(Author's Notes: Remember, if you're reading, please review! Warnings and disclaimers apply to all chapters.)

And the Beat Goes On
Chapter 32: High and Low

Naruto seemed restless, Iruka noticed, from the doorway where he stood. It wasn't unusual, as Naruto could never sit still, but it was out of place. The blond kept glancing at his watch, at the dark sky beyond the window, and then, back to Sasuke's face, but his eyes never lingered there long.

Sasuke was usually the only thing that could hold Naruto captive, both physically and mentally, but somehow, tonight, he just couldn't overcome Naruto's jumpy nature. Perhaps it was because he was unconscious, or perhaps it was because Naruto was worried about the state of Sasuke's health, but tonight, Sasuke failed to captivate Naruto.

That worried Iruka. What was on the blond's mind that could have him so stimulated, even with his favourite depressant planted right in front of him? What thoughts were weighing so heavily on Naruto's mind that he simply couldn't stop thinking about them? Was he thinking about many, many things at once, or just one thing that made him jumpy?

Iruka glanced at his own watch, noting the time, and how he should probably tear Naruto away from Sasuke's bedside, by force, though he doubted it would come to that, and relieve Kakashi of his babysitting duties. For the time being, however, he let his thoughts wander, as he looked at Naruto, who was now gazing intently at Sasuke's face, but with eyes unfocussed.

Iruka wondered, vaguely, why he had never bothered when he was younger to have serious relationships of his own. He ruled out the idea that the relationships in his life were too wild and unstable at that point, because Naruto's own social life was even more chaotic and depressing than his own at thirty-five. Naruto had never gone anywhere, except to school, and home, with Iruka, before he became something to Sasuke. Iruka knew, not from Naruto telling him, but from his own intuition, that this was not by choice, but by someone else's ruling.

Iruka was simply too straightlaced. At first, he had been well-liked, and invited to parties, and other social events that kids liked to hold, but he always turned them down, because he saw how Anko had turned out, and she was the wild child. She was the one who went to all these parties, and did all these things, not Iruka. Iruka stayed home and studied, so he could live a decent life. Now, he wished he had partied while he could.

He had never even considered going out with someone while he was young. He'd never considered having a relationship with someone besides his parents, or his stepparents, or his stepsister. He had been all too focussed on studying, on getting good grades, on getting into university and studying more, and then, finishing and getting a job, and buying a house, a car, and paying back his loans. There had been no time for people in his plans.

He remembered then, that after all that was settled and finished, he had time for people. But suddenly, people had no time for him. They were consumed by their jobs, consumed by other people already and Iruka found himself dreadfully alone and alienated.

He had taught at an elementary school, and his pupils were really the only people he saw, and then, maybe some other staff members, if he was lucky. He went home to an empty house, and he stayed there, in the night, wondering how and why he was alone like that.

He worked in a more 'conservative' part of Konoha for his first few years after university, and he lived in that part of town too. He was friendly enough, nice enough but the people in that part of town thought he was 'different', because he wasn't married, and he didn't have even a steady girlfriend. There were a couple of complaints about him to the school, and then, a few more, and then, one day, he supposed he looked at one of the boys in his class the wrong way and the child went home, and the next morning, his mother had been standing in the classroom, proclaiming she would not have her son taught by an openly gay man. He tried to convince her that he wasn't that way, and he tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding, but she would have none of it, and the boy was transferred into the other class. Quickly, others followed and the school asked him to resign. He did without question, and began scouring Konoha for another job.

He came across the position he held now during the summertime, with his luck and all being what it was, and he took the job, took out a loan, sold his house in the other part of Konoha, and bought a new one, closer to the high school, in the older part of town. He had nothing to do for July, however, so he volunteered at the orphanage in the downtown core, not really worrying about money so much.

He had met Naruto there, and he loved the boundless energy the blond exuded. Naruto's attention span was short, so he was forever flitting from one activity to the next, but ever was a smile on his face.

He learned a lot about the children there. A lot of them had been living with their grandparents, who had died, or had lost relatives in car crashes and house fires, and some of them had even been taken from abusive homes by child services. The strangest case, however, was the case of Naruto, who's mother had brought him to the orphanage and just left him. Iruka knew from his studies of history, that leaving unwanted children had been a common thing in the past, but it wasn't so much anymore. Naruto had been abandoned by the human race, and suddenly, it dawned on Iruka that he never had really had Naruto's trust. Nobody did, and that was the way it was. It was in that instance that Iruka knew he wanted to take Naruto home.

