I have no right to be doing this with so many unfinished stories… but I need to. This has been sitting in my head for so long, almost as long as 'It's complicated'. I've wanted to separate these two fics for a while, and hence, here we are.
I hope that you will all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I promise a story of wholesomeness, past trauma and current healing, love, respect and lots of slice of life.
Without further ado:
Chapter 1: Remembrance
Nanashi – the one without a name. That's what they called him. Appropriate, he would say. He hadn't been able to remember much of anything. Or, at least, much of his life. As the memories flooded him, like a series of snapshots from another life, a past life, a life he couldn't recall for months, guilt settled in. It ate at him, from his stomach, to his head, like a plague one couldn't heal or temper. For once, he understood the notion of 'something eating one alive'. It was eating him alive. Because he was alive.
He'd heard of the Shitchi Temple during his time with Zabuza. A medical sanctuary built high in the mountains at the very edge of the territory ruled by the Mizukage. It was known among the common folk as a place of miraculous healing, welcoming anyone who sought it, regardless of their nature, race, birth or past sins. The Shitchi Temple didn't ask for money. There was no need to pay an arm and a leg for healing there, unlike in other places. Coming there required only that the patients make the perilous journey to the land where it resided, through the marshes surrounding it which housed numerous poisonous and venomous breeds of creatures.
The first one he met, and by far his favorite, among the resident healers was Kaede. A slip of a girl, with hair as vibrant as fire in messy curls all around her pretty, round face. She had large, kind eyes, which never seemed to gloss over anything amiss with him. His primary caretaker. Even while he was asleep, deep in his recovery from life-threatening wounds, he could recall her voice, like a crackle of a fireplace, a whispery tone, talking to him. She'd sat by his bedside for hours, surely, gently coaxing him back out of the cold ground and into the world of living which just couldn't seem to be finished with him.
And then there was Saeko-sama, or Saeko-sensei. She was the elderly figure of authority and the genius mastermind behind all the techniques which the Temple healers used to save those who seemed beyond saving. As he learned, the woman was a former kunoichi, now an invaluable iryo-nin, who had forgone her service to the Mizukage in favor of love. She was a silent presence, but one that could never be ignored. When she was healing, she shined like a bright beacon in the night, like a lighthouse of a port, calling all those adrift to her, but when she was outside of the healing rooms, she retreated into the guise of an old woman, into her weary body, drifting from room to room like a ghost, almost, yet never to be ignored due to her enviable wisdom and strength.
The last permanent resident of the Temple was Jōichirō, the Master. The first thing he noticed about Master Jōichirō was that everyone called him Master. Well, not the first. He would be lying if he told one that. The first thing he noticed about Master Jōichirō were his kind eyes. He could still remember the moment he woke up in the ground. Dug his way out of the suffocating bed which had been made for him. Crawled his way out, just as he'd been trained. Survived at all costs. His own Master had instilled that into him, after many hours of training which had made him puke by the side of the road afterwards. It was Master Jōichirō who had found him, picked him up gently and took him away from that hole. The abyss. That grave. He could still remember glancing back, over the Master's shoulder, at what was surely his own Master's grave. He hadn't wanted to leave. But, Master Jōichirō wouldn't stop gently talking to him. About anything and everything, really, much like Kaede. He would talk of his travels, of how his wife could heal from death and how he'd found the most amusing little beetle on his way back into the small inn they briefly stayed in. What he learned about Master Jōichirō within the first week of knowing him was that the man saw life in its purest, smallest form, acknowledging and admiring it for the beauty of purely being alive.
The Temple had many visitors. The kids from the village came to treat their cuts and bruises. The elderly made the journey up the mountain to seek relief from their age. The married couples came for consultations regarding fertility or pregnancy. And then, there were those who came from afar. Various shinobi who were told by their home villages how they were beyond help. Numerous merchants who sought help during their trips for a variety of ills, regaling the residents with stories of their travels. The Shitchi Temple truly lived up to its reputation. The healers there accepted everyone and anyone, regardless of their situation.
