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
notes1: "DOUBLE DIGITS FREAKING WOO"
notes2: "the road outside my house is paved with good intentions"
notes3: "you'll notice hinata's stuttering is disappearing. i plan on going through and editing it so she sounds more natural; also, i'm sorry if my fight scene sucks balls"
chapter: 1o/5o
Hinata was not having a good day.
She brushed her fingers through her hair, easing out the tangles gently and attempting to hitch her bag back onto her shoulder, by shifting her hip; it didn't particularly work. The contents of her bag—shuriken, kunai, bandages, apples and a bottle of water—spilled out across the floor, and she heaved a sigh, kneeling down to pick the objects all back up again.
Daisuke stooped down besides her, smiling tentatively; he'd been nothing but humble ever since their close shave at the bar, and, since then, he'd stuck by her side like glue. For some reason, despite Shino's intelligence and Kiba's confidence, he thought she was the most reliable. The idea struck her as laughable, but she said nothing, gratefully accepting the objects from the nobleman. He straightened first, hurriedly sticking his hand out for her to hold; she would have raised an eyebrow, but she wasn't that sort of person, and so she took his hand, thanking him softly.
Up ahead, Kiba rolled his eyes, before sniffing idly; originally, the plan had been that he would walk at the front, and Akamaru would walk at the back, but he'd grown bored of storming ahead on his own. Hinata had offered to cover the rear; they'd insisted, for the space of two wasted minutes, that Daisuke walk with Shino, but he'd flat out refused. Their teammate hadn't looked that insulted.
"What do you do?" He asked, suddenly, startling Hinata out of her thoughts, as she fumbled with her bag—she very nearly dropped the contents then and there.
She blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the q—question."
Daisuke flapped one hand absently, as though to further his point. "I mean, what do you do? You can't do this all of the time, kunoichi—Hinata," he corrected himself before continuing, gesturing at her bag filled with weapons. "What do you do, when you've got no one to kill or save or protect? How do you sleep, once the missions are over?"
Hinata hooked her bag back over her shoulder, forming a jutsu with her hands and activating her byakugan. She fixed Daisuke with a piercing gaze, made all the more terrifying by the veins quivering beside her eyes, but perhaps softened by her small smile and heated lips. His question was intriguing; it showed how little he understood. She looked around her, staring into the leafy terrain, searching for signs of chakra, carefully considering her answer. She waited a moment, shifting her thoughts into order, before finally speaking.
"I read a book," she said, finally, and wondered if she'd said the wrong thing after Daisuke sucked in a sharp breath. "I talk with my friends. I cook dinner for my family, and spar with my c—cousin. I braid my little sister's hair, sometimes, if she's feeling funny. I cook soup for my father when he's sick. I buy flowers for my c—crush. I write in my diary. Well, I don't write in my diary anymore; I g—grew out of that a long time ago. I look through old picture books and photo albums. I draw, and sometimes I paint with N—Neji. I practise my calligraphy. I fold origami. I order ramen from the r—ramen stand, and I bake cinnamon rolls. I press f—flowers. I sleep at night."
"But you—you…" He frowned, obviously confused. Hinata understood why; when she was younger, it had confused her as well.
She had been sat with Kiba and Shino, listening to Kurenai talk—and, out of nowhere, their teacher had explained that sometimes people would want to hurt them. Sometimes it wouldn't be enough just to knock-out the opponent; sometimes, that just wasn't going to cut it. Sometimes, it was kill or be killed, and if you didn't understand that, you were as good as dead. At the time, Hinata had sat with her hands held firmly in her lap, holding back her tears, waiting until everyone had left to sob quietly to herself.
Because, back then, she hadn't been able to understand why.
Why would anyone want to kill her? What kind of person would do such a thing? How could she kill anyone? Now, she blamed her childhood ignorance on her father, though she didn't hate him for it; he had long since decided, after her mother died, that to become too attached was a weakness. He had provided her with just enough love to spike her appetite, but not enough to quench her thirst. With an air of impassiveness, he'd handed her the best toys and finest kimonos—he'd educated her on the impressive history of their clan, as well as the history of Konoha. When Hinata was kidnapped, the gifts had become ridiculous; a gold locket, the most expensive in Konoha, lost beneath her bed when she was young—a teddy bear made out of the finest material; enough gifts to show her he'd cared.
