Author's Note: Reposted 2/21/09 with a few minor corrections. I've been so caught up in so many things, and I know this is trite. I moved, I'm in school full-time, I work full-time... I haven't had the time to breath, let alone type anything. I just finished unpacking, Optimum just turned on my internet, and now I have stories to catch up.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A Day in the Life -1- : Tobitake Tonbo

Chapter 1: Even ninja

Working for T&I wasn't so bad, Tobitake Tonbo mused to himself as he zippered up his standard-issue flak jacket and spit out his mouth full of toothpaste foam. That was, of course, assuming you could get past what the 'T' and the 'I' stood for. As much as the civilians (and even some of his younger fellow shinobi) pretended that being a ninja was all fun and games, T&I and her parent division of Intel were necessary parts of their world. A necessary evil, perhaps, but necessary none the less. For every genin D-rank mission of weeded a garden or 'rescuing' a cat up a tree, there was at least one B-rank for T&I. His own early memories of his early work in the division were vague at best for good reason, he supposed. It was an excellent defense mechanism to keep oneself sane. The one clear memory he did have was from his very first interrogation sit-in. The image of the Iwa-nin had stayed (and haunted) him for months.

Heading back to into his bedroom, he pulled his rolls of wrapping bandages from his nightstand's top drawer and sat on the edge of his bed. Unraveling the end of the first roll, he methodically began wrapping his left leg, then his right. The third roll of bandages were wrapped around his eyes and upper face.

In a way, T&I and Intel, and later ANBU, had saved him, as ironic as it might seem. Fifteen years back, he had been a freshly promoted chuunin at all of twelve years old. Konoha's war with Iwa was in full swing, and any shinobi capable of holding a kunai was on the front lines. Chuunin as young as eleven were common on both sides of the front. Chuunin exams be damned, field promotions were the order of the day to shore up ranks. Kyuubi's attack was still three years away.

All it had taken was a simple sentry mission gone wrong, and he was bereft of his team, his sensei… and his sight. One of the ambushing Iwa nin had been just a hair too proficient with lightening jutsu, and honestly Tonbo knew he was lucky to have escaped with his life. His memories of what had happened immediately thereafter were thankfully sporadic at best. His team's backup had arrived late after facing down their own ambush, and had dragged the remains of his team back to Konoha. The jounin of that team had told him years later while deep in his cups that the team had thought it was a recovery mission, that they were bringing four bodies home. It was only after a few miles that anyone had realized Tonbo was still bleeding. Corpses didn't bleed. No one had believed, just by looking at the damage the jutsu had done, that he could have still been alive.

Days later, he woke up alone in the hospital. Not being sure why everything was dark, and reasonably sure he wasn't dreaming, he made the mistake of putting his hands up to his face. There had been no bandages; the deep ridges of scar tissue beneath his trembling fingers had told the story. Even now they disturbed him, fifteen years later. He wrapped his face daily to save himself the pain, and to make those around him more comfortable. In a way, he envied Namiashi Raidou for his courage; he wasn't ashamed of his own scarring.

The doctors had rushed to his bedside after hearing his panicked screams. You're lucky, they had told him. Lucky to be alive. The jutsu had mostly cauterized the damage it had done, keeping you from bleeding to death. You'll be out of the war, but we're sure they'll find something useful for you to do. You know your team all died, right? He hadn't up to that point, but he had nodded dutifully, in shock. You're lucky - you could have followed them. Not very heartening for a twelve year old, newly blinded and totally alone. He wished, after they had left, that he had as he sobbed quietly into his pillow.

Team-less, sensei-less, he had sat alone in the hospital for a few days, depression sinking in. All his year mates were away on missions or at the front, along with the few relatives he had left. He had tried stumbling around his room, but after stubbing his toes for the umpteenth time, he had given up and resigned himself to his darkness. One of the ward nurses, apparently familiar with ninja and their ways after traumatic injury, had picked up on his air of despondency and (who he assumed to be) a very burly orderly had confiscated his kunai pouches.

Five days after his awakening though…

Tonbo smiled a private smile as he finished with his wraps and pulled his hitae-ate from the top of his dresser. Running a blunted nail over the stylized leaf emblem, he closed his swathed eyes as the memory played in his mind.

A nurse had knocked and announced that he had a pair of visitors - did he want to see them? Having had no visitors since his admittance, he had readily agreed, wondering who it could be.

They were voices he'd have recognized anywhere. The Sandaime Hokage and (who many assumed to be his successor) Namikaze Minato had immediately begun speaking easily to the young man, much to his amazement, of completely mundane things ranging from the weather, to how hot the blond nurse was and what they'd like to do with her (that wasn't really a surprise since they both hung out with Jiraiya-sama), to how completely disgusting the food served in the cafeteria was.

The Sandaime had paused after a particularly raunchy joke (told, of course, by Minato), and Tonbo had shrunk back, knowing a recrimination was forthcoming. How could it not be? A jounin and two chuunin dead… all that was left of an active team was a blind chuunin. He himself knew it was a lousy trade. How could they not believe the same?

But no such recrimination came then, nor did it ever. Instead, the Hokage had explained that there was a chakra exercise that Minato could teach him that would enable him to 'see'. Odds were that he would never be on the active list for any more field missions - to focus the chakra needed for the technique would likely take most of his concentration. However, if he's like a position in Intel, he would be gladly welcomed.

Eagerly he had accepted, and within a week he had mastered Minato-sensei's technique… and adopted a surrogate sensei. The older man had grinned when he declared Tonbo proficient, and the chuunin had nearly sobbed with happiness as he "saw" his sensei's wide smile. Granted it wasn't easy at first. Not by a long shot. Learning what different chakra swirls meant took sometime and left him with not a few migraines, but it was far more than he had ever hoped for when he had woken up to a dark world. Minato-sensei had understood, and though he had a team of his own, had come to check on the boy whenever he could.

Pulling the knot on his bandana tight, Tonbo smiled again as he stood. Years later, after Kyuubi's sealing and Minato-sensei's death, the Sandaime Hokage had told him that Minato would have been inordinately proud of his achievements. He had gotten so proficient at the chakra focusing technique that he had been cleared for fieldwork by age 17, and was actually often called on when there was a need for analytical skills, should a Hyuuga or Uchiha not be available. In fact, the Sandaime Hokage had commissioned him in ANBU specifically for that reason.

Mostly though, he worked for Intel in the T&I division, his way of continuing to thank the Hokages for their gift. When Morino Ibiki had taken over as director of T&I, Tonbo had been offered a position as his second in charge of analysis and field work. It had been a huge honor, and he had pulled a Hatake Kakashi that day, spending the entire morning at the Memorial Stone telling his former team and Minato-sensei everything that had happened.

Checking his watch, the chuunin made for the front door. Any more dawdling, and he'd run the risk of being late. Pulling the door closed behind him, he pivoted while pulling out his pack of cigarettes in a smooth, flowing motion. Tapping one out of the pack, he lit it up, put it to his lips, and pulled deeply, relishing the warm spring air on his face. Rolling his cigarette with his tongue to the corner of his mouth, he pulled again, exhaling through his nose. Lovely things the medics created for duty ninja, they left no noxious after-smell on the ninja or their clothing, but still offered the same mellowing factor as nicotine. Amazing what modern medicine could do. With a final pull, he stepped off his stoop and into the morning flow of foot traffic.