A/N: This chapter is heavy compared to everything thus far. I won't apologize for the downer at the end(with Madara), I kind of love it, and I think it's really important to acknowledge both his humanity and how grief truly can push someone to insanity - this perspective is also important to keep in mind as the story progresses, and especially so once the War begins. Maybe I'm just a wuss, but the final passages were both difficult and a relief to write.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: possible existential dread, mild gore(blood, tissue), brief mention of suicidal ideation, death of loved one, coping with loss

Again, when I write about these subjects I write from experience and I do not hold back(not including the gore, I've never been [spoiler]'d lol). Objectively, I feel like my descriptions are poignant at the very least. I want everyone to enjoy the story as much as I do, but not at the cost of your well-being.

On that note: if you do relate to the feelings described towards the end, my heart goes out to you. Remember that our love for those we've lost is what allows them, and us, to live on and heal. May we all find our peace, or some semblance of it.

Much love,

Emu(driftershiddenfivehead)

xox

"The glue that holds all relationships together-including the relationship between the leader and the led-is trust, and trust is based on integrity."

- Brian Tracy

Chapter 5: One One Two Nine Four

Arata and Kakashi stood facing each other from opposite ends of a large training area within the Hyuga compound. Their gazes were locked as they both performed the seal of confrontation, bringing their hands together in front of their chests to create the tiger hand-sign. After several moments of tense silence Arata dropped her arms and opened her left palm. The katana Neji was letting her borrow lifted from where it lay next to her feet and flew into her open hand. Wincing in response to the numb tingling sensation erupting throughout her left arm, Arata was reminded of her diminished chakra; using certain abilities would be too dangerous, lest she forget her limits and overexert herself by accident.

Steeling her resolve, Arata aimed the sword towards her opponent and put on her best warrior-queen glare. It would have been menacing if not for the need to lift her chin in order to meet Kakashi's eyes. Being of short stature had its perks, but intimidation was not one of them. What she lacked in height she made up for in confidence, however, and the prospect of a fight set her nerves abuzz with anticipation.

"You are as a candle, the better burnt out. I accept this challenge, but this is your warning. As you can plainly see, my abilities are countless..."

The ninja being addressed stared back at Arata without listening to the rest of her tirade, wondering how such a small person managed to create so much noise. He kept his expression neutral, both to conceal his humor and to hide his own excitement. However, 'always-calm' Kakashi could not help but feel a rush of anxiety at the prospect of sparring with a supposed celestial entity, even if her powers were handicapped. Assuming she wasn't lying about the whole thing, that is. For all he knew this was some elaborate prank, and the babbling woman before him was Might Gai in disguise.

"Okay." He responded as soon as she finished, positioning himself in a defensive stance.

"Uukhai!"

After yelling the strange battle cry, Arata's expression became serious and she entered a state of intense focus. Vaulting herself forwards using the katana as leverage, she sailed towards Kakashi and extended her legs mid-air to aim the soles of her feet at his chest, intending to deliver a powerful kick. He hopped backwards beyond her reach, pulling out a kunai and blocking a hefty blow from her katana that forced him to take another step back. She'd anticipated his decision to jump away from the kick, and had landed on her feet so she could channel her body's momentum into the swing. A clever move on Arata's part, but too slow to succeed against an accomplished jonin such as Kakashi Hatake.

She followed up the attempt with another strike. Kakashi parried the blow again, jabbing a fist towards her unguarded waist. Arata reacted by grabbing a hold of his wrist, pulling him towards her, and using his shoulder as leverage to flip them over. Shoving his body into the ground and maneuvering herself behind his back, she twisted his arm and secured it against the base of his spine to pin him down. Arata pressed the blade of the katana against the nape of Kakashi's neck - prepared for them to call the match - only to watch him disappear in a puff of smoke.

A clone; she hadn't encountered such a thing before, though supposedly Junichiro had a similar ability. Cultural rhetoric told Arata that using body clones as a shield was the tactic of a coward - excluding the God Emperor, of course - but intuition argued that the practical implications of a cloning ability were remarkable in terms of their versatile applications. Arata decided that on some later date she should try to learn this jutsu for herself.

As soon as she got back on her feet Kakashi appeared in front of her, aiming his kunai at a pressure-point on the base of her neck that connected to the vagus nerve. She reached out and intertwined their arms, turning to press her back into his chest as she did so. Continuing to move backwards, Arata forced his body to the side while simultaneously extending their linked arms, effectively swapping their previous positions. From there she pulled him inwards again, blunting her katana against his thigh to guide their movements as she lifted and ducked under their conjoined limbs. With Kakashi's arm now contorted in a way that prevented him from bracing his muscles in resistance, Arata forced him down onto his back with the sword's edge at his throat. Once again he disappeared, this time replaced by a small wooden stick.