It showed her that he'd been scared.
But, despite all the gifts, he had not truly told her anything. He had trained her, just as he had done with Neji and Hanabi, but he had not informed her of what she was really going to be. In a sense, he had trained his own daughter to become a cold-blooded assassin; or, at least, that's what he had wanted.
He had gotten Hinata.
No, she didn't cry herself to sleep at night, over all the people she had killed; she'd only be wasting her tears, and she didn't want to do that. She had to use her tears sparingly, on the people she cared for. She offered Daisuke a gentle, soothing smile, placing her hand on his arm. "I don't cry, because I am t—trained not to," she murmured, all the while still smiling; then she pulled her hand away, fidgeting slightly. "Tears are p—precious and should not be wasted, when you're a shinobi."
Because she never knew who would disappear next.
For Naruto, it had been first his parents, then Jiraiya, and finally Sasuke. For Sasuke, it had been his entire clan. For Neji, it had been his father. For her, it had been her mother, and then, slowly, her father as well, as he became wrapped up in the politics of his clan. But anyone—anyone at all—could disappear on their mission; go out one day, smiling and laughing, and never come back; or worse, turn up in a crinkly green body bag.
She never knew who would disappear next.
She didn't notice it until it was too late—neither did Kiba, but he moved a fraction of a second before she did. A kunai, flung from somewhere to her right, flew through the air and met its target, sinking into Daisuke's side with a dull thud. His eyes widened in absolute horror; and they met hers, briefly, before he sank to his knees.
The second kunai came from the left, but Hinata whirled around, bringing her kunai up to meet it and deflecting it uselessly away. Shino and Kiba reached her, then, with Akamaru not far behind; the three of them formed a tight circle around the fallen nobleman. Kiba fell into a crouch, a snarl slipping across his face, and Akamaru mimicked him—Shino remained where he was, stood impassively; the only sign of movement where the beetles beginning to slowly crawl across his face, before each lazily taking flight. Hinata leaned forwards, stretching her palms out, tensing and relaxing until she was finally happy with her stance.
Daisuke groaned weakly.
Three kunai flew through the air; two from the right, one from the left—one for each member of Team Kurenai. They soared through the air, and all three shinobi tensed, ready to defend themselves; then, almost at the last moment, the kunai fell awkwardly to the floor. Hinata let out a soft squeak of surprise—soaring low across the floor were senbon, headed for their feet; it had been a simple distraction. Get the enemy looking at one thing, while something else happens. It had been foolish for her—for any of them—to fall for it. They couldn't jump out of the way, because that would leave Daisuke open and, judging from the way each senbon was positioned, getting hit would be a crippling blow.
Hinata wasn't a tactical genius; as Shino's bugs flew out to swarm over the senbon aimed at him, and as Akamaru leapt in front of Kiba, Hinata remained entirely still, waiting for the weapons to meet her. There was no way she could leap out of the way. Instead, she shifted slightly forwards, watching the approaching senbon steadily. Once they were closer, she flexed her hands and span, exerting her chakra through her palms as possible, all the while remaining low to the floor. She knew that, even without her byakugan, her chakra was visible to all.
The senbon were deflected away; they flew backwards, and gravity took hold. Useless, they clattered to the ground. There was a moment of silence. The bushes swayed in the breeze—Hinata felt her hair pick up, billowing across her face, but she remained still, her hands outstretched. She narrowed her eyes; she could see their enemy's chakra and, yet, none of the three assassins made any attempt to move.
Kiba frowned. "Why aren't they attacking?"
"They're waiting it out," Shino stated, pushing his hands into his pockets, his lips set in a grim line. "They want us to attack, and no doubt trigger whatever trap they have planned."
"Explosive tags…?" Kiba questioned, cocking his head slightly, as he tugged the senbon out of Akamaru's side; the large dog whimpered softly, but otherwise made no sound. He'd been trained to take the brute force of many attacks, as he'd gotten older and larger, and so he was relatively used to the pain—still, Kiba could not help but wince sympathetically, patting his partner's head gently.
