It was a light tap on her shoulder that signified both an end and a beginning for her. Or was it just the middle?

Suiren didn't like thinking of the past—she thought of it too much already. Seeing the white hair of a man she wasn't supposed to know only doubled the pace of her heart as she stared in dawning and incomprehensible horror.

This man was her father, she knew that in her gut. She felt it, almost instinctively, that this was the man who sired her and she had never seen him up until now. He was also someone dead. Or would be. But everyone dies, right?

She didn't know what to feel as she gazed up at him.

Happiness? Fear? Hatred? Sadness? Or possibly even forgiveness?

Kokuji, her mother, wasn't even paying attention. She was too busy talking to the women and men she'd invited over to their dress shop today. And yet, Suiren didn't want her mother to know that this man was here. She wanted him to leave. So she could remain ignorant and stupid. So she didn't have to face the truth—at least not yet. She wanted more time. Needed more time.

Except she had run out of it.

"Are you Kokuji-san's daughter?" His eyes were dark, but his hair was anything but. The silver caught the mid-afternoon sun as if it was a spider's web. She supposed her hair did the same. At least I know why I have white hair now. She'd always thought it so odd; no one else around her had it, and she often thought about who could be her father—any number of men could have been.

Now that she knew though, she almost wished she didn't.

Suiren gulped, and nodded, clenching her small fists together. "Okaa-san is over there," she pointed, hoping his eyes would trail away from her.

They didn't share the same color, hers were distinct like her mothers, something she actually liked about her face. In the past she was sure her hair and eyes had been dark brown, nearly black in color, but nice. She hadn't been boring in any means despite her coloring, but now she received too much attention. Everyone around her who didn't know who her father was thought she was an albino.

She sighed. And now they would know the truth.

He didn't crash the party the way he wanted to. He'd simply stopped the moment he saw the girl—his girl. He could hardly believe his eyes when she'd turned to him after he'd gathered enough courage to tap her tiny shoulder. God, she was so short. That was to be expected of course, if he remembered correctly, she should be all of five years old.

When he'd first heard that he'd sired a child from none other than the beautiful dress maker Kokuji-san, he had thought her lying. The girl's mother, albeit fun to enjoy 'company' with, was not a very nice woman. She was vain, prone to giving others backhanded compliments, and used manipulation and other petty techniques to get her way. Those were just a few of the things he'd noticed in the short amount of time he'd been in her company all those years ago.

She hadn't married despite being in her late thirties like him, and would probably never tie herself to one person ever. It just wasn't how Kokuji lived. She was like a bee flitting between different flowers.

He was very much the same, but he wasn't mean like her. At least he hoped not.

The girl had these big blue eyes—except, the longer he stared at them the more he realized they were two distinct separate colors. They were both like the sky, but one was brighter than the other, while her left eye was murky. Like a gray, rainy day. Or perhaps like water. Did Kokuji have eyes like her? If she did he had never paid attention.

The girl pointed behind her, but he kept staring at her. Realizing the longer he did the more he felt his world was flipping on it's axis.

A father, I'm actually a father. Jiraiya had never thought he would have the pleasure of siring someone of his own, never wanted to. Being one of the Sannin had it's faults, and this was one of them. He knew what Hiruzen-sensei would say; would want him to do. And he had plans to leave the Fire Country to search for information that could help get back Orochimaru. Now, staring at her, he knew he couldn't.

"Okaa-san is over there," she said, her voice like a trinket catching the wind. He suppressed a jolt of joy at hearing his daughter's first words to him and looked at her solemnly. Yes, he could see himself very clearly in her, and that she was thankfully made cute from her mother's hand in things. He wondered what her name was.

And what a shitty thing that was, right? He thought he'd been using protection with Kokuji, but it had been a long time and he couldn't remember. Perhaps he'd been a little too drunk? And how crappy was that? That this little girl he didn't even know was conceived from a mistake on his part. Guilt swamped him as he looked at her. How would he even break it to her, if she hadn't already guessed.

