“Tan lines.”

  “What.”

  Miyu holds back a sigh, already straining not to wince under the fluorescent lights. Her headache is sharp, focused on the base of her skull, just above her neck, and at her temples.

  Her hand – the one the ninja touched – has been spasming sporadically for the three hours she’d been detained.

  “Hiyori-san – or whoever was impersonating her – had tan lines on their fingers, from rings, I’m guessing.”

  Miyu hopes she doesn’t sound as tired as she feels.

  “Her piercings were gone. And the beauty mark on the left side of her mouth was actually on her right.”

  The stern-faced officer sitting opposite her narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly.

  “And these changes made you realise the guard rotation had been infiltrated?”

  Miyu does let herself sigh, though it’s small.

  “I already let Yamanaka-san perform their technique,” she hopes the headache and itchy eyes will go away soon. “Do you require an additional retelling?”

  The officer stares at her for a few moments, and then says, “No, that will not be necessary.”

  Miyu meets his dark-eyed gaze evenly, bemoaning the finer details of military dictatorships. What are her rights, here and now? She probably doesn’t have any.

  “Anything else important you believe would benefit the investigation?” the officer doesn’t seem particularly interested in whether she answers. She hopes they’re at the bottom of a long list of questions they are required to ask her before she can get released.

  “Yes, actually,” Miyu blinks slowly, wondering how long it will take until she can go home, shower, and lie down in a very, very dark room.

  “The one impersonating Hiyori-san had a slip in their speech towards the end,” she breathes around another tremor of her hand, and continues, “an accent – it sounded northern, from what I could gather.”

  She shuts her eyes from a moment, headache abating only slightly in the absence of harsh light.

  “They mentioned electro therapy,” under the cover of her sleeve she tentatively flexes her hand. “And the technique they used – I’m sure it used some kind of electric shock-”

  “A lightning technique,” the Uchiha corrects blandly.

  “Yes,” Miyu wonders if he realises the hypocrisy of their inability to believe that she, a civilian woman with no training, stopped this abduction – while also expecting her to know ninja terms?

  Or perhaps that in itself is an attempt to get her to give away more than she intends.

  It might have worked, had she been a legitimate suspect. Well, she supposes, they definitely find her suspect enough.

  The fact that they believe it’s more likely that a group of ninja children thwarted the infiltrators, rather than Miyu herself, is answer enough.

  The officer leaves without further questioning, and Miyu is left in the spectacularly uncomfortable chair to sit and stew in her headache.

  Her mouth is dry, and her entire right arm won’t stop with the occasional twitching. She knows in theory, that this is an interrogation tactic of sorts. It rankles.

  She wonders if the children are okay, if any of them got injured in any way once she went down.

  They leave her in that room another three hours before the door opens soundlessly to reveal Uchiha Fugaku, alongside a bald man with a severe expression. His head and face are heavily scarred, but his flat, dark eyes are the most unsettling thing about him.

  They both sit opposite her, and Miyu refrains from trying to wet her lips. Her tongue feels about as dry as sandpaper right now, and it’ll only come across as a sign of nervousness.

  “You didn’t come up in any of their plans,” says the scarred man in a deep, rough voice.

  Miyu remains silent, just barely stopping the almost reflexive twitch of her eyebrow.

  Oh, really?

  Somehow, she keeps her expression and snark under control.

  “You will be released, and a notice will be issued to the relevant clans detailing the events of this afternoon.”

  Miyu remains silent, calm and still even under Uchiha Fugaku’s familiar stare.

  “Do you have anything to add?” asks the Chief of Police after a moment.

  “A question,” she speaks up, voice slightly husky from hours of disuse and dehydration. “Hiyori-san and the others…”

  She doesn’t elaborate, leaving the question open ended for the two of them to decide what information she’s privy to.

  The bald man gives a small shake of his head, and Miyu feels her face twitch out of her impassive mask for just a second. Of course, the infiltrators couldn’t risk leaving the guards alive.

  Miyu should have known.

  She schools her expression, pressing her lips together lest they betray her and tremble. Smooths out her forehead and brows from where she’d reflexively drawn them together, upset.

  Uchiha Fugaku looks away from her, but the bald man doesn’t. He keeps his unnerving eyes on her, eerily focused.

  Then they stand, and Miyu follows suit. Her legs feel weak and uncoordinated, and her right hand and arm are tingling and burning now, but neither of these things are as terrible as her headache, so she ignores them.

  Shisui and Itachi are standing outside the room, and she refuses to let herself be relieved at their presence. They are part of the KMP. They are ninja.

  Duty bound to their village and kage, and unable to protect her here.

  She holds herself the same way she does as she faces opponents across a shogi board – calm, composed, with a straight back and just enough softness to seem non-threatening. Her eyes remain trained at their chest-level.

  If she meets Itachi’s eyes now, she –

  Taking a slow, deep breath, she forces down her emotional turmoil and focuses on making it out of the police station, and then – hopefully – home.

  “Miyu,” it’s Shisui that leans close as they step into the chilly night air. “I can take you home?”

