Originally posted on AO3 on April 8, 2021.
I love HinaTema so much. Underrated even for a Naruto f/f ship.
Feather and Sickle
Temari was not a very empathetic person by nature.
Growing up as the eldest child of the Kazekage's line, living every day under the scrutiny of the ever-imperious councilmen, struggling to keep her brothers in check without provoking Gaara's wrath―it was a job which necessitated thick skin and a stiff lower lip. When you become accustomed to scathing criticism from all sides (and a near-constant fear of being slaughtered by your own brother), you start viewing the world through a more cynical lens.
Still, the past few months had been… eventful, to say the least. Their father had been murdered and supplanted by a missing-nin lookalike, leaving Suna without a leader. Their only notable remaining ally was also leaderless for a time, which essentially left them politically adrift. And the Hokage's death was largely Suna's fault, which wasn't exactly helping relations between Sand and Leaf.
Most importantly, Gaara had… changed.
He'd somehow lost against that loud orange knucklehead, for starters. Jarred and terrified by the unfamiliar sight of his blood, Temari had dragged him back to safety, half-expecting him to tear her to shreds at any moment, but…
He hadn't attacked her. He hadn't even lashed out in confusion. No; he'd stirred, still bleary, but it had still been him, not Shukaku. Rather than strike, in fact, or even demand to be unhanded, he'd apologized. He'd apologized to her, to Kankurō, to Baki, and then―
And then.
Through the bright crimson of his hair and the crusty burgundy blood that plastered it against his face, she saw it. A Soulmark, crisp and stark, sitting dead-center in the middle of his forehead, directly over the shallow wound that was still bleeding sluggishly.
The skin was discolored and swollen where he'd been hit, but she could still make the Mark out easily. A circular patch of skin had turned a lovely shimmering silver, with a bold red line starting at the center and spiraling out to brush the edge.
'Like the swirl on the back of Konoha's flak jackets,' Temari had thought. 'Like―the old Uzushio insignia?'
Then, with sudden realization and no shortage of dread; 'Or like a narutomaki.'
Ever since then, the shift in Gaara's attitude had only become more apparent. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Gaara continued to become more and more different with each passing day. Sometimes, it was clear that he was deliberately trying to be calmer and less temperamental; other times, it seemed to come to him almost naturally. Either way, his Soulmate had left an impression.
Of course, everyone knew that Marks affected people on an emotional level; it was one of the reasons why most shinobi had to report it to their superiors when their Marks manifested. The most merciless assassin in the universe would hesitate if they suddenly saw a Mark blossom on their target. And even very rational, pragmatic shinobi had been known to spontaneously disobey orders to protect their Soulmate instead.
But Temari had never really grasped the true power of a Soulmate bond until she saw Gaara gratefully accept a flask of water at the end of a training session―and then, slowly and awkwardly, crack an uncertain smile.
She didn't have a Mark herself, and she wasn't sure that she ever would. Not everyone had a Soulmate, after all, and she just couldn't see herself clicking with someone immediately like that. What would they even have in common? Antagonistic relatives? Shitty fathers? The crushing weight of being the eldest in line to inherit a throne they didn't want?
Ha. As if.
Regardless, Gaara's Mark had given her somewhat of a newfound understanding of Soulmates, even if the idea still didn't particularly appeal to her. It wasn't just an unwanted tattoo that compromised you on missions. It could be something that made you better. Something that strengthened your resolve. Something that spurred you to action when you otherwise might have dithered.
So, when Baki told them that a team of Suna shinobi was needed to assist a group of Konoha shinobi―the orange idiot among them―Temari didn't hesitate to volunteer herself and Kankuro. After all, she couldn't let Gaara go alone―and she knew at once, without needing to ask, that Gaara wouldn't permit anyone but him to run to his Soulmate's aid.
Maybe this appreciation for the meaning of a Mark was also part of the reason she'd felt a stab of sympathy for Nara. He cut a pathetic enough picture as it was, sitting outside of his teammate's operating room in tears―but the desperate way he gripped at his wrist, which was conspicuously covered by an elbow-length glove, was very telling.
He must have really been in a state, if he was clutching at his Mark so blatantly. Any rational shinobi would give no indication that it even existed, especially in the presence of someone who had been an enemy not long ago. The information that he had a Soulmate at all could be fatal in the wrong hands, much less its exact location―and, given the hospital room he was lingering outside of, it was fairly obvious to whom the Mark belonged, as well.