"Uh . . . " She continued, nervously picking at her fingers. He felt just as awkward but managed to keep it all hidden behind a professional mask. Sighing, he decided he might as well talk to the girl's mother.

Illegal, it was illegal to conceal the child of a shinobi. To hide the offspring from someone as audacious as her father, it meant her mother had to give up all legal rights as penance. This meant she couldn't see her, couldn't raise her, and only if Suiren decided to approach the woman would she be able to even have a conversation with her. She basically just gave her to him, and didn't look back.

It was an odd feeling, knowing she was only in the presence of a man she had read from drawn books because she was his progeny. She didn't think it felt real at all. In fact, she hardly reacted to everything they told her beside to nod and dip her chin in understanding when really she was confused.

Did her mother know what would happen when she sent the letter to Jiraiya that she would have to give her up?

Suiren didn't know how to feel about that. About not being wanted. She wasn't even a difficult child to raise . . .

She was a quiet girl, lovely like a doll, but ultimately obedient and even tempered. She didn't throw tantrums, raise her voice, or do anything that she thought would be a hindrance. So why?

She wasn't sad, she was just very lonely. In all honesty, she had no friends, was now suspecting her mother had given her away to her father, and said man only wanted her because she was the first of his line—although she knew she could have half-siblings lying about. I mean, I exist. Others might, too.

Maybe she should tell him to wrap it up if he didn't want to deal with his children. But that thought was a little rude. Still, she wasn't going to apologize about it.

They were heading to Konoha, to his house, and to be honest she hadn't even known he'd had a house. I thought he was a hermit. And then she realized that of course he had a house, he lived in Konoha for some of the time, after all. She wondered where in the timeline she was at. She was never really good at ages, but Jiraiya looked to be in his thirties, early forties? The white hair was confusing and she hoped hers didn't make her look older if she ever got to that age.

Dying at a young age before had her questioning how long she'd last in this life.

"What's your name, kid?"

She looked at him, wondering if it was a joke that he didn't even know her name. Decided that it probably wasn't because she remembered how he hadn't even been there for Naruto, she said, "Hitogawa Suiren."

"Suiren, huh?" Jiraiya wasn't looking at her.

He did seem a tad embarrassed to not know her name, so she decided to be a little easy on him.

He had come for her when he could have forgotten she even existed (or maybe he couldn't have and she was just making excuses). It was more than he did for Naruto growing up. Whom to her knowledge hadn't been born yet. She was pretty sure she'd be able to hear the news of a giant fox trying to murder a whole village, after all.

"I'm named for the flower, that's how it's written, too." She said, and then softly added, "It can mean estranged love." Suiren watched as he finally looked at her, and gave her a small, sheepish smile. He understood what she meant, although she knew he was thinking far from the feeling of love. It was more like duty.

And he still didn't look happy to have a daughter. More than anything, he looked a bit terrified.

A/N: This is kind of sort of a rewrite from an old OC-insert, that was called Tangents of a Different Kind. This is also a really short chapter, but it's pretty much just the prologue to the story.

The title means this:

福寿草 - fukujyusou; it's a flower that's related to the buttercup but it's not the same thing. Mostly it's called the pheasant's eye, or adonis vernalis/ramosa. Specifically, this flower means patience, humility, or sorrowful remembrance. The latter meaning is basically the theme of this whole story, but it's not a sad story. More of a bittersweet one. Trying to learn how to cope with having a father whose is estranged, and dealing with remembering painful things that make you want something more. At the same time, this is fluff as well, because Jiraiya and Sui are gonna learn to get along and love each other through the awkwardness uvu)9

Similarly, Suiren's name is spelled from the flower version written this way: 睡蓮 rather than 水煉 this way. It's the lotus flower! Which means eloquence as well as estranged love, and purity of heart.

Please review! ouo