Author's Note: This is the first in a series of one shots that I've been planning, just offering a snapshot into the mindset and daily activities of random people in our favorite hidden village. At this point, I'm planning on doing them in a semi-birthday-order... at least until the fancy strikes me to write out of order. Lol. That might be the next one. I do take suggestions hinthint

Disclaimer: I still don't own.

A Day in the Life -1- : Tonbo

Chapter 1: Morning

Working for T&I wasn't so bad, Tobitake Tonbo mused as he zippered up his vest, assuming, of course, that you got past what the 'T' and the 'I' stood for. As much as the civilians in the village pretended that being a ninja was all fun and games, T&I was a necessary part of their world. For every genin D-rank of weeding gardens, there was at least one B-rank for T&I. His own memories of his early work for the division were foggy and vague for good reason, he supposed. It was an excellent defense mechanism to keep oneself sane. His one clear memory was from his very first interrogation sit-in. The image of the Rock-nin had stayed with him for months.

Pulling his rolls of wrapping bandages from his top drawer, Tonbo sat on the edge of his futon. Unraveling the end of the first roll, he methodically began wrapping his left leg, then the right. The third roll of bandages were wrapped around his eyes and upper face.

In a way, T&I had saved him. Fifteen years back, when he had been a newly promoted chuunin, he had been all of twelve. The Rock/Leaf war had been in full swing, and the Kyuubi's attack was two years in the future. A mission gone wrong had left him with no team, no sensei... and no sight. One of the ambushing Rock nin had been just a little too proficient with lightening jutsu, and honestly he knew he was lucky to have escaped with his life. His memories of what happened immediately thereafter were foggy 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 post-haste.

When he woke up in the hospital, he had made the immediate mistake of reaching up to feel for the damage. There had been no bandages; the ridges of scar tissued beneath his trembling fingers had told the story. Even now, they disturbed him. 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 that had arrived after hearing his panicked scream had said he was very lucky to be alive, that the jutsu had cauterized the damage it had done, saving him from bleeding to death. Not very heartening for a newly-blinded and completely alone twelve-year-old.

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, as well as what family 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 darkness. One of the ward nurses, apparently used to injured nin, had picked up on his air of despondency, and (who he assumed to be) a very burly orderly had confiscated his kunai pouch.

On the fifth day after his awakening though...

Tonbo smiled as he finished with his wraps and pulled his forehead protector off the top of his dresser. Punning a blunted thumbnail over the leaf emblem, he smiled softly at the memory.

A nurse had knocked and announced that he had some visitors – did he want to admit them? Having had no visitors since his admittance, he had agreed readily, wondering who it could be.

They were voices he'd recognize anywhere. The Sandaime Hokage and (who many believed to be his successor) Namikaze Minato spoke easily to the young man, much to his amazement, of topics ranging to the weather, to the hot blond nurse, to the lousy food served in the cafeteria.

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 left of an active team was a blind chuunin. He knew it was a lousy trade. How could they not believe the same?

But no such recrimination came. Instead, the Hokage explained that there was a chakra exercise that Minato could teach him that would allow him to “see”. He wouldn't be first choice for any more field missions: to focus the chakra needed for the technique to work would take most of his concentration. However, if he'd like a position with T&I, 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 with he declared Tonbo proficient, and the chuunin had nearly cried with happiness to “see” again. Granted, it wasn't easy, at least at first... Learning what the chakra swirls meant took some time, but it was more than he had ever hoped for when he had awoken to a dark world. Minato had somehow understood, and though he had a team of his own, came to check on on the boy whenever he could.

Pulling the knot on his bandanna 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 with the chakra focusing technique that he was no longer sidelined from field missions, but often called on when there was a need for someone with analytical skills, should an Uchiha or Hyuuga not be available.

He had stayed with T&I though, his way of continuing to thank the Hokages for their gift. When Morino Ibiki took over, Tonbo had been put in charge of the Analysis Department of Intel. It had been a huge honor, and he had pulled a Hatake Kakashi that day, spending his entire morning a the Memorial Stone, telling his former team and Minato-sensei everything that had happened.

Checking his watch, the chuunin made for his front door. Any more dawdling, and he would be late. Pulling the door shut behind him, he pivoted, pulling out his pack of cigarettes in a smooth, flowing motion. Lighting one up, he put it to his lips and took a deep pull, relishing the warm spring air on his face. Rolling his cigarette with his tongue to the corner of his mouth, he pulled again, then stepped off his stoop and into the morning flow of foot traffic.