A/N: Just another story trying to get the creative juices flowing. If you see any mistakes, please let me know. Hope you enjoy!

Shinobi Rule Number Six: Never make assumptions.

It was a rather vague rule, as many of the shinobi rules were. It was prone to loopholes and misinterpretation, and sometimes outright disregarded. But the shinobi rules had all been made for a reason, and it was up to the shinobi in question to interpret them as the situation required.

For rule number six, this usually resulted in a 'double tap'- you couldn't assume a downed enemy was a dead enemy, so much like a zombie apocalypse setting, it was usually a given to strike again to be on the safe side.

But rule six was more diverse than that.

You couldn't assume anything was clear- the intel you received, the skill of your opponents, the possibility of defeat or victory.

With experience though comes complacency. A shinobi who has managed to perform the same water justu successfully a thousand times will probably assume that the thousand and first time will work as well. A pattern established is expected to hold, if only for the sake that over-analyzing every facet of daily life would probably drive anyone insane.

In addition, when someone is used to always making the right assumptions, this rule begins to feel redundant, stupid- and inevitably, is unheeded.

This leads to mistakes.

Uchiha Itachi making a mistake.

The night of the Uchiha massacre, he made a single, powerful assumption- that all Uchiha in the compound followed his father's law. By this line of logic, all Uchiha would be in their homes after curfew like Fugaku had demanded (to maintain safety and unity), only out and about on police business or with leave upon special request from Fugaku himself.

For this reason, Itachi had placed within his father's office a single crow, willing to report any Uchiha that were gone- so that they would not escape the terror to come.

As with any of his assumptions, it was backed by Itachi's own experience with his clan, and though he would never admit it to himself, his own superiority as a genius leading him to believe that he knew his clan and its members better than anyone else, regardless of the fact that he didn't individually know each member. These same thoughts were what had led him to lose faith in the clan, and be sure that a massacre was the only solution to political dissent.

Being raised beneath a dictatorship truly shined in situations like these.

But the bottom line was that Itachi had made an assumption, even if it was 'warranted'. He had subconsciously decided that no Uchiha would rebel against Fuguku's mandates, because in his mind, the only rebels to the clan had been Shisui and himself.

In a way, he was right- he was likely the only Uchiha alive who would be willing to betray the clan so completely (other than 'Madara'). Yet what Itachi had failed to factor into consideration was this; rebellion does not necessarily have to be profound. It can be as simple as having the wherewithal to not give a shit about telling your clan head where you were every second of every day.

Itachi was unfamiliar with these types of rebellions. The ever studious and prestigious heir, he had followed clan law to a T his entire life until abruptly shifting tracks. To him, all or nothing was the only way to act.

And this assumption led to his mistake.

The result of said mistake let a PTSD addled drunk, a bootycall, and someone driven by revenge slip through the cracks.

Shinobi Rule Number Six: Never Make Assumptions.

XXX

Uchiha Hiroshi sat in his usual dusty corner of The Broken Kunai, nursing his diminishing bottle of sake.

In the center of the room, what was clearly an ANBU initiation drinking spree carried on. Only shinobi enlisted to a likely death could party like that. Hiroshi tilted his head to dodge a bottle accidently flung in his direction, which smashed against the wall behind him.

He sighed- he missed those days.

Hiroshi took another sip, and blandly watched the game of strip poker carry on, lacking anything better to do than periodically flag down the harried waitress for another bottle. Each time, she was surprised to see him (Hiroshi wasn't a forty-five year old ANBU veteran for nothing) but to her credit, she never screamed when he pat her on the shoulder, and the ANBU at the main table remained oblivious to his presence thanks to their inebriated state.

Unfortunately, the waitress would probably cut him off soon, if her wide eyes after he started on his sixth bottle though were any indication.

Hiroshi couldn't really blame her. Anyone else would likely be passed out with alcohol poisoning by this point. Hiroshi himself, at one distant point in his life, would have been an energetic off the walls drunk after a bottle. It was amazing what years of desensitization and trauma could do.

The central table cheered again as the lucky three recruits simultaneously knocked back shots of what was likely "Liquid Raiton", which was always a favourite. The lone male recruit giggled deliriously after finishing, while his female comrades on either side of him raised their shot glasses in victory.

They were so young.

Hiroshi looked back down to his table, empty but for himself and his six, soon to hopefully be seven, 'friends'.

It felt a lifetime ago when he himself had faced such an initiation with his own best friend, Nara Yuto. They had been young, hopeful chunin that thought the promotion to ANBU a blessing, and they had linked arms and knocked back shots with hardly any encouragement. Joking, in that snide way of underlings, about superiors who had only become jonin by virtue of hitting thirty, they themselves so cock sure of their place in the world and ready to hit the ground running. They had been drunk on life, so connected and in sink that they shared the same mask name, ready to tackle any challenge- look for any challenge.

Two wars and twenty-five years later, Hiroshi knocked back a shot of sake alone and old, jonin by virtue of living past thirty.

Yuto hadn't gotten to test that particular theory.

