Mind Over Matter

Summary: Although there is definitely nothing wrong, Sasuke must see a shrink. The last person he expected to see in the waiting room is Hinata Hyuga. Possibly SasuHina.

-x-

There's a small white room that leads off from Tsunade's main office, concealed under the misconception that nothing more than a bathroom could be behind its door.

There are motivational posters plastered on the walls, along with posters with instructions on how to treat burns, how to properly wrap a broken arm in a sling and how to perform CPR. A bitter, alcoholic miasma hangs heavy, despite the abundance of incense. There's a desk with an ancient computer, huffing dust and whirring noisily, paperweights and picture frames with stock photos inside. Multiple stacks of unfiled documents are scattered across the floor and litter the desktop. Certificates in all sorts of strange practices Sasuke has never heard of are framed and displayed like masterpieces. Everything about the small white room emanates Tsunade; it's old, all over the place and reeks of sake.

Sasuke sat on a cushioned chair in front of the desk, beside Kakashi, as he and Tsunade discussed his 'unusual behaviour'. If Sasuke had known this was what lay ahead of him when he woke up that morning, he would have drugged himself to sleep for the next few days.

He was so distracted by his surroundings, so deep in thought, that he wasn't aware of Tsunade talking about him until she spoke to him directly.

"What was his name, Sasuke?" she asked.

He blinked. "Come again?"

"Your counselor. Do you remember his name? From five years ago… after…"

Of course, it was inevitable that they would broach the subject of his clan's murder; indirectly, perhaps, but it manifested in so many aspects of his life how could they not?

After the massacre, his eight-year-old self was required to see a counselor. All ten sessions he had with the man were spent in silence. His counselor never said anything, merely watched him. And he wrote things down. What on earth could he possibly be writing, Sasuke wondered? Did his posture give something away? Did his breathing indicate that he was psychotic, did his blinking show signs of depression? The third session, Sasuke was feeling so overwhelmed, so lonely, so lost, he tried to tell the man exactly what happened that evening—he ended up breaking into tears and sobbing instead, as if the words were desperate to keep themselves hidden. He hadn't cried since.

What was his name? Mister something Izumo? Izu-something…

"I don't remember," Sasuke finally replied.

Tsunade leant back in her chair and tapped her fingernails on the edge of her desk, examining Sasuke. She quickly averted her gaze to Kakashi. "You said something about insomnia?"

Sasuke watched Tsunade as she opened a drawer in her desk. It looked like she was completely ignoring Kakashi as he poured over details Sasuke didn't care to pay attention to, but she nodded once and grunted in the right places, so maybe it's just like they say – women can multitask. Somehow, even though she appeared to be the most sloppy, lazy, ill-mannered Hokage in Konoha history, Tsunade proved to be the most capable person Sasuke knew when it came to the wellbeing of others.

She drew a blue page, skimmed the contents, and placed it on the desk, finding a pen and sliding both towards Sasuke. "Fill this out," she ordered.

There was no title on the page, only a space for him to write his name. Following that was what seemed to be an endless questionnaire. Even worse, all the questions were in relation to him. How he felt. He glanced unpleasantly at Tsunade, but she was in deep conversation with his sensei. Sasuke sighed. Suppose he answered it honestly and they put him in an institution? Then again, if he answered it honestly they would see that there's really nothing wrong and he could go back to normal.

He read the first question.

1. Are you constantly bothered by the past?

That was unfair. How could he not be? The reason for his existence, what fueled his actions, his motivation for continuing with this 'life' when he could just as easily slip into an eternal sleep was his righteous path to revenge. Surely nobody could question this. Even if they did, Sasuke knew they were wrong, because what else was left for him? Itachi's final words haunted him and possessed him like a demon; there was nothing that could possibly bring him greater satisfaction than seeing his brother's corpse, kin's blood pooling at his feet, squelching between his toes and dripping delectably from his fingers, his own hand bludgeoning over and over again through Itachi's chest—

He needed a breath to calm down.

Sasuke stared at the words and his answer now seemed insignificant. If his aspirations also lead him to be slightly obsessed – if you could even call it that – with the past, then who cares who knew? Certainly not Sasuke. He circled yes and moved on.

2. Have you recently had trouble sleeping?

No. Not at all. In fact, he'd been sleeping incessantly. He circled no.

