A/N: So, warning, if you pay close attention to this, this reveals a lot about a certain character in the series. Not everything is revealed, but I think it's rather easy to connect some of the dots, and through those it's possible, although I'm not sure how easily, to connect the rest. I just really, really wanted to post this because it was so fun to write! 

Anyways, it's a spoiler. If you don't like spoilers, don't read. If you do, however, read and perhaps comment with who you think the story is about! I'd love to know if you get it right~ His name is never once given throughout the piece. 

“Otousan?”

At the sound of her voice, he paused, hand lingering on the frame of the bedroom door. When she didn’t immediately continue, he carefully let his bag slip from his shoulder and drop to the ground. Then, without as much as a smile, he approached the bed, his eyes meeting her deep-blue ones as she adjusted the cover tucked over her shoulders. Her eyes were barely open, a soft yawn escaping her lips.

“Leaving?” she questioned, the mumbled word barely loud enough to be heard.

His lips moved into a smile, then, and he reached forward to ruffle her raven-toned hair.

“Otousan has a job to do,” he answered easily. “I’ll be back soon. You understand, don’t you, Manami?”

Her face fell, but she nodded, squirming out from underneath her covers to open her arms for a hug.

“How long does Manami have to wait?” she questioned, clinging to him when he wrapped his arms around her.

“A few days. Ojisan should be here in a few hours, I thought you’d still be asleep so I told him it would be fine to come later. You like Ojisan, right?”

He peeked down, watching for her expression. Manami pouted, but gave a small nod as she buried her head in his chest.

“Ojisan isn’t mean,” she agreed. “He said he’d teach Manami how to throw kunai.”

He chuckled, releasing her a moment later. Her pout twisted even further down, eyes almost looking like they might fill with tears.

“Be back soon?”

“Of course,” he agreed, straightening up and starting for the door once again. “What’ve I told you?”

Her frown turned into a tiny smile as she burrowed beneath the covers once again.

“Otousan loves Manami,” she mumbled.

“Good girl. Be good for Ojisan, and Jiichan.”

“‘kay.”

_________________________________

The mask was annoying to wear. It made seeing slightly more difficult.Yet it wasnt without benefit., seeing as it gave him a certain sense of detachment from everything he did.

The moment he stepped through the doorway, the soft thud of running feet hit his ears. A moment later a smile ghosted his lips as he leaned down to pull the little girl into his arms, Her red-hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in tangled, dirty waves. As he situated her on his hip, her dull, brown eyes studied him, wariness beyond her age shining out from behind them. He couldn’t really blame the child- even he sometimes felt guilty over the things that she was put through.

At the same time, if it meant protecting Manami, it would do anything.

“Did you miss me, Maemi-chan?”

The red-head shook her head, but clung to him as he started away from the doorway. He chuckled, prying her arms off of him and settling her in the chair that sat in front of the lone dresser in the room. A mirror stretched up from the back, reflecting the two of them as he reached for the brush that he always started his visits off with. The only other item in the room was the hard bed settled against the opposite wall. Absently, he’d always wondered what Maemi did in her free-time, seeing as there seemed to be nothing that would normally belong to a child to be seen in this room.

“You should brush your hair on your own sometimes,” he scolded as he set to work. “It’s always so difficult to get through this mess.”

She simply stared at him in the mirror, her expression seeming to portray that she held little to no opinion on this matter. He grimaced slightly, but continued tugging the brush through. She seemed less put together than his daughter, and his daughter was only three years old. If he had to guess, he would have placed Maemei somewhere around nine or ten, at the youngest eight. Rarely had he ever heard her mumble a word and even then, it tended to be with a wistless, quiet tone. Her expression barely ever changed and she’d rarely ever done something for herself. If he didn’t brush her hair, she wouldn’t. If he didn’t lay out clothing when he visited, she wouldn’t change her clothing.

It almost made it easier to view her as a test subject rather than child.

Almost.

When he’d finished brushing out her hair and had coaxed her into new clothing, he offered his hand to Maemi who took it up without hesitation. A faint smile tugged onto his lips as he exited the room, leading her down the hall. It didn’t take long, however, before he found himself scooping her up into his arms, the child’s breathing having become slightly labored. She seldom left her room, causing the child to have an extremely low level of stamina. Eventually, he reached the room they were walking to and nudged it open with his foot before entering. Across the way, a shinobi glanced up from where he’d stood adjusting a machine with wires and tubes running off of it. The man’s eyes lit up at the sight of the girl and he quickly gestured for the man to settle her down on the bed that sat in the center of the room.

His lips pursed, the man did as told. It took a small amount of coaxing on his part, but she released her arms from around him and settled them in her lap, once again taking on the air of someone who was just simply there. Not for the first time, he considered the fact that the only time he had to actually convince her to do something instead of her automatically doing as told, was when it came to letting go. The child had such rare, comforting physical contact that he suspected that the little he offered was entirely too welcome.

