his genin teammate. Though he wasn't particularly demonstrative, it was only too obvious to an empath of Soriya's ability that he was smitten with the woman. But Soriya knew the beautiful kunoichi felt only the affection of longstanding friendship for the serious, dark-eyed ninja. So she had no qualms about choosing him as her mark.

Snaring Takeo had been easy enough. She'd always had a knack for the transformation jutsu and was a fairly good actress, to boot. She'd lured him in, letting him think he was the one doing the seducing. It had worked perfectly, just as she'd planned. To a point.

She'd intended to retain Mei's form throughout the, er, consummation of the mission, leaving the arrogant shinobi none the wiser. She was looking forward to Mei's clobbering him the next day when he tried to pick things up where they'd left off. It wasn't very nice of her, Soriya conceded, but Takeo's disdainfully superior attitude deserved a good humbling. She'd clue Mei in beforehand, so maybe the kunoichi wouldn't kill the big jerk. What she had not counted on, however, was losing control of the transformation jutsu.

She'd already been feeling extremely guilty because of the sincere emotions emanating from the besotted shinobi. Thinking she was the woman he'd been infatuated with for so long, he'd gone out of his way to please her. He'd been a gentle and careful lover—her first experience with a man.

Unexpectedly overwhelmed by the genuine, if misguided affection, and consumed by mounting pleasure, Soriya began to lose control. Her concentration wavered, distorting the disguise as chakra rippled unevenly throughout her body. Caught in the moment, the kunoichi could hardly bring herself to care. Takeo hesitated, confused, but it was too late. She crested the heights of passion, shattering the illusion. The intensity of her release pulled him over the edge with her. The look of betrayal on his face when she opened her eyes... Well, that look had stayed with the kunoichi a long time. Afterwards, they had not spoken. She'd merely dressed and left.

In the days and weeks that followed, Soriya often felt the dark-haired shinobi's eyes on her. They never talked about what happened, though she found herself wishing he would yell at her, berate her--say something to validate the guilt she felt. She wanted to apologize, but didn't know how. How did one make amends for such an intimate betrayal?

And then there was Kakashi. She didn't even want to think about what he would say about her actions. She recalled, with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, the last argument they'd had. He hadn't liked the idea of her pursuing this particular type of training in the first place.

Your motives are misguided, Suki. You cannot become a true shinobi if you are solely driven by the need for revenge. That way lies madness.

They hadn't spoken since. After the incident with Takeo, she'd taken to shadowing the Copy Ninja occasionally--a risky proposition at best. Out of necessity, she'd kept her distance. She toyed with the idea of attempting to seduce him, but could not work up the courage to act. She wasn't certain she could handle a rejection from the silver-haired shinobi.

One night, she'd been feeling particularly lousy about their quarrel, Takeo, and everything else in her life. Spotting Kakashi socializing with other jonin at a local bar, she'd perched on the roof of the building across the street, settling down to wait. Soriya had no plans to actually confront him—she wouldn't until she could be relatively confident he'd succumb. Why did he have to be so damned principled where she was concerned? She knew he desired her—Soriya's gift didn't lie about such things. Maybe if she got him drunk?

Immersed in random musings, the kunoichi was therefore unprepared when the Copy Ninja emerged from the bar, an attractive, obviously intoxicated woman hanging on his arm. To Soriya, the sight was like a punch in the gut.

What did you think, idiot? That he was a monk? He reads erotic novels, for cryin' out loud! He's not going to sit around pining for you!

Not wanting to watch Kakashi walk the stupid, giggling woman home, Soriya turned, racing silently over the rooftops. She wanted to run until she was exhausted. She was tired of thinking. Sick and tired.

Halting above a small restaurant and bar where she and her fellow chunin occasionally hung out, Soriya considered. Maybe a drink would help. A good, stiff drink to keep her from imagining the things Kakashi was probably doing right now with that, that vapid, inane...lucky woman. She sighed. Yeah, a drink was just what she needed.