He knew a little about Naruto's life before the blond had gone to the orphanage, from other orphanage workers. The blond boy's mother had been married once before she married Naruto's father, and she had three children from the previous marriage. Her first husband had been killed in a car crash, and then, she married her second husband, Nauto's father. Naruto's father had died, of something though Iruka didn't know what, and the mother had dropped Naruto off, taken her other three children and moved to Suna. Naruto could tell him almost all of that perfectly, if he wanted to, but somehow, he always forgot the three older siblings who'd lived with him before. He remembered his mother leaving, and his father dying, and before that, happiness.

Iruka sighed and looked at his watch again. It was getting rather late. He should go home. He wondered if Kakashi had put Konohamaru to bed. It was a school night, after all.

He looked at Naruto, who was looking at him, and had been doing so for a long while. Iruka nearly jumped. The blond looked forlornly at Sasuke, then said, "I'm ready to go."

He stood up, not bothering to give the unconscious boy any token of his being, and walked out of the room, right by Iruka, and waited a bit down the hall for him to come along and take him home. Iruka glanced at Sasuke, then turned about and meandered down the hall, letting Naruto walk in front of him all the way.

Naruto himself was still torn between his two options. Should he go or should he stay? If Sasuke died, then there really was nothing left in Konoha for him. But Sasuke wasn't dead yet, and by the time he did die, he'd have missed his chance. He wanted to go, to be free of Konoha, and he wanted to go with Gaara, to have some semblance of a brother.

But if he went, there was the chance that Sasuke would live, and wonder, what had happened and where Naruto had gone, without a word in the night. Sasuke might also die, and he'd never get to pay his proper respects to the boy.

Why couldn't Gaara just wait for him? Why couldn't they go when it was convenient for him? If he stayed now, he lost Gaara, and if he went now, he lost Sasuke. Gaara should have just waited for him, and then, he could see what was best for him. But it was convenient for Gaara now, and it might not be later. Gaara had made his choice, and now, Naruto had to choose.

The problem was he didn't want to choose. He wanted it all, at once. He wanted to go with Gaara, and have a brother, and live, away from Konoha, away from everyone and everything he'd ever known. He wanted to stay, and he wanted to be with friends, and his family, and with Sasuke. He wasn't sure which he wanted more. It was very difficult to decide. He was drawn both to the adventure of going with Gaara, and the stability of staying with Sasuke. It bothered him, this dual nature of his that seemed to spring up just in time to cause problems for him.

Iruka was concerned about him. He could tell. The way the man was walking slightly behind him, watching him, and the worry painted in his eyes told Naruto just how concerned he was. It wasn't Iruka's choice, however. Naruto had to make this decision by himself. He wanted to ask Iruka's advice, but he knew just what it would be. For Iruka, there was no competition between the options Naruto'd been given. Naruto would stay home, if not by choice, by force. The brunet was terribly over-protective in that way, and it bothered Naruto. Shouldn't he be gaining more and more freedom over his choices, not less and less because his options concerned more important subjects?
There was no asking anyone for advice, even if he wanted it, and there was no choosing between going and staying, even if he wanted to. So, he kept his mouth shut and tried to weigh out the advantages and disadvantages of each situation; tried to make the scale unbalanced, but it would not tip either way. Every time he thought of an advantage for going, he found an advantage to staying.

He glanced at his watch again, noting the time, and now, he felt his heart pounding in his chest, and felt his mouth go dry with fear. He didn't have much time left. By the time Iruka got him back home, he would only have ten more minutes more to take Gaara up on his offer and go. Then, the chance to leave Konoha might be lost forever. He might not ever see Gaara again. He thought harder, faster, but all that did was muddle up his head and his feelings more.

He felt sick. He didn't want to make this choice.

They were in the car now. Iruka was asking him something, but he was far away, and a factor not to be considered anymore. He was something trying to detract Naruto from his decision. He looked at that distraction, desperate to be distracted, and said, "Huh?"

