Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Masashi Kishimoto
Lines in the Sand
Curved – IV
"Where were we?" he asked.
"Where are we ever?" she said. "Where we were, as we were!"
Come morning, Sasuke slid out of his bed while Sakura woke Naruto with a gentle slap to the face. After Kakashi left the blond had kept them up far into the night, and the mirror showed Sasuke's eyes to be reddened. He scoffed at his reflection. Eyes that were red without Sharingan held no value to him.
He splashed his face with water, then said, "We'll meet up before going to Kakashi?" as he strapped his sword to the small of his back.
Naruto wiped at his eyes. "Sure. Afternoon, right?"
"Southgate," said Sakura. She mumbled around the hairband in her mouth, which she then used to tie back her hair. "Sensei will find us there easily. And don't let the old crone get on your nerves, Sasuke. We need you functional today."
"Hn."
Sasuke left the tent and made his way to Chiyo's backyard. The village teemed with life these days, now even more so as a bulk of shinobi had taken up housing inside the village. Opinions on the decision were split, as always with such matters. And the consequences, if there were any, would reveal themselves in time.
On his way he came by a local provision store that had been stocked with supplies just after Team Seven fought Rōshi. The kunoichi in the group leaving it told her friends that with the reinforcements they would get to see many new faces in the Hole. Her friend joked about arthritis and diapers, and all three laughed as they rounded the corner. Sasuke wondered whether they knew that four shinobi had died to get them the food they carried, and that there had been a Jinchūriki standing between them and their rations.
But it did not matter in the end. Yesterday the reinforcements had brought with them enough supplies to last months and Rōshi could tear up the countryside for a year with no further damage to them. As bars opened up again and the market lived through a phase of rejuvenation, morale would likewise increase.
Moving up the stairs to Chiyo's, Sasuke tried to ease his frown. Peaceful. That's what it was. Too peaceful. It made him uneasy, more than he would like to admit. Whenever times had been calm, they stopped to be just that shortly after. And always what had ruined them was far worse than that which came before.
In Chiyo's yard a surprise awaited him. The old crone stood next to her dried up fountain, voice suffused with iron as she addressed the person across her. A few chakra strings were wrapped around her finger. "You! What are you doing here?"
"I came to inquire about your health, Chiyo-sama."
Sasuke raised an eyebrow. Gaara sounded contrite.
"You mean the leg you nearly mangled, eh, boy?"
"I did not…I am in control now," Gaara gave as way of explanation. The hesitation slid away and his voice grew in substance. "The seal is stable now—I do not hear Shukaku anymore, Chiyo-sama."
"'nd what do you want from me—brag'n about it?"
"I will become the Kazekage." The sentence shut up Chiyo in a way that filled Sasuke with envy.
"You Kazekage, boy? Don't'cha make me laugh! You killed too many of 'em."
At which point Sasuke decided that he did not care to hear much more of this internal squabble. They could take care of their differences another time. He flared his chakra, making himself noticeable, and went into the backyard.
"Uchiha-san," Gaara said.
"What do ye want, brat? Can't ye see we have a serious discussion here?"
"I only hear you shouting, woman," Sasuke said. "That's not much of a discussion."
"You—"
Gaara shook his head. "I just came to inform you, Chiyo-sama. You're Suna's eldest advisor and—"
"—and that's important for becom'n Kazekage, eh? How thoughtful of ye to give me notice. Now both of you leave!" Sasuke stayed. He had a need for exercises and the old woman provided beneficial ones. When Gaara did not move either, Chiyo became even louder: "Move! Leave! I've no time for ye brats today!"
Sasuke scowled at her, to no visible effect. Unsatisfied by how the morning turned out, he decided that he would wait an hour or two before asking again. That should be a sufficient amount of time to calm down. He was descending the stairs down to the village, when Gaara joined him. Neither had a proclivity to talking, so they kept silent, which suited Sasuke. At the bottom of the stars, however, Gaara broke that temporary bond.
"Are Naruto and Sakura well?"
"Yes."
"Can you…tell them that I am here?"
"Hn."
The exchange satisfied both and while Sasuke took the path back to his tent, Gaara made for the inner city.
Dreams were supposed to be ephemeral, Sakura thought. A journey into insanity that dealt with the reality around you. What you remembered of dreams were snapshots from that journey—photos that a few seconds later should lose color and fade back into black nothing, forgotten.
What then of those that refused? They kept being vivid and stayed with you, and eventually you found out they were not so much insanity as memory, and that was the reason why they seemed sane and so different from the others.
Ambling alongside the blue-roofed buildings of Suna, she kept remembering her late dreams as memories of when she sat on her father's lap and they were both crying because a week ago her mother had died. She had asked him questions and he said that he did not know, but he always stroked her hair and added that she should keep asking questions, no matter which, because he was glad for her voice. He might not know the answer, but they would search for it together and they would find the answer, then, surely, because together they could do anything. She had always smiled at that, when he made the world easier for a moment, and she still remembered the smell of his aftershave when she pushed her face against his chest and squeezed him with both arms as if he would run away should she ever let go.
But that was a long time ago. Years in which she learned how to kill in different ways, each trumping the next in efficiency. About those she would not ask her father. He had made clear long ago that looking for answers together depended on her staying far away from the life of a shinobi.
Near the crossroad that separated the green district from the blue, Sakura rounded a corner, took an alleyway Naruto had shown her, and found herself near his school, green fabric hanging in stripes between the windows. She could hear his voice from inside the walled-off yard, harsh but intermingled with occasional laughter, and also the high voices of children, disgruntled and exhausted, talking in stuttering pauses and gasping for air.
She passed the school, thankful for the opportunity Naruto had received in teaching them. His humor remained cynic at times—which she not necessarily condemned—but each time he returned from a day of work, his mood seemed improved. It took innocence to help the jaded, Sakura thought, though she doubted Naruto would ever return to the way he had been. To her, the way his humor increasingly turned dark at some moments always stood in stark contrast to the genial side he showed at other times. It often made her think that the rebels had won in creating a split in him, and that it might take a long while until the problem was resolved, if it ever was.
Minutes later, a statue of a man holding an abacus marked her destination. The statue stood on a plaza three streets away from the school, ringed by regal-looking buildings, columns stemming the triangular roofs above each entrance. From the top of each column unfurled a green banner with a symbol denoting the purpose of the building. The plaza was clean. Robed people either hastened between the buildings, carrying documents, or ambled across the area, talking in measured voices.
Unsure of which building she needed to enter, Sakura went for a man sitting on a fountain: white beard tastefully cut, green robes lined with silver. She approached him and bowed. "Excuse me," she said. "Can I have a moment of your time?"
"My time is yours, kunoichi-san," the man said, shading his face against the sun. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm looking for the population register."
"Now that is a dusty old cave you're searching for," said the man. "You will find it two buildings east, behind the office for agrarian concerns." He took his time to rise from the edge of the fountain, dusted off his robe, and put his hands together in front of his stomach so that his long sleeves hid them. "If you wish I can show you the way."
"I wouldn't want to impose," Sakura said.
His beard twitched. "Have I made the impression that I lack time? But," he said, "I admit to my offer not being entirely free of self-interest."
Which Sakura had expected the moment he started talking. Self-interest was such a popular thing.
"Oh?" she said, as they began walking.
"I only wish to enquire about your reason for visiting the population register. Please take it as the curiosity of a bored old man."
That, she decided, was a reasonable request for an official to ask. And for once she had nothing to hide. The real reason for her visit would not reach his ears, of course, but the ostensible one? She could indulge an old man in that.
"I'm looking for a man called Sorashi Yura," she said.
The man stopped. They halted in the shade of two palms. "Sorashi-san? If that is the case we can stop our journey, as I know where he lives. But," he said, "now you really have roused my interest. Whatever could you want with him, as he is now?"