Shino shook his head, and no more questions were asked. Hinata frowned, shifting her weight from side to side, careful not to let her muscles tense up. The three assassins didn't move at all, but she'd already guessed that two of them had to be the two girls from earlier; the third was unknown. She glanced down at Daisuke. His face had gone pale, and sweat clung in thick droplets to his forehead; as she watched, beads trickled down his face and dropped onto the floor. He was clutching his side, his fingers spread around the kunai—the growing dark stain there was worrying. She looked up. "Whatever happens, we n—need to get moving before Daisuke loses too much blood."
"Then we go on the offensive," Kiba snapped, shooting forwards before either of his teammates could protest; he was using his nose to guide him to the nearest attacker and, as he ran, a kunai slipped into his hand.
Hinata watched in surprise as the assassin's chakra surged forwards to meet Kiba; the two met, and she heard Kiba's grunts mix with a feminine voice. It was no doubt one of the girls they'd met earlier. Shino rolled his eyes, questioning the other's techniques, before lifting his arms—bugs poured from underneath his sleeves, escaping into the forest and heading towards the second assassin. Their chakra shot forwards, ducking and dodging and weaving, attempting to reach the clearing and attack Shino, but being stopped by the bugs which swarmed around them.
The final assassin's chakra flickered as they moved closer, but Hinata made no attempt to move. Instead, she took a few steps forwards, waiting patiently for the other to arrive—whether it was a good idea or not, she didn't know. Her eyes flickered down to Daisuke. There was no way she was just going to tear away after the assassin, like Kiba. Leaving the nobleman too open at any point would certainly lead to his death.
The assassin stepped into the clearing, and Hinata narrowed her eyes. It was the blonde girl from earlier; equipped with a bag of weapons and a rather large scroll tied across her back, she offered Hinata a small smirk. Then, with an extravagant flourish, the scroll was pulled off her back and a thin curved katana appeared in its place; the girl wrapped one hand around it, using the other to stroke up and down the blade, as if to say 'just look at how sharp this is.'
Hinata, however, narrowed her eyes. The use of a close-range weapon such as a sword meant that she'd no doubt end up getting closer to her opponent, which was definitely a pro for her; however, no assassin would run into a mission without being briefed on who they might come up against. The girl had to know at least something of her fighting style—and, since she was part of one of the most prestigious clans in Konoha, she guessed that quite a lot was known about her. Hinata would also have to match her kunai to the other's katana; and, due to the fact that it had been summoned with a scroll, she supposed there would be more to it than meets the eye.
"Come on, now, kunoichi," the girl said, finally, her voice taunting. "How did you plan on beating me? I may seem young but I assure you I'm twice the killer you'll ever be—twice the killer any Konoha nin will ever become."
She remained silent, refusing to take the bait. Arguing would be useless and simply show that she was easily provoked. The girl's smile widened, and she took a few more steps forwards, swinging her katana like a pendulum from her side. "Hurry up, little kunoichi. Hurry up and make a move. I want to slice off your pretty face."
Hinata frowned slightly, unable to hide her annoyance at such a patronizing comment: little kunoichi? She was older than her opponent and taller too. Already she was being mocked. It was disappointing. Angering. If she had been anyone else, she would have launched herself into a rushed attack then and there. Instead, she straightened, slipping out of her fighting stance and bewildering her opponent.
She smiled slightly, bowing her head sharply. "I apologise, but I thought you w—were going to talk for a little longer. My arms were beginning to ache."
The girl practically hissed, her lips peeling back into a crazed scowl, her eyes wide and blazing. It shocked Hinata—stood in front of her, was a young girl who had been changed and tampered with at birth, and turned into a monster. She wondered whether her father would have considered the girl to be strong; was this what he had wanted her to be?
"And who are you, to mock me?" The girl snapped. "You may be a member of the high and mighty Hyuuga clan, but your eyes are nothing. I have become what I am because of pure talent. I did not need a noble father to get where I am today. Unless, of course, you used other means…" She let the suggestion trail off.
Hinata didn't reply—she let her actions do the talking for her.
Tilting forwards, she raced towards the girl, ducking underneath a wild swing from the enemy's sword; as she ran, she brought her palm upwards, keeping it aimed low enough to break through the girl's defence and cause vital damage. She could feel her chakra surging towards her hand, and it gave her such a huge sense of power, that a smile almost slipped across her face. The girl grunted, gritting her teeth and dodging to the side just as Hinata was about to land her blow; the Hyuuga switched direction, using her momentum to push her towards the girl once again.