Iruka frowned and pressed his palm against Naruto's forehead as they stopped at a red light. Naruto blinked. He hadn't even known they were moving. "I asked you if you were all right. You're kind of pale."

Naruto shrugged his shoulders and looked at the light. Iruka bit his lip and looked away. The seconds ticked away and the light did not turn green, and Naruto wanted it to. His opportunity was slipping away, like grains of sand through the hourglass. He gnawed on his bottom lip until the light changed green and Iruka pulled through the intersection, smacking Naruto for chewing his lip like that.

They pulled into the driveway and Naruto was right - there were only ten minutes left in the window of time Gaara had given him. The hourglass was almost done sifting the sand. He shut his eyes and stuck his hand into one of his coat pockets. His fingers closed around something cold and metal, so he pulled it out, noting that it was a coin. He stared at it for a moment or two, and then, the door to the house slammed shut and Iruka was gone.

He stood there, looking at the coin, his breath rising into the cold air. With a look of determination, he nodded to himself and closed his eyes. He flipped the coin, grabbing it out of the air and slapping it down on the back of his hand. "Heads, I go, tails, I stay," he mumbled, and then, he was nervous to look.

Taking a deep breath, he peeled his hand away and stared at the coin, balanced precariously on his hand. It was heads. He looked at his watch, and then, he stuffed the coin in his pocket and started to run.

It was heads, it was heads. He was going, he was going with Gaara, no matter how far he had to run, because the coin had told his fate. He'd never believed in stupid things like that before, but now, it was the easy way out. No more thinking. Just go with the side of the coin that came up and go, run and flow with it. But as he ran, some part of him was hoping he'd slip and fall, that he'd tire out and that he wouldn't make it. Part of him didn't want to go.

Maybe the coin couldn't decide for him after all.

His feet didn't falter, though and he just kept going, toward the station, almost instinctively. Somehow, it would have come down to this anyway. Part of him, though, the part of him that wanted to trip up, and fall, told him that he should have been running in the other direction, to the hospital, to Sasuke.

That part of him tried to tell him to stop, to turn around and run the other way, but the other half of him kept him moving, kept his feet going. He didn't bother checking his watch. It would only slow him down, and he was already running out of time.

He skidded into the station, not bothering with a ticket, because he still wasn't decided. He ran out onto the platform, only to see Gaara standing there, waiting for him, his arms crossed and a frown crossing his face. "So you came," the redhead said, and then, noticed the lack of luggage Naruto had on him.

"You're not going?"

He eyed Naruto cynically, and feeling nervous and bare under that gaze, Naruto put up his walls and shrugged. The entire world felt as if it were going around, and a spinning world was all too much for Naruto right then. "There's something I want to know," he panted, although it was a lie.

Gaara glanced at the train, then looked back at Naruto, looking dubious. "Ask away," he said, his voice dull and monotone, despite the underlying threat in his words.

"What happened to your father?"

He'd thought he'd remembered, sometime while he was sitting there in the hospital, beside Sasuke. He thought he remembered being at home, a small child, with three other children in the house, two blonds and a redhead. He thought he remembered that, and now, he thought he remembered that those were his siblings, his half-sister and his two half-brothers.

Gaara frowned, just a bit and his eyes, if anything, became icier and more distant. Naruto got the distinct feeling he'd hit a nerve. The redhead shifted, narrowing his eyes, deliberating his answer to that question. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to tell Naruto what he knew had gone on between their mother and their fathers.

"My father died in a car crash," Gaara said finally, looking Naruto straight in the eye.
Naruto nodded slowly, but Gaara continued.

"Mother married your father just two weeks after that happened. I was a month old at that point."

Naruto stared. Gaara bit his lip thoughtfully, then said, "Temari has always thought that Father's death was a set-up, to get him out of the way. You were probably conceived the week before your father married Mother."

Naruto gaped, like a fish out of water. It was the only thing he could do. He would have never thought. . .

Gaara's voice forced him to stop thinking, forced him to listen to his half-brother. "Your father died of AIDS, Naruto. He was gay -" Gaara was snarling now, his face contorted in an angry sneer - "They went through all of that, and he was fucking gay. That's why Mother left you like she did. You were a reminder of all the danger she put herself in to have my father killed, and then, a reminder of how it all fell through, of how it was all worth nothing in the end."