She… couldn't imagine the state that Gaara would be in if they hadn't arrived in time to save that orange kid.
Probably a state of national emergency.
Maybe that was why, even though she didn't even know the names of the two who were still in surgery―just that one was Nara's Soulmate and the other one was a Hyūga―she nonetheless felt a rush of relief when the nurse emerged, haggard and weary, to reassure Nara that all of his teammates would live.
Or maybe she was just going soft now that she didn't have to watch her back 24/7 anymore.
Either way, she wasn't quite so soft as to stick around for the following twenty minutes of medical jargon. As soon as it was clear that Nara was no longer in need of a pep talk, she excused herself and made for the exit.
It was unlikely for Team Baki to leave Konoha today, especially after such a frantic rush to the battlefield and back, but that didn't mean she could relax. There were mission reports to start on, first of all. Twice as many as usual, too, since Konoha would need copies of all relevant information. The amount of extra paperwork there could be for cross-village missions was ludicrous.
Then she had to check on Kankurō and Gaara. She already knew that neither was too grievously injured, but… well, maybe hearing all about Nara's half-dead friends had made her a bit paranoid. Better to be paranoid than overlook an obvious injury. She'd give Kankurō―no, she'd give them both a more thorough look-over when she returned; Gaara would have to grow accustomed to ceding to her authority as the eldest sooner or later. Even if he rarely got so much as a papercut.
Though she and Kankurō stopped sleeping in shifts when Gaara had his change of heart, they had taken the practice up again recently―not to protect themselves against him, but to keep him company until morning. Helpless though they were in the face of the Ichibi, they could at least help him keep Shukaku's thoughts at bay with inane chatter.
She had first "watch" tonight, and she figured that Gaara would be extra restless after having seen his Soulmate in grave danger. Perhaps, instead of just talking, they could work off some steam while training?
As she considered her options, she reached for the door that would take her out of the intensive care unit, only for it to swing open on its own.
She hadn't been nearly lost in thought enough to have missed approaching footsteps―there hadn't been any. In the second between the door beginning to open and hitting the wall, she took a sharp step back and poised her hand near her fan, ready to draw it and blow the intruder away in one smooth motion.
No need. It was immediately obvious that the girl who'd pushed through the door was a Konoha nin―not just because of the forehead protector wrapped loosely around her neck, but because of her eyes. A pale, cloudy lavender, barely distinct from the white of her sclerae, with no visible pupils.
A Hyūga.
Feeling a bit foolish, Temari relaxed her stance and withdrew her hand. On further inspection, this seemed to be the other Hyūga who she'd seen in the chūnin exams―the one who'd lost their little family duel. At the time, she remembered feeling a mix of disdain (did Konoha just let anyone take the exams?) and pity (she, of all people, knew how it felt to be nearly murdered by your own flesh and blood).
That very same Hyūga who'd fought this girl was now in critical condition somewhere in this hospital. Which, Temari supposed, explained her presence here.
"Excuse me," Temari said, because, unlike Kankurō, she wasn't an animal, and she moved politely aside to let the Hyūga girl pass. But, even when she'd stepped out of the way, the Hyūga stayed frozen in the doorway, hand still outstretched, one foot over the threshold. Despite the renowned inscrutability of the Hyūga clan's eyes, her expression was as open as a civilian's―startled and afraid.
Slowly, Temari raised an eyebrow. "Something the matter?" she asked, a bit tersely, though she kept her body language loose and unthreatening. Unlike Kankurō (again), she would prefer to avoid causing an international incident over something as petty as a near-collision and some rude staring.
That seemed to snap the girl out of her reverie, and she blushed an impressive shade of red, snatching her hands back to wring them nervously and averting her gaze to the ground. "No, no―I'm sorry," she squeaked, and then she hastened past Temari at a half-jog, cringing away on the way as if she feared Temari would strike her as she passed.
Once Hyūga had vacated the doorway, Temari stepped through, but she paused after a moment, listening. Hyūga's footsteps had stopped just as suddenly as they'd started.
It wouldn't be at all remarkable for a shinobi to step quietly, but Temari turned around nonetheless―and, sure enough, the girl had stopped again barely halfway down the hallway, mid-step. The only visible movement was the restless fidgeting of her hands at her sides.
