Challenge

PART # 2

She was ten when she told herself that one day, she wanted to stop being a Shinobi and instead be some sort of villager. By that time, it was too late, and she had the cursed mark on her neck to prove she was destined to be working for Orochimaru, for the rest of her life, but she didn't mind. All she wanted was to go out with one big mark on the world—one chance to prove that one girl could cause the biggest problem an entire nation could encounter. The dream she wanted, she decided, would be after that climatic moment. She decided either after her own death, or after she abandoned Orochimaru. It was such a badly thought out plan. She was sure, back then, that it might never come. But the dream of being some ordinary farm worker, in a village, with her head in the ground and her eyes set on the sky, was so tempting. Beautiful, but unreachable.

Her legs were immobile. She had finally reached that part of her life. But judging from how difficult it was to breathe, she would die out now, anyway. She was doomed. She wouldn't show this weakness, because she was too haughty to allow that male to see her weakness. But at the same time, she knew she had reached the end. Her lungs were crushed that day. Any time she had left was just plain pointless.

But here he was, this man, probably from the Uchiha clan, trying to assist her. It made her sneer at the sheer irony of the situation. She'd just damned one of his relatives. And he was assisting her? A deranged clan, with deranged people. She didn't care to learn anymore because her time was so short, all she wanted to do was relax before giving up. Not argue with someone she didn't know. Giving him hope that he could help was useless to both of them. He probably only wanted intel on Orochimaru anyway. It brought the slightest of a humoured sneer to her expression, and she resisted letting her apparent amusement show, because he had a keen eye. She despised how he was watching her so tediously. He was almost keeping track of every little movement she made, and she would have been happy to slit his throat off. If she weren't so weak and disabled.

Examining him only served to confuse her even more, rather than give her clarity. He was a quiet person (seemingly genetic trait since all of these Uchiha seemed quiet), and he didn't look like he was as arrogant or haughty as his brother had been. He didn't even seem interested in gaining power like his brother. Something about this man was calm, and more collected. He reminded her of Kimimaro, but there was something she couldn't place a finger on. Kimimaro struck her with fear. This Itachi, made her want to sock him with her bare fist. But she wasn't sure she could accomplish that, physically. She was fairly sure he was careful of her because of her flute. Or maybe because he had no reason to be afraid of her. Why was he bothering with trying to help her?

Did that motherfucker even have any medical experience?

Obviously not, she mused, letting her hand reach up to brush a few hair strands back. Her helmet had been knocked away, probably when she'd been crushed by that tree. But the excess life she had left, she would need to keep Orochimaru's life a secret. Keep her life, after joining Orochimaru, a secret, and play this game of intellect and secrets as well as she could. All while trying to muscle each bit of information she could out of him. If she knew more before going to her grave, it would at least do well for her. She only cared about herself.

A day passed by uneventfully, after they had spoken that little bit and gotten responses. He seemed satisfied with what she'd said, about winning. But it seemed like he too had something to attend to. She figured it was at that village. Konohagakure seemed like it was really popular. Either for the Uchiha it had in it before, or the Hokage, or anything else she didn't care for. By the time night settled over the horizon, she'd laid down again and barely taken notice of him shifting over to a chair at the side of the room. She didn't want to ask what he was thinking, but from the way he settled in the chair and pulled the cloak from the chair closer to his body, it was clear that he was planning to sleep that way. He had a trait she hadn't seen in any of her teammates, or the men she had encountered. As small a number as that was.

He was planning to give up having a bed for the night, to a girl that he had absolutely no relation to.

Turning around, she pulled the bedsheets closer and let her eyes close. She wished she'd kept a rubber band. Her hair was horrible. "Hey, trash," she called out, knowing he'd hear. "You're not half bad."

That entire night, she'd had a dream. About the most unusual place, where green grasses and meadows grew as far as her eyes could see. She imagined a tree, and for some reason, none of her teammates were there. There seemed to be smells of dango all around, because she liked that more than any other treat she'd sampled in her life. Not far from her was a village—a village where they made wind instruments, and created the most beautiful of sounds. She could see a red haired man, and a brown haired woman. But she didn't go towards them, because the tree was at equal distance away. It was the most unusual dream, for her, since she hadn't thought of her home since she'd been brought to Orochimaru. She knew they had burned down her village, and all she had left was a flute that Orochimaru had given her, a keepsake from someone. She still had no idea if she was the only survivor, but it made sense. Why no one could do her jutsu the way she did. Why the sound village, didn't really have much sound to begin with. It was depressing.