3. Have you been feeling remarkably irritable?

Sasuke almost circled yes, but halted himself. Remarkably irritable would imply he was feeling more irritable than usual, when in fact he presently maintained his regular quantity of irritable that had been his most notable attribute for several years, so he circled no.

4. Do you have trouble concentrating?

Considerably...

It just went on. And on. By the time Sasuke finally came to the last question, his hand was sore and his mind was wandering out of his control. He felt like he could fall asleep if he merely reclined in his chair. When he finished, he read the entire thing over. He'd been extraordinarily honest.

The two other occupants of the room had suddenly lowered their tone to a rushed whisper.

"…Sasuke looked this tired?" Tsunade murmured, as if to ensure he wouldn't hear.

"A month, maybe two," Kakashi answered. It was clear, from the corner of Sasuke's eye, Tsunade wasn't happy with this response.

"Have you spoken to him about it?" They both looked at him and he pretended to still be reading, focusing on one word as much as he could to make it look like he was really lost in thought.

Kakashi shrugged. "No. Like I said, I wasn't really worried until…"

"Are you finished?" Tsunade said abruptly. Sasuke pretended to tune back in, staring at her blankly. "The form. Are you done?" she repeated, slower, like talking to a very small, handicapped child.

Although not happy with being treated like a kid, Sasuke merely nodded and handed it back. She only took the paper and not the pen, and his arm was left hovering, outstretched, with the pen dangling awkwardly in his fingertips, until he withdrew and started to fiddle with it in his lap. After looking over the sheet, her frown growing deeper and deeper the more she read, she placed it down gently, as if it were fragile, like she didn't want to startle anyone. Then she began asking lots of questions, like how long he's been sleeping badly, if he's been feeling sad or anxious. Kakashi answered most of the questions for him, because he took too long to respond.

"He eats maybe one small meal a day," Kakashi replied for him, again, when Tsunade asked about his eating habits. "That's mostly because he sleeps as soon as he gets back from training. Then he wakes up at around midnight and goes into his bathroom for, what, an hour? And sleeps again until I think about eleven, when he has a muesli bar or something similar."

Sasuke couldn't help the small gasp of outrage that soon fell from his lips. How did Kakashi know so much about his daily routine? Had he been watching him? The thought made him sick. Did he know what Sasuke did in the bathroom? Had he noticed the running water, the metallic scent? How dare he violate his privacy that way?

"I just haven't been hungry," he snapped. "You need to mind your own business! There's nothing wrong with me, alright?"

"Calm down." Tsunade held up her hands in a placating gesture and Sasuke felt completely disgusted.

"Shut up! You don't know anything – you don't know a thing!"

He leapt from his seat and, pen clattering noisily to the floor, ignoring the cries from Tsunade, stormed out of the room, down the hallway and outside, heading home. He glared at anyone who looked twice. They murmured, sized him up, wondered what his problem was—but he didn't have a problem. There was nothing wrong.

When he arrived at his front door he practically rammed it full-force. Realising it was locked, he felt his pockets for his keys, feeling more frustrated by the second. He cursed loudly and kicked his door. Where were his keys? He distinctly remembered putting them in his pocket that morning… or was that yesterday? Then he saw the window was open. He clambered through it, into his kitchen, sliding into the basin and sat there, glaring at the tiled floor.

Sasuke felt sick. He didn't like it. All the attention, all the concern, directed towards him. For years he'd relied on himself and gotten accustomed to it. Whenever someone else tried to 'help' he knew they were just underestimating him. He could look after himself. Just because he's been behaving a little differently lately doesn't mean he needed to see a shrink, for crying out loud! His eyes roamed the room blindly until he caught sight of his keys, hanging from their hook near the front door. He clenched his fists.

Eating habits? What did that have to do with anything?

Sasuke yanked open his cupboard and started making a sandwich.

-x-

Tuesday was Sasuke's new least favourite day of the week. Why? Because now, Kakashi had received a referral from Tsunade to see a psychologist, and every Tuesday for ten weeks he was required to see one.

The waiting room felt cliché. The air was stale. There were no windows, only artificial light that made everything look more deathly and ominous than it really was. He felt like he was going to the dentist rather than a shrink. Last time Sasuke was here, he had been in shock. Everything was unreal. He felt similar, even now, but he was able to pick up on certain details his younger self could not.

