Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Winter

Red sky at night, shepherd's delight.

The problem with old sayings is that eventually the weather hears them and decides to become spiteful.

It had been snowing since dawn.

The sheep were furious about it.

I woke to the sound of something repeatedly hitting my bedroom window. For a few hopeful seconds, I convinced myself it was a branch. The tree outside had lost most of its leaves weeks ago and sat close enough to the house that the wind occasionally rattled it against the glass. Entirely reasonable explanation.

Then came another thump.

Then a very familiar baa.

I closed my eyes. "Go away."

Another thump.

Louder.

The sheep, it seemed, had considered my request and rejected it.

Snowlight filtered through the curtains, turning the room pale blue. The fire downstairs had burned low during the night, I knew because I could feel the cold waiting beyond the blankets, patient and inevitable.

The sheep hit the window again, and I sighed into my pillow. "You're lucky I raised you."

She answered with another indignant noise. Apparently we were having a conversation.

I eventually dragged myself from bed, pulled on wool socks thick enough to qualify as armour, and crossed to the window. A white face stared back at me. Round eyes. Snow dusting her ears. No visible shame. "Hana."

She blinked.

I blinked back.

Hana lowered her head and rammed the wall beneath the window.

I shut the curtain.

There are moments in life when experience becomes unnecessary - I already knew exactly what had happened. By the time I stepped outside twenty minutes later, bundled in enough layers to survive a small war, my suspicions had been confirmed. The north pasture gate stood open, and three sheep occupied the yard; one had climbed onto the porch, another was attempting to eat the broom leaning beside the door, and Hana watched me approach with the calm confidence of someone who had never once suffered consequences for her actions. The snow crunched beneath my boots, fresh powder reached nearly to my calves in places. Tiny flakes drifted lazily through the air, catching in my scarf and eyelashes. The world felt softer after snowfall, fences became gentle curves beneath white blankets, stone walls disappeared, the distant hills blurred into the sky until land and cloud seemed stitched together.

Beautiful.

Inconvenient as hell, as beautiful things often were.

I herded the escapees back toward the pasture with all the dignity available to a woman arguing with livestock before sunrise. "Get back through the gate."

Hana stared at me.

I motioned with my hand. "Through the gate."

The sheep continued staring.

"You're standing in snow."

Nothing.

I pointed. "You dislike snow, it's cold."

Still nothing. A pause. Then the sheep sneezed directly at me.

I stood there for a moment as snow drifted gently between us. "See?"

After a gentle and encouraging shove with my hip to her behind she moved along. The gate was my next port of call as I pushed it back into place against the fencepost. The latch had frozen during the night and ripped off with the wind to who knows where, certainly not within eyeshot. Well, that explained the escape, and it also explained why I'd spent the previous week reminding myself to replace it and somehow never getting around to it. I sighed. God I hated this time of year, winter had a habit of exposing every task you'd postponed:

A loose hinge in summer became a broken door in winter.

A cracked bucket became a shattered bucket.

A gate latch became three sheep in your front garden before breakfast.

By the time the sheep were secured, I say that loosely, the water trough checked, the feed distributed, the chickens unsuccessfully convinced to leave their coop, the sun had risen somewhere behind the clouds. Not that I could see it. The snowfall was thickening, grey sky pressing low over the field, the sort of weather that swallowed roads. I paused outside the barn and looked toward the distant line of trees bordering the main path into town. The storm wasn't dangerous yet.

Yet.

I rubbed my gloved hands together and watched my breath curl into the cold.

- Feed supplements.

- Lamp oil.

- Tea.

- Sugar.

I mentally worked through the list.

I could wait until tomorrow… probably. The problem with winter storms was that they rarely asked permission before becoming larger problems. I glanced toward the house, then toward the road, then back toward the house. The sheep had already settled around the hay, the chickens were warm, the fire would keep until afternoon…

A trip into town made sense.

