彼の理由
*(Kare no Riyuu)*
A Naruto Fan Fiction
By
~CallMeButLove~
Naruto © 岸本斉史 (Kishimoto Masashi)
Illustration © bonn-fox at Deviant*Art*.*com (an inactive user – used w/o permission)
Author's Note: This is set AFTER the war, but BEFORE Sasuke comes back (or maybe he doesn't). I have their ages at about 19, or so here.
かれのりゆう
(Kare no Riyuu)
Chapter 1:
This evening was much like any other, in Konoha, the Village Hidden in the Leaves. There was the usual breeze, just to the south side of "nippy," as autumn approached the area – tinting the leaves on the tops of the trees gold, and orange, with tips of red. There was the usual colorful sunset, looking for all the world as though Sai, or some other artist, had splashed the clouds with every pastel tinct perceptible to the human eye. The resultant image was, as always, breathtakingly beautiful. There were other usual things too; the sounds of hundreds of people finishing up the day's errands, work, activities. The sounds of mothers calling children inside for dinner, fathers being welcomed home from a long day, and shinobi returning after missions, even the mournful outcry of those households who were faced with the teammates of fallen warriors at the door, come to deliver "the news." Sounds, all of them, that would typically be of comfort and bring peace to those listening, just because of the normalcy of it all. The familiar smells of the merchant areas floated along the alleyways – from the food purveyors, restaurants, booths, stands and carts with every imaginable, seasonal and otherwise, delicacy to be found in the village.
The mercantile shops were closing with the clank and clang that announced the end of business, while proprietors bid farewell to the last customer of the day. Those customers, casually waving as they wound their way out into the street, would smile with the silent promise to "come back again." The entertainment district was coming to life much less slowly than the languid pace at which the rest of the village was fading toward slumber. In that area, the few bars, gaming houses, karaoke clubs, etc. would always thrum to full blaze all at once, making the street seem to burst forth like a firework in sudden, gasp-inducing, artificial splendor similar to that of a midway at a fair. It could be quite attractive, with all the lights, and music, and bells, and flashing, and noise, and life. But the real life, was not to be found here, and everyone who called this town "home" knew it. The real life; the blood, muscle, bone, and flesh of this proud place could be found in hundreds of seemingly minor locations.
It could be found in the kitchens where dinner was crafted by loving hands. It could be detected in the living rooms where children, and pets, and relatives – played silly, pointless games on the floor while tired (but proud) fathers, uncles, brothers, mentors, sensei, all looked on, and even occasionally joined in. It could be felt in the corridors filled with the scents and soft warmth of delicious things being set out to cool for after dinner. It was there, in courtyards where some trained, and some sparred, while others gazed at clouds, or played referee to the combatants. Tangible, palpable life was ever to be discovered in gardens where, citizen and shinobi alike, fed Koi fish, picked flowers, read books in the fading light, or painted something inspired by something else.
There was life to be observed in every corner of the village. In the hospital, there were the medics, and nurses, and aides, who by being there – supportive, encouraging, steadfast, calm – breathed life into a place that could be as frighteningly algid as the morgue beneath it; if they let it be, that is. The patients too, with their determination, their spirit, their cries of pain, their shouts of triumph, their bitter tears; lent a vibrant pulse to the sterile spaces. One could not walk those halls without recalling the lives that began, stalled, restarted, and some (too many) that ended within the hospital walls.
Somewhat incongruously, the mark of vivacity even graced the quiet serenity of the cemetery. The life within this monument to mortality, was displayed by the plethora of fresh flowers festooned there by any number of visitors; for every grave was lovingly tended in this village. The burning incense, and the glimmer of water as it flowed down the stone monuments illustrated that even here there remained vitality. The wind blowing the flower petals, brushing them gently, the shimmering, shining, moving water flow, the curling tendrils of sweet fragrant smoke, the hiccuping sobs and tin sound of tears from the bereaved, the rustle of the leaves, weeds, and debris, along with yesterday's flowers, and the soft reverent footfalls as the children and select others moved among the dead to care for their resting place, all these things – brought life to the abiding place of death. Nowhere else but Konoha, could the graveyard be just as full of life as the village proper.
The bona fide vitality of Konohagakure no Sato, was not in the flashy artifice, or razzle-dazzle of any attraction, business, or street. The genuine life of the Leaf Village was, and is still, the life flowing through the veins, and hearts of its people. The loyalty, love, closeness, protectiveness, and friendship the residents displayed toward one another, was what really made it a special place, a living place, a place worth protecting, fighting for, dying for. This value, was something that Uzumaki Naruto understood. He knew it without a glimmer of doubt. Even he, the dead-last of his academy class, the seemingly natural-born loser, the knucklehead, who comprehended lessons only after he'd physically experienced the consequences of the concept's execution – even he understood this completely. Konoha was more than a village, more than a town, more than a fortress, or military base. Konoha was, and is, alive. Konoha is home, and everyone from there is family.
As Naruto sat upon the hillside overlooking the village he loved, the complexities of his fondness for the place were not on his mind. No, he would never have such philosophy at his beck – that would make a scholar of him, and Naruto was by far a simpler man than that. He only knew, only needed to know, one thing – that Konoha is his precious place filled with his precious people, all except one, and that meant that he would do absolutely anything to keep this beautiful, living, breathing, moving, laughing, crying, dancing, place safe. He would do it for those still residing within the walls, and he would do it for those who fell in its service – for those whose time was cut short. He would do it so that the ones who came before him would be honored – never shamed, and most of all he'd do it for the wanderers – especially one who had become the epitome of the lost, the very embodiment of the term – Uchiha Sasuke.