In such a close combat battle, the assassin's sword was more of a hindrance than a help; it hung uselessly by her side, heavy and pathetic. It slowed her down enough for Hinata to take the upper hand, forcing her enemy to duck and weave backwards; her taijutsu was strong, yes, but nowhere near Hyuuga-level; she barely managed to keep up with Hinata, despite her extensive training. A sense of thrill shot through the Konoha kunoichi—she had improved. This was her proof. She was forcing a highly-trained nin backwards; forcing them to defend, not attack.
She was filled with an overwhelming sense of pride in herself; perhaps that was what caused her to slip up and make a mistake. Hinata pushed her left palm forwards, lunging a little too wildly—the girl seized the opportunity, gripping Hinata's arm and lifting her blade, forcing the Hyuuga to spin backwards and out of the way. She didn't move quickly enough—the assassin leapt backwards, making sure to keep a greater distance between her foe; short enough for her sword to reach Hinata, but long enough so that Hinata's attacks wouldn't reach her. Close combat, but not close enough.
As easily as that, Hinata lost the upper hand.
The assassin's attacks were relentless, and they were delivered with such fury behind them, that Hinata barely managed to block them. The kunai she was using to stop the blade seemed fragile and puny in her grasp; her earlier sense of power had vanished, and she was reverted to her Genin years, when she had been helpless and pathetic. She had been the hindrance, to her entire team. It had been awful.
The enemy kunoichi wrapped both of her hands around the blade and drove it downwards, aiming for Hinata's head; she only just managed to bring her kunai up to defend herself. Both kunoichi sent as much chakra into their weapons as possible, attempting to use blunt strength and force of chakra to come out victorious. As far as Hinata could see, the outcome was inevitable; the girl certainly had the upper hand, and she was beginning to lose hope. She would be killed or worse, captured, and her teammates would be compromised; choose between her fate and Daisuke's. Her eyes met the girl's.
The enemy smirked. "So, tell me your name, so I can know the name of the pretty kunoichi I have killed."
Her taunts were met with a slight frown, and a look of dawning realization. Hinata pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. "It's Hyuuga Hinata," she replied, and brought her knee upwards—she felt her chakra surge towards that area, as she attempted to cause as much damage as possible. She wasn't going to be mocked any longer.
The assassin's eyes widened, as she doubled over, coughing; her grasp on her blade weakened slightly, and, taking advantage of the moment, Hinata kicked it away. It clattered uselessly across the floor, spinning to a halt further away, the blade pointing in the opposite direction; its blade shone silver in the sunlight and, just dimly, two figures could be made out, reflected on the metal. One of the figures was cowering, the other advancing and attacking ferociously; both were blurry and difficult to make out. Finally, the second figure surged forwards, her palm hitting the other figure square in the chest; the blow seemed average, at first, but then the figure doubled over, coughing up blood, her eyes wide and frightened.
Hinata stared blankly back down at the other, not quite seeing her—instead, she was thinking of her father. This was what he wanted her to become. This… monster. Would Naruto approve? No, definitely not. He'd want his old friend back, sweet and demure as always.
…would Sasuke approve?
A hand fell onto her shoulder and, moving instinctively, she gripped it, pushing her hips backwards and tugging the figure forwards, attempting to flip them. There was a poof of smoke, as a substitution jutsu was used.
Shino reappeared into front of Hinata, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing. She stared at him, thoughts still swirling through her mind; but then she relaxed and smiled shyly, glancing down at the injured assassin and feeling slightly guilty. Sure, it had been a fight to the death, but Hinata had acted out of character. Her negative emotions had almost entirely taken over; all the hatred, and the rage, and the oppression had spilled out of her in a rush of savage blows.
She bowed her head, startling (and possibly scaring) her enemy further. "I apologise. Your injuries were unnecessary. Please do not f—follow us, as my comrades and I leave. You need time to recover."