It was some sort of substitution method, Arata guessed; another technique she should learn. Educational benefits aside, it was clear that Kakashi wasn't taking their spar seriously yet, so she needed to stop affording him gentle takedowns and up the ante instead. Arata wanted him to get on with things, rather than continue delaying the inevitable.

He was now positioned at the other end of the clearing. Going off of the assumption that she would activate her byakugan, Kakashi darted forwards to try and take advantage of her blind spot. Arata expected this, spinning around to meet his strike with her katana and doing so with such force that a smattering of coquelicot sparks flew outwards from the collision point.

"So that's your byakugan, then." Kakashi grunted as if confirming his own statement, after identifying the dojutsu despite it's uncharacteristic gold color.

The clanging of metal-on-metal pierced the ears of the silent onlookers. Tsunade, Hiashi, and Neji were standing at a distance and impatiently waiting for things to get interesting. So far, Hinata was the only one captivated by the display, noticing Arata's unusual, almost tender style of put-downs and the fluid choreography that utilized the katana as more than just a blade.

"Who is she? Her byakugan...what's going on?" Hinata asked.

"This is no ordinary opponent, Hinata," Hiashi replied. "Use your eyes - look at her chakra pathways."

Hinata obeyed, activating her byakugan per her father's suggestion. Taking in Arata's extensive chakra reserves, she gaped at the mysterious woman and wondered where on earth she'd come from; Hinata estimated that she might possess even more chakra than Naruto, despite him being a jinchuriki.

Glancing over and seeing the bored expressions of their observers, Arata changed her mind about using the katana; today would be a little more hands-on. She side-stepped to disengage for a moment and darted past Kakashi, throwing the sword onto the ground before facing him with a poised offensive stance.

"Enough procrastination," Arata said.

"Alright then, let's test your taijutsu abilities. Shall we?"

Arata sensed something hidden within his tone; she couldn't say what, but it convinced her to pay even more careful attention to his actions from there on out. They faced off weaponless, staring each other down and waiting for the other to make the first move. Kakashi had uncovered his sharingan at the beginning of the fight, but didn't appear to be using it at all until then.

Patience was not Arata's strongest virtue and she struck out first, darting forwards and aiming a powerful cross-punch towards the ninja. Kakashi dodged and dealt out a counter-attack, which she allowed to hit. Feinting to the left of his next blow, Arata stepped back and honed in on his tenketsu points. As expected, Kakashi advanced to hit her in the stomach and once again she allowed the blow to make contact, hunching over and absorbing the impact. The goal was to throw Kakashi off with the dramaticized flop; she hoped that it would either work, or that he would play along.

"Eight trigrams, two palms!" Arata felt compelled to announce what she was doing to help their viewers keep pace, even if it wasn't a literal necessity when performing the technique.

Thankfully, her opponent was 'caught off guard' enough to react a millisecond too late; her pointed fingers made contact with four of his chakra points, and she felt him wince beneath her touch.

"Four palms!"

She immediately caught him again. If he didn't dodge the next one he was hers.

"Eight palms."

His reflexes fought to move away from her blows, but the damage already had too great of an effect on his muscular reaction time.

"Sixteen palms!"

Kakashi was kicking himself. It had been so long since the last time he was pummeled by a gentle fist that he'd forgotten how excruciating the experience was. He fought through the pain as best he could, but only managed to dodge a couple of the blows, with the majority still connecting. Kakashi silently cursed as Arata continued to block off his tenketsu points one by one; he needed to stay focused if this was all going to work. Ignoring the pain, he tried to think of literally anything else.

Puppies. Icha Icha. Hell, even Sakura, whom he hadn't thought about since their first mission as Team Seven when she stood back and watched them fight, crying and doing fuck-all to help. Ok, that was a lie; he'd thought about her since then. Kakashi cared immensely for the girl, but without a doubt he'd failed her as a teacher. If he was being honest, he'd failed all three of his students. That's why he had to do this. Protection - even at the cost of his life - was the only thing he had left to give; his comrades came before anything else.

"Thirty-two palms!"

Kakashi was puddy in Arata's hands, and it was very satisfying. Part of her considered ending things there, but she needed to teach him a lesson of sorts first. Cyan chakra seeped out through her own tenketsu points, licking at their skin like flames and engulfing their figures; she used this cloak to obscure both of their chakra pathways from the spectators' views.

"Sixty-four palms!"

