Disclaimer: If Naruto was mine, we would find out what Tenten's real background is.

Dedicated to Illicit Memory, FairyPrincess-17, Tenten Amakudari, Melissa, Lady Knives, Igor Lollipop, Brit, Lila, CoughHackChokeDie and Forgotten Enemy for reviewing my last fic. Here's a toast to them! Thanks so much!

A/N: God knows this was hard to write. It took several revisions because it was really difficult to capture the angst and emotion and describe it exactly how I imagined it. I'm sorry that its late. This is the sequel toThe Fleeting Moon, and while of course you don't HAVE to, I seriously recommend reading that before this because it'll make a whole lot more sense, and hell knows mean a lot more. An extra ANGST warning before you read this. Please R+R and enjoy!

It's Okay to Cry.

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Sometimes -just in rare, sporadic moments when nothing's wrong and yet suddenly she knows everything is- she wants to cry.

She knows because suddenly her voice withers, all moisture fled into the air and her veins freeze like branches trapped in the grip of ice and the icicles pin her inside herself. A pressure she didn't know could exist springs up against her eyelids, tightening like a vice to hold a death grip on time. And this strange, strange feeling tells her to stay exactly where she is, because if she even blinks its game over.

Its only these rare moments that that alien sensation comes and locks her vessels down. She's glad about it but it only makes it more disturbing when she can't figure out why she feels a choking animal clawing at her insides. She's always forced back the feeling, somehow knowing it could threaten their mission without knowing why but somehow knowing she can't let him see the raw emotion. Or- whatever it is.

Its only a splinter in time before her vision blurs again and she's baring fangs in the claws of her hands. Blind murderous rage grips her arms in something like jealousy as she swipes them in an 'x' and the metal spurs fly away from her. The stage shakes as she swivels on her foot and slashes another tooth at an incoming stick of pale flesh and for whatever reason the sight of it makes a small part of her lost in distant haze want to laugh and shiver at the same time.

The voice drowns out again as something empty in her screams out for blood and the hunger is fed as cold metal bites into flesh. Hot, burning blood flows down the sword and mingles with sweat, shining against her skin in the sun. Her eyes widen as a flash of silver blue falls to the ground with fading energy. It's so-familiar.

And somehow she can feel it split capillaries in her skin as it lands, slicing dirt with transparent electricity. She is no longer one with the air like in the unwhispered days when she used to sail in through the trees and his eyes seeped into hers. She is the ground, dark and dirty and despicable, low and lower than anyone can ever call her.

That black feeling sinks into her slowly as something awakens in her eyes and her lips part soundlessly in realization. The beast at last opens its eyes, and sees an empty hill against the horizon where he used to meet her with the sun. Even as the katana clatters down to bite the earth and she feels the fall resound against her she can't take her eyes away. Its him. Him, him, him, him, him, him!...

Pale white lids shiver, flickering over the moon. Its twin is trapped shut in a sea of red, and how she wishes he was winking at her (despite how disturbingly not-Neji that would be) and not staring with eyes fading. She always finds strength in them, depth always softened just a little for her, and the how hollow they're beginning to look collapses walls within her.

She wonders if he can see her through his pain, and instantly kills the question within her. He should forget, forget that it was her, that it was ever her. That weight he always carried, that she could always see despite his straight shoulders should be gone and so should the pain if he really has to die.

And now she wants to hide, wants to bury the blood soaking through her essence and tainting and staining black that she knows she'll never be able to wash away. That shame that rushes through her veins. She can taste his last breath against her motionless lips, and yet what is that small shaking flame silently wishing for him to remember?

His lips move, shaping words, firm words even now, and she knows his voice is reaching the volumes of the air. And she wants to stab something so badly, because she can't hear them and the sound is lost to her because of the guilt rushing through her and hazing her senses. The suffering sorrow chokes out of her in a short, gasping sob and begs to be released in repeat and it only angers her further. It is not her right to mourn when he's the one lying dead on the floor and she's the one who held the burning kunai. Its not her right when he's gone and he isn't-wasn't-hers.