With that, she turned away, marching back to Daisuke, who she had entirely forgotten about during her fight. She felt Shino behind her, and heard his soft chuckle—he was proud of her, that much was for sure. Kiba was already stood by Akamaru, hastily binding Daisuke's wound and completely ignoring his own bleeding thigh—she rolled her eyes. It had to be a macho pride thing, due to the fact that the nobleman was insisting that he bandaged himself first. His words were slurred. Kiba hooked his arms underneath the nobleman's armpits, whilst Shino carefully gripped his legs; and, together, they hoisted him onto Akamaru's back, where he was secured with a rope.
As they turned to leave, Hinata heard a voice call after her.
"Aren't you going to kill me, kunoichi?" The assassin shouted, her voice betraying anger and embarrassment, as well as underlying curiosity.
Hinata stopped briefly, staring down at her palms; for a second, she remembered the surge of chakra and the power she had felt. Distantly, as if they were elsewhere, she noticed Kiba and Shino stop—only Daisuke turned back to look at her, however. Her friends were too sure of her decision to even doubt her. She thought of her father and of monsters and assassins, and then she closed her eyes and shook her head.
"No. I'm not going to k—kill you…"
She began walking again, glancing back pityingly over her shoulder, with a small smile.
"…I'm stronger than that."
.
.
Inoichi pressed his fingers together, leaning forwards and gazing at the unconscious boy behind the glass. His first thought, upon seeing Uchiha Sasuke, was that he wasn't as flawless as his daughter had informed him, occasion upon occasion—his skin was too pale, and his eyes were haunted and aged, and his hair clung to his forehead in greasy, messy clumps. He had then realised that his daughter had never seen this Sasuke.
He was actually quite glad. The change in the boy would have scared her; she would have seen his raw hatred, his bitterness and his strength, and she would have cringed away.
The Hokage had given him a task—he was to search the crevices of Sasuke's mind, to find information on the Akatsuki and the team he had assembled. He was to draw the information from him, coax it from deep inside his mind, using whatever means he found appropriate. He had as long as he wanted, as long as medics were given time to fix the boy afterwards—his body and his mind.
It was then that Inoichi felt old. He had seen many things—he had seen the destruction of Konoha, time and time again; he had seen the deaths of many great people, as well as the deaths of those who weren't quite so great; and he had seen many shinobi, some of them his friends, spiral into the depths of insanity or hatred. He stared at the figure before him; Sasuke was no older than Ino, he was sure—and, yet, his forehead already bore wrinkles and his eyes had already seen too much. It was wrong, Inoichi was certain of that, but he could in no way change that.
He leaned forwards and rapped firmly on the glass—Sasuke's eyelids fluttered, but, other than that, there was no movement. Inoichi was surprised—the boy had to be pretty drugged up, not to notice such a sound; all shinobi had to be alert and vigilant, constantly. He rolled his eyes and knocked again. "Uchiha, wake up. I need to speak to you."
This time, Sasuke blinked his eyes open, rolling his neck as he did so, obviously trying to rid himself of the final effects of sleep (or the drug, Inoichi wasn't sure). He wriggled his shoulders as best he could in his bindings—and Inoichi could not help but wonder why the boy was so trapped. As far as the reports showed, Sasuke had never actually murdered any of the Konoha ninja or ANBU sent after him; he'd even left Naruto alive, albeit heavily injured, when they had first fought. He was dangerous, yes, but he was obviously drugged; giving him a bit of movement surely wouldn't hurt anyone.
Inoichi attempted to look sympathetic, and probably failed. The Uchiha frowned slightly, before his features shifted into an impassive, disinterested mask; he no doubt considered Inoichi to be somewhat of a threat. The blonde man smiled, silently running through his plan; he would begin with simple questions, while monitoring the other's reactions and body language—then he would use his mind reading jutsu and gather as much information as he possibly could, using any weaknesses he had discovered prior to worm his way past Sasuke's defences.
He let himself relax, his features slipping into a more natural expression—a smile curved across his lips, as he surveyed the shinobi before him. "I am Yamanaka Inoichi. I have been sent here to inform you of your situation, and a deal the Hokage is willing to make," he began, his lies slipping from his mouth easily and fluently—Lady Tsunade did not make deals with traitors.
Sasuke didn't reply. Inoichi stretched his hands out, leaning forwards and gazing at the other; his expression turned into one of exasperation.