Arata didn't particularly enjoy this technique or need to use it for the next part, but knew that doing so would earn her some clout with the Hyuga clan. At that point, Kakashi's body was jerking and convulsing with each touch of the gentle fist; it was time for her teachable moment.

"One hundred twenty-eight palms!"

Kakashi continued to take the hits.

Neji was struggling to understand how and why Kakashi had allowed her to gain such an advantage in the first place. It was brutal to watch - not to mention out of character - and gave him a bad feeling, a sense of dread. Was Kakashi suicidal? Stupid? No, Neji didn't think so. Planning something? That had to be it - Kakashi always had his next ten moves planned out, at the very least. Despite his aloof and seemingly-arrogant exterior, Kakashi was a great strategist and usually had a reason for every move, or lack thereof, he made during combat. So just what was he up to? Neji glanced over at Tsunade and Hiashi, who seemed to be coming to similar conclusions. Hinata looked suspicious as well, so something must have really been off to cause even her to take notice. This was just unprecedented for the man. Kakashi often joked about death - perhaps he was putting the horse before the cart.

The final blow landed, and the training area fell silent while Kakashi slumped over, blood trickling from a cut along his right cheek. Nobody wanted to think about what his insides might have looked like right then. Arata kept him from sliding to the ground, propping her opponent up so that his chin was resting on her shoulder. Gathering his strength, Kakashi started performing hand signs in front of his stomach.

Arata knew what he was planning. Recognizing this particular intention was one of the few things she had trained herself in and developed a sixth sense for, thanks to her upbringing. It was a survival mechanism, a means of gathering critical information without alerting anyone to the fact that she was doing so. Therefore, she knew what was coming. It was bound to happen; best to get it out of the way now before the consequences grew, which is exactly how she'd hoped Kakashi would respond to her final assault.

She was getting excited at the prospect of what would come, and this reaction repulsed her. To be confronted by the thing you hate most about yourself is excruciating; she was dying to run away, but Arata didn't move.

"You should have used your sharingan instead of flaunting it," Arata said.

"You shouldn't have reopened my tenketsu points," Kakashi growled.

Kakashi clenched his fist as bolts of lightning concentrated into his fingertips, his other hand gripping the electrified wrist to keep it stable. The faint smell of ozone mingled with the breeze, accompanied by a strange and familiar noise mimicking the chirping chorus of a frenzied flock of birds.

Bachi-chi-chi-chi….

Neji, Hiashi, Hinata and Tsunade watched him prepare the jutsu, frozen in shock. "Wait, why is he using that on her? Is she an enemy?" Hinata whisper-yelled what they were all thinking.

"Chidori!"

Before any onlookers could process what was happening, the copy-nin lurched away from Arata, rearing back his left arm to strike with the attack aimed at her heart; there was a short gasp and a sickening crunch as the lightning blade pierced through Arata's chest.

oooooo

oooooo

In that moment, Kakashi and Aratashiki had fulfilled the terms to an unspoken agreement; one that would remain as such, because not once would they ever mention it aloud. They had actually come to this understanding the previous night, Kakashi just didn't realize that she agreed to the proposition until he felt her begin to increase his chakra flow; he'd been fully prepared for the worst once he initially gave himself up to her attack. Kakashi was gambling with his life, willingly. Fortunately for the others, he turned out to be right; as for him personally, he didn't particularly care whether he lived or not - but that was a whole other issue.

When Kakashi first encountered Aratashiki the night before, he immediately recognized the threat imposed by her arrival. Not because she appeared malevolent, but because he - for some reason and without a credible source - had this profound understanding of what she was, and what that meant for the rest of them. Kakashi knew what she was capable of. He couldn't explain how, or why; he just did, as if the knowledge was planted in his mind long ago, waiting for him to connect it to something. So he knew that she would be listening in, and would sniff out his intentions as soon as they solidified within his mind. While she and Neji were preparing to perform the seal Kakashi was waiting, watching, strategizing so that he could express himself in a clear and concise manner. When his eyes met Arata's during the ritual, he decided that he was going to kill her, and only a few moments later she became susceptible to such a fate. Kakashi hoped that this intention was the last thing she read from him before he walled off his mind once again. The risky part, however, was the part that came next.

In truth, he had believed every word she said regarding her intentions. Everything about her words, body language, and mannerisms held true to those nigh benevolent claims. But this was his village at stake; his friends, loved ones, students, everyone's lives on the line. Which is why Kakashi was willing to bet against his own.

He just had to be certain; so many things in this world were not.

