project: Fifty Days
disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, or the characters in it.
summary: "In fifty days, Uchiha Sasuke will be executed." For fifty days, she will visit him. For fifty days, he will fall steadily in love.
pairings: SasuHina, some NaruHina
beta'd by: SilveringBlue, 24.09.2010
chapter: o3/5o
notes1:
Okay, so I'm steadily getting all of these chapters beta'd and edited, which is pretty awesome. I have pretty much nothing else to say. Check out Masquerade, maybe?
:)
-briony
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Hinata didn't like mess. She was a tidy person. Oh, just like everybody else in the world, she was human; there were a few books stacked haphazardly next to her wardrobe, a discarded kimono she'd only ever worn once crumpled under her bed; but other than those occasional objects, scattered here and there across the room, her bedroom was completely tidy. It took a lot to get Hinata to mess up her bedroom, as well. This was mostly because she was naturally neat, and she didn't much enjoy tidying up the mess afterwards. Every now and then, she would walk around the room picking up whatever lay on the floor and returning it to its rightful place. But her room never really got truly untidy.
However, she knew she would have to do a major tidy up after this. She was lying half underneath her bed, the rest of her bedroom in complete shambles. Every single book she owned was lying scattered around the room, her bed covers had been balled up and thrown into a corner, almost everything in her wardrobe was lying in crumpled piles around the room, and she'd pushed every single thing of her bedside table, except the glass vase and the rose. She was searching for something.
She was searching for a little black book, with her name written on it in Neji's beautiful, cursive writing. She'd always loved his handwriting. It seemed to flow across the page, neat and elegant, with huge loops for the curl of the y; and when she'd seen he'd written her name, in gold pen, she'd been overjoyed.
"Where is it?"
She tugged herself out from underneath her bed — that search had been fruitless, she decided, because there was nothing under there except a kimono and a blue teddy she'd won from a fair once. She staggered to her feet and straightened, dusting herself down. She tugged at the corners of her lilac kimono, her fingers tracing briefly over the gold detail, before pulling at the equally gold sash gingerly, attempting to loosen it — and then peered at the disarray.
She definitely couldn't see her book anywhere.
There was a knock upon the door, soft and gentle, and she froze, staring at the mess around her. That was definitely Neji and he'd want to know what she was looking for and then he'd raise his eyebrow and stare coldly at her when he found out she'd lost it. She pinched the bridge of her nose anxiously, before stepping gingerly across the mess and opening the door, peering out at the person stood there.
Sure enough, there stood her cousin, dressed casually this time. He wore a deep red kimono with pure white finery, and an equally white sash tied firmly around his waist. His hair was pinned back in a bun, although the odd strand swung into his eyes, and he wore a white strip of fabric around his forehead, covering the branch clan tattoo. He was beautiful; elegant and regal and everything Hinata was not.
"I heard noises," Neji murmured finally, glancing past Hinata. She watched as his eyes scanned the mess, paying attention to every single detail, before flicking back to her. "What are you looking for?"
"I w—was looking for my flower pressing book."
Neji quirked his head, pursing his lips tightly. For a second, he didn't say anything and just stared at her, his eyes searching her face; and she felt her cheeks grow hot as she became rapidly more and more flustered. Finally, her cousin moved forwards, stepping past her, and she shrank back into her jacket, all hot under the collar and embarrassed; oh man, Neji was going to be so annoyed that she'd lost his present to her, but she'd looked after it for so long(,)-she was bound to misplace it sometime.
He stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by the mess of her bedroom, and she was struck by how noble he looked. He deserved to be the Hyuuga heir. He looked the part, that was for sure, with his intelligent eyes and his stern features. And he was a genius as well, considered to be a child prodigy by even the greatest shinobi. He was dangerous and deadly, but he could also be so kind and considerate — and now, after finally choosing his own destiny, he had become a strong leader and a stronger teammate.
She was proud of him — she was happy for him.
