She dreamed about him, exactly as she had seen him that moment.
She'd stepped up on the roof. Looked up, and seen him. And the moment before, when she'd caught sight of him from the ground, when he'd gleamed white and pale blue against dark storm clouds.
Where had he been before? Before he'd become the focus of everything, it seemed, Naruto and Sakura had to give. As if he was still something they carried between them, unspoken. Like a secret.
He'd been in her academy class. When she looked at him on paper, he was at the top, consistently at the top in the archived grade lists. She remembered that she knew of him. She knew his name, it was something that just existed. The top of the class. But where was he, the actual person that he was? Nowhere. Silent. Dark clothes. And then, after they graduated, a silent dark shadow who stood behind Naruto and Sakura. As if he was trying to fade into them. Was he already leaving then, somewhere in his head? What was it that made them go so far for him, what did they see? But maybe they didn't know what it was, themselves. Maybe it was the simple desire to not see him die. Maybe Hinata had seen it herself, she thought, because she dreamed of him, his dark eyes, the sharingan shadow behind them, all night.
She woke uneasily. She was disoriented for a minute, not recognizing Hanabi's room. Hanabi was gone with her team on a mission to a neighboring village. Hinata had slept on the spare futon on the floor. She'd been too tired to reason about this. She'd just lain down, closed her eyes, and fallen asleep.
How did he make her feel... It seemed like a stupid question. She couldn't answer it, and it made her feel uncomfortable in some squirmy way. She had not been afraid of him once, though. Not even as he'd glared hard at her.
Maybe it was just that she was in her house.. that should could call for the scatter of branch house guards at any second. She lay in the early morning darkness, thinking. She had been suddenly, sharply angry with him. The strength, the iron confidence in her voice... it had just materialized, out of nowhere.
But she was protecting her house, and her family. That was her blood. Of course she would feel that way, about that.
It wasn't his handsome face, even as her memory lingered over it... the snow caught in his hair. It wasn't the way he'd felt in her arms, bleeding and feverish and stubbornly alive, despite it all.
She was shy, her shyness cost her the life all the other girls seemed to have, the fun they had with boyfriends, and with lovers. But it gave her time, too. It gave her space to think about what she would want, should she someday find the confidence to have it. She knew it wasn't important to her, the strong, elegant lines of a man's face and body. It was what lay behind it, under his skin, beyond even the lines of chakra. The parts she could never see, because they were hidden... mysterious...
She almost wished... that she could ask Naruto and Sakura why they loved him so much. It couldn't be for nothing.
She closed her eyes. She turned over, carefully pulling her long hair from being pinned under her cheek.
He made her feel safe. It made no sense. But he made her feel safe. Safety... strength. To her, these were the same things. She'd never realized it before. Her softness, her desire to seek harmony, to comfort... To share what she had with him, what he did not... A family, a house. As simple as that, as warmth and shelter. It gave her a sense of strength, as if she finally had done something, even if it was such a small thing. It made her feel connected to her house, to her family, when he looked at her. It gave her the strength to look him in the eye, and not be afraid.. to not even be nervous at all.
"You're just attracted to him, dear." Miya said, after Hinata had poured her heart out, feeling young and silly even as she spoke. "It's not exactly a Confucian riddle, is it?" She smiled, distantly. "You've always been shy, around boys..." They were sipping tea. Miya was sitting on the end of Hinata's futon, pausing in her bustling morning route around the house.
Hinata nodded, feeling an old familiar twinge of shame.
"What do you think...?" she asked.
"What, of him?" Miya snorted, though she softened it with a half-smile. "Well, I think he's so angry and hurt that he wouldn't know his own ass if it snuck up and bit him." She shook her head, wiping off her teacup with the edge of the apron that was folded over her shoulder. A fresh one for the day, freshly laundered, thick white cotton. "I suppose most young people seem that way, when you get as old as I am." She chuckled, softly.
Hinata watched her, the comfortable lines etched into her face, the smile lines around her eyes, as they crinkled. "Do I... seem that way to you..?" she said, hesitantly. She couldn't put her hand on that glimmer of strength suddenly, she was too sunken in this uncomfortable feeling. Not just shyness. She felt it again, that old familiar feeling that there was something wrong with her, that she was doing something.. anything... wrong. As if she'd always do something wrong, somehow...
