Hi gaiz, this is Anti, starting a fantabulously new story of random oneshots called Heikai (Closure) which basically centers around events that could have happened but weren't seen in the anime or manga, or daily mundane interactions. It contains random pairings, ranging from cannon to crack, because that's me for you.
First up is a rather depressing Zaku/Kin oneshot :D
Disclaimer: If I owned Naruto, I wouldn't be writing FANfiction. And it would be crackier. And with more threesomes. Yus.
Sillouetted through the door were the profiles of two women- a Konoha nurse and Kin Tsuchi, her hand touching her head gingerly. They spoke in hushed tones. Zaku didn't know what they were saying, but he could identify his teammate's cold tone and the other woman's obvious pity.
He clenched his hands- what was left of them, and gave a yelp of pain. There was a hush from the other side of the door. Hurriedly, he closed his eyes and laid still. Perhaps if he played dead, they'd leave him alone, allow him to suffer in peace.
No. The door creaked open.
"He's in critical condition, you'll have to make this quick."
"I make what I want of this," came the arrogant reply. Zaku felt himself smiling, despite himself. The bitch had probably come to brag. She'd won her match, and had come to gloat. Well he wasn't going to listen. He was playing dead.
"Can you leave us in peace?" Kin snapped again, and he heard the nurse sigh and step out of the room, muttering to herself.
Kin placed herself on the chair next to him, saying nothing.
He didn't move.
They stayed like that for five minutes.
It was hard, thought Zaku, to stay this still when his entire body burned. His arms- his glorious arms, were throbbing chunks of meat at his side- numbed down by painkillers but not enough to stifle the itch and sting in his very bones.
Suddenly, he wanted to punch Kin. What was she doing here, watching him suffer? Come to gloat, had she? Well he wasn't listening. He was playing dead, he wouldn't talk to her.
Go away, Kin. Go away, you arrogant bitch.
Suddenly, without warning, she'd thrown herself across his chest. His eyes burst open against his will, his body convulsing. The pain, oh god, the pain.
She didn't see. She was sobbing.
His vision spun, settling on long, meticulously cared-for brown hair that was pooling across his bandaged body, and he saw, saw the wrappings around her head, the blood caked on the back of her skull.
"Oh, Zaku," she sobbed, and it disturbed him to see her like this. For some reason, he thought, if he could have lifted his arms, he would have put his hand on her head, perhaps run his fingers through her hair.
"Zaku, Zaku I lost. Oh, Zaku…"
This wasn't Kin, he thought. Kin would have laughed at his expense. She would have told him the match was rigged, her opponent was unfair, she wouldn't lower herself to this sniveling human mess.
He thinks he hears her murmur 'I love you' against his chest, and his mind goes blank. His eyes, once ones burning with hatred, now settle on the ceiling, dull and dead, his pride gone.
Suddenly, he wants to distance himself from her. To pull away, recoil from this girl who is not Kin but is, because who else could have those huge black eyes and that absurd purple bow in her absurd hair, and that pretty, pretty face, suddenly bleached white in fear.
But he can't move.
He realizes, now, that he's never been playing dead. He is dead, and no amount of begging will change that.