Kakashi put all of the cards in her deck; in his mind, this could go one of two ways: she would retaliate, he would die, and because of this she would breathe life into all of their worst fears. Worries that she was not what she claimed to be, that her self interests came before everything else. Conversely, she would let him kill her; she would concede, because she too is a protector and that meant she understood why he needed to kill her, and what he needed to prove in doing so. Aratashiki would do the same thing in his position.

And so, despite knowing what deep shit he was going to be in, Kakashi followed through. The plentiful beatings Tsunade would likely administer to him in the immediate future and knowledge that some of his peers might shun him were not enough to deter the man.

Once Arata began playing along and altering her 'attack', Kakashi knew everything would be okay. That he had not misplaced his faith in her, and he could rest easy knowing that the people he cared for were going to be safe from at least one existential threat among the many appearing as of late. Or, in the event that Tsunade murdered Kakashi as punishment for all of this, he could literally rest in peace. The thirteen different apologies he had designed to use on the woman might not be enough this time. Regardless, a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders; it was such a rare thing for Kakashi to have hope which didn't turn out to be false. Usually these kinds of things ended with the people in question going above and beyond to squash any sliver of optimism still held for his depressing existence. So, this victory was certainly a welcome outlier.

Arata knew Kakashi would make an attempt on her life at the first possible chance he received.

She felt her sternum crack as his hand entered her chest, puncturing one of her lungs on its way to her heart. It ripped through the essential organ and she could feel his fingers entangle with the torn flesh, squelching inside the gory mess of its still-beating remains. He had stopped short of tearing through her back as well, which she was very grateful for. Recovering from such a devastating wound was unpleasant to deal with, but Kakashi had mercifully stopped short on expert mode instead of bumping the coping process up to death-march difficulty. Blood was gushing from the entry wound, soaking his arm and her torso as she rapidly approached unconsciousness and death. She admired the copious blood-spatter decorating his vest before her vision blurred, peppering the world with black spots. Arata barely heard kakashi's voice, her gaze shifting towards the horrified onlookers.

"Forgive me, Aratashiki. I trust that you know why I had to do this."

This was the last thing she heard before her vision failed. One moment she was there, alive even if only by a thread, and the next she was reduced to nothing. It was her first time experiencing death, so it never occurred to her beforehand how lacking of an experience death was during those initial moments. There was quite literally nothing; it was like the space between falling asleep and waking up, the things you 'see' when you close just one of your eyes. Emptiness, unreality, incomprehensible desolation. Not a shred of difference between it and the eternity that comes before being born. No thoughts, no consciousness, and if Arata never woke up she might never know that she was dead at all. For eons it stretched on, and then as suddenly as it began it was ending, her senses coming back bit by bit. Or so it seemed.

The first waking found Arata floating in what resembled a large Nebula - the gaseous celestial maternity wards often resulting from the aftermath of a supernova. She felt another presence near her own, and started turning her perspective this way and that to try and locate its source.

Malkuth.

Startled by the loud whisper, Arata searched with even more effervescence to find whoever was in this place with her. She hadn't a clue what Malkuth meant, but felt there was a possibility they were referring to her. "Hello? Who are-"

Be calm when you wake. Find me in the Land of Wishes - I will wait.

There was a forceful tugging sensation near the base of her spine, as if an invisible chord were being yanked, and suddenly Arata was falling, fading back into darkness. Bright light burned her eyes and she jolted awake for the second time, involuntarily sucking in hair and feeling it wheeze right back out of her damaged lungs; the pleasure resulting from that sensation only served to further disorient her. She blinked rapidly to try and refocus her vision, revealing the sight of Kakashi's forearm which was still lodged within her upper body.

oooooo

Hinata stood stock-still watching the scene before her unfold, mouth covered in surprise. Kakashi had just killed someone during an observational spar. She couldn't believe it; none of them could, save for the parties involved. A few wouldn't have been surprised had Kakashi suggested such a thing, but to actually follow through? He had the biggest balls in the village that day, without a doubt; balls that were about to be ripped off and hung as decorations above the Hokage's mantelpiece. Tsunade was the first to break from her trance and began moving towards the two, picking up speed as she grew closer. Neji followed, his feet moving of their own accord. Neji couldn't understand why Kakashi would do this. Arata was innocent.

