Your grandfather was a good and honest man. He was a good friend to my grandfather. But the Hyuga clan headship has degenerated in modern times. Your father was a criminal. Your sons will be criminals. The documents cited testify that you are a criminal as well. Your clan is not above the law.
- 08 September, Uchiha Fugaku
We would not even have you in the branch house now, you no longer know your place or understand the sacred order of the clan. It is most telling how you imagine you can challenge me, when I am your moral superior by blood. It pains me to see the Uchiha clan sink so low. I had thought that you could not sink lower. I invite you to therefore face life and destiny fully without our support. When you need us, and I assure you that you will, we will grant your wish of being entirely without us. My children will not be criminals, but yours will face the world alone.
- 10 September, Hyuga Hiashi
The letters remained in the dark sealed house behind him. Sasuke had only glanced at them. But he had seen enough.
The letter. The other one, for Hinata. It's sharp paper corner was digging into his ribs. The old woman had pressed it into his hand.
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The seal was warm and prickly under Hinata's skin.
It was not really a caged bird seal. It was not a curse, it was protection. Even the hidden house, with it's paper tea cottage facade and it's deeper rooms hidden in ringed jutsus, lines of trees, a silent maze of heavy snow-laded evergreens, their branchs hanging low to the snowbanks and dropped needles, the seals woven into the paper and wood. All of it was aligned in geomancy. Even the scatter of pinecones, tended by the gardeners to look random, when they formed a watchful pattern. All of it was meant to hold her, the Hyuga heir. This seal was just the final touch to hold the bloodline limit.
She remembered the canaries and finches that were kept in the solarium, When the servants put their gold wire cages out in summer, the birds tended to remain near. They had their patterns of flying. They would sit in favorite places in the covered garden, on ornate ironwork, pale yellow luminescent in the sun. They would always return to their cage. That was their place of refuge, where they felt safe.
It was a caged bird seal. This was all an elaborate golden cage to hold her and keep her safe. But she couldn't feel Neji's rage. She felt mostly tired. And relieved. It was easier not to be angry, her weakness served her well sometimes. Hinata felt safer, too, after Kimiko brought Sasuke to her. She didn't know if she was worried for him, or for herself. But she felt better as soon as she locked the door behind him, and he was there, the small foyer was full of his sharp, unstable energy.
The seal burned as Sasuke's hand accidentally brushed against it, when she stood up on her tiptoes to try to fit her smaller arms around him. She felt a faint quiver go through him. He turned slightly away, but she saw tears frozen on his face. She let him wipe them away without drawing attention to them.
He wanted a moment to compose himself, so she opened the doors to the small training room, a clean cedar box cut into a underground pocket of hard clay. She had lit candles in there, too. She left him in peace. She want back to sit near the fire.
Fate... It had taken one of her relatives, now. The wheel of the world gave, and it took away. Maybe it gave her Sasuke, these few moments with him, in return for the loss of one of those Hyuga stars.
Now another would have to rise to take it's place, the line would have to remain unbroken. Tradition dictated that Hinata would be in the tatami rooms now, in the main house. She would be sitting with the family councils. They would be reading from the family's scrolls, and she would be fitting her fingers into the traditional seals of meditation. She would be imagining that string of bright stars, the ones she had pictured since childhood. She would be trying to imagine herself as a part of it. But the main house was sealed. The family was not here to cast circles of light and protection around her. But even without their actual presence, she felt their echo. Her family with all it's flaws and it's cruelties still built an impervious place of safety. It's considerable power would all align, close ranks, just to shield her, the would-be heir. The only heir they had, for the moment.
She found herself assuming that it was her great aunt, a strict and particularly demanding woman who's taut, hard hand was all but branded onto Hinata's cheek, by now, even after the livid redness of the slaps had faded.
Hinata tried to feel some sorrow for the loss.. and failed, sighing. Was it tempting fate to think that way.. that one of the high council with their ringing condemning voices was gone? Maybe it was. But she had to admit to herself that she really hadn't liked her great aunt at all. She hadn't.
Sasuke was quiet. She could hear nothing from the down the paper-lined hallway. When she stared into the fire and used her byakugan to see through the walls, discretely avoid looking right at him, she saw no flicker of motion from the candle glow. He was resting. Thinking. She wondered if she should go to him, and decided that it would be best to let him come to her. Or, at least, to give him a bit more time.
Her family would be back tomorrow. The Family, she wanted to say instead, since it was more like an establishment then something that belonged to her. Especially the parts of it that would be at the fore. It would be the highest of the Hyuga councils that spoke now, as Hinata and everyone else felll silently into line. The funeral would have to be organized. Hinata would have to stand beside her father, bow her head. Show respect.
But as an hour wore on, the evening sinking into deep night, finally, and midnight nearing, she got up. She went down to the lower level, cut deeper below ground. The chill here was subterranean, it may have actually been warmer then the snow and ice storms raging at the surface. And here, too, it was silent. The storm could murmur at the edges of the upper hidden floor, but here it was lost and silenced completely. She found an old copper kettle in the kitchen and hung it over the fire to heat some light cream. She made hot chocolate, infusing it with mint leaves the way Momoe did. Momoe had a talent for making sweets.
She poured the steaming liquid into two glossy black porcelain mugs. She carried one to Sasuke, parting the paper doors and stealing over the polished wooden floor silently, on her tracker's feet.
He was sitting in the far corner, just barely touched by the candlelight. It edged the dark scatter of his hair as it fell into his face, his pale hand where he lay it open on his folded knee. There was a dark crust of blood arcing over his open palm. His eyes were closed, though he didn't sit in a traditional meditation posture, and Hinata could feel the alert energy from him.
She left it without comment, not wanting to intrude. She did this in lieu of putting her hand on his shoulder, touching him, trying to hug him again. A silent show of support, after he had shown her his language of such things.
The cat was probably still filching bits of fish from her abandoned dinner tray, but it was the principle of the thing.
