I know that this story was bound inactive for a certain period of time, a long period. I apologize. I cannot truly say that there is no chance it may happen again, it may, things happen. But I didn't start this story to not finish it, and until the last words are written, I may find solace for my mind in writing them, even if it is because I simply do not wish to feel a failure.

And there are likely errors in spelling and gramer...i have not writen anything is so long...

Unfortunatly my old computer with all my files (and the next eight chapters to my story tomboy and the plotline for this story) crashed. Apparently I fried the motherboard from... overuse? So I will have to "impromptu" parts of the plot a fair bit from now on.

Also, this chapter is mostly nostalgia, me trying to get back into my usual place. Let me know what you think.

Chapter 13

The first day was agonizing in a peaceful way. Like white noise, I'd rather it was not there, but I learned how to tune out and ignore the tensions. I had packed, all my supplies, all my nesescities, for the one last mission. My last mission; I humoured. ...Though I suppose it was doubtful that that would be the case.

I had just survived too much, seen far more than I ever wanted, and by now was getting tired. It may be a relief for me to find, in three days time, that Naruto was stronger than we ever thought. Was stronger than we ever believed he could be. Then I realized I was using the word 'we'... who even was 'we'? I guessed that my subconscious was filling in for everybody, because nobody had ever believed in Naruto the way he wanted to be believed in; unconditionally.

I wondered if anybody had ever believed in anybody unconditionally, or really ever loved anyone at all. There were stories, of men whom traveled into the realms of the dead to search for their lost lovers, the dead ones. There were always three perils they must face, each more horrific than the last. The striking similarity of these perils and my countdown of days did not escape me, but the irony could no longer entertain more than a grimace. These perils were usually one of strength, conversation, and trust. They seemed such simple things to be horrific, but the strength test would nearly fill the hero, the conversation test would always leave the hero in chains, and the test of trust was usually failed. Though it did depend slightly on who was telling the story.

Bright, sunny Ino would sigh and whisper whimsically, and they lived happily ever after. Naruto might speak that they lived out the rest of their days in peace and nobody ever tried to hurt them. I would simply say that it did not matter.

...Because it didn't matter. It really didn't. A man does not travel into the depths of hell for a woman whom he unconditionally loves. He goes to relieve the pain of guilt, the pain of not knowing, and the shame of her dying. For the woman he unconditionally loves, he whispers, so softly none but she can hear; I will never forget you. May you find peace. And he does just that, he lives happily and openly... and he remembers his lover, tells stories of her to the people he knows. He meets a nice woman and takes her as his lover, and he is happy and he loves this new lover in a way he didn't love his first. Because she was always his first and she was different. And he remembers her.

He remembers all the warm nights with her at his side, and he doesn't miss her and he doesn't pity her; he never curses her. His second lover speaks of how she would love to have met her, but he doesn't compare for they are each their own. He loves and lives with all his heart and he remembers her.

He doesn't exist.

I know this, though my mind conjures this image that I know I never really thought about. And I couldn't care less because it will never come to pass . But even in the darkest corners of my mind, there are small candles, imaginary candles, but they shine a little light nonetheless. They make everything a little more interesting, because they are so impossibly hard to snuff out. And it may never be said that I did not try.

I tried.

The second day came slowly, like the creep of water through a dam. I drifted from the walls within the room that I slept in. Simple overbearingly white walls housing only a plain bed and a table; the only interruptions in the mind numbing white were the dark russet of the exit doors. There was one to lead to the bathroom, the other to the hallway.

I chose the latter, leaving the madening walls for the equaly horrible hallway, footsteps echoing as i slowly walked toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was the area that the food was stored and prepared, and food was likely a good idea. It had been a while since my body had digested anything proper. I supposed that my semblance of life was greatly dependent on it.

Though my sanity was not, it seemed. The kitchen was not empty though the niose level barely hinted such. Itachi was sitting at a table, his attension deeply occupied by a scroll of pacular nature, I could see the bright stamp of the Uchiha fan from where he had his back toward me. There was an uneaten bowl of some type of noodle dish beside him and a cup of yet-unmade tea. The small bag of herbs still rested beside the cup, dry, untouched.

"Are you even planning on eating that, Itachi?" I asked, my voice stable and void of any real expression.

"Hn," he said, sounding unaware to anything I had said, but I knew he was listening.

I shrugged, figuring he wouldn't even answer if he didn't want it, and set out to make some rice for myself. I would not comment on his inability to converse hospitably, knowing full well he would consider such a thought of mine to be of a small accomplishment. "Have it your way," I shrugged.

I could almost feel the smugness from where I stood at the stove, measuring rice and water, with my back to him. "I will." He said simply, a ring of finality in his tone. For him this conversation was over.

I wasn't willing to let him slip into science that easily. "Would you care to inform me on your plan for this mission?" I asked. Salt and butter were added to my water-and-rice concoction in the pot. "I wouldn't want to accidently sabotage your plans because I was not informed."

"You will be on the sidelines."

I turned the stove on to cook the rice. "No. I will not."

He turned to glare at me as I turned to glare at him. "You will not get in my way."

I growled a low throaty type of bitter laugh. "No. I will not."

He seemed only slightly satisfied with my answer. "You would make a good distraction against this opponent."