Euphoria was all Arata could feel; it was all-consuming, blinding, threatening to erase her entire being. She fought desperately against it; this was not the time to lose control. This bloodlust - which was all she could think to call it - would destroy her if she lost focus for even a second. It must have been what that other being meant by telling her to 'stay calm' when she awoke. Such was the curse of her species, a biological driver of hatred and malice, the desire to kill and endure above all else. She had no idea it would trigger so aggressively upon her death, though. Technically it was a survival mechanism on the Otsutsuki's part, but really it was just a cruel irony. To kill and to keep killing and to never stop killing if it meant they could gain more power; an Otsutsuki would never retreat from a fight, they would exhaust any means available until they emerged either victorious or dead. This was an opportunity for Arata to beat back the instinct within her, to resist. If her life was an inspirational movie, then this is what the training montage was supposed to prepare her for. Arata wore a slightly less-manic grin by the time Tsunade ran up to them, with Neji close behind her.

"What have you done, Kakashi?!" Tsunade yelled.

She stood several steps back, hesitant to approach either one of them. Even she was at a loss; somehow Arata and Kakashi were both still standing, but Tsunade was afraid to move them apart in case it worsened their injuries.

"Kakashi," Arata began in an odd-pitched voice, straining in the effort to suppress some emotion. "You might want to get your fist out of my body cavity. Like, seriously. Hurry. Please."

Arata wasn't kidding, as she could already feel the flesh mending. There was a real chance her organs would regenerate around his hand and trap it inside of her if he didn't move soon, which would be an awkward situation to deal with. Disgusting, really; she didn't even want to think about it, or else that visual would permanently scar her memory. When Kakashi didn't seem to be moving any time in the near future, Arata grit her teeth and pushed herself off of his arm instead. The poor man was probably starting to feel the after-effects of the gentle fist by now. Yes, Arata had opened more tenketsu points than she had closed, but kakashi was still going to endure quite a lot of hurt; it was probably wise for him to seek medical attention, just in case.

Kakashi took a step back while Arata fell onto her knees, both silent and letting their arms hang limp at their sides. They stared at each other, covered in her blood, as the wound in her chest continued to slowly heal. A grotesque sight, to be sure, but poetic as well - according to Neji, in later retellings.

Looking into one another's eyes there was no malice, no hatred, and no ill-will; nothing but Arata and Kakashi's mutual understanding. Arata wasn't mad at him. In fact, she was relieved that they ended up on the same page in the end.

"Arata, are you alright?" Neji knelt beside her, trying to make heads or tails of the situation.

She sounded so weak when she spoke, her body looking paler and more frail than Neji would have thought possible based off of his initial impression made back in the forest. His stomach had dropped the moment Kakashi's hand entered her chest, and for a second it felt like he might throw up. This wasn't supposed to be a death match, and Arata hadn't done anything wrong. The unexpected turn of events was infuriating.

"You," he spat, glaring at Kakashi. Neji was seriously considering attacking him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't just-"

"Neji." Arata interrupted him, her voice regaining clarity. "It's okay."

Tsunade laid Arata onto her back, hands glowing with chakra to help heal the wound faster. The Hokage hadn't said anything yet but her rage was palpable, spilling forth like boiling liquor in a seething pot. She was livid, her green eyes blackened with fury to give the appearance of some demonic entity prepared to consume the life force of any poor soul who dared cross its path. Arata was grateful for the woman's help - especially when Tsunade likely wished to be pummeling her insubordinate jonin into the ground instead - because she was starting to feel the damage, her deranged bliss having worn off at last.

"How can you say that? You could have died," Neji said. Arata's behavior made zero sense to him; she was being way too calm for someone who had just survived an assassination attempt. Because that's what it was - Tsunade put her under the protection of the leaf, gave her their word, and Kakashi went against all of that by betraying her, spitting in the face of their attempt at building trust. Neji couldn't understand, it was like the man who usually radiated with honor had run out of the stuff the moment he stepped into the compound.

"If I were dead I wouldn't be able to cause problems for you. Can't have that," Arata said. She laughed, and Neji could see her lungs moving through the remaining gaps in her chest. He couldn't help but recoil at the sight. Dead bodies were one thing, but gore that also breathed was even worse. "Besides, I did die. Several minutes ago, now."

"Wait, what? How is that..." Neji trailed off in thought, remembering that she'd mentioned something about needing to be mortally wounded twice in a row in order to die 'for real'. Whatever that meant.

"Don't look so devastated. I would never let you off the hook so easily. And, this has been an educational experience," she said.

"Carpe diem, so they say."

"I'm pretty sure I seized the wrong day."

Arata deadpanned, and Neji tried his best to remain serious and look concerned. It was bizarre for her to be cracking jokes at a time like this, even more so for him to find humor in them. Although if he thought about it, she was exactly the kind of person to do such a thing. Funny how being present for someone's 'near' death experience could bond you to them. Suddenly Neji felt very protective of Arata; now he would be white-knighting for both her and Hinata. Not that he would ever admit any of that out loud, as he'd only known the former for one day. Perhaps Neji ought to chill out - not his forte, but motivated people find a way. Life wasn't an Icha Icha novel.