She wondered if she should go to him, but the gesture made, she sat still to master her nervousness and waited for his answer, whatever it would be. The fire crackled, and lulled her thoughts away. She found herself pausing on a brief memory of her father. She was fourteen. He had taken her into the main district of the village. They had come from a meeting with the Hokage, and Hinata had been flushed and happy with the honor of accompanying him. They had paused in the square. Her father had bought them red beancakes from a vendor. As they sat in silence, and the warm summer breeze stirred lazily in the folds of her skirt, Hinata had watched her father scatter crumbs for the birds. Grey pigeons with white-tipped wings, their quick beaks shiny with greyed pink and purple; crows crouching and focused like sharp black darts, all of them gathered at his feet. One of the crows had perched on the end of Hinata's sandal just for a moment to snatch a crumb. She'd felt the brief touch of it's clawed foot. And the sun had gleamed in her father's long dark hair, edging fine shadow around the elegant thoughtful creases just starting to form in his face. His eyes had almost seemed pale jade, faint blue, as if picking up the colors of the sky and lush summer willow trees. Hinata had lingered over the details, knowing that moments like this would end, and maybe never come again. She had to hold them tight.
Her most recent memory of him was under a steel-grey wintery morning sky. He had been distracted, barely looking at her, one hand pressed slightly to his chest as he talked about Neji.
Sasuke reappeared, silently as the distant hint of snow and ice hanging in the air. She felt him step into the room. She looked over her shoulder, and saw the firelight wash over his pale face, another of Neji's shirts hanging half-open, a tiny lick of shadow marking the deep wound in his side. She tried to smile for him. She managed it, and then thought that maybe it was unnecessary. But his dark eyes softened slightly. He bent to pick up her empty mug, as if he intended to take them both back to the kitchen. Hinata held her breath, and reached up. She caught the long edge of his open sleeve, the starched buttons, and held it.
He knelt down beside her. Her eyes were closed, but she felt him come close, leaning in as if he wanted to touch her, but didn't yet dare. She licked her lips nervously, and tightened her hand on his sleeve.
"Hinata," It was nothing more then an intake of breath.
"Sasuke-kun." she whispered, acknowledging him by name, finally. She had known his name because everyone in the academy knew it. He must have heard hers from the staff. But they had never been formally introduced, never called one another by name, not until this moment. Acknowledging one another finally, as if one another had finally become real. That knowing one another fully would have consequences. At least, Hinata felt that way. She felt that she was changing, subtly, just from knowing him. To pretend that he was still a stranger, that she could burn everything he'd touched and forget him, and that her life would continue unbroken...
Well. It wouldn't work now. Maybe you couldn't play with these kinds of feelings. You couldn't control them, plan for them, shut them on and off so they'd fit into your ordered life.
She wondered if he felt the same. She promised herself she'd ask him. But she had to think of the words. And she had reached out to stroke his cheek, and in doing so opened her eyes, seen the twinge of anguish settled into the tension in his brow, in the edge of his lips. All those tiny muscles knotted against pain. She touched him, stroked his hair back gently. He moved his hand to the floor beside her, balancing himself so that he could lean closer, just almost touch her. So that he could feel her warmth but still have a sliver of firelight between their bodies. Permission, thought Hinata. He was waiting for permission.
She put her arms around him, meaning to be gentle. But his breath caught slightly, his fingers clenched at the loose edge of her jacket, body language that screamed hold me and no, don't at once. And if you want and please, and you don't have to. Her body responded, knowing and certain. And she hugged him fiercely close, hunching her small frame around his bowed head, the heavy defeated slump of his shoulders. The scruff of his hair brushed against her chin, damp and sleek.
The storm retreated further behind the silence. The firelight moved, licking over his back, the hand that she braced under his shoulder blade. She could hear the shakiness in each breath he took, but otherwise he was silent. He rested his head in the hollow of her neck. His hands were around her waist now, his tense fingers clenching at the fabric. She stroked his shoulder very gently, feartherlight, through the thick woven linen, Neji's pressed white shirt. Holding her breath, she carefully lay that hand on the back of his neck, nudging the tension there with minute presses of her fingertips. His hands tightened, and his arms pulled her closer. She let her head fall back slightly, feeling his lips brush her throat. She let herself breathe slowly. She exhaled in a long, slow sigh.
The silence at that moment, it's exact quality of warm darkness, edged with the fire's light, it was suddenly perfect. She didn't speak, or even breathe too loudly, and she knew that he would not either. She dared to touch him a bit more, stroke the back of his neck in small soothing circles. She felt the warm waters welling, gentle rivers moving along the lower spirals of chakra in her lower back, her thighs. The next breath, as he closed his lips gently over a little pinch of flesh on her neck, feathered out from her lips, almost out loud. Almost...
Almost. But she laid her hand on his shoulder, and stopped.
They had discussed nothing. They barely knew one another. Nature would take it's course, she could see that. And then.. Well, he would leave. She would conceal the entire incident. And she was prepared to do that, so... So. This was about something else.
She didn't think he was a malicious person. He said he liked her, she believed him. Maybe he only liked her in a momentary kind of way. It wouldn't be that unusual.. at least, from what Hinata knew of other people's affairs. He wanted her as a warm body for a night, to be soundly forgotten thereafter. She found herself biting at the edge of her lips to keep quiet, not let on that she felt this way.. thinking that maybe after this he would not remember her name. Or, at least, should he survive, he would not so much as look at her again. And maybe that was for the best, with her family and his legal status. But it wasn't exactly romantic. She liked him, wanted him, but not like this. And in the moment that she hesitated, wondering how she could keep him from noticing her change of mood, explain it to him, she saw that he had already noticed.
She exhaled, slowly, feeling him loosen his arms, raise his head, his hair brushing against her cheek as she lowered hers, and opened her eyes. He was just pushing the unruly hair out of his eyes. Then he looked at her with a mixture of calm, resignation. "What is it?" he said, his voice level and normal, now, as if nothing had happened.
Hinata bit her lip, felt her own face fall, struggling to find the words to explain herself. She didn't mean to drop her gaze, but did, and a moment later felt his hand gently curling under her chin, raising her face to look at him again. "It's all right." he said, in a way that was clearly meant to comfort her. "What's wrong?"
Nothing.
She scuttled off to the kitchen, mumbling an excuse about being hungry.
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In the room that Hinata had shown him, Sasuke had watched the candles. Thought about power.
