Sasuke needed desperately to return to Konoha because he felt like he was losing his mind.
He still hadn't slept. When Naruto entered the kitchen a couple of hours after Shikamaru broke the news about Gaara, he made a crass comment about sleeping like a baby, or dreaming about a hot date, or something Sasuke couldn't quite remember, but knew it was inflammatory and tone-deaf because he stood up and swung on him.
Shikamaru grabbed his arms and pulled him off but Naruto yelled back, puffing out his chests. "You think you can tell me what to do, Sasuke? You think that just because––"
Life-long beef, once dissipated by Sasuke's "good behavior" prevailed in the face of Sasuke's pounding headache; his sudden realization that everyone closest to him had lied to him; that when he slept next to his fianceé it was not just her betrayal that affected him, it was his best friend.
Sure, he was a hypocrite, but it wasn't the same. Hinata had no best friend to betray. Sasuke would scoff to think of them as friends. Lust, he thought, eyes flashing as he looked upon Naruto's smug, red, face. Makes man dumb.
Naruto, better slept than his dark-haired counterpart, defended himself. He swung on his friend and it landed, knocking Sasuke's jaw around. It was a soft hit and likely wouldn't bruise, but still, Sasuke grunted, took it, and shot his fist back like a viper.
"Whoa––guys, guys!" frantic feet found the kitchen. Sakura appeared, looking wide-eyed between the men. Sasuke could see the fear behind her jade eyes––the thought of being caught and confronted, her hesitant steps, the quiver of her mouth––but she hid it well, standing between them with her palms flat. "Stop! Seriously. What's going on?"
Shikamaru was holding the bridge of his nose. Naruto was blubbering something along the lines of I don't know, he just snapped, I just woke up––and Sasuke was already out of the kitchen, out of the villa, in an SUV and driving away before the sentence could end. Everyone would be in far worse condition if he had to sit in the fucking garden and watch Sakura apply ice to Naruto's face––or worse, she'd apply it to Sasuke's face while bemoaning the blond.
He drove with the music off for a while, entering the city of Rome without thinking about it and going west until he found himself in Tor Bella Monaca, where he had found Hinata holed up in that atrocious little room. It had been the last place he had expected to look for her, but he trusted Ino's tracker, because Ino clearly didn't want to die.
He remembered driving deeper and deeper into the abandoned-looking neighborhood, feeling his skin crawl as the truth became more and more apparent. His assistant, an heiress, would never find herself somewhere like this. Perhaps, this was when he started to believe that what Sai had claimed was true.
Then, he came to her window. He wasn't going to fight her––that hadn't been a part of the plan. But when he got it open, Hinata woke up like a charmed snake and got to her feet to fight him. He'd never seen her move like that before. He had no choice but to defend himself. The few moments he got to watch her move around the room, it looked like second nature. Easy as walking.
That had proved it to him. When everything else seemed too coincidental, too extreme, her movements–––her silk-curtain hair, her narrowed white eyes, her perfectly balanced feet––had made everything clear. Hyuga Hinata was not who she claimed to be. In that moment, Sasuke became desperate; infuriated, heartbroken––desperate.
For what, he still wasn't sure. Just like he was not sure why he found himself back at the hostel, speaking to the pock-marked woman in hesitant Italian.
"I left something in that room," he said.
"I don't remember seeing you," she responded, frowning.
"My girlfriend," he lied. "Long, indigo hair. Japanese," he said, gesturing to himself.
She just stared at him. Irritated, Sasuke slid 50 euro across the counter and she brightened considerably.
"Follow me," she said, shrugging. "She hasn't checked out."
Strange hope filled Sasuke's chest, despite the fact that he hadn't planned to come here, that's just where his feet had taken him. And what was he to do? Take her as a prisoner? He was sure that Gaara would be pleased––weird fuck––but Fugaku would not. He would ask him, are you weak as you look?! Why have two sons when only one is competent?
Traitors did not become prisoners. They became dirt.
The woman left him. A roach crawled along the door. The room was empty.
She had left not a trace. All of her stuff was gone––even the sheets off the bed: gone. Her suitcase, her shoes, her clothing, all gone.
It was like she had been a figment of his imagination. Sasuke looked around in disdain, disgust making his mouth sour. What had he been expecting to find her? Why had he come? Anger, for the first time with himself, threatened to make his vision red.
There was no Hinata here. No Hinata to bring to Gaara. No Hinata to make the situation a little less terrible.
He would have to tell Gaara the truth.
-:-
After twenty hours of traveling, Hinata landed quietly in Chek Lap Kok International Airport–––also known as Hong Kong.
She hadn't known that Kiba was able to take international missions. What surprised her more was how quickly he had been able to help her.
"The Japanese Embassy," he had said quickly over the phone while she sat in the moonlit park, watching the fire burn out. She could hear him scribbling down notes, then typing, then scribbling some more. "Via Quintino Sella, 60. Get there by the time it opens––9:30. A woman named Natsuko will meet you and give you a new passport. I'll get you out of Rome."