The wound was almost closed thanks to the added healing effort, and Tsunade finally spoke up. "Kakashi, go wait in my office."

"Lady Tsunade-" Kakashi started to speak, probably to try and defend himself.

"I know. I get it. You're lucky that she gets it, too. Now get the fuck out of my sight, I can't even look at you right now." Tsunade stood up, face hot with shame and righteous anger. "Arata. If you're okay, I'm going to go deal with him. I will speak with you later. You have my sincerest apologies."

"Please don't apologize, Lady Tsunade. And please do not kill him," Arata said.

Tsunade bowed before taking her leave; she was trying not to lose her cool in front of everyone, and could make no promises regarding Kakashi's personal safety. Their reaction to the situation thus far was substandard at best, but for the sake of secrecy they needed to pretend like nothing abnormal had happened at all, lest something escape and start the rumor mills turning within the village.

This was confounding for Neji; if protocol were a woman, she would be the love of his life. Was he missing something? What did everyone else understand, and why wasn't Arata infuriated? Fucking hell, he thought, people should just speak their minds instead of being cryptic; save the riddles and guesswork for the enemy. In truth, however, Neji did have a hunch as to what they could have been talking about, but he was still too pissed off to entertain any rational explanation. Damn those fools and their idiotic heroism, Neji would have actually preferred hearing one of Naruto's drunken monologues - often punctuated by flatulence - over this hidden agenda bullshit.

Once he was done being angry he would analyze the situation and acknowledge why it happened, and why it probably needed to happen, as much as he loathed the idea at the moment.

Arata watched Kakashi limp away on Tsunade's heels and noticed a pretty girl with long black hair and short bangs walking towards her and Neji; Hiashi had long since run off to god knows where. The approaching woman was only slightly taller than Arata - though much curvier - and possessed the byakugan, just like Neji and Hiashi did. Arata guessed that she might be the latter's daughter. She wore a long purple jacket with white sleeves and loose-fitting cropped pants, with her hitai-ate tied around her neck. The nervous woman gave a deep bow of respect before kneeling next to Neji, who helped Arata sit up.

"Are you okay?" Hinata asked. "Oh, um, Hyuga Hinata, nice to meet you."

"Arata Hoseki," she replied, amused by the question. She wondered if this is how she'd seemed to Ino earlier. "And I'm fine, thank you."

Hinata's face grew hot with either embarrassment or excitement, perhaps both. "Your name is so beautiful. And your gentle fist technique was amazing," she said, covering her mouth as if she had burst out with some string of profanity. "Please help me with my training, Arata-sensei."

Neji stared at Hinata, flabbergasted that his cousin had been moved enough to approach a complete stranger of her own volition. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time she had said so many words in one breath; it irritated Neji that Hinata chose an awful situation like this to suddenly come out of her shell.

"Hinata-sama, Arata's just come back from the dead and you're already haggling her for training lessons? Have some tact. And what am I, chopped liver?" Neji huffed, glaring at his rude cousin.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Arata, please forgive me. And I'm sorry for insulting your teaching ability Neji-nii," Hinata turned an even darker red from humiliation, bowing her head in penance.

"It's okay, you aren't responsible for his fragile ego. I'd be honored to train you, Hinata. Have you reached one-hundred and twenty-eight palms yet?" Ara asked, feeling bad for the dejected individual.

Neji concealed his laughter with a cough while Hinata gaped at her. "W-what? No, I've only ever gotten to thirty-two…" Hinata looked away, a figurative cloud looming overhead.

Arata smiled at Hinata and gave a thumbs up, saddened by her lack of confidence and hoping to change that disposition in the future. Damn whatever asshole who convinced the byakugan mother-fucking princess that she wasn't good enough; Neji was a likely candidate for this offense. They must have felt threatened by the fact that her's was a pure byakugan. Arata could - even in the wake of death - clearly see that this girl radiated with the determination needed to become powerful.

"No worries, we'll get you there in no time. I can already sense your strength. Great potential lies within you, Hinata."

Hinata could hardly process the fact that someone - a stranger , no less - had displayed actual confidence in her abilities, and could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes; she was reminded of Naruto, one of the few others who had openly acknowledged her hard work and progress. Before she could find the words to express her gratitude, Arata started to stand up. She failed miserably, but thankfully Neji still had a hold of her arm and kept her steady while she regained her balance. Hinata supported Arata from the other side, and the three of them were quiet as they started walking towards the compound.