It's nature. What he'd wanted. He wasn't like Orochimaru- or Orochimaru's various pawns. He didn't love it for it's own sake, he-
All right, he liked it. He enjoyed being powerful. It was much better then being powerless, and being subject to the cruel whims of the powerful. It was a straight line calculus. The powerful abused the powerless. Simple.
Not that he liked it, but the world didn't care what he liked or wanted. It just was.
But he wasn't in love with it. He didn't live to use others. He didn't get a sick thrill out of it. He wanted it to get Itachi, punish him, destroy him.. so many reasons.. all the same thing, in the end. He balanced his breathing, closing his eyes, focusing on the perfect symmetry of that goal. It wasn't the power itself, it was just a means to an end.
Orochimaru had been a Leaf ninja, he had deserted the village to find his own higher goals. Itachi, too, had been born in Konoha, and claimed to outgrow it. That had been Sasuke's reasoning. To kill Itachi, he must follow the same path.
Of course. Itachi had also 'outgrown' his family, and killed them.
Which may have been the first clue that this wasn't a good idea... that Sasuke might have gone too far... that maybe there just was no way to ever make it better again.
So there was nothing to do, now, but sigh in the quiet cold air, the closed paper room, it's two flickering candles. It sounded very loud to him. He promptly shut his mouth and quieted completely.
And in a moment, his thoughts could move again, freely, in the space of silence.
Orochimaru and Itachi both fell in love with power...strength. Immortality for Orochimaru, a life without limits for Itachi. They threw away everything else in their headlong pursuit.
Sasuke had toddled after them, as if he was an eternal worshipful seven year old, tugging on Itachi's pantleg, begging for one more lesson. You bargained everything you had for power, and maybe you saw your fortunes rise. Clearly the wicked prospered. But it was a lie. Sasuke knew this now. The cost was just too high. Hatred never got you off the ground, it just sucked you down into it. It was no mystery why he was here, now, six years later. Stronger, a better fighter to be certain, educated in all kinds of vile jutsu... but lost, sickened, feeling like what little foundation he'd had was crumbling from beneath him. It all just turned into emptiness in the end.
Made sense, he told himself morosely. What had Kakashi said? Hatred destroys you. It leaves you with nothing.
And Kakashi had also said that true power and strength came from the desire to protect the good things you had rather then toss them away for a cheap rush of superiority and sneering misanthropy. Sasuke raised one hand, forgot that it was cut until he rubbed at his eyes with it, felt the little wounds reopen. He brushed the flakes of crusted blood from his cheeks.
Figured that Kakashi was right.
Figured that he'd just had to learn the hard way.
Figured, also, that he'd had to be taken away from Orochimaru's inner circle to even see what was what. Orochimaru kept him off balance, blinded. Of fucking course, it wasn't like Orochimaru ever intended to follow through, was it?
Six years. Feeling Itachi moving behind the scenes, imagining Itachi hidden behind every nonsensical little drama Orochimaru stirred up. Getting stronger, getting faster and his chakra levels skyrocketing, but still, Itachi moved farther and higher. Itachi moved faster, Sasuke tracked him but Itachi always slipped through his fingers.
Meeting Itachi once- once!- in the Wave Country, the place of his awakened sharingan; catching Itachi's scent and realising too late that he had been set up. Rushing headlong, his sword out and his heart in his throat, Itachi beating him so badly that they'd had to carry him back to Otokagure in pieces.
It's not a toy, Itachi remarked calmly, yanking Sasuke's broken wrist with one hand, raising Sasuke's sword with the other.
Sasuke knew he was very, very fast with that blade but he just wasn't fast enough.
And he'd never be. Itachi was faster. Itachi was stronger. Sasuke could train his fingers to the bone for the rest of his life and Itachi would always be ahead of him, always, always, always, always!
So he lost it in Otokagure, took it out on Orochimaru's experimental subjects. Took it out on Kabuto, once Kabuto had surgically reattached his hands and linked up the chakra flow again. Took it out on Orochimaru, deserting Sound at the crucial moment of body transfer, leading the Four on a wild chase through three countries and back. Orochimaru almost killed him for that, but it was worth it.
Six years.
After that little drama, Orochimaru strung him up and smacked him around for a while. But physical punishment just wasn't effective, not when being beaten to a pulp by Orochimaru was basically a normal training day for Sasuke. Orochimaru moved to psychological tactics, withholding being one of his favorites, and Sasuke grit his teeth and endured, and eventually Orochimaru grew bored with punishment for the transgression, and settled into his new body. Almost three years to this day, now, Orochimaru stroking Sasuke's hair with his new hands, purring about how Sasuke always felt the same, but how it would have to be different with each new body, how he just had to see what it was like. Life went on, as it was. Orochimaru seemed to change his focus slightly, start to enjoy the game for it's own sake. Orochimaru settled in for a long seduction, gathering his coils around Sasuke for the next time. The next time that would be coming very soon, in only a few months. The three years were almost up.
So... maybe the timing made sense. Orochimaru was gearing up for his next big game. Send Sasuke away, then slowly seduce him back.
He was just losing himself in that blind alley of suspicion when Hinata parted the door.
His thoughts stopped, and he held his breath unconsciously, watching the silent, elegant way she moved. It was mesmerizing. She left a hot cup of something- coffee?- at his feet and disappeared as quickly as she had come.
And he remembered. He wanted to be near her.
He just had so much darkness and hate and noise in his head. This anger was like dried blood, caked into his hands, shoved up deeply under his fingernails. He didn't want to touch her with this filth, he didn't feel he could be near her until he cleared his head. Until he could behave again, act the way she deserved to be treated.
She was tolerating his pathetic attempts so far, after all. He had to show respect for that, and for the beautiful, kind woman she was.
So he drank the chocolate she had brought. He preferred coffee- no-nonsense and functional- but he was cold and hungry. He appreciated it. He still didn't quite feel clean in thought or word, but he wanted to do something. He went to retrieve her cup, wash them both for her. Practical things that he knew how to do. But.. she pulled him down, and he was suddenly, breathlessly reminded that she wanted to be with him. She wanted him there.
A few minutes, endless and golden with perfect silence, her arms around him. It felt like the first time he'd been warm in years. And something happened, she bolted away. It took him a moment to read her, decode her few words.. but he was confident now that he could read her well enough.