Gaara turned about abruptly and walked away. "I have to go," he said, nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened, as if they'd had a nice friendly chat about the weather.

"Wait!" Naruto hollered, and grabbed a hold of the redhead's hand, only to be shrugged off.

"I'm leaving. It doesn't matter why I did it," Gaara snarled, and then, he was on the train, and then, the train was pulling of the station and leaving Naruto behind.

Gaara was gone, leaving behind him a legacy of confusion.

Naruto trudged home, somehow weighted by the new knowledge. It was clear to him now that Temari, Kaknkuro and Gaara all had hated his father, for what he had caused, for what he had done to their mother. They hated Naruto too, the blond thought and mused, because he was a symbol of all that, because he bore such resemblance to his father.

But, they also seemed to hate gays, maybe for that same reason. But why had Gaara kissed him, when he'd been there, when their mother had been dying? Why had Gaara invited him to come along, when he was two things Gaara hated? Maybe. . .

He didn't know. The snow on the ground was ugly, and dirty, and so was everything in Konoha right then. This was the way it had started. Everyone hated him, though he didn't know why, and he could never figure out why they hated him so. It was back to that now, with even the walls of the very houses seemingly repulsed by his presence. The hatred was back, pressing in on him like it had when he was smaller, and it was all because of those few words Gaara had said to him.

It had never really stopped, he knew, but when he'd been with Sasuke, he hadn't cared so much, because not all the world hated him. Now, however, Sasuke was gone and the world hated him again; he could feel the hatred again, as close as if it were his own blood relative.

He didn't say anything to Iruka, or Kakashi or Konohamaru when he got home. In fact, he said nothing at all, and he curled up in bed to sleep, and slept even less. The hate consumed him, and took away all of his humanity.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Orochimaru was well enough, though still in the hospital. Itachi didn't need to worry about the imbecile anymore, and he was grateful that he didn't have to, for when he worried, it was with every sinew in his body and he remained a wound spring of worry for days, even after the danger had passed.

Orochimaru wasn't sick, so he hadn't stayed long there, but it was still long after dinner time when he came home. Gran had taken her medication and was sleeping on the sofa, and Kurenai was absorbed in some sort of television program. He slid in so quietly, they never noticed that he was home.

He took off his shoes, and he went upstairs. He had felt guilty doing this while he should have still been worried, but now that Orochimaru's condition was assured, he felt fine doing it. He felt fine relaxing, he felt fine having a bit of fun. He practically threw the small brown paper bag on the bed and shut the door behind him, locking it.

Over the past few days, he'd come to the conclusion he rather didn't like Kabuto. He knew rather well that the silver-haired boy had been Orochimaru's path of revenge against his own adulterous actions. He'd read it in Kabuto's face. He also knew the older boy was jealous of him, probably for having Orochimaru as his own.

Kabuto also annoyed him, simply because he himself knew that Kabuto knew the potency of the drug that he'd given Itachi, and he'd had the gall to comment on how much the younger male was taking. Kabuto had mixed it, made it for people to become addicted to, and he had commented on Itachi's growing addiction.

Perhaps he was wary of what Orochimaru would do if Itachi ever managed to overdose?

Itachi really didn't care what Kabuto thought. He was making a pretty penny selling the damn stuff to him, so why should he complain? It wasn't in his best interests if Itachi stopped, and it certainly didn't seem to be in Itachi's best interests to stop either. At the moment, he could feel the tension running from his neck to his lower back, like a cable waiting to be snapped.

He still didn't know what it was that Kabuto was giving him. Kabuto wouldn't tell him, probably for fear that he'd find another, cheaper dealer, or try to mix his own if it was indeed just herbs. Or maybe he'd just stop altogether if he found out what it was. Maybe it was that dangerous. Maybe it was something he'd learned about, once, in those classes they'd had in elementary school that had taught them how drugs were bad and evil.

He moved to sit on the bed, listening as the springs squeaked under him, and then, he listened to the crinkling of the brown paper bag as he unrolled it and took out his supplies. Kabuto has started liquefying the stuff for him, so that he could inject it. It was far more intoxicating, and it took less to get high with. It was almost more instant than taking it orally, because in a second, in the blink of an eye, it was in his veins, in his system. His body had to absorb it first the other way.

