A/N: Quick one-shot from Kurenai's perspective. Warning: If you haven't kept up on the manga, you may not want to read this, and it also may not make sense to you. I won't be responsible when you find out there's no Santa Claus. Everything Spins
It slowly rotates on the tabletop. So perfectly balanced, never wobbling, never drifting, just smooth steady spinning. So beautiful.
It never thinks about its future. Its purpose is clear. Its life is simple.
It is like she has never really seen one before. This thing that represents her station, her profession. This tool. She looks at it for the first time.
It was early spring when her Jounin Commission Ceremony took place. On the Hokage Administration Building roof, her friends, her family, and her peers gathered to celebrate the promotion of Konoha's finest genjutsu specialist. With dignified grace, she accepted her Commission Scroll from the Third Hokage, a small cylinder of paper tied tight with a crimson silk ribbon. Through the air, new bird songs skittered, competing for companionship and offering infinite possibilities for the new season.
Following the offical rites, all the attendees paid their respects to the newest Jounin of the Leaf. At the outskirts of the crowd, lingered Sarutobi Asuma. He had come alone. He felt like a stranger among these people. As Kurenai moved through the crowd her face lit with joy and pride. Then, slipping from one well-wisher to the next, she came to him. She looked up, a slight surprise whispering in her eyes.
Sarutobi Asuma. The son of the Third Hokage. The little brat that used to pull her pigtails in the Academy.
She had barely spoken to him since their school days, and when she had, it was purely professional. He had left Konoha for a time, pursuing his own dreams. Yet, here he was, and for some inexplicable reason he had come to see her celebration.
He was no longer a child. He towered over her, blocking out the midday sun. A trim jawline beard now framed his face, which still gleamed with boyish mischief as if only his body had reached adulthood.
"Asuma…" The name felt strange on her tongue.
He grinned, pretending he belonged there. Pretending he belonged wherever he was at the moment. "Congratulations, Kurenai."
This thing of steel continues to spin. Strong and reliable, it will never bend, never break.
Sarutobi Asuma had asked her on a date. He was staring at her with soft brown eyes, little titters of worry twinkling in his pupils. That was all he would allow her see of his uncertainty. His smile said confidence, his arms said steadiness, and his body said fearlessness. But, Sarutobi Asuma, for the first time in his life, was afraid of failure.
The tip of his cigarette burned a fiery red as he inhaled, waiting for her response.
This thing, as it comes naturally, is a slippery beast. This one on the table, a possession of such a prudent shinobi, has cloth wrapped up the handle. She will never lose her grip.
Sarutobi Asuma grabbed her wrist and held it tight. He pulled her hand towards his face, scraping his lips across her palm. Hot breath seeped in through the bandages there. She shivered. Gently, he opened his mouth, letting his teeth run across the mound at the base of her hand. Those soft brown eyes rolled behind closed eyelids.
They stood like that, in the dark of the alley by her apartment building. Pulsating red light spilled into the narrow passage from the neon sign across the street.
Minutes passed as Asuma inhaled the faint scents that lingered on her.
He opened his eyes, saying more with one look than he had ever managed with words. His arms slipped around her waist. Those strong arms. Those unfailing arms. There was no smile on his face anymore. He was deadly serious.
They connected there, in that alley, in the Village of the Leaf. His firm lips explored her soft lips. His moist tongue stretched to tickle hers.
Its blade is long and solid—a diamond stretched elegantly from the handle. Made to reach, made to cut, made to penetrate. It extends seriously from the hand when grasped, ready to fulfill its purpose.
Sarutobi Asuma hovered over her body, slick with sweat. His biceps bulged as he rocked back and forth. He panted, eyes shut firmly.
She reached out to the side, entwining her fingers in her cherry red cotton sheets. The material bunched up in her tense hands as she grasped tighter than ever. She will never let go; she cannot let go. She pulled at it so hard that the corners slipped off the mattress and, finally released, sprung up and surrounded the pair in a great billowing cloud of air and fabric.