Besides, I'd been meaning to drop off a few jars of preserves at the store before the roads became impossible. Meaning to for nearly a week, actually.I headed back toward the house, snowflakes gathering on my coat. The chimney smoke curled lazily into the pale sky. The windows glowed amber against the white landscape.

Home.

Small, warm, a little crooked in places, but mine. I smiled despite myself and climbed the porch steps. Behind me, Hana immediately escaped the pasture again.

Damnit.

By the time I'd enticed that damn ewe back into her paddock I could already tell the weather was turning, and not for the better. I rustled the rest of the flock into the barn, apologising profusely that they didn't get more time outside today - though, admittedly, most were quite happy to be going back inside to the warmth and dry. Well, except for Hana, who I spent an additional twenty minutes coaxing with a carrot. The girl had perfected the art of bribery, that's for sure.

I returned to the house with snow in my boots, straw clinging to my coat, and a growing suspicion that sheep possessed a collective intelligence dedicated entirely to making my life more complicated. The warmth hit me the moment I stepped inside, the smell of woodsmoke and stew from last night's supper filling me with comfort. I shut the door firmly behind me and leaned against it for a moment while feeling returned to my fingers. Winter always made the house feel alive; the walls creaked occasionally as the wood beams shifted, the kettle muttered on the stove, firelight flickered across familiar corners.

Outside, the world felt vast and white and cold.

Inside, everything fit comfortably within arm's reach.

I crossed to the pantry where thepreserves were waiting exactly where I'd left them. Six jars: three blackberry, two apple, one mixed berry that I'd accidentally made too sweet and was now attempting to convince other people to enjoy. I wrapped them carefully in cloth before placing them inside a wooden crate, and adding another layer of cloth between the jars.

Then another.

Winter roads were rough, and there were few sounds more heartbreaking than hearing glass shatter after spending an entire summer making whatever had been inside it.

When I finally set out the snowfall had thickened into a steady curtain of white. The road from my farm wound through rolling pastureland before joining the main route into town. In summer it was a pleasant walk, in winter it became a negotiation. The snow muffled everything. No birdsong. No distant wagon wheels. No sheep beyond the occasional faint complaint drifting from somewhere behind me. My boots crunched steadily across the frozen ground as the crate rested against my hip. The scarf wrapped around my nose captured each warm breath before releasing it again. The landscape stretched around me in shades of white, silver, and muted grey. Different at this time of year, but nevertheless familiar. I knew every bend in the path. Every fence post. Every cluster of trees. There was a strange satisfaction in knowing a place so thoroughly, the sort that settled quietly in your chest over years. I could have walked this road blindfolded - though, given the weather, I preferred not to test that theory.

The storm was gathering strength the closer to town I got. The snowfall had become finer, carried sideways by the wind in delicate streams that skimmed over drifts and gathered against stone walls. I paused briefly at the crest of a hill. From there I could usually see most of the valley. Today I could barely see the next field.

"Hm." That wasn't ideal.

I adjusted the crate against my arm and continued downhill. The town emerged gradually from the snow. First the dark shape of rooftops, then chimney smoke, then warm lights glowing through frosted windows. A familiar knot loosened in my chest. Small towns had a way of becoming extensions of home. I knew who lived behind nearly every window. Who baked the best bread. Who cheated at cards. Whose roof still leaked despite six separate repair attempts. Comforting information. Useful information.

The main store sat on the outskirts of town, about half an hours walk from the nearest building other than my farm. From the outside it looked exactly like what it claimed to be: a slightly overcrowded local store run by an elderly man with strong opinions about weather and potatoes.

Genzo Kurogane, or Old Man Genzo as I called him, was somewhere in his sixties, though hard years made guessing difficult. Deep lines bracketed his mouth, a faded tattoo disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, his left hand was missing the tip of his little finger, and one ear had clearly been sliced more than once. He looked like the sort of man who had survived several bad ideas and learned from none of them. Still, he had always been kind to me; sneaking me dango when I was a kid after my parents sent me to collect our weekly supplies.