She was worried. And he'd have to get off his sniveling ass and act like a fucking adult for a change. Do something that wasn't cowardly and actually talk to her.
He suspected they'd have to talk about feelings at that, which was about his worst skill imaginable.
But this was the difference between Orochimaru and his quick, sickening little sexual thrills, and actually behaving like a gentleman. Which was what his parents would have wanted. So he straightened his shirt, re-fastened the cuffs, ran a hand through his damp hair and went to go try his best.
The cottage was small. There was the room close to the surface, the little tea cottage's paper and wood sanctuary. The fire she had made was there, wool rugs, a gathered group of couches. Beyond it, the wooden stairs to a sunken hallway with the small training room, a few closets. Another flight of compact stone steps and there was a small kitchen. Hinata had lit candles here. She was kneeling before an open cabinet, the smooth surfaces of plastic and foil food packages catching liquid traces of light from the floor.
"Hinata." he said, trying to make his voice seem less... well, designed to make people back the hell off and leave him alone. Which was what he usually wanted. Almost always. He saw her stiffen. She was buried to her upper arm in the depths of the cabinet, and he saw that arm halt. She didn't turn around, so he drew breath and said again. "Hinata."
She looked at him over her shoulder. Her soft hair falling into her eyes.
She was so.. so.. goddamn beautiful. So beautiful. Better then he deserved.
He approached her carefully. Slowly. Making the movements as fluid and unthreatening as possible. That was easier, his body was his most perfect tool. She pulled herself out of the cabinet and leaned back on her heels, turning her head to watch him.
He wanted to gather her hair, pull it gently off her arms and shoulders. He hesitated, and in that half-second her hand darted up and shook it back. He watched her hair scatter, float, then fall down perfectly over her back, a long silken blue river. He had to catch his breath, because she was looking at him, her pale eyes were dizzying, like looking into finely cut crystals. The facets of a diamond. He'd blinked away the sharingan, but he suspected that he saw deeply, he saw something of how her byakugan worked, and how she worked, behind it.
"Hinata." he whispered, cupping her cheek. Feeling her warmth, her softness. Convincing himself on some level that she was real, she was right in front of him. A crisp, inescapable reality.
He could read her. She was worried, upset. There was something on her mind. It seemed sensible to just put his arms around her, so he did, and cuddled her as best he could, with his aching arms and his half-bleeding hand. It was hard to summon any comfort from flesh he'd beaten down into hard reflexive steel, but she turned slightly, and snuggled against him. He stroked her hair, gathered his thoughts. Thought back to what he knew of kindness. There was some to be had from the kunoichi of Otokagure, the ones that Orocharimaru brought to him to be used and slaughtered. Sasuke suspected they were chosen for their residual traces of compassion, as if Orochimaru wanted to set out a vividly bloody object lesson in this principle over and over again. Kindness was weakness. Closeness was weakness. It got you nothing but a brutal death at the hands of the cold, hateful and powerful...
Or maybe Orochimaru chose them to manipulate him, sensing these hidden little desires that he never bothered to investigate himself.
But he'd learned from them. He'd learned bits and pieces. Some had taught him the edge of a gentle stroke to his cheek, a touch of sympathy in their eyes. They'd taught him the warmth and comfort of their bodies, undeniable, even when he'd attempted to take Orochimaru completely to heart and hate them, see them as bodies, useless flesh, degraded and filthy...
He'd learned, too, maybe reasonably, from his own mother. Long ago. When he'd been young enough to still have a family and a world with some open roads of hope in it. When he'd been upset about something Itachi had said, or his father hadn't bothered to say, or notice. He'd sullenly retreated to turn his back on the house, the world at large. His mother had come to find him, pull him into her arms. She had prodded his worries and doubts out of him, with gentle hands and her easy smile, which never failed to convince him that everything really would be all right after all.
So he held Hinata- pausing to repeat her name to himself in his thoughts- Hinata, Hinata. It really was the perfect name for her. She was so warm. And she felt safe. She felt at once familiar and compelling, comforting in the natural way of fundamentally good things, things that could be relied upon, that were trusted, true.
He applied his knowledge, spoke to her in what he remembered of those simple rhythms in his mother's voice. Simple questions. Patience. What was wrong? Was she worried? What about? He had to encourage her several times. But he seemed to manage it well enough. She finally told him that she was worried because she felt she was getting attached to him. And that she also worried that he would only see her as what Orochimaru would have wanted him to see...
But he couldn't brood over that, he was struggling against a dangerous little gleam of hope, deep inside himself, because she liked him, she wanted to get closer. She wanted him. And it was dizzying, contemplating that. It was so tempting, it lit up those tiny dormant flames of hope and wistfulness. The simple desire to just not leave her house..
He didn't know what to say, even what to think so he said that, forced himself to speak. To tell her. He didn't want to leave her, either. He would rather stay with her.
Itachi's hard, crushing hand rushed up his spine and grabbed him, hard, caught him in a tight grip of sudden fear, but he fought it down.
She felt it, felt him seize up. So he told her that too, in a long bloody rush, told her that he'd lost his entire life to hate and fear and killing rage, and he'd had to destroy this hope inside himself before. And he just didn't want to do it agian. Not when he knew now, knew that there was nothing but despair at the end of it.
He had to catch his breath. It felt wrong, but it would never feel right, even if it was right. He had to do this, sometime.. somehow. It was just too much, too fast, too much honesty. It felt like a deep arterial cut, imperfectly stitched, and now bursting open with a violent splatter.
But she got her little arms around him. She pulled him into her lap, and held him there. And it was the same gesture reflected so exactly. Unmistakable.
"All right." he whispered. Tried to keep his voice from shaking and gave up, it was a lost cause. He focused on just getting the words out. "I'll tell you."
They'd talk about this. Really talk. Get it all out and laid out on the table. Everything. All of it. Anything could happen.. he felt the world spinning out of control, his grip slipping on the only thing that had kept him from drowning, falling into nothingness.
But her hand was tight, and warm and steady, holding his. So he held on. And took a deep breath.
