"Hey," a soft hand nudged her shoulder. She tried not to react violently––her dreams suddenly invaded by the smell and sensation of being in that Roman hostel––and curled her hands into fists around her stomach. She took a few seconds between this sentence and the next, noting the difference in air quality––humid, full of water; smells––jasmine with a hint of cardamom; and texture––soft, creamy wool. "Hana––you've been sleeping for a full day. I'm getting worried."
Hana, or flower, is what Kiba has chosen to call Hinata here. With a crush to her stomach, of course it reminded her of Hanabi whose kanji made up flower and fire. Hanabi had always been the firework of her family.
But of course, Kiba was only referencing Petunia, Hinata's codename years ago. He was too cautious to use her real name, or a facsimile of her current codename while he was out on a job himself. It made sense, but it wasn't helping Hinata's existential crisis at all. She felt like she was losing her entire sense of self, and being renamed all of a sudden was not doing her any favors.
In the ten seconds, these thoughts bounced around her brain, she opened her eyes to find herself in a bedroom with afternoon sun streaming through the window. It concerned her that Kiba had moved her without her waking at some point, but she guessed it made sense––she had used every bit of her adrenaline and energy just getting here. She'd been fighting for her life for two days straight; of course, she would crash.
Hinata sat up, blinking deliriously against the light––and there was Kiba. Sitting next to her on the bed. His hair was longer now––clipped back and tamed by a few bobby pins––and he donned a pair of expensive-looking glasses with yellow lenses. He wore a creamy linen suit that was getting wrinkled as he looked over her, concern evident in his gaze. Despite the strange, ritzy getup, he still looked like regular-Kiba. Hinata knew that if he wasn't so concerned, the expressive humor that usually lived in his gaze would become evident in minutes.
"Why––why are you dressed like that?" Hinata wondered, and it was clear all sense had not returned to her, because she was asking the wrong questions. Still, this new, suave, Kiba was an odd sight, and it was certainly challenging her sense of reality.
"I've got an auction to go to downtown in a few hours," Kiba said as if Hinata was supposed to know what that meant. "In a little bit. Would you like to go? I need some arm candy."
"I should probably lay low…" Hinata muttered though she was tempted by the opportunity to see what Kiba was working on. She didn't even know what she should call him until she recalled the surname the driver had used almost a full day ago. "Sato-san, you've got a lovely home."
"Would you like a tour?" Kiba gave her a razor-sharp smile that Hinata would typically return without a second thought, but when she didn't, his brows creased. His smile faltered. "What happened?"
"W-what I said," Hinata said, unbraiding her hair, and looking towards the open balcony. She could hear the sea from where she sat and thought, how amazing. "We got raided and separated. My stuff is gone. I have––I have no way to contact the my––" She struggled on what to call Sasuke, exactly. Kiba knew as much about her mission as she did his. But if he was being surveilled, she couldn't just say target. She choked to think of the word boyfriend, but nothing else fit––not even "boss."
She swallowed. "My lover, or my father, for that matter." Here, at least, she knew he would know she meant command.
"Where'd the lover go?" This, Kiba spit, thought Hinaa could not possibly understand what he had to be angry about. She thought there were far better questions, like––Why were you in Italy?; and Are you okay?
"I wish I knew," Hinata said, wanting this conversation to be over and done, wrapped up with a bow on it. "We were raided in the night. S-My lover took off with his friends and I had just come out of my room when I heard the noise. They robbed me but left me alone after they realized I wasn't one of them.
Sure, there were obvious holes in her story, but who was Kiba to pry, anyway? He'd just think she was fragile and delicate and he proved it to be true when he brushed her hair from her sweaty face, fingers curling under her chin to check for bruises. His gaze hardened when he saw her raw neck––still red, purpling, with time.
"Left you alone, alright," he growled. "I don't know what your role is to them, but it takes a certain kind of man to leave you––"
"I'd like to talk about something else," Hinata pressed gently. "This isn't what I need right now, Kib––Sato-san."
"Fine," Kiba pressed down his suit. "I just want to make sure you're okay, okay? It's been months since I've seen you, Hana. C'mon, don't be so hard on me."
He was joking, and Hinata managed a small smile. He saw right through her, but it's okay, because she let him.
"I have a meeting in a bit, I'll order us some lunch, and thennnnn," he turned on his puppy-dog eye, big round brown orbs, shining under his stylishly yellow glasses. "If you're up for it, come with me downtown. I want to show you a little bit about my life here."
"Being…away…is different," Hinata agreed tentatively. This was Kiba's first international mission, after all. "I just need to keep my head down."
"It's Hong Kong," Kiba said, standing, his phone in hand, ringing. "You're just a speck in a million."
"Being a speck sounds good right now," Hinata said, easing back into bed. "But when you get back, can we talk about getting me back to Konoha?"