The sign above the door creaked gently in the wind. A lantern glowed beside the entrance. I climbed the steps, stamped snow from my boots, and pushed the door open. Warmth rolled over me the moment I stepped inside, a bell chiming overhead. The front room looked less like a store and more like someone had gradually convinced a home to become a business. Shelves crowded every wall, packed with flour, lamp oil, dried goods, tools, seed packets, coils of rope, and enough odds and ends to solve most problems short of a house fire. A cast-iron stove glowed in one corner. Two mismatched armchairs sat nearby, their cushions permanently occupied by whichever locals happened to be avoiding work that day. Though, understandably, remained empty today given the impending white-out. Strings of drying herbs hung from exposed beams overhead. Somewhere deeper in the building, coffee was brewing. The entire place smelled of charcoal, cinnamon, and old timber.

"Afternoon." I smiled automatically.

"Good afternoon." Genzo glanced up from behind the counter. His eyes dropped to the crate, then to me, then back to the crate. "You're out in this?"

I set the crate on the counter. "So are you."

"...I live here."

I paused, then huffed. "Fair point."

He inspected the preserves one by one with the solemn concentration of a man evaluating state secrets. He held a blackberry jar up to the light. Turned it slightly. Nodded. Set it aside.

I waited patiently.

This happened every single time. I was fairly certain he trusted my preserves by now, I was also fairly certain he enjoyed making me stand there while he inspected them.

"You've used more sugar."

I blinked. "How can you tell that from looking at it?"

"I have eyes."

I tutted, "Remarkable."

"Hm." He held up another jar.

I folded my arms and wandered toward the front window. Snow drifted past outside in dense white blankets now. The street had already begun emptying, a pair of villagers hurried down the road with their heads tucked against the wind. The storm was settling in. I frowned slightly. The roads would be miserable before long.

"You're doing it again."

I glanced back. "Doing what?"

Genzo didn't even look up from the jars. "Looking out the window."

"Sorry, didn't know that was a crime."

"You were checking the road."

I narrowed my eyes. "I was checking the weather on the road."

"Hm."

I hated that hm. He reserved it specifically for occasions when he thought he was right. Unfortunately, he often was. I turned back toward the window. Snow swirled through the street, the road beyond town disappeared into a curtain of white. My gaze lingered there for a moment. Then another.

He sighed dramatically behind me. "You know, most people simply admit to having a crush."

Heat immediately crawled up my neck. "Huh?"

His expression remained perfectly innocent, which was suspicious. "I said most people simply admit to having a crush."

"I do not have a crush." The answer arrived entirely too quickly.

The old man finally looked up again. Slowly. Very slowly. The way one might look at a child who had just claimed the moon was made of cheese. "You absolutely do."

"I absolutely do not."

"Kaida, you ask about them every month."

I clicked my tongue, "I ask about lots of people."

"Yes, but they're the only ones you ask if they're still alive."

I opened my mouth. Paused. "...That's different."

"How?"

"... I don't know yet."

His shoulders shook once. The traitor was laughing.

I pointed accusingly. "You're rude."

"And you're blushing."

I immediately pressed my hands against my cheeks. Genzo looked delighted. I huffed, pouting. "I am not."

"You're thirty."

I looked back indignant, "And? That doesn't stop people from blushing."

"No, but I expected better denial techniques by now."

I groaned softly.

There were plenty of bounty hunters who passed through town. Plenty of shinobi. Plenty of wandering mercenaries. The roads saw all sorts, very few of them became recurring topics of conversation - fewer still wore black cloaks decorated with red clouds. I first noticed them sometime during the summer, mostly because everyone noticed them. Two strange men carrying corpses through town tended to attract attention.

One was loud.

The other wasn't.

That had remained consistently true ever since.

