waiting
Kurenai

And abruptly, interruptedly, I found myself waiting in a white hallway.

I had been so sure up until then, you know. I had been so ready to show them all what my team could do. Even when the Chuunin Exams were announced way ahead of schedule, I had been convinced my kids would come out on top.

At the meeting when we nominated each of our team members, I had been surprised, really, that Kakashi and Asuma also nominated theirs. Both of their teams seem so unremarkable compared to my kids. I almost never see Asuma's team training. Yeah, their parents are great, but the kids seem rather unmotivated. I checked all of the genin's records from the Academy before the teams were decided. The Akimichi boy's grades were only mediocre and Nara Shikamaru's were terrible. Yamanaka Ino has some smarts about her but she doesn't seem concerned with applying them, from what I've seen. All three seem more interested in other things than in pursuit of moving up in rank.

Kakashi's team is a mess. Each of the members are so unbalanced and different from each other. And to put it plainly, I'm not impressed with Kakashi's ability to really mentor kids. Especially in the case of the lone female on his team. Haruno Sakura was an excellent student at the Academy, with impeccable marks. Yet I kid you not, I saw him once using her to sit on his back as a weight while he did push-ups and the boys trained away in the background. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that that hits a little too close to home for me. The idea of a female on the team as dead weight is something that is supposed to be outmoded these days. It's definitely something I had hoped my own teacher would take to the grave with him when he went. I think if we raise a kid to think that they're substandard, they're sure to become substandard.

My team was sure to tear the others to pieces. Like I've said before, they're killing machines. Sharp as tacks. Sure, they're still working on the leadership aspect-- I still pick up on a rivalry between Kiba and Shino. And sure, the communication could use some work. They still don't know each other as well as they could, and they do need more training and experience. I thought that they would definitely learn and grow from participating in the exam. Kids learn from doing, after all, and there's no way they can prepare for what's expected of them before actually trying it out.

But now it had all come to a screeching halt. I was left waiting, alone, in a white, sterilized hallway.

People die. People die every day. We're shinobi. Death is our whole life.

I don't want anyone to die because of me. Well, anyone on our side, anyway. I don't want anyone to die because I forgot to teach them this or that. I don't want to be left with regrets. I don't want to wonder where I went wrong, what I said wrong, what I should have done differently.

Sir, Ma'am... I'm here to tell you that your little son or daughter lost in their match today... I guess we should have worked a little more on... well, now we know for next time... I'm sorry for your loss...

I never should have become a teacher.

I never really thought about it this way. I had thought I could find a kid like me, a kid who needed encouragement, a kid who needed some understanding, and I'd be their coach. I would be their big sister. I would cheer them on to victory. I knew the risks, of course. I spoke to each member's family about it. I knew there was a chance that things could go wrong. I guess it wasn't until now that I realized just how wrong things could go.

I never thought about the possibility of victory not being the outcome. I never thought about hospital beds and tubes and needles. I hadn't thought about waiting like this. I hadn't imagined how I was going to fill in the paperwork, how I was going to answer the questions. I never imagined how awful I would feel sitting here in this hallway.

But here I was. And Hinata was inside that room, with her insides burst and bleeding out of her mouth. And this had to be the worst feeling I could imagine.

The medical nin were busy. The nurses were busy. Yet I couldn't do anything. I couldn't do a single thing to help. I had barked at them to get to work on her, and I held her hand as we rushed her to the hospital. There were many things I wanted to do and say but somehow nothing came out. And then they took her in there and parked me out here on a plastic bench at the end of the hallway.

My job was simply to fill in the necessary paperwork. That was all I could do, it seemed. I had a flimsy clipboard equipped with a ballpoint pen, tied to the clipboard's clasp with a ratty piece of string. Apparently they thought I might take the pen. I was too heartsick to take much of anything at this point, however.

Footsteps sounded from time to time in the deserted corridor. I didn't bother to look. If it was a medical nin, I'd just rail at him for lazing about when he could be working on my kid. If it was a patient, well, it's not polite to stare around at injured people in the hospital's trauma ward. Privacy, privacy. Besides, I had enough to worry about. From where I sat on my lame plastic bench, I could hear some of what was going on inside the room. It didn't sound good. I felt very alone, and very, very powerless.

