project: Fifty Days
disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
dedication: thanks to akaiichigo, rose zaki, qial & izusu-chan! many thanks to everyone else, too; especially to everyone who's checking this out for the first time!
chapter: 17/5o
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:
Hey, here comes another chapter; I've deleted a couple of stories I wasn't happy with, so I'll probably be able to focus on this a little bit more than I have been doing, recently. Can I just say, I'm loving all the support for Neji; you guys, and my inner fangirl, are the reason he's still holding on for another few chapters. Or was that a trick, to make you think I'm going to kill him off when I'm secretly not going to? Or am I going to kill him off? Who knows? Not even me, currently! ;D
Also, I need some help! I need someone to brainstorm with; a fellow SasuHina fangirl, who's also relatively into Death Note or Bleach. I've had ideas for stories for all three of my favourite fandoms, but I just need someone to talk them through with. Which, in all fairness, probably means there'll be another SasuHina fic on the way, since I'm absolutely in love with this pairing at the moment. Also, I've got another poll up on my profile, so please, check it out!
AND, NNGH, IT'S MY BIRTHDAY ON THE 9TH! 8D
Hope you enjoy this chapter; thank you for the 406 reviews, too, you guys are just plain awesome.
briony, x
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Tsunade pressed her head in her hands, gazing down at her desk — she traced the contours in the wood with her eyes, a slight frown across her face; her brow furrowed as she thought, and her eyes moved to the sake bottle perched on her desk. It stood tall and proud; it was a cream bottle, bought for her by Jiraiya — and she felt a twinge of sadness at his name, a lump in her throat, anger in her heart —, and she'd kept it ever since. There was a long, jagged crack running down one side, where it had tumbled off her desk and crashed to the floor — she'd spent hours gluing it back together, wanting it to be perfect and ending up with a jigsaw mess of broken pieces.
When she'd returned to her desk in the morning, she'd found it fixed beautifully, with only the slightest of cracks running down the side. She'd never thanked Shizune for it — instead, she'd given her the day off and slipped a small amount of money into the other's purse. She wasn't good at thanks — it was a pride thing — but Shizune had understood what it meant.
Now, however, she found her thoughts straying from the sake bottle; she found herself thinking of the one thing that had made her slump her head in despair. Only three days ago, she'd sent four of her best shinobi on an easy mission — C-rank, at most — and, yet, none of them had reappeared; she had not expected them to take so long. Sure, there might have been one or two hiccups along the way; they were a mismatched band, who weren't entirely suited for each other — she had wanted to solely send Team Gai, but Lee and Gai hadn't returned from a previous mission, and so she had been forced to piece together available shinobi. She had been relatively pleased with who she'd turned up.
She turned, gazing out the window.
If there was one thing that was certain to calm her thoughts, it was the sight of Konoha in the early mornings — her village, only just waking beneath the glow of a yawning sun. Outside, she could hear the first calls of a working day; the rattling of shop windows opening, the dull spattering chatter, the first calls of a soon-to-be busy market. People she knew and people she had yet to meet roamed the streets; their own lives, and she could see a tiny glimpse of it, from way up high. Beneath the early morning sky, each one of them would flicker into life — and she would see it all, like a wave.
Now, it wasn't quite enough to calm her thoughts.
Behind her, the door slid open as Shizune entered the room.
"Lady Tsunade, you have a message from the Council," her voice was low as she entered the room; no doubt she'd been given the message personally, then, "They'd like to meet with you, tomorrow afternoon — another meeting discussing Uchiha Sasuke. They believe — they believe you aren't getting results; that you're all talk, and you have nothing to show."
"The old farts," Tsunade scowled, angered at the interruption — at the moment, it wasn't important; she was worried about the Akatsuki — because, if her team didn't return, what could that mean? That they were planning for something? And for what? War? "Although, I do have matters I need to discuss with them. This could have come at a better time, but now is better than never, I suppose."
She clapped her hands together.
"Tomorrow, then — you'll have to remind me, Shizune; I wouldn't want to be late."
Her assistant nodded once, and the room fell silent. It was a tense, awful silence, making the air around them feel tight; Shizune found herself fidgeting slightly, hands clasped in front of her as she gazed at Tsunade — her sensei, in a way. She would have bitten her lip had she not broken the habit long ago, and she found herself wanting Tonton to hold and squeeze — her pet always offered her a sense of security, of comfort, when she was feeling worried, and the look on Tsunade's face was most certainly worrying her.