Over time they became part of the rhythm of the road. Every few weeks they would appear, collect a bounty, disappear again. Then reappear later carrying another unfortunate criminal. The first few times I'd watched from a distance, the way everyone did. Curious. Cautious. After a while the curiosity remained, but the caution faded. The men they brought in were never local farmers, never merchants, never people trying to live ordinary lives. They were mostly thieves, bandits, missing-nin with rewards attached to their names. The sort of people mothers warned their children about, the sort of people that occasionally wandered too close to town before learning it was a very poor career choice, evidently.

The first time I'd waved at the pair it had been entirely accidental. At least I think it had. I was repairing a fence line when they passed the north pasture. The silver-haired one, Hidan, Genzo had told me, had been shouting about something while the other one, Kakuzu, had been ignoring him. The usual arrangement, from what I could tell. They'd walked past, I'd looked up. Our eyes had met, and I'd waved. A perfectly normal thing to do when seeing people on a road, certainly around these parts. Yet neither of them waved back. I spent the rest of the afternoon wishing the fence post would fall on me. The second time I waved because I had already waved once and consistency felt important. After that it simply became a habit or, at least, that was what I'd told myself. The truth was, after a while I started noticing when they hadn't come through town.

A week would pass.

Then two.

And I'd catch myself glancing toward the road while checking fences or moving sheep between pastures.

Entirely normal behaviour.

Probably.

The problem was that my attention had become increasingly focused on one of them. Which was unfortunate, because Kakuzu rarely gave me anything to work with. Hidan talked enough for me to understand him, even through purely eavesdropping. Kakuzu seemed perfectly content letting silence do most of the heavy lifting. His face was hidden beneath that strange hood and mask, and the rest disappeared into shadows half the time. There were the rare occasions I actually saw his eyes. Dark green. No pupils. Red whites. The sort of eyes that should have made a sensible person uncomfortable. I never did. Mostly, I thought they were beautiful. Which was a ridiculous thing to think about an Akatsuki member. Particularly one who was usually carrying a dead body. That was another thing, the guy was tall enough and broad enough that he made lugging a body look trivial.

Very inconvenient.

There was something unfair about a man being mysterious on purpose. I mean, I assumed it was on purpose - nobody accidentally looked like that.

The voice had been the final nail in the coffin. I hadn't even been speaking to him; months ago I'd been browsing seed packets near the back shelves while they collected a bounty. The office door hadn't quite shut properly. And look, I hadn't meant to listen, I'd simply heard him answer a question. One sentence. Maybe two. That deep, rough rumble had settled somewhere beneath my ribs and stubbornly refused to leave. I had spent the entire walk home annoyed with myself. A grown woman should not be developing a crush based on a man's voice.

Or his eyes.

Or the fact he could probably lift a sheep one-handed.

And yet…

Here we were.

The old man snorted, and I realised I'd drifted away from the conversation.

"Thinking about him?"

How mortifying. "...I was thinking about fence maintenance."

"Mm-hm." There was a pause, then: "You know what this reminds me of?"

"No."

"When you were twelve."

I immediately frowned. "I don't like where this is going."

"You found that injured fox."

"Oh, for-"

"You swore up and down you weren't keeping it."

"I wasn't."

"You built it a shelter."

"It was injured."

"You started leaving food out."

"It needed food."

His eyebrow quirked. "You gave it a name."

"That... was practical."

Genzo nodded solemnly. "Of course."

I narrowed my eyes. "Where exactly are you going with this?"

"I'm simply observing a familiar pattern."

I held his gaze for a moment too long. "There is no pattern."

"Mm."

I pointed at him. "That noise should be illegal."

His grin widened. "I'm just saying that every time you've ever insisted you weren't attached to something, you've eventually started bringing it home."

I shook my head, eyes rolling to the back of my head. "I am not bringing an Akatsuki member home."

He huffed, eyes half-lidded, "I should certainly hope not."

I was still trying to think of a response to that when the front door burst open and a gust of freezing wind swept through the store. The bell overhead rang violently.

Snow followed first.

Then two men.

Then a corpse slung over a shoulder.

Cold air rolled through the room, the smell of wet wool and winter following close behind.

