AN: How's this for a fast update? Please don't forget to leave a review. It really helps me in fleshing out the story. Yey!
IX. Deadlock
(and should things ever change)
"And how are you finding everything so far?"
Sasuke stops at the question, hand already poised to grab the door knob. He turns to look, moves both his arms to curl by his chest, back straight.
The Hokage lies farther back on his seat, feet propped unprofessionally on his desk, next to a large stack of papers he refused to sign. His masked face is angled towards the window, eyes apparently fixed on the setting sun; but in his periphery is Sasuke (always, always, watching closely over his team, always) and he wonders if the boy knows how much he looks like his father at this moment.
Sasuke leans back on the wall. Shrugs. "I expect the medics I requested to arrive soon."
"Only two weeks of being Commander and now you have demands. Tsunade is going to be pissed," Kakashi says, resting his forehead on his hand. "You're asking for three of her reserve medics."
"She has a surplus of them," Sasuke replies in disdain. "She'd have no need for more, with the village's current state."
"Maybe," Kakashi relents, shrugging. "They still need to report directly to her, though – she is the head medic."
"Of course," Sasuke waves a hand in the air, "The only difference that matters is they will report to me as well, besides their permanent station at the headquarters. Tsunade should have no problem with that."
"If things go well, the medics will arrive within a week at most."
Sasuke doesn't say anything in reply, to which Kakashi gives out a sigh. He looks out the window again, now only a small part of the sun visible over the horizon. Kakashi could remember a time when all the sky could be to him was a dark grey, the sun's light somehow not reaching far enough.
Heaving another sigh, he stands up and perches down to retrieve a file from another stack of folders, motioning for Sasuke to come near. Best to get things over with, he still had to train Naruto with politics in an hour – something he isn't particularly excited about, mostly due to Naruto's inherent ability to be constantly annoying, rather than his apparent inclination to the subject, often upstaging and beating Kakashi in his own game.
Or so he tells himself.
"The last of your recruits," he says, voice suspiciously nonchalant, arm extended to hand the folder over to Sasuke, one of his Anbu Commanders. "She'll arrive within the day."
Sasuke never tells him much, but Kakashi feels that he never needs to, because in his eyes he will always see Sasuke as the little boy with prodiguous talent and misplaced wrath, forced to know pain when he was simply far too young.
So when Sasuke stays quiet, again, merely giving a small nod and retrieving the folder from his hand, Kakashi doesn't say anything in return, because that's who he was and all he could ever be, leaving the words for things that needed to be voiced, and keeping silent for the things that needed no words.
The door to his office closes. The ensuing quiet engulfs him. Kakashi thinks of the way Sasuke's back disappeared behind the wood, then shuts his eyes to rest.
The expression on Sasuke's face has told him enough.
When the sun sets and the sky is a color of different shades of orange, pink and blue, Hinata realizes that, for the first time in a long time, she finally feels like crying.
Presently she bows her head, sweat building up from her temples, the nape of her neck. Her cheeks are flushed a dark red, breath coming out in large gasps, upper body supported by both hands locked on her knees. Her hair falls forward. She stands from her position. Brushes it back.
Looks at her father in the eye. Says, "Thank you, Chichi-ue."
Her father nods in return.
"You will need to meet with the Head Commander as a formality, I assume?"
Hinata nods.
For the past three months Hiashi was the one to directly oversee her training, after a week of rest following her collapse. The first two months were devoted solely to her training, and it was only during the last month that she went out on missions, to reacquaint herself with the feel of it: the continuing struggle, the constant state of periodic focus and rest. Sometime along the last month she had to meet with the previous commander for an exam crafted especially for those seeking reinstation. More often than not the veterans would pass the physical exam without a hitch; they were deemed capable once, and were likely still so, provided nothing physically detrimental had happened.
It's the mental examination that fucks everything up.
Needless to say, Hinata has passed both, although not with exceptional colors.
She had wondered, more than once, if it was only because of her father's influence, before squashing the thought; it was an insult to the task force, and an insult to her family name. Furthermore, during her training Hinata would often find her body moving in directions she hadn't known herself capable of doing. In consequence to this, most of the time she had to rely on instinct and flow with the complex movements to familiarize herself with her body again, learning different sets of moves along the way, as well as further increasing her speed.
For the most part it was a success; her father told her that physically, she was almost at the same state as she was before the sealing. It was of no surprise, however, seeing as that the chakra and muscles she had built over the years were not damaged or rendered any less useful during the month of her sealing; they were merely not put to good use for a significant period of time.
Hinata exhales another lung-full of air. Wipes a hand over her eyes. Breathes out again.
Three months of training gave not only her strength back, but her confidence as well. Three months of training gave her a heightened sense of awareness, a purpose, and the ability to use her Byakugan again. Three months of training drew her closer to her father, maybe even to herself.
Three months of training gave her all of these, but Hanabi still refused to return to her.
"Hinata," her father calls out. "Come."
He walks forward, heads to the low porch to their left, and kneels himself down on the wooden panels. Hinata follows his lead, quiet as ever.