"Mmhmm." Miya harrumphed. "No, you're different. I've never seen any anger in you. Even your sister, throwing tantrums every day... You're not lost, dear.. I think you're waiting. You doubt yourself, but..." she chuckled softly, reaching over to stroke a wisp of Hinata's hair from her cheek. Her rough fingers were gentle. "..leading with your heart isn't so bad. It seems to steer you right."
Hinata listened, watching the hot water. She found herself absently imagining the currents of heat that would swirl within the cup, if she were to use her byakugan. "I hope so." she said. "I hope I'm right. I hope I can be.."
A thoughtful grumble from the cook. "You'll be a fine heir. Even your father will admit it, eventually. Worrying about it is foolish, just be." she withdrew her hand, and Hinata heard the clink of earthenware as she gathered up the tea tray. "But it's about the boy, and I know it. That has nothing to do with your inheritance, dear."
"It's not just him.." she murmured. She lay back down, turning her head slightly to watch Miya lift the tray and balance it on her hip. She curled her fingers over the tops of the covers. "But, that was the first decision I made, as the heir.. with that thought in mind."
"Well, they were the same as us, once. Some would say we should have taken him in." The cook shrugged. "But I can tell you." She looked Hinata in the eye. She had placed her teacup back on the tray, dried and set upside down. "I remember when it happened. His whole family.. and just a little child, all alone.." she shook her head, slowly. Then her gaze was back, steady and firm. "He may not be the same as you are, as the people you grew up with, anymore. I don't think you did anything wrong, but be aware."
Hinata nodded, slowly. "I think... I sensed that." she murmured, looking down into her hands, folded around her own cup.
"I think I can trust him, though."
"Trust yourself," Miya said. She tucked away the faint wisp of approval in her tone, but Hinata heard it. "And don't bother hurrying to get up, academy's closed. We're snowed in."
---------------------------------------
Had he lost his drive? Or his nerve? No...
He'd just had too much to drink. And now he was paying for it. He made it to the bathroom in time to lose his breakfast. He thought he'd ask the old woman.. no, one of the servant girls.. Or better yet, just check the medicine cabinets. He found aspirin, took two. This is why I don't drink, he thought, looking at his sad-sack reflection. He still looked young, too young. He looked soft. He ran one finger over the pathetic beginnings of stubble. After what, three days? This is what he had to show for it, a light dusting of fuzz? He scowled at himself. He was too soft-looking. His face was too much like his mother's. He couldn't figure out why he'd ended up looking this way, when Itachi had looked so much like their father. And it suddenly annoyed the hell out of him. He raised his fist...
..and caught himself. He put that hand on the side of the sink, breathing deeply. There was no point in breaking the mirror. It wouldn't solve anything. The old woman would just laugh at him as she picked the glass out of his fingers. And he'd have to apologize to Hinata. not that he didn't want to show respect.. but it would be humiliating.
He liked the sound of it. Her name. It felt like warmth, to him. Sunlight. Things that were uncomplicated, and comforting, and seemed like they could be counted on to survive.
But it didn't help his mood, much. He grimaced, his stomach heaving, as he searched the drawers for a razor. That was why he didn't drink often, anyway. Orochimaru and those other four, the ones who had come to collect him... They still annoyed him. He didn't like the taste of their sugar-sweet flattery, as if they expected him to be too stupid, or power-mad.. or insecure, and he wouldn't notice. Anyone would need a drink now and then, just to deal with people like that.
"Haven't got much to say, do you?" the old woman said as she came in to the bedroom. She still didn't knock. "Take off your shirt," she ordered, setting down her tray.
He could smell the disinfecting solutions of herbs she would use to clean the cut. So he stripped down obediently, wanting to get it over with. But he felt some small irrational sense of triumph when she clicked her teeth, examining his side. "And no manners, from what I can see." she said, snorting. "At least you heal fast." She took out most of the stitches.
She re-bandaged his ribs, and his feet, which were almost healed. "That's for your headache," she said, pointing to a mug of tea she'd placed on the bedside table, probably while she was cutting the thread out and he'd been too distracted to notice. "Your grandfather couldn't handle the liquor either, boy." she said, as she left. Her sandpaper laugh echoed from the hallway. "The stories I could tell you. Hah."
And he stared after her, caught between irritation and curiosity.