Hinata had just told him that her identification documents were stolen by Sasuke's rivals. She didn't know where Kiba stood on things––in B6, with her father, and otherwise––so it was safest to pretend like nothing too horrible had happened. She was temporarily separated from the Uchihas, worried sick about Hanabi, and couldn't leave the country.
The one thing Kiba knew about her was how hard Command was on her. He was empathetic. He would understand why she would ask him and not her father––or her cousin or sister, for that matter.
Lying to Kiba was relatively easy. It would be maintaining the lie that would become difficult.
Nonetheless, when daylight broke, Hinata left the park in search of a pharmacy, where she purchased scissors, a protein bar, and some face wipes with the money she had left. She also asked for directions. She stopped in the bathroom and straightened up her new haircut until it looked purposeful, and wiped her face clean. She didn't know who this Natsuko lady was, but Hinata knew she couldn't show up looking like she'd just crawled out of a cellar.
So, she got new clothes too. A baseball cap with the word ITALY printed across it in green, red, and white lettering and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses to cover her hair and eyes. She also purchased an all-pink tracksuit––fuzzy, with a low waistband on the pants––to wear to the airport. Nobody––absolutely no one would look to find her wearing that.
She didn't even have time to feel uncomfortable with her exposed belly. She powered through, getting to the steps of the embassy twenty minutes before opening, chewing on a piece of bread she'd bought on the way––her pockets almost completely emptied aside from her last hundred euros. She was pathetic, but at least she didn't look it anymore.
Natsuko had said barely twenty words to her. She handed Hinata her new Japanese passport––her same picture from before and everything––and a plane ticket, freshly printed, it seemed. The ink smeared.
Natsuko was kind enough to call her a taxi, and before she knew it, Hinata was on a 16-hour flight to another country. Hinata's cantonese was unpracticed, but she found it easier to remember than the romantic Italian. She spent much of the flight recalling words and phrases when she wasn't lulling off to sleep. For the most part, adrenalin had kept her up.
Kiba had even done her the favor of buying business-class seats. Huh. She hadn't know he could afford something like this. She felt quietly cared for and irrationally skeptical. Kiba and her––they never did international missions before. She guessed it made sense; her current mission had allotted her a certain amount of income to maintain her lifestyle, why should Kiba not be allowed the same?
Must be a high-profile mission, Hinata thought as the plane descended and she looked out and saw the mountainous mainlands rushing past. She let her head touch the glass, thinking, ever so briefly, about the Uchiha's private jet and how Sasuke had rescued her from a panic attack with ease unexpectedly. She let her heart shudder tenderly inside of her, held the memory, and released it as a plane rocked.
But the memory wouldn't go. None of them would. As much as she wished them away––similar to how she had handled Gaara, and look where that had gotten her––the memories stuck around, heavy, dark, and dangerous like hot tar.
The plane landed and Hinata made her way through the airport without incident, nothing to her name except a romance novel she'd bought in Italy that she bitterly translated just to see if she could do it. Now, she merely took in the experience of being in a new country––again.
Kiba knew close to no details about her mission, about who she would become and what she would maintain, and they hadn't had time to discuss the specificities over the phone. So when Hinata left baggage claim, she wasn't so surprised to see a man holding a bouquet of purple petunias to his chest amongst the chauffeur's holding signs with names written on them.
Hinata nodded at him and she must have fit the description because he said, "Come," in curt Japanese, surprising her. It did make her more trusting, however, and she handed off her bags and got into the sleek black Bentley, her body melting when the air conditioning hit her. It was hot in Hong Kong––hotter than the late Italian summer she'd just left, and her entire body grew sweaty.
"Sato-sama is looking forward to seeing you," the driver said, peeling off from the driveway. "He asked me to give you this."
Hinata grabbed the note from the driver silently. It was folded on what looked like handmade paper. Curiously, she looked at the writing and confirmed that it was Kiba's big, looping sprawl. All it said was: My flower, I'm away on meetings until late tonight. Make yourself at home. It is quiet there so you will find yourself comfortable; kind of like your dad's place.
Ah, Hinata closed the note. A warning; Kiba was potentially being surveilled, either by his hired help or by whomever he was hunting. His house would be safe to her, but only if she played her role. That was no problem. She'd just ruined the most difficult mission of her life by being herself, so being someone else was actually preferred this time around.
As she looked out the window at the passing body of water, the glowing signs, the heads of bobbing people, she considered the driver's use of sama and Kiba's high-up role. She tired of this, all this; the hierarchy, the scheming, and the manners. Even with Sasuke, she––
Her stomach clenched to think of him.
Instead, she focused on the passing scenery, so foreign and beautiful, yet Hinata did not feel she could appreciate it. The driver informed her that the ride would take almost an hour, as they were going from one side of the island to the other. They went over the long stretch of the Tsing Ma Bridge and Hinata could not even feel roused by the beauty of the sparkling water. She couldn't even widen her eyes at the buildings rising from the mountains, the sun hitting each window like gold. No, she didn't care about the looping interstates through skyscrapers, or the next bridge, called Stonecutters, and the underwater tunnel––the driver enthusiastically explained to her––Western Harbour Crossing––instead, her stomach just felt bulbous and full and sickly, as she thought of a foreign sea racing above her. When they emerged, they passed the University of Hong Kong and Hinata felt tears dot her eyes––tears! Because she started thinking of her fucking law degree.