Steaming cups of chamomile tea are already set before them, white smoke in thin wisps floating in the air. The afternoon breeze is already tinged with that of night, on the vague boundary between warm and soothingly cool.
Hinata sips at her tea. Waits for her father to speak.
"Take off your bandage," he says softly.
And there is no hesitation when she raises her arms to pull at the knot, no sign of shame or betrayal or hurt when the white strips fall off, the branch seal a vivid green on her forehead. She doesn't look down. She just stares straight ahead, right into her father's eyes.
(And I will wear it with honor.)
It is Hiashi who breaks from the stare after a minute, retrieving something from his pocket. He pulls out a thin black cloth from it and motions for Hinata to come closer.
He stretches the black cloth carefully with both hands. Smooths it out.
Wears it on his daughter's forehead, slowly and meticulously tying the cloth into a knot by the back of her head, lacing his chakra around it to keep it in place.
He leans back, moving away. Notes the faint look of shock on Hinata's face, and says,
"It was your mother's."
When another minute passes and Hinata still doesn't say anything, he continues, "She would've wanted you to keep it."
He hesitates only for a moment. Places his right hand atop his daughter's head, pulls it to rest just a centimeter away from his shoulder.
The sun begins to set.
And quietly, he says –
"Well done."
And Hinata, soft and calm and kind, posture straight and dignified, suddenly feels herself revert back to being a child in the arms of her father, strong and distant and invincible. The warmth from her father's hand suffuses into her skull, into the deepest pits of her bones.
She has always perceived her sealing to be of worth, that it was of no significance at all when compared to her sister's pain. That it was her duty and honor to protect, and always protect Hanabi. She thought that struggling through it was enough, that it was her obligation, so long as Hanabi stayed safe and loved.
It is only understandable then, that when Hiashi gently pats her head once more and leaves, she feels the sting of tears in her eyes, building up from all the way down her throat.
It is quite different, she realizes, to finally feel her worth.
But she doesn't cry, finds out that she can't. Perhaps it takes more before she finally does, because maybe she isn't as weak, isn't as soft as she remembers herself to be.
The thought frightens her.
Even a year is a year too long, after all.
The ANBU headquarters is a building that is twice as tall as it was wide, with large metal fixtures for doors and cracked grey cement for walls, surrounded on all sides by trees. A large sign with the words 'Headquarters' lies to her immediate left.
She enters through the double doors. Approaches the staff at the counter.
She is asked to fill out a form, before being directed to the last room on the tenth floor.
Now and then she would see a familiar face, but for the most part, to her relief, the space is barren and empty.
When she is done, Hinata walks away. Enters the lift. Waits.
A soft ding resounds through the small space, the lift stops at the specified floor, and she moves out. Reaching the farthest door on the hallway, she knocks twice.
Waits for the muffled, "Come in," then enters.
Sasuke doesn't look at her when she does, stays focused on a scroll in his hand. His profile is to her, body leaning against the table to support his weight.
"Taichou," she greets, testing the word out.
The only sign of acknowledgement from him is a slight inclination of his head.
Hinata doesn't mind, thoughts wandering, gaze moving to rest at the view behind him. The stars are almost visible to her eye. It is almost night.
A day after the announcement of her results, she had met with her supposedly previous team, as was instructed to her by the previous commander before stepping down, whom Sasuke had apparently replaced that same week.
She remembers the apprehension she felt, standing in front of her team, their masks having just been taken off.
She immediately recognized Shikamaru, even before he took off his mask. But she didn't recognize the rest, when she was obviously familiar to them.
The one who had been on Shikamaru's left was a tall, brusque man named Jiro, older than them by a few years, remarkable because of the gruff smile he had given her, and the long thin slash fom his right cheek, down.
The significantly friendlier one of the two introduced himself as Kiyoshi, and they were the same age. He had hair as blonde as Naruto's, and eyes almost as light as hers that it made her breath hitch. He approached her with a wide grin, then gave her a soft punch on the shoulder, saying 'It's good to have you back.'
No apologies were said, no excuses were made. They didn't ask, and she didn't say anything. Somehow their expressions told her that they understood. Nothing needed to be said.
As expected, Shikamaru was her team's captain, and, she found out, their team worked closely with Shino's, who had Sasuke as their captain – promoted only after a few months of being ANBU. His team was comprised only of three members, with a girl said to be a relative of Tenten filling up the third spot.
Hinata's gaze shifts to Sasuke then; takes note of how his eyes are as dark as the sky behind him. His fingers move across the scroll as he reads, expression blank except for the slightest crease in his brow. In a span of less than a year, he was able to rise through the ranks again, this time as Head Commander. And she wonders at his prodigious talent, at the contrast between his ease and her sweat, his silence and her timidity.
His blood, and hers.
As Sasuke looks out at something beyond the window, Hinata feels the beginning stirs of envy in her gut, and is ashamed.
All she remembers of him besides their disconnected childhood was his return, made blinding by Naruto's smile. If she recalls correctly he was convicted of a light crime and was made to suffer through house arrest, then nothing more. She had already been ANBU by that time. Then somewhere along the line he made ANBU as well, then ANBU Captain, and now, Commander.