"As he is now?"
"You do not know?"
"I only know him by name," said Sakura. "I want to ask him a few questions."
"Questions?"
Sakura smiled. "That is none of your concern."
"Of course," said the man. "Excuse me if I sounded presumptuous. For a moment I forgot your trade."
"No problem," she said. "Can you tell me what I don't know about him?"
"Well," said the man, "if all you know is his name, then everything I should say." He laughed. "Forgive an old man his joke. Sorashi-san has had quite a difficult past. Fuel, I often assumed, for the beauty and sheer magnificence which he endowed on his pictures. Artists, even here, always seem such troubled souls. Maybe it is the conflict in their minds that enables them to express themselves as such."
"He's a good artist?" Sakura said.
"He was," the man said, leading her back through the green district and to the fountain where she had found him. "One of the best, I dare say. I heard one of his pictures has found its way into the Daimyo's palace in Tanyū."
"That is an honor," she said. In that comment she felt confident. From all the time she spent at court, one thing stood out: subpar quality would not even make it an inch past the gates. "What happened?"
"A tragedy, apparently. Enough for Sorashi-san to break down, a state that lasted now for more than a decade, if not longer. Once a month he comes down from the mountains, buys supplies, and then shuts himself in again. It is a sad thing to watch. He seems an undead almost."
"Tragedy? What kind?"
"Now that is the question, is it not?" he said. "I myself was not in Suna when it happened. And if you ask what "it" is, then I profess to be clueless. No one seems to know, which is the real mystery." They had reached the statue with the abacus again, and the man said, "I do not know what questions you wish to ask him, but I doubt you will get an answer to any of them."
"I'll try my luck," she said.
"Then I wish you Odaya's blessing, kunoichi-san. You'll find his house when you leave Suna to the west and from there take the path up the mountains. You can't miss it. There is a large acacia right in front of it."
Memorizing the simple direction, Sakura bowed to the man. "Thank you for your help."
"My pleasure," the man said.
Then he sat back down on the fountain, and Sakura left the administrative district of Suna.
She had just passed the last thoroughfare before the tall gate that led out of West Suna when Sasuke joined her, coming from the northern districts. The shadows of the buildings pointed not yet in the right direction for noon, so it struck her as too early. He walked with his hands in his pockets, carrying himself in a dissatisfied way that, measured by her knowledge of him, meant his morning had been far from good. She kept on moving to the gate, past an arguing pair of shinobi, a group of kids chasing a ball, and three tittering old women sitting on a shaded bench. Sasuke met her at the gate.
"You found him?" said Sasuke.
"Up the mountains," she said. "He's a recluse. What happened?"
"Gaara will become Kazekage."
"That…I actually expected that, though it's rather soon. He arrived only yesterday."
"Not common knowledge yet," Sasuke said.
Two shinobi standing guard at the gate documented their names. Sakura signed with a flourish, smiling at the young man with the shoulder-length black hair, and he looked down quickly, face flushed. She remembered him from the Hole. He had been so distracted from his face being pressed to her chest that he hardly put up any defense against the consecutive blows to his side.
Outside the gate she said, "Which meeting did you spy on, to learn this 'uncommon knowledge?'"
"Chiyo's. She's…not happy with Gaara."
"They have a history?"
"Likely," Sasuke said. "Seemed more of a specific grudge she held than a general fear."
"That doesn't make it easy for him," said Sakura. They were trudging up the mountain. Dried out shrubbery lined the steep path. An ocher-feathered eagle shot across the sky. "Does he need her?"
"Apparently," Sasuke said. "She's one of the elders."
"Did you know that?"
"It never came up."
"So," Sakura said, "what happened?"
"She sent me away."
"Just you?"
"Gaara as well," Sasuke said. "She didn't want to talk to anyone."
"Must have been in a bad mood."
The mountain path curved, and after passing a cluster of boulders Sakura lost sight of the village below. They traveled upward for another ten minutes before reaching a property wedged into the mountain.
A wooden fence enclosed the space around two buildings: one, a house two storeys tall and sitting farther back, the other a small hut with a wide gate and a straw roof. The fence looked broken in places and, bound to a pole near the entrance, a skinny mule with spotty fur lapped up water from a trough.
The closer Sakura went, the stronger became the smell of rot and foulness. She moved over to the mule, which did not deign her with acknowledgement, and found in the rough trough a small puddle that would soon dry up. The mule however lapped with fervor at the places where the wood was wet, and even where the wood was dry. After one such lick it made a pained noise, pulled back its tongue and then went in again, tongue now spreading blood across the inside of the trough.
"Sasuke," she said.
"I have no idea," Sasuke said. "But you should put it to sleep for now."
Sakura put her hands on the fur and applied light pressure. "Shh," she said, but again the mule did not notice her. Sakura infused him with chakra, guiding the energy through the unfamiliar pathways. A second later, as the strength left the mule, she wound her hands around its torso and gently put it to the ground. She carried it to a shadowed place beside the straw-roofed building, and Sasuke—looking rather unwilling—opened the big mouth, pulled out the tongue, and healed the wound.
"Splinters," he said, "and not just a few. What is this smell?"
"Death," said Sakura.
When she pushed open the gate next to them, the smell grew worse. Even before entering, the stench had evoked horror in her because she thought it to come from the owner of this place. Sorashi-san lived sequestered away from the village, and the façade of the house at the end of the property showed signs of wealth, as did the size of the property itself. Was it not likely that bandits had raided his home and killed him? Who would have noticed when such a recluse stopped coming to the village?
But the stench inside what Sakura now recognized as a small barn did not originate from the artist struck by tragedy, as the old man at the plaza had told her. Inside she found a body not dissimilar to the mule outside, lying, half-buried, in a stage of advanced decay. A mound of earth covered its behind, but the remains of the rotting head looked out at her from the other side.
Sasuke inspected the shovel next to the mound. "Blood on the handle. Your witness is an interesting guy."
Sakura's stomach revolted at the sight, but she did not allow herself to be weak and offered Sasuke a tight-lipped grin. "He is, isn't he?"
"But," Sasuke added, "the mound is fresher than the dead body." His hands glowed green over the mule's head, went along the visible part of the body that still remained, and even hovered above the mound. "Natural cause, as far as I can tell."
Sakura thought that if Konoha ever needed another good coroner, Sasuke presented a prime choice.
"And the blood on the shovel?"
"Human," said Sasuke.
"Let's go," she said, moving away from the grotesque sight. Outside, Sakura saw the mule sleeping in the shade of the barn and hurried on. At least it was closer to its brother now, though that in itself counted as a questionable feature.
Sakura crossed the rest of the property in quick strides until she stood before the door to the house. There she hesitated. Sorashi-san had not yet left a good impression on her, and the hope that he would know what happened to her mother had dwindled considerably in the barn. But there is no way but forward, she told herself, and entered, Sasuke close behind.
Inside she found a large room but no witness. Stacked against the wall next to the door were white canvases and buckets of paint, one of them toppled and leaking, a puddle of dried paint fanning out into the room. On the opposite side, near the stairway to the next level, sat a table and a modest hearth, with broken earthenware lying around it. The house smelled of rot, too, but here the stench came from a bowl of rotten peaches and apples, and mingled with a scent she recognized as incense, and something else, vastly sweeter. Next to the bowl with rotten fruit was a neatly cut slice of cheese and a loaf of bread, stale but edible.
"Sakura." Sasuke held up a narrow, thumb-length bamboo stem. On the table beside him lay a knife and more of those stems. "You said he's an artist?"
"I don't think this counts as art," she said, taking up one of the bamboo stems, and finding it hollow. "He made quite a few of them."