  He must have noticed her trembling hands despite her attempts to keep them clasped tightly together.

  “Please,” she manages to get out shortly, glad he sweeps her legs out from beneath her before they can give out of their own volition. She knows now, to shut her eyes as he moves.

  But as they come to a stop on her balcony, she wonders whether she should have left them open. That would’ve been excuse enough for the tears on her cheeks, at least.

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  He sets her on her feet and there’s a very uncertain second where she’s unsure whether her legs will hold. She makes it a half-step away before an arm slips around her waist.

  She doesn’t need to look to know it’s Itachi.

  “Miyu-”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” her voice is low and scratchy, and she just wants to curl up on the floor of her shower and stay there a while.

  He’s silent for a moment as he opens the door and leads her inside.

  It’s dark inside, but the light of the moon is enough to cast his face into contrast.

  “How can I help?” is the next thing he asks.

  Miyu’s arm is burning and aching, her head is pounding, and she thinks her legs have staged a rebellion, but all she wants right now is to feel clean.

  “Shower,” she murmurs, “then bed.”

  Itachi nods, and she doesn’t protests as he sweeps her feet out from under her and takes her to – the main bathroom?

  “What-”

  He sets her down at the edge of the bathtub, and promptly creates a clone, who exits the bathroom immediately. Itachi runs the water, and upon finding it satisfactory, goes to her vanity cupboards and begins adding a few things to the water.

  Miyu shuts her eyes and lets him work.

  A small tug on her sleeve, and when she looks up it’s his clone, holding out a plate with a few plain rice balls, two pills which she assumes are pain killers, and a tall glass of water.

  She chugs half the glass, first, then downs the painkillers, and forces down one of the rice balls before finishing the rest of the water. The clone disappears into the apartment again, and Miyu is left with Itachi, who only cocks his head slightly to the almost-full bath to let her know it’s ready.

  “Call me if you need a hand, otherwise I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  He doesn’t close the door behind him, but she can’t seem to care right now.

  Slowly, she strips out of her yukata. Her right arm is jittery, but she doesn’t have much trouble. She ties her long hair into a high bun to save herself having to dry it later, and steps into the tub.

  It’s filled with bubbles and petals, and is the perfect temperature.

  Miyu sighs shakily as she bends her knees and crosses her arms over them.

  She blinks away sharp images of Hiyori’s wrong face, of the feeling of being a powerless pawn on a board of dangerous pieces.

  Audible footsteps alert her of Itachi’s return. She lets her head rest against her forearms, rather glad for the brief relief that the darkness brings her pounding head.

  She’s almost, almost startled by the rough feel of a wet washcloth against her bare skin. It rolls in small circles along her shoulders, zigzagging down the length of her back.

  She sighs at the feel of it.

  “May I…?”

  Miyu doesn’t know what he’s asking. At this point she doesn’t care.

  She nods into her arms.

  Soon the washcloth is replaced with his hands. His thumbs press evenly on either side of her spine, and he guides them down into the water all the way to the small of her back. He brings them back up, fingers gliding slickly against her skin.

  She thinks she might make a tiny mewl of appreciation, but his hands are kneading at the stiff muscles to the sides of her neck, and it’s all she can do not to fall asleep on the spot.

  He presses into the tense stretch between her shoulders and neck, squeezing and rolling until she really does sigh, entire body loosening as he works his genius.

  Itachi places his thumbs to either side of her spine again, drawing them outward and away from each other. He passes over and under her shoulder blades, touch barely-there against the sides of her ribs.

  If he were to reach around a little more, he’d be touching –

  “Bedtime,” his voice is low and soft. Miyu huffs, but acknowledges that the water has been steadily cooling.

  “Might need help,” she mumbles, only just realising how exhausted she is.

  Itachi says nothing, only brings a fluffy white towel, holding it out between them as a barrier. Miyu shakily stands, and he wraps it around her without so much as a peek.

  She tries not to feel disappointed at that.

  He all but lifts her out of the tub, and once she’s seated on the edge once again, he cleans up the bathroom. She dries herself tiredly, and seemingly between one blink and the next, the room is spotless, and he’s holding her sleep yukata out to her, face turned away.

  Placing her back to him, she drops the towel, and he sets the yukata over her shoulders. She puts it on clumsily, tying it with poor coordination.

  Another blink, and her hair is being untied as he settles her to lie in her bed.

  “Itachi?”

  He pauses, brushing a lock of hair from her face as he leans over her.

  “Hm?”

  One moment of weakness. One moment is much as she’ll allow herself. If she chooses this particular moment, well. That’s her business.

  “Stay?”

  He doesn’t need interpretation.

  Miyu counts three seconds of indecision before he murmurs –

  “Okay.”

  The feel of him settling into bed beside her, a constant source of warmth and – Miyu lets herself think it, lets herself feel it, for what feels like the first time in forever – comfort.

  Tucked against his side, right arm tingling and head still aching slightly, part of her wishes the day would melt away like the last snows of winter in the face of the springtime sun.

  .

  Miyu stands before the reception hall and tries to settle her jittery nerves.