The Uchiha boy who had become his friend, his closest most important friend, was the matter weighing so heavily on the blond genin's mind at present. He sat uncharacteristically still and silent in a rare moment of contemplation. Not since the Land of Iron, had he spent more than a negligible amount of time in just thinking. That's how Hinata found him. At first the shy Hyuuga wanted to turn on her heel and leave him to his thoughts in peace, but then all thought of leaving him in such a lonely solitude left her head, as he spoke softly –so unlike him– to halt her departure.
"Hinata, please stay. I know you're here, so please don't go."
"Na- Naruto-kun, are you all right?"
"Didn't you ever want to ask me, Hinata? I mean, everyone else asks, so why haven't you?" His eyes found hers and the depth of pain in them was stunning to her. It made the air rush from her lungs and her legs begin to give way beneath her. To avoid falling over, Hinata quickly sat down on the grassy hill beside her crush, and then asked him what he meant.
"Why I don't give up on him. Why I keep believing in Sasuke, when everyone else has stopped. They all want to kill him, Hinata. Do you?"
She turned to him abruptly and her reply was honest and gentle, as ever, but the words stung nonetheless.
"Of course I don't want to kill Sasuke-kun. He's a former classmate, a person from this village, and most importantly – he was your friend, Naruto-kun."
She paused to find he had turned back to the sunset once more, but since she could see that he was listening, she continued.
"I would never want anything to happen to one of your precious people, but Sasuke-kun has become very dangerous – too dangerous to ignore. The others, they understand how hard this is for you and Sakura-san, so that's the reason they decided to take the burden from your shoulders. I agreed with the decision to end Sasuke-kun, for the same reason Sakura-san did. To protect the one I love from more pain. She believes that stopping Sasuke-kun from committing more crimes is the only way to protect him, and I see it as the only way to protect you."
Horror overtook the girl's features as she realized that she had inadvertently repeated her confession. Never intending to pressure the boy she had loved all her life, she had wished to quietly wait for him to answer her in his own time. Now it would seem, that her heart had run away with her lips, and the time was thrust upon them both.
"I never meant to ignore what you said that day, you know," he said it simply – a statement of fact, and not an excuse.
Hinata, recovering from her self-induced shock, realized that he was really going to talk about the confession at last, and looked down at the highly engrossing blades of grass next to her – between them; turned toward him, but not looking at him. Naruto, seeing her shy mannerism, merely finished his thought.
"I wanted to answer you properly at that time; I really wanted to. It's just that, what happened after you got hurt, it was overwhelming. I couldn't say anything at all; couldn't think, or breathe. I felt like I was being ripped apart by rage and grief; white hot agony and pain. I've never felt like that any other time. The closest I can remember was when the Pervy Sage died. That was pretty awful, but not like watching you fight for me – watching you almost die for me. Hinata, please, please promise me you won't ever do anything like that again. I don't think I could take losing you too, so please don't ever put yourself in danger for me, ever again."
He unconsciously clutched her hand, and Hinata realized that she hadn't even been aware that he taken hold of it. Somehow holding his hand felt so natural that she hadn't noticed it at first. The desperation she could read in his two limpid pools and hear in his cracking voice, made her long to lose herself forever in him, and soothe it all away, but she had to speak now. Or she would regret it for the rest of her days.
"I'm sorry, Naruto-kun. I can't promise you that. I wish I could ease your mind by agreeing to your request, but honestly, if we were back there, on the battlefield facing Pein again, and you were down; I can say with utter certainty that I would gladly do exactly the same thing again. I would protect you with my life, no matter what. Because, what I said was true, and because I stand by what I say. I love you, Uzumaki Naruto, and I would happily die to keep you safe, or to safeguard your happiness, or to shelter your dream. I will not allow you to die, until I have seen you become Hokage. I won't allow you to give up and leave the shinobi world that needs you so very much. Even if you never love me in return, I– "
He cut her off in the typically impulsive, typically unpredictable, typically "Naruto" way. He kissed her. It was the only thing his brain could come up with to do in response to her heartfelt words. The kiss was nothing to write home about. It was, at best, a peck. It was sudden, unplanned, tentative and definitive at the same time, firm and still soft, innocent, over as soon as it began, and punctuated by a muted thud as Hinata hit the ground unconscious before Naruto could even catch her. He was, in actuality, just as shocked as she, about the thing he'd just done.
Now the very brain that had gotten him into this mess, had short-circuited completely, and he was frozen. Stock still, he sat rigid, until he managed to raise his fingers to trace the warm tingle on his lips. The sensation brought a face-splitting grin to his visage, and the correspondent jolt of electricity that he felt run from his lips to his fingers, up the length of his arm, and from there straight to his head, restarted his synapses, causing him to look down at the beautiful girl who had offered him her heart – twice now. He gently adjusted her position on the ground next to him, so she could awaken comfortably, and brushed her hair from her face. Now resolved, and feeling better than he had in months, he would wait for her to wake and then finally answer her confession with one of his own.