The girl opened her eyes, faint rays of sunshine disturbing her sleep. With a groan, she rolled over on her rough hay mattress, pushing herself up with chubby hands. A roughspun blanket fell from her shoulders and pooled around her waist as she rubbed at her eyes.

"Moh, Yachiru, I thought I told you to get up already."

A young woman stood on the other side of the room, a basket balanced on her hip. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back away from her face and covered by a tattered bandana. The blue of her kimono complemented her peachy pale skin, setting off her black, black eyes beautifully.

"Mama," the girl said with a poorly stifled yawn. "I'm tired."

The woman laughed gently, the action revealing a charming gap between her two front teeth. "I warned you not to stay up so late. This is your punishment. Now, get up! You don't want to miss your papa, do you?"

Yachiru perked up, exhaustion forgotten, and flung herself from the bed. She pulled her overlong sleep clothes over her head and began rummaging through another basket next to the creaky bed. Her mother chuckled and stepped out through the only door, letting light into the one roomed building. The girl struggled in her haste to put on a green shirt and semi clean pants, tripping over herself several times. She ran a hand through the mop of curls on her head, finger catching futilely on knots as she tried to make herself presentable without a mirror. Giving up with a sigh, she trudged out of the hut and into the sunlight, squinting as her eyes adjusted. There, across the way, stood her mother. She was looking up at a shadowed figure, expression forlornly resigned.

She always looked like that when saying goodbye to papa.

The grass tickled the bottoms of Yachiru's bare feet as she crossed the clearing, her pace slowing as she grew nearer to her parents. Her father wore black, as always, his body concealed by an all encompassing cloak. The face Yachiru had never seen was hidden beneath a veiled hat, the thick, gauzy fabric obscuring his features perfectly.

Sometimes, in Yachiru's most private nightmares, her father took off the hat and had no face at all underneath.

"Ah, there she is," his voice was deep and soothing, bringing up memories of bedtime stories and half botched lullabies. "My little princess."

Yachiru reached up and tugged at her father's sleeve. "Papa, do you have to go? Can't you stay a little longer?"

He chuckled, placing his gloved left hand on her head and undoing all the work she'd done to tame her curls. "Sorry, princess, I have to go. I'll bring you back a present."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Oh?" Her mother sidled up to her husband, a theatrical pout on her lips. "And what about me? Don't I get a present?"

"Of course," her father said with an audible smile. "Whatever you want, Rin."

Hanako stared up at the dark ceiling, mind carefully blank.

Nope. Nuhuh. Not thinking about it. That is a problem for another day. Future Hanako can deal with it. Present Hanako is going to the kitchen!

Dragging herself out of bed, not unlike the Yachiru in her dreams, she slowly made her way through the silent tower. Her team had made it to the tower with a day to spare, so all that was left to do was wait. There were other teams there, too, of course—Gaara's was one, the trio from Kumo was another—and they were all stuck in the tower together until the third day was done. Luckily, it seemed like everyone—sans Gaara, of course—was asleep, so she'd probably have the kitchen to herself. Dawn wasn't for another couple of hours, and she needed some time to collect her thoughts before she faced anyone.

There was someone in the kitchen.

Sighing quietly to herself, Hanako made to leave.

"Hey, wait a sec, you don't have to go."

She turned around and met Kankuro's dark eyes. Ah. He wasn't wearing his face paint.

They stood there, staring at each other, for a solid minute before Hanako realized she wasn't wearing her mask, either.

Oh, well. Can't be helped.

She stepped into the galley style kitchen, reaching past a still frozen Kankuro to open the fridge. Pulling out a tin of plain yogurt, she dug around in a drawer for a spoon.

"Woah, kid, why the hell do you cover your face?"

Mah, of all the questions...

"You first," she said blankly as she hopped up onto a counter. "Why do you paint yours?"

It was a legitimate question. All she'd ever found on the internet were fan theories, so hearing it from the source would be nice.

He leaned against the counter opposite her, crossing his arms over his chest as he shrugged. "It's part of the uniform, I guess."

"For the Puppet Corps.?"

"Yeah."

Well...that was underwhelming. She'd read something somewhere saying that traditional Japanese puppeteers wore similar make up, so maybe it really was that simple?

"Your turn," he said with a surprisingly attractive smile. "Why wear a mask when your face is fine?"

Mah, should she really answer this?

He'd answered her, though...

"I look like my mother," she said, finally, carefully avoiding his gaze. "I just got tired of seeing her in the mirror, I guess."

The air between them felt stuffy and awkward and she immediately regretted her honesty. Silently, she ate her yogurt, scraping at the bottom for just a little more.

"Damn, shorty, that's depressing."

She snorted. It was a loud, ungainly sound that hurt her face. Yogurt stung her sinuses as she clutched at her face to stifle her laughter.

She looked up at Kankuro, the older boy's face twisted in a wry smile. "You don't know the half of it."

His dark brows quirked. "Oh, yeah? I bet I can guess."

Oho?

She let herself grin. "Go ahead, then. Guess."

His eyes lingered on her teeth just long enough for her notice. Placing a hand on his face, he put on a show of thinking. "Let me see, your dad's Kakashi, so your mom's probably someone important, too—probably from a big clan, right? I don't think it's the Inuzuka—you're nowhere near as loud as that kid—and it sure as hell ain't the Hyuuga or Uchiha, so..." He snapped his fingers. "It's the Nara!"

Oh, God, he was so wrong. So horribly, obnoxiously wrong.

"And," he continued. "I'm guessing this Nara mom of yours probably died, right? Likely on a mission which brought great pride to your village, am I right?"

Mah, he looked so confident, too. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

"Wrong." Ah, quiet shock on his face was a nice change from the perpetual smug grin. "Well, not entirely. My mom did die, just not on a mission." Was it ok to use her like this? Yachiru's stubborn revival aside, Hanako never really felt anything for the woman in her dreams. She only refrained from speaking about it because it made other people uncomfortable.

And made her stand out.

"Oh?" He cocked his head, grin already in place again.

She nodded, adopting a forlorn expression and staring off into the middle distance. "She was murdered."

Kankuro froze, expression falling slowly.

"It was a long time ago," she continued, tone purposefully flat. "I barely remember anything from before it, but," she met and held the Suna teen's eyes. "I remember her face. I remember the blood, and the cold water of the river. I remember being trapped in a corpse's embrace." Idly, she began to wonder how much of this was trying to scare Kankuro and how much was just venting. "I remember my father, finding me after that. So, no," she pulled her lips up into a smile, knowing full well that her pointed teeth were on display. "My mother brought no pride to my village."

Ah, had she overdone it? He was looking rather green. Mah. May as well finish what she started.

"I don't wear a mask to hide my face from others, like most people probably assume. I wear it to hide from myself."

Poor Kankuro. He was so underqualified for that therapy sess. Oops.