  A scant three days have passed since Konoha thwarted the infiltrator’s attempts at a kidnapping, and Miyu has been invited to a formal meeting of the ninja and merchant clans.

  Her invitation had been ambiguous, only naming a time and a place, but Naruto had been the one to reassure her that it was nothing terrible when he had delivered it to her yesterday morning.

  Itachi had walked her just one street short of the venue before disappearing without a trace in between steps.

  Miyu shakes off the annoyance that brings, and steadily inhales and exhales for a good half a minute to calm herself. Now isn’t the time for her unstable emotional or mental state.

  She steps inside, past the guards at the double doors, and into the high-ceilinged venue. It’s tastefully decorated, and waiters pass between groups of finely dressed people with drinks and finger food.

  She’s rather glad that she dressed in one of her nicer kimono, as many clan women don their own alongside others who wear dresses or even suits here and there.

  Miyu scans the room for a familiar face and has to forcibly suppress any signs of relief as Nara Shikaku approaches her.

  His smile is grim, but he offers her his arm after they’ve bowed to one another in greeting. Miyu lets herself grip his bicep as her nerves threaten to claw their way up her throat. Too many eyes on her, and she feels ill.

  “Miyu-san,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, “you’ve… caused quite a stir.”

  She slants him a look in-between polite nods to people who must be clan-heads, and murmurs back, “My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience.”

  He huffs out a short laugh, but leads her to –

  “Shikamaru-san,” she’s sure he can hear the relief in her tone, if the way he smiles at her in greeting is any indication.

  “Good evening, Miyu-san,” he says as they bow to one another, “I should probably fill you in on what’s going on.”

  “Oh?” Miyu looks to Shikaku, who is scanning the room with sharp eyes, but obviously paying attention to their conversation.

  “The infiltrators are from Lightning. The Hokage is yet to announce how he is handling it, but the clans are meeting tonight to discuss their opinions in a casual setting before a formal council is called.”

  Miyu nods, accepting a flute of champagne alongside the Nara clan heir. Shikaku takes a cup of sake, and the three clink glasses with small smiles. She holds it in her left hand, right still tucked against Shikaku's. Sakura had come by the morning after the incident to heal her arm, but she's still been tentative to use it.

  “You’re here so the clan heads can scope you out,” Shikaku murmurs as he brings his cup to his mouth. “They will try to repay you, seeing as you raised the alarm and kept the children safe.”

  Miyu hums, letting her own gaze flit over the powerful players in the room.

  Her eyes catch on the form of Uchiha Mikoto, who is smiling in that terribly sharp way of hers at a woman who has her back to Miyu.

  “And I suppose they want to get a look at me before they decide on any thanks?” her question is pitched low, but she can’t quite drag her eyes away from Mikoto’s face.

  Is she taunting whoever she’s with, right now? Unease churns in her gut, and she decides not to drink any more than the few sips she’s already consumed.

  “Oh, no,” Shikamaru sounds grimly amused, “they’ll be thanking you, one way or another. Just figuring out what – or rather, who, will be appropriate to offer.”

  Miyu opens her mouth to reply, but at that moment she sees Mikoto’s eyes narrow incrementally, and her empathy for whoever has incurred the woman’s wrath supersedes her desire to get more information from the pair.

  “More on that later,” she says, stepping away, “and please, forgive me.”

  She gives no further explanation as she makes her way across the distance to the Uchiha, firming her resolve as she catches Mikoto’s chastising tone.

  “-riarch, think you’d let this woman threaten your standing is – look at me when I’m speaking to you. I’ve vouched for you since you were a girl, the least you can do is have some pride in your clan and yourself-”

  She halts herself abruptly as Miyu comes to a stop beside them.

  “Good evening, Uchiha-sama,” she bows deeply, all too aware of the piercing stares focused on her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.”

  Mikoto smiles coldly, bowing shallowly and offering no greeting. Miyu ignores the insult of that alone, and continues with -

  “Pardon me for the intrusion, but Nara-sama has urgent need to discuss something with you. He’s by the refreshments, and asked that you hurry.”

  It’s a dismissal if anything, and Miyu and Mikoto only stare at each other with their polite masks for a few seconds more before the matriarch wordlessly excuses herself.

  As soon as she’s far enough to be out of earshot in the low chatter of the venue, Miyu turns back to the woman before her. She’s young – around Miyu’s age, seemingly.

  Her hair is a rich, dark brown, hanging straight until her shoulders. Her eyes are pretty and almond-shaped, irises almost a perfect match to her hair. She has a small beauty mark beneath her right eye, and her face is finely structured. She’s an Uchiha without doubt.

  “I apologise for the intrusion,” Miyu offers, keeping her voice low, “are you alright?”

  She doesn’t feel the need to elaborate any further. The woman only blinks, dark eyes sweeping Miyu from head to foot.

  “Yes,” she responds at last, and her voice is soft. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem,” Miyu responds, offering a small, genuine smile, “I’m Sugawara Miyu.”

  “Oh.” Another assessing look. “Miyu, huh. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Uchiha Izumi.”