"The knife's bloody," Sasuke said.
"Some of these stems, too," said Sakura.
About to further investigate the room, Sakura made for a shelf with a copious amount of books, when from above she heard the sign of life she had been waiting for. Upstairs there was a rumbling, followed by a shout of pain and laughter.
She forgot all about the bookshelf and ran up the stairs, one hand around the handle of her knife in case she would need it. The top level was as big as the lower floor, a single room dominated on one side by a giant bed that could have five people sleeping comfortably in it. From wall to wall stretched an unfurled roll of paper, all across the floor, parts of it colored, parts inked, none of it making sense.
Sakura first thought it a seal and her instincts warned her of a trap. But when nothing happened, her attention found its way to the man. Sorashi Yura sat cross-legged on a chair, whipping forward and back, one hand balancing him against a small table on which lay a bamboo tube, one end crimson. His left nostril leaked blood on his linen shirt. He wore no pants.
"Ahh!" he cried when he spotted them, falling from the chair. Lying down just so, legs stretched away from him, he pointed at the ceiling and giggled. "It is the energy of the below," he said, "that offers above the might to fight itself. Fight, little ones, fight!" He then turned his head to them. "Al-hruz, protect me—stone people have come to visit." Yura jumped to his feet, staggered against the bed, fell into the mattress, laughed, and got up again. He stared at Sasuke, who had not once taken the hand from the grip of his sword. "Quoth the raven, Nevermore!"
Then he fell back into the bed, laughing.
"He's mad," Sasuke said.
"I still need an answer," said Sakura. "Do you know what this is?" She pointed at a small bag filled with seeds, which sat next to a bowl, a mirror, and a pestle. On the mirror lay little crushed crumbs.
Sasuke sniffed at the crumbs, took out a seed from the bag and held it up to the warm sunlight streaming into the room. "Sija-seeds," he said. "Medicine. Usually. One fourth of a grain, mixed with—"
"Quoth! Quoth! I hear you, my feet, and I blame you, my boots! Though a wise man once said, blame not on your boots the fault of your feet! Decision is a harsh task master, as always, little ones, as always."
On the end of the bamboo tube and within, Sakura found blood and remains of the seeds. "Looks like more than one fourth of a grain," she said.
"Far more," said Sasuke.
"Do you think he's reliable?"
For this question she received the appropriate expression of disbelief. She nevertheless went up to Yura and crouched before his giggling form, shimmying inside the blanket as it now was. She had a great conviction to receive her answer today, but so close to the man, her faculties gave out on her. What to ask a madman that he would understand? She asked the first that came to mind.
"Are you insane?"
"Yes," he said, giggling again. "We are all and grow less so as we grow, but some don't."
"Are you Sorashi Yura?"
"That is what Al-hruz called me."
Sakura smiled. "Who is Al-hruz?" She felt Sasuke stand behind her and knew him to become more impatient with every question.
"The one from atop the below," Yura said. "In short, it is me, Al-hruz, the Stone Cutter, God of the Stone People. Are you here to worship?"
"Yes," she said.
"Sakura—"
"I know from tales that Al-hruz is wise," Sakura said.
"He is indeed," said Yura. "Wiser than most think. Wiser even than Yura or the Stone Cutter, because Al-hruz knows when to put on socks and when to leave them off." He pointed at his feet. He wore one sock.
Sakura nodded solemnly. "And I heard legends," she said, "that to worship Al-hruz is by attaining a sliver of his wisdom and knowledge."
"It is a great gift bestowed on the faithful," said Yura. He was slowly rolling himself out of his blanket and stared at her with unbroken concentration. "Have you come to receive the blessing?"
"I have," Sakura said, devout. "I seek your knowledge, to learn of the past and to steer course into the present."
"Worthy, worthy," Yura said. "Worthy, indeed, worthy. Speak then, and Al-hruz will dispense knowledge."
And so she spoke, while Sasuke went around the room to inspect it, and told Yura in terms he might understand—or so she hoped—of what she wanted to learn. Of a caravan, a bazar he had visited as Yura, and of a tragedy that might have befallen him and her in equal measure.
"I know not of what you speak, initiate," said Yura. His face was drawn in a grotesque mask that showed his understanding and the willingness to fight for its staying in the deepest pits of consciousness.
"Please, Al-hruz, I seek—"
"I know not!" Yura jumped up. He walked in wild circles through the room, uncaring for the white paper on his floor. He stepped on the inked and colored parts, carrying his blue and green footsteps all around.
"Please," Sakura said, "anything at all. My—"
"No! No! Stone Cutter, Yura, Al-hruz!" And he stormed past Sasuke, who had watched increasingly alarmed, to the table. In a mad frenzy he crushed more seeds. Before Sakura had reached him, Yura put the bamboo pipe in his nose, snorted the seeds, utter a harsh cry of pain, eyes watery and pupils magnified. "No!" he shouted, snot around his lips.
Sakura opened her mouth again, but at that moment he lurched forward. She reacted, but Sasuke was faster. He appeared in front of her and backhanded Yura hard enough for him to fly backwards into his bed, where he stayed, unconscious.
"So much for reliable," Sasuke said.
"He knows it," said Sakura.
"He's unwilling to give it up."
"Yes," she said, staring at Yura's prone form. "Do you think with your Sharingan…"
"I'm not a Yamanaka."
"There has to be a way," she said, and then she thought that she possessed no Genjutsu to delve into the mental imagery of a person, and that Sasuke might be able to plant suggestions but would not be able to make her see, or see himself. But suggestions, that could be worked with.
"Can you make him talk about it?" she said.
"I can try." Sasuke sent a quick electrical shock through Yura, waking him up. Before the man could speak, Sasuke's Sharingan spun into existence. "Tell us what happened to you," he said.
"As time passed I was thrice born."
Sasuke remained silent for a second, then said, "Tell us how your first life ended."
Yura grimaced horribly, revealing a set of fouling teeth. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, and then came words: "Yura saw what color blood has when it falls into sand. And gold was yellow but then, then it was red." He stuttered slightly. "Yura sat in sand and thought he died and later he died really." Then his lips pressed themselves together tightly and he began shivering. But his tale, it seemed, had found its end.
And Sakura, who had listened, could not make anything of it, and endured the sinking feeling that this last lead would serve no purpose other than informing her that the mystery of her mother's death would remain unsolved. So much for that, she thought, and faced with a wall like this, she sat down, staring at the bed posts in front of her, Sasuke's voice but an echo now.
"—kura." A sharp echo though.
"Sakura."
She looked up. She lacked the strength to respond, but there was something demanding in his gaze and that made her furious at first, because he should not be as clear-voiced as this after defeat, and then curious, because she noticed that Yura got up from the bed and went over to the stretch of paper.
"What is he doing?" she asked.
"What I forced him to," Sasuke said. "If you want your answers, you better start influencing him."
"For what?"
"Stop being daft, woman," he said, annoyed, and then she saw that his eyes were still red, and that a small rivulet of blood streamed from the right down his nose. "Whatever illusion you know to make him more susceptible to commands."
She did, and then watched as, for another five minutes, Sasuke's Sharingan spun faster and faster, until he sank onto the bed with a groan, eyes fading to black. And it seemed a miracle to her, the feeling of hope suddenly blooming, that Yura knelt on the canvas, using his brushes and colors to paint. She understood at last what Sasuke had done. And the picture, she hoped, would finally tell her.
Kakashi found his charges lazing in the shadows of the South Gate and was positively surprised when, the moment he closed in on them, their heads snapped around as one. Contrary to the night before they seemed quite alert. Good. He had planned things for them, and even though they were Chūnin now, their performance yesterday had worried him just as much as his own had been embarrassing.