I stared hard out the square window beside me. Night had fallen. The sky had clouded over with heavy clouds, blocking out the moon and stars from view. It felt like it might rain. I guessed it was around nine in the evening by now. I didn't bother to look at the watch in my pocket. I didn't want to for some reason. I didn't want to know for sure how long Hinata had been in that little room.

I had never imagined that she would have to fight her own cousin. The odds of that happening were so bizarre. I had been keen on seeing what she could do. I was so excited to see Hinata stand up for herself, to see her show us all how much she had grown. I hadn't thought about how serious it might get. I guess I had underestimated Hyuuga Neji, and I had underestimated Hinata as well. I had not expected her to keep getting up and offering herself for more punishment long after the match seemed decided. And I certainly had not expected Hyuuga Neji to honestly try to kill her. But that boy had gone for the heart.

She had fought beyond her limit. She had pushed and pushed long after she needed to. But there are many differences between Hinata and her cousin. The cruelty and rigid standards of adults have imposed upon their young lives. I wonder what they might be like if they had been raised in a normal family. I am sure it would not be like this.

Kiba had been carried off in a stretcher, too, but his mother and sister were sure to show up for him. But in Hinata's case... well. Her own father had said that the family didn't need her anymore, and I know that the girl herself had overheard it. For all I know she may have heard that more than once, or worse. I have no idea what goes on in that weird house. It makes me sick to my stomach just imagining it. There will be no comfort waiting for Hinata. If anyone comes to visit her, I hate to think of what they might say to her.

A nurse came hurrying out of the room. "How is she?" I asked, concerned.

She was too rushed to answer. She ducked a quick bow to me. "Just a moment, please. I'll be back shortly!" And with that she scurried off down the hall.

I sighed. I had nothing to do to occupy my time. There weren't any magazines or anything here in the trauma hallway. I guess even if there were, it's not like I could have really enjoyed reading them anyway.

I don't like hospitals much. A hospital is a place where no one wants to be. That's why the nurses and clerks always have their desks and computers decorated with cutesy dolls and stuff, you know. That's why the plants in hospitals always look pathetic. No one goes to a hospital because they're feeling good. I sure wasn't feeling good. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline and insomnia catching up with me, but I was not doing well. The smell of antiseptic was making my stomach turn. The noises of a cart being wheeled and metal instruments clinking on a tray sounded from inside the room. The sound made me cringe.

Embarrassingly enough, even though I work with sharp metal objects and bodies every day, scalpels and hooks and probes and things still make me feel uncomfortable. You should see me in the dentist's chair.

Down the hall at the nurses' station, the receptionists were changing shifts. Their chatter was audible all the way from where I was.

"Got any plans for the weekend?"

"Yeah, going out with the girls from down the hall for drinks. Hey, you wanna come?"

"Sure! Can I bring my boyfriend?"

"Is he cute? Ah hah hah hah!"

"Hee hee hee! Ohmigawd, that was SO funny."

I rolled my eyes, irritated. I hoped to god they'd hurry up and leave so I could have quiet again. Outside the little window beside me, it had begun to drizzle. I watched the raindrops trickle down the glass off the window, one by one. Depressing weather. From inside the room, I could hear the medical nin speaking in grim tones. I couldn't make out any words.

The receptionists were quiet again.

I noticed then out of the corner of my eye that someone was approaching me. Someone who smelled like sandalwood soap and cigarette smoke.

I turned, already half-sure who it was, but still surprised that he was here. "Asuma."

There Asuma was, in his usual slouch, his hands stuffed in his pockets. I couldn't help thinking that his large frame and wild hair seemed a bit out of place in the sterile corridor. When he met my gaze, Asuma nodded his spiky head to me in a brief greeting. His smile was strained, cautious. "Hey."

And he sat down beside me on the plastic bench.

I scooted over to the right to make a little more room between us. "What are you doing here?" I asked. I had missed the last few fights. I knew that his student Akimichi Chouji had been one of those left to go. Don't tell me he's badly hurt as well. "Is Chouji...?"

"Yeah, he's here in the hospital," Asuma let me know. He leaned back against the wall behind us, getting comfortable. "But it's not too serious. He'll be fine soon."

