Fifty Days Chapter 18: day 18, a naruto fanfic

project: Fifty Days
disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
dedication: thank you to all of you! special thanks to atalkaz, who actually got me to hurry up and finish this chapter. ;)

chapter: 18/5o
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:

D'you know what's incredible? You guys reviewed one hundred times since the last chapter. And, because of that, you're incredible. Really, really incredible. And I'm going to give you a gift. A new SasuHina one-shot collection, which'll tell a story — and each one-shot will be dedicated to one of you. And if I run out of one-shots, and there are too many readers, I'll start a new one — because I really and honestly want to say thank you.

I'm so sorry this chapter was so late coming.

Oh, one last thing. Last chapter, I sent Shikamaru, Naruto and Sakura out to find Neji & co.; for the purpose of this chapter, Shikamaru has been swapped with Shino. I made a stupid mistake, and forgot who was who for a moment. D:

Thanks a bunch, guys, you all make me so happy. :)

One, two—

Neji took a lumbering step forwards, staggering almost instantly; his fingers sank into Akamaru's soft coat, tugging at the strands as he attempted to straighten himself, ignoring the low, warning growl the dog let out. When he was sure he could stand on his own, without having to support himself against his only conscious companion, he let out a shaky, wobbling sigh; beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and his back felt as though it were breaking — he was tired, aching all over. His hair fell into his eyes, strands clinging to his forehead and cheeks; he'd already taken off his forehead protector, as it was making him feel clammy.

He let himself sink to his knees.

This was a mess.

An awful, shambling mess — the entire mission, he thought, had been one catastrophic mess, from start to finish; and now Kakashi was missing, and here he was, a sight for sorry eyes, with two fallen shinobi sprawled across a faithful, but entirely shattered, dog. His hands were trembling, and he couldn't stand up straight, in case he toppled entirely over — he sucked in another long breath, and almost let out a helpless sob; he stifled it at the last second, pressing a hand against his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. His will couldn't break now — he wouldn't let it.

Akamaru let out a long, thin whine, nudging a wet nose against his shoulder, pushing forwards with just enough force to remind him that the dog was still there — that there was still work to be done — that they were running for safety. Absently, he wondered how far they'd walked; he'd been keeping track of it before, he thought, but everything was blurring into one for him, now. They had to be more than halfway to Konoha, though, he was certain of that — there was perhaps only a third of the journey left. Maybe less. Maybe more. Still, if he were to drag himself to his feet now, he might…

Pulling himself jerkily to his feet, the world around him began to swim and his breathing became ragged — rattling and shaky, like skeleton bones, like the wail of a ghost —, and he searched around helplessly for somewhere he could rest. Gather his strength, if only for a minute or so. He managed to take a few steps forwards, towards a tree — ivy snaked around the trunk, dancing and flitting upwards like the wings of a butterfly —, where he let himself collapse, sinking to the ground once again.

Dully, he noticed his bandages were stained pink — they would need changing.

He closed his eyes.

Hyuuga Neji had never been quite as naive as Hinata.

It was both a blessing and a curse, really. He was called a prodigy, noted to be wise beyond his years — he had a sense of maturity about him, something of which others were surely lacking. He could pick apart the bones of a situation; and, after doing that, he would understand it — he would piece it back together, carefully, gently, and he would think of a solution. Hinata had always thought it was as though the cogs in his head were whirring away at a different speed to everyone else; so much faster, so much sharper, so much cleaner. He was fast, sharp, clever; able to respond and adapt and change.

He was intelligent.

And, perhaps the best — or the worst — of all, he was realistic.

He had always been bluntly realistic, he supposed, from the very day he was forced to stand on his own two feet, alone — from the day his father died, really. At that point, a part of him closed away; while he was still considered intelligent, he was only factually so — he could piece apart a puzzle, something which required logic and skill. That ability, coupled with his beliefs in the idea of destiny, had led to something akin to a lack of imagination — or perhaps that wasn't the right word for it. He could imagine, certainly; every child, no matter how old, no matter how mature, no matter how intelligent, can. He used to imagine the birds — he used to fly with them, free, with a flock — with friends.