The main clan owed this much to him. It was only fair that he was the heir; that, when the time came, he would take over the position as leader and make things right. He could do it, as well, and she was sure that he would do it. With Hanabi as his guide, and Hinata supporting him as best she could, he could do anything.
Neji dropped down onto his knees, rolled up his kimono sleeves, and began sorting through the piles of books, picking through the disarray with deadly precision, choosing a book and then replacing it in its original place — and, for a second, Hinata wasn't sure what to do.
She snapped out of her half-trance, her hands flying to her mouth in horror. "N—Neji! What are you doing?" she squeaked, before rushing over to him. "Your—your kimono! It'll get dusty; I can take care of this mess myself, please don't w—worry—"
"—I want to, Hinata."
He glanced up at her, casually, but she could see the sincerity on his face and so she dropped to her knees as well, slowly and carefully sifting through the mess, replacing the objects once she was finished. They worked silently together, efficiently picking up object after object and then replacing them; every now and then, Neji would ask her where he should put a book or a jar, and she would inform him, stuttering and blushing and feeling awful that he was helping her tidy up a mess she'd made just minutes earlier.
Neji stood up, moving over to her drawers, gingerly opening the first and then shutting it just as quickly — he glanced at her apologetically, and she tried her hardest not to giggle; trust Neji to be frightened by an underwear drawer, of all things. He pulled open the second, sifted carefully through the contents, and then gently pulled out a book.
She beamed at him and he walked back over to her and sat down next to her, his back leaning against her bed, holding the book carefully in his hands, as though it were made of gold. He crossed his legs, placing the book in his lap, and she wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. They sat together silently as Neji carefully flipped through the pages.
On the first page were the two roses that had started it all. The first lay there with rich red petals, velvety to touch; it was still as majestic and proud as it had been the day Neji had given it to her. The second, however, lay sadly upon the page with wilted, dull petals and curling leaves.
"It's sad, isn't it?" she mumbled, reaching out to gently stroke the second rose. "This rose used to be so beautiful. I used to sit and r—read my books underneath it, among all the others, and I used to marvel at how wonderful they w—were. But now… now, it's just sad."
Her eyebrows creased together as her fingers felt the folds of the petal — then Neji's fingers brushed against hers as he stroked the leaves) and she blinked, startled out of her thoughts. Almost immediately, colour flushed to her cheeks — Neji would think she was so naïve and laugh at her for saying such stupid things.
"Beauty fades, Hinata," Neji said finally. "It will happen to the best of us. Events take place that we are not ready for — and, if we cannot change, our beauty shall fade. Some of us simply aren't ready for it. It will happen to all of us, eventually, some quicker than others — but, one day, we will end up as tragic as this rose.
Hinata could not imagine Neji ever becoming as sorrowful as that rose — he was too beautiful, she decided, to ever fade away. He could not wilt; she would not let him. But his words reminded her of someone — of someone with lonely eyes and a lonelier smile — she found herself reminded of Uchiha Sasuke. After a few minutes longer, she realised that her cousin was watching her carefully, noticing the way her eyes had glazed over slightly and the sad, vacant look on her face. He noticed it all, noting it down in his mind, to be pondered over for the next few days until he found out what had caused her to look like that.
But, for now, he simply closed the little black book, gazing at his handwriting — her name — on the cover, and then handed it over to her. He stood up, pulling himself to his feet with a grace that Hinata felt she would never be able to achieve. He stared down at her, before offering his hand — she took it, mumbling her thanks, and allowed him to pull her gently to her feet. She placed her flower pressing book gently onto her bedside table, resting it beside the vase with the single red rose, and then turned to her cousin.
He was already making his way towards her bedroom door.
"Neji!"
He stopped quickly, tilting his head and peering at her over his shoulder — she fidgeted slightly, pressing her fingers together, gazing at her feet; and then, finally, she looked up, her face flushed, and smiled nervously at him.
"T—Thank you."