He raised his hand and waved. They waved back. Then they noticed that he was not coming to them, and he smiled as they rose to their feet, sluggish and tired from the heat.
"You're here, good," he said and there was a lot more to say but no words that fit, rather like yesterday.
"Sounds familiar," said Naruto. "Taking us to the Forest of Death next?"
"Danzō won't let us go that far, I'm afraid." Kakashi knew himself to be a tall man by normal standards, and had not yet adapted fully to Naruto reaching his shoulders. To see a former shrimp grow like this had something unsettling about it. Or rather, the missed time it symbolized unsettled him. "I'd be remiss not to invite you to the forest once we're back in Konoha though," he said. "I heard you had quite the adventure."
"Adventure is one way to put it," said Sakura, and there, too, Kakashi imposed the naïve expression he knew of her on the face he now saw, with eyes that still held light but so much more darkness than before. He should be happy about it, in the sense that it meant his training had worked and that she now faced the world with open eyes. The happiness, he found, remained absent.
But, he thought, looking at Sasuke, who stood with crossed arms, matured in body and surely in pride as well, they were still his team. They were, according to reliable records, a handful as well, and for two years now Kakashi's hands had been empty.
"Before we're back in Konoha we'll have made Jōnin, somehow," Naruto said. "Then you can't make us enter the forest anymore."
"He's right," Sakura said. "But don't worry, we'll still value your opinion, sensei. You've got a bedroom in our house after all."
She said it with a cheeky grin and hit the issue he had trouble with right on the head without even noticing it. Or maybe she had noticed and was, by now, good enough to veil her knowledge. Time would tell, Kakashi supposed.
"I do have a room there, yes," he said. "Thank you for that by the way."
"You're welcome," Sasuke said.
Kakashi raised an eyebrow, saying, "I meant wrecking my home," and delighting in the surprised looks he received in return. They really had forgotten. Naruto in particular took his time to remember the havoc he had wrought.
"Right," he said, as they moved out of the village and alongside the palisade surrounding the camp, "your apartment. Nice place."
"I'm interested in the burned carpet," Kakashi said. "And in my kitchen table—it wouldn't do to forget the kitchen table. It was a present for my twentieth birthday after all."
In theory he should have known that Sasuke harbored no such feeling as shame. Or if he did, then just for a miniscule amount of time. "Who," he said, "gives away a kitchen table as a present?"
"That does seem an odd choice," said Sakura. "But maybe that's Jōnin stuff."
Naruto nodded thoughtfully. "You can always use the table leg as a weapon," he said. "There's nothing beating a club in a melee, and if you've the aim you can also use it as a spear of some kind. Might be good to sharpen one end beforehand if you want to do that, Kakashi-sensei."
"He's not going to take a table leg into a fight," Sasuke said.
"I'm just saying that he could use it in a pinch and if a table's near. No need to get all high and mighty."
"So," Sasuke said, "you say that if Kakashi of all people is in a pinch he'd still have the time to rip out a table leg, sharpen and then throw it?"
"Stop putting words in my mouth."
"To be fair, Naruto," Sakura said, "you put them there yourself."
"Two against one now? I can deal with that. Wait until we're sparring, Sakura. We'll see how you like taking his side then."
Sakura grinned like a wolf about to tear a sheep. "Yes, let's."
Kakashi walked beside them, silent, feeling foreign yet included, an animal of the same species but with different stripes. More time. More time was all he needed, he was sure. Things would return back to normal eventually.
When they reached the Shard Wall and the three lined up before him but did not stop their bickering, he cleared his throat. They did not hear him and he cleared his throat a second time, louder. Again they did not hear him. Kakashi flared his chakra, infusing a healthy dose of killing intent while doing so.
They snapped to attention and shifted into their stances, but were not paralyzed despite him being quite serious, and again it showed that they had learned much. But there were still things to teach and he would show them those things because that was all he could do at the moment; and for that purpose it did not matter that he felt like an outsider right now. Years ago he had sworn to make them great and defend them to his dying breath because that was his creed. Now he swore to do the same because they were they and he was their teacher, and nothing would change that.
"Now that we're here let's start," Kakashi said.
"What are we going to do?" Sakura said.
Sasuke and Naruto looked curious as well, their faces for now full of confidence and, soothingly enough, trust. A long time had passed since they last trained with him. The memory, it seemed, had blurred.
"Easy," said Kakashi. "You know this exercise, it just bears constant repeating to be worthwhile." They paled, he smiled, and then they ran. Kakashi saw them signing frantically as they sped away—a code he did not recognize—and he gave them five seconds before pulling his forehead protector aside.
They slid down the dune when the heat began to bristle over their heads and a fire dragon tore through the sand above. Working the uneven terrain of the desert had become ingrained into their fighting style over time, and now they made full use of it. At the bottom of the dune they jumped to their feet and continued to run to the next—a game that would repeat itself until they had found a good strategy, at least if Naruto had anything to say about it. A fight with Kakashi and without a plan was never a good way to end the day.
Triangle, Naruto signed, then—
The air was chock-full of whistling and all three pulled their heads in, throwing a furtive glance back as they weaved through the projectiles, deflecting when evading proved impossible. And even without his fancy eyes, Sasuke was better at making some space than Sakura and Naruto combined. Whenever a shuriken approached and there was no chance to avoid it Sasuke angled his sword in a way that sent the shuriken into another that would, if left unattended, soon bother him. And then another, and yet another.
Kakashi had reached the top of the dune and, leaping down in a sharp slant, closed in on them like a bird of prey. His hands blurred as he dispensed one shuriken at a time and changed between multiplying them and throwing new ones.
—explosion, and, Sakura signed but stopped abruptly.
Her head snapped to the right and Naruto, following her line of sight, watched a fireball rush at them, a second Kakashi behind it. Naruto pushed forward, bumping Sakura away. He called up the chakra inside him and spat a stream of water at the incoming flames, forcing his chakra into widening the stream as much as possible.
After years in the desert, the pressure of the water was enough to counter the fire. It still felt weak, but he thought that should he ever be close to a source again, his enemies would not be happy. Danger avoided, Naruto drew level with his team.
A third Kakashi appeared to their left. And when the sand began to creak under the force of lightning arcs jumping from grain to grain, Naruto recognized that outrunning Kakashi was not going to work. Back in Konoha he had tried to teach them survival on the run—now he wanted to see what they had learned when it came to fighting. All this dodging would do nothing for them.
They jumped over the crackling bed of lightning on the ground. One arc lashed out but Naruto ignored the burn shooting up his leg.
Attack, he signed, and improvise.
And it was just as well since he would never be able to bring up enough water to use for their triangle technique. Naruto turned and rushed at the Kakashi behind them, Sasuke following on his heels. He heard Sakura grumble something but knew that she would deal with the two clones coming from the sides.
Being the faster of the two, Sasuke overtook Naruto on his way to Kakashi and was the first to lay into their teacher—or at least attempt to lay into him. Kakashi weaved between the attacks, and while Sasuke had become a lot faster and more agile over the years, that alone did not suffice to put much pressure on Kakashi.
Naruto joined in with spinning kick under which Sasuke ducked. Kakashi lifted his knee to block Sasuke's punch, grabbing Naruto's leg at the same time. Naruto twisted mid-air and formed two seals before spitting out a barrage of small, compact water bullets.
Kakashi leaned back, evaded the first and pulled Naruto with him to make sure the others veered off course as well. Kakashi's concentration fully on Naruto and the bullets though, Sasuke used the distraction to swipe at his legs.
Kakashi lost his balance for a split-second, and Sasuke tried to capitalize on it, sallying forward. But Kakashi, still gripping Naruto's leg, swung the body around as he let himself fall. Almost to the ground he let go of his student and pushed himself into an upright handstand from which he flipped into a normal stance.