He could imagine.

But, for lack of a better phrase, he was never quite able to think outside the box; oh, he could think inside the box to the best of his ability, something Naruto was certainly lacking in. He was logical. Quick-witted. Intelligent. But, for one reason or another, he was far too realistic for his good, unable to fathom the idea that there could be something else — that there could be a 'what if'? That was, perhaps, the only reason he wasn't quite considered a genius, like Shikamaru, because he was able to see those 'what if's, and to work around them, whereas they were blind to Neji. He never saw them at all. He was realistic, and stubbornly so.

That's why, realistically, as he propped himself up against the bark of that old tree, Neji knew there was no chance of him surviving.

It was highly improbable that he'd get out of the situation on his own — he was injured, and moving for a great period of time would only serve to injure him further. Tired and running low on chakra reserves, he had no idea of where he was, and had been relying on Akamaru's judgement for a good part of the journey. There was every chance he was entirely lost. No, he was going to die there, against that tree, and that was that. There was, really, no use in forcing others to die with him, just for a little bit of company.

He opened his eyes.

He whistled, the noise scratchy and dry — Akamaru moved over, panting heavily, tired, and Neji offered him a small, tentative smile; something rare, Tenten would have said, had it not been for the fact that she was unconscious.

"…you…"

For a few seconds, he didn't know what to say — a lump stuck in his throat, and something stupid, something silly, about destiny and the inevitable floated through his mind —, and then another smile crossed his lips, and he shrugged wearily. All of a sudden, everything seemed clear — blissfully, wonderfully clear, and that scared Neji. He could hear his heart thudding, hear the blood rushing through his body, hear the birds in the sky — each and every one of them, and everything was so…

Clear.

"There's… there's no use in us all dyin' out here, 'maru. T—take Kiba and… Tenten… and find Konoha."

The dog let out another long, thin whine.

"When they're safe, you can… you can come back for me," he finished, before chuckling wearily — the sound came out as a gargle, and he couldn't help but feel ever so slightly worried, "But… but promise you won't—you won't come back until they're safe."

Had Akamaru been a person, Neji was sure he would have been frowning, with the look he was shooting the other — the dog let out a low, almost dangerous growl — don't go dying, kid —, before taking off into the surrounding bushes. He listened to the sound of paws hitting dirt, of leaves and branches rustling, until he could hear it no longer, and then he let out a little sigh, closing his eyes and resting his hands upon his chest. He would have to wait. He'd always been a patient person, and so he would have to wait.

Hinata rolled over onto her back, gazing up at her bedroom ceiling. Hanabi had knocked once on the door earlier, mumbling something about breakfast — but she'd looked weary, and that had momentarily confused Hinata; her little sister was never sleepy. It was something she was quite jealous of, really; her sister had the ability to wake up bright and early, without batting an eyelid, and, within moments of opening her eyes, she would look almost the same as she always did. Hanabi was just naturally an organised person — a morning person, really.

So when Hanabi had opened the door, yawning and rubbing her eyes blearily, her words slurred as she asked, "What time is it?", Hinata couldn't help but feel ever so slightly put-off. Not quite worried, really — there was nothing to worry about someone yawning — but it was odd; a little bit strange, and something she hadn't been ready for. Everything was just ever so slightly off, she thought, and so she turned back over onto her front — Kiba was still on his mission, Shino was out training with his father, and her sister had left to do the shopping; and, frankly, Hinata had nothing to do.

She was bored — and, at times like these, when she'd been younger, she used to grab herself a book and sit outside to read.

She glanced up at the shelf above her bed, eyes scanning the different books for something worthwhile to read; most of the books she had in her room were books from her childhood, or collections of classic tales. If she wanted something new to read, she would sneak off to her father's study and take a book from there, when he was out — and, as far as she knew, he was most likely in at the moment; and so she shifted herself forwards, so that she was almost directly beneath the bookshelf, and reached forwards. The tip of her middle finger snagged a hardback volume of an old comic her cousin had given her, and she inched her finger forwards, attempting to shift it off the shelf.