A smile fluttered across his face, as beautiful as a butterfly — a proper, wonderful, true smile — and then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. He nodded jerkily, raising his hand to bid her goodbye. "It was no problem at all, Hinata." And then he slipped out of the door and disappeared down the corridor.
Hanabi raised her eyebrow at her cousin, as he passed. "…Why didn't you just use the byakugan, Neji? You'd have found that little book quicker, wouldn't you?"
Neji simply chuckled and continued on his way.
Back in her bedroom, Hinata waited for a moment, before turning back to her bedside table — she picked up the black book, opening it carefully at the back page. Then she reached into her drawer, scooping up a few tissues, and tenderly picked up the single red rose — the colours had dulled fractionally since she'd picked it, but she decided she didn't care. She began to wipe the leaves and the stem, tugging off any curled or blackened leaves, then began to gently wipe down the petals, taking extra care with them; it took her a while, but she felt content as she went about her business. So peaceful.
She loved flowers, but not in the same way as Ino. Ino enjoyed arranging the flowers, bringing out their beauty in a way that would only make them lovely for a small amount of time. Once the flowers left Ino's capable hands everything went downhill; they soon became mixed up and the leaves curled. They were given too much water, or too little.
Hinata, however, enjoyed preserving their beauty. By pressing the flowers, she was capturing their beauty forever, trapped between the pages of a book, where she could gaze at them and remember all the memories they held. She was willing to admit that sometimes it didn't always work — occasionally, her precious flowers wilted and died, even after she had pressed them — but usually they remained beautiful.
She pulled a piece of blank paper out of her third drawer and ripped it directly in half, placing it between the last two pages and then placed the rose gently down upon the paper. She took a moment to rearrange it; turning the flower head to face her so that, when it was pressed, she'd be able to see all of the detail, all of its beauty. Hinata moved the leaves, cut the bottom off the stem, tugged off a rotten leaf, then wandered away and returned, carrying three large books.
Then she closed the back page of her little black book, pressing down with the flat of her hands for a while before placing the three books on top of her smaller book. She adjusted them, making sure that they were balanced, before stepping backwards and beaming, her face flushed with triumph.
Hinata would capture the beauty of Sasuke's rose forever.
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"You will visit Uchiha Sasuke for precisely an hour each day. You are allowed to bring objects onto the prison premises, within reason, under the strict rule that you allow each object to be searched for hidden weapons, poisons, etcetera, etcetera… You will not purposefully inform Uchiha Sasuke of any decisions we have made concerning his fate. You will not inform Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura or any other shinobi living in Konoha or anywhere else, that you are visiting Uchiha Sasuke. Understand?"
Hinata nodded, biting her bottom lip as the Hokage gazed directly at her. Finally, she found her voice. "Y—Yes."
"Do you have any questions?" Tsunade asked, linking her hands together and leaning forwards, staring at the younger girl and making Hinata feel quite uncomfortable indeed.
"N—No."
"If you have any questions or requests at all, please tell me directly — even Shizune does not know that the Uchiha is receiving visitors."
"Of course, Lady Tsunade," Hinata murmured, bowing her head low in respect and then turning, moving towards the office door.
"And Hinata…?"
She slowed to a halt, turning to face her Hokage only to find the blonde woman standing up, her hands clasped behind her back, gazing out over her village. She waited patiently, giving the older woman time to gather her thoughts, until finally the Hokage spoke.
"You don't have to do this. You can back out at any moment, and no one will think badly of you. Just remember that."
She nodded sadly.
"I will."
Tsunade's mouth twitched into a smile filled with bitter, mocking amusement. "But you won't do it, though, will you? Not a nice girl like you."
Hinata said nothing.
"Close the door on your way out."
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"Hinata!"