Sitting alone at the bar, Soriya had drowned her sorrows quickly enough. Swirling the last of her whiskey sour in the glass tumbler, she stared at the melting ice cubes. A loud, annoying voice disrupted her contemplations.

“Hey, honey, lookin' for some company?”

Without turning around, the kunoichi muttered, “Get lost, creep. I'm not in the mood.”

The drunk halted, brought up short by such an abrupt refusal. Behind her, Soriya could feel his anger rise. She sighed inwardly. A fight with some ignorant civilian was the last thing she needed.

Better cut this short before it escalates.

Before she could turn around, an unwelcome voice sounded over her left shoulder.

“I think the lady wants to be left alone.” Takeo's voice was level, containing just a hint of menace.

Whatever the intoxicated man saw in the dark-haired shinobi's face was enough to deter him. Instead of aggravating the situation, he shot the kunoichi a dirty look, then ambled down to the far end of the bar where he proceeded to order another drink. Takeo took the bar stool next to her.

“That's your third one,” he commented, dark eyes sweeping over her to settle on the mostly finished drink in her hand. “Don't you have anything better to do?”

Soriya eyed him warily. She hadn't realized he was even in the bar. She must be drunker than she thought. Flippantly, she answered, “What are you, my mother? What do you care?”

“I don't, particularly,” Takeo replied evenly. “But the Hokage doesn't like it when we get into bar fights, especially with civilians. Even cretins like that guy,” he nodded toward the drunk currently sidling up to his next prospect, an intoxicated blond holding a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Yeah, yeah,” Soriya waved a hand dismissively. “I was just about to handle it when you jumped in with your 'manly threatening glare' thing.”

“Is that so?” His lip curled derisively. “Well, if I had known you had things under control, I wouldn't have bothered. I suppose I should have realized. You're a pro at handling men, after all.”

She stiffened. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Takeo shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Just what I said. You certainly got what you wanted from me easily enough. Although, at the time, I could've sworn you hadn't done that before. Ah, well,” he shrugged again, “it's not the first time I've been wrong.”

Soriya stared at him, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. The alcohol running through her blood urged her to punch him in his so-smug face. Fortunately, her brain still retained a modicum of control. Too bad it didn't extend to her mouth.

“Fuck you,” she said, stepping down from the bar stool unsteadily. “I don't have to listen to this. I'm going home.”

Unfortunately, her legs didn't agree to cooperate, buckling unexpectedly as she turned toward the door. The room tilted alarmingly and the kunoichi reached out, grabbing for something--anything--to stay upright. To her everlasting mortification, what she found was the cloth of Takeo's olive green vest. His hands settled at her waist, holding her up.

“You're drunk,” he snorted disdainfully. “You won't get far like this.” He sighed resignedly, hauling her to his side so he could drape her right arm over his shoulders.

“Come on.”

“What are you doing?” Soriya asked suspiciously.

“Taking you home, oh ungrateful one,” he replied sarcastically. “What do you think I'm doing?”

She eyed him skeptically. “Why?”

“Because I enjoy lugging around smart-mouthed kunoichi who can't hold their liquor. Now shut up and let's go.

“Which way?” he asked, once they had navigated the front door of the bar and made it into the street. Except for the few drinking establishments still open at this hour, the buildings lining the walkway were dark.

“This way,” Soriya nodded, stumbling slightly as they set off in the direction of her tiny apartment. It held far less appeal than Yori's place out in the country, but it was closer. She'd rented it temporarily while undergoing her current training, simply because it was more conveniently located. Kakashi had recommended the place, she remembered.

Thinking of the silver-haired shinobi stirred up all the feelings she'd had earlier. Flashing back to the image of him leaving the bar with the unknown woman, Soriya felt unreasonably angry. She was not a child! Why couldn't he see that? Suddenly, the kunoichi halted in the middle of the street.

“Stop.”

Takeo looked down at her. “What's wrong?”