"Hiashi prepared a room here for you to stay in, if you'd like." Neji stated. "It's in the private wing where Hinata-sama and myself live."

"Damn my guy, already asking me to move in after the first date? I must be good," Arata said.

"I'm a ride you wouldn't survive, Arata," he replied.

Arata snorted, and she saw that Hinata's face was going to melt off if they didn't stop their banter. She liked the back and forth, though; as for his previous comment...well, this wasn't exactly the prime time to be dwelling on such implications.

"Don't tempt me with a good time. Seriously though, are you sure? I don't want to disturb your home environment," Arata replied.

"Then you'll just have to behave while you're here."

"No promises, but I'll try my best. Thank you," Arata said, starting to blush. Living with these two would be interesting; they may have started anew, but Arata couldn't guarantee that her and Neji wouldn't end up ripping each other's head off. Praying mantis style, even. It was just too fun to pester him. "Say, Neji-kun, I guess I'm going to need to buy new clothes again."

"That sounds like a personal issue. I'd love to help out, but I'm afraid I don't want to."

"You don't have to be such an ass, you know."

"I'm what I refer to as a realist - but in philosophical terms, yes, I'm an asshole."

Arata was starting to get irritated; she knew he was messing around, but he sounded so damn smug that it compelled her to try and take him down a peg. "Careful, Neji. You won't like me when I'm angry."

"I don't like you ever," he said, a smirk playing at his lips. This arrangement was definitely going to be an adjustment.

oooooo

"It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses."

Colette.

oooooo

Land of Fire - Warring States Era

"Kinpa Ginpa"

Grief.

It comes in waves; cold, murky water tossing Madara about like a rag-doll beholden to a rampaging toddler. The current's maw sits open, sharp teeth poised and ready to sever the thin threads of sanity keeping him anchored to reality, waiting for him to give up and sink into its cavernous depths.

At first Madara is drowning; the ship carrying the life previously known to him reduced to the mess of wreckage now spread throughout the sea, reminding him of the beauty - the familiarity - of the ship that was and is no more. He is helpless, bobbing and beaten by the waves, unable to muster the courage to swim. Movement is too painful, movement is no longer instinct. Perhaps this was how his brother had felt.

Why hadn't he moved that day? What was he looking at that was so distracting?

Madara found some piece of the wreckage to hang on to for a while. Standing in the empty bedroom, his gaze - their gaze, now - scanned over the smattering of belongings left behind; the only indication that anyone had ever lived there at all, as his brother's room lacked any personal touches. The futon was unmade, blankets mussed from a restless night's sleep, and the pillow still retained a small indentation from where Izuna's head would recline into its soft embrace.

A small closet with the sliding door ajar revealed a row of neat, organized clothing for whatever occasions they might wind up in. From left to right: training clothes, casual yukatas for daily happenings, a particularly ugly hakama Izuna wore only to council meetings so that he could piss off the elders, a hakama for all other normal occasions, and finally, at the farthest end of the enclosure was an empty space to store his armor whenever they weren't in battle. Armor which was currently in use, even if only to prove utterly useless in the end.

They were going to bury it with him.

For a time, all Madara can do is keep floating. He had a duty to his clan regardless of ailments, including bereavement; this is what he'd signed up for when deciding to take over. The waves were enormous in the beginning, towering like tsunamis and decimating his solitude without mercy, appearing with such frequency as to afford him only scarce opportunities to breathe.

Not once did he shed a tear for his baby brother, however, not even in the privacy of his personal quarters. Privacy that Madara at one point in time cherished but now loathed, the silence exposing him to his innermost thoughts, to images of Izuna laid in a pool of his own blood, babbling incoherently while he tore at his shredded abdomen and leaking eyes.

After a while, the waves still came, but they were further apart.

When he found himself struck and unable to swim, Madara would relegate his presence to the peaceful quietude of the Naka shrine. Often he knelt in front of the small pool of water in the center of the upper chamber, watching the flickering white and gold-scaled bodies of the Koi fish dance beneath its surface. Madara made it a ritual to bring his uneaten meals along with him on these trips; he tore off little pieces of nutriment and dropped them into the pond, watching with content as the otherworldly creatures swam to the surface and opened their puckering mouths to nibble at the offerings.

He wondered if the Koi were really so intelligent as the scholars proclaimed; if they recognized that something had changed, that the hand feeding them was no longer Izuna's but his own. The pleasure of remembering - fond moments, shared childhood memories - had been taken from Madara upon his brother's death; there was no longer anyone to remember with after Izuna passed. Only the koi remained now, and as sad as it seemed, they were the closest thing to a co-rememberer that Madara was able to find.