Hinata turned slowly at the sound of her name, the groceries in her bag banging against the side of her leg, wondering who on earth could be calling her so urgently — and there, stood beside a restaurant which specialized in BBQ food, stood Ino, waving wildly with one hand, the other arm looped around a yawning Shikamaru. The blonde beamed at her, gesturing for her to hurry over, and Hinata did so, albeit extremely reluctantly; the shopping in her hand weighed far too much and she'd promised her father that she would be home in time to cook dinner.
"That's a beautiful kimono; I have one just like it, except it's pink and my mother made it for me. How's your cousin, by the way?" Ino asked, and, for a second, Hinata had no idea what she was talking about; in fact, she immediately began to worry, as she hadn't heard that anything was wrong with Neji.
Hinata's eyes widened a fraction as she remembered the lie she'd told yesterday — "Neji isn't feeling so well—I need some flowers which will b—brighten up his day." She forced herself to smile, suddenly feeling exhausted; why hadn't she said the flowers were for herself? Eventually, Ino was bound to ask Neji how he was feeling, and Neji would know she was keeping something from him and Hinata would feel obliged to tell him.
"Oh, he's fine, Ino."
Ino clapped her hands, "How did he like the flowers?"
Her thoughts flickered to Sasuke — the way he'd gazed at the flowers as if transfixed; the way the flowers had unlocked beautifully tragic memories, and the look of surprise on his face as he'd spoken to her — and she smiled.
"I'm not too sure, but I think he liked them." She paused thoughtfully. "I think he thought they were b—beautiful."
Ino's eyes widened and she gaped for a second, before laughing merrily. "Yeah, good one, Hinata, but I doubt Neji would ever say anything as corny as that. He's just too into that tall, dark and handsome thing to ever be romantic. I'm not as stupid as to believe a complete lie like that one." She flapped her hands airily, nudging her teammate. "Right, Shikamaru?"
He wasn't listening. He was busy considering Hinata, his head tilted thoughtfully as though he were seeing her for the first time. Ino narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips tightly, and then promptly pinched his arm. He winced, letting out a hiss of pain, and shifted away from Ino, rubbing his arm lazily.
"…What was that for?"
"You were staring," Ino snapped, placing her hands on her hips and scowling, and Hinata (had to admit) thought privately that the blonde girl in a bad mood was possibly the scariest thing she had ever seen. "That's rude, Shikamaru—apologize to Hinata."
The lazy shinobi raised his eyebrow, regarding his teammate as if she were highly insane; the blonde waggled her nails in response and he heaved a sigh. "…troublesome woman…" he mumbled, scratching the back of his head idly and turning towards Hinata — he was surprised to see the young Hyuuga backing steadily away, fidgeting and tugging at her jacket and looking anywhere but at him.
Or, more precisely, anywhere but at Ino.
The blonde could barely contain her anger. Her eyes were narrowed and her lip curled slightly and she squeezed her fists unconsciously, reaching forwards towards her teammate — and Hinata knew she was angry. Very angry.
"Troublesome woman?"she hissed, and she was so close to punching her lazy, good-for-nothing teammate, except she was a lady and ladies didn't punch possible suitors, something which her good friend Sakura should've probably learnt by now, but it was oh so tempting! "Who are you calling a troublesome woman?"
Hinata didn't wait to hear Shikamaru's response; the man might have been a tactical genius, but when it came to understanding his blonde teammate, his IQ plummeted down into mere double digits. Instead, she continued backing away, one hand clutching her shopping bag, fully aware of the fact that she had to get home and cook dinner quickly. She still needed to visit Sasuke, and she unfortunately couldn't afford to stay and talk to her friends, as much as she wanted to. Finally, she turned around, waving as she did so.
"G—Goodbye, Shikamaru, Ino! Have a nice evening!"
And with that, she broke into a run, her bag swinging into the side of her leg in rhythm with her movements. She was going to be late, she just knew it, and her father would be so disappointed — he'd gaze at her in disdain, just as he always did, and he'd wrinkle his nose and his knuckles would turn white, and he'd think, 'that's my daughter. That failure is my own flesh and blood.' And, oh, she just didn't want to let him down anymore.