Hmm. She did remember the weaker of the two Hyūgas seeming rather meek as well, even if she hadn't paid too much attention to either. And, if she was hesitating repeatedly, that could explain why Temari hadn't heard her footsteps before she opened the door; she'd been standing there, deliberating.
Temari couldn't help but scoff a bit. Was every Konoha nin like this? She knew they were a couple of years younger, but they were still shinobi― they'd been nominated for the chūnin exams, even. Yet one chūnin had broken down over his first mission failure right before her, and now here was a genin standing in the middle of a hospital hallway, too nervous to continue on.
No Suna genin was so coddled. Temari and Kankurō least of all. They'd all but lived in terror since childhood, constantly wary of Father's violently shifting moods; always looking over their shoulders; waiting for Gaara to―
Then it clicked.
Temari remembered the day of their failed invasion with brutal clarity for more reasons than one. Prior to the confusion and wariness and terribly fragile hope that had come when Gaara apologized, there had been adrenaline. Steely determination. A swooping in her gut as if she'd just stepped off a cliff.
Fear.
She'd hefted Gaara's unconscious body off of the ground, frantically checking him for wounds―nothing fatal―looking over her shoulder every other step and trying not to be too aware of the weight of his body on her shoulder―waiting for Shukaku to emerge; thinking, 'He'll hurt me, he'll killme, but I can't leave him, he's family―'
She carried Gaara away of her own volition, not out of obligation. He was her brother, even before his change of heart. But that kind of terror didn't just go away.
Especially if you were, say, a young girl whose brother (or cousin) had nearly beaten you to death before.
Temari was not a very empathetic person by nature. Honestly, she was sick of feeling sorry for these dumb Konoha kids.
With a half-stifled groan of resignation, she let the door swing shut again, turned on her heel, and strode towards the Hyūga girl still frozen ten paces down the hall.
"Hey," she said―or maybe more like snapped, if she was being honest―and the Hyūga went even more rigid than before. "Hyūga."
At the sound of her name, at least, she did quickly turn around, rather than just standing there like a statue, although the flustered look on her face was hardly proper shinobi behavior. The council would be shrieking for days if Temari acted like that in public. "Wh-what is it?" she stammered, clutching her hands in front of her chest like a shield.
"Are you here for that Hyūga boy? The one who was just injured on a mission?" Temari asked, just in case she had misread the situation.
That certainly caught Hyūga's interest. She snapped to attention as if Temari had just said some kind of top-secret code phrase, the poorly-concealed panic on her face giving way to concern. "Neji?" she said breathlessly. "Yes, I'm here for―for―did you―do you know―?"
Taking pity on the girl, Temari made what she hoped to be an appeasing gesture with one hand. "He'll live," she said first, rather than keep Hyūga in suspense; the girl almost keeled over in relief. "I don't know any more than that," Temari quickly added. "He was still unconscious and in surgery when I left."
Even that wasn't enough to take the new wind out of Hyūga's sails. The smile that dawned across her face was small and trembling, but brilliant enough to nearly force Temari's hand up to shield her eyes. "Thank you," she said effusively. "Thank you. I… I wasn't sure what had happened, I just… Father got a message from the Hokage's office saying that the mission was a failure, a-and that Neji-nii-san was in critical condition, and… I wasn't sure about N-Naruto, and…"
At that, her smile wavered, and her eyes began to look suspiciously misty. Temari, who had no intention of letting yet another ally cry in front of her today, cut in. "They've got Hyūga, and all of the other shinobi on that mission, stable." Then she hesitated. "…The mission was a failure, though. I'm sorry to hear about the―about Uchiha."
Judging by the look on Hyūga's face, whether Uchiha returned or not wasn't of much consequence to her. Nevertheless, she nodded solemnly and returned to wringing her hands, albeit less vehemently than before. "Naruto is going to be upset," she said quietly.
Temari grimaced. "You've got that right," she muttered back. Great. She hadn't even thought about that. Uchiha had been teammates with Gaara's Soulmate. Kid was gonna be crushed―and Gaara right along with him, most likely. Hopefully he would just be "upset" rather than angry. She could deal with upset.
As she catastrophized quietly in her head, Hyūga looked at her curiously, then glanced at the Suna symbol on her forehead protector. "…I-if you don't mind me asking," she said after a moment, and then trailed off.
Ah. With a wry smile, Temari pulled her passport out of her pouch and flipped it open. "I was one of the Suna nin sent to assist in Uchiha's retrieval," she said, gesturing to the credentials. Then, remembering her manners: "My name is Temari, by the way. Nice to meet you."