And the damn edge of that letter stuck him right in the healing depths of the sword wound. He felt blood well up and bit back a curse against the pain. He just fumbled it out of his pocket and shoved it inarticulately at Hinata when she bent over him, concerned. In a moment the pain faded. Hinata was still close, her hand was still holding him up.
And he had to do this. He took a breath. And kept going.
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Sasuke was talking to her. He had an incredibly focused way of speaking at the best of times, and she could feel the sheer force behind every word he said, now. He was full of tension, breathing hard. Explaining.
She had to push away her worries and try hard to really be present in the moment. Be there for him. That was easy.. it wasn't hard. What was really hard was processing all of this. She wanted to take him to a familiar room, sit down on the tatami mats, like she did with Neji, with her sister, with her father. As if just by assuming the appearance of normality it would make this somehow easier to sort out.
But she couldn't move. She didn't want to move. She had his hand in hers, and he was holding it so tightly, as if he couldn't stand to let her go. She lay her head on his shoulder, felt the faint vibration of the words through his chest and neck. Listened. Tried to be her true self, her responsible and confident self.
"Wait.." she whispered, her other hand fluttering to his arm. "Just a minute.. please."
He was telling her that there was a problem. She struggled to grasp what he was saying. The words were there, but the full picture didn't make sense. She stopped him, she reconstructed as best as she could. He'd gone to.. to the legendary sannin Orochimaru.. the one who had killed the Third. The enemy of Konoha who had shattered the chuunin exam into a smoking crater in the middle of the village...
In the midst of that, the memories and the grim images all this called up from her imagination, there was a second of silence. A pause of breath, as Sasuke grimly set his jaw and looked down, she suddenly was hyper-aware of his hands around hers. The tight, hard calluses on his fingers, the near-crushing grip he had on her. He was almost hurting her. She could almost feel his pulse through his skin. He was so close, his energy and the static charge of his intense focus was so overwhelming. It was one thing to contemplate the damaged hole in Team 7 from the comfort of her own team, her ordered life. It was another to have it alive and furiously upset right in front of you. Towering over you slightly, at that.
"You must have known," he said, breathing a bit hard. He'd said that several times now, Hinata realized. Like a mantra. She must know, everyone must know. Like he'd resigned himself to being Konoha's public shame. But, no, she told him that she knew only the most basic details. She did not know who he'd run to exactly, simply that he'd vanished and that when he'd been found, he'd seemed so changed.
She paused, saying that, looking up into his eyes. "What happened to you?" she asked, softly. "Naruto said that he called for you and you just ran away from him." Naruto had said much more, once in the grip of a long night after dinner when they'd all had a bit too much sake and Sakura had subsided into her own dark silence over this. Hinata left the other parts out, the ones that Naruto had grimly described, one hand around the sake bottle. Cold laughter. Mocking. Sasuke's icy sneer.
And here and now, Sasuke looked away sharply, his dark hair fluttered and fell against his face.
"I wasn't thinking straight." he said, tightly.
He looked back and his eyes connected with hers. He said, almost coldly, that he'd been a million things, jealous and angry and alone. He said that it still didn't make sense. In the tangle of it all, the hard pulse of all that chakra moving under his skin like patterns of scattering fire, all Hinata could hear was one thin thread and his fingers tightening desperately around it.
Like it was all that was holding him together. It scared her, he felt like he might fly apart at any moment. And she was all alone in an ice storm with him. She didn't fear for herself, she feared for him, and before she even knew it, her arms were around him again, she was whispering a flood of soothing, simple reassurances in his ear, and the shivers tearing through his strong body were violent enough to quiver right up through her hand, her shoulders, into the bones of her chest.
I wasn't thinking, he said too, several times. Like he was retouching the same spot over and over, probing at a wound.
I wasn't thinking.
Well, Hinata had to do something. She held him and eventually shushed him and tried to think. If he were one of her students.. well, if he were she could solve this with a brightly colored band aid or a piece of candy from her desk, or a gold star.. or a hug, simple words of encouragement. But they were children, her students... and suddenly so was she. Just the barely-adult daughter of the vast looming house of Hyuga. She could handle.. almost handle.. the problems in her own life. She had thought that maybe she could do the same for him. She'd imagined doing it, wanted it. She'd wondered if he would allow it or want it. But now that he all but said that he did, she struggled to handle it. She needed another moment to breathe.
"Shh.." she murmured, softly, against his ear. "It will be all right, my family will do something...my family can do anything.."
She wasn't thinking of the words as she said them, this was just what Miya and sometimes Neji would say to her, trying to comfort her.
She'd known that there was a trace of acid sarcasm in Neji's tone, when he'd said it. But there was sincerity, too... and she did believe it.
She gently worked her fingertips into the snarls of tension at the back of Sasuke's neck and in the hunch of his shoulders.
Time passed, she vaguely sensed that it was past midnight now. The quality of the air had changed to that of deep night.
When the silence had deepened more, turned almost opaque, she breathed, and felt her heartbeat stuttering along anxiously. Sasuke was warm and still and full of uneasy lightning traces in her arms. He was a bit heavy, and every flicker of movement from him just reminded her how of how sharply real and dangerous he was.
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the cabinets. Cold air rippled against her throat.
Not dangerous in the sense of a physical attacker. Even a professional killer like he was, like they both were, but he was in particular. Dangerous instead in the sense of everything falling apart at any second, that he was alive but he could fly apart. He could run back. He could simply get to the point and end his own life. That's what he said, get to the point. The point of the matter. She found herself absently touching the underside of his wrists, looking for scars. But, this was silly.. she knew that if he really wanted it, he'd have succeeded. Immediately.
"You're holding on for a reason..." she whispered, almost to herself. "You're staying alive for a reason."
The bones and tendons of his shoulder blades knotted right back up again under her fingers. "I told you." he muttered, almost angrily.
His brother.
"But.. but you're here, and you don't want to go back. You could end it anytime you like.. and..." she was stumbling for the reason, the thin thread, but she kept on going, even as the old stuttering anxiety roared back once, just for a second. "..y-you must want to change for some reason, you must feel differently now, you don't want to die like you did before.." And she knew that she was just making it worse. She didn't know what else she could do but be quiet. She shut her mouth.
She leaned over him slightly, gathering him a bit closer to her chest and set to work trying to massage the tension out of him again. He shifted in her arms, but didn't pull away.