“I don't want to go back to my apartment.” Gray eyes gazed up at him through long lashes. “Take me to your place instead.”

He stiffened in surprise, peering down at her with narrowed eyes. Shoulder-length black hair tickled her arm where it rested around his neck. She remembered it was silky soft to the touch.

In a slightly strained voice, Takeo asked, “Now why should I do that? Is this another 'assignment' of yours?”

She stared at him. “No. About that...if it helps at all, I am sorry. I shouldn't have used you that way.” Luminous eyes darkened. “Consider this payback, if you like.”

He held still a long moment, contemplating her offer. She felt her cheeks flush under his searching gaze. Abruptly, he turned, tugging her down a side street.

“This way,” Takeo muttered, under his breath. They cut through a small alley, halting at the back of a tan-colored three-story building. Nodding at it, he indicated the last balcony on the third floor.

“Ready?”

She nodded, looping both arms around his neck. The black-haired shinobi lifted her, gathering himself for the leap. Using a chakra burst, he propelled them both upwards, easily vaulting the metal railing. Standing in front of the glass door to the small apartment, Takeo slowly let the kunoichi's legs drop, sliding her down his body. Soriya's heart pounded loudly in her ears as he leaned forward, reaching behind her to open the door. He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of honeysuckle. She thought he sounded gruffly reluctant as he offered, voice low, “If you don't want to do this, it's not too late. Say the word and I'll take you home.” He paused, then added wryly, “I won't have it said I take advantage of drunk young women.”

It touched her that he'd asked, giving her the chance to back out gracefully. Moistening lips that were suddenly dry, Soriya shook her head.

“I'll stay.”

His eyes darkened and he reached out, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Good,” he said, nudging her backwards into the room. Sliding the door shut with a foot, Takeo pressed her up against the wall beside the door, twining his hand in crimson hair. Mouth hovering above hers, he whispered huskily, “You do owe me, after all.”

Suddenly there was no more talking. She thought that he would be rough with her--and he was—but not in a way that caused pain. Instead, he brought her to the edge almost ruthlessly, holding her there on the precipice. Through the haze of alcohol and lust, it came to her that he was waiting, searching for something--some expression in her face. But with pleasure thrumming throughout her body, Soriya couldn't bring herself to wonder at it. All she wanted to do was feel. Long lashes fluttered closed as she finally let go, crying out a name in her passion. It was not Takeo's.

She felt him flinch above her, as if in pain. Coming back to herself abruptly, the kunoichi tried to apologize. Frustrated anger poured off him in waves as his lips crashed down on hers, silencing her. Quickening his pace, he pounded into her furiously, until finally, he stiffened, groaning against her mouth. Slowly, he withdrew, rolling to the side, facing away from her on the small bed. No one spoke for a long moment. Tentatively, Soriya reached out a hand to his shoulder.

“Takeo...” she began, palm hovering just above his skin.

“Get out.” His voice was flat, emotionless. He did not move.

“I'm sorry,” she tried again.

“Didn't you hear me? I said get out of here. Go home. Get lost. I don't care what you do, just don't do it here.”

She stared down at him in shock, hand fisted against her chest. After a moment, she slid off the edge of the bed. Quietly, she gathered her clothing and dressed. All of a sudden, she felt stone cold sober. Turning toward the balcony, she opened the glass door. Glancing back at his still form, she murmured, “I'm sorry, Takeo,” before disappearing out into the night.

It was fortunate, then, that she saw little of him after that. The chunin course ended a few days later and Soriya was frequently away from the village on assignment. In fact, it wasn't until her subsequent promotion to jonin status more than a year later that the kunoichi found herself in Takeo's presence once again.

The meeting had taken place at Ibiki Morino's behest. The Head of the Torture and Interrogation Unit had summoned her to his office in order to introduce the ANBU operative with whom she would be training. It had been an unpleasant surprise for both of them. At first, Soriya's inclination was to reveal their sordid history to Ibiki-sensei in the hopes that he would find a replacement for the now-overtly disdainful ninja. Takeo had lifted his chin in challenge, arrogant black eyes daring her to speak the words. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking she feared him, she'd bitten them back instead. Childish, perhaps. But, from a training stand point, it had actually worked out for the best.