As she left, he thought that it probably wasn't worth getting angry about, exactly. She just wasn't the kind of older woman he liked, she was too blunt. He didn't like people who got in his face like that, even in passing. He got dressed, they'd left more clothes for him. This time, the long-sleeved shirt had their hooked cross sewn into the back. It was a strange symbol for him to wear, a sun disc. He didn't feel like himself, exactly, wearing white and light blue. But he was anxious to get out in the open air and train. He wanted to judge how much damage Orochimaru had done to his body. He needed to run, move, pound the hell out of something. After so many days of lying around, his muscles were twitchy and aching to be used.
There was deep snow outside. He appreciated it, it allowed him to examine his footwork- which was still quick and precise. It muffled the sounds of the village, which helped him not notice or remember things he didn't want to. And the servants mostly ignored him, or appeared to. Which he preferred.
He didn't notice when she came out to the yard as well. He just was resting, catching his breath with his hands braced against his knees, when he looked up and caught sight of her. She was doing body skills, simple calisthenics. But her form was very good, he noticed. She moved in a way that was different then anything else he'd seen before, and he'd seen many fighters. Even Sakura's form was sharp, all quick angles and cocked elbows. Hinata's.. he still found he wanted to pause, after thinking her name. Hinata's form was as smooth as water. It almost cast the illusion of being gentle, as if her hands wouldn't hurt if she struck him. But he knew it would, he saw the way she snapped her wrist at the last second, like a flicked raindrop. It would hurt a lot; it looked like she struck for small, concentrated spots.
He didn't plan to spar with her. It just happened. As one of her kunai went slightly wide, and he went to retrieve it for her. It had fallen closer to him. He found himself watching the fluid sway of her hips as she walked towards him.
He could look down his nose at almost everyone else, if he chose. But the Hyuga had been above the Uchiha. He wondered if she felt he wasn't good enough for her. And he had to admit that she probably wouldn't be wrong, if she did. He wondered if she wouldn't want him touching her at all, as he handed her the kunai, and as her hand briefly touched his.
Her hair was long, and dark. There was no sun, but he could see a faint shine to it, moving like ripples in water. He wondered if it would feel like silk, if he touched it. If she would allow him to gather it in his hand. He didn't ask her to spar. But as he turned back to his training, and they circled one another slowly in the yard, he found that they had fallen into the practice formations. And they were facing one another. He deflected her snapped kick, and she blocked his punch. She was a bit slower, just a hair under his speed. He didn't think she had his endurance. If they had been fighting seriously, he imagined that he could defeat her without too much trouble. But in the slow push and pull of sparring, she seemed to have an advantage. She could wear him down, he thought. It wasn't easy to counter her. He felt subliminal quivers through his arm every time he raised it to block off her strikes. Gentle fists, he thought. He watched those strange pale eyes, ghost eyes, that all the Hyuga had.
The old woman was waiting with hot drinks, when they stepped back in the house, dripping with melting snow.
"Since you both are desperate to catch your death," she said. She tossed a towel at him, which he caught, using the motion to tell her what he thought of her. But he saw that she looked at Hinata with affection.
And that was something even he didn't want to sneer at. Even if the old woman was a real bitch, and he wouldn't want to live with her.
As for Hinata...
...she eventually joined him again, after he'd gone to the roof to practice with his chakra.
He'd tested the beginnings of the fire, and the chidori. It didn't seem polite, somehow, to fully complete either one. Not when he was on the roof of her house. He didn't think his chakra was quite ready for it, he was tiring too fast. That meant that he was not ready to leave. He would have to stay here. He shrugged, lightly. It couldn't be helped, could it?
So. He would be here for a bit longer. He didn't mind the thought of spending time with her. She didn't press on his patience, like other people did. So, no, he was fine with her working in her room, while he was there.
Not that this was easy to explain to her, though.
She wanted to know if it would be all right with him. He didn't mind. He told her that it was her room. She suddenly fell into rigorous etiquette, telling him that it was his, she wouldn't want to disturb him. He told her again.. no, that would be fine. But she still insisted, and he tired of exchanging polite nothings with her. He eventually just pulled out her desk chair for her, and waited for her to sit down.
"Are you sure this is all right?" she said, after a moment.
"Yes." he told her. He tried to judge her expression. He'd gotten too used to being harsh with people, it was amazingly hard to not drive them away, even when he didn't really mean to. But she didn't seem to feel rebuffed. So he went back to the bed, and let her work in peace.
