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SHADOWS
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Part 02
Watch Me
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He would never say this out loud, but he liked to observe her.
If there was anybody who could properly define the word 'graceful', then Itachi was sure that it was her.
In his mind, there was no doubt.
Her body was small for her age, her white coat engulfed her little torso, and her navy-blue ¾ cut-pants reached down to conceal white-porcelain skin of her ankles, as if to prove the Uchiha right in his opinion.
She was in possession of a small-boned structure and fragile frame, details he had truly noticed after the days grew too hot for her to bear the increasing heat of the summer days and her covering was discharged, folded, and carefully set on the grass below in a neat square.
Clothes (he concluded as he watched her unzip her pale jacket,) were used as shields.
It was a sort of protection she had wrapped around in a weak effort to make herself feel slightly safe.
He had believed as much regarding that factor, but the real question wandering through the head of many would have been: safe from what?
Uchiha Itachi wasn't 'many' but it had surprisingly taken him longer than he himself had expected to realize what was going on, although hints to that inquiry had presented themselves the second he'd seen her walk into the clearing one day after mission.
No, not 'walk'.
The word was wrong. It wasn't an accurate enough description that could have remarked the state in which she had shown.
'Stumbled', on the other hand, was a more fitting term.
That day, – he remembered it well, the way he did everything else,– had started with an ANBU call and ended with a successful mission report. Having finished before the time set to officially return, Itachi had stood in the middle of the ANBU headquarters, his dark uniform and light gray vest suspended in his hands as if waiting for something to happen, his dark eyes shuttered from all visible emotion but his mind working.
He had yet to know what made him replace his mask and ANBU gear, exiting in a flash out of Hqs without any word of warning.
It was a feeling, (not logic) that on which he'd acted upon. His feet had, against his will, dragged him to that place, the one with the old, intimidating trees towering above the pathetic-looking grass-blades and in which the clear light of the sun refused to penetrate. It was shadowed, mysterious, and not at all a place for civilians to roam and explore.
Aside from the overly grown vegetation and the common wild animals inhabiting the desolated area, the place was dead in an unwelcome way, lacking a main core of vitality.
There was absolutely nothing to see, no one to find, no reason for him to be there.
The day he had heard her voice for the first time in his life, it had been a simple coincidence. He had just passed through and caught wind of her song.
Right?
That possibility had caused his eyebrows to knit into a deep frown.
He believed in no coincidences.
In his world, there was no place for the sort. Behind every occurrence, there was a reason to help push it into motion. Coincidences didn't – couldn't – exist.
But he had been there and stayed until the tunes of sadness turned dimmer, quieted, and died.
He had stopped himself on certain occasions from going to his place above on the tallest tree, where the shadows coiled and embraced him snugly. It had been weeks since he stopped going, and yet, there was that pull that gave him no option, that drew him near with no apparent excuse.
And once again, he had come back, fulfilled with an empty and unknown purpose.
Having had entered in silent conflict with himself didn't mean that he had lost the ability to register his outer world, though. The hollow sound of deceased twigs on the forest-floor from long ago – (forgotten to rot like all the things that in the past had conceived life,) – snapping in two and coming apart under a human pressure had failed startle him. Everything was fated to always fail, yes, because he had been and continued to be painfully aware, forever awake to what went on.
Catching him off-guard was a myth, unreal and a fantasy many desired.
So he had watched on, his extensively developed Sharingan eyes an intense and eerie ruby hue shining in the gloominess of the solitary atmosphere. In his chest, his heart had pumped blood at a faster pace without his permission, but that had mattered little next to nothing to him at that moment.
A part of him – the sanest one, he would come to find in the oncoming years – had given strict demands for him to turn away, to not look.
It's dangerous, his own calm, monotone, voice had warned him, but he had turned a deaf ear to it as if it hadn't spoken at all. As a shinobi, he understood that the following logic was what saved many lives, but that time, he had paid no heed to it, so he had stood still, and watched quietly.
Her feet had dragged behind her as if they weighted more than they should, her shoulders hunched inwardly, one of her hands pressed to the side of her ribs, below her chest, in a failed try to avoid pain.