She looked back at the tree when she was finished gazing at the village, in her dream, and her eyes locked onto a figure perched under the tree itself. It looked so far away, and the figure was cloaked by a darkness from the shade of the tree. It was turned away from her, as well. But all in all, she realised the dream was what she wanted. Her peaceful land where she could spend her day listening to music on her flute, and spend time with someone she could find worth her time. A challenge she could overcome and never be able to douse.

When she'd been woken, it was because real sunlight streamed down onto her, and she felt an aching disdain at waking up in this world, again. She would have preferred to wake up in her dream world, coveted by the sounds and sights of a peaceful village. Her legs didn't have much feeling, but she had the repressed urge to cough. And when she did, she heard a shift nearby, and instantly a tall, dark figure loomed over her, reaching out without her permission to check the injuries she may have accumulated. She pulled her hand away, but the hand travelled to her mouth, the rough, masculine fingers touching her lips in an attempt to show that it wanted her to be quiet. When her gaze met with heavy dark eyes, she knew that person in an instance, was Itachi.

Motherfucking Uchiha, heard me cough.

He seemed to check her pulse, then press his hand to her stomach, almost in medical procedure. He was trying to find out what was wrong. She didn't say a word, but she did glare. If that fucker thought he could scare her, he was out of his mind. When he seemed satisfied, he stepped back, giving her space. She was quick to realise he didn't want anything from her. He probably wasn't a pervert. He was one of the most unusual men she had ever met. "You're not healthy," he decided. It was easy to notice that, and she retorted back by saying, "No shit," in a voice that might have scared any other person off, or at least irritated them. But his lack of an expression showed that he wasn't afraid of her, or really phased by her words. He was one of those people who didn't seem to care about what they were told.

"You'll die in a matter of days," he responded. "If not hours."

"Can't wait," she answered, with sarcasm laced in her voice. But for some reason, she found it was something to look forward to. To crave, and to recognise. She was sure if she died, she would go to the place she wanted to be. Not that he'd understand. She thought for a moment, that he intended to live life out, for a long time, and perhaps die with some random girl he thought he'd have kids with. But the moment she noticed him take in her words, she noticed something odd about his own reaction. He didn't seem to ignore her—if anything, he seemed intrigued by her answer. It was like a complex game of twenty questions, and for some reason, whenever either of them answered, the other person was confused beyond understanding. "It's the same, for me," he answered, after a brief pause.

She was perplexed. He was going to die soon, too? She thought to ask, but she thought it would disturb too much into the personas they'd developed around each other. Kind of like, intruding. She continued to remain quiet, until she thought of what she should ask. Because it was only fair that she'd return his weird questions with her own.

"Where do you want to end up?" she asked. It wasn't intruding. If he was going to die, it was his own business. If she was going to die, she wanted to keep it to herself, too. But to have someone here, sharing her last few hours with her. It was a little amusing. If anything, it made her reconsider the concept of hating all men. Perhaps there was something hopeful about this strange man. "A peaceful village," he indulged, in his deep voice. She noticed that he didn't think twice about it. She was expecting to hear ruling over hell, or any other stereotypical thing like that, but he wanted to live peacefully. That sounded nothing like what an ambitious Uchiha would do. This rat apparently wants to live in a dumphole—kind of like I do.

Silence settled around them both. She wanted to assume he was thinking. He seemed fond of doing that. But she was thinking, too. And she found herself drawn to how strangely similar they both were in their one ambition. Going to a safe place—a village where there was no conflict. Nothing like that existed in this world, but maybe in an afterlife. "Shit like that," she began. And he looked at her, when she spoke. None of her teammates, or Orochimaru for the matter, ever paid attention to what she said. His heavy glare made her cheeks burn red, maybe out of embarrassment and annoyance. She liked the attention, a little. She evn liked the way she could keep her identity hidden, but she could talk about some things, with this quiet man, that she hadn't with her teammates. Her past was long gone now, and all she considered was the possibility of passing on with a few weights lifted off her shoulder. "It doesn't exist here. But fuck, when I pass on—"

She couldn't help but watch the way he came closer to her with each word. First kneeling beside the bed, and then his hand reached to grasp onto her pale wrist. She could tell the red painted over her cheeks was visible, and she would have lashed out, but the way his eyes remained dark and focused on her, showed that if she did anything wrong, he'd snap her in a second. Or maybe she was reading into it too much. "I want to be in a world like that. With a village, my village, and a meadow, where there's a tree—" He was almost too quiet, listening to her talk about a dream world. Where she knew no one else would be. How many people really thought about staying in a meadow in their afterlife? She was one of the few strange ones who did. His head leaned in, and she could have sworn she saw red flash in his dark optics. He was definitely dangerous. And Tayuya usually fancied dangerous over a still lifestyle, especially since she was one of the more feisty people. She didn't know what made her shut up around him—it was both fear, and something else. Not love or anything. It was interest. Purely interest.