Naruto copied the motion and landed in a crouch beside Sasuke. Some yards behind them they heard explosions and a grunt. The earth rumbled. Then the ground stopped trembling and, as one, Sasuke and Naruto shot forward to meet their teacher head-on in another quick exchange. This time things would be different—they felt Sakura behind them, and her chakra extending past them toward Kakashi as it layered Genjutsu around him.
Now with their third teammate they went in, disregarding the dangerous smirk showing beneath their teacher's mask. And Naruto felt as if inside him a wall broke down, a single piece shifted and the puzzle took shape. This was how it was supposed to be. The feeling of stagnation, of treading the same space—it all took a backseat now to the exhilaration of matching himself against his teacher again, of having his teammates beside him, of being Team Seven, complete at last.
Evening, after the academy left out, Naruto excused himself for the remainder of the day. His destination made him uncomfortable and so he walked slowly through the streets. But today, he knew, he had to talk with Gaara. In the weeks since Kakashi's appearance they met a few times, but the topic that Naruto now wanted to discuss had not entered into their chats before—with good reason.
Some citizens lifted their heads from their work as he passed. Their expressions were far from unified. The baker, whose son had yet to learn how to walk on water, smiled, and Naruto returned the silent greeting. A corner farther along the street, the smith, towering sweat-covered above his anvil, let the hammer descend harder as Naruto went by.
He educated their children, the baker would say. A foolish statement in the eyes of the smith, who countered that not education but manipulation underlie Naruto's motives. As so often was the case, both held in their hands one half of the same truth. Naruto did not care to grow his students into obedient fodder for Konoha's war. But in the pursuit of his true goal, that is while educating them on how to stay alive, acknowledgment of his village's strength played a necessary part. Impressing on the children that acting hostile toward Konoha decreased their chance of survival seemed a wise precaution. Not just for their safety, but also for his own peace of mind.
He often wondered whether the word teacher fit him, though, or any shinobi. He taught, and that made him a teacher. But should there not be a condition attached to that term? That is, should not a reason stand behind knowledge, one that lent itself to life? When in his mind he walked to the end the road of the shinobi, all he found was more ways to end life than one could find sand in the desert. Could a teacher call himself as such, when all he did was prepare a child to keep the cycle going like the wheel of a mill, where not water but blood made sure the grain was ground?
At such thoughts he always felt like an impostor who just stole the title. Then he remembered Iruka, Kakashi, and Jiraiya, and felt to them a connection that made him doubt his reasoning. They all did what he criticized in his mind, yet all three he would call teacher without giving it any thought. Maybe, though, they struggled with the same problem. Or maybe he over thought the issue, something that seemed unlike himself, even to him.
It proved a good distraction though, which found its end as he arrived at the Kazekage's residence. A chest-high wall ringed the property, and Naruto went through a garden, a tree shading a bench, up to a house that lacked height but made up for it through sprawling architecture. The complex water system, he thought while passing a bed of yellow flowers, was the real wonder of Suna.
He walked up to the door and knocked without hesitation. The situation would be uncomfortable but he had thought long on this, and had he had any doubts he would not have come in the first place.
Gaara joined him in the garden soon after. He still wore the red coat he had worn on his arrival.
"I did not expect you for another three days," Gaara said. "I thought your schedule was rather…inflexible."
"You never know when free time comes along. Might as well pay you a visit."
Gaara in his known taciturnity led Naruto into the house without speaking. The furniture of the residence seemed simple, but what rested on it—crystal decanters, gilded cups, trophies—not so much. The floor was laid out with carpets detailing flowers in various stages of bloom.
"Hard at work?" Naruto said, nodding at a table where between maps, scrolls, candles and brushes lay several open books.
"It is…agreeable." Gaara seated himself and after pushing the books and scrolls aside bid Naruto to follow suit. "You know what Konoha wishes from me."
"Is that what you want, too?" Naruto waved off before Gaara could respond. "No need to answer that one, sorry. So," he said, leaning over to peek at the books, "geography, math, a few ledgers—anything interesting?"
Gaara did not reply, and when Naruto looked up he found the redhead studying him with scrutiny. Having learned staring from the best of them, and being used to this behavior, Naruto riposted. Gaara would answer in his own time.
Over the weeks they had met regularly to eat—Sakura joining them at times—and discussed topics ranging from Gaara's life as a political prisoner to their duties in Suna (and what skill it took to make bread with a cheese crust like the baker made whose son Naruto taught). Often they also walked the village, and it surprised Naruto not at all with what vehemence the villagers stared at Gaara.
'I am used to it,' were Gaara's words, spoken in his slow and exacting manner, and Naruto had understood. Next day he asked his students what they thought of the redhead. They talked much, and Naruto refuted most of it. Then he brought Gaara into the classroom and pandemonium broke out.
Here he was, the devil of their nightmares, the daemon their parents had told them about. Here, among them, standing on the doorsill, unmoving as a statue while they observed his every move. Just that he did not spill their blood, never ate their pets, and did not think of frightening them till all of them died of heart attacks. His voice sounded monotone and droning during his five minute speech about fighting in the desert, but that seemed, that day, his only fault.
From time to time Naruto liked to stupefy his students. What then did it say that no matter which skill Naruto showed them, their befuddlement had never reached higher than when they noticed Gaara would not harm them. A slow start, but change had to begin somewhere.
The staring between Naruto and Gaara reached its climax when the gong in the nearby shrine of Odaya rang four times, signaling that the bi-monthly ritual of worship neared its end. After having prayed for an hour, the priests would now lead the people in a slow, circular dance to balance the aspects of body and soul. In earlier times—Temari had told Naruto, laughing at his dumbfounded expression—the dance had been no dance but an orgy, and the worship of Odaya as much a plea for tranquility as a ritual of fertility.
"You wish to speak about something, Naruto."
"I do," Naruto said, returning from his thoughts. As he wondered how to articulate the reason for his presence, he floundered. Then he decided on the kind of directness that had served him, for good or ill, since he could speak. "I met Temari."
Gaara's hand twitched—the first uncontrolled gesture. "How?"
"I told you we've been split up," Naruto said. "Temari led the ambush. She—well, you could say she hauled my ass to their camp."
"Has she…"
"No," said Naruto. "She didn't lay a hand on me." The memories of those months remained vivid in his mind, and talking of it now he imagined he could still feel the heat of the coals on his back as Ren lit up the brazier behind him.
"Naruto, I—"
"You had nothing to do with that, Gaara. I told you because she's your sister, not to get an apology." Unable to sit still any longer, Naruto began walking through the room. "Family's important. At least I think it is if you have one. Anyway," he said, "you've got to treasure things like that. So, she's alive and kicking."
Naruto looked back from the ceiling to his host. Gaara's attention was fixed on a photo hanging at the wall across them. Temari and Kankuro stood side by side, small in front of the large body of their father.
"I did not think any of them survived the invasion," said Gaara. Tearing his eyes away from the photo, he turned to Naruto. "I will have to fight her," he said, but the tone of his voice lacked in conviction. "If she is a threat to Suna's new—"
"You're giving up too fast, Gaara," Naruto said. "And I'm not finished yet. There's quite a bit more to the tale than her bringing me in, believe me."
Naruto walked up to Gaara and took a closer look at the picture himself. "Your brother really wore his makeup since he was five. I thought she was talking out of her ass to be funny. Sibling rivalry and all that."
"She talked with you?"
"Oh yes, she did. She also saved me after learning that I'm a Jinchūriki. So, she tried, I'd say. That's more than most people ever do. And," he said, now walking around the room again, "in the end, when the storm hit, she came back for me."
"Acceptance," Gaara said.
"I knew you'd get it."
"You don't seek revenge?"
Naruto halted. "Do I look like that to you?"