The ponytailed ninja cut her no slack at all. She'd had the bruises, broken bones, and various other injuries to prove it. She was definitely a better shinobi because of his persistence. Their combats were not all one-sided, however. During the early months, when everyone was still learning the limits of her abilities, Takeo, more often than not, paid the price for knowledge gained. After he had fallen victim to her mesmerization jutsu for the fifth time, Ibiki-sensei had scowled, practically accusing the tiger-masked shinobi of secretly wanting to succumb. That had infuriated Takeo so much so, that during their next match, he loosed a giant three-headed Dragon Fireball at her--from which she was lucky to escape with only a minor scorching. The training ground had not fared so well; it had been completely wrecked. Ibiki-sensei had not been pleased. After that, fire jutsu was strictly forbidden during their combats. But the mesmerization jutsu had not worked on Takeo from that day forward.

All this flashed through Soriya's mind in moments as she gazed at the kneeling man. Truly, she had hurt him more than she knew. Before the telepath could go to him, Kakashi moved to block her way. Looking up at his troubled face, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Soriya--” he cautioned.

She felt his concern, and something more. Uncertainty. She knew he had just barely made it in time to deflect the thrown kunai. He didn't understand why she would risk giving Takeo another opportunity.

“It's okay,” she told him. “He won't hurt me. Not now. Because, finally, I understand.” Skirting around the Copy Ninja, she walked over to stand before the injured shinobi.

“So. Now you know,” he panted, face taking on a sickly hue from blood loss. “So what? It changes nothing.”

Slowly, the telepath reached out a hand. Fingertips tenderly brushed his cheek.

“Takeo. I'm so sorry. I never realized...”

He laughed, a short ugly sound. “Now you know why I always go after your face. I can't seem to get it out of my head. Even in dreams--” he broke off abruptly.

She sighed, gray eyes filled with gentle sadness. “I've done you an injury that I cannot heal. You have every right to hate me. I did not realize, but I should have. For that, I am truly sorry.” A ghost of a smile graced her lips. “Seems like you were right about empaths not being so great and all.”

“That's just you. Dense as a ton of bricks,” he joked, grimacing as a wave of pain swamped him. Wobbling with dizziness, the injured shinobi put out a shaking hand to catch himself as he lurched forward. Soriya was there instead.

“Enya,” she called, cradling the now-shivering ninja in her arms.

The medic-nin stumbled out from the tree cover, dropping quickly to Takeo's side. Soriya released the wounded man reluctantly, lowering him to the ground.

“You better not die, you big jerk.” She stood, looking down at him somberly before turning away. “I'll never forgive you.”

He blinked, but didn't have the energy to laugh. “Jus' like you,” he mumbled. All of a sudden, he couldn't get his eyes to focus. Still, he couldn't let her have the last word. “I'm the one...should be...forgivin' you...” He felt warmth on the back of his thigh, then...nothing.

Soriya closed her eyes a moment when he passed out. “Enya, please. Do what you can for him.”

She did not look back to see the medic-nin's nod of affirmation. He was already deep in concentration sealing torn blood vessels, knitting muscle, and repairing damaged nerves. The kunoichi locked gazes with Kakashi. She knew his mismatched eyes hid pain and hurt. He'd grasped the undercurrents of the situation well enough--she'd caught the flash of emotion as jealousy flared. She stared at him mutely, not knowing what to say. She felt his struggle for control; now was not the time.

Later... Her mental voice was a promise.

Soriya turned to face her father.

“You don't want to do this,” she said, carefully picking her way toward him over the soggy ground. “You don't have to.”

“Ah, Daughter,” the psych-nin smiled sadly as Darkness gathered thickly around him once more, “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I do.”

He struck like lightning, targeting the last person she expected.