Genzo closed his eyes slowly, the way people did when deciding whether something was worth the energy required to be annoyed about it. "What," he asked with remarkable calm, "have I said about using the front door?"

The silver-haired one immediately jerked his thumb toward the street. "Uh, have you seen outside old man? It's a fucking blizzard."

"What. Have I said. About using. The front. Door?" He repeated. Slowly.

"It's. A fucking. BLIZZARD!?"

Genzo opened his eyes. "I heard you the first time."

Hidan flailed his hand. "Then why'd you ask again?"

"To see if the answer improved."

"Tch, well tough shit."

Genzo sighed, "Clearly."

I remained very still beside the window, partly because I was trying not to laugh, partly because Kakuzu was standing approximately six feet away. Not that I was counting. The body hanging over his shoulder looked considerably more comfortable with the situation than I did, somehow. Snow clung to the hem of his cloak, a few flakes had settled along the seams of his hood, and his posture hadn't changed at all despite the weather. Or the body. Or Hidan's complaining. The last one seemed particularly impressive.

"You're getting snow everywhere," Genzo informed them.

Hidan glanced down. "Oh," Then looked back up. "Well no shit. It's almost like it's snowing."

They stared at eachother, neither appeared willing to concede the point.

Meanwhile, Kakuzu reached up and brushed a layer of snow from one shoulder. Then, in that same deep voice I'd spent entirely too much time thinking about: "The back entrance was blocked by snow."

I hated how quickly I recognised it.

Months.

Months of seeing this man pass through town and somehow I recognised his voice instantly like a fool. A complete fool.

Genzo gestured vaguely toward the bounty. "And that couldn't have waited outside?"

"No." The answer arrived without hesitation, the sort of response that suggested the discussion had already concluded in his mind.

I was beginning to understand why Hidan did so much of the talking, someone had to.

Hidan dropped into one of the chairs near the fire with a dramatic groan. "Thank Jashin."

Kakuzu side-eyed him. "You've been indoors for ten seconds."

"Hey, I've suffered."

"We walked."

Hidan scoffed, "Yeah, and I suffered while walking."

Genzo snorted.

I pressed my lips together. The stories people told about missing-nin rarely included conversations like this. Which felt like an oversight.

Hidan stretched his legs toward the fire with a content sigh. Kakuzu remained standing, the body still resting over one shoulder. The image should probably have been alarming, instead I found myself distracted by the fact that he looked entirely unbothered by the weight. The man carried another adult with the same effort I carried lambs. A terrible thing to notice. An even worse thing to continue noticing.

Genzo finally jerked his head toward the office door with a sigh. "Right, well, take it through."

Kakuzu shifted the body slightly on his shoulder and started toward the back room.

And, for reasons I still cannot adequately explain, my mouth opened as he passed me. "Good afternoon, Kakuzu-sama."

He stopped dead.

Silence.

The kind that arrives suddenly and immediately makes you regret every decision that led to it. Three people looked at me, and I wished to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. The roof. The pasture. The bottom of a well. All excellent alternatives.

Hidan's eyebrows climbed slowly. "Do we know you?"

"No." The answer escaped immediately.

A pause. Unfortunately, that somehow made everything worse.

Hidan looked genuinely confused. "You know his name."

"Yes."

"And you greeted him."

"Yes."

"And we don't know you?"

"No."

Hidan scratched the back of his head. "Eh?"

Heat flooded my face.

Kakuzu's gaze had settled on me, and I became very aware that I was holding a bundle of dried rosemary for absolutely no reason. After a moment, he spoke. "The woman from the pasture."

The room vanished. Not literally, unfortunately, the room remained exactly where it was - I simply stopped processing most of it.

"Oh." That was all I managed. Not because I lacked additional words; on the contrary, my brain immediately produced several thousand of them. Unfortunately they had all attempted to leave through the same exit at once and become lodged somewhere behind my eyes.

Hidan looked between us, realisation spreading across his face. "Ohhhh, the waving girl."

I immediately wished for the well again.