She arrived late.
Her father was stood by the door, his arms folded, his face stern. Hinata felt her breath hitch in her throat and her heart had missed a beat. He certainly looked the part of the clan leader, that was for sure, in his midnight blue kimono, with its gold finery and stitches. She could just see the hilt of his sword, swinging loosely by his waist.
She slowed to a halt in front of him, clasping the bag in front of her and bowing her head in respect. They stood like that for a moment, and she felt herself break out into a sweat; she could feel him staring at her and it was as if his eyes simply looked straight through her — she was his glass daughter, so fragile, so breakable, she'd never be a powerful kunoichi, oh no, she was not fit to be the clan leader, that glass kunoichi — and her head began to pound.
At first, her father had bravely fought her case. "She will make a fine leader," he had said, and now she realised he'd only said it because he hadn't wanted to admit the truth. "She has a good head on her shoulders. In time, she will become a powerful kunoichi. She will lead the next generation."
The clan elders had voiced their disbelief. "She is weak. She stutters when she speaks. She is a joke. She is a failure. Her scores are lower than Hyuuga Neji's, and he is a member of the branch clan. She cannot lead us. She is a woman. She is insecure. She has no confidence. She is unsuited for leadership — she can only be led."
Her father had attempted to stay strong. One night, just after she'd passed the Chuunin exam, she'd crept downstairs for a glass of water — one of the clan elders had been sat in her front room, with her father. She'd stood beside the door, her back against the wall, listening with bated breath.
"Hiashi," the elder had said, his voice kind and gentle and unmistakably fake, "We understand, we truly do — she is your daughter. Her mother is — was — a wonderful kunoichi; brave and strong and intelligent. Had your daughter been like her, she would have been a perfect leader — if only she'd been more like you. She is too kind and too feeble for the position. We cannot accept her; in fact, we have a list of more suitable candidates, among them being your nephew and your second daughter. Do you agree?"
There had been silence.
Finally, she'd heard a chair creak — footsteps had paced across the room — a cabinet door had swung open. There was the chink of glass as it was placed upon a wooden surface; and then the trickle of water being steadily poured into the glass. In her mind's eye, she could picture the amber liquid as it poured out of the bottle. Her father very rarely drank — he only ever did so if he was stressed or… sad.
She listened as his footsteps crossed back to his chair imagining his head tipping back, his expression blank. Then, after a while, she heard the chink of ice falling back into a glass. He'd downed the drink in one. Her eyes had widened and she'd sunk to her knees, her back against the wall, one thought on her mind.
Her father never drank so quickly.
The clan elder cleared his throat again. "Do you agree, Hiashi?"
For what seemed like an hour, there was nothing but silence. Hinata had felt the tears trickling down her cheeks, hot and useless, and she'd cursed her weakness. She'd already known what was coming.
"She is pathetic."
Her father's voice had been clear and strong, and there had been no evidence of sadness or pain in his voice. He'd said it so easily, as though it were nothing — as though she were nothing. She gasped in air, sobbing quietly, and then quickly pressed her fist against her mouth. She was certain her father had heard her.
"She is a failure."
He had continued anyway. The elder attempted to say something, but Hiashi had raised his hand, effectively shutting him up — Hinata had sensed the tense silence, and she too had quieted down, raising her head and straining to hear.
"She is no daughter of mine."
Her sobbing had increased tenfold then — she'd been unable to stop it. She'd pulled her legs up to her chest, her body shaking and trembling, the tears dripping down onto her silk nightie, and she'd suddenly been so aware of the bitter, unfriendly cold. The clan elder had obviously heard her — as he hurried out of the door, his eyes strayed towards her, showing nothing but pity, and then he'd turned away, scooping up his coat as he did so.