Hyūga's eyes widened. For a moment, she looked absolutely starstruck, as if Temari were some kind of celebrity whom she could hardly conceive being in her presence. Then it faded away to something warmer―gratitude, perhaps, or at least respect. "I thought you looked familiar," she whispered. "You're Gaara-san's older sister, aren't you?"
If Temari's eyebrows tried to raise any higher, they would vanish into her hair. "You know Gaara?" she asked incredulously.
Wilting a bit under her scrutiny, Hyūga looked down and spoke into the collar of her jacket. "Oh―no, not… not really. I, um… Naruto talks about him a lot. Since they… you know." She gestured to her forehead. Immediately afterwards, she flushed the brightest pink that Temari had ever seen in her life. "N-no disrespect to your brother, of course."
Temari valiantly restrained her eye from twitching. Of course the fishcake kid would also refuse to keep his damn Mark under wraps. She wondered vaguely what Konoha thought about having their jinchuuriki turn out to be soulmates with another village's jinchuuriki. The council back in Suna certainly wasn't pleased.
"You know Uzumaki, then?" she prodded in lieu of a complaint, and Hyūga perked back up a bit, though her cheeks remained dark.
"Yeah―I mean, yes, Naruto is a… friend of mine," she said. She blinked, then shook her head rapidly. "O-oh, I'm sorry―I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Hyūga Hinata. It's a pleasure to meet you." She bowed―then raised her head and bowed again, more deeply this time. "Thank you for coming to my comrades' aid. Naruto and Neji-nii-san are both very important to me, and… I… if they hadn't made it back, I… I don't…"
Hinata seemed at a loss for what to say next, and ultimately just bowed a third time, even more deeply. "Thank you."
A bit uncomfortable with such profuse gratitude, Temari took a step back, resting her hand on her hip. "Don't worry about it. We're your allies―and we were grateful for the opportunity to demonstrate our loyalty." See that, councilmen? She could be diplomatic. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. "Besides, I wasn't the one who was responsible for them coming back in one piece. Thank the medics, and thank whoever taught those two to fight."
Remaining bent at the waist, Hinata craned her head back to offer Temari a shaky smile. "That's… very humble of you," she said. Then she seemed to realize the awkwardness of her position and hastily shot back upright, cheeks red. "Thank you, anyways. For telling me about Neji-nii-san, I mean."
"No skin off my back," Temari responded half-honestly. "There will probably be more news soon, if you want to go wait by his room."
It was as if a switch had been flipped. All of the energy―the relief; the earnest thankfulness―left Hinata in an instant. Her face fell, and she physically drew back, practically folding in on herself like the petals of a shrivelling flower. "Oh," she said. "I.. I don't… I mean, I already… um, I know that Neji is safe and alright, so maybe I should… uh, get out of your hair…"
No, no, no. Absolutely not. Temari had approached this girl to reassure her, not enable her. "It's not my hair you have to worry about―I was just leaving," she said with false levity. "Wouldn't you prefer to get a bit more detailed information first, anyway? The medinin will probably want to talk to you once they have a long-term prognosis."
Hinata's shoulders sunk, and her hands folded together tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. "I… suppose so…" she conceded, looking pained. "But… perhaps I should… um, I mean, I probably shouldn't…"
With a frown, Temari crossed her arms. "He's your brother, isn't he?" she demanded, dropping the gentle tone.
"…Cousin," Hinata whispered, wilting even further.
"Cousin," Temari amended. "Still. He's family. You're clearly close. You're worried about him. He could probably use the support right now. What's the problem?" It was obvious, of course, what the problem was, but she was trying to make a point.
That point didn't seem to be lost on Hinata; she winced and ducked her head, halfway hiding her eyes behind her fringe and fixing them firmly on her feet. After a moment, she glanced back up, and Temari met her gaze unsympathetically; she quickly averted her eerie eyes once more.
The silence lingered almost long enough for Temari to speak up again. Then Hinata slumped forward, shot her a defeated look, and glanced away.
"I… just," she said haltingly. "I don't know. If I would be. Welcome. There."
She wasn't shaking or wringing her hands. Her posture was neither aggressive nor particularly defensive. Even her face, which was still something of an open book, didn't show much of anything besides a deep, miserable weariness.
The emotion in her voice was not fear, Temari realized, but guilt.