In turn, Tsunade frowned.
"Back — they should have been back by now."
It took Shizune a moment to figure out what Tsunade was talking about but, when she had, she nodded once, sharply. "I know, Lady Tsunade. Should we send a team out to meet them?"
Tsunade frowned, considering the thought.
"…and lose more shinobi to the Akatsuki?"
She shook her head.
"They've got until sunrise — then, and only then, I'll send out a team to meet them."
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Hinata brushed her fingers against her lips, lying upon her stomach on her bed, book open in front of her; it had been a long time since she'd just simply read, and she realised she'd missed doing it. When she was younger, she would read anywhere and everywhere — all the time! She would sit beneath the rose bushes, the old twisted trees, on the fields, in her room — on her father's lap, even, once upon a time — and she would simply read, turning page after page, painting a story in her mind and a picture in her heart.
Her pillows lay rumpled by her sides, tossed out of the way so that she could lie down fully; her blanket was sort of half sprawled across her body, and thin rays of sunshine were shining in from her open window. It was all so perfect — so brilliant — that, for a second, her eyes strayed from her book and she found herself simply smiling, giddy with happiness; but, as nice as that feeling was, she didn't understand why. This happiness tingled through her, a pleasant warming sensation, but she couldn't quite place her finger on what had caused the feeling — not her book, that was for sure. She'd read the thing over and over again, since she was young, and so it was more a book of memories than an actual story for her — and while that did make her smile, it just wasn't enough.
The sensation was overwhelming.
She couldn't pinpoint the source, not yet — maybe not ever — but that was fine — this feeling was enough. It made her want to move. She pressed her book closed, swinging her legs up and over the side so that she was sitting up—
Beneath her bed, unknown to her, the letter from Neji lay closed and silent. An envelope of whispered secrets.
—and she stretched, arching her back and bringing her hands up over her head. She was still dressed in her pyjama shirt, having changed her trousers earlier that day — after all, she'd convinced herself that she was going to get up, and then she'd spotted her childhood book, and she'd simply lost herself. Forgotten.
Now, however, she made her way over to her wardrobe, tugged out a shirt, and then disappeared into the bathroom. She was washed and dressed in minutes, hair hanging lank and limp over her shoulder — she wrinkled her nose at it, before reaching into a nearby basket and pulling out a clasp. It was a pretty silver thing in the shape of a blooming flower — Neji and Hanabi had scraped the money together to buy it for her last birthday, and she'd been so overjoyed at such a pretty present. She hadn't been able to wear it much, as she was a kunoichi — but that had hardly mattered to her.
Some things were too beautiful to be seen.
Still, she twisted her hair up onto the back of her head, in a messy bun, and then pressed the clasp into her hair. Strands almost immediately fell free, but she made no effort to pin them back — for a little while, she was just going to let that happiness overwhelm her. No control. Not even over a few messy strands of hair.
Just that feeling.
She made her way over to the door, fully dressed now; at first, she was uncertain of where to go and what to do, but she figured she might as well just walk through town for a little while. She would find someone to talk to, if she wanted to — after all, Shino was just around the corner, and he very rarely left his room, except for training and shopping necessities. But she wouldn't plan ahead, not today — she wanted this lack of control to continue, if only for a little bit. And so she simply waved at Hanabi as her sister passed, making her way to the door, pausing only to grab her coat — she tugged it on as she was leaving, a little disorganised ball of mess heading right out into that market.
She walked with her hands tucked into her pockets, a small smile across her face, nodding to those she knew — she stopped briefly to talk to Ino, although that was more because the other girl had gripped her wrist and yanked her over. Beside them, Shikamaru stood yawning, but he nodded when she said goodbye and smiled a little as he waved; absently, she wondered if there was anyone better who could have known her secret — just her, Shikamaru and Shino; three of the quietest people in the world; one unsociable, one lazy and the other just too shy.
Yes, there was no one better she could have spoken too.
But she didn't let her thoughts stray on that matter for too long as, within moments, she was roped into another conversation, this time with Sakura and Naruto. The latter — loud and boisterous as always — was whining for ramen, while Sakura had coldly but politely explained that she was fed up of the stupid stuff and she wanted something new to try. She'd been called in as referee or mediator or whatever, but had found herself roped into the argument within minutes. She'd listened to both of them, before creating a compromise.