"You do not have to keep silent, Sasuke," he said. "The Hokage will offer you a pardon in exchange for information. Your chakra reserves will be forever sealed, of course, but surely that's a small price to pay in exchange for your freedom? You will be able to see your friends. You will not be a shinobi, but a position of power will be offered to you—perhaps you will oversee interactions with our allies, perhaps you will be showered with riches and women. It all depends on your actions, Sasuke."
He let the offer hang. It was an interrogation technique he had used often before—in fact, when asked to back up his words, he would often produce a forged scroll, stating the exact things he had said. None had seen through his tricks. They would spill everything to him, and he wouldn't have to waste a single bit of chakra on them. They would tell him everything, and then his eyes would turn cold and heartless.
'The Hokage does not make deals with traitors,' he would tell them, and leave them where they stood, mouths hanging open, faces pale. Fools.
Sasuke wasn't replying—instead, he was simply staring, and his eyes were blank. It unnerved Inoichi. He tried another winning smile. "Didn't you hear what I said? The Hokage could—"
"—I heard what you said."
Inoichi's smile faltered briefly, but he smoothed it back into place, folding his hands over his chest and waiting for Sasuke to continue. When he didn't, he frowned slightly, growing impatient. "And?"
Sasuke's lips curled into a smirk, and his mask vanished for a second. Within that moment, Inoichi realised he had been discovered—the boy had not believed a single word he had said. His tactics would have to change; he would have to rethink his entire plan. The boy gave away nothing and, when he did decide to let something slip, it was all planned; every single bit of it. He was a genius of the same brand as Nara Shikaku, planning ahead but remaining cold and calculated.
"And you're a good actor."
Inoichi let himself smile an actual, real smile. He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck and shrugging his shoulders, sheepishly. "Very clever, Sasuke. How did you figure me out?"
"I have met your daughter. She did much the same thing, when I knew her. She no doubt excels at using seduction as a weapon," Sasuke murmured, closing his eyes as he spoke. He sounded exhausted. "It's probably her greatest weapon, along with her jutsu, as a kunoichi."
Inoichi was surprised to hear a grudging amount of respect in the Uchiha's voice; he couldn't help but feel proud of his daughter. He wondered how she would feel—all those years she had spent fawning over the boy, and he had acknowledged her. He remembered her even now. She would no doubt be overjoyed to find out such a thing; her childhood crush had some respect for her. He decided to ignore the idea of Ino using seduction as a weapon; oh, he was definitely aware of the fact that she used such a thing—he'd seen some of the outfits she had to wear and revealing was just one word to describe them—but the idea made him cringe. Plus, he was her father and she was his baby.
He shook his head, snapping out of his trance and returning to the Uchiha in front of him. "You're smart then, aren't you? I'll assume you're aware of the fact that I'm here to interrogate you. I'll be quick about it then."
Sasuke simply nodded.
"We'll start with Orochimaru, then," Inoichi began, linking his hands together and observing the other shinobi. "What did he offer you that Konoha couldn't?"
The Uchiha's face showed no signs of emotion as he spoke; in fact, he looked bored, as though it were a question he'd been asked often. His answer was simple, as well, and blunt; it shocked Inoichi. "Power."
Plain and simple.
He narrowed his eyes. "You were being trained by Hatake Kakashi. He taught you techniques well beyond Genin level. You had friends here. And, yet, you blew it all for power."It wasn't a question, although it was originally intended to be; however, he couldn't believe it. He had expected something more—a detailed explanation. A rant, maybe. Anger or hatred or regret or sadness; instead, he had been faced with blunt honesty.
He could not accept it and he realised just how Naruto and Sakura had no doubt felt; the stubborn disbelief, the confusion and the anger. And, yet, all of that was almost overwhelmed by his pity for the Uchiha. He took another moment to reconsider his methods; his questions would no doubt be answered by blunt one-word answers, and the Uchiha would betray no emotion. After his earlier failure, it would no doubt be easier to skip straight to the final phase of his plan.
He closed his eyes, before offering Sasuke another little apologetic shrug—then his hands flew together, forming the jutsu. Within seconds, he felt a powerful surge tug him from his body; and then there was a feeling much like wind tearing at his face; or, perhaps that wasn't the correct term for it—it was not his face, but the face of his mind, so to speak. His spirit, depending on who you were and what you called it. After another second, he was staring at his own body, slumped in his chair, through the eyes of Sasuke.