Perhaps this situation was a bit more complicated than she'd anticipated.
"Hina―Hyūga," Temari swiftly corrected, remembering her lessons on how to address someone with a clan name at the last second. God, Konoha's clan system was confusing. "If he doesn't want you at his bedside, then he'll tell you so when he wakes. Minimal harm done. But if he wakes up wishing you were there, and you aren't, it'll be worse for the both of you."
That actually prompted a laugh of sorts from Hinata, though it was perhaps closer to a sigh. "Neji wouldn't―"
"How do you know?" Temari interrupted. When Hinata blinked up at her, she tried to look as uncompromising as Baki did when he dragged her to another council meeting. "Seems like his fight with Uzumaki did a number on his ego, among other things. Have you sat down and talked with him since then? Or even before then? Did you ask him whether he wants you to visit him in the hospital or not?"
Hinata just stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck. The answer was clear on her face; to be fair, it had been a rhetorical question anyway.
"I won't pretend to be the arbiter of your family drama, or whatever," Temari continued when no response was forthcoming. "But, if you feel bad about something, just say that to him. Apologize. And give him a chance to apologize for that stunt he pulled in the exams. 'Cause, right now, it seems like you're just avoiding the problem and hoping it'll resolve itself. Trust me―it won't."
She didn't admit that she was speaking from experience. Personal conversations and spontaneous motivational speeches were one thing, but Temari had no desire to touch her feelings about how she'd treated Gaara in their youth with a ten-foot pole. Not in front of a near-stranger.
Nevertheless, her sincerity must have shone through, because Hinata didn't close off again. She averted her eyes back down to the ground and fidgeted with her fingers, clearly at a loss for words. But Temari could see her turning the words over in her head. After a moment, she glanced towards the end of the hall once again, and, this time, she looked less as if she was expecting a monster to come crawling through those doors.
"I… don't know," she said eventually, but she sounded a bit less uncertain than before. "Can I… can I really impose myself on him like that? After everything… can I even face him?"
Good. She just needed one more little push. A gentle nudge in the right direction was all it would take now; a simple reassurance. The rest, she could take care of herself.
But Temari had never been particularly gentle.
"Look, I said that I don't really know the whole situation, and I don't claim to," Temari felt the need to repeat. "But, word of advice? One sister to another?"
Acting on some age-old impulse that she hadn't felt since childhood, Temari reached out and dropped a companionable hand onto Hinata's shoulder.
Hinata's eyes flew open, her head snapped up, and a shudder ran through her with enough force to nearly dislodge Temari's hand entirely. Even after she stopped shaking like a leaf in the wind, her body swayed dangerously for a moment.
Temari tightened her grip to steady the poor thing. "If you want him to do something, you have to put the ball in his court first," she said, gentling her tone enough to sound firm but not aggressive. "Not saying it's all on you. He has to do some work, too. But if you still love him, and you want to fix things… you're gonna have to give him the chance. Even if that means opening yourself up to getting hurt." Again, she didn't add.
For a long, agonizingly awkward moment, no further words were exchanged. Hinata simply stared at her, eyes wide and jaw slack. She looked at Temari as if she'd just explained the entire purpose of human existence―with awe, wonder, and no shortage of surprise.
It was the kind of look that might have made a lesser kunoichi blush.
Wisdom now imparted, Temari cleared her throat and let go of Hinata's shoulder. "Whether you visit him or not is your preroga―"
Hinata's hand snapped up with the speed of a diving hawk and latched around Temari's wrist.
This time, it was Temari's turn to jolt as if she were struck by lightning. A sharp zap of something shot up from her wrist to her heart, forking out across her entire body in an instant before vanishing. In its wake, a relentless heat surged through her, smoothing over the static and turning it into a flickering but steady warmth; less like a candle in a sandstorm, and more like a burning hearth.
She instinctively pulled back, and, for all that her grip was like a vise, Hinata wasn't strong enough to actually hold her in place. Instead, she stumbled along as Temari inadvertently pulled her off balance, barely catching her footing before she could topple into Temari entirely.
If the space between them had been meager before, it was now so minuscule as to become negligible. Stunned, Temari stared down at Hinata, now equally as wide-eyed. Her wrist was still caught within Hinata's grip.
But the completely indescribable feeling blooming from beneath her hand wasn't body heat, and it wasn't some obscure jutsu.
This was her Soulmate.