She had made a pitiful sight to behold, tiny, sad, and utterly broken.
She had been by all means normally okay, if exhausted-looking, but there was something so undeniably dead about her that caused Itachi think otherwise.
It might have been the way her feet moved on in front of the other in a mechanical pattern that wished to forge a uni-complex human action, or the way her head hung low, short indigo strands disheveled and sticking to her pale skin with the help of dripping sweat.
All of the above had fled out of his thoughts when she raised her eyes.
Dead.
They had been dead.
There had been no light in them, no feeling, not a sign that could have helped to catalog those blank white eyes as living things.
That had surprised him more than the fact that she was a Hyuuga. The notion had barely crossed his mind as he, with his own eyes, watched, his legendary blood-limit copying, learning, scrutinizing, and memorizing her form stand in front of the tree trunk she always sat to sing on.
She had stared at it as if she had never seen it before in her existence, but after a moment of staying still, she had taken a seat, the way it was custom.
Itachi had observed all of those details with a feeling of surprise, not believing how such a small child could ever look like that.
He had seen his share of misfortunes regarding orphans and survivors of disasters and yet, none of them had impacted him as strongly as she did.
That day, she had wore not her usual clothes, but a black, formal yukata that fell to her mid-calf with long sleeves.
The girl had reached out and untied the cloth around her waist, and had it been anyone else (male, that is,) he would have had looked away instantly . But Itachi hadn't.
His Sharingan had dimmed, black eyes slowly returning, and gazed down at the small creature below.
Underneath her yukata, a mesh, training shirt had rested. Having peeled up it a fraction, Itachi had seen what had caused her pain.
A broken rib from her left side, swollen and purple-shaded, pushed up to the surface, wanting to get pass delicate, ivory skin.
His eyes had widened a fraction as he took in the bone raised in an abnormal direction.
Dainty fingers had grazed at it, and a whimper had followed soon afterwards as the bearer of the injury received excruciating waves of pain courtesy of her eight-year-old brain.
That should have been his first clue that something was very out of place, and it was, but he had been too busy trying to design a scheme to take care of the broken bone without her finding out about him, and had send his observations to the back of his mind, if just for a while.
But to his surprise, she had opened her mouth, and it hadn't been to scream.
"A mourning spirit in the field where dead roams
Looking at the retreating, traitorous sun.
With it the light has gone.
The nightingale in the distance cried in pain,
A human arrow had struck its head.
Memories of tomorrow and yesterday
Here to remember and come again.
No matter where the sun goes
There will be darkness to rule in its place.
The moon is quiet, dark as the sky
Silent in its mourning for the spirit that withers away
Looking at the retreating, traitorous sun
From its place in the blackness where light doesn't go."
His eyes had closed when she began to sing, and as she did, he had wondered if his face looked like hers even when he hid away from the world the way he did.
Had he always looked so unfeeling and dead?
He hadn't been sure, and still wasn't.
The following morning, one Hyuuga Hinata had found herself looking up at the bloomed trees of the Hyuuga Garden and sat up quickly with alarm.
Had she fallen asleep the day before? If so, when? How had she gotten back to the Compound?
Then she had gasped, remembering her broken rib. In an unconscious motion, her hand had fled to her side, only to feel bandages wrapped around.
There was pain, but now it was dulled, subdued somewhat, her yukata back in place.
Pale eyes had looked on, unsure on how to proceed.
Then she had shed a single tear with mixed feelings of gratitude and confusion, but nonetheless, happy for the act of kindness that she had been gifted with. After all, it wasn't often that she received one.
"A-arigato," she had whispered softly and gotten up, not ready to go back to the house that haunted her daydreams of freedom and happiness but having no choice.
From afar a pair of dark eyes had watched her progress.
A blink later, they had disappeared.
O
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It hadn't been in his plans to encounter her again after that accident, the one that had placed him back in deafening and lonely silence, but here he was and she...
She was here too.
He had discovered that she trained by herself.
And she never stopped. There was a driving force that made her give it her all, and her eyes, those pale orbs that spoke strongly of her Hyuuga heritage, gave him the appearance of a glass figurine that wasn't as fragile as she looked.