"Sakura, if you eat ramen with N—Naruto today, I promise the pair of you can eat dumplings and rice balls with me, t—tomorrow," she said, with a smile across her face. "It'd be my treat."
Sakura looked sceptical, just briefly — her eyes flickered towards Ichiraku's Ramen Bar and then back to Hinata, and she raised an eyebrow, a small smile plastered across her own face. "I don't know…"
"Please, Sakura?" Naruto practically whined, his voice high-pitched, drawing out the please until it became a long, irritating squeal — but it wasn't enough to win Sakura over; she was having her fun, dawdling until the last possible moment, where her smile turned into a full grin and she nodded, holding out her hand.
"D'you promise? I don't think I can stand another ramen."
Hinata beamed at her, shook her hand once and nodded.
"I promise."
With that, Naruto had gripped Sakura's hand, dragging her off towards Ichiraku's, waving widely over his shoulder — his arm suddenly turned into a huge, swooping arc, as if he were trying to paint a rainbow in the sky. Knowing Naruto, he probably had tried to paint a rainbow in the sky, and she stifled a giggle as she waved back. She barely stopped herself from squeaking as a hand clamped down on her shoulder, and she was twisted around to face this new stranger. For a moment, all she could register was green. Then her eyes managed to focus on a face, and she couldn't help herself from smiling, the initial shock wearing away quickly.
Opposite her stood Rock Lee, teeth sparkling as he grinned at her, stance extra-wide for no real reason — out of Neji's team, he was the one she understood least and had talked to least, but couldn't help but instantly like. He was a beacon of pure, unadulterated sunlight — like Naruto, but refined and polished, wrapped up like a little green parcel.
"Hyuuga Hinata," he spoke, with a grand flourish. "I have just returned from a tough and gruelling mission, only to find that I seem to have misplaced my teammates."
He sobered up, then, tilting his head.
"How long have they been gone?"
With a frown, Hinata realised she didn't automatically know the number of days Neji had been gone — normally, she would have been able to tell someone immediately, but today… No, ever since he'd gone without her saying goodbye, he'd been pushed to the back of her mind; no worry spared for her cousin; he was a big boy now, he could stand by himself.
But still…
"Three days, Lee, including today," she said finally, troubled frown vanishing.
"Do you know what type rank the mission was?"
"Ah…"
She tried to remember whether Shino had said. They'd spoken for a little while about it, after her initial shock, but she couldn't quite recall… She shook her head. Her features fell.
"I'm sorry — I can't r—remember."
Lee's smile vanished briefly, replaced with a troubled expression as he thought of his teammates — both Tenten and Neji, gone. Usually, if he were away when they left, Hinata would tell him what rank their mission was; that was usually enough to appease him. Anything below a B-rank, and he would sleep comfortably — but A-rank… Like every shinobi in the village, if he found out a close friend was on a life-threatening mission, then he would be awake each night, waiting and wondering and wishing.
But now…
He realised that she'd mentioned Shino — and although he wondered why it was that boy would know, he still decided he'd go and check by the other's house, just to ask. Hinata, in front of him, looked a little bit heartbroken, so he smiled, patted her head once. "Don't worry about it, Hinata — I'm going to go and see Shino; when I'm done, I'll come and tell you," then, with a flourish and an exaggerated thumbs-up, he flashed another twinkling grin, "And that's a promise!"
All these promises — it was really beginning to hurt Hinata's head. Speaking of promises; she would have to visit Sasuke soon. So she nodded, happy spirits renewed again, and grinned her own Hinata-grin to match Lee's; she waved at him as he left, and then turned away, pressing her hands into her pockets and biting her lip. Her eyes, pale and distant now, turned up to the sky above — nothing but pale blue, a few wisps of clouds scattered here and there — and she heaved a sigh. The happiness was still there; it had dimmed, now, though — and, absently, she realised she wanted to talk. She didn't want this lack of control, not anymore — she didn't want to spontaneously bump into people — to jump from feeling to feeling so suddenly that it made her head hurt.
She wanted something… steady.
With a jolt of surprise, she realised she wanted to talk with Sasuke.
He was something constant, now; something she was coming to expect, to get used to — whether that was a good or bad thing, she didn't know. But it was something she enjoyed; something that made her heart flutter, just a few moments beforehand; which made that smile flicker across her face, fleeting, beautiful, wonderful.
She wanted to see him.
A smile across her face, light blush spreading across her cheeks, Hinata made her way towards Uchiha Sasuke — because she wanted to see him.