"It is a valid question," Gaara said.
Unfortunately that was no lie, Naruto thought. A small part of him would always wish to avenge himself.
"I don't seek it, no. She's safe from my…let's call it furious vengeance." But as things stood, he still wished he had never met her. No amount of joking could cover up that simple truth. "In any case," Naruto continued, "I told you because I think you should know that she's well."
"Do you know anything about Kankuro?"
Naruto shook his head. "We didn't speak about war-related matters. She told me things he did when he was younger, nothing from the present though." He paused. "She has quite the temper"—which I roused perfectly every time—"and I didn't want to provoke her too much."
Gaara though had probably never witnessed Temari's temper, since having such a thing would have been rather deadly in his presence.
They kept quiet for a while. Naruto still had things to say, to ask, but something held him back. He wanted to know how Gaara dealt with his Bijū, even though their seals differed, but talking about that issue meant thinking too much of his own failure.
The Yondaime had made him the warden and, reasonable decision or not, that was his duty now. Gaining the acceptance of the shinobi around him—from Suna to Konoha—had taken him the better part of three years. He would not jeopardize that by admitting, to anyone but his team, that he had problems with this task.
You should have known better, Sakura thought as the knife slipped out of her grip and Kakashi drove his knuckles into her face. You should have known a damn sight better. But you didn't. And now Kakashi-sensei is ripping you to shreds for it.
The next fist came flying and Sakura stepped to the side, trying to get out of range of the plated gloves covering her sensei's fists. They hurt far more than she remembered. She jumped back, barely avoiding being swept off her feet. Maybe Kakashi-sensei had actually been lenient with them back then? No way, she then thought. Sensei's always been like this. I just…forgot. Silly Sakura, you should have known better.
Berating herself had to come later. Kakashi smelled her blood and she did not want to offer up more of it than she already had. If one looked closely, she was sure, there would be a blood trail from here up to the Shard Wall a mile away. That was just the way Kakashi treated her this lovely morning. Also the last. And the one that had come before the last.
In a practiced motion she reached for a new knife and flung it at Kakashi as he closed in on her again. I will shear that fucking silver hair right off your head. But Kakashi dodged, the knife missed, and no hair was shorn that day as she hurriedly tried to defend against the onslaught, bending in ways previously thought impossible, blood pounding in her ears, vision narrowing to a tunnel, knife after knife landing in the sand as sparks flew and her sensei just would not let up.
Ninjutsu had been useless, Genjutsu a waste of time, Taijutsu even worse. That beside the fighting her mind was still occupied with what Sorashi Yura had painted made matters progressively worse, as she thought of it in the most inappropriate moments: small, children-like figures clothed in golden robes; a brown-haired man and what looked like dozens of fuma shuriken around him; a puppet the size of an adult next to a red-haired giant; all of them surrounded by black masked teenagers; and everywhere was blood. What to make of it? The difference in size of each figure only added to the confusion.
Sakura's punch ran into nothing. What, why? He was there. He was fucking there! A mistake—this was a horrible mistake. If Kakashi was not there now, she had overextended. Her eyes widened. Kakashi was coming for her. No, no, no. For a second the tunnel vision receded and the whole field shimmered into clarity.
Then Kakashi had his fist in her hair and yanked her back with force. She grunted in pain and lashed out. She had to get away, had to—Suddenly Kakashi let go of her hair and she, the full force of her desperation driving her on, rushed away from him, head first into a wall.
What—
With a tight grip around her ankles she was pulled into the sand, which hardened around her body even before she had been fully immersed in it.
Kakashi settled in a relaxed crouch before her head and smiled that slightly arrogant smile of his that she had wanted to wipe off his face for days now. A fine sheen covered his brow, but it looked nothing like she had envisioned after a fight where she brought everything to bear against him.
A monster, Sakura thought. That's what you are, Kakashi-sensei. A veritable, pain-inducing, unfeeling, coldhearted, human-hating—
"I must say that I thought you would have it by now," Kakashi said. "Have Naruto and Sasuke overtaken you in the brain department as well now?"
As well? I will give you as well!
"You're an asshole."
Kakashi raised an eyebrow. "And you've quite the mouth on you. That's new. But maybe that's one area where you're actually ahead of your teammates now. Things sure have changed."
It was so like Kakashi to play on her insecurities like this. He had done it in the Forest of Death as well and it had been surprisingly efficient. I still hate it, she thought. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. But she also recognized that it helped, which made her far more furious than it should. One day you'll see, Kakashi-sensei, she said to herself. I'll kick your ass and then I'll kick Naruto's ass and also Sasuke's ass. And I will laugh at all of you and you will eat your words like a good little boy, sensei.
"Good work, Sakura," Kakashi said, "with that scowl you can assassinate someone. That's a weapon. Now make it work."
Sakura took a deep breath and relaxed her facial muscles. No need to give him more ammunition. "Can you get me out of here before we continue with this enlightening conversation? It's hot and…degrading. You wouldn't want me to tell the women in Konoha—Tsunade-sama for example—that you like to degrade young ladies, would you?"
"Looking like that I see no lady, Sakura. Besides, I thought Tanyu cured you of your wish to become a princess." He's got a point there, Sakura thought morosely.
Kakashi continued, "And blackmailing me a second after asking for a favor? Those aren't the manners of a lady. But if you believe making your case with Tsunade-sama will help, I urge you to do so."
Somehow, the way he talked of Tsunade-sama failed to increase her confidence. The man knew something she did not.
"Seriously, Kakashi-sensei, the 'it's hot' point still stands. I can't think like this."
I can, but I don't want to.
Kakashi changed from his crouch into a cross-legged position. "You know, beside what I actually want to teach you, this is a valuable lesson. Shinobi must be able to think under duress. Learn it now and it will serve you well later on."
"Any reason why I am the only one receiving this valuable lesson?"
Kakashi shrugged. "You've had time on your hands. Naruto's teaching the kids and Sasuke's healing people. Actually, who would have thought that possible? I have to admit, seeing him work tirelessly for the good of others warms my heart."
"Sasuke's definitely the most altruistic of us three," she said.
"It does not become you to mock your teammates, Sakura," said Kakashi. "But enough chit-chat. If you want to leave that hole, you should think about what I tried to teach you these past weeks. I made it so obvious today it hurts. Don't disappoint me now."
Yeah, right, Sakura thought, no pressure at all. And what a way to make me feel bad. I'll get you one day and it won't be pretty.
But sooner or later she had to step away from the black swirling vortex that was her vengeful thoughts lest she become an Uchiha in all but name. Kakashi once more proved to be a bastard but he was right in that he never did anything without a plan. There had been something to this beat down that she was supposed to discover.
Sakura went through the fights she had with him so far. What did he want her to see? She attacked—he was not there. Then she got grabbed or punched or kicked in some form. The wall this day had been new, but Kakashi used other Jutsu before. Little indentions in the ground to make her stumble. Obstacles that were not where they were supposed to—
Her thoughts ground to halt.
"You're combining," she said and though it was mumbled Kakashi seemed to understand her perfectly. He nodded along with her murmurs, an easy eye-smile on his face. "You used Genjutsu to set up the punch, and the punch to set up the wall."
"And yesterday?" Kakashi asked.
"Little holes in the ground all over. Hidden. You…veiled them?"
"I did."
Sakura said, "But I combine Taijutsu and Genjutsu already. I know that's possible. I do it. I did it in the forest, and—"
"No need to get defensive about it, Sakura. You do it, but how often? In all aspects of your fighting? Consciously?" He shook his head as she tried to say something. "As it is, you treat all three branches of the shinobi arts as separate units. Sure, from time to time you combine them in some fashion, but the transition is rocky and unpracticed. It isn't 'either Genjutsu or Ninjutsu' but 'Genjutsu and Ninjutsu.'"