He rolled up his sleeve, looking at the track marks on his left forearm. He'd been careful so far, and none of them were infected. He sterilized all the needles Kabuto gave him before he used them, and then, he only used them on himself. Still, he didn't think that would be enough to prevent him from getting something, if Kabuto ever gave him an unsterile needle.

He didn't care though. At least, he didn't care right at that point in time. His body was craving the drug, so that he could almost taste the high. His eyes felt terse and dry, and his entire being was tense, coiled, and ready to spring.

He hated putting the needle into his arm. He'd always hated that. It made him feel sick, the way the cold metal bit into his flesh, into his very veins. He always imagined that he could feel the veins collapsing, but even that wasn't enough to stop him.

He closed his eyes, letting the needle hover over the vein he'd picked as his victim and he pushed it in, gritting his teeth as it went in, and then, letting his jaw drop and his mouth fall open in a silent 'thank you', to the needle or to some god, he was never quite sure, as the needle left his flesh.

He let the needle drop from his nerveless grip and he flopped backwards onto the bed, the high starting already, and his mind drifting away from him. The cable of tension had snapped, and he was calm now, complete and rested.

He spent what was left of the evening, and well into the night, in limbo between consciousness and sleep, and he was suspended in time. The world around him had stopped, and it was all alright. Until about midnight, of course.

He started coming down a bit before that, and then, he wasn't tired, and he was cranky. He didn't want to be back in the real world. He wanted to go back to his high, and he wanted to go back to sleep and rest, just rest forever.

He tried for about twenty minutes to go to sleep, tossing and turning, until he couldn't bear it anymore, and then, he sat up and found the needle, which had rolled under his bed. He took another shot, forced himself back to his high, and he went to sleep.

He slept peacefully for a short while, and then, came the nightmare. It was the worst nightmare he'd ever had, not that he'd had one since he was very, very small, so small he could barely remember now.

He didn't remember much when he woke up, but he did remember that it had been red and horrific and he had been screaming, and screaming, but no one could hear him. He remembered drowning in blood, and then, it had been black, and then it had been too hot and he felt as if he was on fire.

The only reason he'd woken up was that he'd fallen out of bed. He was wrapped up in a wad of sheets so tight that he couldn't feel his feet, and it only loosed when he tried to wriggle his toes. His breathing was erratic and he was sweating. He felt sick and he wanted to curl up and die. He got up, and he crawled to the bathroom, across the hall, not daring to stand up. He groped about in the darkness, not venturing to turn the light on, and he threw up.

He managed to keep himself from falling into his pile of sick, and propped himself on his elbows, gasping and wheezing, and choking down bile. He felt terrible. He was shaking and sweating by turns now, and he wanted to crawl back to bed and curl up.

So, he did. It took him a tremendous amount of energy to haul himself back to bed, and he wrapped himself up tightly in his sheets and shuddered and shivered and tried valiantly to go back to sleep.

He coughed and he wheezed, and tried to calm his breathing down, but his body would not be calmed. He felt more sick, more terrible than he had ever felt in his entire life. He curled up in the fetal position and he swore he could hear the thumping of his heart in his ears.

The night wore on, and he did not sleep. He lay, tangled in the blankets, nursing a headache and a sore, tired body, when dawn broke over the world and he wanted nothing more than for the world to be plunged back into darkness. The sunlight, however weak right now, hurt his eyes for it signalled the coming of the day and the beginning of new things everywhere. He curled up more, and shut his eyes tightly, but somehow, that wasn't as dark as the night had been and it was making his headache worse.

Dawn wouldn't let go of the world however, and it grasped and clawed its way over the horizon, slowly, agonizingly and when at last the sun broke free of the horizon, it had such brilliance that Itachi had to drag himself from bed and shut the blinds, with his eyes closed. His head throbbed in response to the strong light.

He went and he lay down, with his back to the window, and he hid his face under the blankets, under the pillow, but still, it was not dark enough for him. The sun was taking over the realm of the night, and he felt much like a vampire, hissing and spitting and cursing the light.