And, overhead, grey clouds rolled in.
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A bead of blood dribbled down his forehead, tracing a crimson touch down the bridge of his nose; there, it dropped to the floor, splattering across the ground like paint. That droplet was followed by another, thick and fast, oozing from jagged, raw cuts — slices through his skin. Three of his ribs were broken, as were both his arms and one kneecap — every finger on his left hand was cracked and twisted out of shape. His feet were left relatively unharmed; he knew, he spent enough time bent over and staring down at them, as he attempted to regain his breathing.
Another droplet of blood splattered across the ground.
Hatake Kakashi figured he was going to die.
It wasn't all that fair, really; he was a shinobi, sure, but, like all shinobi, he'd hoped to go peacefully, preferably in his sleep. That was a dream, of course — it had always been a dream. He hadn't been beaten, not really, and so he shouldn't have been captured; he shouldn't have allowed this, but when he'd arrived on the scene, he'd found Tenten broken and Kiba breaking, and he'd seen red. Every person he'd lost had flashed in front of his eyes — Obito, Rin, Asuma, Sasuke — and he'd lost himself; attacked stupidly.
Lost instantly.
Not that he'd have expected to beat Uchiha Madara whether he'd been thinking sensibly or not; that man was completely out of his league. He raised his eyes, then, silver hair flopping down into his face, streaked red with blood — his face was relatively unharmed, really, but he coughed, and blood bubbled between his lips. Internal bleeding, no doubt. Unfair. He'd wanted to see if Naruto really could become the Hokage. He'd wanted to see Sakura grow and grow and grow some more. He'd wanted to see them both marry. Maybe have children.
Or, at worst, he'd wanted to be there for their funerals.
Fucking irony.
In front of him, Kisame flexed his fingers, waving them slowly in front of his face before grinning; sharp teeth like a jigsaw puzzle of broken glass, "He's completely out of it, Madara. An' he's not givin' us anythin', anyway — what do you want me to do with him?"
A voice from the darkness.
Like a ghost.
"I didn't expect the famous Hatake Kakashi to break so easily, anyway — we were never going to get anything from him. Have your fun and then kill him."
Kisame smiled again. Scooped up Samehada. Raised it through the air. Slicing, chopping, skinning, dicing — and it hurt and hurt and hurt. Had Kakashi not been protecting all the things he loved, all the people he dreamed about, Naruto and Sakura and Kurenai and Sasuke, he would have sang and sang and sang, like a fucking canary, just to stop the pain. But it hurt and hurt and hurt. And his bones ached.
He closed his eyes and the world ended.
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Sakura pressed her head in her hands, smiling at her friend — at Naruto —, trying not to show her boredom; they always went to Ichiraku, and it was beginning to get dull. Still, Hinata was a nice girl, attempting to think of a suitable compromise, but that only put the problem off; after tomorrow, Naruto would want to be back at Ichiraku, stuffing his face with ramen, and eating and eating, much like he was doing now.
Still, at the moment, she wasn't that bothered.
She was basking in happiness; just a small amount — not enough so that, when it was torn away from her, she'd wallow in unhappiness, but enough to make her smile at nothing. At birdsong. At the way Naruto's hair seemed to shine in the sunlight. He looked up at her, then, raising an eyebrow — a piece of noodle hung from his cheek, as he lowered the ramen bowl, looking altogether a bit cautious.
"…what's the matter? Do I have something on my face?"
She laughed then, reaching forwards to remove the offending noodle, but Naruto ducked backwards, obviously expecting something worse. There was a flurry of movement and limbs, and then a crack cut through the air — the sound of something breaking. She blinked, glancing down — the drink she'd ordered lay broken across the floor, smashed, fragments spiralling across in all directions. Water seeped across the ground; and, within moments, there was a small puddle of it, which was soon soaked up into the cracked, dry ground beneath it.
She suddenly felt sad.
It was a scary sadness — the same sadness she'd felt when she'd seen the glass tomato, all those days ago. It was a longing and a want, mixed up with anger and hatred and complete sadness — it made her heart ache, and her head hurt as she tried to think of why. Why this feeling had suddenly come to her. This sadness. Naruto must have seen it in her eyes, because his own brow furrowed and he slapped a couple of coins down onto the counter. "Ah, we'll pay for that — sorry," she distantly heard, but it meant nothing to her.