He was mostly left to his own devices. In his room, with a single window overlooking the steep drop down the mountain, he read for hours. The Temple didn't have much of a selection of books. Mostly it was medical writings. A variety of authors, accepted and heretical almost, lined the walls of the long hallways on tall shelves. Kaede fetched him books, one by one, to pass the time. He didn't mind it. He enjoyed the reading. It helped pass the time and kept the guilt at bay. It refreshed his memory of sneaking into the tracker-nin classes and learning from those lectures. He learned new things through the words on those pages, too. Operations had been something rather novel when he was young. They had been considered unsafe and tricky to administer as treatment. Medical jutsu was the preferred option at that time. But, in these books, various authors listed numerous techniques of life-saving procedures which could even prevent amputation in dire situations. Truly, they provided him with solace.
When he wasn't reading, he was trying to get back on his feet. Kaede had explained to him, after she realized that best results were achieved through thorough explanation in his case, how recent studies had shown that getting a patient on their feet as soon as possible helped speed their recovery. It hurt. His legs had never been that sluggish. His chest always felt like it was on fire as he took tentative steps, supported by his caretaker on one side and a cane on the other. His head would pound and his vision would swim. But, he pushed through the pain. It was another thing Zabuza had instilled in him. Swallow the pain, physically if you can't mentally, and push. Never stop pushing. If you can't walk, then crawl. If you can't crawl, bite your way out. Survive by all means. Still, the surviving hurt. Everything hurt. When it didn't hurt physically, it hurt mentally. The guilt ate at him in the dead of night, when he would wake up at odd hours.
And the nightmares. They had started almost as soon as he regained consciousness, not even knowing what he was dreaming about. He would wake up in the middle of the night, chocking, his hands trembling, fingers hurting from phantom pain. His fingertips would feel like they had been ripped apart. As his memory returned slowly, gradually, those were the first things he recalled. The wet, heavy dirt which got in his nose and mouth and eyes as he dug his way up. The first freezing breaths of misty air he took, like sips of cold water to a man dying of thirst. The stinging in his chest. The pain in his head. The guilt in his stomach. Sometimes he dreamt that he couldn't get out. That no matter how much he dug, he wouldn't dig himself out. He would dream of suffocation. Not a peaceful death. Not a peaceful death at all. Not a useful death. Just a useless lump of flesh left behind to rot in the ground. And it was him.
Kaede found him like that one night, panting his bed, gasping for air, fingers trembling from exertion. He couldn't forget her face. There was no pity there. Only sympathy. She had approached him slowly, made him drink some water with medical herbs in there and then made him sit up. Then, she'd slipped in behind him, ignoring the sweat-stained sheets and made him lay down in her lap, across her chest. And then, she'd caressed his hair and whispered stories to him until her fell asleep to the sound of her ancient-sounding voice. He hadn't had nightmares in her arms. Her embrace was the cure-all. But he wasn't so selfish as to call on her every night. Still, she came almost every evening. The bags under her eyes were noticeable. So, he'd lied and told her that he was fine. It hadn't worked. Kaede read him like an open book. He couldn't smile and lie to her. Instead, with a soft expression, she asked him to sit up and then got comfortable on his pillow, embracing him and lulling him back to sleep, telling him that it helped her decompress after a long day when she talked to him like that.
It took him a month to become somewhat useful around the Temple. Kaede told him that there was no need, that he should rest and recover, but he wanted to repay their kindness in some way. So, he worked as much as they let him. He could sit in the herb garden and make poultices. He could grind herbs. He could pull little dried leaves from the stems and put them into jars for healing concoctions. He could whisk eggs for meals. He could cut vegetables. He did it all, whenever the healers let him. Saeko-sama mostly didn't interfere. She often gave him analytical looks, but never told him what to do or what not to. Kaede nagged. She nagged a lot. He had never been nagged at before. He kind of liked it. Masochistically. Perhaps he craved Zabuza's stern scolding. Kaede was too soft. But he still liked it. Preferred it. And that also ate at him.