A minute passed, and she was beginning to give up — in a second, she'd stop being so lazy and she'd just grab the silly thing; but it was so comfortable on her bed, with the sun splashing in through the window, and she just didn't want to get up. She moved her finger again, grinning in triumph as the book shifted forwards — another pull, and it was almost entirely off. She pulled again, and it moved too quickly, slipping away from her outstretched hand and clattering down behind her bed.

Hinata let out a small sigh.

Well, it looked like she was getting up now.

She pulled herself into a sitting position, stood up and glanced once at herself in the mirror; she still hadn't brushed her hair, and it hung in knots and tangles down her back, messy from the amount of wriggling she'd been doing. Once she'd grabbed that book, she'd pour herself a bath — she'd sit and read for a little while, and everything would be fine. With that thought in mind, she knelt down upon her floor and scrabbled with one hand to find the book beneath her bed. After a few seconds, her face lit up in triumph as her fingers nudged against a hard corner — she pulled the object outwards, and then raised an eyebrow.

Her flower pressing book…

She hadn't even known she'd lost it, to be honest, but just seeing it brought a smile to her face. The beautiful handwriting on the front, all swirls and loops — girly handwriting, Kiba'd said, when he'd first seen it, but he'd shut up instantly when Neji walked into the room with a scowl on his face. She'd always thought it was such a simple, pretty thing, that little book — and, despite the fact that she often misplaced it, she did love it. But she frowned slightly, fingering the corner of the book — one of the pages was coming loose, she figured; the corner was all dog-eared, sticking out like a flag.

She flicked the book open to that page.

It didn't belong.

Italic, cursive handwriting, each letter joined to the other and leaning slightly to the left; it was a letter, she thought, but it hadn't been there before. It was written in black ink. At the top, there was a date and her name; Hinata, with a comma afterwards and a space below. At the bottom, a name.

Neji.

A lump grew in her throat.

This… She should have known her cousin wouldn't have left without saying goodbye. And, all of a sudden, she felt her eyes begin to water, and she wanted to slap herself — wanted to feel pain — because, through the past few days, she was almost certain she hadn't thought of him once. Perhaps a few times, maybe, but never — never anything serious. She hadn't stopped to consider — never could have thought — that maybe — maybe this time, the time she never got to say goodbye, the time she never once thought of him, the time when he was shoved to the back of her mind by thoughts of other people — that this could be the time he—

She stopped.

Sucked in a deep breath.

Began to read.

Hinata,

I came to say goodbye, but you weren't in your room; I suppose you were out again, keeping secrets. You're not quite as secretive as you think you are, I should add. I have noticed — you smile more, when you think no one's looking. You spend less and less time training, and more and more time elsewhere. As odd as it is, you look healthier. I never thought keeping secrets could be good for a person, but, for you, it seems to be adequate; and, really, I just wanted you to know that I will always be here.

You will always be able to talk to me.

Still, I doubt you would — it's probably a girly secret, something Tenten'd be better at understanding than myself; you have a sister for a reason, you know. That was a joke. I'm not entirely sure; there was probably some truth to it, I think. Some secrets, really, should be spoken — or, at best, written down.

Anyway, the Hokage has requested my services for a mission; it's something simple, probably nothing more than a C-rank, B-ranked at most, and I'll only be gone for a couple of days. Maybe when I get back, you'll want to talk to me a little bit more. I have to say, I'm pretty good at keeping secrets — not that I ever really have that many secrets to keep. Only girly things Tenten says, when she has no one else to talk to.

Whatever.

I'll be back in a few days. Remember, you can talk to me,

Neji.

Short, sweet and to the point — just like Neji, Hinata thought, and her eyes felt watery, and she suddenly felt pathetic. She'd sort of thought he hadn't noticed, but he had, because he cared about her — and she had barely thought of him, and who even knew what could have happened to him. She pressed her hands against her face, wondering whether it was selfish of her to cry — to attempt to garner a little bit of sympathy.

She was wrong.

This was awful.