Kakuzu neither confirmed nor denied the statement, which somehow felt like confirmation.

The old man chose that exact moment to save my life. "Kakuzu." His voice carried all the patience of a man whose patience had already been exhausted. He cleared his throat. "The body."

A beat.

Then Kakuzu turned away. "Right."

The office door opened, Kakuzu entered and Genzo followed, then the door shut with a click of a lock. Silence settled over the shop for approximately three seconds. Then Hidan looked at me and I looked at a shelf. He continued looking at me. The shelf remained wonderfully uninvolved.

Eventually he snorted. "Most people take the hint, by the way."

"What hint?"

"The one where we don't wave back."

I squinted at him. "I was being polite."

Hidan barked a laugh. "To missing-nin?"

"You were on the road."

"That's your defence?"

I shrugged. "I greet everyone on the road."

He leaned back in his chair, studying me for a moment. Then he scoffed to himself, "You're serious?"

Unfortunately, I was. "I greet everyone," I repeated with a nod.

"The hell kinda life have you lived where that's worked out for you?"

I huffed, a hand settling on my hip. "A fairly pleasant one, actually."

That seemed to catch him off guard for a second, then only encouraged him. "You hear that, Kakuzu?" He raised his voice toward the office door. "Seems we're the weird ones."

A muffled, irritated response came through the wood.

Hidan grinned. "See? Even he agrees."

I wasn't convinced that was what had been said. I picked up another bundle of herbs. I did not need herbs. I already had herbs. At this point I was simply carrying them around the shop like emotional support plants.

Hidan watched me for another moment, crossing his leg loosely. "So..."

I braced myself.

"You lived 'round here long?"

The question was so unexpectedly normal that I almost laughed. "My whole life, yes."

"Damn…" His foot swung where it rested across his leg. "... and you're a sheep farmer?"

"...Yes."

He nodded. "Cool."

Silence fell again.

I went back to browsing some very interesting plant pots.

He tutted a little tune to himself, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. "See you haven't fixed that gate yet."

I looked up at him then. "How do you know my gate keeps breaking?"

He smirked. "Well, you've seen us walk past it, no?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. That was actually a very reasonable answer. "I fixed it last month."

"Mm."

"It just-" I waved vaguely in the air. "-Broke again last night."

"Mm."

"..."

"..."

I sighed. "I hate winter."

Hidan scoffed, "You 'n me both, princess."

I didn't know whether to be offended or embarrassed at the term. I hesitated. Then, before I could reconsider the decision, I crossed the room and stopped beside his chair. Hidan looked up and I held out a hand. "It's Kaida."

A pause.

"What?"

"My name."

He looked at my hand as though it might be a trap, then shook it. "Hidan," His brow furrowed. "Though I guess you already knew that."

I smiled. "I did." I dipped my head politely. "It's nice to meet you anyway, Hidan-sama."

Hidan snorted, "Yeah, don't do that."

"Do what?"

He waved vaguely. "The sama thing. Makes me sound respectable."

I paused for a moment, then nodded. "Right." That explained something, possibly several things, none of them important enough to pursue right now.

Behind the office door muffled voices drifted through the wood. Numbers. Amounts. The familiar language of money changing hands. I returned a bundle of herbs to the shelf. Then immediately picked up a different one, because apparently I had committed to this strategy. Hidan watched me do it and I pretended not to notice. I then went around and gathered the remaining items I actually needed.

- Feed supplements.

- Lamp oil.

- Tea.

- Sugar.

…

I stared at the shelf marked as such. It lay empty. I tutted, of course. I knew using too much for that stupid preserve was going to come back and bite me. Idiot.

The office door finally opened and Kakuzu emerged first, Genzo shuffling behind him. Neither looked particularly surprised, which probably meant the negotiation had gone normally.

Kakuzu adjusted the collar of his cloak as he headed toward the front door. "Let's go."

Snow hammered against the glass now, the storm having worsened considerably while we'd been talking.

Hidan looked towards it, then looked at Kakuzu, then looked out the window again. "The fuck you mean, let's go?"