He had been surprised to see her, it was well towards noon. He had figured out that she was some sort of teacher, probably an academy instructor, since she didn't wear the green scroll vest of a jounin. He'd overheard some of her house staff discussing her, something about her students. He raised one eyebrow lightly, noting that you could learn a good deal in this house, if you had nothing better to do but hang around and listen.
And the servants here sure liked to talk. Mostly they liked to talk about him.
She was tending to the financial business of her house. She used an abacus, and tallied the figures the old fashioned way. He watched her pick up the ink stone and stamp her crest into the paper.
He could tolerate her company, even without alcohol. He listened to the intermittent click of the stone beads. And behind that, the steady mechanical tick of the small clock that sat by her bed. Clockwork? His had been electronic, digital. He hadn't owned anything that wasn't new. Everything that had been in his family's house, he'd left it there. Right where it lay. He wanted the house to be untouched. It formed a silent memorial, in his mind. And it was a small thing, these antique pieces that seemed to lie in every corner of her house. But he envied it.
He was reading a book one of those older servant girls had brought him from, he assumed, the house's library. It was an in-depth historical account of the point in her family history when the Uchiha clan had separated from the house. He hadn't asked for this particular book. They'd just given it to him, completely unprompted. It was interesting, though, at least. He didn't know very much about this part of his family's distant history. It had been a calm, cool-headed secession, which he approved of. It would have been pointless to exhaust the wealth of the house with a pitched battle. This way, the Uchiha founders had resources, and residual ties, both to form a strong foundation for their house. He felt proud to be a direct descendent, reading about them. And he wondered how many other remaining traces of his family were hidden in her house.
Did he mean to talk to her? No more then he meant, or planned to spar with her. These things simply happened. Mostly there was comfortable silence. And then he found himself asking her, directly, if she objected. Did she mind? Having him here?
"You're my guest," she said. She had turned partially in her chair. Her eyes studied him, and he felt the deceptively light touch of her gaze. He'd felt the atmosphere of the room, the change in energy, the moment she had walked in. "Of course you're welcome here." she said.
But this did not answer his question.
"You said you trusted me." he told her. He watched her carefully, her face, her movements. Six and a half years in Otokagure had taught him to be attentive to tonality and inflection. These things shaped chakra, there.. and they spoke for her in many ways. He could see that.
He saw her tilt her head, and her eyes narrow slightly. She was thinking, weighing her responsibilities.. he was certain of it. It was true that he didn't know her. But she didn't seem that hard to understand, to him. He imagined that he could guess the basic direction of her thoughts. But some part of him wanted to hear her say it, openly.
"Is it because of Naruto?" he asked. She had said that too. For Naruto. Everything for Naruto. Not that he had any right to be jealous.
"No." she replied. Her voice took on that deeper resonance of authority, just then. A shift in her gaze, as she closed her eyes, just for a moment, as if putting her thoughts in order. "I didn't know myself, for a while. I may still not know.. but.." she was looking down into the lines of inked figures on her accounting scroll. He saw her touch them, feel the raised ink with soft fingertips. "I think it's because I don't want to see people be alone. And I didn't want to see you die... And.." He waited for her, watching the thoughtful look on her face, her eyes half-hooded and looking at nothing, now. "I wanted to share with you. It's not pity, but.." her voice was softer yet, now, a thoughtful whisper. Her eyes were far away. He found himself holding very still, drinking in every sound and motion. "... I guess I wanted to help you feel a bit better." she said.
Which did not answer his question either.
He went back to his book, concealing the twinge of frustration he felt. He didn't know how to talk about these things. He didn't know how to ask her if she thought he was good enough for her, even though he didn't have a family or house worth anything anymore. He swallowed the sigh, too. He put his attention back in the distant past, and returned to the stories of his ancestors.
"Miya.." he heard her say. As he looked up, she met his eyes and said. "The one who's been taking care of you. She says that she doesn't think it's wrong, or foolish of me.. to have you here."
Which almost answered his question, he thought. He thought that maybe he could read between those lines.
"She just said that I should be aware, that's all." She picked up her pen and turned it over in her hand. But she didn't turn back around to her desk.
"I'm aware." she said, after a moment. "Of what you might be like."
Which made it impossible to tell how she felt. He found that he was getting frustrated now, and he said, before he could think better of it "Do you know what that means? Be aware?"
"Beware." she whispered.