She felt guilty, and ridiculously so; she needed to do something, anything, to take her mind off things — because, at the moment, her thoughts were running around in circles, and all she could think was oh God, what if something happened to him, and she never got to say goodbye, and she'd never even thought of him, and oh God, oh no, would he forgive her? And even if he did forgive her — because he would, she knew that, because she was his favourite cousin —, did she want him to? She wanted him to be angry at her, for just a little while; not silently disappointed, as she knew he would be if he ever — if he ever found out.

And all of it was bringing a bad taste to her mouth. The discovery of the letter, Hanabi's odd behaviour, her guilt — she wasn't one for signs, she never had been, but this…

This was strange.

Odd.

She placed the letter on her bed, thought better of it, folded it once and then tucked it into her jacket pocket, patting it once to be sure it was safe. She needed to walk around — clear her head, if only for a few seconds, so she could think; because, if she didn't think, she was likely to forget herself — to do something rash and silly and uncharacteristic, just like when she'd decided she was going to visit Sasuke, when she'd been arrogant enough to believe she could make one person feel better; that her presence would be enough to change someone, somebody, something—

No.

She sucked in a deep breath.

This self-pity, this self-loathing, was doing nothing.

Hinata pressed her fingers against her forehead, rubbing once in slow, soothing circles, before heading out the door — she needed to walk around, that was true, and she was going to clear her head. Dimly, she recalled arranging lunch for herself, Naruto and Sakura — and, so she would have to head into town, she knew that, and buy some ingredients. She'd prepare dumplings. She'd think for a little while, about what she was going to say to Neji — about how she'd greet him; she'd cook him herring soba. He liked that. She'd say sorry, and she'd hug him, and he'd blink in surprise, before patting her head and shying away uncomfortably, as he always did whenever anyone tried to hug him.

She barely noticed that she was crying.

There are certain women in the world who, when angered, become beautiful.

Shizune knew this — she had never considered herself to be one of those people, as she didn't have much of a temper to begin with. There were certain people who easily began to grate on her nerves — Hatake Kakashi was one of those people; he'd dined and dated her for a period of three days, before disappearing for a month — a mission, he claimed, the absolute liar —, and it had taken two weeks of constructive therapy with Anko to make her feel better. And constructive therapy with Anko consisted of creating silver-haired voodoo dolls and sticking pins into their crotches.

Still, that meant nothing.

Through and through, she was pretty much a mild-mannered woman, able to contain her anger; she was soft-spoken and courteous, polite and diplomatic. It was one of the reasons Tsunade valued her so much — she very rarely snapped and, when she did, it was a tidy mess she created, something which could be cleaned up with a few choice words and a pretty little smile. No, Shizune was not beautiful when angered.

But Tsunade was.

Shizune noted this, as she leaned forwards, resting her chin upon the palm of one hand, unable to stop the smile from slipping over her face — her mentor, partner and friend was truly wonderful when angered. Tsunade had never been one for keeping her temper in check. Whenever she felt a strong emotion, like anger or hatred, it would plaster itself across her face, and anyone in the general vicinity would easily be able to guess how she was feeling. She'd never been good, for as long as Shizune had known her, at hiding her feelings. When she was angry, she'd tense up, her entire body quivering, her hands balled into fists — and she'd look so strong, like a lioness. Beautiful and brilliant. Her amber eyes would glitter with such a fury that made her look several years younger.

She'd become beautiful.

Right now, as Shizune gazed down from the top balcony at the Council — stingy bastards, she thought; she was the Hokage's personal assistant, they could at least give her a front-row seat —, she thought Tsunade looked extremely beautiful indeed.

"This is ridiculous," her Hokage snapped, barely able to contain the contempt in her voice, as she gazed up at the other two Council members — Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane. "This is absolutely ridiculous, and you know it. What you're asking for is unreasonable. Don't you dare try to pretend it isn't."

"We appreciate and understand your concern, Lady Hokage," Homura sniffed, the disdain evident in his voice, "But you aren't showing any results—"

"—we're missing four brilliant shinobi, the Akatsuki are out there, somewhere, and Mitarashi Anko hasn't been seen in several days, and you're busy worrying about Uchiha Sasuke and what little information he holds; which, for your information, there is no chance of us getting to. We've tried your way. Yamanaka Inoichi was unable to obtain any information from the Uchiha. We've tried using brute force, but none of Ibiki's methods worked."