She'd urged herself to move, before her father appeared — if he caught her wailing, he'd certainly believe she was nothing but a weak liability — and, yet, she couldn't bring herself to move. Maybe she just wanted to see her father's face, look into his eyes, and see if he was lying, see if it was just a cruel joke.
He stepped through the doorway and paused there; she'd attempted to muffle her sobs, pressing her palms so forcefully against her mouth that she was certain she'd have bruises from her fingers later. She looked up at him, hopefully. For a while, he stayed where he was, looking directly forwards — and then he turned his head and gazed at her.
Her breathing caught in her throat.
Although his expression was blank, his eyes were filled with nothing but contempt. They were enraged. They were furious. They were ashamed. And, hidden amongst it all was disappointment. Burning, aching disappointment.
"…Go to bed, girl."
She had cringed away from him, as if he'd burnt her — he didn't even want to say her name — and he'd turned away, scooping up his coat and leaving the building. She'd stayed where she was for the entire night, sobbing and sobbing; she'd woken up to find a blanket tossed over her and Neji sat by her side, staring at the wall opposite them. She'd rubbed her tear stained cheeks. He'd said nothing.
They'd sat together for a while, until finally he spoke up.
"For what it's worth, Hinata, I think you'd have been a great leader."
Her bottom lip had trembled as she'd forced herself to smile — and then she'd burst into heaving, ugly tears, managing to stop herself from throwing her arms around her cousin. He'd sat silently for a second, uncomfortable and unsure, and then he'd stroked her hair softly, just a couple of times, until she finally stopped.
As she gazed at her father now, and as the memories came flooding back to her, she felt her bottom lip quiver and her eyes grew hot. She clutched the shopping bag more tightly, thankful of her hair acting as a curtain, shielding her expression from him.
"You are late," he stated coldly. "What were you doing?"
"S—Some friends wished to speak to me, f—father," Even as she said it, she wished she hadn't. Father. She had not called him that word in a long time. It seemed the memories had made her slip up.
He raised his eyebrow. "You are selfish. Did you not promise to arrive here early, so that you could prepare the dinner, for once?"
She did not dare suggest that that was why he insisted on employing servants—he simply complained about her food, anyway. Instead, she nodded jerkily, still gazing at the floor. "Yes, s—sir," that was better. She would not slip up again. "I shall begin cooking s—straight away."
He nodded sharply, moving aside so that she could pass him — as she hurried by, she bowed her head respectfully, for the second time, and then continued quickly on our way. Just as she was about to turn the corner, and head towards the kitchen, he called her name, surprising her and filling her with dreadful, pathetic, hope.
"Hinata."
She turned quickly, ducking her head again, and she heard his long, heaving sigh before she straightened, shuddering faintly at his blank expression.
"Lose the stutter. It's pitiful."
She wondered, briefly, if he lived to make her feel miserable and pathetic. Yet, still she nodded sadly, jerkily, fighting back the tears which threatened to spill over and calling herself every name she knew on the planet.
She watched her father until he disappeared around the corner, before busying herself in the kitchen, attempting to distract herself. She crouched down, disheartened, pulling out a couple of onions; she peeled them slowly, carefully, knowing that no matter how quick she was, she still would not satisfy her father. Hinata heard footsteps behind her, as she tugged a chopping knife out of the kitchen drawer. She began to chop the onions, trying to be as precise as possible, all the while listening as the footsteps neared.
She felt the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks and cursed herself softly, underneath her breath.
"Hinata…?" It was Hanabi. Her younger sister walked forwards slowly and Hinata felt her hand against her arm, gently brushing her skin, before her sisters face appeared in her line of vision. "Why are you crying?"
"I—It's the onions, H—H—Hanabi."
Her younger sister raised an eyebrow coolly, smiling faintly, though the smile didn't extend to her eyes. "Sister… You're lying. I can see right through you, y'know?"
The glass kunoichi.
Hinata laughed bitterly.
"Y—Yeah, Hanabi; I know."
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"Uchiha Sasuke, you have a guest."