Despite this, Hiroshi didn't particularly hold a grudge- he was the grudge, a smudge in history that probably shouldn't be here now, when so many others had died along the way. Watching these hopeful shinobi now, Hiroshi couldn't call up the passion and furfure that seemed to infect the rest of his clan to action. He didn't have it in him to hate the youth who moved forward while the Uchiha hung back- but nor did he feel the need to stand in the way of the coup he knew was coming.

Hiroshi didn't care much about anything, anymore.

Hiroshi took a long, dragging gulp of his drink, and slammed the empty bottle to the table. He looked back again at the table of ANBU, and a weary smile lifted the corners of his lips as one of the kunoichi began a particularly pitchy rendition of Stone country's national anthem, complete with substituted verses that alluded to rocks in places they likely shouldn't be on the Tsuchikage's person.

The little bits of rebellion were always the most satisfying. It was why Hiroshi himself was here, when he was expected to be tucked away, plotting village wide annihilation like the rest of the clan elders- why he hadn't told that young flaming ball of temper Fugaku where he would be.

An old drunk like him deserved that much anonymity while he drank away his pains.

XXX

Uchiha Motoko knew she shouldn't be here.

"Momo, a little the- ahhh."

She really shouldn't be here.

Motoko increased the pressure of her hands on parted thighs, while the other woman sprawled across the old double mattress arched her back, her warm hands tangling in Motoko's hair with just enough pressure to make her dizzy, and almost forget her shame. "Oh Momo, please, please!-"

Motoko tried to ignore the overwhelming thrill that those words brought to her, but it was a losing battle. As always, the smallest hint of encouragement, the faintest sign that Motoko could bring even a hint of what she felt what seemed everyday upon the woman whose bed she lay, filled her with an overflowing passion, happiness, that pushed her on.

Later, she traced along her bedmates side, dipping up and down the curve of her ribs and curled around her from the back. But not too close- there were lines Motoko couldn't cross, or she wouldn't have even this much.

The soft brown hair that grazed Motoko's face shifted as her companion twisted slightly to face her, large eyes set in a heart shape face shifting into something apologetic.

"I'm sorry for calling- I know there's set times for when we can do this, because of your clan, but-"

"It's fine," Motoko brusquely interrupted. "I've been feeling a little stressed lately too. This was a good time."

The woman bit her lip between her slightly uneven teeth, the fangs highlighted because they were pushed in front of their fellows. Motoko carefully ignored the drop in her stomach that goddamn teeth could do to her. "Okay."

And that was that. Motoko continued to trace the bared, flawless skin that she was allowed to touch. It was enough- but Motoko wanted more. She wanted to loop her hands in long brown hair that tangled at the ends, and be the one to brush it smooth and shining. She wanted to pull tight against the body sprawled beside her, not to initiate what this relationship really was, but just to feel warm skin dotted with hardly any scars against her own.

She wanted to come over without a furtive message passed off by a dove to hide from others eyes- instead spontaneously stopping by, with takeout from the Tea shop they both loved. She wanted to go to a cheesy movie together, and make fun of the actors while sneaking shots of popcorn at each other. She wanted to hear from those lips herself the woes that befell the Sandaime's office, instead of hoarding overheard bits of conversation to learn about the daily struggles of the jammed coffee pot, the insane jonin requests.

Most of all, Motoko wanted to say three little words.

"When are you heading back?" came the sudden whisper.

Motoko carefully kept herself from tensing, and let out a languid reply that barely hinted at the frantic heart beat she was for once glad was not pressed against the back in front of her. "If it's alright with you, in the morning- I think my uncle is going to be up late working on his book again, and he'd hear me coming in."

Complete bullshit. Her uncle was MIA, and likely drinking again. It wasn't like he would have cared about her sneaking in late anyways. He didn't care about anyone.

"Oh that's- yes. That's alright then."

A silence fell between them. Motoko waited, and waited, and finally, her companions breathing evened out. Carefully, she leaned in closer to line up against the body that fit hers perfectly.

She wished she could open her mouth and say the things she really meant. How back in the academy, it was this woman's confrontation using the most powerful and subtle of insults against their teacher for a year's worth of taunts that made Motoko know even back then that she was a goner. She wished she could put in words the way she could dredge through police work with a skip in her step the rest of the day if she dropped by the Hokage tower first and caught a glimpse of a smile in her direction. Or how even though the hands she longed to hold weren't meant for kunai in the end, they still belonged to the most amazing and subtly cunning woman she had ever met.

But Motoko was shit with words.

She would have to be content with this- an arrangement that came about from a godsend of a drunken night that led to sober encounters, and which would inevitably end once someone with half a brain realized that the undersecretary for the Sandaime was beautiful and wonderful and smart and funny and-

Everything. She was everything.

And though she may not know it, Motoko's heart was held within her grasp to do with as she pleased.

Motoko knew it wouldn't last. There were rumors in the clan, ones she hardly dared to listen to, but even if it wasn't the Uchiha who put a stop to her dalliances with an outsider, it would be the 'outsider' herself once she realized that Motoko was just a dog unworthy of her attentions.