Tsunade paused then, if only for breath — Homura's mouth opened, but the look of fury he received from the Hokage silenced him instantly. Inwardly, Shizune let out a cheer of triumph; she too had grown tired of the old fools believing they could boss and bully her Hokage. When the Third had been in charge, they'd had similar methods of thinking — but Tsunade was far too headstrong.

She was going to get her way, no matter how long it took.

Absently, Shizune found her attention wandering from Tsunade and moving to a figure stood near the back of the hall, just next to the exit — Nara Shikamaru had always intrigued her, despite his age and lack of experience. She had never met a man quite as intelligent as him, and he couldn't help but remind her of Kakashi — lazy, unmotivated and sarcastic, he was only missing Kakashi's unique sense of time and perverted sense of mind. Still, he interested her — she'd only spoken to him occasionally and, on the times she had, he'd been accidentally dismissive, yawning or stretching when she spoke, gazing up at the clouds above as they walked along together, not even once offering to hold her files as she struggled to stay upright.

Still, his character wasn't what was interesting her now.

No, it was the odd little look he was offering Tsunade.

A small, knowing smile, she thought, and a silly little part of her mind thought that maybe they'd slept together — she'd dismissed the thought instantly, her features twisting into a pained grimace, causing one of people sat in front of her to raise his eyebrows in alarm. It was disgusting, though; the idea of Tsunade having a sexual life, especially with a man so young, was awful. And now that she was thinking about it, she couldn't stop.

After a few minutes, she managed to regain her composure, snapping back to reality just in time to see Shikamaru turn and slip out the door — she stood up then, bowing her head in apology to the people sitting beside her as she shifted her way out of the row. She was, after all, going to figure out what was going on — what it was Shikamaru knew —, and she was going to have to be quick if she wanted to catch him on his way out. She made her way down the aisle, to the door, and then offered Tsunade a final, apologetic last glance — the older woman didn't notice it, of course, but it was the thought that mattered.

She'd be fine without her faithful assistant — this was a battle she could win on her own.

Shizune slipped out of the balcony in silence, taking the stairs downwards two at a time; her hand ghosted along the banister, and she'd hit the ground floor within seconds. She couldn't help but let out a childish, triumphant smile — she'd been quicker than she'd thought, and Shikamaru was such a lazy person that he naturally walked slowly — she'd catch him within seconds. And, sure enough, as she bustled along the corridor, she spotted him immediately, only a little distance away from her, and so she began to speed up.

He didn't notice her, even as she neared him, and she raised an eyebrow, before finally tapping him on the shoulder — he glanced lazily at her, lips turned down. "…don't tell me I've got more paperwork," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead blearily, as if he'd only just woken up from a deep sleep.

She tutted, "No. Although, you do have paperwork long overdue."

"Troublesome…"

"You're lucky, then, that that's not the issue here," Shizune said, before clapping her hands together, coming to a stop — reluctantly, Shikamaru stopped with her, his expression cautious and ever so slightly confused.

"…what is the issue, then?" He paused, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, his lazy expression replaced with one of suspicion. "Am I in trouble?"

"Possibly. What do you know?"

There was a moment of silence, and Shizune thought perhaps she hadn't been clear enough — in retrospect, it had been a very vague question, and she could see the confusion on Shikamaru's face. Although, she reasoned, if he truly was a genius, he'd be able to figure it out by her body language or the clothes she was wearing or something equally as silly and ridiculous. Just as she was opening her mouth to add to the question, a smirk passed across Shikamaru's face, and he stretched his arms behind his head, glancing at the ceiling.

"I don't think I can answer that."

Her eyes narrowed.

It seemed there was going to be another person she could add to her Really Annoying People list — his name could go just below Hatake Kakashi's. "…excuse me?" She hissed, putting emphasis on the 'excuse', dragging out the 'u' sound so that it became beautifully long. "Elaborate."

He rolled his eyes, muttered something about troublesome women — which, thankfully, Shizune chose to ignore — and then stared at her, as if considering how to approach the topic. Then, carefully, thinking about each word before speaking it, he said, "Because… it's not my secret to tell."