Gazing down at the broken, jagged pieces of the cup, Sakura wondered what else had broken — and if she could ever fix it again. And, when she looked up, she thought she saw someone who couldn't be there — a shadowy figure, waving and smiling — before he was gone, disappearing as quickly as that.
"Sakura, are you alright?"
She blinked.
"…I think so."
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Kakashi thought he saw them smiling — saw them waving — pink mixed with blonde mixed with black. He thought he saw the ghost figures, watching him and waving — one big, looping wave, one smaller, polite wave, and a simple raised hand, to finish it all off. He couldn't see their faces. They were too far away. But he saw they were there. They were watching.
—good job, Kakashi-sensei.
They understood.
—you can stop now.
He closed his eyes.
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Kisame raised Samehada above his head, in a final, swooping arc. He didn't really see a man there — he never did, anymore. He saw ghosts. Hundreds of them, staring and watching and waiting — waiting for him to die. To exact their revenge. He saw ghosts, now. He supposed he'd see one more ghost tomorrow — a ghost with silver hair and a lazy smirk.
"Goodbye, Hatake Kakashi."
A lazy smirk.
He closed his eyes.
There was a splash of blood, a stain of red, and then nothing.
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Sasuke was sleeping when Hinata arrived.
It had been a fitful dream, full of colours he couldn't quite understand and people he didn't want to remember; his mother had stood smiling at him, her face crimson with blood, her hands stained black with sin — and she'd opened her mouth, lips stretching into a wide, clown-grin, whispering that she'd been a part of it. That she too, along with his father and the rest of the clan, had wanted to overthrow Konoha — power and power and more power. She said she'd bred them to be monsters. That he couldn't ever look back.
Then a katana had pierced through her heart, and there were his brother's eyes — red, swirling eyes that had haunted his nightmares for as long as he could remember, but this time they were crying. Thick, fat tears, sparkling like jewels — they splashed across the ground like blood. One, two; one, two — the tears fell quickly. He'd been transfixed by them, for a little while; and then he'd glanced upwards.
His mother and brother had vanished.
In their place stood his teammates — his old ones, Naruto and Sakura and Kakashi. They were waving and smiling, and he was, as much as it embarrassed him to do so, running towards them — as he ran, he grew smaller and smaller, becoming younger and younger, until he was a thirteen-year-old in his oversized white shirt, slipping off his shoulders. And, no matter how much he ran, the figures just grew smaller, moving further away — and, like a photograph, he could see the corners crinkling up. Kakashi's face burnt. Someone had cut jaggedly through Sakura's face. Naruto's eyes were sad.
When he woke up, she was sat in front of him, eyes wide with concern — he realised then that he was panting, chest heaving up and down, gazing at her with the frightened eyes of a small child. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. His hair clung to his face. Glancing down, he saw that his arms were shaking, their hairs stood on end, and he closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to change — to recover. When he was certain he was no longer shivering, he opened his eyes, lips tugging into a weak smirk. "…how long have you been there?"
Hinata smiled gently, "I only arrived a few minutes ago."
"So long enough, then, I suppose?"
She nodded, but didn't reply.
He closed his eyes again then, nodding weakly — it concerned him, how vulnerable he felt around her. She made him feel like he was somebody else; someone who could be understood and helped and cared for — with her kind eyes and kinder smile, she made him feel so fragile. Absently, he wondered how long it would be before she shattered his glass heart completely — before he threw down his walls and let her in. He felt as though, were he the type of person to do such a thing, he could tell her anything.
That worried him.
He was vulnerable — too vulnerable.
"W—would you like to talk about it?" She said, then, startling him ever so slightly.
His eyes snapped open — and she swore they span red briefly before fading into black — and he shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it, because that would equal more vulnerability, and he — he didn't need that. All this bravado he put on for Tsunade, he needed to keep it up for Hinata, too — after all, she was still a Konoha kunoichi. He couldn't trust any of them.
But his heart still told him that was a lie.
"Would you like to talk about anything?"
He stared at her, for a second, before nodding. "…just speak. It's easier that way." When she opened her mouth to ask a question, he shook his head. "Talk about anything. And nothing. Everything. Please."
Anything to get rid of the uneasiness that nightmare had left him feeling.
Hinata's smile returned, "When I was younger, do you want to know what I w—wanted to be? Not a kunoichi; I don't think my dreams were ever big enough for that — besides, I was always told I was too small and fragile. I—I guess I still get told that now, sometimes, but… But when I was little, I wanted to be a chef."
