Love-in-idleness
A/N: Trying to end this as quickly as possible was more difficult than I imagined. We're going to be here a little while longer, folks.
As always, feedback is much appreciated. I'm currently writing the revision of this, along with accompanying pieces. Within the next few months, expect these to come from me:
The Ocean and The Wanderer - A more concrete narrative of Shikai's relationship with Sasori. I've been meaning to deliver a proper rewriting of Martyrdom is an Art/The Killer and The Artist, and I think I've finally struck gold.
The Beast, the Woman, and Her Flowers - Writing Haru is hard. Writing Gai and his friends is even harder. I've honestly no concrete plan for this, so I'm developing one this late.
War-torn - This has always been on the "Why did I write this? Whatever, I'm just going to ride with it" bin and I want to make something more worthwhile. Rewriting this is hard because it should explore a post-The Ocean and the Wanderer Shikai in a time she does not belong in, so… expect this to come in a little later.
Us in the Daylight - Essentially the rewritten Love-in-idleness featuring my version of a post-war Sakura as Shikai's therapist. Still considering whether to continue pairing Shikai with Kakashi, or with someone else entirely.
Us in the Moonlight - The idea for this sprung from my sister's OC, Tenkou (obviously a more fleshed-out version), being the mother of Itachi's child. Wild, I know. But it also features my version of a post-war Sasuke navigating relationships with Team 7 and with Tenkou. Yeah, it's basically SasukeOC (with a past ItachiOC) because I can't bring myself to believe that SasuSaku is endgame.
Yeah, and whatever Shikai says about her past in this chapter more or less carries over from what will be on The Ocean and The Wanderer, so spoilers for that, I guess. Thanks for putting up with me, all.
FYI: A scene in Chapter 9 will be modified to fit the version (Sasori's death) told here. I'm too lazy to revise the rest, sorry.
"It made sense that she is attracted to strong men. It also made sense that she is repulsed by his personality."
"Akasuna no Sasori."
Nothing had prepared him for that. Sure, part of him expected her to have had dealings with the unsavory type–because frankly, who hadn't?–but he didn't expect at all for her to have had a connection to the Akatsuki. Samurai were men of their word, fanatics of their honor code, and would rather avoid working with or for the shinobi entirely. She must have a reason, a good enough reason for her to suddenly gain ties with the criminal organization. Was she forced? Did she have no choice? Surely she wouldn't have gone there willingly.
"Or as I knew him as a child, simply Sasori."
No, of course it wouldn't be as simple as that.
And just when he thinks he's beginning to get a clearer picture of her, a more defined identity of the lone samurai, this image twists and blurs and breaks again. He is left with the pieces now, all jumbled and out of place. Perhaps he's only ever had these pieces, fragments of the person she is, the same way he's ever showed her only what he's always shown everybody.
Fragments never really made a perfect whole, anyway.
She grips Murai firmly and breathes in deep, a splitting image of those portraits hanging along the halls of the compound, which he should ask her about later. He's only half-sure that she's descended from a line of decorated samurai generals likely dating back from before any of the shinobi countries were established. The samurai was a fighter class older than the shinobi, that much he knows. So maybe she's samurai royalty, if there was ever such a thing. Maybe he should be so honored to be in her presence.
Maybe.
If things were different between them, maybe.
"And he simply knew me as Shikai."
They're both hiding, and it might only be a miracle of fate that they dared to come out now.
Part of him is glad that she took the first step.
It almost feels like reciprocity.
Almost.
"I wrote my name differently back then."
She uses the tip of Murai blade to carve characters into the soil, surely a banal act for such a treasure of a blade, but then he understands.
Shikai. It used the characters for "four" and "ocean." The seven seas. The whole world. It's an unusual name, not really something one would give to their child.
Shikai. The other used the characters for "see" and "world." Visibility. Field of vision. One's understanding. An equally unusual name, but this was the name he knew her by.
"And he knew me as both."