The faceted sides of the tool flash in the lamplight as it as it rotates. It gleams along its edges. It sparkles with potential.
Can a ninja really dream of the future? Can a kunoichi really dream of a future?
There were those who managed to marry and have children, but they lived in fear of leaving their children behind. Leaving orphans behind.
She had dreamed. She felt like a fool. Sarutobi Asuma would care for her. He would protect her. They would have a little red-eyed girl and a little brown-eyed boy. Their children would be loved, forever.
It points accusingly at her possessions as it spins. It seeks a victim. It has a need to satisfy.
The shinobi of Konoha were not inclined to gossip. Shinobi were trained in secrecy, and it tended to spill over into everyday life. However, shinobi were also trained in observation, and so her association with Asuma did not go unnoticed.
Sarutobi Asuma was shy. He could not admit to his students about their relationship. He could not admit to their comrades. He would touch her in the dark, behind the walls, away from the eyes. He would carefully wipe evidence of her crimson lipstick from his neck before leaving.
The only son of the Third Hokage. The one who abandoned the village. She no longer cared about such things. She knew the man. She loved the way he touched her. She loved the way his would pull her hair, no longer teasing as a child, but teasing in a very, very adult manner. She loved the way he would slide his hand under her dress and tug at the wrappings, not teasing at all, but seeking redemption in a quiet, desperate way.
She didn't want to pretend anymore.
He wasn't ready. He hated the suggestive whispers of their acquaintances, invading their privacy.
Then, he would no longer have to pretend. She would no longer let him pull her hair, or let him run his broad, strong hand up her thigh. Even behind impenetrable walls.
It continues its perpetual motion, as if nothing can slow it down. The ring on the handle passes by her heart at regular intervals. The pulse of her heart slows to match its arrival.
Sarutobi Asuma made the biggest mistake of his life. He was about to throw away the rarest ruby a man could find.
His mistake could not be fixed with a dozen red roses or a box of strawberry sweets.
He had to make a commitment. Give up one freedom to gain another. Give up control to gain something better.
Sarutobi Asuma was ready.
It balances on the point on its side, where everything comes together in harmony. Everything rests on that one, infinitesimally small point. Everything circles it. Everything relies on it.
The water fell in a smooth shower from the red-lacquered watering can. Things that grow need care.
A healthy bloom broke off and fell to the soil, one lone petal lying off to the side, isolated from its peers.
Sometimes things die, even when properly cared for.
Unbidden, the face of her lover rose in her mind. Their future remained unresolved, but her private dream persisted.
Rain began to fall. Ultimately, nature takes care of itself, without the assistance of human kindness.
But nothing keeps going forever. She slaps her hand down hard on the flat of the kunai, bringing about what would only happen naturally. The tip points directly at her sternum
Shikamaru knocked on her door. He had never visited her apartment before. When she saw him slouched and framed in the hallway, she knew. He could not look her in the face. His eyes were already blood-shot with grief.
He did not have to say anything.
But, he did.
"I'm sorry. I love you. Continue to live for me."
What kind of last words are those? Who says something so trite, something so damn stupid with their last breath? How is that supposed to sooth her? How is that supposed to repair their relationship when it paused at a seeming failure and now had careened into total oblivion? How can she live for him, without him? How could she be so stupid, so stubborn? Why didn't she accept him as he was? Why did she push him to accept her dream? Why did she waste those last weeks in anger? Why wasn't he here right now? Why couldn't he run his hand up her thigh one more time? Why couldn't she feel his hot breath on her palm one more time? Why couldn't she hear the horrible whispers of their peers one more time? Why couldn't she take back those hurtful words that drove him away? Why had she been so selfish?
Ninja shouldn't dream of the future.
It sat there on the table. Waiting. So perfectly balanced. So beautiful
It would never leave her. It couldn't die. It was not ashamed of what it was.
The perfect lover.