His jutsu was successful. He could begin his exploration of Sasuke's mind.
He turned—or, rather, he didn't turn, but his mind told him he had—and gazed around him. He was stood in darkness; he could feel a low hum pulsing through his body. He took a step forwards and felt his foot squelch in something wet. He looked down. Inoichi's eyes widened in surprise—blood. It trailed off into the darkness. He frowned and passed a hand over his face, heaving a sigh; a memory. He had stepped into a memory.
'…some kind of defence mechanism?' He murmured, stooping down to take a closer look at the liquid, and the words seemed to echo in his head, loud and pounding. He winced.
'Hn.'
Inoichi's eyes widened. He hadn't expected a response, least of all one off Sasuke—and, yet, it was Sasuke's voice he had heard, clear as day. He straightened, turning once in a full circle until he finally found what he was looking for—a small figure, stood hunched over, its ink-black hair falling over its face and hiding its expression. Inoichi tensed, instinctively bringing his fists up towards his chest, slipping into a defensive stance—it was often necessary to beat the enemy into submission, when extracting information from their mind.
'Did you think Orochimaru had taught me nothing?' It was the boy speaking—it looked up and, although its skin was young, its eyes were old; it didn't sound mocking. Its voice showed mild surprise, but that was all. 'You will not gain any information. Give up now.'
Inoichi narrowed his eyes, letting out a soft grunt of annoyance. He had expected the Uchiha to have some defence, yes, but this seemed difficult. As far as he could tell, he was trapped in a memory; and, judging from the pool of blood and Sasuke's age, the memory could only be of the massacre of the Uchiha clan. He loosened his stance, ready to attack or defend when the time came.
The memory raised an eyebrow, before raising one arm and pointing behind Inoichi. 'Don't turn your back on the enemy.'
His eyes widened, and he leapt out of the way, hearing the familiar sound of metal cutting through the air as he did so. He skidded to a halt, turning as he did so in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his attacker—if it was who he thought it was, then he was in for some trouble. Inoichi barely had time to slip a kunai out of his pouch, before the attacker surged forwards, a thin katana in his hands. His clothes were stained red with blood; his attacks were ferocious but planned. He was skilled.
He was stronger than Inoichi.
Of course, what had he expected? His attacker was none other than Uchiha Itachi, the man who had single-handedly murdered an entire clan, when he was barely older than a boy. It was only a memory. It was no doubt how Sasuke had seen Itachi, when he had ran from him all those years ago; and it was very interesting, yes, to see that Sasuke not only saw Itachi as a nightmare, but also as a defence—which meant that something had changed for Sasuke, after leaving the village. No matter; that was a thought he could puzzle over later.
At that moment, he had to think of a way to get rid of Itachi.
The memory was fast, and no doubt the real Itachi had been faster, but, as much as he wanted to, Inoichi could not afford to spend any time admiring the other. He would have to get rid of Itachi or leave Sasuke's mind empty handed. He was straying towards the latter idea; he had not been prepared to fight anyone, and was at a great disadvantage. As he dodged and weaved backwards, his eyes flew to the little boy.
The memory smiled—a huge, crazed smile.
'Get out of my head.'
Inoichi decided to take Sasuke's advice. He was not going to win—there was no way he'd have beaten Itachi, even at his prime, years ago. No, even the memory, which was considerably weaker than the original, was far stronger than him. His hands moved rapidly, and he released his jutsu; as he did so, the katana arched through the air, curving towards his neck. He felt a peculiar tug at his body, and his eyes closed; within a few seconds, he was gone.
When he opened his eyes, he was panting heavily and gazing at an equally fatigued Sasuke. The Uchiha glanced up, his brow sweaty, and caught Inoichi's gaze. They shared a moment of silence, and then Inoichi finally smiled, nodding approvingly.
"I underestimated you," he admitted, folding his arms and offering another wary smile. "Your defences are strong—I should have come better prepared. Nonetheless, I won't be getting anything from you through force. I shall inform the Hokage of that. Not that she'll listen."
He straightened and bowed his head, in respect. As he did so, his gaze shifted towards the table, and he noticed a white envelope addressed to Sasuke resting on it. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued, before glancing back to the Uchiha—apparently the boy had noticed it as well, because his lips were set in a small smile. Inoichi glanced back at it; he didn't recognise the handwriting. Even so, it wasn't his problem.
