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: 21.09.2010, by SilveringBlue
chapter: 11/5o

notes1:

I swear, I'll never leave it this long to update again. The holidays stopped a week ago, and, ever since, my teachers have thought it would be absolutely hilarious to overload us with work and just general junk which will never help me in my future life. I mean, who even cares about the ingredients of perfume? If I wanted to know, I'd, I don't know, take a look at the side of the bottle? Have a look at the packaging?

Science should be optional, goddamnit!

But NOOOO. D:

IHATESCHOOL.

You can probably expect a NaruHina date within the next few chapters—and hopefully a bit of tummy-tingling SasuHina fun. Oh, I also threw in a bit of NejiTen. It's not a favourite pairing of mine, but I still think it's cute. Also, I can actually see it happening, so this isn't me just saying, "Woah, I fancy a bit of (random generic pairing) right now!" Plus, I've hinted at it! In chapter six, baby. ;D

Almost as cute as LeeSakura. :D

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Hinata pressed her fingers against her lips, leaning forwards slightly in an attempt to get a better look at the sleeping Daisuke. He seemed so much more frail than he had once been. He was a completely different man to the one she had met days earlier—the one who had charmed her so easily, his arms wrapped around two sleazy 'hookers'.

It was surprisingly worrying.

He murmured in his sleep, his head turning to face her, and she studied his features; his skin was pale and washed out, no doubt because of his earlier blood wash, and his brow was furrowed. He seemed discontent. Gently, tentatively, she lifted the blankets that she'd heaped upon him, and studied his upper torso—the kunai had hit his side, and the wound was slotted between his ribs; underneath the bandages, it had been angry and red. Now, although the bandages were stained pale pink, it seemed better.

It was hardly life-threatening, that was for sure; and, with a little bit of tender love and care, he would no doubt be healthy in no time.

However, she wasn't worried about that; she was more worried about the man's father. After all, it was him who had sent the assassins, and after his own son, nonetheless! Her eyes narrowed, and she felt herself tense; she couldn't help but feel that, the moment they left, Daisuke would end up very dead.

It was sad. Distantly, she could see herself and her own father, in their relationship. She had seen the disdain in the older man's face as they had carted an unconscious, bleeding Daisuke through the door, and she had seen the irritation flit briefly across his features, when a medic had announced that he was going to be okay. Although the distance between father and child had seemed worse for Daisuke, she had seen her own relationship with her father reflected in them, and that had saddened her more than anything. She had recognised the occasional look of disappointment, and the wistfulness in the father's features.

Hinata had seen it in the eyes of her own father.

She sighed, letting the blankets fall back onto the sleeping noble. Oh well—she had done all she could, and that was all that mattered. She stood, dusting herself down, and offered the other a feeble smile. "Good luck, Daisuke."

She turned, making her way to the door, and was about to leave when the nobleman stirred, letting out a soft, broken chuckle. "Ah, y—you too, kunoichi," he mumbled, the defeat evident in his voice. Obviously, he had also been thinking of his probably short future, and he passed a hand wearily across his forehead. "Hopefully, we'll meet again."

Hinata felt her smile stretch into a full grin, although it didn't seem appropriate—but Daisuke's features split into a smile as well, and she knew he'd forgive her, just this one time. She pushed open the door, leaning slightly against it as she turned to face him.

He was sitting up, propping himself on one elbow, the cushions bunched around him, and in his pale features she saw someone familiar, and felt a twinge of homesickness. She bit her lip, extinguishing her smile, and bowed her head politely, her hair falling like a curtain in front of her face.

"I look forwards to it, Daisuke."

With that, Hinata turned and left the room, backing away before the nobleman could even begin to form an answer. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes fixed ahead of her, and she noticed, distantly, that the door opposite her was open. An old man—Daisuke's father—peered out at her; his lips were downturned, and his brow was furrowed; but his eyes were tired, and his forehead was crinkled with age.

"You understand, don't you?"

For a few seconds, she didn't know what he was talking about. She bit her lip again, paused, and then shook her head, her eyes firm. "No; I'm sorry, but I don't understand—and I never will. He's your son."

The man faltered, before nodding hesitantly. "I know," he practically whispered, before disappearing back inside the room he'd emerged from. Hinata raised her eyebrows, before shaking her head slowly and heading towards the exit. Her mind whirred as she walked, and she couldn't help but wonder what he had meant.

How could she understand?

He wanted to destroy the son he had raised, and he wanted to do it because of a gambling addiction, which had probably started because of one little mistake. Steadily, gradually, it had spiralled out of control, until it had turned into a bitter conflict—with the son, spurned and angry, on one side, and the father, furious and disappointed in equal measure, on the other.

The similarities were endless.

Both Hinata and Daisuke had run from their parental figures. Hinata had begun to train more vigorously, away from her father, and Daisuke's gambling had grown steadily worse. However, though Hinata's relationship with Hiashi had not improved, it hadn't tumbled downhill, like Daisuke's had with his father.

Oh, she could still be grateful about the little things in life. Her smile turned bitter, and she secretly wished that she was brave enough to try and change things. Her father wasn't a monster, although she had often found herself thinking that—he was just a sad, old man, who had believed his daughter to be something she wasn't, and then blamed her for his misjudgement. It wasn't a sin; she could hardly curse his name for the rest of his life because of it.

She had made her mistakes.

He had made his.

But still—even the mere thought of Hiashi made her knees turn to jelly, and her heartbeat quicken. He wasn't a monster, but her perception of him had nightmare-ish qualities. She shivered, crossing her arms over her body, as she thought of him. She was scared of him, though she would never let herself admit it—after all, how awful did that sound?

Her own father scared her.

Hinata let out a soft sigh, as she rounded a bend, very nearly bumping into a young woman heading the other way. The maid slipped around her in the nick of time, apologising hastily, and Hinata found herself doing the very same thing. She bowed her head, saying something about how she could be so clumsy sometimes, before turning away. Now that she had stopped, she realised that she wasn't entirely certain as to where she was; she pressed her fingers together, jigging from foot to foot, as her head swivelled back and forth.

No, now that she thought about it…

Where on earth was she?

"Ah, sometimes I wish I had Kiba's sense of direction…" she moaned, running her fingers through her hair. Then she felt the heat rise to her cheeks, as she remembered her byakugan. It was, after all, useful for times like these; and she highly doubted anyone else in the building would have the same levels of chakra as Kiba or Shino. She pressed her fingers lightly against her forehead, her brow furrowing. "Byakugan!"

Her sight changed, and the world turned green and black—webs of chakra seemed to thread through the air, faint, shimmering like dust underneath the sun's rays—and there, in the distant, she could see a swirling web of chakra. It seemed to be twisted into a ball, threading out across the faint shadow of a human body. Not too far from it was another person, with a similar amount of chakra, spotted with dark, tiny smudges. Her face lit up, and she deactivated her byakugan, having already found her friends.

She began to walk again, this time with renowned vigour. It would be her fault if they were late returning to Konoha. Each of them had things they needed to do, and Kiba, having decided he was leader of the mission, would have to submit a report to the Hokage. Likewise, he would have to hand in the signed treaty—and she would have to visit Sasuke.

She felt herself falter, almost tripping over her feet as she stopped. Her thoughts had always, at one point, returned to Sasuke, during the duration of the mission, and she could not help but wonder what he thought of her letters.

And, even as she thought of him, she realised how little she had thought of Naruto.

It was surprising, but she could not help but feel an inkling of loss. The boy—no, the shinobi—she adored and respected, to the point where she had felt almost obsessed with him, was slowly vanishing from her thoughts.

No, perhaps that wasn't the best way of putting it; after all, her mind still strayed to Naruto every now and then, and she still respected him. She felt a good deal of pride, when she thought of all he had done, and she still felt her cheeks flush red as she thought of him. Her love for him was still strong; but he was steadily, gradually disappearing—fading from her thoughts. Hinata wasn't sure whether to feel happy or not.

She rounded a corner, still puzzling over her thoughts, and collided with a familiar form, her head bumping into Kiba's chest. Almost instinctively, his arms flew from his side, patting her back and holding her closer—a gesture which was all too familiar. After all, the position was one they had practised since first forming Team Kurenai.

"Hey; nice of you to finally join us," he grinned, pressing his hands against her shoulders and holding her out, inspecting her features carefully. "I was wondering where you'd wandered off to. Did you get lost, again?"

Hinata's cheeks flushed red, and she smiled weakly, embarrassed—oh, he knew her way too well. "I had to say goodbye to Daisuke," she mumbled, shrugging, "And I must have made a w—wrong turn somewhere, because I, uhm, got lost…"

Kiba simply chuckled, slapping her on the back, before turning towards Shino—the other was frowning slightly, obviously calculating the loss of time and the distance they were going to have to cover in his head. Upon catching Hinata's eye, he offered her a small, comforting smile. He pushed his glasses up his nose, before tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and turning away.

"We need to depart," he said, moving forwards and holding the door open for his fellow teammates. Kiba rolled his eyes before nodding in affirmative, beckoning for Akamaru to follow, and Hinata made sure to bow her head in thanks as she passed.

Upon glancing at her surroundings, Hinata realised that it was still relatively early. The sun had barely risen into the sky, and the trees cast long shadows over the ground. The path they had raced down the night before, carrying an injured Daisuke, certainly seemed less daunting; it had seemed windier, longer, the night before—but now, gazing at it, she realised it was only her panic which had made it seem never-ending. She let herself smile at how silly she'd been; after all, she was supposed to be a kunoichi. She wasn't supposed to buckle underneath the pressure so easily.

A cool breeze tugged playfully at her hair, as though reminding her of what she was supposed to be doing—Kiba, sitting astride Akamaru, was already further down the path, nearing a bend. Shino glanced back at her, and, although she couldn't see it, she knew he was smiling.

"Are you coming, Hinata?"

The heat rose to her cheeks, and she nodded hastily, speeding up to catch up with her teammates—she noticed Kiba shake his head affectionately, too excited to slow down, but Shino stopped for her.

They walked side by side, her eyes fixed on the small of Kiba's back, Shino's eyes downturned and gazing at the path. The silence was a comfortable one, as it usually was with Shino; if he ever were to ask her, she would definitely admit that she liked his quiet nature.

He was so easy to talk to.

"What were you thinking about?" he murmured, and she snuck a sideways glance at him—she couldn't read his expression, and the sunlight shone off his sunglasses, hiding his eyes entirely from view.

She shrugged slightly, her gaze returning to Kiba. "I was just thinking of what I have to do, when I get back to Konoha, I suppose," she replied, softly, folding her arms over herself. "When do you t—think we'll get back, anyway?"

"It could take us anywhere from around six hours, to eleven," Shino replied easily, mimicking her earlier shrug. "It depends on how many rests we take, how fast we walk, whether we decide to run at any point…"

"We should probably speed up, then; after all, Kiba has to hand in his report, and you probably want to get home and see your family—and, I… I have someone I have to visit."

He raised an eyebrow, turning slightly to face her. "Someone to visit? You wouldn't happen to be talking about Uzumaki Naruto, would you?"

Hinata blinked, startled. Naruto…? Why would she have been talking about Naruto? Her gaze turned puzzled, briefly—and Shino stored that little expression in his mind, curious now, despite himself—before she offered him a forced smile. "Ah, y—yeah, I guess…"

"I see."

She offered him another sheepish smile, her cheeks heating up, and she began to pick up her pace, "I guess we'd better hurry up, then, right?"

It was puzzling, yes, and her actions were rather suspicious—but Shino wasn't about to ask her who she was really going to visit; or if, in fact, she was going to visit anyone at all. It wasn't his business, no matter what Kiba said. She would tell him if she wanted to, and only when she wanted to. He had no need to press her for information; they were friends, after all.

Hinata would tell him when she was ready.

He watched as she caught up with Kiba, the other boy laughing loudly at some joke he'd cracked, and found himself frowning, although he had no idea why. Shino shook his head and quickened his pace to catch up with his friends, all the while repeating the same mantra in his head.

Hinata's business had nothing to do with him.

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Neji frowned, scratching the skin of his right arm absently as he waited for his teammates to arrive. Usually Lee would arrive first, claiming that the morning air made him feel fresh and youthful, but this time, upon reaching their usual training place, he had found the area deserted. He could understand, though, why his spandex-clad teammate often turned up earlier—it was a peaceful place.

They trained in the middle of a grassy clearing; the grass had long since been worn down and replaced with patches of dirt. The bark of the trees closest to their training place had peeled away, and there were scratches and notches where some weapon had thudded into the wood; there weren't that many flowers. A bird flew across the clearing, singing merrily, and a few clouds drifted across the sky.

Gazing upwards, he knew exactly why Shikamaru spent so long simply watching the clouds float by—it was relaxing, and there was a sort of hazy quality to it. Despite the fact that he knew he'd get stains on his clothing, he kneeled down, shifting until he was lying on his back, with his hands pinned firmly by his sides; a few strands of hair fell across his face, but he made no attempt to move them. He was fine, like that, simply lying there; he felt calm.

He let himself close his eyes—let his mind stray.

His thoughts landed on Hinata—as they often did—and his brow furrowed instantly. She'd been so cut off, acting so distant; had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have been surprised at all. No, although she was shy and bashful, Hinata often spent time talking to him. Whether it was about big things or little things, it never mattered. Although conversational topics were often difficult to find, she would find one. He tried when he was around her, as well. He would try and talk more, about the littlest things—although often he found the topics silly or meaningless—but he would try nonetheless, because she was Hinata.

He had started trying after the Chunin exams.

He passed a hand over his forehead, as a shadow fell over his face—he cracked open one eye, and saw Tenten crouched down beside his head, twirling a kunai around her middle finger, one eyebrow raised. He shifted, almost immediately attempting to sit up, but she pressed her hand against his chest, gently pushing him back down, a smile slipping across her face.

"Don't," she said, the smile turning into a full-out grin. "You looked so happy like that—and trust me, it's a nice change. If you frown so much, you're going to get wrinkles."

He raised an eyebrow, not quite relaxing, but letting her push him back into his original position. "…why would that matter?"

"Oh, it wouldn't," she replied, before re-thinking. "Actually, I take that back; you'd look like Hiashi."

"…would that be a bad thing?"

"Yes. I like you as, well, you."

He chuckled quietly, rubbing his forehead again—and then, against his better judgement, patting the grass beside him. Tenten seemed to freeze; and her eyebrow shot upwards again, this time quizzical, and vaguely mocking; before slipping into a relaxed position beside him—not close enough to touch him, but near enough for him to feel the heat radiating from her arms. For some reason, cloud watching didn't seem so relaxing anymore, and he had the sudden urge to drag her to her feet before Lee could arrive and spoil the moment entirely.

They lay there in silence (with his mind suddenly filled with Tenten, instead of Hinata) until he could stand it no longer—he wasn't the kind of person who could lie down for any amount of time, so closely to a friend.

To Tenten.

It was… unheard of—odd.

He sat up, shifting easily into a crouch and standing. Tenten propped herself up on one elbow, frowning momentarily; and then came the all-too familiar eyebrow raise, and he rolled his eyes in response.

"Tenten, you're hardly the kind of person who can stay still for any length of time," he lied easily, despite the fact that she had been quite content, and it had been him who felt uneasy.

He offered her his hand, but she ignored it, choosing to push herself up off her hands and land in an easy crouch beside him. Always the show-off. This time, he stopped the eye-roll from coming, and instead folded his arms across his chest, waiting for her to make the first move; after all, he wasn't sure whether to begin the sparring session, or wait for his final teammate to show up.

A kunai flew past his face, and he moved his head just in time, but still, he felt something warm trickle down his cheek. His fingers flew to the wound, and he pressed the liquid against his lip—yes; definitely blood.

Tenten smirked, already whirling a second kunai around her finger, her other hand inching to the scrolls on her back. "Are you done daydreaming, Neji? Take me seriously already."

Neji slid into an aggressive fighting stance, one arm stretched behind him, the other beckoning for her to move. He let a brief, fleeting smile pass across his face.

"I always take you seriously, Tenten."

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Naruto hadn't been outside for any great period of time—nor had he met with anyone else—since Hinata had turned up at his door. She had spoken only the truth, that much he would admit, but it had hurt him; until then, he'd been content mourning the loss of his friend—because, back then, he had been sure Sasuke was as good as dead—but now…?

Now, she'd given him hope.

Plus, Kakashi had broken to his house, in the middle of the afternoon, to deliver a message from Iruka—his old teacher had insisted that Naruto meet him for ramen and Naruto had agreed, even if he knew it was just an excuse to get him out of his lonely home.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, his jacket tied around his waist, and made his way towards the ramen bar. He walked with a slouch, and his movements were sluggish. The villagers would later comment that his eyes had seemed so tired and lonely; but they would admit that it only made sense—after all, he'd lost his best friend. He rolled his eyes; the whispers had begun even as he passed, like a tide. His eyes flickered upwards, and he watched a single, solitary cloud drift by; the gesture reminded him of a friend, and he let a smile flicker briefly across his face.

"Hey! Hey, Naruto!"

He blinked, startled out of his thoughts—and his eyes met Iruka's. His features split into a wide grin, and he waved, speeding up to meet his old teacher; the man never seemed to change a bit, no matter how long they went without seeing each other. He was always a warm man, with brown eyes, a slight tan and darker hair. The sight of him made something light up inside Naruto; and he almost always smiled.

When he finally caught up with his old friend, Iruka pulled him into a brief, fleeting hug, patting his back as if to show how concerned he was. He tensed, momentarily, before chuckling, and relaxing. Then Iruka's hands moved away, and he drew backwards, holding his student at arm's length and inspecting the blonde.

Naruto looked tired—that much was true—and his eyes were lonely; but there was something else underlying it all. It was a confusing expression, because, had that 'something else' not been there, Naruto would have looked entirely depressed. Even his bright blonde locks had lost their usual bounce, and his skin was pretty pale. He looked as though he'd been ill for a good amount of time, and had probably lost a few pounds. He'd heard that Tsunade hadn't given the boy any missions lately, to give him 'time to grieve'.

He pursed his lips. They were doing it all wrong. If they left Naruto alone in his flat, with no one to speak to and nothing to do, his thoughts would eventually turn to Sasuke, and from there to sadness.

He flung one arm around the boy's shoulder, chatting needlessly (and endlessly) about his job at the Academy, and his latest class—"there's this one boy who's just like you. A loud mouth, an idiot, and the nicest smile I see all day!"—as Naruto smiled and nodded politely. They neared the ramen bar in enough time, and Teuchi's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his favourite blonde customer—his lips wrinkled into a smile.

"Two ramen, please," Iruka said, placing a few coins down on the counter.

Teuchi considered them, raised an eyebrow, and then shook his head, turning away and heading towards the kitchen. "These ones are on the house, Iruka—Naruto. Eat as much as you like!"

Ah, the golden words.

Naruto's face lit up, and he practically threw himself across the counter, peering into the kitchen. "Ehh? You really mean it, old man?"

He merely nodded, and Naruto let out a whoop of joy, his grin lighting up at the prospect of ramen. Iruka rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly—that was just like Naruto. They sat in silence, waiting for the meals, and Iruka's fingers almost immediately flew up to trace his scar, as he often did when he was nervous. The slight bump—the soft ridge—the puckered edges; all of it relaxed him, as his fingers traced their normal route across the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth to speak, caught Naruto watching him, and immediately shut it again. His hands dropped to his lap.

"…is something wrong?"

Iruka closed his eyes for a moment, before letting a small, concerned smile slip across his face, as he turned to look at his old student. For a few seconds, he couldn't recogise him. Gone was the usual shining smile and eyes; in it's place was nothig but sadness. It scared him, that such a cheerful person could suddenly turn to darkness. He would never have said it, but it reminded him of Sasuke.

He wasn't going to let Naruto be like that.

"You're a smart kid, Naruto," he began. "So you'll already know why I brought you here—firstly, to get you out of the house; secondly, to see you again; and, finally, because you need to grow up."

His face turned stern with the last point, and Naruto's smile faded.

"This isn't the Naruto I know. The Naruto I know would have continued fighting, no matter who he was up against; whether it was friend or foe, or the damn Hokage, he would have never lost hope!" Iruka frowned, his fingers itching towards his scar again—but he stopped them just in time, and took a deep breath. "You've been sulking. I know you're young, and I know you're really just acting your age, but you can't afford to do that; you're going to be the Hokage, remember? When would a Hokage ever sulk, like a whiny brat?"

A smile flew briefly across Naruto's face.

Iruka took that as approval, and so continued. "I don't know what's up with you—well, I do know—but you've forgotten that other people are hurting, as well. Remember Sakura? She may break into tears whenever she thinks of him, but she's handling it better than you are; she's holding strong, whether it's for you, or Sasuke, more than it is for her. So, why can't you do the same? She needs her pillar. You need your bridge. And… and…"

He trailed off, unable to think of anything else—and Naruto tilted his head, before laughing happily. Iruka narrowed his eyes, unable to see what was funny. "…what?"

"Iruka, you should leave the inspirational speeches for someone who can do them a bit better," Naruto replied easily, grinning at the other's disgruntled expression.

"That's hardly the point—!" Iruka began, crossing his arms and feeling rather put-out; it hadn't been the best speech, that much was true, but it had been as truthful as possible. He'd meant every word of it, too.

"—no, I understand."

Iruka blinked, raising an eyebrow slowly, patiently waiting for his former student to go on—Naruto grinned, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck, and looking anywhere but at him. He frowned, his fingers running anxiously across his scar, before dropping into his lap. Teuchi placed two bowls in front of them, but Naruto ignored his, obviously thinking deeply about something; about his response, no doubt.

"…Hinata visited me a few days ago. I thought she wanted to rearrange the date—y'know, the one we organised, after the entire Pein incident. That day, when I was supposed to be meeting her… I never saw her once. What does that say, huh? I guess it shows just how much I cared, right?" He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair and then heaving a sigh. "When she turned up at my door, I thought she wanted to rearrange—but she didn't. She turned up, because she was worried about me; and I hadn't even paid her a second thought."

He smiled slightly.

"She's way too nice, Iruka. If I'd done that to Sakura, I would have been punched halfway out of Konoha; and I'd be crawling along the ground, begging for her to take me back. I don't think I even rearranged the date, after all that; after everything she said, and everything she did. I guess I can be a real bastard," he continued, before chuckling again. "I'm sorry for making you worried—for leaving Sakura on her own, and for cutting myself off. And I want to say I'm sorry to Hinata, too—and I want to thank her."

Iruka raised an eyebrow.

"…so rearrange the date."

"Excuse me?"

"Eat your ramen, it's getting cold," his former teacher snapped, reaching for his own bowl and offering Naruto a fond smile. "Besides, if you're talking about the Hinata I know, then it's nowhere near as bad as you make it out to be. I doubt she even thought of it like that; she's probably already forgiven you, if she did."

"You think so?"

"Of course," Iruka nodded, before letting his features slip into a scowl. "And don't try and feed me any stories, Naruto—I know that you haven't been thinking only of Hinata, for all this time. You're going to have to face the facts eventually."

Naruto merely smiled, winding a few noodles around his chopsticks and placing the food in his mouth.

For the rest of the meal, they didn't talk about Sasuke—or Hinata—once.

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They arrived in Konoha as the sun was just setting—Hinata bid farewell to her teammates, making up an excuse ("I ought to go and see my f—father; he's no doubt worried.") and heading off in the opposite direction to them. Kiba and Shino shared a glance—"Do you think we should tell her that her house is that way?"—before shrugging and making their way to the Hokage's office, ready to submit their report.

Hinata, meanwhile, was running full-sprint to the prisons; Ibiki had never spoken to her of a curfew, but she highly doubted it was beneath him, or Tsunade, to make one up after she left. Halfway there, she almost bumped into Shikamaru, managing to skid around him just in time; he raised an eyebrow, watching her hurry away, and frowned.

Hyuuga Hinata, a noble, respected individual, was running towards Konoha's prison, where only the most notorious of criminals were kept.

His thoughts flew back to the meeting he'd been present at, between the council members and the Hokage; gears turned and cogs whirred; and a small smirk crossed over his features. He stretched his arms behind his head, yawned loudly, and continued on his walk.

They didn't call him a genius for nothing.

Hinata, oblivious to the danger she could possibly be in, made it to the prison in under five minutes—Ibiki's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, at seeing her there, but he lead her in anyway. "…I thought you were on a mission."

"I was," she mumbled, her voice quiet as she attempted to steady her breathing.

"That was quick."

"It was a quick mission," she agreed, and they rounded a corner—it felt relatively familiar to her now; not completely, but almost. Three doors passed and, sure enough, there was Uchiha Sasuke's cell. Ibiki unlocked the door and yanked it open, holding it out for her like the gentleman he was—she bowed her head in thanks and stepped inside.

Sasuke's head shot upwards.

Although his expression didn't change, she swore she saw relief and happiness in his eyes.

"Hinata…"

She nodded, making her way to her usual position—not forgetting to murmur a greeting to the two still ANBU guards—and sat down in her chair. She shifted until she was comfortable, clasped her hands in her lap, and offered him a small smile.

"Sasuke… I'm back."

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.

When Hinata left that night, his cell felt bare. The two ANBU were good for nothing, and very rarely conversed with each other, let alone him, and the vase of flowers he'd spent so long staring at had since withered away and died. The letters Hinata had sent him were safely tucked away in a corner of his cell, the only things he was allowed to keep in there; because, after all, what could he do with some pieces of paper?

He'd entertained himself for hours on end, thinking of ideas.

No, that didn't change anything.

His cell felt awfully lonely.