His life, Hinata thinks, eyes locked on his pale hands, is a little cruel.
Sasuke opens a drawer fom his desk, keeps away the scroll. He walks to the storage closet by the corner. Rummages through it. When he comes back, he gives her two things: her uniform, and her name.
"Dove," he tells her, handing over the pale white mask. "Is it as you remember?"
Hinata shakes her head. "Back then I was only an ANBU field medic… and a reserve soldier. Those like us… had no need for aliases. Just –" she looks out the window, "numbers."
She traces the contours and protrusions of the mask, tries to remember if she had done it before. Sets it on her face to measure the fit, finds that it does. Behind it she closes her eyes, forces herself to think of a time when she had worn the exact same thing. But all she feels is the warmth of the breath that doesn't escape, and the clawing desperation as it starts to bury itself under her skin – invisible and silent, moving without notice, but always just there.
Eyes closed, Hinata thinks she could feel Sasuke's gaze, steady and burning through the mask.
She takes it off.
Sasuke is by the desk again, this time with another scroll, a kunai, and a pen. He asks her to sign her name, then gives her the kunai, handle first.
She accepts it, then nicks at her thumb. Blood wells out. She signs the scroll with it.
Sasuke watches, something dark and almost cruel swimming in his eyes.
A minute passes.
She hands over the scroll to him when she finishes, and he keeps it in a drawer.
It's official.
He doesn't welcome her, just stares at the space where the ANBU scroll had been. Stares at it for a long time. As if it had sealed not her fate, but his. He looks into her eyes for a second, then looks away.
"Your tattoo," Sasuke says, eyes blank. "It needs to be redone." He then proceeds to clear a small space on his desk – the nearest thing available – for her to sit.
Hinata watches him do so, absently tracing the part of her shoulder where the tattoo used to be. An ANBU tattoo is an official and tangible symbol of allegiance and loyalty to the system. As she understands, it is bound through blood and chakra and serves as a conduit between the system and the individual. The moment she had resigned from her obligations in preparation for the sealing, the black markings of the tattoo disappeared.
Sasuke stands to the side and just waits for her.
Another minute passes before she understands.
Outside the window, it is dark. There is barely enough light coming in from the moon. The room is cast in soft light and harsh shadows, with shapes exaggerated in their form.
Hinata sighs, surreptitiously breathes. Right hand moving to clasp the zipper on her front, because the material of her jacket is too thick to properly roll up, and lowers it down.
Her eyes, of their own accord, glance up at him. Then down.
Sasuke just watches.
The descent of her zipper, to her, seems ubearably slow. As if the rest of the world had paused and all the time had melted into this moment. She tries not to falter, not to flush – tries for the life of her to understand the reason for the lump at the back of her throat.
The zipper has gone all the way down,and she slides the jacket from her shoulders, movements careful and slow. Underneath she is wearing only a thin black singlet, and she shivers.
Hinata sits on the space provided on his desk, making sure that her right shoulder faces him. She looks down at the floor just in time to catch Sasuke looking away. Waits.
The room is cool from the night air, and Hinata feels the warmth emanating from Sasuke as he draws near.
Something strange happens to her insides. The lump at the back of her throat tries to drag itself out, clawing and scratching at her vocal chords – perhaps into a scream, perhaps until she chokes. The force creates a hole in her stomach, something deep and always empty, caving into itself everything it could reach.
His hand brushes her shoulder to pull the skin taut, before the first spike of pain courses through her, sharp and biting. His movements are slow, almost clinical in tracing out the pattern, and she hisses.
He's dragging it out.
She glances at her shoulder, at the blood and chakra ink building up, before her attention moves to him. Stays there.
This close, she could see the thin shadows from his lashes, the edges of his face, his sharp cheekbones. He is pale – as pale as her – and she could almost see the blood flowing through his veins.
As if summoned by her gaze, his eyelids flutter, and he turns to look. His ruthless black eyes boring steadily into hers.
And she is paralyzed, finds that she can not move, that not a single muscle aches to move away.
(This close to him, the hole inside her screams.)
She doesn't know how long they stay there, in an impasse. Just knows that it is Sasuke who breaks it, in a voice so low she almost doesn't hear –
"This," he tells her, "is cruel."
She searches his gaze. Asks him, "...What do you mean?" and expects an answer.
But Sasuke just lifts the corners of his mouth up – in a mocking imitation of a smile.
Sasuke comes home to an empty house before midnight, the moon a half shape in the sky.
But in his mind he is still at headquarters, in the room of soft lights and harsh shadows and shapes exaggerated in their form.
He has never pegged himself for a masochist; just someone without control – over desires, over want, over pain.
'Uchiha-san,' she had asked him, 'is something wrong?'
'Yes,' he had told her. Then - 'Call me Sasuke.'
It was... selfish. Disgusting. Needy.
After much hesitation on her part, in the end, she agreed.
Sasuke remembers how Hinata had called out his name before she left. He remembers how her voice had moved through the air, soft and calm, confused and barely disturbing the quiet - almost as if she had known that he would break.
.
.
.
.
TBC