Until that time came though, she would gladly hold on to as much as she could. If that meant not telling Fugaku 'stick-in-the-ass' Uchiha where she was tonight, then so be it.

She wanted to be here.

XXX

Uchiha Anzu was on a mission of utmost importance.

She carefully packed provisions. From underneath her bed, she jerked free her holster of kunai. She used one of said blades to pry open along the seams of her bed frame, unearthing an assortment of colour coded palm sized packs which she carefully set into the proper places of the pockets lining her coat. A few more items found their way to her duffel bag- a length of rope, a spool of wire, and a pack of gum- necessary in the weeks that she had spent trying to curb her previous addiction to chewing on senbon that came from mimicking a random chuunin.

Anzu gave a decisive nod as she surveyed her room. There was nothing else that striked her as necessary for this particularly important mission. She allowed herself to smirk at last, eyes glazing with fantasies of her imminent revenge.

She'd stop by the park first and pick up the other supplies she had left by 'her' tree, and then she'd be off to the traitor's house, ready to bring upon that sniveling piece of shit the justice and hellfire that he deserved-

"An-nee, why'ya up s'late?"

Anzu froze. Slowly, she pivoted on her heel, and beheld what could be the source of her revenge's demise before it had even begun.

Droopy, dark eyes gazed up at her from the tilted head of a sleepy four year old. The stuffed cat in his arms slumped over his arm from where he had grabbed it around the middle, a yawn away from falling to the ground.

Shit. He was supposed to be sleeping!

"Go back to sleep, Dai-" Anzu shifted her pack behind her back as subtly as she could. "Its wayyyy past your bedtime."

It was too late; his gaze caught on the strap across her shoulder, and in an instant he was awake and a ball of barely repressed explosive excitement. "Oh! You've got a bag you're going adventuring can I come can I come CAN I CO-"

Anzu lunged forwards and smacked her hand across his mouth. He tried to bite at her fingers like the little monster he was, but all he got was a mouthful of leather from Anzu's gloves.

"Shhh!"

For once, Dai froze on command. Anzu perked to attention, waiting for any indication that her grandparents had heard them. She was in luck- their snoring continued to echo distantly from down the hall.

Dai started to fidget in Anzu's grasp, and after giving him a pointed look which caused him to furiously nod, she finally removed her hand. He beamed up at her, his smile more gap than teeth. "Can I?" he 'whispered'.

Anzu was tempted to smack her hand against her face, but she resisted temptation. Carefully, she dropped to her knee before her younger brother. She felt a little bad, seeing his eyes sparkle like that, but this was 'Important Business'. No younger brothers allowed for revenge plots.

"You're too little, Dai- this is big sister stuff, no brats allowed."

Dai pouted. "But!-"

"No buts, no nuts, no coconuts- this is Top Secret. Gotta be double digits for this." At Dai's suddenly teary eyes- he had always been able to cry at the drop of a hat- she quickly raised a hand. "Not that you won't be included on the mission- obviously. You just have… a different, much more important role."

"…Really?"

"Look me in the eye and see through any lies, or nail me to a tree and make sure that I can't see. I promise." She looked from side to side, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I need you to make sure no one comes into the room and sees me gone. Its 'integral'- that means super duper important- to the mission. Can I trust you?"

A small hand reached forwards and latched onto Anzu's own. Dai smiled much more tentatively at her. "'Course- I'm 'inneral' an' can do it!" He squinted his eyes. "You'll tell me later how you get back at that guy for dropping you like mama's potatoes for a- a- 'Hyuuka' later, right?"

Anzu's eye twitched. "Of course! I always tell you about my 'missions' after, don't I?"

Dai smiled, and swooped in for a quick hug. Anzu normally would grumble at the contact, but she figured she could let it slide, knowing he was already helping her and he probably just missed his hourly dose of cuddling from their mom and dad while they were attending one of their late night meetings. Finally, he let go, and with a furtive hand wave from Anzu, scurried back to his room. He left his door open a fair bit, likely so that he could watch and 'guard' Anzu's door. From where she could see him snuggled up in his bed, he raised his stuffed cat and made it gave a little wave.

He really was a cutie.

Anzu fondly rolled her eyes, and distraction handled, turned to face her window. It easily popped open, and with a repellers knot she was out the window. Luckily she lived on the edge of the compound, so as long as she wasn't an idiot, she wouldn't run into anyone.

All the Uchiha had been weird and claustrophobic of the rest of Konoha lately, but that wouldn't stop her from getting her glorious revenge on that backstabber Muraka Kurama- even if part of the reason he had given for 'friends off' had been the weirdness of her family not letting them hangout outside of the academy. That was his problem- not hers!

Though, he did have a bit of a point… Which was why no one could find out she was sneaking out to the park to grab an assortment of rotten fruit, which, after she snuck into 'Rama's room, would be used for the prank of Legends.

He deserved it!

Anzu grinned, and raced off into the night.

XXX

Ten minutes later, the massacre began.