"What about chakra? I'm nowhere near Naruto's or, hell, even Sasuke's reserves. If I start to constantly combine I'll burn through it in seconds."
"Who ever said you had to be on the same level as them chakra-wise?" Kakashi looked her squarely in the eyes. "You are you, Sakura. You have your own way of fighting, and if drawing level with their reserves is all there is to your aspirations as a kunoichi then you should've left the corps a long time ago, because that will never happen."
That stung. And even after three years she still felt insecurity wrapped around her—the constant question of 'What if I'm not good enough?' that had never left even if the voice asking it grew quieter.
"They will become monstrous as they grow into their powers," Kakashi said. "And you will set yourself up for endless disappointment if you try to walk the exact same path."
She hung her head but with two fingers Kakashi pushed it up until they were looking at each other again.
"Keep your head up," he told her. "What I'm saying isn't meant to discourage you."
Well, you're doing a bang-up job of it, she thought.
"You will become monstrous in your own way," said Kakashi. "But that's just it. Your own way, Sakura. Do you get what I'm telling you? Be more intelligent, more cunning, more wise. Use what you have in the most efficient way and don't even care about how much chakra your teammates can fling around. That's not you. And besides, it isn't me either. You're wrong if you think my reserves are even close to Naruto's. No," he said, "that's them. Your nature is far more subtle. Make your fighting the same: small illusions, small techniques, small movements. All to maneuver people into the positions you want them in.
"And when people least expect it, when they think all you do is small-time illusions, you hit them with a shot that kills them. As always, it's a matter of surprising the enemy."
Reciting a proverb from memory Sakura said, "A surprised shinobi is a dead shinobi."
"Exactly. Let them underestimate you, then make them regret it. Besides, large attacks are so easy to see it's laughable. The small ones are easily overlooked or discarded. Most often they're the deadly ones."
When Kakashi loosened the sand, she heaved herself out of the hole.
"Thanks," she murmured.
"My pleasure. Now that I almost had to break your nose on it, we can move onto how to make it a reality."
That made her look up. "Today?" she asked, still feeling her aching bones.
"When Naruto and Sasuke are back. Get something to eat, rest up. We'll see each other in the afternoon."
Then he left Sakura alone in the valley of sand before Suna. And she sat for a long while on the dune, ignoring the blistering heat on her neck. Subtle but deadly. She had liked flashy. Flashy had made her feel like she was on par with her teammates in all aspects even if she could not hold out as long as them. But maybe flashy was not the right choice and maybe, just maybe, Kakashi was right and she was not the type for it. Now that she thought about it, flashy was, in a sense, the symbol of her insecurity.
Sakura let herself fall back into the sand, shading her face.
This morning had held far too many revelations to be comfortable and she doubted she would get much sleep tonight.
With the repairs complete, Suna's hospital had changed from being a hastily put up construction of wood to a sickle-shaped building three storeys high, with a monstrous yard where, in the sunlight, the glass panes of hothouses were shimmering.
Sasuke leaned against the window sill in a medical room on the second floor and observed the herb experts below carry resources to and fro between the hothouses. Those were recent additions—though not a novelty in itself. In a barren country like this, artificial ways to create and care for healing herbs were a common sight.
Turning away from the window he watched the kunoichi at the other side of the room renew the bandages of a civilian who seemed transfixed with her. Whenever she said something, the patient first blushed, then murmured something before fixing his eyes on her dark-blue hair, loosely tied in a ponytail. After the Hyūga heiress applied the paste and changed the bandages both exchanged bows—one formal, the other rather awkward to watch—and the young man left, a spring to his step.
How anyone could be this gentle with patients was a mystery. They all were the same—irritating when you did not reply to their inane questions and downright rude when, after patching them up, you told them to stop being morons and take care of themselves. In a rare moment of self-reflection, leaning on that window sill, Sasuke thought that this was not a job he would like to do in the future. He had nothing but contempt for these people.
The job at the hospital served a purpose though, so he would endure it until the time had come to leave and never look back. Soon he would be able to use his eyes to their full capacity again.
Hinata cleared her throat behind him.
"—the last one, Sasuke-san," she was saying as he turned to her. "With Hono-san gone, we should have cleared everyone scheduled for today. He had lost his bandages…again."
"Of course he did," said Sasuke. "I will take care of him next time."
The Hyūga did not look convinced. Pity. "I believe we must treat all patients equally well. Even if they seem overly…clumsy."
He throws those bandages away every damn time, Sasuke thought. That's not clumsy, that's willful. I will visit him if he does it again.
"—the patrol of the hothouses will come in two hours at the earliest," Hinata said and Sasuke shut the thoughts of punting Hono into a wall away, opting to listen instead. "We still have more than enough time if you still want…"
"I do."
I will hold off on killing Hono, he thought, sitting down with Hinata at a table. I will hold off, but only if he does not provoke me. Hinata is necessary right now. And Naruto will not be amused either if I displease her. Somehow Hinata has left an impression on him. On Sakura as well, it seems. They both like her. I suppose she is likeable enough. Doesn't hurt that she's easy on the eyes.
"The same procedure as usual?" Hinata asked.
"Hn."
Her eyes seemed to grow in their sockets; thick veins curled around them, pulsating and exuding a faint trace of chakra.
She can do it without hand seals now, he thought. Neji must be really happy. Sasuke's lips quirked as he activated his own Dojutsu, taking care to coat everything in healing chakra at the same time. For a few minutes he held his Sharingan active and Hinata observed it through narrowed eyes that still did nothing to hide their almost inhuman size.
Then her Byakugan faded away and he let his Sharingan follow suit. Hinata leaned back in the chair, brows furrowed as she contemplated the rotating ceiling fan above. Then she looked back to him and said, "You're still oversaturating it, Sasuke-san."
"How much?"
"About half over what you actually need. Can you lower it?"
Sasuke was silent, mulling it over. He could, technically. But whenever he used his heritage there was that stinging sensation and the burning that seemed to melt his eyes, and when then the soothing chakra came to carry the pain away, bringing the world to full clarity, he was always too preoccupied with it to care about regulating the amount he used.
He said, "Do you think that would help?"
Hinata hummed. "I cannot say without seeing it, but I think it would help, yes. It is a possibility that the imbalance you create is making the problems you have."
That made sense even though he did not like it to make sense as it meant he would have to take even more care when using his eyes. If only it was a definite guarantee that he would be able to use his eyes fine afterward. But it was not. Sasuke found it a shame that life so rarely handed out definitive guarantees.
"Will you try it again?" she asked.
He looked at her, saw an earnest desire to help, and nodded. I will try again, he thought. And I'll have to get this woman something in return if this works. But what would be a good present?
When four months after Kakashi joined them Danzo summoned Team Seven and many others, Naruto had a feeling of undigested dough settle in the pit of his stomach. Not much good had ever come out of being called to the command tent. Certainly that would not change anytime soon.
In a row of three, Kakashi walking behind them, Team Seven went through the streets. They passed by vendors and rebuilt homes, a gaggle of children waving at Naruto, then a group of Suna Genin, freshly graduated a week ago, nodded at him. For the first time in years Suna's insignia was carried without the fear of retribution.
At the end of the main street running straight from the balloon-shaped administration buildings in the middle of Suna up to the southern Gates, they met Gaara, who fell in step beside them.
"Mornin', Gaara," said Naruto. "You've a summon too?"
"I have."
"Do you know what he wants from us?" said Sakura.
"It is better to hear it from him," Gaara said. "He went through great troubles keeping his purpose secret."
Like every shinobi ever since the dawn of time.