He turned to leave.
"Wait."
Inoichi paused, barely registering the croak as Sasuke's voice. Then he turned, raising his eyebrows again and peering at the boy. The Uchiha nodded towards the table, at the envelope, and said, "Could you read it?"
He hesitated, but he couldn't see a reason not to, and so he nodded his head, moving over to the table. He picked it up and tugged the letter out of the envelope. After methodically smoothing the paper a few times—hey, he arranged flowers as part of his living. He preferred things to be neat and tidy—he began to read.
.
.
Dear Sasuke,
I feel silly writing to you; I much prefer speaking to you. It's more of a conversation; this sounds like I'm lecturing you, or writing a school report on what I've done today. This makes me feel like a little girl, when what I want to be is a strong kunoichi—and I think, after today, that I am one step closer towards my goal.
I feel all the more sillier now, because what I'm about to ask is no doubt considered to be a stupid question, but I'll ask nonetheless: are shinobi truly strong? A friend asked me how I can sleep at night, after all the things I've done—and no doubt the things I've done are nothing, compared to what you've done and been through—but I couldn't answer at first. When I did, I said easily. I told him that I can't afford to waste my tears. And no doubt my friend thought that was monstrous of me; either that, or I was too strong to be affected. Which is it, Sasuke?
Are we strong, or are we monsters?
I was asked such a thing by an enemy shinobi, in a roundabout way. They asked if I was going to kill them. I told them no. I said that I was stronger than that. But I wonder… Did I do the right thing? Is it true strength, to let an enemy run free? I can't help but feel that I did something pretentious. A true shinobi would have killed them painlessly. I left them with internal bleeding, lying on the ground.
[THIS INFORMATION IS CLASSIFIED] killed his. [THIS INFORMATION IS CLASSIFIED] didn't; he knocked them unconscious, and left them there.
What would you have done?
Yours truly,
[THIS INFORMATION IS CLASSIFIED]
.
.
Sasuke closed his eyes, letting a small smile slip across his face; for a few seconds, he wondered why they'd erased Hinata's name—after all, he'd assumed it was common knowledge that the Hyuuga was visiting him. Then again, no doubt the Hokage was keeping it a secret; after all, the daughter of a highly-respected, noble clan leader visiting a traitor would no doubt cause scandal if the villagers found out about it.
He was well aware of the fact that Inoichi was watching him closely, searching for signs of weakness, and the Uchiha arranged his features into a blank expression. There was no point giving him anything to go on—if Sasuke did, the man would be back over and over again, in an attempt to find out more. Not that he'd tell him anything.
"You're an admirable person, Sasuke," the Yamanaka said, and Sasuke merely raised his eyebrows in response—well, this was definitely new. He had been called many things, since returning to Konoha, but admirable wasn't one of them. "You're strong; you're intelligent; and you have—had—a great future ahead of you. You would have been truly remarkable."
Inoichi heaved a great sigh, slipping the letter back onto the desk, close enough for Sasuke to read if he strained his eyes, and turned away. He waited for a moment, hesitating, before sighing again and moving towards the door.
Upon reaching the exit, he stopped.
"It seems that even admirable people can descend into darkness."
With that, the blonde interrogator left, no doubt off to report his failure to the Hokage, and the two all-too familiar ANBU members stepped into the room. He watched idly as they took up their usual positions, their arms folded across their chests, gazing impassively at him, but not quite at him. He'd often wondered how they'd respond if he tried to talk to them. No doubt they'd stare quizzically at him and then fall back into silence.
He yawned.
He was admirable, was he…?
He stared off into the distance, a small smile tugging at his lips. Admirable, remarkable—even after his descent into darkness. Was that what they saw, when they looked into his eyes? Did they see the ghost of a man who could never have been—a respectable Jounin for the Village Hidden in the Leaves? Did they look at him and sigh and shake their heads? Did they really patronize him so greatly? Did his dirty, cheating village really still value him that highly? What, did they think he was going to spill all of his secrets, just because they'd whispered about a life that would never be?
Uchiha Sasuke threw back his head and laughed.
notes4: "i just started rewatching full metal alchemist. edward is a sexy mofo"