Temari sucked in a sharp breath through her mouth. Her heart was pounding uncontrollably. This was her Soulmate. The feeling on her wrist was her Soulmark. She'd always wondered how Gaara had known immediately, given that he couldn't have possibly seen his own forehead. Now she understood. Seeing the Mark was irrelevant. She knew.
Anyway, it didn't matter that she couldn't see her Mark begin to grow beneath Hinata's hand―because, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of Hinata's Mark spreading across her collar, barely peeking out from her jacket.
It was dark. Black? Dark blue? She couldn't tear her eyes away from Hinata's face long enough to get a good look.
This was her Soulmate.
"Temari-san," Hinata said, her voice trembling minutely. Her face, ever the open book, was slack with shock and awe. Slowly, her hold loosened, and her eyes tore away from Temari's face to instead focus on her wrist.
Temari glanced over as well―colors were beginning to spread out from beneath Hinata's hand; blue and purple―and then, with a sudden cold splash of reality, she yanked her hand free and frantically shoved it behind her back.
They both snapped out of their reverie, and both sprung back as if they'd been burned. Hinata grabbed a fistful of the front of her jacket and yanked it up until it was pressed against her neck, fully covering any signs of her Mark; Temari ended up with her hand and arm stuffed beneath the sash at her waist.
For a moment, both stared at one another. Only a lifetime of training kept Temari's chest from heaving as her body struggled to breathe for seemingly no reason. Slowly, Hinata's face turned from pink to a bright, splotchy red.
"I―um―I―" she stammered. "My―uh―I―cousin―"
She pointed in a seemingly random direction, stared at Temari for another second, then vanished down the hall so quickly that a lesser shinobi might not have been able to see her move at all.
Temari stood there for longer than she was willing to admit, shell-shocked, gazing blankly into the space Hinata had occupied a moment ago. Though she couldn't describe the sensation for the life of her, she could feel her Mark continue to develop, and she could feel… something else that she had absolutely no idea what to do with.
It was a tingle of secondhand emotions, she realized belatedly, bleeding through her Mark. At once, she understood Gaara's mood shifts. Right now, her Soulmate's shock and confusion was running through her, barely distinguishable from her own shock and confusion. As if the two were inextricably linked.
As a young girl, Temari had been furious when older people with Soulmates refused to explain their bond to her. 'It can't be described,' they would always say. 'You'll understand when you get your Mark.' She'd always thought it was just a cop-out; a stupid excuse that people used to avoid having to actually answer her questions.
Now that she had her Mark, she understood. It really couldn't be described.
It took her a moment to even sort out which feelings were hers and which were Hinata's. Once she had separated the feedback from her Mark from the rest of her feelings, though, it was easy to spot the difference. Temari was still stunned into silence; Hinata, on the other hand, seemed to have moved on to glee. 'I have a Soulmate,' the Mark seemed to sing. 'I have a Soulmate, I have a Soulmate, I have a―'
Temari knew for certain that these feelings weren't coming from her, because she'd never really anticipated meeting her Soulmate to begin with.
Eventually, the delirious glee faded somewhat, and anxiety began to bubble up in its wake. Then, all at once, every other emotion was overtaken by a fierce, steely determination.
When Hinata rounded the corner, Temari wasn't caught off-guard; she was a shinobi, and she heard her Soulmate's approaching steps long in advance. But that didn't mean she was capable of responding in any constructive way. She just stared like a statue as Hinata gasped for breath, blubbered something incoherent, thrust a piece of paper in her general direction, and then immediately sprinted back down the hallway.
Once again, Temari just stood there for a moment like a moron. Then, as slowly as one might defuse a complicated bomb, she bent over and picked the paper off of the tile floor.
It was an address, written in clear, neat handwriting, followed by hastily-scrawled instructions for how to send letters directly to a specific member of the clan, rather than the Hyūga family council. Then, crammed into the bottom corner of the page, was an almost illegible note.
'Training Field 9, tomorrow 5 AM,' it read; then a tiny, cramped little line that Temari thought might say 'if you want to'.
She read the note three times. Turned it over to examine the blank backside. Read it again.
Then, slowly, she pulled her hand out from behind her back.
The Mark was a vivid indigo, and it was among the most detailed Temari had ever seen. Two wings, like those of a bird, sprouted from the back of her wrist. One of the wings wound down to curl almost protectively around her inner arm; the other tilted up and wrapped around her hand, its feathers splayed across her open palm. In some places, the color was closer to blue or to purple; in others, it became more translucent, showing faint detailing in the feathers.