Naruto glanced at Kakashi walking behind them. Usually there had been a smile on his face, ever so small, but today it failed to show up. The surface of his mask told of nothing but a straight line.
Before long they arrived at the command tent and entered, joining a group of familiar faces around the table bearing the map. Supervisors, the lot of them, and since their adventure to the rebels and Sukoru respectively, Team Seven had been called like that themselves. Naruto panned his gaze around the room: a group of thirty in various stages of aging. He recognized Shikari, the muscle woman that had hounded Sakura, Sasuke's brothel-going supervisor, and then came a few white-haired ones he did not know, but who bowed to Kakashi. Those he had brought from Konoha then.
Danzō stood silent, observing. When Team Seven and Gaara took their places he thumped his cane loud enough for everyone to pay attention. Not a man of many words, Danzō waited a second longer, then said, "In two days Konoha's offensive begins."
The volume around Team Seven grew and Naruto found on his teammates a similar expression of resignation as he himself must have carried. He knew the day would come eventually, but he felt not half as excited as so many others around him. Beside him, Gaara looked forlorn at the map.
Naruto squashed the self-pity welling up inside him. His problem was nothing to Gaara's, who soon would take to the field against his siblings. He was to unify the new shinobi of the Sand under his banner, proving that he and no other should become the Kazekage. Unfortunately that also meant going against one half of his own country.
"We will take Shishi together," Danzō told the room, tracing a line on the map with his cane, "and from there split into two forces. One under Hatake Kakashi moving west, the other under Gaara-dono and me, consolidating Shishi before moving on to Bōeki Toshi."
"A pincer toward Hajim?" Sasuke's brothel chief asked, looking at the map. "Is that not too dangerous with the rotating rebel camps? If we split our forces it'll be easier for them to whittle us down. We've become better at fighting in this terrain, but they still have the edge."
"They will keep it, no matter how long you stay here and train," Gaara said. All attention swiveled to him. He had crossed his arms in front of his chest and was staring at the map. "A few years are not enough to overcome this disadvantage."
"Gaara-dono is right," Kakashi said. "They've been born in the desert and lived here all their life. That's not something we can or should compete with." He turned to the head of the table. "I assume you have a plan?"
Danzō nodded and thumped his cane again. On the map, colored pins shimmered into existence. "These," Danzō said, "are the locations for nearly every rebel camp our scouts"—he glanced at Team Seven—"have found. Both forces will make it their mission to eradicate them on their way to the cities."
"I never knew we scouted that far," said Shikari, inspecting a red-colored pin that stuck in a place south of Sukoru.
Danzō ignored her and looked at Iho, who stood next to him. Soon the other people in the room caught on to that and they too began to stare the youngest surviving son of the Wind Daimyo.
Iho seemed unsure of what to do at first, but when Danzō's eye did not leave him and a shinobi beside him cleared his throat, he suddenly jumped into action as if awakening from a dream. He straightened up and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. To keep himself from shaking, Naruto thought, noticing the twitching of Iho's fingers. And he knew others had noticed too because he saw their drawn eyebrows and their twitching lips and the condescension in the eyes of many of them.
The whole camp knew or at least assumed what the Daimyo's son meant to their efforts, and seeing the young man this weak and still having to rely on him was something that did not sit well with them.
Sasuke looked at Iho much the same; as if he was a useless apple core soon to be discarded. Naruto wished he had some apples now. They would surely make this situation much better—much happier were he to distribute them among all these angry fellows.
He understood why Sasuke and the others were bitter but he did not care for their open show of contempt, even though it was debatable whether Iho even noticed. Still, if this man with the hollow-cheeked face and the smooth skin of a woman, who looked to be of a very sensitive nature at that, was to become Suna's next Daimyo, an enabler of control of sorts, someone who would work in a close union not just with Gaara but with them too, antagonizing him did not seem a good idea.
From what he heard, two treaties had already been broken by Suna and Wind Country. Making Iho an enemy might lead to a third time, and Naruto was unsure if this desert country could survive another onslaught.
"I—I will advocate for the people of Konoha once we take the cities," Iho was saying and the shinobi around him nodded, in all appearance truthful now. Not that they felt that way. That would never happen if Iho stayed as he was. "Once they see that I am still alive, they will recognize that my broth—that Sawada is not the rightful ruler. It begins in Shishi." Iho stepped back from the table, letting his hands vanish inside the folds of his robes. They were still twitching through the fabric and everyone saw.
Danzō nodded. "Thank you…Iho-dono. It is of utmost importance that your endeavor to win over the populace is successful. Konoha trusts in your ability to convince the people of your rightful rule and will support you in your ascension to the throne to the best of her abilities."
"I…Thank you, Danzō-dono. I will make sure that all happens as planned."
Turning to the room at large, Danzō addressed all of them: "You will receive more specific orders tomorrow. Make sure your people are ready. Hatake-san, Gaara-dono, stay here. We have much to discuss."
The cane thumped again and, throwing a glance at Kakashi, Naruto was soon reassured by the man that he could go on with his team, they would meet later that day and he would keep them in the loop.
Before long they returned to their clay hut and, sitting on the roof eating bread with Shijak sauce and sweet rice, they were staring at the setting sun, taking their time to imprint the image into their minds.
AN: That's it for today, folks. Hope you enjoyed it. Before I say goodbye until next week, however, I thought it prudent to briefly talk about an issue that has cropped up repeatedly now in the comments. I also apologize in advance for the length of the incoming speech (normally I try to limit my ANs to a few words), but the topic is a broad one and deserves to be discussed. I hope you will not feel too angry about this self-indulgence.
To start with, I understand that it might seem strange to some that the canon counterparts of Team Seven seem stronger in comparison, and to a degree that is true, though I maintain that they're not really comparable since they underwent an entirely different development and I'm not at all enamored with the way power levels turned out in the original story. In Blood Wings they had a severe head start with Kakashi, but it was a short stretch in comparison, and most of their power right now comes from their own experience and training. Had each of them had a Sannin as a teacher in this story, they would have turned out differently, of course, but that is not what I envisioned from the outset.
Beside a few nuggets from different teachers and a mindset that has been cultivated in the crucible of Kakashi's training and the following war, their whole achievements should feel like theirs precisely because they did most of it themselves, hence "Team Seven's Ascension." That includes setbacks, quite a lot of them, but also victories. Of course they will now and then receive some help, but the main thrust always has to come from them, which makes balancing their power levels all the more precarious. To me, Itachi is not really comparable either by the way. His experience is entirely different from Team Seven's, and he started his career years ahead of them. The same goes for Kakashi and most other geniuses of the previous generations.
I wanted to say something about Sakura too, though I believe this recent chapter articulates my thoughts on the matter rather well. Still, why not. Sakura has at her disposal an array of Genjutsu (which she did not have in canon), can brawl well enough to win against Kiba in a purely close combat oriented fight (who is specializing purely in Taijutsu himself), still has impeccable chakra control, and also utilizes earth techniques to supplement all this.
Super strength would be a perfect fit, sure, but the situation is vastly different than in canon. War has been going on for close to three years now and the time simply is not as peaceful as the two and half years in canon have been. How likely is it, then, that Sakura seeks to apprentice herself to the administrative head who has to juggle the village in a time of war, and that for a span of six months only, and also after a row of harrowing events that practically demanded a period of rest and respite? I definitely understand the appeal of her having that particular skill, but it wasn't quite right for this story, and I do believe that I made her quite strong in, to echo Kakashi, "Her own way."
Anyway, to bring this overly long soliloquy to a close, I promise that there are some glorious moments ahead, and I firmly believe that even the most bloodthirsty among you, dear readers, will find their appetite thoroughly sated after this story is over. As it stands, I'm in your debt for your continuous support, and I hope to fulfill the expectations that you have in this story.
Eilyfe