"Oh," I said. "That's good." I guess I could be relieved for the boy's sake. That's good for Asuma, then. His other two came through the exam so far relatively unscathed-- well, minus one lovely blond ponytail. I guess you could say then, that he did better than me. He might say so. In fact I rather expected him to say so. I would if I were in his place, that was certain. I waited for it.

And I waited for it. But it didn't come.

He simply rested his hands on his stomach, lacing his fingers. "Yeah."

Then he was quiet. And I realized then, Asuma is a very different person than I am. He's very different from anyone I know, I guess. He doesn't play by the same rules as most people do, it seems. He doesn't ask questions when I expect him to. He doesn't hit on me. He doesn't go for dares and challenges much. He doesn't jump at the chance to fight. He's a contracted killer and he let me see him looking uncomfortable around corpses.

He's a Sarutobi, and a son of the Hokage. Yet when Ebisu shoved him that day and insulted him, all he did was calmly ask the other man if he was all right. I still remember the look on his face. You okay, man? His eyes had been clear and lucid, and I got a strong impression of coolness and control from him. He doesn't get ruffled, he doesn't get fussy. And I remember wondering, how does he do that? What is different about him that he can just be so calm and play things down at times when most of the rest of us would throw a punch or at least a barbed comment? What does he have inside him?

Asuma is really, really weird.

His shoulders slouched languidly against the bench. He seemed to be examining the pattern of grayish white cheap linoleum tiles that covered the floor. Thick eyelashes shaded his downcast eyes. His eyelashes are straight and full in a way that makes me a little jealous. Mine curl nicely and they're long, but they're on the sparse side and require mascara to look decent. I wish they were thick like his. Is that strange to say? I bet a man wouldn't really find that complimentary. Oh, well.

His hands looked thick and knobby, folded together they way they were. All knuckles. The skin of his hands is suntanned a warm shade of ruddy brown. I noticed a few scattered freckles here and there on the backs of his hands and his arms where his sleeves were rolled up. The thick bracelets around his wrists rested heavily on his limbs. Even when he's resting, like he was right then, with those hands he looks very dangerous. They're powerful. Weathered knuckles and thick, rough calluses, heavy bones that can withstand a lot of pounding. They give the impression of being able to deal a massive amount of damage. You don't mess with hands like those. You look for someone with small soft hands like mine and pick on them instead.

I fiddled with the pen. Ah. Right. I remembered suddenly I'd better finish this paperwork before a nurse came back out. So I got to writing.

Asuma's right hand reached for his front vest pocket with a motion that I knew I had seen before. "Sarutobi Asuma," I interjected, sharply. "There is no smoking allowed in a hospital."

"Oh," he said, as though it were an accident. Thick fingers reached up to scratch at his bearded chin. "Right."

I rolled my eyes. Who forgets something like that? I mean, there are signs plastered everywhere, aren't there? Sure, Asuma's hands might be strong, but I wasn't at this point convinced of his intellectual powers.

I expected him to go outside for a smoke. But he didn't. Instead he folded his hands again and rested his head against the wall behind us. I twirled the pen and turned to the next page of the release form.

I felt like I was writing the same things over and over but on a new document each time. Perhaps they try to make a repetitive task to calm those waiting. I printed carefully on the little black lines, pressing firmly as instructed in the cases that the form was a carbon copy sheet. Paperwork has always been something I'm good at. Chalk it up to too much studying, I suppose. My handwriting is neat and I don't mind repetitive tasks. I found it didn't calm me, though.

Hyuuga. Hinata. Age, sex, birthdate, blood type. Height, weight. Names of Parents/Guardians. Address. Nature of problem.

In what sense did they mean that question? I was tempted to write quite a few things there. Nature of Problem: Hyuuga Clan in general. Nature of Problem: Not enough killing intent. Nature of Problem: Overbearing teacher pushed her to take Chuunin Exam before ready. Nature of Problem, Nature of Problem.

"It's a lot of paperwork, isn't it?" He said, out of nowhere. The low notes of his voice were like a growl, a rumble in the quiet corridor.

I nodded in reply. "Mm."

He eyed the stack I had finished already. "You're almost done, though. Good job."

I bristled at this. In exactly what way does he mean that? In the face of the situation the words sounded just so wrong in my ears. "Good job?"

