Prologue
Different.
Sometimes, just sometimes, she watches the sky.
When she comes back from her missions or finishes her shifts at the hospital, she lies on the same back of grass (that they so long ago lay together) and gazes up at the boundless space. Most of the time, she's tired to the bone. Her white coat stained with the injuries of the suffering, shoulders weighed down with worry and duty.
She can't put it in exact words and the view is never quite alike, but something about the serene sight loosens the knot in her. Some days, as she admires azure skies with cotton wisps, she can't help thinking (even though she tries not to) that they look like a certain teammate's eyes: bright, all cooling warmth and easy acceptance.
Then thoughts inevitably lead to him, dark onyx and the velvet dark of the night sky. How the stars looked against the navy background (the same color highlighted in his hair when the light hit it just right) and the even breathing of her teammates (when it was so important to her because it was back when she actually believed that they could be together forever), the rapid pulse of her heartbeat when she begged, when she laid bare her feelings and he still left, with nothing but a thank you still haunting her in the wind when she wakes up to the sharp sting of rejection and reality.
That night had been cold and chilling. Even with the warmth of the day, she involuntarily shivers on days she remembers, and tries to block it all out. Because he's gone and despite everything they've done she doubts that he will ever be back willingly. For when she had last looked into those crimson eyes, she had saw— she saw something the depths of which she didn't think she might ever be able to fully comprehend.
The anger, wrath, impatience, and hunger that raged on, but most of all, the hatred. It seemed to swirl, extend to every fiber of his body and consume him whole and still reach out for more— she had realized then he was no longer the boy she knew before.
Perhaps that's when it suddenly dawned on her, an epiphany (long in the making) that made all the difference.
He was no longer the same person. He had chosen his path, and she would too.
And so despite all her memories, all her emotions and smiles and promises; she will defend everything precious to her against the destruction left in his wake, against anybody with the intention to harm. Because just as he has changed from the boy he once was, she is different too.
Strength.
Each time before she sets off, when she slides cool leather upon her hands and attach the worn maroon forehead protector, (like some sort of ritual to remind herself) she hardens her heart and her eyes glint with the steel light of frozen emeralds. So even when cerise liquid splatters from her victims, when her senbons strike with unerring (deadly) accuracy, when her hands are so stained by the blood of her enemies despite how many lives she saves, she never stops.
She builds herself to such momentum that she doesn't need to feel, because it only hurts and as long as she's doing something, be it killing or saving (the word killer haunts her sleep) she has some sort of balance, fragile equilibrium though it may be.
So when he arrives in the room on a stretcher, dripping crimson and inky hair splayed against the white canvas, all the air seems to escape from her lungs at once.
But then there is no time to think, no time to feel, just the cold steel of the table, harsh light that shines on the operating table, and she goes through the motions mechanically like she has done so many times before. Only this time, its not the same, words cannot express how much this has affected her, only the sudden rip in her chest anew, and as she leaves the room, only to be faced with an anxious blonde, she can only muster a weary smile. A smile that doesn't truly reach her eyes.
"His injuries are… severe, but he'll make a recovery given time" Even as she says this to her bright-eyed teammate, she mentally amends it to apply only physically.
" Yes I knew it! He's back, believe it!"
And when he breaks out into cheers and whoops on how team seven was destined to be together, and nothing, not even betrayal could break it; doubt like a waiting snake still curls in her heart.
She knows without words, from the way his fist still clenches around his kunai even unconscious, how he twitches from touch at first until they raise the level of anesthesia, that the boy – no, she supposes he is a man now – is still broken and she wonders if his past still haunts him.
The answer is clear in his eyes when he wakes. She is startled inwardly when his eyes snap open as she leans to change his bandage. But then, she feels that it would be so like him to wake up at the slightest notion of danger. Ebony drills into emerald for a few short seconds, before she looks away and reaches for the stained strips of cloth. She feels the pull of his gaze like a black hole, that is in danger of drowning herself in the intensity and nuance of his eyes.
He says nothing throughout her ministrations, and she snuffs out all pain in her heart, trying to finish as efficiently as possible. She just wants to finish and run home; to curl into a ball and forget about him because she knows there's no use prodding at old scars.
Instead, she can feel his displeasure emanating as he examines the chakra restraints and chains upon his wrist and ankles. When she finally finishes and moves to check his IV drip –all the while averting her gaze- he finally speaks his first words to her in four years (silently she hates herself for even keeping track)
"Release me." Cold baritone enunciates the syllables perfectly.
And it is no surprise that he demands for the restraints to be removed. Suddenly she fights the urge to laugh at the very truth of those words. This man chose to be chained by his need for vengeance, chasing for release. She can't release him because she owes this man nothing, and the only one who could set him free was himself.
All of a sudden she remembers why she has chosen this path, and how much theirs had diverged. He had taken revenge over everything else offered to him freely, and she was loath to stand in his way. After all, they had different fights now. This thought gives her strength, and all her previous indecision and doubt freezes.
She meets his burning stare with harsh ice running in her veins, and the same way she has grown used to, hers eyes are hard as she tells him quietly that it is not her decision, and he that he should take it to the Hokage. (the underlying words are clear though: its not my problem) Changing the drip, she strides out of the room, but not before she sees a flash of disbelief before anger shutters his eyes again.
Her lips curls grimly into a smile as she reports to the Fifth, and when amber eyes meet hers in a mix of concern and question, they seem to be satisfied by the determination in hers.
That day when she reaches home, it is not to curl into a ball and cry as she wanted so much earlier, but she sharpens her weapons, and when the next messenger comes, she is ready and unfurls the scroll.
She doesn't want to stand in the shadow of her team or of an old love. For time has passed, and she can hold her own. There would still be scars on her heart, and she did not know what tomorrow would bring, but there was a difference in strength now.
Author's note:
Sorry for the long dry spell! I swear life has been so crazy recently I couldn't even think of writing. I plan on writing the first chapter after making sure the flow of the prologue wasn't so disjointed (hence this update) and researching properly into the exact details. :x First time writing ff, so hope all goes well!
Thank you for the reviews: Niaya Tsuki, Dragonheartedxx, Pricililica, and Teenage Crisis. They are appreciated and another reason to write more :)