She crossed her arms over her chest.

Thought for a moment.

Scowled.

"Could this secret, whoever's it is, negatively impact Konoha?"

It was a thoughtful question. She knew as much, because Shikamaru fell silent, tapping his chin once — no doubt his brain was figuring out every possible solution, searching for the answer. He was, she thought, a very easy man to read; or, at least, a lot of his mannerisms were very stereotypical of a young man put in an awkward situation. He was, as anyone would, searching for the best way out.

"No — it'll be troublesome, when it is revealed to all, and it'll cause a little bit of disruption — but it won't hurt anyone. At least, not physically," he paused, counted something in his head, and then shrugged. "But if we're talking about mental, emotion, touchy-feely hurt, then yeah, I guess you could say it'll have a negative impact. Maybe. Some people are difficult to predict."

A small, lazy smile slipped across his face.

Shizune thought for a second.

"That last sentence — some people are difficult to predict — that was about Naruto, right?"

He shrugged, began to walk away, signalling the conversation was over. She watched his back, a small frown creasing her forehead — and, just as he was about to turn the corner, he glanced back at her.

"It was about a lot of people."

It took Hinata half an hour to realise Naruto and Sakura weren't coming.

She was stood in an empty kitchen, watching the dumplings rise, when her sister wandered in, raising an eyebrow; she spotted the herring on the side — discarded, because Hinata had burnt that one, so she'd needed to start again —, and had raised an eyebrow, no longer sleepy and yawning, back to her usual safe. "What's the occasion?" She'd murmured, nodding towards the dumplings, and Hinata had explained about the guests they had. Hanabi had given her a funny look, asked if she was alright — to which Hinata responded, yes, of course she was alright, how could she not be —, and then wandered away, muttering something about crazy sisters.

After that, the dumplings had risen.

She'd placed them out on the table, in a little glass bowl — it was something her father had gotten her, when she was much younger and had been more into cooking. There was delicate detail of pretty pink flowers painted onto the sides, and the bowl had come with a selection of different small plates, but, over the past few years, they had broken, and the bowl was all that was left. She'd sat down at the table, waited as minutes ticked past, and then fretted by the front door. Then, when she was certain no one was arriving, she'd made her way back to the kitchen, feeling surprisingly numb at the idea that they might have stood her up.

(She was certain there was a valid reason for it — no, it wasn't like it was the first time Naruto had stood her up, no, no.)

Now, she was sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, staring down at the tablecloth — her mind was whirring and ticking and speeding along so fast that her heart could barely keep up. Her thoughts flew from Naruto to Neji to Naruto to Neji—

(To Sasuke.)

—and she could barely stop herself from frowning. She looked up, staring at the dumplings in the bowl, before picking one up and taking a bite — they didn't taste right. Slightly off. A little bit bitter. She sighed, placed it back in the bowl, and then picked up the entire bowl — she made her way over to the bin, emptying them in, and then set the bowl back on the side.

That was when her heart froze.

There, down the centre of the bowl, ran a long, narrow crack, zigzagging its way down to the base, where it stopped matter-of-factly. She ran her finger over it, blinking — Hinata swore it hadn't been there before, when she'd taken the bowl from the cupboard, and yet there it was, as clear as day. For some reason, it put a lump in her throat and made her swallow hard, once, twice, three times, eyes suddenly turning watery. It made her heart thump slightly too quickly — made her feel a little bit ill — and she stood up, abruptly.

Dropped the bowl in the bin.

Heard it shatter.

No, Hinata didn't believe in signs — but, if she had, she was certain this would have meant nothing good.

Sasuke was feeling ever so slightly tired, when Hinata burst into the room, looking flustered and extremely upset. One of the two ANBU actually looked startled, their stance turning tense as the Hyuuga entered — but, upon seeing who it was, both ANBU left, and Hinata sat herself down, the knuckles of her fists turning white with the strength that she clutched her legs. He was surprised, actually, at how miserable she looked.

There was barely a time when he hadn't seen her smiling.

He wondered, absently, if that meant it was his turn to do the cheering up, and if she were going to start crying — and if there was one thing he definitely couldn't handle, it was someone, anyone, crying.

There was a moment of tense silence, as he surveyed her and she tried her hardest not to look up from the piece of ground she was staring intensely at; he stared at her, taking in her ruffled, messy appearance — her hair looked as though it had been brushed through quickly, roughly, and her nails looked as if they'd been bitten recently. Her body somehow managed to be tensed and relaxed at the same time, her shoulders slumped but her arms so rigid that he thought they might snap. He hadn't spotted any tear-tracks on her cheeks. He thought, maybe, she wouldn't start crying and he'd be safe.

Finally, he thought it might be okay to speak.

"Are you—"

"Sasuke, do you believe in s—signs?"

He hadn't expected her to speak quite so quickly; he was certain he'd have to coax words from her, with lots of "are you okay?"s and the occasional "you can talk to me". When they were younger, he'd seen Naruto make it work with Sakura, pestering her until she finally gushed about all her problems, using his shoulder as a tissue, or something — and he'd wink at Sasuke over the top of her shoulder, or do something equally as ridiculous, and Sakura'd notice, and then she'd punch him high over the horizon.

Not, really, that it was any use reminiscing at a time like this.

Still, he attempted to answer the question, racking his brains for a moment which he might have considered a sign for misfortune. There had been a lot of rain, he was certain of that, whenever something bad had happened — or it had been dark — or to quiet; but he didn't believe they were signs. Just the weather or the time of day. No, believing in signs, in his opinion, meant believing in other things — like destiny or luck or ghosts, or something he believed to be equally as unimaginable.

He raised an eyebrow.

"…no."

She seemed to consider his answer for a little while, turning it over and over in her brain, picking it apart and attempting to apply his final, resolute no to her situation. To the discovery of Neji's letter. To Hanabi's yawning. To the cracked bowl. To the bad feeling she'd had all day, and the aching, biting guilt. She tried to apply that no — tried to push all what ifs and maybes out of her head — and found she couldn't quite do it.

Hinata stood up.

"I—I'm sorry Sasuke, I need to—"

He nodded. "That's okay. You looked like Hell, anyway — whatever's bothering you, go and sort it out."

He watched as she turned to leave, making sure to tuck in her chair, not once glancing at him — but whenever she turned her head, he saw the shine of something wet upon her cheeks, and he wondered, absently, if he'd said the right thing. When she'd reached the door, when she'd pulled it open and was about to step outside, he cleared his throat.

She stopped.

"You look much prettier when you're smiling, anyway."

She turned around, then, a smudged, teary face and wide, watery eyes — but a genuine wobbly smile plastered across her lips anyway. She looked at him, and he looked back at her, and she said, "I could say the same to you, Sasuke." And, with that, she offered him a little wave, still smiling ever so slightly, as she turned and left.

Akamaru noticed the bug following him just as he began to near Konoha — or, rather, just as he thought he was beginning to near Konoha. His head felt dizzy and the different smells were getting hard to distinguish; really, he needed to sit down and rest for a little while, have a drink or something — the strain in his back, from running as fast as he could while carrying to heavy shinobi, was getting to be too much.

But he noticed the bug.

It was following him, to begin with, darting to and from the trees behind him, buzzing along at a safe distance. He didn't recognise it at first — he growled, actually — but then he began to slow down, and he realised it smelt safe. It smelt of the other boy — not his master, the other one —, and so he slowed down, staring at the bug. The bug stared at him.

Then, with a little buzz, the bug flew away.

And Akamaru followed.

Hinata couldn't help but feel ever so slightly bad about running out on Sasuke, but her heart was thumping too hard for her to think — she'd torn out of that cell faster than she'd ever imagined she'd have been able to, and Ibiki had called after her long after she was out of earshot. He'd rubbed his forehead, frowned, and then shrugged a shoulder, deciding it was none of his business anyway — and, had Hinata known of his decision, she would have been grateful.

Because she didn't want to think.

She was too busy running.

All she could hear was the pounding of her footsteps, matching the drumming of her heart, her arms swinging backwards and forwards wildly at her side — if her father saw her now, he would undoubtedly tut. She lacked the poise and neatness, she thought, of a kunoichi, but she really didn't care — because the bowl kept cracking over and over in her mind, and she kept wondering — kept thinking — what if something had happened?

What if he was dead?

And she'd never gotten to say goodbye.

She barely realised she was at the gate — and then, all of a sudden, she was running through it, past the two shinobi stood guard; and she could hear the crunch of branches, the crackle of leaves, the snap of a twig. She thought, maybe, she might be crying again. She didn't really care. She was too busy running, because she needed to find her cousin, needed to tell him sorry, needed to help, needed to—

A sharp, short bark cut through her babbling, wild thoughts.

She blinked, turning around.

"…Aka… Akamaru?"

Akamaru'd have recognised her scent from anywhere, he knew that — she was the Girl, the one who patted his head and tickled his ears, just the way he liked it; the one who snuck him bits of food underneath the table, when the Woman or his Master wouldn't let him eat anything. He couldn't help but perk up at the sight of her, tail wagging ever so slightly as he followed the bug over to her. She didn't notice the bug land on her arm. Akamaru didn't care.

"…what — what happened?"

Akamaru barked.

He leaned forwards, front legs buckling as she rushed forwards; she swung an arm beneath his Master's back, lifting him upwards, resting him against her. Akamaru heard a low groan, and he let out another sharp bark — that was good. His Master was speaking. Good. Good. If the Girl took the other female now, then Akamaru would be able to turn around and go back for the other boy — the one who had been his partner, briefly, and had smelt of cinnamon, despite the blood. He wagged his tail enthusiastically, waiting for the Girl to move forwards, to take the other.

She stopped and knelt down in front of Akamaru.

"…where's — A—Akamaru, w—where's… Neji?"

Hinata hadn't really expected an answer — for one, the dog couldn't speak, and for two, she doubted Akamaru even understood —, but she still somehow felt as though that little, confused tilt of the head had crushed her hopes. If Neji wasn't there — not with Kiba, not with Tenten —, then where was he? Was he hurt? Was he lost? Had he gotten split up from the group? Was he—

Dead.

She needed to find him, to prove to herself that she was wrong. He'd be sat somewhere — he'd raise an eyebrow at all the tears and the mess, and he'd shrug a shoulder and tell her she was never supposed to worry. And that he forgave her. She stood up, then, barely noticing Kiba's weight against her body — she wanted to go and run. To find him. To run and run, to help him, to save him, to leave her friends where they were — and that was around about when she spotted the flaw in her plan.

Neji was a prodigy — a genius, yes — but, above all, he was a friend.

A friend to Kiba.

To Tenten.

He'd never have wanted her to turn her back on them.

"Stay here," she instructed, turning back and rushing the way she'd come — within moments, she had grabbed the two guard shinobi, and then they were supporting Kiba and Tenten; they'd nodded at her, instructed her to meet them at the gates where they'd then take the two fallen shinobi back to the hospital. To the Hokage. She'd nodded in response, before turning to say one last thing to Akamaru — but, with wide eyes, she realised he'd gone.

Akamaru felt bad for leaving the Girl, because he loved the Girl very much and would never have wanted to hurt her, ever.

But the other…

The Boy.

The Boy had saved his Master.

And now the Boy needed Akamaru's help.

Noises.

A bush rustling.

A twig snapping.

Footsteps.

A shout.

—over here! he's over here!

Snuffling, moving, sniffing, by his face.

A wet nose presses against his cheek.

—sakura, he doesn't look good, he doesn't look good at all.

—akamaru, move away, let me get to work!

Something that sounds like humming.

Green light glowing, making him wince.

—he's moving!

—his eyes; he's opening his eyes.

—i think he's going to be alright.

A small, crooked smile.

A whisper.

"…too loud, idiot…"

—what did you just say?

A smack.

—shut up, you moron, and hold him still. we need to get him back to a hospital, where we can…

And then black again. But that's all alright — because he is alive. He is a survivor. He cannot be broken that easily.

Hyuuga Neji is alive.

(For now.)

note2: you guys are so lucky i didn't leave it on another cliffhanger. well, i sort of did, but whatever. ;D