This anger was not directed at her, it rushed by her head, missing her. Even though his voice was low and threatening, and her body poured adrenaline into her blood, worried at his closeness, the violent intimations hovering around every word he said. But she knew better. She held fast. She trusted herself, her instincts. She could summon enough confidence to bank on them, now when it counted.
"I don't want to throw my entire life away, and it makes me a fucking coward." he snapped, enunciating the last words with brutal efficiency.
"I don't think you're a coward." she said, softly, her own half-whisper almost hiding the grimness in her voice. "I know you're not a coward. You've been wronged by my family and by this village, we left you all alone.. anyone would slip between the cracks but you held on.. you are not a coward.." and so on, losing track of what exactly she was saying herself, even as she said it. Nothing seemed to matter but holding on, keeping him going. As if her voice was the only thing keeping him alive.
It almost seemed to calm him, even if the silence and the tense set of his face spoke mostly of sullen resignation.
Finally he said "I'm still going to kill him."
With absolute certainty, as if it were a universal law of nature.
Hinata had pressed her lips to his ear, to his throat, just to feel the rush of blood under his skin, the gleaming, subtle lines of chakra. His strength was so exhilarating, so undeniable, like a force of nature all in itself. Why couldn't he see it?
"I think that you should just get away from your sensei," she whispered, in the silence that followed. "I know it's not my business, but that's what I feel would be right."
He breathed, took several breaths before he answered.
"It's not that simple." he said tightly.
She nodded slightly, his sleek dark hair pressed against her cheek. He smelled of ashes, soap and rubbing alcohol. She sighed, and softened the words. "Simple or not, it's right. It doesn't matter if it's simple. It's right."
She was so distracted by Sasuke and his overwhelming maelstrom of charka and tension. It took her a moment to realize that the words were not her own. She was quoting her father.
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Sasuke wasn't sure about this. He didn't stop, but he wasn't sure.
What did they call this?
Spilling your guts.
It was apt, that's exactly what it felt like. It wore him out. After he'd gotten it all out, he rested in her arms, feeling strangely out of breath, as if he'd just fought sharp and hard, tooth and nail for just a bit past his comfort zone of endurance.
It felt perversely good, at that. Clean. Like good, honest hard work, as if he'd done something right.
It also felt horrible, fatal and mortifying. But he kept breathing. Kept going. Kept speaking. All of it. Orochimaru. Itachi. No half-measures. All of it.
He didn't stop her. He didn't push her away or make her stop massaging his neck in a way that almost made his toes curl, it felt so damn good.. even if he felt horrible, he was talking about the worst things in the world. The worst and most nightmarish conversation in the world...
The entire situation was going in strange directions, but he held on. He kept going. He sensed that this had to be done. He had to go through this bloodletting.
But he couldn't fucking think, he just knew like a trapped animal- out, out, escape- and his guiding light was just the instinct to push through it. He had to trust that reason would return.
In the meantime, she was a good anchor. She was calm and warm and she felt so steady. Her hands felt like they could save him, wash him clean of all this filth. Under all the panic and worry he thought dimly that he needed to just let her do this then think later. He'd decide later... He closed his eyes, surrounded by her warm hands, the soft tickle of her hair, that intoxicating floral scent that clung to her skin. Her body heat moved through the heavy fabric of her jacket to touch him, gently. He held on to her and just kept going. One breath after another.
But he wasn't sure. He knew... well, of course he thought that getting the hell away from Orochimaru the psychological torturer would be an excellent idea, yes. Doing so would be a pretty fucking good trick, but he ordered himself not to think about that. The whys and wherefores could wait. All that mattered was being here. This way out, like a magic doorway, an escape hatch, due to vanish any moment. He could take his eyes off it and be lost in the nightmare again.
But he couldn't think. He was out of it tonight. He'd thought the panic would subside as it usually did, but it was digging it's claws in. It was warm and comfortable too, it refused to leave.
At least... she was so warm. He couldn't get over it.. the feeling of this. Her arms around him tightly, all of her attention on him and not on Itachi or some fantasy impossible version of him that he didn't even recognize.
But he couldn't stop worrying. He'd always had this problem. Even before the night.
And it was a problem. Fantasies of her body and her love and her warm house, and some improbable heroic return to grace were all well and good, but he didn't believe in that. It couldn't exist. The world was just not like this, actions had consequences and sometimes the wounds were just too deep.
If they were to do this.. really do it, not just play at it like two broken horny lonely teenagers...
..which is exactly what they were. Sasuke didn't deceive himself on that point.
If they were to do it properly, there would be problems. More problems then he could count. There was her family, her father, who will likely have him castrated at dawn for even thinking about this. There was the whole crushing Konoha bureaucracy which would bring it's iron gavel down on his head- and he would deserve it. He ran. He resisted. He almost killed Naruto, for one. There were probably other genin with Naruto. Who even knew what the Four had done to them.
And there was himself. The biggest impossible problem of them all.
If they did this. If they got closer. She would get closer to him. To all of him. To the parts that were explosive.
Not just this unused, clumsy part of him that he was not used to feeling, affection. Desire. Not just that. All of him. The parts that were soaked through with rage and tears and rusted over. Not just his best behavior, or these simple, safe, happy emotions like enjoying being around her, enjoying her company. No. The parts of him that had been twisted by Orochimaru's cold, hard hand. The parts of him that had vanished entirely into anger and sorrow. The parts of him that never had a chance to grow properly and now will never be whole, ever. The parts that were crawling with the rage that infected everything, so that everything he felt turned to shit and anger and resentment and finally bitterness, distain, hatred. All of it. All of him. It was not a matter of if some of that bile and filth got on her, it was a matter of when.
How the fuck was he supposed to explain that to her?
He didn't know. He had no idea. He dimly though that he knew this, that he knew he shouldn't get close to anyone, ever. It wasn't just a matter of being uncomfortable and fucking hopeless with people, and mostly disliking them, and hating everything and everyone just on principle. He knew that and he did it anyway and now he was in this mess... he didn't want to fucking lose her, and he knew he shouldn't have let himself get close in the first place.
But he was just.. so... so.. fucking... tired.