“What are you doing this time?” he asked, stepping back so that the shinobi could start unwinding one of the tubes coming off of the machine.

The shinobi was silent for a moment, seizing a long needle out of the box and twisting it onto the end of the tube, then maneuvering it about in his hands as he checked to make sure everything was in the right place. Once certain, he grabbed Maemi’s arm and pulled it up so that he could check for her vein.

“Blood transfusion and a few medicines. They took samples yesterday and also checked her pain threshold. They wanted to know how much her body could handle before the jutsu activated.”

The man nodded in return, realizing that her shortness of breath had most likely been for this reason, not because of her own low stamina.

“I’m glad you came in today,” the shinobi continued, gripping her arm a bit tighter as he shoved the needle into her skin. The girl tensed, but unlike most children might have done, she didn’t otherwise react. Simply watched with those dull eyes. “She wouldn’t allow us to touch her. Always has to be you after a hard test day.”

He shrugged in response this time, that small, nagging guilt settling in the back of his mind.

“I was told to drop by before my mission,” he answered simply. “I guessed it was something like that.”

“You work hard.”

“Danzo-sama provides medicine that can’t be found in Konoha. I’m only repaying the favor.”

“How is that little girl of yours?” the shinobi questioned, stepping over to adjust the machine next to him, a hum starting up the instant he touched one of the dials.

“Just like her mother.”

_______________________________________

The blade slid out of the man’s neck with little trouble, the coppery smell of blood sending a flood of satisfaction through his veins. Perhaps after years of doing the dark work requested by Danzo, he’d grown slightly warped by it all. It was a wonder he hadn’t snapped yet. An amused smile appeared on his lips as he gave the blade a small flick, droplets of blood splattering across the floor as well as his clothing.

It as probably Manami. She kept him sane, just as her mother had done.

If just barely. He’d seen the looks his father and brother gave him when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. They were concerned- thought he was becoming too detached from everyone beyond his daughter. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about other lives anymore, it was simply that he found hers more important.

It was always Manami. Everything was for her.

He closed his eyes, revealing in the adrenaline that was still pumping through his veins after the kill. The rush that came from it, it was a high he’d never been able to find anywhere else.

Yes, he was warped.

Yes, he was so far bent that one thing gone wrong had the chance of cracking him.

He couldn’t really bring himself to care.  

Footsteps rushed down the hall outside of the man’s room and he cocked his head, debating whether or not to wait and confront whomever was coming. He hadn’t been told that he could only kill the target- just that there was to be no witnesses. That amused smile on his lips twisted as he stashed away the blood soaked blade and pulled a kunai out of his weapon’s pouch instead.

He preferred the struggle that came with the smaller weapon. More blood was drawn, the shallow cuts across his opponents skin not near enough to subdue them. Sometimes they even thought they had a chance, then as if magic, his kunai would find the right spot and blood would gush out, sometimes even soaking his hand if he left it buried in them long enough.

When all of his opponents were down, he simply tugged his kunai out of the last corpse and methodically wiped the blood off on the man’s shirt, which was rapidly twisting from a snow white to a crimson red. He was careful to choose a spot that had yet to turn.

He would have to make sure to wash before returning home. He wouldn’t want to concern Manami.

She hated blood.

_________________________________

His eyes flickered over what was once a house, attempting to understand what was before him.

The splintered wood, crushed furniture, shattered glass, none of it seemed to be able to soak in. He looked around himself, as if to check that he’d followed the correct path. It was his street. It was the exact place where his house was supposed to be.

There was no house.

Only a pile of rubbish.

He’d heard about the attack, they’d told him the moment he’d stepped back into Konoha. The nine-tailed fox had broken free of the Uzumaki girl and had gone on a rampage that the Leaf shinobi had struggled to stop. Only when the fourth hokage had joined in was the demon subdued. The event had happened barely an hour after he’d left.

His house was gone.

His nails sunk into the soft flesh of his hands as he spun away from the sight. A familiar crimson liquid began dripping down his palms, his grip so tight that his nails easily bit past the protective layer of skin. Mechanically, he turned away from the demolished building and started for his father’s house, throat dry. The few people he passed that recognized the reclusive man grimaced, quickly turning away. Not only was he a sight to behold, the dark aura radiating off of him easy for even the simplest of civilians to pick up on, but the sight of him sent waves of sympathy through most. Something that none of them wanted to show, facing the problematic chance that he might stop and ask them the question of his house.

Once he’d located the family house and his brother, one look at the younger boy’s suddenly pale face told him everything.

Manami.

Manami whom he’d promised to come back to.

Manami whom he’d lost himself attempting to protect.

Manami who should have rushed out to greet him when he’d walked in the door.

His Manami, who he’d left in that house, wasn’t there.

He didn’t break in that moment.

He shattered.