Her injury had healed after a few weeks, but that had done little to deter her in practicing.
Now, there was nothing that could obstruct her concentration as she practiced different sets of katas, each graceful movement effectuated with the fluidity and flexibility that they seemed to require.
They were graceful sets of dances she moved to, each to its own rhythm and tempo, but always done with precision and thoughtfulness.
It was...entertaining to see her perform.
It was ironic, the fact that he had wanted to not see her face in the first place.
In his defense, security was all.
Not knowing how she looked, he had believed as he heard her sing those melancholic tunes that defined her, would be in the best of benefits.
She couldn't catch a glimpse of him, and to ensure that his plan didn't backfire, he chose not to see her as well. It was only fair, and in his mind, fairness (a concept that wasn't exactly popular in the Shinobi World,) had sounded good enough at the time.
She lived in her own existence, rotated around the axis of her world, the same way he did, the same way everyone else followed. Her unawareness of his presence was a relief, something less to stress about...
And there was more than one issue to be wary of. His clan was getting edgy, its demeanor reproachful towards the Sandaime and all of Konoha. It wasn't too obvious, but it was hard to ignore when one noticed everything.
It had started to make him feel anxious.
His eyes, which had glazed in thought, focused on her again and he realized as she put her coat back on, that it was almost time for her to go and for him to return home for dinner and teach his ototo weaponry after that. Foolish little Sasuke needed to practice archery, the older Uchiha boy thought to himself with amusement, the corner of his mouth curling upward into a soft smile, one that he reserved only for his dark-haired younger brother.
But before departing, there was a ritual she never failed to check off her list.
Folding her legs and throwing her head back, the little girl opened her mouth at the same exact moment that Itachi closed his eyes.
It was time for her to sing him a lullaby.
O
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Despite the aura of tranquility and stillness, Itachi had learned (and not only known) that things always tended to never stay in that state. He had been taught well by the last experience, so when he found himself practicing his already perfect kunai throwing, he heard it, and though it alerted him, it didn't surprise him. Not this time.
Feet running, a branch snapping with a cry, the murmur of insects in the distance.
His head swirled to the direction of the source, and not giving it a second thought of consideration, he moved.
He would have recognized those particular sounds everywhere, so he took precautions, and with light-fast hand-signs, performed genjutsu on himself.
The casted illusion brought to life a taller male hovering over five feet ten with long chestnut hair that reached his shoulder-blades, an ANBU equipped gear his vestment, and the Uchiha crest and dark shinobi pants he had dressed himself with that same morning hidden under a coat of his chakra.
His identity protected, he hurried, albeit not as fast as he'd wished lest he aroused suspicion, after the little Hyuuga girl that was for sure making her way to their forest.
It didn't take long to find her, as he had chosen his training ground earlier today close to his current position, and when he did, he saw her.
She was panting hard, the air nonexistent to her respiration system as she allowed a river of blood to slip through her fingers like water, warming them with its dispersing heat, the kunai within the grip of her other hand falling to the ground with a hollow thud.
Itachi stopped in his tracks, his feet rooted to the soil.
He couldn't honestly say whether or not was it shock he felt; it was impossible for him to do so when he had never experienced said emotion, but it was the closest thing to it that he had ever known of.
His brain quickly analyzed the situation while simultaneously debating if he should step into the scene and ask instead of deducting.
Before he could decide on a decision, however, she spoke.
"I-I can see you."
Itachi felt his breath get stuck in his throat.
Her words carried to him in a soft wave, as if trying not to startle him. He almost scoffed to himself at her precarious ways only to be reminded that she had indeed caught him out of his element.
Impossible.
Raising weary transparent amethyst eyes, he saw it.
Her Byakugan activated, her veins pulsing weakly with chakra, her iris a metallic shade of mercury and her pupil undeniably noticeable.
That explained why she could see him, though he was confident in his abilities and although the girl time to time chose to surprise him, he knew she was no match for him. No one truly ever was. There was no way she could see through his genjutsu, Byakugan or no Byakugan.
"What did you do?" It was said emotionless, but there was an irrefutable demand that gave her no option in the matter of not answering.