I turned to stir the rice. "Which is why I will be the one fighting him. He cannot hurt me as easily as he can hurt you. There are emotional barriers that exist within him." And within me, I entertained. I knew that I would have trouble truly dragging Naruto into this experiment of torture and cruelty within humanity. "I will fight, you will find a way to neutralize him. You are a medic are you not?" He challenged.

Find a technique that can successfully neutralize the Kyuubi and his holder. It was a challenge that I could not find the will to resist. Itachi had issued his insult with a personally drive. I was a medic, was I not?

"No, I am not a medic. Not in the sense of the word. Medics heal the wounded, use their techniques to save lives. I am a shinobi with the skills of a medic, I do not heal or help, but simply do what all shinobi do." I stirred the rice idly, wanting to see his reaction with a mild curiosity. "I exploit every of my powers for my side. I heal my teammates, you, Deidara, Kisame, I heal those whom others call terrorists; myself included. And I fight and I kill those whom we call oppressors. ...The people who would oppose us, who would cage us though we are already caged. To be a shinobi is to be caged and tied and beaten and raped."

"I am a true shinobi, I can disappear and reappear and fight. I can kill in the dark and still walk with pride in the light. I still survive, I will until somebody kills me. It is a useless existence."

My rice was nearly ready, I searched for bowls and found one to my liking. I retrieved chopsticks and poured myself a glass of water.

"It is an existence." Itachi stated. "Do you wish for more?"

I smirked. "No. I know I'd make the same choices over if I didn't know what I knew now."

"Then why even think of it." It was a statement not a question.

"Boredom."

"Hn."

The rice was not as sweet as I had expected it to be. It was a sad day when life turned out exactly like a bowl of rice, not as I expected it to be. ...but I never said I was disappointed.

The final day before our journey descended into an atmosphere unique to the previous days. I became increasingly aware that there was nobody else in this base anymore. Only me and Itachi to haunt the building, silent as ninjas without a hometown, even a ghost would be louder. And a ghost may share our sorrow still. We both were waiting for death, and not for a glorious one either. I hoped to be killed facing Naruto, though I know it would not happen. My destiny would continue to weave as tiny pinpricks of emotion tried desperately and relentlessly to break into my metaphorical heart. And for what?

My long pale fingers traced the mark of my red smoke, a permanent reminder of what I had chosen. Itachi would have carried a black one, still would. There are very few ways to get rid of a tattoo like this one, it was part justu and resilient to scaring and marring. I flickered on my eye to the sharingan, feeling how the chakra moved easier to my eyes after more practice, the sight no longer made me dizzy as it had to turn it on and off earlier. The imminent progresses of my sharingan would have to be put off. I know me and Itachi had entered that bet, trying to find the second stage one before the other, a contest to see if it was better the Uchiha had kept his sharingan. If he found the second stage before me, I believed he would take back what he had given me in exchange for a semblance of normal sight; his eye.

I checked my belongings to make sure that everything I absolutely needed was packed for the short journey to Konoha. I abandoned my thick cloak of red clouds for the touch of air on my bare skin, I found it in my interest to shower, wash my depressing thoughts from showing in the dirt on my uncared for skin. The hot water scalded and refreshed, the soap soothed and washed off any sign of dirt, exposing my scars and fading bruises with a formerly inexistent vibrancy. I turned off the water and left my hair to dry wild and uncombed. A quick glance in the mirror showed of the glowing pink that had faded to a dull rose with neglect, I wasn't sorry. The pink stood out too much, and it made it near to imposable to become anonymous, if not invisible.

I dressed in basic black with my black armour, leaving my coat on my bed. I knew I wasn't supposed to take it off but I couldn't care less at the moment. I was coming to a realization. I didn't care if I lived or died. Not really. But little Hinata, hopeful, strong, beautiful, quiet Hinata cared if she did. And she cared if Naruto did. They had something to live for better than a million skeletons in the closet. They had each other, they had others, and they had dreams and achievements and company. I had nothing to lose. She did though, and so did he.

I used the smallest amount of chakra I could to summon a small snail. The snail sat on the floor with a wary look. I leaned close to whisper a message, my ears perked for a sound.

"Tell Tsunade that Itachi and I are coming after Naruto tomorrow. Tell her be ready. He is the last of the nine." My voice sounded broken to my own ears though only the slightest of emotion coloured my practiced, even tone.

As the snail disappeared I left my room for the library down the hall. Predictably Itachi was sitting on a windowsill, his outward attention focused on the script, though I knew he would have noticed my entrance the moment I set my foot into the hall.

"Were you always this fond of windowsills?" I asked politely.

Itachi didn't even look up from his scroll, arrogant bastard. I seated myself in a plush chair within talking range, but also within a range I could anticipate his movements if he were to make any sudden threatening ones. "I find that I would rather see the enemies that come to hunt me down that hear them knock on my door."

His voice carried tones of the past and I did not let it be my place to ask. Oh no, I wouldn't ask, but I could still be antagonizing without the form of a question in my choice of words. "The hunter so easily slips in with the hunted, they are not so different after all."

I growl was my reply, a slow and drawn out, deliberately hushed growl. I smirked and let it prove my point. "Nobody is all that different from anybody else," I continued. "Though we like to think we are. It could be considered some kind of tragedy."

"We preach our goals being misunderstood, our lives ...misunderstood, but we don't even stop to try to understand others. And the world falls into war and we make our actions to be tragedy"

Itachi shook his head ever so slightly at my dainty conversational tone. "No Sakura." He sighed, a mockery in his words. "You mistake a tragedy for hypocrisy."