Double identities are common in the shinobi world, even more so when you're high enough into the ranks to be able to host several at once. He'd been there, he'd been in the ANBU long enough to host a variety of personas. He'd been known by many names and monikers, titles and threats, and he didn't really think she would have a similar experience.
"But it wasn't what you think, Hatake-san." She says, "Think of it as a rebirth, and a return."
She uses the same blade to cut across the second "Shikai," leaving only the first–the seven seas, the whole world–etched into the ground. And it's taunting, almost, how that name means something deep and profound. If he compares it to his–scarecrow, figurehead, dummy–it's almost a bit embarrassing. But she doesn't know that. She might not even care.
"Shikai." He says, hushed and under his breath.
She nods, minutely and in silence.
The seven seas. The whole world.
He says her name under his breath, almost as if he's ashamed.
"Shikai."
It was almost as if it carried weight not meant for him.
Maybe, she thinks, her name had cursed her from the very start.
"I first met him as a child." She begins, "He was a visitor from Suna. He was here to learn blacksmithing from my father. His grandmother and mine were friends."
She starts the story like this, cool and detached as if it was an old fairytale rather than a confession. Perhaps it is, it's already been so long anyway, she's been out of contact with the Akatsuki nearly a decade before the war. And if they were to arrest her for being an agent of the organization, no matter how minor she thinks her role is, what would that achieve? Hasn't she done her part in atoning for it in the years that followed her sudden departure? And she wasn't doing their work per se, she was doing his work, following his orders, acting according to his will.
But then again, it wasn't entirely her own doing, she had a needle stuck deep into her head. She was a sleeper agent, only half-conscious at most, whenever she was called.
Still, would they really believe that?
Would he?
But she shouldn't jump to that so quickly, she should tell it as it happened. So she does.
"We became friends."
She isn't sure how she should tell it, or how much. She hasn't exactly opened up about this to anyone, not even Haru.
"He was the first friend I made who wasn't from Yuukou, so we wrote each other letters when he had to return to Suna, and I treasured his letters more than anything in the world."
She still knows where she kept the letters; in an ornate box she was told was meant for keeping precious stones, on a shelf along with the stories she loved reading as a child. She didn't really have an eye for shiny stones and jewels back then, imaginative and impertinent child that she was. And even after she found out, she hadn't dared throw out or burn those letters.
"About two years before the war, I was sent to Sunagakure along with a troop of samurai." She's sure he understands what war she meant, "There was a mutual agreement between our two countries, and I was one of the collaterals. I didn't know what that meant back then, it was only after the war that I understood the importance of my position as the clan heir."
There's so much more to say about her experience in Suna at the time, but she settles for the shortest version, "I spent a lot of my time with him. Half of my time there was spent training and learning, and the other half I spent with him. And you could imagine what happened next."
She decides to leave out how the time between each letter increased as the contents of the letters decreased. He was a prodigy, the best of his class and a favorite of the older shinobi. She was an heir, only ever talented enough to learn as quickly as was expected of her. They both had roles to fulfill, and he understood this earlier than she did. Initially, upon her arrival in Suna, he hadn't wanted anything to do with her. He understood the gravity of war earlier than she did, and he made sure she did too.
But she leaves this out, along with the brief moments between sunsets and sunrises when they did meet.
"He was your friend! How could you do that to him?"
She leaves that memory out as well.
"Will you do the same to me, then?"
Yes. It's better she leave that out.
"And you could imagine what happened next."
He can, and it's almost pitying how obvious it is. He can't really blame her, though, maybe. Based on his initial interaction with her family and her tour of the compound, he can infer that she's been pampered since birth, treated like a true-born heir and expected to be one. She spoke of her childhood with a sad longing, which could only mean that what happens next isn't good.
Of course, she fell in love.
"I fell in love." She says with a bashfulness unseen and unheard of. Maybe this is the first time she admits it, and to someone like him no less.