Izuna Uchiha, impatient as he was, loved to fish; at least, that is what he told himself, because he'd always held a fascination for aquatic beings. Madara on the other hand had no interest, preferring the company of his falcons instead. There was one occasion, for Izuna's twenty-second birthday, that Madara agreed to accompany him on their first-ever fishing trip. They traveled to a lake several kilometres away from the Uchiha compound, prepared to spend the day catching trout. Using borrowed wooden rods from the hunter's supply, they stood side by side on the shore and waited for some poor soul to bite.

The hot sun beat down on them for hours, all the while not a single fish dared to take the bait. Izuna was already bored once the first hour had passed, disillusioned from his fantasy of reeling in some hulking beast, so they gave up and spent the rest of the day sparring with their fishing rods. There had been a moment during their battle when Izuna's line came loose, the metal hook at its end finding a comfortable purchase within the firm flesh of Madara's ass. At first Madara had filled with homicidal rage in response to Izuna's guffaws and mockery, but upon seeing the genuine joy radiating from his younger brother he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of his predicament as well.

In between the waves there were bits of life, where Madara could breathe, could function.

After signing the peace treaty with the Senju, construction of the village began rather quickly. He would amble along the gravel-laden pathways, trailing behind Hashirama while he prattled on about Hokages and zoning laws, and which color of tulips did Madara think would look best along the fencing around the Uchiha district?

Madara couldn't give less of a shit about tulips, but he hummed at his friend, pretending to think long and hard, and requested that the flowers be orange. Occasionally and without warning Madara would be hit by another wave, and on these days he wore expressions harsh enough to scare away not just the village's children but many of his own clansmen as well. Popularity was not a quality he possessed among the residents, and when Madara overheard Tobirama Senju's argument against allowing him a chance at leading the village he couldn't help but agree.

He was bitter, his moods were unstable, and every year by some impossible feat Madara became more and more waterlogged by his grief, as if all of his imprisoned teardrops had pooled and stagnated at the base of his skull, coagulating into infectious muck. But it was their fault, Madara told himself, it was Tobirama who caused this. It was his father, Butsuma, and Madara's father Tajima, it was the clan elders who came before them, it was the entire rest of the world and human history, it was their cries for peace while waging wars and sending their children - some toddlers still - to certain death.

Thinking of peace while spilling blood was an irony that only humanity could live in blissful ignorance of.

Madara couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and he was constantly torn between killing himself and killing everyone else. Death was not appealing, but the agony of living was unbearable. When Madara looked into the mirror, he knew that the reflection he saw was all that he would ever be: an empty shell of a man, a mirage without substance, without anything but hatred and despair and impeccable hair. A fate too terrible to accept. So, he stopped looking into mirrors entirely.

It was as if Madara was slowly hemorrhaging his humanity, and he could no longer clearly define the difference between sorrow and fear. Hashirama would tell him that time heals all wounds, but such a phrase assumed that the pain he felt was finite.

No matter how much time passed, Madara still found himself searching the faces of clansmen, of children running around on the streets, hoping that Izuna's would appear among them. That it was all some elaborate nightmare: he hadn't really died, and was only lost in the crowd for a moment, waiting for his big brother's hand to find him and pull him out of the fray, back to the safety of their shared world in which nothing mattered beyond keeping one another safe. Where as long as they had their bond, they would never be want for anything else.

In that world, Madara had everything, but in the real world his everything had been lost. In the real world there was nothing.

Madara became accustomed to watching the Moon during his sleepless nights, which encompassed most nights. Its magnificent, celestial form tugged at the waters of sorrow, wrenching back the seas to form those terrific waves Madara had become so familiar with. For It he would dare to pour out his soul, and the ugly, rancid words that spilled forth were shocking; the loneliness of the soul in its appealing self-consciousness was horrific and overwhelming, but the Moon never cast judgement.

The Moon was Madara's only ally, and a part of him. It controlled the tides, it controlled his fate, it turned his dark and ruinous ocean of misery into a brilliant montage of silver waves. It could be his salvation. As Madara looked out of the window towards his companion in the sky for perhaps the thousandth time, he pictured again in his mind the image of Izuna laying on the ground, the gaping black void of his empty eye sockets trained on the stars as he muttered his last bearings of consciousness:

"Brother, do you see….the Moon? It's….right there. I understand."

oooooo

[金波銀波 【きんぱぎんぱ】Kinpa Ginpa - (n) (yoji) sparkling waves; waves sparkling in the moonlight or with the light of the rising (setting) sun]

This one's for you, Mariah. 11294; I will always love you.