His gaze upon her is blank.

Her fingers clutch the dirt, shaking as she feels the sharp crescents dig into her own skin. Her mouth is dry. And her eyes quake, shaking and shiny as she bites her lip viciously, jaw trying to set but failing as she remembers how he only fought back twice; at the beginning and the end.

It was his wedding day and she only wanted to see if his cold eyes still remembered her and how she felt under the rare softness of them, a parting gift for all the years of devotion she had given him. But as her fingers grasped the back of his elbow and he turned his gaze sharply in almost a flinch-had he been expecting it?-their eyes connected. His widened just ever-so-slightly and there was guilt and regretful temptation but in a moment it was gone and hardened in bitter resolve, and she knew things were not the same because they didn't seep into hers and soften like so many times before. And she wanted to be held, needed it as much as she hated that weak urge and somehow an irrational anger was filling her veins that he was denying her it. The sanctuary of his gaze was all she wanted, all she needed to last her the years that would follow when he let her go completely alone again in that dark house and he wouldn't let her have it?

But he would give it, he would give it to her before he gave it to that princess if she had to-she couldn't think what, she just knew she needed that emptiness to be filled so badly her vision was blurring. She vaguely felt herself jerk at him violently and then her feet were running off madly, his weight getting pulled by her on pure fury through the streets as her sandals pounded on cement and mud and dust and finally grass as she let him go, spinning him yards away from her with an anger that was starting to grip her arms as she started throwing kunai, shuriken, anything metal she had on her straight at him. For once she didn't know if it hit, it almost never hit when he was her target but if fate was completely set she didn't know because she could no longer see anything but heat and red and the occasional white glimpse through it all that enraged her more. She let everything go, every question that screamed in her when she was young and immature and now dangerously so why she was so alone.

She faintly remembered hearing "Tenten!" and seeing a blurred spin of blue but then it was gone and he was just standing there. She remembered his eyes, pained but resigned in almost-was it relief?- and she remembered wondering even in the midst of her bloodlust if he wanted to be gone. Was his guilt so overbearing that he felt he deserved it? But no, even the trance of battle couldn't blind her that much….but even in her rage she had almost wanted to see him smirk again, that white-hot flash his lips curved into when he was hungry for a spar.

But he didn't retaliate like he did in those days as she thrashed wave after wave of weapons, and the image was coming in clearer now-his eyes dying after dodging her first set of kunai. His moon skin split in what she could only imagine was searing tortured pain as his blood flew everywhere from jagged gashes and it was only when the white was almost completely gone that he had tried to fight against fate once more…but she had defeated him. Finally. Her lips curved into a bitter smirk before having to suddenly suppress another sob, her throat completely dry. It was a dark, dark victory and fate was not on her side because even when she had won, she had lost him.

And she can only stare excruciatingly at his empty eyes as a beast claws at her insides and a memory falls with black dust heavier than stones. She swallows, remembering his penetrating gaze and the constant battle between her barriers and the urge to drown into his moons. That urge had eventually won but it had been a long while before she won him and he let her drown in them. And it was that need to drown that led to this.

But now the black trees blurring around her are frozen stiff in white, icy flakes falling over the sun. The air is suddenly cold, frigid as the moon trapping her and although she cannot look away from it she can feel branches snapping off in the ice, leaving the main bare as they hit her skin or the ground. Her veins are dropping off her bare skeleton like black puzzle pieces crashing into the dust.

The strange sensation is breaking into her again, but there are no vessels to freeze, only the beast clawing at her and now its screaming for second life and conquering with sobs she can no longer hold back and resurrecting her withered voice. She has let Fate win. Her mother killed her father, and now she has killed him. It got what it wanted. She had failed at even freeing him!

The deadly pressure against her eyelids breaks through, winning at last against her barriers and as she feels the water flowing through them she recognizes the sensation for what it is. The tears fill her body, one with the dirt, and the moon is lost to black. Its only his voice that's still there, haunting and cruel in its rare gentleness.

"It's okay to cry."

The end.

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