"I fell in love and I believed he did too. I knew he did." She breathes deeply, "So we made a promise."
She looks at Murai again, skims her eyes across the blade, and he wonders what her purpose is for summoning it. Was she just showing off?
"I promised to show him the ocean, and he promised to come with me."
She stabs Murai into the ground, the blade sinking easily into the earth.
"Each time I call it forth, I am reminded of that promise."
She walks to sit beside him on the bench, still sure to keep herself a reasonable distance away. He knows she doesn't want to be pitied for making such a promise, so he doesn't say a word as she sighs into her hands.
"After the war…" She hesitates, but then speaks with an indifferent air, "After the war, we parted ways. He became a missing-nin, I became a vassal. It wasn't until several years later that I met him again."
He knows she's keeping this on purpose. Surely a lot must have happened in all those years, but did he have a right to ask?
"And it was within those years that I met Okabe Atsumori, a man I loved and killed by my own hand."
She's detached from all this now. That is what she assumes, by the way she speaks so calmly and directly. Or maybe she's still in mourning, still in the process of forgiving herself for all this. And that, he understands very well.
It seems she might be more like him than they both thought.
And she tells him about this Atsumori, a fellow samurai with nearly a decade of experience more than her, how he tended to her wounds from battle and cared for her more than had expected. She describes him to have flaxen hair that shone like gold in the sun, and deep green eyes that drew her away from her dream of seeing the ocean with someone else. She tells him that it was Atsumori who stood in for this promise, that he brought her to the edge of the continent and proclaimed his love for her as the sunrise broke through the horizon.
"He was kind." She says under her breath. "And it was his kindness that blinded me."
Atsumori acted as a double-agent, she tells him, but not by his own will, not entirely. He wakes sometimes at night, when he thinks she's sound asleep and dreaming, and gives her excuse after excuse. And she believed him, for a while, until she found the journal and the reports.
"He wasn't the careless type, but that didn't matter. He was bound to die by someone else's hand, anyway."
At that point, he wonders how many times she has told this story, wonders if this is the first time, or if this detachment comes from practice. He doesn't want to make her remember the pain, doesn't want to force her to continue, so he finally speaks.
"You don't have to tell me everything, Shikai-san."
He moves to soothe her, noticing the rigidity in her hands and the stiffness in her posture. He knows this position, he's seen it one too many times, he's been in that position himself.
She's about to cry.
And she feels it. The sudden tightening of her throat and the twitch of her fingers. She doesn't like it. She doesn't want to feel it. She doesn't want to. She refuses to, not in front of him or anyone else. She's cried over this several times in the past, so why should she wail about it now?
This is part of the process. This is part of the healing.
She feels the weight of his hand on her shoulder and refuses to shudder at the heat.
"You deserve to know, Hatake-san." She admits, using the same words Atsumori had used before.
"You deserve to know, Shikai. Don't ever think you don't."
Maybe it's his kindness that reminds her of Atsumori, of this idea that she could live a different life than the one she is used to; a life where she lives simply because she can, and not in the service of someone else.
So she skips forward, concluding her brief affair with Atsumori with these words, "I killed him because I had no choice."
In truth, she had another choice. She could have left, she could have considered her brief time with Atsumori a passionate affair. And if she did, she might not have become who she is now.
"And because I did, I met Sasori again."
She remembers that instance, in the unreal time between night and daybreak, when she saw his face again for the first time in years. She remembers how his voice sounded, neither happy nor sad, but somehow relieved. How he told her Atsumori would need a replacement. How he attacked her with such ferocity, but merely left her half-dead and screaming for him to end her life. How she woke the next day in a hospital with a letter and a voice in her head telling her to find him.
"He could have killed me, but he left me alive for one reason. I became Atsumori's replacement, only half-conscious of what I was doing."
To this day, she is not entirely sure if that is all there is. She could have become one of his many puppets, but he made no move to turn her into one. He had insinuated it several times, made mention of how his puppets eliminated any human weakness and brought out the hidden potential.