Ibiki wasn't even sure why he said it; Hinata had made it clear that she was not going to stop visiting Sasuke, despite the fact that today she looked worse for wear. He'd noticed the two ANBU exchanging glances, and he was sure she had too. She'd obviously spent a lot of time cleaning her face, but her eyelashes still stuck together and her cheeks were red from all her scrubbing — she'd obviously been crying. Her kimono, despite its finery, was crumpled and the edge of her right sleeve was frayed.
He didn't mention it, and he hoped Sasuke had the decency not to, as well.
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Sasuke waited until he was sure Ibiki had left the room, before raising his head and scanning Hinata's face, one eyebrow perfectly arched. She was a mess, that was for sure — and that was a lot, coming from him, what with his sickly pale skin and hollow, sunken features; he was growing steadily more and more dependent on the drugs, and it sickened him. Despite his troubles, however, he found himself looking at Hinata with a twinge of pity. She was trying so hard as well. Her back was ramrod straight and her knuckles were white; she stared fixedly at the vase filled with the blue irises and yellow roses, her lilac eyes watery and slightly red, and her lashes were clumped together, unnaturally thick. Her bottom lip trembled as she fought the urge to cry.
Behind her, the two ANBU slunk out of the room, exchanging nervous glances, neither one wishing to witness the kunoichi break down.
He cocked his head, peering at her. "You didn't need to come, you know."
"I p—promised," she mumbled, tugging at the sleeve of her kimono — it was a fine kimono as well, and a nice change from the baggy jacket he'd seen her wearing previously. This was vibrant and nicer. Prettier.
"People break their promises."
"N—Naruto doesn't."
Sasuke's lips quirked into a smile. "I think you'll find he did. He promised he would bring me back at whatever cost. He didn't." He nodded his head towards the door, gesturing to the ANBU stood just outside. "They did. He broke his promise. You can break yours at any time. I wouldn't think anything of it."
"You would."
He raised his eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes," she snapped, her fists clenching — and he realised he liked seeing her like this; he liked seeing her angry and defensive and fighting for what she thought was right. "You'd be u—upset, and you'd be hurt, and you would die lonely and hated, just like your brother." She'd stood up, her fists clenched by her sides, and the last words came out as a hiss, filled with contempt, lashing out at him. He realised he'd been wrong to think she cared about him — she only cared about her promise to Naruto, and that was that, and he shouldn't have expected any more from her.
His eyes turned cold. "My brother was not hated."
"Are you going to t—try and pretend, Sasuke? You hated him, and you were the only person who could have even tried to love him," Hinata's voice was raising in pitch, getting higher and higher. "You killed him, Sasuke! Don't you pretend you loved him! You killed him!"
"My brother was a martyr, who killed for his beloved village," Sasuke spat, his voice low and dangerous. "My brother was a saint, who killed everyone he loved, for this rotten little place. He did things you could never have dreamed of, because your precious Hokage told him to. I didn't hate him — I hated them."
"What are you talking about?"
Sasuke eyed her — the girl he'd thought could possibly understand him, over time — and then smirked bitterly.
"Why would you care? You're only doing this for your wonderful Naruto. Why should we talk about feelings and people and memories? Why would you give a damn?"
Hinata's mouth opened and closed for a second and, at the look of pain in his eyes, and the loneliness in his voice, all of her anger vanished. All of the frustration and hatred she'd felt for her father, which she'd unleashed on this man — this lonely, lost boy — had disappeared completely. She sunk slowly back into her chair and, although the tears threatened to come, she knew they wouldn't. She'd run out of tears to cry.
"I'm sorry, S—Sasuke," she began, but she couldn't quite finish. He was still looking at her, obviously waiting for her to explain her little outburst but, as she opened her mouth, he beat her to it.
"Don't tell me you didn't mean it. Tell me anything, but don't tell me you didn't mean it."