Of Orochimaru. Of the whole bullshit power play show that went nowhere, and Sasuke knew that Orochimaru probably wasn't going to produce, not ever. Why should he? What was the point, when it was more fun to fuck Sasuke in mind, body and spirit, fuck him up somehow more then he already was, and six years of detailed examination had revealed Orochimaru as a glorified fucking trickster, with maybe a lazy streak of sadism and a talent for manipulation.
Sasuke was not like him, and somehow it was true in a way that didn't make him feel any better.
And he knew he was in very deep now, that Orochimaru would not let him go. That he couldn''t go on this way. That this wasn't fucking living, but he wasn't alive, he was a ghost, but no he fucking wasn't-
Life wasn't just going to end because he wanted it to.
And Itachi took his parents, his family, his home, his sense of the fairness and safety and the world itself, Itachi took everything, but left him with his life.
So here he is, desperate and clinging and chasing after Itachi, begging for Itachi's attention, begging Itachi to give him a tiny little taste of approval, just enough to keep him breathing until he can beg a bit more. Chasing, hating, working, training, endlessly thinking and second-guessing, killing over and over in his mind, never allowing himself to have another thought, another feeling, another day or night beyond the night, the only thing that matters. He was desperate to believe this. That's what it was. Desperation.
Begging Itachi to kill him.
That's what it was. Fuck it. He knew! He didn't need Orochimaru to slime his ear with that little morsel, he fucking knew. He lived with himself. He knew what it was. Energy, focus, drive, what little he had to give, his pissant second-ran talent, his wreckage of a life that he'd tended with precision, keeping all the wounds fresh and bleeding, the scene hot and livid with the exact horrible atmosphere of his parents' house, their bedroom, on that night that was everything.
All of it was a suicide note spelt out in action, word and deed.
So, was he worth killing yet? Would Itachi kill him yet? Why the fuck did Itachi hesitate!
Still. Even when he was strong. When he'd trained. When he had the fucking chidori! When he was sure he'd climbed high, so high and above everyone else, just the two of them high in the heavens, lifted up by the wings of their blood.
But Itachi brushed him aside. A flick of his fingers, and Sasuke's back hit the wall. Itachi turned back to things that mattered, in that case it was Naruto.
And Sasuke had to bite down on the inside of his lip, hard as he could, just to keep the rage and the fear and the rest of it down inside, down wherever he managed to shove it, and keep it down. He didn't want to fall into one of those endless horrible nights where he'd pace and rage and everything would just spill out of him. And he wouldn't be able to stop shaking, stop throwing up, stop prowling his room and worrying and hating and finally crying and just feeling completely out of control and like he's coming apart at the seams. Which he would be. Which is exactly what it was. And he wasn't in a place where he could safely lock himself away to suffer through it, he was with her.
And he didn't want her to see this part of him. It was just so fucking ugly. He didn't want to have to look at it or see it, or even think about it himself.
He was eighteen, he wasn't seven. When he was twelve he'd been more absolute, maybe. He'd been more determined. Now he was eighteen, and he knew the end of this particular hasty path of action.
He knew that there was actually something beyond all the anger and hate.
As simple as not wanting to leave her warm arms, her warm house, the warmth of her understanding for cold, darkness, ugly twisted people and petty little power games. And he knew that this had been coming for a long time.
Confessions. Retractions. Penitence.
Sasuke had screamed and raged and lashed out with killing force, trying to tear the life right out of Naruto's battered body, Naruto's head flopping at that sickening angle, his neck broken. Sasuke had insisted and turned and shut everyone out, refused to hear, to listen, and even to think at all, to hear the wisdom in Kakashi's words when he was shaking with rage, bound to the tree, his head reeling with the fear of action and the desperate need to take it.
He'd pushed and pushed.. screamed that he didn't care what happened, that he had no life, he had nothing to lose, there wasn't even going to be a tomorrow to pay up for this in. The bills would never come due. Never. He'd focused and refocused on Itachi. There was nothing beyond Itachi. As if that somehow became true just by wishing and believe it. And he'd just pushed on, getting himself deeper and deeper. And he knew he fought hard to keep himself from knowing, but he slowly came to know that he would have to pay.
He'd have to find his way back.
It was easy when he was seven to make vows and commit the whole of his empty life to them, he had nothing else. It was easy when he was twelve to completely snap and lose it and just throw caution away because he was so furious and the fury was taking over completely; it was so easy to let it.
And it was fucking hard as hell when he was eighteen to face that, deal with it, figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now. Because killing Itachi would be satisfying and it would seal up his heart in some sick, exquisitely perfect way, it would be done. But it wouldn't be everything. He couldn't lie to himself this way anymore. Not anymore. He was fucking eighteen, he wasn't seven.
It was easy to believe in stupid, endless fights and hatred and the supremacy of your hurt feelings when you were twelve.
He got the power, he got the training. He became stronger and stronger. And was empty, it made no difference.
It changed nothing. He was so tired of having fucking nothing.
He wanted this. He wanted her. He wanted something else... finally.
He didn't know what he'd do about Itachi. About Orochimaru. About Naruto. About himself, his whole demon-strewn life to date. He just wanted to curl up in her arms, feel the distant murmur of her heartbeat, the heat of her body, the perfect serenity of her presence and sleep for damn near forever. And deal with this when he woke.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Hinata thought that maybe they'd feel better if they ate something.
She felt stupid as she said it. But it was true.. she hadn't eaten. She didn't think he had, he looked like someone who hadn't had a moment to himself for some time now. She'd been unpacking the cabinet looking for something they could eat with no power, no heat. It was a bit chilly in here, away from the fire.
He didn't sneer at the suggestion, at least. He accepted the packages of rice crackers and lukewarm cans of lychee juice she finally settled on. There were noodles and dehydrated seaweed, and a freezer full of melting seafood. But that would all require boiling water and the fire. She was starving. Sasuke seemed to be hungry as well, he straightened and seemed, at least for a moment, to ease up just a little bit. They ate in silence.