Ino's lies and Sasuke's warning be damned, she still needed to check on her sister. That still had not changed.
Kiba gave a noncommittal noise as he chattered on his phone on the way out of the room. Hinata wondered what the hell his new role was to have him acting like this.
There were facts she'd always known but had never had to experience: missions changed people. She just hoped that her friend had remained the same at his core. She laid back down and closed her eyes until lunch.
-:-
Sasuke found himself up at the asscrack of dawn.
Apparently, Gaara––that damn Sand Demon––preferred early morning meetings; meetings that were slow, that crept on you. Shikamaru shared a similar theory about evening meetings; he thought they were tense because they sunk into darkness so easily, but Sasuke had just figured that that was because the man was chronically fatigued.
In any case, it had been yet another sleepless night after paying Sai a sizable sum of money from Sasuke's personal accounts, ignoring his brother's phone calls, and shrugging off Sakura who seemed oddly desperate for his attention. At this point, most of his blood was coffee and he recalled the days of his youth when he'd shove cocaine up his face with a wide-stomached spoon just to stay on top of things. He wasn't 21 anymore, so he wouldn't be doing that––at least, not yet; he wasn't that deep off the edge.
Shikamaru and Naruto accompanied him. Shikamaru, because he had honed a connection with Temari, and Naruto because he and Gaara had met once and Sasuke had been told Gaara seemed oddly fond of him; it might help their cause. Unfortunately, seeing Naruto still made Sasuke want to punch his face in, and his best friend clearly felt the same way because they glared at each other in the kitchen, Naruto parroting the fact that he'd done "nothing wrong." Sasuke had blackened his eye the night before and thought, good.
It was safe to say that things were strange. The ride back to Suna Chiyo's opulent residence was steeped in an aggravated sort of silence, with Naruto rolling down the window to attend to his morning smoke and Sasuke turning the music all the way up to drown out the voices of anyone who dared speak to him––or speak at all.
They were received in the familiar circle driveway by a servant whose name Sasuke could not care to remember, and were escorted to the other side of the mansion––different from the ballroom a few nights before.
Sasuke was surprised when they got to the room and it was already occupied by Gaara, and his bulky brother Kankuro with the face tattoos. They were having tea on a low birch table, accompanied by a blooming orchid, and a ceramic plate full of cigarettes which Gaara was painstakingly rolling, one after another, and placing them there. The room was covered in jade wallpaper and had large, rectangular doors, open and leading towards a garden. The sun was rising slowly. There were guns on the table.
"Sit," Kankuro said, but it didn't sound encouraging. A servant brought out a platter of fruit. "Join us."
They sat on floor cushions. Shikamaru helped himself to tea. It made sense that he was comfortable, he had spent a couple of weeks getting to know and negotiating with the Suna clan only a few short months ago. "Will Temari be joining us?"
"No," Gaara said, barely lifting his eyes to look at them as he stuffed tobacco into a thin paper. "She is elsewhere. You didn't bring Hota––Hinata, I see."
"I'm afraid she couldn't join us," Sasuke said plainly, voice flat. This made Gaara lift his head and frown, but Sasuke began to sugar his tea. "There were some…circumstances that led to our separation."
He just wanted to gauge Suna's reaction. And like magic, the corner of Gaara's mouth twitched. His expression otherwise remained the same.
"Well, do go on," Kankuro spoke. Sasuke hadn't known the man had so much authority to be demanding such things. "That was one of the conditions of this meeting. If you don't give us a reason not to, you will be escorted out."
Gaara tilted his head back, exposing his neck like last time. Ah, Sasuke thought, folding his hands under his chin. Kankuro is his voicebox.
"Shikamaru," Sasuke said, and the man nodded and set down his tea cup. Seconds later, he was pulling out a lacquer box with painted designs on them. They had changed to this from the plastic bag for this very meeting. Even though Sasuke didn't care very much what people thought of him, he did care what they thought of his family. The Uchiha's weren't savages. Sasuke took the box from him and opened it to reveal a chest full of dark hair.
Kankuro broke character: "Yo, what the fuck––"
Gaara just looked at it, blinking. "You killed her?"
Sasuke could not figure out what lived underneath his tone. Was it softness? Was it anger? It was so strange that it seemed misplaced. But then again, Sasuke could barely look down at the hair himself, and the thought of murdering her made something sink inside him. It irritated him to no end. Why should he feel anything at all?
"She was a spy," Sasuke said against the sudden, tense silence. "For a Konoha-based institution called Byakugan-6. One of my operatives found out shortly after Chiyo-sama's party. I apologize on behalf of my clan for jeopardizing your festivities by bringing a roach as my date."
More silence. Against it, Sasuke said, "She is no longer a concern."