She announced it as if it were the grandest thing in the world. He couldn't help but snicker. She frowned slightly, but she was still smiling, and he could tell she wasn't truly offended — still, he sent her a little apologetic look. He didn't want to hurt her feelings.
"It's true. I wanted to be a chef. I thought there w—was nothing grander than cooking food for everyone to enjoy; I used to play kitchens with my m—mother, when I was younger, and then I used to play it with Neji, if he were willing, before his father d—died. Before that, I suppose we were almost close. Maybe. He was a play-friend. But I used to bake them cookies and stuff, anyway, and s—send it over to them; and they tasted like rocks, but my father still made them eat every single one. He ate them all, too."
She giggled.
"I ate one once, and I was almost sick."
He couldn't help but chuckle again.
"When Hanabi got a little older, I used to try and make her play, but by then I was starting at the Academy — and, besides, she w—was far too old for nonsense games like that. It's probably why she's so s—serious all the time; my father said that mother wasn't to play with her, because… because that was what made me soft, he thought. Mother wasn't happy, but she didn't argue — I don't think mother's really been happy ever since. But that doesn't matter. When I was little, I wanted to be a chef — but I couldn't really cook and my food was practically poisonous," Hinata paused, before grinning. "I'm better now, of course — I'll bring you in a d—dumpling, soon, I promise."
Sasuke raised an eyebrow, "After that story, I think I'd better pass."
"I promise, they're good!"
She was pretty like that — leaning forwards, attempting to reassure him, with a slight blush across her face and a giggle in her heart; he was pretty sure even she knew that he wasn't likely to agree, but he surprised her, nodding once. "I've got nothing to lose."
She sobered up ever so slightly then, pressing her chin in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees — like that, she stared at him. Big, wide, white eyes, he thought — lilac in the light. It was probably true that she was too gentle to be a kunoichi, but, then again, she was too beautiful, as well — and he'd always thought Naruto was too stupid to be so strong, but just look at him now. He wanted to tell her that, but he was certain it would be uncharacteristic of him, and so he simply looked at her.
"What did you want to be, Sasuke, when you were younger?"
He smiled then — a true, genuine smile.
"That's easy — I wanted to be just like my brother."
Hinata tilted her head then, eyes never leaving his face, content; he felt almost like a story-teller, and hoped it was a good story to tell. "When I was younger, there was no one better than my brother — there was no one bigger or stronger or braver. We were close. I idolised him as only brothers do. He was my hero. He was utterly brilliant, and I could never bring myself to feel ill towards him, even when we fell out — but not only was I so transfixed, I was entirely jealous. There's only so long you can stare at the sun before your eyes burn, and you only feel resentment towards it."
He paused, then.
"…I can't remember how old I was, but I remember I was throwing kunai — trying to hit all the targets — and my father was watching. I hit all of them but two. Then he asked Itachi to do it, and my brother barely moved — didn't even lift his head up from the book he was reading, just flicked his wrist and hit them all. That was when I decided I wasn't just going to be like him, I was going to be better than him."
He chuckled bitterly — and, staring at Hinata's wide eyes and gentle face, he felt the urge to explain.
"Even though he's dead, I didn't manage to surpass him. He wasn't at his strongest — he was ill — sick. Slowly turning blind, coughing up blood every few seconds; when I fought him, he still had the upper hand, to begin with, and he wasn't even as strong as he first was. I didn't surpass my brother, I surpassed his ghost — I'll always be stood in his shadow."
Sasuke fell silent.
For a few moments, the entire room was quiet, as he thought — and, in front of him, Hinata seemed lost in her own thoughts, too. Then, as quiet as could be, she stood up; she pushed back her chair and crossed the room as quickly as possible, reminding him once again that she was a kunoichi, and then left. He couldn't stop himself from raising an eyebrow; that had been oddly abrupt. Around a minute or so passed and when Hinata didn't return, he closed his eyes.
There was nothing but silence, as he let himself remember; remember the fight, Itachi's death, his mother, his father, Itachi's final words, Madara — let himself remember it all. He was so lost in his memories that he didn't hear the door click open again; didn't hear the soft footsteps across the room or feel the low pulse of chakra, followed by another door clicking.
He only opened his eyes when he felt soft skin touch his cheek.