"The weather will worsen if we waste anymore time," Kakuzu replied.

Hidan fired him a bemused look. "It's already shit."

"We've travelled in worse, Hidan."

"Yeah, and it sucked then too."

Kakuzu didn't appear moved by this argument and continued his way toward the door.

Hidan pointed at the window. "Fucking look at it."

No one answered.

"Actually look at it, Kakuzu."

Kakuzu didn't even turn his head.

"I am not hiking through that."

"The inn is nearby," Genzo offered.

Hidan immediately pointed at him like he'd just said something profound. "See? Reasonable people."

Kakuzu grunted, "It's overpriced."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Genzo sighed, and I got the distinct impression this wasn't a new argument. I handed over the money for my items, packing them in the now empty crate.

Hidan threw both hands into the air. "It's one night!"

"It charges double during storms," Kakuzu replied.

"So?"

"So I'm not paying double."

Hidan groaned dramatically. "I don't care what it costs, I'm not sleeping in a blizzard!"

"You don't have to."

Then, very carefully like he was treading on eggshells- "Good."

"If you pay for it," Kakuzu added without even looking at him.

Hidan made a strangled noise, halfway between outrage and betrayal. "The hell you even saving for if not for shit like this?"

"More money."

That, apparently, was the end of the conversation as far as Kakuzu was concerned.

Genzo pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hidan stared at him. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"I'm efficient."

"You're cheap."

"Correct."

That seemed to annoy Hidan more than if he'd denied it.

The wind hit the windows again, harder this time. A sharp, rattling impact that made the glass shiver in its frame. I didn't like this. The storm wasn't impossible yet, but it was getting there in the way winter always did; slowly at first, like it was giving you time to make the wrong decision properly. The road to town crossed open stretches of pasture where the wind gathered without anything to stop it, nothing but flat land and snow to carry it forward. I knew those paths, I'd walked them my entire life, and I knew what it was like to walk them in weather like this. I could still feel what it was like when visibility went from white to nothing in the space of a few breaths. Your sense of direction disappeared very quickly, so did the feeling in your hands and feet.

My eyes moved over the men's attire; the cloak looked warm enough, though already damp, Hidan was for some incredibly odd reason shirtless, neither had gloves, nor were they wearing appropriate shoes. A small knot of concern settled in my stomach. The sort you got when you watched someone preparing to do something unnecessarily difficult and entirely confident about it.

The argument continued as I lifted my crate.

"I am not sleeping outside, KAKUZU!"

"And I'm not paying for the inn."

"It's ONE. FUCKING. NIGHT!"

"Indeed. And last time it was a scam."

"Oh, come ON- I'm sure the roof won't cave in this time!"

"I'm not paying for the possibility that it does."

Hidan looked briefly toward the ceiling, possibly searching for divine intervention or patience. Neither appeared forthcoming. Then he turned slightly, as if appealing to the room itself. "Does nobody else see how stupid this is?"

Genzo gave a long-suffering sigh.

Then, because I had absolutely zero sense of self-preservation, the words left my mouth before I had fully considered them. "You could stay at my farm."

Silence again.

Three heads turned simultaneously... again. My brain caught up a moment later.

Oh.

I had said that out loud.

Right.

The old man closed his eyes slowly, the way he always did when I was about to make his day significantly more interesting.

Hidan stared.

I stared back.

Kakuzu simply watched me.

The attention was somehow worse.

Hidan sat forward slightly. "…What'd you say?"

"My farm," I repeated, swallowing. "It's closer, and I have spare rooms. If you're deciding between the inn and somewhere else, I mean. Or if you think you can out-manoeuvre the storm." I nodded toward the window.

The wall of white did not look impressed.

Hidan went quiet, his gaze flicking to Kakuzu who remained unreadable. His gaze passed over me and I suddenly understood why rabbits froze when hawks looked at them. After a moment, his eyes moved back to the storm outside. "You know who we are, right?"