He blinked at me. "It's a lot of work. You're getting it done."

I felt very displeased. Inside my chest I felt dark, empty. Small. It didn't make me feel right to say I was doing a good job on paperwork that I myself had cause to happen. It bothered me. "If I had done a 'good job' we wouldn't be here in the first place," I pointed out.

"Don't say that," Asuma objected. He rested one massive hand on his knee. "You're a good teacher, Kurenai."

"I don't need you to patronize me," I let him know, smooth as butter.

"I'm not," he replied, his expression gravely serious. "I wouldn't ever." He had straightened out of his lethargic slump to his full height. Suddenly he was looking more like a real, serious teacher, straight and tall. He stared directly at me, pinning me with his eyes.

I was surprised at how intense his expression suddenly was. His attention on me was resolute and unwavering. Was he looking right into me, or was it just my imagination? If this a look he uses on his students, I bet it works. It was working on me. I was downright daunted.

"All right," I said, finally. I didn't know what else to say. My voice felt weak under his steady gaze.

He nodded towards the paperwork in my lap. "You think you caused this?"

"I pushed her to take the exam before she was ready," I told him. I put the clipboard down and rubbed my forehead with my hands. There was a definite headache coming on, and I wasn't looking forward to it. "I knew she wasn't 100 percent ready."

"When is anyone 100 percent ready?" Asuma grumbled.

"But she needed a lot more training," I added, covering my eyes with my fingertips.

"Don't kid yourself, Kurenai," he said with disdain, "There wasn't any training you could have given her to prevent what happened from happening and you know that."

My shoulders tightened at these words. I did know that. I guess. But still.

"He used the byakugan to cut off her chakra flow to her hands. Only her father knows about that. She needs to train with him to know the specifics about how their family's techniques work and how to defend against them." Asuma paused and shook his head. "He should be ashamed for not having taught her already."

I peered back up at him, baffled. That was one of the longest and most dense statements I've ever heard come out of his mouth. "I don't know either," I admitted. "I just..." I paused, feeling a lump rise in my throat. I stopped and took a deep breath.

I just felt so scared that I'll lose Hinata. If that happens I don't think I'll ever be the same again. I'll have lost a student. It'll be a massive failure, something that will always bother me.

I felt angry with Hyuuga Hiashi for the things he had said the day I had visited, for the coldness in his eyes. I felt so upset with Hyuuga Neji and at those who had caused him to become so hateful. I felt despair that the match had been decided the way it had by that damn computer.

I felt worried about Hinata herself. She's a nice kid, a good kid. I like her so much. She doesn't deserve to be in pain. I just want her to be okay.

Asuma didn't say anything more, but he watched me closely out of the corner of his eye. I suppose he thought I might start crying or something. I don't cry often, and I definitely wasn't about to let myself cry in front of him. I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't. I just felt so exhausted all of a sudden.

I closed my eyes, pinching them shut. I took another deep breath of air. My chest felt hot, and I hoped the air would help to cool it. He didn't move or speak. He just sat there, listening.

"I just feel tired," I confessed at length.

"Mm." he agreed, simply, quietly.

Then in a smaller voice I ventured, "And worried." I had the sense that somehow in telling him this that I was doing something especially foolish. Especially silly. But this hallway was a very bleak and lonely place, to wait alone in.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at his hands. He understood, it seemed. He knew.

There are moments in life when you really wish you could just move backwards, press rewind, and the unbelieveable event that has just happened could be fixed. Like when you drop a dish and it smashes on the floor. You watch it happen, and then it's done, it's broken. And as much as you can't believe it has happened, it is final. You can think to yourself over and over how much you wish it had not happened, but it doesn't change anything. All you have left that you can do is try to deal with it somehow, decide what you can do next.

But knowing that fact doesn't take the worry out of the pit of your stomach, or the tightness from your shoulder muscles. Knowing that doesn't make continuing on any easier.

So what does make it easier? I'd like to know. If I could I'd get a prescription of it from the pharmacy downstairs. I didn't feel right. My stomach was in a knot and there was a definite ache in my chest. Sure, I looked fine on the outside. Every hair in place, back straight, hands perfectly still on either side of me. But on the inside, it wasn't easy. On the inside, I was trembling.