He was roused by a knock on the door, and a curse from Gran, and he suddenly remembered that during his tormented night, he'd been sick on the bathroom floor. The knocking got louder and his head was bothered, so he hid and whined, but it was not to be stopped.
He answered his door and his aunt stared at him, startled and scared, though he did not know why. In retrospect, he knew he probably looked horrible, with his hair straggling across his too pale face, and dark rings around his eyes making him look like a raccoon. Kurenai studied him for a second or two, then said, "You're sick."

He felt it was the most obvious statement in the world. He looked sick, he felt sick, he was sick and she had gotten him up to tell him something he already knew. He wanted to hit her, he wanted to scream at her, but it was too much effort. She nodded lightly, as if she understood why he felt so rotten, and for a second, he was afraid she did, and he felt his heart trip unevenly in fear. She nodded and patted him on the shoulder, with vague instructions to go back to bed, because she'd take care of everything.

He did, because he didn't want to clean up, didn't feel like cleaning up, couldn't clean up without collapsing or being sick again. He went back to his uncomfortable bed and curled up. She didn't know. She had muttered something about being worried, and how he'd probably gotten the flu from being at the hospital for so long.

He felt a shudder of relief, but his heart didn't seem to slow down and he was a little bit scared. He spotted the needle on the ground and he stared at it, debating on whether or not to answer its siren call. It would relax him, make him feel better and it would slow his heart. It would make everything else go away and he would be okay again.

Then again, it was the needle's fault he was in this mess. It was the drug's absence that made him feel this way, and he was addicted, well and truly now. He needed the damn stuff to feel any good at all.

He wanted it, he needed it, but at the same time, he didn't want it. He just wanted everything to go away. He shut his eyes, because his eyelids were heavy. He felt sleep trying to creep up on him, but his erratic heartbeat would not let it come.

He dozed eventually, and then, he remembered Orochimaru, and school, and Sasuke and he woke up. He felt a bit better, but when he went to move, he was nauseous and dizzy. He curled up and slept some more, and then, when he woke up, he felt even better, but the headache plagued him and so did the nausea and the aches and pains. Nevertheless, he got up and noted the time, and he decided he should go and visit Orochimaru, and maybe Sasuke while he was there. He happened to glance down and he noticed his sleeves were still rolled up and the track marks, some of them faint and fading, and others bold and red, and one covered with blood, were revealed to the naked eye. He pulled the sleeve down quickly and wondered how Kurenai had not noticed this.

Maybe she had chosen not to notice that the heir to the entire Uchiha family was covered in track marks, obviously from some choice drug, and was therefore probably an addict and unfit to rule. Why she did not point that out was beyond him, and why she chose to ignore it was beyond him. Had she pointed it out, he would have been deemed unfit to be the next head clansman and she, more than likely, would have come to power.
Perhaps Kurenai wasn't as power-bent as the rest of the family he'd known was. Perhaps she was the only one, a real black sheep in the family who actually understood and harboured humanity in herself. It scared him, a bit, to think that she might be the only one in a family as big as his. Maybe he was wrong? But judging from himself, and Sasuke, and what he remembered of the others, he doubted that he was wrong. She was the only one who was humane.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The day had started out very bright and sunny, but by the time school let out, it was cloudy and threatening snow. Similarly, Sakura's day had gone about the same way.

She had woke up, with the idea of explaining to Ino what she had heard from Lee, never mind that Ino hadn't cared last night on the phone. However, her hopes were quickly dashed when she saw Ino and waved, and the blonde girl just turned her head and walked away, her nose stuck up in the air.

Lee had tried, rather sloppily, to make amends with her, to "clear up" her "confusion", although what she was confused about she wasn't sure. She had understood what he'd said all too well and now, she was going to do something about it. She was already sour from the way Ino had treated her, and so, she was sour to Lee.

The single worst thing she saw, however, was at the very end of the day, when she was walking out to the parking lot, intent on cutting across that way and going straight home. There would be no accidental meetings with people tonight. The human race held no delight for her any more.

She met Ino along the way, and she said nothing to her, confused. Ino did not live in the same direction as she did, and Ino did not drive. Why was Ino in a parking lot, going toward Sakura's house? It made no sense to Sakura, nor anyone else who saw it, until they saw the girl get out of the black car.