There it was, the clarification shaped like a warning. I shifted my grip on the crate. "Yes."

"And you're inviting us into your house?"

"...Yes."

Hidan's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

The answer seemed obvious. "Because it's a storm?"

Hidan stared again.

I stared back again.

Snow continued battering the windows.

Then he pointed between himself and Kakuzu, then toward the office door, then their cloaks. "We're not travellers Sweetheart."

I nodded. "I know."

"We're Akatsuki."

I nodded again. "I'm well aware."

Hidan's jaw fell a little slack. "... The fuck is wrong with this town?"

"Nothing?" Though judging by their faces that didn't seem to help. "I've seen the people you bring in, one of them tried to rob the Tanakas last month."

Kakuzu's gaze flicked briefly to Hidan, then back to me. "I go after whoever pays, their crimes don't matter."

"Maybe not to you." I adjusted the crate, shrugging. "Still criminals."

Hidan snorted, the old man hid a smile behind his hand, and Kakuzu's eyes remained on me for a second longer. Then he exhaled softly through his nose and looked away. Not because he'd won the argument, more because I'd accepted his premise and arrived at an entirely different conclusion anyway.

A moment passed, only the wind outside filled the gap.

Kakuzu spoke first. "How far?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Your farm." His eyes returned to mine.

"Oh. Um…" I tried very hard not to let the heat show. "About fifteen minutes on foot. Less if the weather wasn't awful."

He nodded once. "Nearest neighbours?"

"The Tanakas. Half an hour away."

Another nod. "Water?"

"...Yeah?"

"Running?"

"If the pipes haven't frozen, yes."

He seemed to consider this.

I found myself standing a little straighter without entirely understanding why.

"Food?"

"Yes."

"What kind?"

I fired him a questioning look. "...Normal food?"

A pause.

"Define normal."

Hidan barked out a laugh.

I looked between them. "Rice... Bread... Stew..."

"Meat?"

"Sometimes."

"Tonight?"

"...Probably."

Another nod.

"Hot water?"

"Eventually."

"Eventually?"

"It takes time to heat."

"Mm." Another pause. "Roof condition?"

I smiled, "It's better than the Inn's, if that's what you're asking."

Kakuzu hummed, seemingly mildly pleased by this information.

Beside the fire, Hidan had started grinning. "You forgot the important one."

Kakuzu glanced at him. "What?"

Hidan spread his arms dramatically. "Ask her if we're gonna get murdered."

I nearly dropped the crate. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Why would I murder you?"

Hidan pointed at me. "See? That's what a murderer would say."

"I don't think it is."

"It definitely is."

Kakuzu ignored both of us. His gaze returned to me. "Cost?"

The question arrived so bluntly that I laughed before I could stop myself. A short burst of sound escaped me, and I pressed a hand over my mouth. "Sorry."

He continued looking at me.

I became acutely aware that stopping now would have been polite, and also completely impossible.

"I'm not charging you." I waved a hand in what I hoped resembled composure. "It's fine."

He considered this for a moment. "…Nothing?"

I shook my head. "No."

The lines arouns his eyes tightened. "Why?"

That one actually surprised me. I shrugged. "Because you're cold, and I have the space."

He looked unconvinced by this explanation. Which seemed unfair, it was the truth. His gaze flicked briefly toward the crate in my arms. "Food included?"

I laughed again, "Included in the scandalously generous offer? Yes."

Another pause.

"Firewood?"

"I was planning to heat my house regardless."

"Hm."

Something about the noise felt faintly suspicious, enough that I found myself smiling again. "Do you ask everyone this many questions before accepting hospitality?"

"I don't usually accept hospitality."

I raised an eyebrow. "No?"

Hidan barely contained a laugh.

Kakuzu looked at me. "What?"

"Nothing," I smiled innocently. "You just seem very practiced for someone who doesn't."

There was a pause in which, I suspected, a decision was being weighed, measured, and possibly invoiced.

Then he nodded once and turned toward the door. "Lead the way."