She was unwell, that much was clear. From there, the drive was only about twenty more minutes, in which they wound through mountains with the seaside peeking out from the other side. Finally, they reached a quaint neighborhood that held a small, but luxurious-looking townhouse.
Hinata exited without saying a word, curling her fingers around the book and opening the tall front gate which hid most of the property. There was a front garden with sprouting hibiscus flowers that she did not even blink at. Instead, her hands shaking, she let herself in and found a living room facing a beautiful large window, an open door from which salty seawater smell came in from the even larger back garden. Kiba, apparently, kept large leafy palm plants around.
Hinata could not even delight in this small, comical, unexpected fact. Instead, she grabbed the sheep wool blanket from one edge of the cream-colored couch––another thing Kiba wouldn't go for, outside of this place––and curled into a ball.
She let her guard down. Who cares? She was in another country, by now. No, the danger lies in going home.
So she slept. And she dreamed of nothing.
-:-
"Here's the deal," Sasuke said, sometime between nightfall and daybreak, exhaustion sticking to the sides of his eyes. They itched with tired. He ignored this. "Everything that has happened here, in Italy, stays here. And I mean everything. Understood?"
Sai leveled with him, his gaze flat as usual. He sat with his hands folded, mouth in a thin line and had the nerve to suggest, "Hiding something?"
"I'm not interested in complicating the narrative," Sasuke said, instead of answering. And who was Sai to ask him questions, anyway? "When we get back to Konoha, I will speak to my father directly. Your input won't be needed."
"I'm sure he'd like to hear about the spy––"
"Why?" Shikamaru cut in. He was leaning against the counter, nursing a scotch, his voice just as tired. "So he can wage a war with the government? Timing is everything. Sasuke knows how reactive his own father is. Let him handle it."
It was true. Fugaku was known for being reactive. Luckily, he'd had sons to slow him down and a sick wife to make him suffer. He'd been a monster on the streets in their youth, that was for sure.
"You think he would jeopardize Itachi's campaign?" Sai asked with interest. Again, Sasuke wondered why he always had so many goddamn questions.
"If he thought he had a way to take them down that didn't require political clout, Itachi would not be running for anything." Sasuke drank down his own glass of liquor––cold, stark, so harsh it burned his throat––and glared at him. "If it hasn't been clear to you, I am being trained to take Fugaku's place soon. I'd like to make my ascent as easy as possible."
That meant no wars. No messes to clean up that weren't his. This one was his, and he'd like it swept neatly away, tucked into the corners of the Italian countryside where it belonged.
He needed to return to Konoha with a clean slate and a solution to their poison problem. That was his task, and he had taken far too long to do it. What he didn't need was Sai's slight mouth. The hair had been his proof, enough. After his meeting with Gaara, he would be sure to burn it amongst the olive groves.
"Okay," Sai shrugged, unphased. "Fine. My price is ten million yen. Cash. It will help me sleep better if half was given to me before our flight in a couple of days."
Shikamaru coughed, but Sasuke didn't blink. He'd guessed that Sai would say something ludacris as that, and had prepared for it. He went to the bank after leaving that cursed neighborhood Hinata had escaped into.
"We wouldn't want you to sleep poorly," Sasuke said, shaking a cigarette out of the box and lighting it swiftly once it was firm between his lips. With his other, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope, filled with crisp euros. "That's 75 percent; you'll get the rest later. Enjoy exchanging it."
"My silence is yours," Sai said, extending his hand. And although Sai worked for the Uchihas––was an Uchiha himself, a distant cousin or some shit––Sasuke was still unnerved by him, like there was a piece missing, or shaped incorrectly. He didn't fit––or didn't want to. Sasuke didn't trust him, but he shook his hand, solidifying their agreement.
Emotionlessly, Sai grabbed the envelope and counted the euros in front of them, nodding just slightly. Then, he slid out of his chair and left the room, not even giving them the pleasure of a goodbye.
Sasuke let the smoke fill his lungs. Tomorrow morning, they would meet with Gaara. The next day, they would fly back to Konoha.
With Sai paid off and quiet, Sasuke could bury his Hyuga Hinata in peace.
Ha. His chest burned. He felt like he was plotting his own funeral.
AN - At the end of the day, Sasuke is a leo while Hinata is a capricorn–––she's gonna get shit done!
Friends, I bring you this chapter with some sad news. After next week's update, I will be going on a brief hiatus. I will try to give you the date of my return next week, but I hope it's no longer than a month!
Some of you may know already, but I am currently in graduate school working on my MFA. These next couple of weeks bring great stress as I navigate thesis projects and graduation. When I first posted this story in the fall, I had almost 25 chapters written already. During that time and now, I've managed about 11 more, but I have finally run out of complete work. Writing more, in this timeline, is just not sustainable for me or the quality of my work.
But don't worry, I love this story as much as you do! I'll be back with my "last" update next week, and I don't plan to keep you waiting too too long after that. Love u all! Take care of yourselves! 3 angel