((A/N: As promised, a little omake about Kamiko Shimizu! You know, before she died! Fun, right?
This story takes place before the beginning of THWC.
Enjoy the chapter!))
A yawn.
A quick rub of the eyes.
A pair of eyes slowly sliding shut.
The small camp of shinobi was filled to the brim with tired, borderline exhausted fighters.
But nobody could sleep. Not that they didn't want to, of course. More than two thirds of the people present would gladly drop everything, their own bodies included, if only they could take a nap for even a split second. But no, they couldn't. They would not. Not when their comrades' life was on the line if they were to fall asleep. If they closed their eyes and let themselves succumb to the darkness they so desperately wanted to succumb to, there was the chance that they would be attacked in their sleep. It might be a slim chance, it might not be. It's happened before.
Today was the eighth year of fighting in the Third Shinobi War, and Kamiko Shimizu wanted to go home.
She was only fifteen years old. Starting in the war at the age of seven had been rough, but back then it meant nothing to her. She didn't like the idea of killing children who were barely old enough to hold their kunai properly, nor did she like the idea of killing those who were experienced enough to know exactly where to slice.
She didn't like any of it.
But she still did it.
Back then, the war had meant nothing to her. Konoha was less of a home to her and more of a place to live in. Her Clan was less of a family to her and more of a crowd. Her own home was less like a place of comfort for her, and more like a prison.
Back then, it meant nothing.
But now, it means everything.
Now, Konoha was the place she thought of when she wanted a warm, hearty meal before bed at night. Her Clan was still not a personal family to her, but they looked up to her for guidance and she would provide it for them. Her home was finally just that - finally, it was a home.
All because of one little girl.
Kamiko shut her eyes, but did not sleep. Her arms rubbed against her chest in an effort to warm up her core. She thought of her, of a shock of messy hair that could not be tamed, of blue eyes that were filled with hope. Memories played behind her shut eyelids. Memories of the day she came into this world, when her father, her cold, rough father who cared for nothing, had looked down at the baby girl with a sort of hope and longing in his eyes that made Kamiko's chest ache.
Did he look at her like that when she had been born?
She remembers clearly when the little baby was passed to her. She had been lucky enough to have been called back by the Fourth Hokage right before her sister was born, so she was there that day to witness it. She knew it wasn't actual luck - the Fourth was kind of a sucker, and Kamiko knew he had just pulled a favor for her after she had been serving the Village so loyally for so long. But whether by luck or by pulled strings, she had been there.
She didn't bother to hide her tears that day. Or her smile. Or her laughter.
She didn't care about the people in the room, not the nurses, not her mother, and not her father. She didn't care what they all thought of her, so she felt no need to keep up appearances in that instance.
Or, that's what she tells herself.
With a smile, Kamiko thinks that she knew perfectly well the only reason she had cried and laughed at the time was that because she had completely forgotten everyone else in the room in that one instance. She held the little bundle of soft pink skin and tiny, flabby arms. The baby was crying, cheeks red with exertion and eyes clenched tightly shut in her wails. Kamiko cried with her. And for a moment, the baby stopped crying, and opened her tiny, blue eyes to peer up at the older girl holding her. Then they cried together, and Kamiko remembers every part of it. This was it, she thought. This was the only person in the world she loved with all her heart. This was the only person in the world who could love her back.
This was the only person in the world who did not expect her to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders.
And Kamiko smiles as the memories of the little grow smiling up at her play behind her lids. Always happy laughter and bright smiles. Eyes that seemed far too intelligent, yes, but never in a bad way. She was proud of her smart omouto. She was proud of the girl who could smile every day despite what was going on behind closed doors. And why wouldn't she? She had no idea what was going on here. She didn't know what was happening behind the curtains over her blue eyes.
And Kamiko's eyes shoot open when there are shouts of intruders, of an attack coming from the North. She gathers her sword and she stands despite the aching pain in her joints and the tired numbness in her arms.
She fights so that little girl would never have to know what goes on behind that curtain.
And with a smile, Kamiko runs into battle once again.
((A/N: I love writing Kamiko tbh. Probably as much as I love writing Kenta. Let me know what you think about this chapter.))