She was a blonde girl, older than both Sakura and Ino, and her eyes were a deep cobalt blue that shocked and made Sakura fidget nervously when they fell on her. The girl waved at Ino, and the other blonde girl hurried over to the car, and got in. The pigtailed driver got in the car and shut her door. The engine roared and they drove off, heading in the direction of the opposite side of town.

Sakura now had something to mull over. She plodded home, staring at the ground, frowning at it, and wondering who that girl had been. She was no relation to Ino, that was for sure, for Ino had no aunts and uncles, and subsequently, no cousins. Maybe she was a friend, but she wasn't a friend that Sakura had met, so she must have been a more recent friend. A friend made in the last two weeks or so, Sakura guessed.

The more she thought about this new 'friend', the more she disliked her. The more she disliked her, the more she thought that maybe this friend wasn't simply a friend. Maybe this new friend was a friend with benefits, or maybe, she was a replacement for Sakura, someone Ino hooked up with to show Sakura that she didn't need her.

Sakura ran to her door, and she let herself in, flung off her shoes and ran upstairs, before her mother could say anything at all. She locked herself in her room, not crying, not angry, but thinking, and confused. She thought all night, but she could only come up with one logical conclusion. It was that conclusion that scared her the most.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hinata's day at school had been very awkward. Kiba had gone out of his way to be near her at all times, and Neji had made a point of making sure that the Inuzuka boy was with her, and her alone. It bothered her and she wished TenTen had been there for some sort of moral support.

She liked TenTen. The girl was honest, but not brutally honest the way some girls were, or catty like other girls. TenTen was just nice. There was nothing more to explain about her. She seemed to understand Hinata, or at least, her situation to a degree, though she never drew conclusions or comparisons between them.

Now, she was sitting in front of her father, her hands clasped tightly in Kiba's much larger hands, and she could feel the perspiration making her own hands clammy and cold. The older man was looking at them, impassively, as if they were as unimportant as ants.

Across from her, beside her father, sat Neji, and beside him, TenTen, who smiled, encouragingly, but it was faint and gone in the blink of an eye. Hinata schooled her face, making sure she did not return that small smile. Silence was the order of the day, and Hinata wondered when someone would speak, and she wondered who the first to speak would be. She hoped it wouldn't be Kiba, because if he spoke first, it was all over.

She had the sinking feeling that this was just the beginning; the beginning of a long, hard road.

- - - - - - - - - -

Ino was glad Sakura had seen her. The pink-haired bother had been at her all day, spouting some jargon about going to get back at Lee. She didn't care anymore. Lee might have said something, but did it really matter? It was a lie now that she and Sakura weren't an item.

Temari's eyes were fixed on the road, when Ino looked over at her, and the younger blonde smiled broadly to herself. Here, all that mattered was that she was with Temari. The older girl somehow gave Ino something she had never had before - sensitivity. Ino had always found that she needed to be brash and bold, but with Temari, she didn't have to be, because Temari could fill those shoes when they needed to be worn. Temari also wielded the authority to make them both take those shoes off and just be themselves.

Ino found it a thrill and joy to have Temari dominate her, because she had always been the one doing the dominating.

It was nice not to have to think for once, it was nice to have someone tell her what she needed to do and simply do it. There was no planning, no thinking. There was simply action, and Ino liked that action.

Temari was speeding now, she noticed, and she was frowning. Her face was worried and almost angry. Ino frowned herself. Rather suddenly, the other girl threw on her signal and pulled over to the side of the road. She put the car in park, and turned off the engine. She turned to look at Ino, slowly, hesitantly. Ino frowned and kept looking at her. "What are you doing?" she asked finally, making her question angry.

Temari sighed, as if she were beaten, as if she'd just fought a long, hard fight. "Ino, there's something I should tell you."

Ino froze, knowing what those words meant.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lee arrived home rather late, after having walked very slowly from school. He hadn't had the best of days. He didn't want to show a glum face to his grandmother though, and so, he slapped on the most realistic face he could. He went into his house, listening to the cold silence and his sunny disposition almost faltered.

He nearly sighed in relief when he saw his grandmother right where he had left her, in her rocking chair, her hands preoccupied with her knitting. He felt almost sorry for her, for she could barely hold the needles any longer, and she was constantly going back and taking out what she'd done and starting over again.