Hinata smiled back at him, eyes gentle — he stared back at her, momentarily bewildered, before accepting it. He thought her hands were unnaturally soft for a kunoichi — pampered, no doubt. A girly habit. His own hands were calloused, the skin dry and cracked, scars reminding him of his triumphs and defeat — but, equally, he supposed it could be a Hyuuga thing; thinking of Hyuuga Neji, he couldn't help but feel that they were the type to moisturise their hands.
He wondered, really, why he was thinking of such silly things.
Probably all the drugs they give him, he convinced himself, but he knew it was her — Hinata did this to him. She made him feel weak. She made him want to turn back time and stop himself, before he went too far. With her gentle eyes and kind words, she made him want to tell her everything; every little secret he knew, and had kept for so long — she made him want to break all his carefully established rules. She made him feel oh so desperate.
But she made him feel so safe, too.
Closing his eyes, Sasuke let himself dream again, falling asleep to the warmth of her touch.
.
.
It was cold.
Unbearably cold — too cold; it was almost as though the air were pushing at him, pressing him in and in and in, until he felt he would burst. Absently, he wrapped his arms around his chest, taking another step forwards; he very nearly fell, only just managing to regain his balance by wrapping a hand in thick, thick fur. Akamaru barked once, sharply, as if ushering him onwards — he nodded, swayed, almost dropped again; he'd lost too much blood. They'd started off running — racing forwards, back towards Konoha — and although he would wobble, although he would fall, he'd force himself to keep going.
Now, however, it was almost unbearable.
Now, with every step his head heart; a dull rushing sound would fill his head, and the sky would suddenly look as though it were below him, and the world would begin to swim. Now, with every step he would stagger, slipping in the mud, grabbing onto anything to keep himself upright; his hands were red and raw, from where he'd grabbed at bark, nails scratching across wood. Now, with every step he only wanted to stop.
Rattling, dry coughs tore through his body, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Beside him, Akamaru whined sharply — upon his back, Tenten and Kiba lay limply, breathing shallowly, bandaged badly; with a frown, he realised his own bandages were stained scarlet. He glanced back, briefly, over his shoulder — the ground behind him was spotted red with blood, like his own Hansel and Gretel trail through the woods. He would have chuckled, if it didn't hurt so much to even move.
Hyuuga Neji was dying.
That was the cold, hard truth about it — his body was slowly failing him, because he was pushing far too hard. He no longer had the strength to continue the journey. He was bleeding too heavily. He was too weak. His hair, which had slipped out of its tie some time during his battle with Kisame, clung to his forehead, hot and sweaty and disgusting. Grimy. Thick with mud and, just maybe… blood?
Don't stop.
Don't think.
He forced himself to take another step forwards, resting one hand heavily against Akamaru; if he began a certain pace, he was undoubtedly sure he'd be able to keep going — one foot, then the other foot — one, two. One, two. One, two. And his breathing came in ragged pants. And he could barely keep his eyes open. And he could feel a thin trickle of blood dribbling down his forearm, over his elbow, onto the floor — drop, drop, drop. But he wouldn't stop.
He glanced across at Akamaru — at Kiba — at Tenten.
He couldn't stop.
Placing one foot in front of the other, staggering along, Neji marched drunkenly to his death.
.
.
Tsunade placed her hands on the desk, knuckles tapping out an unknown rhythm as she gazed at the three shinobi stood before her — Aburame Shino, Uzumaki Naruto and Haruno Sakura. Three of her best, assembled quickly; she'd told them to take whatever equipment they wanted and needed, because she wasn't going to give them time to return to their homes. They'd complied silently. Now she stood staring at them, her brow furrowed, trying to think of the correct words to say.
"A few days ago, four of my best shinobi departed on a C-rank, at most, mission, and they haven't returned. Just a couple of days before that, I sent Anko on the same mission, and she too hasn't returned. As you can see, I fear the worst. Shino, you're in charge of this team — I want you to take these two and I want you to find them."
He nodded. "Who is it we're trying to find, then?"
She pressed a file onto the table — Shino reached forwards, picked it up, skimmed briefly through it before lowering it to the wood again. He nodded sharply, jerkily, glancing briefly at his teammates, obviously trying to judge how useful they'd be if push came to shove. Tsunade wasn't going to give him that option — she raised a hand, pointing sharply, "Go."
They went.
"And let's pray you're not too late."
.
.
.
notes2: so Neji still isn't dead, but R.I.P, Kakashi. I love you, but, let's face it, you should have died when Pein invaded Konoha. Just saying. ;D