"That is clear," Gaara said, clearing his throat. His eyes were dark green, like grass after rain. "I appreciate your honesty. We are not concerned about her presence there, but I am sorry for what your family has suffered. You both seemed quite comfortable."
Sasuke's eyebrow twitched. He supposed he deserved the insult; he had brought a spy into Gaara's family villa and then argued with him about her, without really knowing why. The dig was scorching, and the observation made Sasuke feel raw. He stomped out the anger inside of him; now was not the time to behave like a fool.
A servant came by and offered a platter of cigarettes rolled in golden paper, and Sasuke took one. He lit it. He breathed.
"Comfort comes easy to men like us," Sasuke said, instead of accepting Gaara's sympathies. He puffed out smoke, letting it clear out his lungs. "Don't you agree, Gaara-san?"
"It is a dangerous thing," Gaara didn't exactly disagree, but his disparaging tone was enough to piss Sasuke off even more. Besides, it was Gaara and Hinata who had a backstory that Sasuke still wasn't privy to. He wanted to know in an almost childish way. "Indeed, Sasuke-san."
The room was silent. The two men did not speak, or even move. Everyone else just watched, waiting to see who would demand or request first. Sasuke puffed smoke, turning his head to look at Gaara, whose shock of red hair fluffed against the wind from outside. It was becoming a dramatically beautiful day.
"The sun rises just above the garden," Gaara said, eyes following where Sasuke looked. "East facing. Grandmother Chiyo had it built like that. You know, she created this home to retire in, so she could get away from the harshness of Konoha."
Hinata would love the garden, Sasuke thought, stupidly. He turned his head back to look at his counterpart; there was no time to talk about fucking nature.
"My apologies for interrupting her peace."
"No," Gaara waved his hand, slicing through all the smoke. "I said that to say that another day always comes, and we must be prepared for it. Tell me what you need. Shikamaru made us allies, let us put it to the test."
Satisfied that the conversation had turned in his favor, Sasuke spoke about the poison that killed one of Killer B's men, right after the Uchiha had formed an alliance. Shikamaru pulled out yet another box––this one much smaller––and slid it across the table to Kankuro.
"We'd like an anecdote," Shikamaru said, as Kankuro opened it to reveal the needle. "And to see if Chiyo-sama could break down the poison to see who made it. It'll help us figure out how to proceed."
"We don't have too many good friends back in Konoha," Naruto explained. "We want to figure out who did it before we wipe everyone else out."
Kankuro snorted at the crude way of explaining things, but Gaara shrugged.
"It's logical." Gaara nodded, but he seemed different than before. More guarded, the attacks on Uchiha would not bode well for his own clan, that much was clear. "My grandmother will do it. You will have your results in a couple of days. I can't promise it will be fast."
"It is urgent," Shikamaru said what Sasuke wouldn't. "We will pay you double for her speed."
Gaara merely shrugged. "It depends on how she is feeling."
That didn't bode well for Sasuke and what he needed to give to his father by the time he got home, but he couldn't complain. "That's fine," he said, nodding. "Thank you. Gaara. This kindness won't be forgotten."
It was what he was supposed to say after getting what he wanted. Finally, after the strife, he was getting what he came for. He had lost so much in exchange.
"You will hear from me soon," Gaara said and a servant appeared to his left to ascot them out.
Sasuke pressed his lips flat, nodded, and stood. He was getting what he came for. So why did it feel so wrong?
-:-
Kiba and Hinata ate lunch together on Kiba's outdoor, enclosed patio. He'd acquired a spread of local cuisines, Cheung Fun, which was rice noodles usually eaten for breakfast, rice, some roasted meat, and fried egg sandwiches from a restaurant he liked down the street. Hinata ate all of the food like a glutton––she hadn't eaten in days, she realized––reveling in the tangy sauce, the nutty sesame flavors, and the rich eggs.
"Good right?" Kiba asked, eyes bright. He was still in his linen suit and his yellow-tinted glasses, but he'd let the pins out his hair. Hinata was delighted to find that it was long enough to reach his shoulders.
"We switched," she said, pointing to her bob which curled just about her shoulders. She'd done a great job fixing it post-Sasuke.
"Why'd you cut it?" Kiba asked, chewing with his mouth open, and it reminded her of old times at B6, when she'd have lunch with him in the cafeteria.
"I wanted to seem more like a lawyer," Hinata lied, ripping a piece of egg from inside of the sandwich and tossing it into her mouth. Her eyes watered––how could egg taste this good? "Everyone around was really hip. I didn't want to be basic."
"You could never be basic," Kiba said, grinning as he refilled her glass with milk tea. "I'm sure everyone loves you."