The old woman was terribly frail, with bad arthritis in her wrists and knees, and number of other problems, not the least of which was cancer. She had survived it now, she was past it now, but there was always the fear it would come back, and take her. It had almost had her last time. He listened to the unsteady clack-clack of her knitting needles, and he felt that she lived in uncertainty like that. Chemotherapy had left her bald, weak and frail.

Some days, when he watched her move with such pain, where every breath caused her pain of some sort, he thought she might be better off if she had given up. It was a sort of pity he couldn't help, even when she had told him that nothing was equal to death. To her, death was the ultimate bad in the world, and everything else must be good, or at least, better than death.

She had taught him to have hope, and faith in miracles, and to do his best no matter what. She taught him that he should always see the good in something, and he should never take a day for granted. He should live each day to its fullest. That was her philosophy.

So, he took her advice and today, he tried to see some good in Sakura, but he couldn't. He tried to see some good in being kind to her, in being shot down like he had, but he couldn't. He could see no good in the day except that he and the people he cared about were still alive. Still, he supposed that was something to be grateful for.

As he stood at the doorframe and watched the old lady, with her head bald, when it should have been full of gray curls, as she knitted and went back a stitch, and then, another two, because the problem was deeper than that, he supposed that really was something to be grateful for.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Itachi stumbled into Orochimaru's hospital room, and found Orochimaru having a nap. He flopped down in the chair he'd left by the bedside, that no one had seen fit to remove, and he tried to make the dizziness and the nausea that had overtaken him on his way there recede. It would not.

Orochimaru was practically dead to the world, and Itachi, if he had felt well enough, would have rolled his eyes. It figured. He felt like crap and he walked all the way there, only to find that Orochimaru was completely out of it.

He sat there, and he waited for Orochimaru to wake up. The longer it took him to wake up, the more Itachi worried. The more he worried, the more tense he became and the more tense he became, the more he was calling out for his drug. It was like an arch that the keystone had been taken out of. Everything collapsed after that.

Finally, growing restless, he got up and he marched down to Sasuke's room, only to find Sasuke in much a similar state as Orochimaru. His brother looked worse though, with his face still pale and gaunt even in sleep, and his hair straggling across his face from a rough night. The knot of tension and worry grew when Itachi reached out to brush the bangs back off of Sasuke's forehead, and felt the burning flesh underneath his palm.

He got up, and he left. He couldn't take these people. They were sick, they were dying and they were making him sick, sick with worry and he wanted to be sick. He wanted to go home and forget that they were dying, and he wanted to just forget. He felt trapped, in this endless cycle of high and low.

High. . .and low. High . . .and low. It was annoying. He was high and well, and then, he was low and he needed to be high again because everything came back and swallowed him when he was low, drowned him in the tide waters that came rushing in. He hated being low. He wanted to be high.

As soon as he got home, then, then he'd be high again. He didn't care if it meant another night like the one he'd just weathered. All that mattered was that he was going to be high. Sasuke and Orochimaru were going to go away, fade into blackness, and so was the painful knot in his back, and there was just going to be him when he got home. He, and he alone.
It was blissful to even think about, and he thought he might have even been able to get high from just the thought of being high. But no, his body cried out for the drug and he needed it. How had he sunk so low? It didn't matter. Just a few more steps, and he'd be home, and then, he'd be high again.

Kurenai stopped him though, because she was standing in the doorway, helping Gran hobble down out of the house, and he wanted to scream. He couldn't be high now, not until they were gone.

Kurenai smiled sweetly at him, and he wanted to tear her apart. He wanted to be high again. He hated being low. The knot of tension seemed to grow. "How is he?" Kurenai's voice asked him through the melee of his mind.

"Sleeping," he mumbled back, his reply stunted by the need to be high that was consuming him.

She nodded and then, she returned to helping the old woman hobble down the stairs. He bolted. He bolted into the house, and he fumbled for a moment, with his shoes, and then, he shot up the stairs, stumbling and scrambling up again and he ran until he was safe in the sanctuary of his bedroom, with the door shut and locked behind him. It didn't matter that the room was empty. It didn't matter that the room beside him was unoccupied.

He was high again.

- - - - - - - - - - -