Rain

The rain is cool on her face, refreshing. It runs down her cheeks, gets caught in her eyelashes, brushes like a kiss against her lips. Her clothes cling tight against her skin, hindering her movements, making her arms awkward.

But, she does not rest. A kunoichi must be prepared to battle in any condition.

So the sound of flesh against wood continues to ring rhythmically through the clearing, accentuated by the rustling patter of rain, as her palms meet the training posts relentlessly, ruthlessly.

Part of her imagines that she is fighting herself, and her mangled hands complete the illusion, her blood staining the wood and dripping away with the water, disappearing into the grass.

Part of her knows that she is fighting herself, fighting against being the girl she never wants to know again. This is her remedy for her own weakness. This is her punishment for herself for not being stronger.

Her hands sting only slightly, she convinces herself. They really don't hurt as badly as she thinks they do. She's just overreacting. She is not so weak that this can stop her.

A strand of burgundy hair strikes her cheek as her head whips and she stops suddenly, as if she has been slapped. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breaths wheezing, and she stares at the post before her, amazed at the indentation in it that she has created with her own small hands.

She feels tired, very tired, suddenly, as if she has been running all day, and maybe she has in a way. Her heart drums dully against her ribs; her fists clench again, the stinging ache rips through her palms; with a cry, she attacks the post again savagely, refusing to give up now, when she has been working so long.

"Hinata-sama."

Her head lifts only briefly, taking in quickly her cousin standing under a black umbrella, the picture of a funeral attendant, his expression strangely different from his usual frown. Her eyes return to her training almost immediately. "Just a while longer, Neji-nii-san."

His sigh reaches her ears faintly, and a moment later, a hand halts hers. She stares down at it, startled by the contrast. His fingers are so long and flawless compared to her small bloody ones. Rain patters across his palm as he draws her under the umbrella beside him, and she shivers, realizing how cold the air truly is. "It's no use to continue training when you're out of chakra, Hinata-sama."

She shrugs into the jacket he offers her, realizing that it is much too big for her, and must be his. "I know," her voice is quiet as they begin to walk, her eyes on her feet. Her fingers hold the jacket close around her. "I just want to get stronger." Her foot catches the ground, and she stumbles, lifting her hands to block the dirt from meeting her face.

The umbrella falls with a clatter as he catches her against him, his hands on her hips as he hauls her back to her feet, letting her regain her balance. She holds tightly to him, her face pressed against his chest, and she feels as if her entire being is trembling, unable to stand alone. "You shouldn't train like this. It's unhealthy." His words vibrate through her, almost fatherly, and then his arms come around her, and that sense disappears. "You have no chakra left at all."

Her eyes lift to his reluctantly, her heart beating fast. The rain has drenched his dark hair, and it hangs dripping and stringy around her like a curtain. "Neji-nii-san?" she can't hear her own voice above the sudden rush of water as the rain falls harder. She is pressed against him, and she feels as if steam is rising from her hot wet face.

"You're strong, Hinata-sama." The words are spoken against her ear, his breath hot on her skin, his tone almost warm. "You have no reason to hate yourself like you do."

Her breath catches, her head tilted up, and water kisses lightly across her cheekbones, giggling past her to the ground. Her fists are tight in the fabric of his shirt, the only strength she has left expended in holding on to him. "Neji-nii-san, we're getting wet." It is all she can think of to say. It seems appropriate, somehow.

His white eyes blink at her, like he is coming to his senses. "Yes, I suppose we are." He stoops to retrieve the umbrella, one hand remaining steadying on her arm. In another moment, the water is rattling across the black fabric, and they are no longer at its mercy. They begin to walk, slowly, and his fingers are splayed on the small of her back, supporting her.

She finds it symbolic. Looking up into his face, she studies the stern curve of his jaw, the almost-hollow seriousness of his eyes. Without thinking, her lips form a question to which she has always afraid of the answer. "Neji-nii-san, do you still hate me?"

Surprise flickers across the stoic face, his eyes flitting to hers and quickly away. His lips purse pensively, in a way that makes it seem he wants to think harder about this than he needs to. His voice is gentle when he speaks. "I never hated you."

The rain is letting up. The sun is striving to be seen beyond the crowd of clouds. The air is cool, whispering clean and fresh through their clothes as they walk home. The umbrella is closed, swinging useless at his side, and the patter of rebel raindrops touches their heads, but they smile shyly, and their hands are swinging between them, fingers holding comfortably to each other's. The rain will never seem so bad again.