"The tree," he spoke, almost asking for her to continue. Did he know what she was saying, before her? She didn't know much about the Sharingan, but it wasn't activated. She didn't know what was pulling for her to talk, more. It was going far, this game of theirs, and she didn't understand why fate had brought this onto her—someone who understood her, right before her deathbed. She didn't regret her life, but she knew she'd always wonder, what would have happened, had they met before. "The tree, behind it, there's going to be someone waiting for me. Maybe some trash that I picked up in this life," she finished, and she didn't know why he seemed a little puzzled by her words. "You don't know, who you want to see waiting there?" he asked.

She understood, now, that she was surprising him. He didn't know what to expect of her, and she didn't know what to expect of him. In ways, they were both just one big challenge for one another. She couldn't explain it in any other way. "It's a surprise. What sort of rat would want to wait for me?" she asked—and she hated to admit that she doubted any of this would happen. She had a fair share of fist fights with boys who thought she was pretty. Kimimaro had realised how dangerous it was to try and go near her, too. She wouldn't have any friends to wait for her. She expected to be there alone, most likely. He only seemed determined, when he moved even closer, his hand shifting to hers and gripping it. His fingers interwinded with hers, and he seemed a little too close for comfort. It was almost creepy. She wanted to ask why he was so close to her. But he didn't seem like the type to speak about what he was going to do.

"I will."

His lips were immediately against hers, and her heartbeat increased thousandfold. She didn't know how to react at first, but the moment the strength returned to her free hand, she reached up and shoved him away by the shoulder. She was evidently weaker than she had thought, but his head moved back. And his puzzled frown made her stomach churn. This was stupid. Ridiculous. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?! Get away from me, you rat!" she shouted. Her voice was louder than her threats were really. But his hand didn't release hold of her wrist. His eyes were more gentle than he originally thought. She considered it, heavily. Why he was so gentle, but at the same time, so stern. She knew nothing of this person, and he was here, trying to coax something as icky as a kiss from her. From an enemy. He was sick and out of his mind.

"It was just the way otou-san and okaa-san were," he mused, out loud. And it was strange because Tayuya realised he was referring to his parents. So cold hearted killers did think of their parents? "Okaa-san told me, when a girl resists, she'll be the most honest." Honesty was one thing Tayuya managed to do, even when it was pointless. Was he trying to say he liked her? No, it was just a game. A strange interest between them. And the more they spoke, the more it became evident that they had almost been created to combat one another. It was ironic.

When he let his eyes melt into the strange red colour she remembered being told of, she didn't show any fear. His eyes were his most obvious feature, next to how gentle he was. She didn't think he reminded her of herself, at all. He seemed like he hid himself. She let too much of herself out. This chanced encounter changed everything. He subtly pressed his lips to hers again, but this time, she didn't turn away. Instead, she stayed oddly still, letting him take taste her, even in her sickened state. She fully expected him to pull away, but there was no such movement. Instead, he retained the close proximity, and the strange way he only gently tried to make her respond back, made her viciously keep from moving. She knew if she reacted, she'd let herself down. If she didn't, he'd be frustrated and keep trying to find out how to make her react.

He moved his head away after a few moments, and only silently looked down at her. There was no further words, between them—at least, from his end. But she could still feel the pinkish hint on her cheeks, flushed over her nose, and she responded in the only way she could cope with it.

"If you ever pull that shit off again, I'll make sure you're bleeding to death like the trash you are."

And much to her surprise, he didn't respond back rudely. He only looked away. She could see an emotion already—he wanted to do that again. And she'd be damned before letting him.

Much to her dismay, in that moment, her lungs chose to begin coughing violently, and her vision was clouded when she noticed red liquid coming out of her mouth with every cough. It was clear that her lungs chose not to hold out long enough for her to even be able to study his reactions. She covered her mouth politely, and he watched on silently. It was a strange understanding. He knew she was dying. She knew she was, too. And none of them were doing anything to subside the coughing.

She didn't have very long. If that. And she relented to admit, he was right. A few hours, at most. That trash had really done a total on her. She'd been saved, but she was going to die anyway.