The Mark was rendered lovingly in varying opacities of indigo, each feather tracing a slightly warped path over the calluses and scars scattered about her arm. Only the vulnerable place on her inner wrist, where her veins were visible, was left bare.
She examined the Mark for… a while. Twisting her arm this way and that to see it ripple as her muscles flexed; holding it close so that she could make out the minute details in the feathers; tracing the lines of the wings to try to pinpoint what kind of bird they might be from (some kind of songbird, it looked like).
It seemed to pulse softly under her scrutiny. Now that the initial rush had worn off, she couldn't actually feel Hinata's emotions directly anymore; instead, the Mark simply felt... cool. Sobering. Like a splash of cold water on a sweltering hot day. When she pressed her thumb against the back of her wrist, her pulse slowed noticeably. She felt calm. Watchful.
She thought, distantly, that her Soulmate was probably examining her own Mark as well.
The Mark that Temari had left on her.
When she saw Hinata at Training Field 9 tomorrow, perhaps her Soulmate would let her see. Temari thought this with the detached wonder of someone who had never even considered skipping out on the proposed meeting.
Then she folded Hinata's note in half, tucked it into her pocket for safekeeping, stuffed her Marked hand back into her sash, and walked out of the hospital in a daze.
The hallway outside of Neji's room was deserted. Hinata sat there alone for a long time, clutching the front of her jacket with one hand and covering her exposed collar with the other.
She could see him through the window, laid out on the hospital bed surrounded by medical equipment. The medinin had explained his condition in great detail when Hinata arrived, but, much to her shame, she hadn't absorbed any of it beyond "stable" and "expected to recover over the course of a month or so".
Luckily, the medinin didn't mention the fact that Hinata had spent the entire conversation blushing crimson and very obviously hiding her new Mark.
Now that the medic in question had moved on, Hinata was alone in the hallway outside of Neji's room, her mind still racing. For once, she wasn't even lurking outside because she was too nervous to enter; she just couldn't seem to summon the strength to leave the chair she'd slumped into.
She couldn't believe that she had met her Soulmate today. She awoke this morning to the news that her cousin was half-dead and Naruto had stumbled back to Konoha beaten and heartbroken. Hinata had resigned herself to a miserable month of watching Neji's recovery from a safe distance and failing to work up the courage to console Naruto over his teammate's departure. Yet Temari-san had broken her streak of bad luck almost as soon as it had begun.
She couldn't believe that her Soulmate was someone so… so mature and courageous and powerful. They all remembered Tenten's defeat at the hands of the Kazekage's eldest; Shikamaru's slow and narrow victory which he immediately threw away. Could someone like that really be meant for her, of all people? The heiress so pathetic that her own younger sister pitied her weakness, while the rest of her family members despised her?
She couldn't believe that her Mark was visible past her shirt―
Her Mark had probably finished forming by now.
The knowledge hit her out of nowhere. She hadn't gotten a chance to see the Mark she'd left on Temari-san―at least, not fully formed. All she'd seen was a smudge of blue and purple before her Soulmate pulled away. But she hadn't actually seen her own Mark at all; she'd just felt it begin to spread past the collar of her shirt and instinctively tugged her jacket up to cover it.
What kind of Mark had Temari gifted her with?
Unable to help herself, Hinata flung herself out of her chair and darted down the hall. She didn't stop running until she found a bathroom, at which point she quickly slipped in and locked the door behind her.
The bathroom wasn't particularly clean, and it smelled unpleasant, to say the least. One small mirror was positioned over the sink, though it was filthy as well, covered in handprints and little hardened flecks of soap. Yet Hinata's usual aversion to anything dirty or unsanitary seemed to have fled her in the light of the situation, and she leaned against the rusty washbasin without fear.
Even though she was alone, she had to practically pry her own hand away from her chest. Every instinct was screaming at her to keep it covered, but―
She had to see.
Hinata yanked her hand away and used it to tug down the collar of her jacket instead. Her reflection in the smudged mirror flushed.
She couldn't see much of her Mark with her clothes still on. All she could see, in fact, was some kind of sharp, curved shape that stretched down her neck, then vanished beneath her shirt. Biting her lip, Hinata shed her jacket, then peeled off the shirt beneath it. The lightweight mesh armor clanked as she dropped it unceremoniously to the disgusting cracked tiles at her feet.