They loved a version of Hinata that wasn't true, perhaps. But Hinata would not say that out loud. Instead, she shifted in her seat. They were sitting at a raised, iron table on stools. Kiba had told her that this was his "work area."
The patio was spacious; it doubled as an art studio for Kiba––that is, for Arata Sato, who was supposedly a famous papermaker from Japan. In his patio-studio, Kiba made and pressed sheets of Kozo paper up to 15 feet tall. He had three assistants who helped him accomplish this at all hours. For lunch, he had sent them away.
The paper was beautiful. Hinata got the privilege of watching the newer sheets dry in the Hong Kong sun alongside the orchids and the pink Bauhinia flowers that grew naturally along the brick wall. Sometimes, life felt like a dream––something completely foreign and not quite right, but welcome nonetheless. This was one of those times.
Hinata guessed that Arata Sato was some sort of artist and/or art dealer. The auction later made sense. Perhaps Kiba's mission was to stop counterfeiters, or thieves, or something of that nature. Hinata didn't care to think about it too hard as she gnawed on the deliciously chewy Cheung Fun. She scooped up braised beef with her chopsticks and sighed.
"You really want me to go to this auction with you, don't you?" She finally breached the topic Kiba had been giving her grief on for the last four and a half hours. She'd had enough puppy dog eyes thrown her way to last a lifetime. And despite the fact that the idea of her attending some ritzy event in another country seemed utterly ridiculous and well, stupid––she could see how her resistance was making Kiba suspicious in some ways, too.
She was constantly at the edge of some sharp sword, and it was becoming exhausting to merely exist.
After all, Kiba was used to Hinata's agreeable personality, and willingness to support her friends. Her resistance was different. She feared it was making him worry. He seemed on edge enough as it was.
"It would be nice," Kiba said, as he took their plates. "I just haven't seen you, you know? I already got your ticket back, I assumed Command will be looking for you sooner rather than later."
Hinata's heart hit her ribs. She tried not to look alarmed as she put her chopsticks on top of the plates, but she feared her hands would shake.
Kiba didn't seem to notice as he continued on, grabbing the chopsticks from her still fingers. "But I've missed you, you know? And this outing is kinda lowkey. Appearances, that sort of thing. Trust me, you wouldn't be the first fine Japanese woman I've had on my arm around these parts. It's––"
"Has––has Command asked for me?" Hinata asked, breaking Kiba's careless speech.
He paused, seeming to reel back in. Back at B6, he was no stranger to the estranged dynamic between father and daughter. "Oh. Oh no, Hinata," Kiba whispered as he set the plates down to go to her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. I was just saying that 'cause it seems like you've been away a while. It would be weird if your, um, lover got back without you, right? I'm sorry if––"
"No," Hinata said, blinking away tears. She was surprised she had any left. "No, no it's okay, Kib––Sato-kun." Her eyes burned. She pulled a brave face; and turned her expression over. Even here, with her best friend, she could not be safe. "Thank you for arranging the tickets, but let's talk about them later. You want to go out, right?"
Kiba's eyes sparkled. Hinata's dimmed.
-:-
Sasuke was getting drunk––or, was already drunk and getting drunker.
There was no private jet to greet them at the airport. On the way home, they had to do things the more humble way; a commercial plane with first-class seats. Privately, Sasuke had been too ashamed to ask his family to use their jet.
But at least they still got to sit in the lounge, where Sasuke swallowed cognac like water. Once boarded on the plane, he ordered another glass and told Sakura he would prefer to be seated alone. He didn't look at her as she pouted, he just slid into his seat, eyes on his phone, as he started the long process of becoming reacclimated with his "normal" life.
Mostly, he read emails. Most of them were emails that Hinata would go through before him, filtering out the junk so that only the important things reached his inbox. But Hinata wasn't there. She hopefully would never be again.
A flight attendant brought another glass when she saw that his was emptied, but he waved her away. He closed his phone and his eyes and fell into a mild slumber for several hours until he was woken, abruptly, by a buzzing from his phone. When he looked out the window it was dark and they were still lifted in the sky.
He tapped the touch screen in front of him and saw that four hours had passed. They were flying over Russia. Then, he pulled his phone from where it had been hiding under his butt and read Gaara's name across the screen.
What could he want? Sasuke thought tiredly as he opened the message. He was irritated when he read it. All Gaara had the nerve to say was "We need to talk. In Konoha."
Sasuke sighed. All anyone ever wanted from him these days was a fucking meeting.
A bit of a transitional chapter as I transition into my hiatus––hopefully it doesn't leave you starving Too badly. I didn't even do a cliffhanger this time! Now might be a good time for a re-read, which is what I will be doing when I have a moment of free time. We have many a plot to revisit in Konoha, don't we?
God willing, my next update will be June 3rd. Thank you all for the wonderful well wishes and comments. See you all in a bit!