He didn't know when his admiration grew into something more with Kaede. At some point, when he was still Nanashi, he found himself looking forward to seeing her red hair. He found himself wanting to catch even a glimpse of her through his open door. He waited for her in the evening, craving the soft touch on his forehead and the smell of herbs and spices on her clothing. His admiration of the healer who'd saved him had grown into something dangerous. Affection? No. More than that. He adored her.
Transference. He'd read about that. It was when a patient who felt understood, cared for and safe with their caregiver began mistaking that gratitude for love. But, that wasn't what he felt. He knew what gratitude was. He knew what being thankful felt like. He knew how that kind of devotion grew to the point of obsession. Obsessive self-sacrifice. He'd been there. He'd lived that. He knew that very well. Objectively, he had always been aware that his relationship with Zabuza had been a toxic one. That his willingness to do anything for the man was not healthy. But with Kaede, it was different. It wasn't that he was simply grateful to her. It was her little smiles. It was her removing tomatoes from food for the kid from the village who didn't like them. It was the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was reading. It was her brewing jasmine tea in moderation for the woman who'd just given birth because she knew the new mother liked it. It was the greetings in the morning and in the evening. It was her whispery voice like a crackling fireplace which told him stories at night to chase away the nightmares. It was the way she tied her obi. It was the color of her eyes and the nervous biting of her lip. Everything. It was everything about Kaede that he adored. Nanashi had adored her. So, he adored her, as well. Different. Deeper. More. Nanashi had given him perspective. The return of his memories wasn't alien. It was like puzzle pieces falling into place, further enhancing his every core characteristic. Adoration of Kaede was one of them.
No, it was not transference. He knew transference. This was not it. He adored this woman, to the very core of his being. But then the guilt set in. With the return of his memories, the gnawing guilt also came. And it overwhelmed everything else that he was feeling. Not even her soft caress of his hair in the evening could soothe him anymore. All he felt was the hollowing guilt.
"You remembered something," Kaede stated one evening as she stripped his old sheets from the bed. He was sitting in the rocking chair by the window, waiting for her to be done, his muscles still horribly weak. She didn't say anything else, but continued with her work. She quickly stripped the pillowcases and stacked pillows on the nightstand. "I can tell." Her eyes passed over him, inspecting his reaction. He did his best not to give anything away with his face or body. Still, she read him like an open book. "Do you remember everything?" Kaede took out fresh linen sheets for the bed and tucked them in the corners. She sighed, pausing, turning to him. Her hands came to rest on her hips expectantly.
"You already know," he smiled sadly. He couldn't be Nanashi anymore. He couldn't be the one who adored Kaede anymore. Not now that he could remember everything. Now that he knew what kind of a sinful criminal he was, he would have to leave. Someone like him had no right to even kneel in front of someone like her. Much less stand. Gods forbid ask for something.
"Alright," Kaede nodded, returning to her work. She grabbed fresh pillowcases and began pulling them onto the pillows. "Do you want to talk about it?" He really didn't. He didn't want her to know what kind of a dirty being he was. The serving tool to a master. Not even human. He wanted her to remember him as a human being, not a tool. "I suppose that's a no, then." Kaede tossed pillow after pillow onto the bed, undoubtedly smelling of sunshine and herbs. "Will you at least tell me your name?" There was a quiet moment. He really didn't want to. He wanted to stay Nanashi for her. He wanted to be her Nanashi. But she wouldn't let him off the hook that easily.
"I have to?" He asked finally. Kaede sighed, turning to him again. She walked over, holding one of the last fresh pillowcases in her hand. She lightly smacked it over his head, making him finally look at her. It smelled of sunshine and herbs, like he'd guessed it would. He knew that she dried laundry in the herb garden above the Temple. It always smelled like sunshine and herbs when she re-dressed his bed or brought him new clothes.
"No," she replied, smiling. She always smiled so gently at him. "No, you don't have to tell me. But I would like to know, whenever you're ready." Kaede patted his head gently and then went back to making his bed.