She sucked in a breath.
Her Mark was one solid color throughout: a crimson so dark that it could easily be mistaken for black in the wrong lighting. It began at her right shoulder, where Temari-san's hand had rested, with the silhouette of a small ball attached to a chain.
The chain wound around her arm once, then trailed over her shoulder and attached to the handle of an enormous sickle; large enough to reflect the size of an actual weapon. The handle cut a sharp diagonal across Hinata's chest, the lines stark and perfectly straight except for where it clung to the curvature of her muscles and bones.
On the left side of her chest, above her heart, the handle stopped and the blade began. It curved up across her body, past her collarbone, slightly distorted by the slope of her shoulders, until it reached the column of her neck. There, just slightly misaligned from the hollow of her throat, rippling with the reflexive tensing of the muscles there, rested the very tip.
The sickle was immediately striking; almost wicked-looking, with the way it seemed to point at her throat. Unless she completely overhauled her wardrobe to replace all of her shirts with high-necked sweaters, at least some of her Mark would always be showing.
Father would be furious, she thought dully.
For once, though, that felt like more of an afterthought than anything.
Yes; Father would be furious. The elders would have something to say about it too, no doubt. Kiba and Shino would want to know the whole story, and Kiba, who had pronounced himself her "honorary brother" within a week of their team's formation, would probably try to intimidate Temari-san like a true older sibling. Shino would act like he was above such things, but he would tag along and stare silently at her from over Kiba's shoulder.
Would her siblings want to harass Hinata in the same way? The puppeteer who'd nearly killed Shino and the terrifying boy who'd nearly destroyed the village?
Even that thought wasn't enough to crush Hinata's mood. Maybe it was just Temari's influence bleeding through the Mark.
Her Soulmate's influence bleeding through her Soulmark.
Slowly, Hinata bent down and retrieved her crumpled shirt. She slid it over her arms, then paused for a moment, not wanting to look away from her reflection for long enough to pull the shirt over her head. Eventually, she bit her lip and yanked it roughly down, then slipped her jacket back on as well without tearing her eyes away from the mirror.
Even when she zipped up her jacket as high as it would go, a good portion of the scythe's blade was visible. It was highly noticeable and… if she dared to think so, almost intimidating. Never in a million years had she expected to get an intimidating Mark.
Maybe she should have found it unfitting, or disappointing. But, as Hinata trailed her fingers feather-soft across the visible part of her Mark, all she could feel was awe.
Temari-san was her Soulmate.
Temari-san was her Soulmate.
Logically, she knew that she should leave the hospital immediately in light of this development. She should go home, report this to her father, and scrounge up some clothes that would cover her new Mark. Even if that meant abandoning Neji-nii-san in the hospital. Even if that meant losing the content, confident feeling that prickled at the back of her neck when she looked at the sharp sickle's blade that stretched along her throat.
A warm, solid feeling emanated from the Mark, like a hot water bottle placed on the back of her aching neck. Like a comforting hand placed heavily upon her shoulder.
Hinata didn't want to cover it.
Perhaps through some mixture of residual giddiness and her newly-formed Soulbond, Hinata found herself mentally ending the conversation there. What else was there to say? She didn't want to cover the Mark, and Father wasn't here to force her. Taking a steadying breath, she lifted her head proudly, mimicking the posture she'd so often admired in Kiba and Kurenai-sensei. Then she flushed and tucked her chin again, feeling a little silly. Just because she wasn't going to cover the Mark up didn't mean she should just… display it so brazenly.
Maybe one day, when the boldness seeping through her Mark wasn't quite so novel.
With one more deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the hall. The medics she passed nodded to her respectfully, and she nodded back, stifling the urge to cover her Mark again. Now that she'd seen it for herself, the urge was oddly much easier to suppress.
She hesitated one more time when she reached the door to Neji's room. Behind it, she could vaguely hear the familiar steady beeping of a heart monitor and the rhythmic rasping of her cousin breathing with much assistance. Though much of the medinin's explanation had flown over her head, Hinata didn't need anyone to tell her that he was in very rough shape.
Perhaps… perhaps she should just turn around and―
Hinata's hand flew up and touched her Mark. Not shielding it from prying eyes; just pressing her fingers against it as if it would give her strength. It tingled beneath her touch.
She pushed the door open.