She looked at him and he returned her stare, his gaze steady. She was suddenly aware of how ill he seemed. His skin had an unsightly, sickly glow to it. His eyes were hollow, sunken back in his face; they had ugly, huge bags underneath them. His hair stuck to his forehead in greasy clumps. Looking at Sasuke, she realised that things could be worse.
But she'd attempt to explain anyway.
"My name is Hyuuga H—Hinata. At the age of nineteen, I was going to become the leader of the Hyuuga clan. It was in my destiny, I suppose. I was too weak, though. I trained my hardest, but it wasn't enough. W—While you were in the academy, getting your perfect scores, I was barely scraping a pass. You put up a valiant f—fight during the Chuunin exams; I lost humiliatingly. I passed the Chuunin exams later, after you'd l—left, but my father still wasn't pleased. That night, he informed me I was a failure. He told me I was no daughter of his. Earlier today, he called me pitiful. I suppose I'm just r—remembering."
Sasuke tilted his head, gazing at her. All of the sudden, the fight had gone out of her. She simply seemed weary now, as she spread her palms and gazed at him.
"You know better than anyone, that memories aren't always happy. I bet my troubles seem pathetic, compared to with what y—you've been through—they're nothing, compared to the hatred Naruto had to — has to — put up w—with. But I… I'm always trying. And it's never g—good enough. He's always so disappointed. I'm not going to be like my m—m—mother, but I don't think he realizes that. He's so ashamed."
Absently, she began to rearrange the flowers she'd bought the day before; they were wilting slightly, as the ANBU refused to water them and Sasuke himself was in no position to do so. He watched as she picked out the irises, laying them on the table so that the only colours in the vase was yellow and green.
"No apology I give will ever be good enough to excuse the hateful things I've s—said to you. And I wish I could take them back, because you didn't d—deserve that, but it felt so good—"
"—getting them off your chest?" Sasuke cut across her, his usual smirk pasted across his face — but she noticed that his eyes were carefully blank, portraying no emotions. She bowed her head, not wanting to look into his eyes, giving up; he'd ask her not to visit him anymore, that was for certain, and she felt so ashamed of herself.
He cleared his throat.
"…I don't think you're pathetic."
Her head shot upwards and he was vaguely amused to see the surprise, and the shock, on her face. He tilted his head.
"Weakness doesn't necessarily equal being pathetic — although, it can help," he murmured, staring at the wall behind her, not meeting her gaze. "Orochimaru was one of the strongest shinobi I knew, but he was also the most pathetic, striving after a selfish and hateful goal, that he could not achieve. We all say hateful things and it takes us a while to forgive people, but it happens in time…"
He trailed off — her face lit up and she beamed at him, hearing his hidden message. 'If you'll come and visit me, still', he'd meant, and she knew that. He was glad. He yawned, despite himself, suddenly tired — his chakra was drained and his spirits were low, and now he could quite gladly accept sleep.
Hinata sensed his restlessness and straightened, clasping her hands in front of her and ducking her head, smiling apologetically. "Sleep well, S—Sasuke," she murmured, backing away slowly, moving towards the door. The ANBU slipped back inside, returning to their positions on either side of the room, eyebrows rising at the tense atmosphere, wondering what on earth had happened.
Uchiha Sasuke was already asleep.
Hyuuga Hinata was already making her way out of the prison.
They shared glances, eyebrows raised behind their masks — and then bear-mask glanced towards the table, taking in the sight of the irises, all laid out upon the table, with their yellow counterparts still in the vase. Unable to stop herself, she walked briskly over to the table, scooping the blue irises up and placing them back into the vase. Her eyes strayed over to the Uchiha in his straightjacket, hanging just beyond the glass window. She frowned.
"Such a beautiful boy — such a kind, innocent girl."
Rabbit-mask simply shrugged, turning away. Bear-mask paused, her fingers brushing against the petals of the blue irises — they were so pretty — before she too turned in the opposite direction. She smiled bitterly.
"How… tragic."