Hinata thought distantly that this wasn't how she'd pictured a romantic tryst would be, somehow. Sitting on the kitchen floor next to open cabinets, his bare feet close to hers. The candlelight was there, she'd turned off the flashlight to conserve the batteries and lit a handful of pink tealights. But the rest of it was far from glamorous. Two young ninjas, both of them in trouble, even if one of them was in much deeper trouble then the other. One a talented fighter, one barely adequate. She nudged his foot with her toes, and he let her. He almost smiled, in the half-second before his deep, angry glower descended again, like a heavy raincloud. The tiled floor was cold under the thin fabric of her pants.
But it was perfect, somehow, she thought... her eyes lingering on him. He caught her doing it, as usual. But he didn't seem to be made any angrier by it. It almost seemed to please him. He looked back at her, in that intense focused way he had, as if he were drinking in every detail. It was still hard to believe that he was here, that she was here with him.
Ordinary things seemed to help. It distracted them. He gathered up the wrappers and she put the empty cans in the recycling bin. She filled up the kettle and found some tea leaves that were still fairly fresh. Sasuke carried the kettle for her. He took her hand. They went back to the fire. He hung the kettle over the flames and she shook out the fluffy cotton blanket that she had left to face the fireplace and warm against it's heat. Sasuke gently pulled her into his arms and settled into the cushions with her. She gathered the blanket around them. And even in the midst of all these difficulties there was comfort in that. Simple sheer togetherness.
She closed her eyes. It would be easy, and so wonderful to just snuggle up in his arms, feel his fingers running through her hair, the million intriguing little twinges of strength and wit and talent and everything else about him, all those hidden things that made him the person he was. Think of nothing else. But...
...her family would return tomorrow. Tomorrow evening. Already, outside, the world must be turning just to the edge of early morning. She was too full of adrenaline to sleep, somehow, but she felt like she could stay here, rest in his arms. As if all the problems in the world were locked outside in the howling storm.
"We have until tomorrow afternoon." she said finally.
She felt him thinking. Calcuating the hours left, she thought.
She thought that he would ask her now. He would ask her for her decision. He would have to, wouldn't he? She felt herself cringing slightly in embarrassment, she didn't know what she wanted. She wanted him, she wanted to be with him, try to love him, but to go straight to it... One night. Straight to it. It wasn't her, somehow. She wanted more. There was nothing else, there were so many problems... but just one night...
She sighed, waiting for the question. She had no idea what she would say.
Instead, though, he said, almost sheepishly. "...here."
She opened her eyes, feeling him shift position. He had moved his arm from her shoulder to slip into the loose pockets in Neji's pants. A moment later he pulled a long square of paper free of the blanket, and she took it, not remembering what it was.
Oh, she thought. The letter.
A death in the family.
"Miya told me to read this in the morning..." she murmured, uncertainly. The simple envelope, it's harmless little stamped numbers.. it was amazing how it could take on such intense weight.
Her great aunt? Her grandfather? Her great uncles? She hoped it wasn't her grandfather. She would miss him.
Sasuke took it from her, gently. As she watched, drawing herself deeper into the shelter of his arms, he efficiently tore open one end with his thumb and pulled out neatly folded papers. Hinata saw the crest of the Kirigakure and the familiar seal of the medic-nins, their hospital. She closed her eyes.
She waited.
He had a firm, steady voice. Absolute confidence. It could be warm, she'd heard affection in it. Affection that just was, that wasn't showy and didn't draw attention to itself.
But he didn't speak. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. There was a strange, still look in his face. And more then that, a look in his eyes. Consternation.
He caught sight of her watching him, his eyes flicked from the pages to her, and he looked more uncertain then before. But he said, quickly. "Are you sure you want me to read this?"
She nodded. "My eyes are sore from crying." she said. It wasn't entirely true. Somehow, for some reason, she wanted to hear his voice. It would comfort her, she thought. Even if it was her reasonably kind grandfather, who had been far away and out of her reach, occupied with high matters of family business, even so. Somehow it would be easier, she thought, if she heard it from Sasuke, in his precise, direct, confident words.
Sasuke frowned and something in his eyes said okay with determination that just seemed like it was second nature. He decided to do things and then he did them. Simple as that.
Hinata closed her eyes and settled her ear against his chest. The faint murmur of his heart came through the woven cotton of his shirt. She curled her hands into the warm fabric of his loose sleeve. She felt better. She waited.
Sasuke hesitated once, but cleared his throat.
"For the attention of Hyuga Hinata," he read, with efficient directness. She almost missed the faint quiver of his hand on her back. "Hyuga Hiashi suffered a fatal heart attack at ten in the morning yesterday, March fifteenth-"
"Wait." she wasn't talking. The words were coming from somewhere else.
He paused, tense against her now. "Do you want me to repeat-"
"Wait..!" she interrupted, her fingers tugging at his sleeve. She was only half aware of how rude that was. She was dizzy, suddenly.
She felt him shift uncomfortably and say, again, a bit more softly. "That's what it says. Hyuga Hiashi suffered a fatal heart attack-"
"Wait!" she was suddenly exhausted, terrified. Her heart was racing. "No.. I mean... I... please-" The words weren't going anywhere, but they kept coming.
"Hinata." he said.
She tore the papers out of his hand, it was rude and she knew it but her body was moving beyond her control. She sat up and wrenched herself into the firelight so she could see and the words snapped into focus, Hyuga Hiashi suffered a fatal heart attack and she was suddenly screaming, she was certain she was. Or maybe she was moving. Sasuke had grasped her wrists, holding her back. She was trying to throw the papers into the fire because it wasn't true it wasn't true it wasn't-
He had her tightly with one hand, gathered up and pressed into the crook of his arm, buttressed against his chest. He had the letter in his other hand. He was methodically smoothing the creases from her clawing fingers from the paper. Some part of her thought that this was strange, that he could be so calm. That it was strange that she was so upset because there was nothing really wrong, this wasn't really happening.
But Sasuke's hand tightened on her shoulder, pulling her back. "Hinata." he said. She suddenly couldn't look into his eyes. Face what she knew she'd see there, even though she didn't want to know it, not just yet. She was concentrating on breathing, it was suddenly so hard. The affection and worry in his voice was unbearable.
"Hinata." he whispered, soft against her ear. "It will hurt less if you listen..." And his voice went on.
Hyuga Hiashi, ten am. Dead of heart failure. 47.