"Haku," he finally whispered, almost disgusted by his own name. "My name is Haku." Kaede hummed in contemplation.
"Haku." Suddenly, his name wasn't dirty anymore. Spoken from her lips, it was lovely. "It suits you." He chuckled.
"Does it?"
"Yes," Kaede grinned back. "It really does." She started arranging his blankets into new covers. "Who gave you your name?" He had to think for a moment about that one.
"My mother," he recalled. It seemed so distant now. The whole story of his mother and father. The whole situation with his kekkei genkai. The whole… thing. It seemed like it was from another life. Perhaps, now, for him, it truly was from a different life.
"My mother also gave me my name," Kaede said with a huff. "Can you imagine, me, as someone tranquil?" She laughed. "I think my mother hoped that I would be a cool-headed person who had peace in their life, or something." She turned to him then, smiling. "In the end, all I got out of my maple leaf is my green thumb." She returned to arranging the blankets on the bed, tucking corners in. "I suppose I didn't live up to my mother's expectations. Or anyone's, for that matter." He chuckled.
"We have that in common," he told her. "I think my mother hoped that I would be a blank page, a new start for her." He looked down at his hands. He could still recall the first time he manifested his abilities with those same hands. "I suppose we both betrayed our mothers' hopes."
"Well, I think it suits you," Kaede said without pause, walking over to him. "Do you think my name suits me?"
"Yes," he immediately replied.
"Why?"
"Because you bring peace to your patients," he told her honestly. "Like momijigari." At that, she laughed. He loved making her laugh. The small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the way her laughter vibrated through him. He loved it all.
"Like momijigari," Kaede managed to say. "This is the first time I've heard that one." Then, she reached out, tucking his hair behind his ear gently. His hair was short now. Only down to his chin. It had been so much longer. They'd cut it for treatment when he'd come in. Host-cell transmutation in healing jutsu. He knew of that one. He still missed his long hair sometimes. "I think you've received your mother's intent now, if it's any comfort. Now, you can forge a new beginning for yourself if you'd like to." He looked at Kaede's eyes, seeing the tenderness there.
"Am I allowed to live freely? No matter what happened in the past?" He asked her desperately. Perhaps he needed some kind of validation from her. Perhaps he just wanted a new master. He didn't know. But, Kaede had always been clever enough to avoid giving him directions. She'd only every offered comfort and advice. That was also why he adored her.
"It's up to you now," she told him with a sigh. "The only thing we can do here is heal your body. You need to decide the rest for yourself." Kaede picked up the dirty laundry and went for the door. She stopped in the doorway and turned with a soft smile. "But I sure hope that you will decide to be free of whatever's been troubling you, Haku." With that, she left.
He sat in the rocking chair for a long time, not picking up the newest edition of cardio-vascular surgery he'd been reading. Her words left him with a lot to think about, after all. One thing, however, was certain. He loved his name.
The following morning he was surprised to walk into the living area of the Temple, using his crutches still, slowly, only to be greeted by much the same view as always. Kaede flipping pancakes at the stone stove, her hair tied under a bandana and the long sleeves of her kimono held back with string, as they usually were while she worked. Saeko-sama sitting at the low, long table used for dining, reading and drinking her morning cup of tea. Master Jōichirō with that day's paper, frowning at the crossword, also partaking in tea. They all greeted him in their own ways, as normally. Saeko-sama nodded. Jōichirō gave him a smile. Kaede brightened up and spoke up.
"Breakfast will be ready soon," she said. "Take a seat and be mindful of your stitches." He didn't protest. He was still flabbergasted that she hadn't reported about his recovery to her teacher. Instead, Haku slowly sat down, tenderly minding his side and chest, where the worst of his injuries were. He'd already torn his stitches three times within the span of a month and he supposed that one more time would be the final straw for Kaede. She would chain him to the bed.
"Tea?" Jōichirō offered.