The receptionist was a young male, who couldn't be anything other than openly gay, and greeted everyone with a drawled 'daaarling'. There was a small coffee table with three-year-old magazines. A security camera in the top right corner seemed to be fixed directly on him. Kakashi was by his side, silent but completely present. He looked to be trying to find something to say. If he tried it might be awkward. Small talk never was his strong point.

There were lots of strange faces in the waiting room. Sasuke was mildly surprised by how many people were there, but it made sense. Most were ninja. Probably all traumatised by something horrible they'd seen in battle or seen done to loved one. Isn't that what always happens? Becoming a ninja is basically signing a contract that ensures a life full of mourning and carnage.

There was a woman in colourful polka-dot balloon pants sitting on the end of the row, mumbling to herself. Definitely crazy, Sasuke thought. On the other side of the room, there was an old man with so many wrinkles his face looked like a scrunched up piece of paper. That might be because he was frowning so hard, though. Sasuke didn't know a single person there. He found it strange that he knew nothing of these people who shared the space he lived in.

The very last person in the waiting room had her back to him. She had short, black, boyish hair and was quite young. About the same age. He couldn't get a clear look at her. The thought of jumping up and leering at her might cause a misunderstanding. Sasuke tried to disregard his childish disappointment. He had been enjoying himself. A cold-water dispenser to the left caught his eye.

"Kakashi," he said. The man almost jumped.

"Hm?"

"I'm getting a drink."

"Oh."

Sasuke took this as consent and slid off the chair, stuffing his hands in his pockets out of habit and approaching the water dispenser. He regretted it almost instantly. His body weight felt as if it had multiplied tenfold, and his entire body ached. He often felt that way in the afternoons as of late and was overwhelmed with exhaustion.

That was another thing that made seeing the shrink inconvenient. The meetings were in the afternoons. Afternoons were when he slept. Along with mornings. And nights. If he didn't sleep enough, he felt like he could pass out at any moment.

It felt like an age before he finally made it. His back was to the unidentified citizen, and he grabbed a cup from the dispenser, filled it with water, then slowly, casually, turned around to face her while simultaneously taking a sip.

He nearly choked.

The girl was indeed his age. Her pale white eyes and solemn, porcelain baby-doll face were all too familiar. Why, of all troubled people in his age group, was Hinata Hyuuga sitting in the waiting room for a shrink? She was hugging her knees to her chest, cheeks puffing slightly against the pressure, eyes bloodshot. From crying? She always had a vulnerable look about her, but in that state she just looked pathetically weak. Was pathetic weakness a medical condition?

Her eyes darted towards him and he realised he'd been staring. They both ogled each other, caught up in their shock, before quickly turning away again. Sasuke shuffled inelegantly back to his seat and didn't move again until Hinata was called into her appointment. Her counselor was young, mid-twenties maybe, with frizzy hair and a kind, round face. She had the same boisterous demeanour as Naruto. Sasuke thought that she might be intimidating to Hinata, before concluding that the two actually knew each other well enough already. The pair hugged before disappearing into the woman's office. Hinata was closing the door behind them when their eyes met once again, and this time they didn't look away for a few moments. Both wondered the same thing.

Why are you here?

This question bounced off the walls of Sasuke's mind until the door clicked shut and Hinata was gone.

Why was she here? She seemed relatively normal compared to all the other people in the waiting room. Which lead to another question—why was Sasuke here? He was slightly offended to think he should be condemned to the same fate as schizophrenic polka-dot woman. What had he done to make Kakashi think he needed help? Panic rose to his throat as his fingers brushed over his wrists. Had his sensei noticed he covers them all the time? Did he see a blood patch? Sasuke examined them to make sure he'd stopped the blood properly last night.

But that couldn't be it. Kakashi had only talked about sleeping and eating habits with Tsunade, so he quickly dismissed the idea.

"Sasuke Uchiha?" the receptionist sang.

"Time to go," Kakashi said, with what seemed like relief. Before he knew it, Sasuke was being whisked towards a face he recognised but couldn't place without a moment's thought.

Dr Harada Izumi. His old counselor.

-x-

Thanks for reading. (: