project: Fifty Days
disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
dedication: to skinny hippo, who's review made me squeal a little bit — also to sepsis, who never fails to leave a lovely review, and imcutepoison, as well as everyone else who has reviewed.
chapter: 13/5o
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.
notes1:
i've completed nanowrimo! 5o,ooo words in 18 days. obviously, i am feeling pleased with myself right now, haha. anyway, i hope you enjoy the new chapter.
(sorry for skipping all of hinata's day. i wanted to spend a bit more time on her and sasuke.)
review, please!
:)
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Anko slipped a kunai into her hand, palms sweaty as she gazed out from her hiding place, perched high above the ground, hidden by the leaves of the trees. She stayed still, freezing almost completely in place, eyes fixed on a cave below her. It was the type of area bears would usually live in, what with the running water nearby and the like — but, at that moment, it was extraordinarily quiet.
Scarily so.
She had been on her way back from a mission when she had spotted the cloaked figure, standing in the shadow of the trees, almost out of sight — he had seemed to be staring at her, turned in her direction; and when she spotted him, he slipped back into the shadows, disappearing entirely. Almost immediately, she'd sprung towards him, racing after him; because she recognised his chakra signature. She'd felt it before, time and time again, when she was much younger — back then, it had been fierce and raging; but now it seemed to have dulled down a bit, and it was tainted.
She'd followed the figure easily, jumping from tree to tree, moving as quickly as she could; even so, the man had remained just out of sight, and she'd felt a sinking feeling in her gut. The figure had disappeared just as they'd come to a clearing — and the only place for him to have vanished into was the cave down below. She shifted slightly in her seat, peering into the entrance, scanning for any sign of movement; she tilted her head slightly, listening for any sounds.
All Anko heard was the steady dripping of water dropping from the ceiling of the cave, splashing down onto the rocks below. The sun didn't quite reach the cave; rather, its light spilled just outside of the entrance, and the rest of the cave was shrouded in darkness, shadows seeming to dance and dart in the blackness. Then, ever so slowly, the figure stepped forward, emerging from the mouth of the cave, his hood pulled up over his head. He glanced left, ever so slowly, and then right; the forest around him was silent, and Anko cringed backwards in an attempt to conceal herself a bit more, leaves rustling slightly in the breeze. Up ahead, a bird took off into the sky, wings flapping frantically as though rushing to escape the seemingly calm area — other than that, there was no movement.
He pulled back his hood, closing his eyes, and a smirk flickered across his face.
It was Kabuto — except, it wasn't Kabuto. It looked like him, yes, but there were slight differences; his hair was shorter, and it fell in ragged locks down to his shoulders. His skin was paler, much paler than it had ever been before, and he was hunched over — his usual air of confidence, of arrogance, had vanished; he seemed colder, frigid, and the smirk plastered across his face wasn't his. It was an expression of contempt for the world and everything in it; and his eyes flickered across to Anko's hiding place, and that was when she did gasp, unable to stifle the noise at all, slipping a kunai instinctively into her sweaty hands as she gazed down at the figure.
Those eyes definitely weren't Kabuto's.
They were too thin, too narrow, and too bright — they were amber; the colour of sickly sweet honey, deceptively pretty, with thin slits for pupils. They took her back, forced her to look back at memories she'd rather not look at, and she cringed backwards, cursing her cowardice — she hated those eyes, yes, but oh, how she was scared of them.
His smirk curved into a long, wide smile — but then there was a rustling coming from the left, and he turned his head, the tail of a snake flicking out from beneath his cloak. Anko's gaze switched to the movement, and her eyebrows shot upwards and she realised, in that moment, that she was in deep trouble. Because, from out of the bushes stepped a second cloaked figure, in an orange mask, a single eye peering out from a single peep hole; there was a moment in which chakra seemed to flare, dangerous and electric, and she found herself frozen; and then Kabuto spoke, finally.
"Tobi," he called, glasses glinting in the sunlight, "Or should I call you Madara? How nice to finally meet you. Your reputation precedes you."
Madara's posture was relaxed, but the air about him was static, tense — he was expecting a trap, no doubt about it; but he nodded nonetheless, gesturing airily with one gloved hand, "Undoubtedly it does. What I want to know right now, however, is the reason why you're following me — and the reason why you've been leading an enemy shinobi to my doorstep. It had better be a good reason, if you value your life."
Anko froze.
He knew about her.
She had to get away — she had to — but almost as soon as she attempted to, the branches around her seemed to slip and slide, and she wondered exactly how long she'd been caught in a genjutsu for. Her hands flew together, as she released the illusion, and she tried to move away — but the snakes wrapped around her ankles and wrists, binding her effectively together, making movement difficult — and she realised that she hadn't been stood in a tree at all. No, all along she had been stood behind them, only a few steps away from Kabuto — if she'd just thought.
No, 'if's were useless at that moment. She stayed still, watching through narrowed eyes, waiting for something to happen — waiting for anything to happen.
Kabuto chuckled, gesturing back at her, "Consider her a gift, if you will — because I have something to offer you, and I need to know that you're willing to accept me; not trust me. I wouldn't ask so much — and besides, if I asked for such a thing and you complied, I'd know you were lying. No, I merely ask for your acceptance. After all, I do have a wonderful offer — you'll find it very… pleasing."
Madara's gaze flickered from Anko to Kabuto, and he nodded stiffly. Almost as soon as he did so, however, he darted forwards, sharingan spinning; in return, Kabuto shot backwards, clapping his hands together, eyes widening behind his glasses as he jumped past Anko. She shivered involuntarily — yes, those were definitely Orochimaru's eyes — wild and insane and crazy. She didn't particularly recognise the jutsu, but judging from the widening of Madara's visible eye, and the horrible, self-satisfied smirk plastered across Kabuto's face, the jutsu was no doubt something bad.
Five wooden coffins jutted out of the ground, dust picking up and swirling around them — Madara slid to a halt, his voice laced with something like awe as he murmured the words, "Edo Tensei… how horrid of you, Kabuto."
"You've heard of it, then?" Kabuto pushed his glasses up his nose, the smirk remaining, his voice filled with pride. "The Edo Tensei — also known as the Impure World Resurrection. Only Orochimaru and the Nidaime Hokage could ever truly master this jutsu; but now I too have the power, and I suppose you could say I've surpassed them both. This is a special performance, just for you, Madara — perhaps now you'll see my true strength, and you won't take me so lightly. Perhaps now you'll have an inkling of my offer, too."
The other shook his head.
"No, I'm afraid you've lost me; you really ought to spell this out to me, nice and slow, Kabuto," at this, his voice became dangerous, "What exactly are you offering?"
"I was certain I was being obvious," Kabuto murmured, his voice taking a dangerous mocking tone — the sort of tone which would usually get a shinobi killed, especially when taken against Madara, "Perhaps seeing is believing, then…"
The lids of the wooden coffins fell away.
One by one, the contents were unveiled; the corpse of Uchiha Itachi slumped forwards, hair falling across its face, skin dry and cracked — Anko recoiled as best she could in her position, as the smell of death and decay filled the clearing. Her eyes were torn across to the next in line; a redheaded shinobi — no, the corpse of a redheaded shinobi — with ragged hair, its skin peeling away from its face; she recognised it, only vaguely, and the name came to her after a moment of thought.
Sasori — the S-rank criminal Haruno Sakura managed to kill.
In the coffin beside that stood a blonde figure, its hair pulled up into a high ponytail — cracks littered the face of this corpse, as though it had taken years for it to piece itself back together again; it was almost as though it had been blown apart, before death. The cracks — the scars — were thin and cruel; and the shinobi, no matter how much of a criminal he had been, had never deserved to die in such a way.
The body of Kakuzu was slumped next to the blonde shinobi, leaning against the edge of the coffin for support — its eyes were blank, but wide open; and Anko recognised it from the mortuary, where plenty of Konoha shinobi had spent days dissecting it, attempting to understand it. She herself had come down to take a look at the shinobi who stole hearts — and, back then, his eyes had been bright, shining like emeralds.
Now, they were dull.
She shuddered, and she didn't want to look on anymore, but she couldn't help herself — unwillingly, she found herself gazing at the next in line; a thin, sickly-looking corpse, with ash-white hair — and she wondered what on earth Madara would want with this one. It looked to be no older than a boy; and it seemed so fragile, so delicate — it didn't look cut out to be a shinobi, let alone a deadly S-ranked weapon.
Kabuto clapped his hands together.
Madara rubbed one gloved finger across his chin, surveying the five fallen shinobi one by one, like pieces of meat, before glancing back up at Kabuto, "…I suppose you've no doubt come to join me, then, if you're willing to… show off this amount of power. You do realise I could kill you right now, should I choose to?"
"Oh no — I haven't come to join you."
Anko's eyes widened.
Kabuto chuckled, shaking his head, arrogance dripping from him. "No, I simply heard you planned on starting a war, and decided I'd offer my support. Of course, like the good, untrustworthy villain I am, there has to be a catch — and here's my catch. Are you willing to consider it, Madara?"
The other nodded.
"Oh, excellent," Kabuto's lips stretched into a smile. "When this war is over — when you have got what you want and everything is going perfectly your way — I request only one thing. Hand over Uchiha Sasuke."
Madara's eyes narrowed with distrust. "…what're you plotting?"
"Oh, nothing at all," the other replied, still smiling, "I simply wish to discover the truth behind all ninjutsu — and, for that, I need a live, young Uchiha… I suppose you could say I've inherited Orochimaru's sense of curiosity, as well as all of his powers."
"…and if I refuse?"
At this, Kabuto's eyes narrowed and his smile slipped from his face. Quick as a flash, he smacked his hands together, and a final coffin rose from the ground, turned away from Anko — the lid fell downwards, and Madara recoiled, murmuring something beneath his breath, his eyes wide with shock. She craned her neck, trying to get a peek of this thing — this awful, terrible thing — which scared Madara so; but the lid slid back into place before she could do so and, when she looked up, she spotted Kabuto gazing at her.
He waggled a finger knowingly.
"You thought I wouldn't come here without an ace up my sleeve, Madara? How ridiculously naive. Now that you've seen this, you know you can't refuse — and let's not ask any needless questions. Don't you worry — I won't tell anyone about this…"
Madara frowned, taking a moment to consider. His eyes never left the final coffin, though he did pause once to take a quick glance at Anko — and she cringed backwards, avoiding his gaze, trying not to let the urge to scream overcome her. This was dangerous. This was definitely dangerous, and she was definitely going to die — they would question her, no doubt, and then kill her, because she was disposable at this moment in time. Still, her gaze flickered across to Kabuto, who looked awfully self-satisfied and smug, and she found hatred overcoming her.
That wasn't Kabuto.
It looked like him, yes — but it was Orochimaru, in everything but body. The master she hated — she loathed — was there, just out of reach; and she'd waited for this moment for so long. Of course, when she'd pictured it, she'd seen it going differently; still, she had never once seen herself as the victor. Never once…
"…cheeky brat," Madara murmured, finally, before letting out a resigned sigh. "All right — I'll join forces with you."
And, at that moment, Anko realised that a war was coming.
…it was too bad she'd be dead before she could tell anyone.
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The glass wall between them was back up.
In all fairness, it wasn't exactly a wall — perhaps more of a window — and it had never been taken down; but when Hinata went to visit Sasuke for the thirteenth time, she wasn't allowed to go inside and visit him, again, as she'd done the day before. Ibiki refused, when she asked, saying that she now needed permission off the Hokage, otherwise he wasn't going to do anything about it at all — and so she had simply nodded and headed off to see Sasuke; because, in all fairness, it wasn't much of a loss.
She could still see him, at least.
When she entered the room, she was surprised to see the two ANBU huddled up together in one corner, whispering — Sasuke was watching on, his face a mixture of curiosity and amusement; and all three of them looked up in surprise when she cleared her throat, announcing her presence. The ANBU didn't bother remaining in the room — instead, almost immediately, they left, still murmuring beneath their breath to one another, and she caught her name being spoken, as well as the name of her father. She frowned, shaking her head, before sitting down in her usual chair.
"Good afternoon, Sasuke," Hinata said, and he simply nodded in response, his gaze still fixed on the door almost as if he could see through it and was watching the two ANBU outside. She turned, then, to take a quick glance at the door. "What were they t—talking about?"
"…I'm not sure," the Uchiha said, finally, still watching the door. "They suddenly stood up and started whispering. They weren't that quiet at first, in all honesty, as if they thought the glass somehow shielded them from me — and they were quite blatantly talking about me. When they noticed me watching, however, they suddenly started acting secretive."
She glanced back at him.
He shrugged. "Whatever they were saying, nothing good will come of it."
"Don't," Hinata said, and he blinked, raising an eyebrow at her, looking at her properly for the first time since she'd arrived. "Don't worry yourself about i—it; and, worst of all, don't j—jinx it."
Sasuke's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing, his head swivelling back to face her but his eyes occasionally flickering back to the doorway. Hinata found herself gazing around the room, and it was all so empty — she really ought to buy a new vase and some flowers. Back then, they'd made the entire room seem bright — they'd made everything less scary; made Sasuke less jittery. She pressed her fingers against her lips, eyes still scanning the room for anything, and she found herself staring at his bonds.
Surely they were too much?
He was trussed up, tied up, like an animal — like they thought he'd bite, if they let him even have any freedom of movement; and she couldn't help but think that he must want to walk again. To stretch his legs, if only for a minute. She frowned, ever so slightly, but he noticed it anyway, eyebrows raising again.
"…what?"
She blinked, startled. "Uhm, I don't know—"
"—what are you looking at?"
Hinata blinked again, before biting her lip and looking away. "I was just thinking… It's awfully c—cruel, the way they tie you up like that — and they d—drain your chakra! Surely, you should be allowed to walk around, if only for a l—little while. I mean, you wouldn't hurt anybody."
"That's a large assumption to make."
Her eyes widened, and instantly she glanced upwards, her gaze meeting his. His face was deadly serious, one eyebrow quirked ever so slightly, that same old Sasuke smirk plastered across his face.
"Why wouldn't I hurt anybody, if it gave me the opportunity to leave?"
"Because you're not like that," Hinata retorted, almost immediately. "You pretend to be like that, but you're n—not."
This time, both of his eyebrows shot upwards, and his smirk turned amused, almost mocking. "And you've seen what I'm really like, right, Hinata? Is that it? You've seen the true Sasuke and you know I'm not like that?"
For a moment, Hinata had to consider his words. She gazed at his features, searching for that little something — the little something she'd seen time and time again, whenever she visited him — the something that reached out for her, desperately. She searched for the part of Sasuke that was so vulnerable — the part which wanted to pull everyone close, but only knew how to push them away. She searched for the part which reacted to Naruto's name — and his eyes would turn sad, even if his face didn't — and she searched for the part which steered the conversation away from his family, for fear of showing any signs of weakness. And she searched for the part which she'd spoken to, more than once.
She searched for the part she visited.
And as she searched, she thought that Sasuke was much like a rose. He tried to stand tall and proud and beautiful, but when the rain came out, he would wilt and wither. And she wondered if she was his rain — because she constantly put him on the defensive, she could see that; she could see that in the way he constantly tried to hide things from her.
Sasuke was the rose.
And she was his rain.
And, almost as soon as she thought those words, she saw that part — that vulnerable part of him — staring out at her through his eyes, and she knew her answer to his question. Had she seen what he was really like, then — could she really judge him, after only speaking to him for thirteen days?
"Yes."
He blinked, eyebrows rising, slightly taken back by her firm answer — her fists were clenched by her side and her expression was one of stubbornness and determination. He smiled, ever so slightly, before closing his eyes and shaking his head.
"…you'll learn," Sasuke murmured, finally, eyes still closed, "I suppose."
She didn't reply, choosing instead to clasp her hands in her lap and simply look at him; eventually, he opened his eyes, and they sat in silence, waiting for something to happen. Hinata opened her mouth, just once, trying for words — trying, really, to speak of anything — but she couldn't quite think of something, and so she simply sat there.
Eventually, Sasuke spoke.
"I didn't always hate my brother," he murmured, his voice hesitant as if he were trying to pick the right words; and he'd closed his eyes again, so that it was more as though he were talking to himself than her. "Before I thought — before he killed my family — my entire clan — we were close. We did everything that siblings should do; he'd play with me, and give me piggy back rides, and train with me — and then, in the same manner, he'd teach me things. He was the one who taught me how to set up a camp, how to start a fire without using a jutsu; how to catch fish from a river and how to generally survive.
He was the kindest — the nicest — the strongest — the best person I knew.
I started to idolise him. I was pretty young, and kids do stuff like that; so I started to think of him as something more. He wasn't just my brother; he was my teacher, my father, my friend — he became, for lack of better words, my everything. He couldn't do anything wrong, not in my eyes; and I think my mother realised how close we were becoming, because she started to refer to us as 'her little boys' — and she never once used to call Itachi little. I think he liked it, even though he pretended he didn't — but she started referring to us as a whole, instead of two separate people. We were close.
We were so close.
I guess, through it all, I never really, truly, absolutely hated Itachi; that's why, whenever we fought, after he… killed them all, he always told me I needed my hatred to become stronger. It wasn't really hatred, not back then — it took a while for it to boil and fester and become something resembling that.
Back then, it was simple disappointment. I wanted to know why — why he'd killed them, and the like. I had to know. I didn't want to kill him, not really; hurt him, yes. Break him, definitely. But I didn't want to kill him — because then I'd be alone, and lonely, and it would hurt even more. I'm probably not making sense, but I need someone to understand…"
He trailed off, eyes flickering open to meet Hinata's — and she found herself slightly surprised. He had never given anything away, not like this; not without her prompting him first. It used to be a sharing thing — she'd say something and then he'd say something, in response. But perhaps — perhaps after her earlier statement, he was sharing.
Maybe he wanted to prove her right.
…or prove her wrong.
She opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head, cutting her off before she even had the chance. "Don't say you understand — don't waste words like that, because you don't, and you won't."
And Hinata found herself remembering Naruto.
(how? how can you understand? what have you been through, which is even remotely like this? sasuke wasn't just my best friend. he was — he is — my brother! and they've locked him up in some dirty prison, and thrown away the key — they've condemned him to death, hinata! he's going to be rotting in some prison and he'll think i've forgotten about him! i won't see him again until he's in a coffin. you barely know sasuke. how can you understand?
you don't understand!)
And she opened her mouth, before she could stop herself, to speak the same words that she'd spoken to her childhood love to him — to Sasuke.
"Then make me, S—Sasuke — make me understand."
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He wanted to.
Looking down at her, and seeing the way she clenched her fists, eyes determined but begging for him to at least try, Sasuke truly wanted to. He wanted to spill his guts — to tell her everything — to tell her the truth about Itachi, and about Konoha, and explain his hatred further. And he wanted to tell her, yes; but his thoughts returned to the ANBU stood waiting outside the room, and he couldn't help but wonder how the outside world would take it.
After all, Danzo was still alive.
They were all still alive.
He could tell Hinata what he wanted, but she was too kind — she wouldn't shut her mouth about it. She'd want to tell anyone — she'd want to tell people; just the same way Naruto would have wanted to; because, in her pretty little mind, that would free him. That would turn him into one of the good guys, again — and who knew what would actually happen? She'd have no proof, to begin with — her words would just be considered to be the rambled words, stolen from the mouth of a traitor. She would be mocked. Her father, no doubt, would look down at her with disappointment, and everyone — friends, family, fellow shinobi — would turn away.
After all, she'd be making some grand accusations, with very little proof — no, scratch that; with no proof. It wasn't worth it — it wasn't worth spoiling everything, just to get someone to understand, just for a little while, because it would make him feel better. He shook his head, ignoring her crestfallen expression, shrugging slightly.
"The truth isn't worth it, Hinata."
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Hatake Kakashi tucked his hands into his pockets, sadly missing the presence of his little orange book as he strolled through the streets of Konoha. The Hokage had requested to see him and, as usual, he'd decided it was in his best interests to turn up extremely late — and, besides, he had people he needed to check up on.
He turned a corner, and his heart fell; he recognised the flat in front of him, and it brought back memories — memories of a dead man. A fallen shinobi. He stopped where he stood, idly gazing up at the flat; there, on the doormat, was a pack of cigarettes — Shikamaru had probably left them there, as a sort of token of his appreciation and gratitude to his fallen sensei, as well as a memorial. In much the same way mourners would usually leave flowers on the graves of the dead, Shikamaru left cigarettes.
It was oddly poetic.
Kakashi chuckled lowly under his breath, moving to turn away, and almost bumped into the one person he had wanted to check up on. She was stood slightly behind him, unmoving, eyes fixed on the flat, one hand resting on the bump of her stomach — her hair fell down around her face, and tears threatened to spill out from her eyes.
"…I can't go in there," Kurenai murmured, softly, still rubbing the bump of her stomach. "I've tried, I really have — but I just can't."
Kakashi didn't reply.
"Shikamaru's been an angel," the kunoichi continued, and her voice was broken and tired. "He visits me. Did you know that? Apparently, he made him the godfather — I didn't know that, of course, but its fine. It was going to be you, originally. I suppose he always used to get caught up in the emotions — and it must have seemed like the right thing to say. It's fine, though; Shikamaru's a wonderful man — a brilliant shinobi."
"He is," Kakashi agreed, nodding slightly.
"I still thought it was going to be you, though," Kurenai said, acting as though Kakashi hadn't said a word. "I suppose you weren't there, though — so… so it couldn't have been you."
And there.
She had spoken the words Kakashi constantly repeated, time and time and time again. Because person after person, he'd lost, because he simply hadn't been there — first with Obito, though that didn't truly count; he hadn't been skilled enough, back then; so, in a way, he hadn't been truly there. And not for Rin — he didn't even know where she was any more. And then Itachi; because he'd been close to the other's age, and he'd seen how skilled he was getting, but he hadn't been there to stop him. And then the same with Sasuke — he was his teacher, but he hadn't been there.
Not for Sakura.
Nor Naruto.
Not even, really — though he was trying, at least — for Kurenai.
He wished, in that moment, that he had his books with him; because then, at least, he'd be able to distract himself from the truth. He turned back around, facing away from her, gazing up at the flat — and then he tucked his hands back into his pockets, and turned to face her.
Her eyes were still glued to the flat.
He stepped forwards, then, and placed a hand on her shoulder — but she still showed no signs of movement. For a second, he found himself thinking of them — of the three of them — when they'd occasionally go and get ramen together; and Asuma, as usual, would always be the life and laughter of the party. He remembered the way her face would light up, just for a moment, and he smiled behind his mask. She'd remember, too, eventually — she'd get past this stage of mourning, of sadness, of darkness.
He'd done it time and time again.
Then, without saying a word, Kakashi turned and left.
And Kurenai stayed where she was, gazing up at the flat, until the rain began to pitter patter down around her, and her hair became soaked to her skin. Only then did her thoughts turn to her baby — their child — and she turned away, walking slowly back to her flat.
Only once did his name ghost her lips.
"Asuma…"
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When Hinata left Sasuke, it was raining.
She stood where she was, for a moment, in the rain, fists clenched by her side; and the rain soaked her clothes through, and she grew colder and colder. But she tilted her head up to the sky, and she wondered, as she watched the grey clouds roll in. Perhaps Sasuke wasn't the rose — perhaps she was the rose, delicate and fragile, wanting nothing more than his care; wanting him to finally give in, to her, and let her understand. And perhaps he was the rain.
Because, no matter how much she tried, he simply smiled his sad little smile; and she wondered if he was crying — if he was crying, but she just couldn't see it, because he wouldn't let her see it.
Perhaps she was the rose.
And Sasuke was the rain.
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