"I'd be much obliged," he replied. Jōichirō's eyebrow rose at the overly formal language, but he didn't comment. Instead, he lowered his newspaper, poured another cup and placed it in front of his guest. Haku took a sip. The warm beverage in the clay dish in his hand warmed his hands comfortingly. The aromatic freshness was telltale before he even tasted the blend. It was a type of green tea. The sweet aftertaste made him pause. "Is this local matcha?" Jōichirō smiled wide.
"You like?" The man asked eagerly. "I harvested and processed it myself. I think it's fairly good for my first attempt at something that complex." Haku nodded, taking another sip.
"It's a very pleasant tea."
"Don't encourage him," Saeko-sama huffed. "If he gets more into that stuff, he'll end up overrunning our herbal garden with teas." Haku blinked, turning to Jōichirō, already expecting the expression on his face. Indeed, the man was frowning at his crossword. Haku tilted his head to the side. This aspect of the married couple's relationship was something he did not like in the least. While Saeko-sama and Jōichirō mostly got along perfectly well, working like one entity, they also often argued about the most trivial of things as if they were the subject of utmost importance. Apparently, he'd just stepped on yet another landmine when it came to their marital bickering, this time the topic of quantity of teas in the herbal garden. Kaede's giggle from the kitchen told him that he hadn't managed to hide his exasperation and awkwardness as well as he'd thought.
"Dear, teas are very beneficial for the body," Jōichirō put down his crossword, turning to Saeko-sama. Indeed, Haku knew where this was going. Jōichirō's undivided attention meant a lengthy, likely heated discussion of pros and cons of the topic at hand. "In fact, a recent study I've read-"
"Psst," Haku looked up, seeing Kaede waving him over subtly. He smiled in relief immediately. The girl knew him too well.
"I will lend a hand with the breakfast," he politely excused himself from the couple who weren't really paying him any mind, already talking over one another. Jōichirō was the one who used logical arguments with a stern, but low tone, while Saeko-sama was usually the one who spoke through a passive-aggressive smile, until her temper got the better of her. Haku escaped as quickly as his injuries allowed. "Thank you," he sighed as soon as he was out of the line of fire, leaning on the countertop next to Kaede in the adjoining kitchenette.
"Don't mention it," she replied immediately. "Just take note of the new bicker-bomb."
"How do they get along so well at some times and argue like cats and dogs at others?" Haku mused partially to himself, looking at the bickering couple at the table. Saeko-sama seemed close to blowing a fuse.
"Marriage," Kaede sighed, shrugging. "It's a mysterious thing." He nodded.
"I suppose if you've been together with one person for so long, you get to that stage, no?" He asked the girl, arranging the plates and pancakes on the countertop for her to have easier access. Kaede effortlessly flipped one in the pan.
"I think it's just their personalities," she replied. "Why do you think Master travels so much?" Haku turned to look at the girl next to him.
"Surely not to avoid…"
"Precisely to avoid…" They sighed at the same time and then shared a smile.
"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," he muttered.
"Don't let Master hear that," the girl said, walking over. "Here, why don't you dazzle me with that speedy knife work of yours," she extended him the freshly washed fruit they would be having for breakfast.
"It would be my pleasure," Haku picked up the offered blade and started slicing through strawberries in a methodical fashion. If Zabuza could see him now, using those skills he'd been taught for his work as a shinobi in the kitchen, he would likely go ballistic. Haku didn't particularly mind. He preferred using his fine motor skills precisely in this manner.
They had returned first, before the memories. His body seemed to be able to recall his life perfectly through muscle memory. When Kaede had finally allowed him to help her out in the kitchen a bit, he'd displayed his skillset. Sure enough, they'd both joked how he'd either been a great shinobi or a member of a circus troupe. That had been fun, guessing what his past could've been like based on the numerous skills his body remembered. Reconstructing various lives from imagination alone. With the deep hollow pit of guilt in his stomach, he almost wished he'd been that knife thrower Kaede had imagined him as, living a vibrant life with a travelling circus.
That's all for now, folks!
I would greatly appreciate feedback :)