"And in those moments of clarity, I wondered if he still loved me."
He was still human in all those years, the very reason being that he has not reached the peak, that he still has much to learn and to hone. Love was never reason enough, not even when she kisses him in fleeting moments, when he holds her like a cherished thing. But she believed otherwise. Love kept her tethered, kept her with him, unconditional and ever-giving. And it was this love that he used against her.
"He wondered if Murai existed, and I ventured out to prove it to him."
She remembers this moment clearly, when he kissed her with fervent heat, an unspoken promise coming to life, before bidding her goodbye.
"He believed in this idea of a forever, an eternal existence unbound by physical time, and he wanted me in it."
And she remembers this as well, when she met him again. He was paler than she remembered, thinner, and it was only then she realized that time flowed differently for both of them. The island that held Murai was closer to the realm of the gods, and time stilled. He told her she would be faced with disease, illness, physical injury, and that she deserved to be one of the few who would see eternity with him.
"While I was away, he… He built bodies, for himself and me."
She remembers that sight, the uncanny likeness. She remembers crying as she thrust Murai through both the puppet and him.
"I killed him then." She whispers.
"You could have been perfect and eternal."
"I thrust the blade into his chest and cried as he bled."
"You could have stayed with me forever."
"I watched him die."
"We could have…"
"But he never left me."
"Forgive me."
She felt her chest tighten, and it was then she realized she'd been crying.
He understands this. He knows this. He has lived this.
The ghosts that hang around him number in the many, nameless faces and comrades alike. He knows more people dead than alive, and thinks it's by pure luck that he's lived this long. He could have died in the war. He should have died during Pain's assault on Konoha. There are too many times he's found himself on death's door, and yet…
The ghosts that linger around him rarely ever suffocate him, but he wonders how it is for her. The way Rin and Obito's ghosts linger around him is surely different from how Atsumori and Sasori's ghosts linger around her. Rin and Obito's ghosts are jovial and at peace, they've come to an understanding, now. Before, they were haunting him, reminding him of the pain. But what about hers? Was she being suffocated all the time, reminded of what she had done? Had she been running from them all this time? Moving from one lover to the next in an attempt to shake off the hallucinations?
Grief affects everyone differently.
He mourned. He cut himself off. She cried. She fucked other people. Maybe they're both hollow in that way. Maybe they're looking to fill in the gap. But he had everyone else: Gai, Asuma, Kurenai, Iruka. Who did she have? Where was her family? Had she met Haru then? What about Tenkou? Or was she still alone?
So he lets her cry. He doesn't know how to handle this perfectly, doesn't know if he's in a position to hold her close and let her wet his shoulder. But they're friends now, aren't they? So he should be free to comfort her, shouldn't he?
"Hatake-san," she asks, voice too small, "if you would allow me, may I…"
He doesn't move when she does, thinking he might be misunderstood. She removes his hand from her shoulder and holds it with both her own, the tips of his fingers held in her palms, and wonders what she'll do next.
"You have Atsumori's hands and his kindness." She looks directly into his eyes. "But you are not him."
And it's that moment he realizes that might be her reason for sleeping with him and why she would have gone with Tenzou. In other words, her kind lover is dead and she looks for that same kindness in men that could never give it to her. But she continuously rejects it, this kindness she seeks, because it also reminds her that Atsumori is dead.
"You will never be him."
Murai stands alone on the ground, perhaps forgotten, perhaps a testament of her memory. Perhaps she is no longer looking for kindness. Perhaps she is looking for understanding.
He understands.
"Thank you." She presses his worn fingers to her lips.
She does, too.
Now he wonders what comes after this.
"Kanemistu-sama!"
Certainly not a cat with an entire entourage trailing after it.
"Oneesan?"
Certainly not.
A/N: …eh. Naruto has a tone problem and so do I. Thoughts on what can happen next? Until then!