The girl flinched, his monotone both scaring and surprising her. She honestly hadn't expected him to talk.
"I asked you a question. What did you do?" he repeated himself.
He watched as she swallowed hard and bowed her head, her Byakugan de-activating. "T-the blood...T-the pathways were blocked. I, I had to do something for them to open – "
"And make way for your circulation to pass through," Itachi finished for her as he assessed the damage. "You cut through the skin and muscle to channel the overflow."
The girl continued to pant, sweat beading her forehead, her skin a sickly white, her lids heavy above her large eyes. "Y-yes..."
His eyes narrowed. He wasn't ignorant of the Hyuuga's fighting style, and he had to wonder if she had received this second injury from a fighting session.
Who was this girl? She was obviously a Hyuuga, but…
He stole a quick glance at her forehead, her bangs parted apart giving him a clear view, and couldn't find the Curse Mark the Branch family sported.
She was from the Main House.
"Anbu-san."
Itachi didn't look at her but he did tilt his head to let her know he was listening, still deep in thought.
"D-did... Did my father send you for me?"
There was a sliver of hope in her voice, as if she wished for his answer to be yes, though her eyes remained on the blood pooling on her lap, damping her clothes, staining her white coat, a contrast so sharp it was fascinating.
Her father...Had he done this to her? Had he broken her rib just a few weeks ago as well?
Itachi wished he could say that no, no parent could hurt his offspring that much, but just thinking of Fugaku, he knew better.
"No."
He was blunt in all of his answer to everyone but his little brother, unfeeling, and unsympathetic. This was no exception.
The girl's face fell but she attempted to smile a small, untrue turn of pink lips. "O-oh. I see."
"Give me your hand."
The small female snapped her head up to look at him straight on with pure surprise.
Itachi stopped himself from voicing his order again and simply took her limp arm with his hand, firmly, yet gently enough not to disrupt the wound.
The indigo-haired girl gasped as she felt warm and callused fingers on her but Itachi ignored the reaction, opting for taking the small healing supplies all ANBU agents were forced to carry within their possession at all times.
"Would you have preferred if he had." It failed to announce her father by name or title, but he was sure she understood. It wasn't a question. Not really. After all, her predicaments were none of his business. Everyone faced their own personal conflicts. This girl couldn't be any different.
His rhetorical question didn't require an answer, but this Hyuuga seemed to stop and think about it, as if her reply mattered too much to be a basic response.
Quietly, slowly and carefully, she finally spoke, "I don't know."
The way her lips turned down into a discontented frown and dipped indigo brows furrowed told him that the answer displeased her.
"Hm." Taking hold of her wrist, he turned it around and dabbed at the scarlet liquid running down its length with gauze and antibacterial salve.
"I-I made sure..." she sucked in a breath before exhaling sharply. "I-I made sure not to cut any arteries."
Itachi did not respond as he dressed her wound, unmindful of the blood dripping on his clothes. His Clan had always worn dark colors, and he was no different. Her red blood was not going to stain them.
Once done, he sat back on his heels, putting away all of his medical supplies.
"T-thank you."
He paused for a moment, his fingers hesitating on his weapons pouch, before giving a subtle nod at the barely-heard words of gratitude.
And that evening, as the moon appeared and the stars rose, she stayed, and so did he.
That night, there was no lullabies; only shared silence.
OOOO
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A/N: Screw it. This ain't dabble no more. This ItaHina gonna be a full-length story :D The 6 chapters I had planned have now become 10...Lol. Don't ask me how it happened, it just did. How this chapter surpassed to 3k is a mystery also.
Thank-yous!: thinks-too-hard, manga-addict-95, L.L, Lheii78, NaviTheGoddess, Guest #1 & #2, MinaSmile209, SabakunoAnjel, Beth Sanchez, Miih-chan, & Kibachow!
I'm undeserving but thanks a bunch! C:
-Nightmares will be updated soon. Chapter 12 is 4K words presently.
-True, I also believe that Itachi deserves a freakishly nice and gentle girl. And whom better than our lovely Hyuuga heiress?
-Thank you all again so much for your positive reviews. I'm glad you thought it was beautiful.
-4.28.14.