Asuma moved, resting his weight back against the bench again. Catching the motion in my periphery made me flinch in reaction. My reflexes are jittery, jumpy. I'm much too high-strung. I need to relax.

And in vivid contrast to myself, it just so happened that sitting beside me at that moment on a gray plastic bench was six feet, three inches of relax. I swallowed and shifted my feet, watching Asuma out of the corner of my eye. For some reason, I found myself remembering inviting him in for coffee. I had been so silly, so friendly. It was an unusual thing for me to do. Why had I done that? I didn't know at the time and I didn't know now either. I had wanted something, I guess. Maybe it was the same thing I wanted now.

Did I want something now? If I did, what was it?

Just wondering about it all was making my throat feel tight. I needed to sit back and analyze this rationally. There are psychological reasons why humans do everything they do. There was a reason why I would search for things from other people. Perhaps I was feeling stress in my new job and therefore seeking validation from my peers. Perhaps I was feeling loneliness and needed some companionship. Perhaps the carnal and violent nature of my work activities has my body seeking relief.

At that very moment, my train of thought was derailed violently. For to my total and complete surprise, Asuma lifted his right hand. And he placed it over mine.

For all my love of rational thought, this simple motion blew it all away, blew anything I was thinking right out of my head. I blinked, staring down at this huge paw covering my own hand. But more than the sight, it was the sensation that caught my breath in my throat.

His hand was heavy and warm on mine. The calluses of his palms felt thick and rough. I could feel which places the knives he uses had worn away most. Many years of killing experience were now lying gently on my hand.

I've touched Asuma's hand accidentally a few times before, of course, when handing him things or when walking. I've also touched his hand intentionally twice before. Once when he helped me up to my feet that day we watched the sun set. At that point I didn't know him much at all, really. I think I was letting him help me to my feet the way anyone I was on mildly friendly terms with would. I'd never let a man I didn't want to talk to help me to my feet. My pride wouldn't allow for it, I think, I'd insist on doing it myself. It meant only a small something, only that I trusted him to the point where I'd go on a walk with him. Now that I think back, though, I entrusted my weight to this person for a moment or two.

The second time was the morning we were assigned as partners for patrol duty. We had talked about our assignment. It was kind of idealistic, innocent of any rough patches that might happen when we actually tried to work together. But the words he had that morning said had stuck with me despite any issues I had with him. I won't let you down, Kurenai. I promise. Those are not words that I think a person would throw around lightly. I suppose that when you've got to rely on someone to watch your back in a hostile environment, there's a bond that's made. Maybe we had started it that day, and sealed it with a handshake. I had entrusted him with my partnership.

This time it was different. This wasn't a casual thing like the first, or a businesslike touch like the second. This was something completely unnecessary, unprovoked. His hand was resting on top of mine, for no reason other than he had put it there. He had chosen to do so, and why?

My eyes lifted, hoping to decipher exactly what was going through his mind. His face didn't reveal anything special or suspicious. He didn't seem like it meant much of anything at all. It was just Asuma. And he was just staring into space, with his hand sitting on mine. Out of the corner of his eye the man seemed to notice me staring at him, and one side of his mouth twitched. Maybe he wasn't sure how I would react. I don't blame him. I wasn't even sure how I would react.

I wondered if there was something I was entrusting to him this time, and what it was.

Asuma looked down to give me a somber smile. Then he squeezed my hand lightly, gently.

It was a simple gesture, but it was a moving one. I felt like he was saying many things-- things that might be cheapened if put into words. This was something new, and it was definitely unexpected. But I found I didn't mind it. It didn't feel patronizing, nor was it derogatory in any fashion. It was a comforting, encouraging touch. This was simply because he wanted to let me know he was there. He was there right next to me, and he cared.

It was nice.

The whole thing took a total of perhaps seven, eight seconds. Then it was over as quickly as it had begun. Message delivered, his hand retreated back to its position safely resting on his stomach. He folded his hands again and rested his head against the wall as though he might go to sleep.

I felt warmth spread through me, fighting away the ache in my chest.

I was sitting on a bench waiting in a miserable white hallway, worried sick. But I wasn't alone. It made me feel a little stronger.