HPN chapter 1 rough

[mis_mariposas]

Missing about two/three sections and unbeta'd.

Chpr. 1

 

Life goes on.

 

* * *

Sakura

Adrenaline flowed through Sakura’s body, burning away weariness and bolstering her fatigued mind.

 And she wasn’t going to make it. The fire exploded behind her, around her, everywhere, and she fell through the burning forest.

 

* * *

 

It took conscious effort not to snap at the hospital personnel as they passed by him. Every time it was the same, but it never got easier.  In a way it got harder, as the missions increased in both frequency and difficulty.  When he was younger he’d assumed that anyone admitted to the hospital would get better, if they survived long enough to make it to medical care.  Then Orochimaru had entered their lives.  Neji… Chouji… The agony of waiting for confirmation of their recovery, or deaths, had been terrible and unprecedented. They had been stable by the time Naruto was fully conscious, but no one had thought to inform him for several hours.  Several terrible hours during which his imagination had spun excruciating scenarios of a double funeral and then leapt further in time, to orders that would lead to bright blood spraying over the surroundings and red, sharingan eyes closing for a final time.  Or perhaps the rasping gurgle from his own throat as he struggle to breathe and the mocking cruel laughter and merciless gaze as dark marks writhed across the pale skin like a parasite.  Both visions had been entirely too plausible.    

In the depths of his pockets, hidden from sight, his hands balled into white knuckled fists.  Deep within him there was an overwhelming urge to hunt down and rip, slash, tear, kill those bastards who had hurt his Sakura-chan.  Sharp pricks of pain from his palm made him loosen his clenched digits, but in no way reduced his fury.  He suddenly surged up off the waiting bench, startling a passing medic into dropping several glass vials, which were only saved by grace of her ninja reflexes; he couldn’t sit here waiting anymore.  He needed out.

Now. 

By the time he reached the main door his entire body was trembling with suppressed rage.

* * *

It was difficult to tell what would have happened if Sasuke had been a little less punctual or she several seconds slower. Most likely something very painful and not at all nice. But that was now in the past, and shinobi were trained not to dwell in the ‘what-if?’ realm of thought for very long. It was a very dangerous state of mind when a single moment could have saved a life or gotten you and all your teammates killed.

They all walked the fine edge before madness, training a solid, comforting barrier, but a thin one.

With conscious effort he steered his thoughts away from the dangerous area and instead concentrated on writing his report.  It had to be clear, concise, and on Tsunade-sama’s desk by dawn.

It took several moments before he could get his tired eyes to focus on.  The blank scroll and dark inkstone slowly came in to view next to a guttering candle.  He had been sitting for far too long, lost in thought.  Stirring his reluctant limbs into action he replaced the dying candle with a fresh one.  Clean, strong light threw shadows on his face, marking every tiny imperfection.  The darkened dips and hollows ravaged his features making him look much older than his 17 years and closer to how he often seemed.  Many elite shinobi lived in this curious half age.  Always maturing out of synch with the relatively more normal population, the young seeming older, the old seeming younger.  Medicnin research into the phenomenon suggested that it had to do with both the high level of chakra use and the psychological pressure placed on a person when they are expected to kill starting at the age of 12 or 13.  The average life expectancy wasn’t that long either.  It was a high-risk occupation, being a ninja.  And dying young had a tendency to make people grow up quickly.  Sasuke could attest to that, as could Kakashi.

Several droplets of water fell to the table when he wet the ink stone, where they gleamed like mirrors, reflecting the candlelight and his own haggard face. He picked up the wooden brush and drew the white bristles adroitly across the stone, soaking up the dark ink.  Pausing before the bamboo scroll, he held the brush delicately with trembling fingers before swooping down and filling the empty space with row upon row of fluid kanji describing the mission.  Periodically re-inking the brush as the hours crept by.

 Shortly before dawn, the misty half-light of early morning having already appeared, he finished. 

Putting the brush aside he blew gently on the drying ink and rolled up the scroll. Taking it in one hand, he blew out the faithful remains of the candle and wearily pushed back the chair and stood up.  After he delivered this to Tsunade-sama he could sleep, and then pack.  Short moments later the room was empty save for the smoke curling up to the ceiling in lazy, ever-widening spirals and a few scattered leaves.

 

* * *

Naruto was breathing hard by the time he had worked of the worst of his all-consuming rage.  Small clouds of water vapor and frozen crystal formed where his warm breath met the chilly dawn air.  It was late April, but winter’s chill still clung, reluctant to give way to the heat of summer. 

His thin black T-shirt was little protection against the bitter chill, but warm with exertion he couldn’t feel it.

He picked his jacket up from off the dead leaves and hard dirt where he had flung it earlier.  The training ground was remote but the cold walk from the hospital hadn’t dulled his rage to the slightest degree.  A few stray brown and curling leaves clung to the left sleeve.  Absentmindedly he brushed them away.  Anko would probably be after him in the morning to fix the site, the woman was merciless when it came to maintenance, but right now he didn’t care.  Digging a few stray kunai out of the cold dirt where they’d embedded themselves, he carefully cleaned the dark earth off them, frowning when he tested their edges against his thumb, and restored small blades to his leg sheathe with a mental note to sharpen them later.  Swinging the care-worn jacket over one shoulder Naruto started on his way to the apartment on the far side of town.

Behind him the pale mist writhed around the battered, broken training dummies. Shadows lingered in deep gouges scarring the earth and fresh slivers of pale wood littered the grounds.  The sun appeared in the sky like an insubstantial wraith, its cold morning light illuminating the garish destruction.

* * *

 

Sasuke cursed wearily as his fingers slipped yet again on the metal clasps holding the backpack shut.  This particular bag had been designed so that it wouldn’t accidentally fly open in battle or when being violently flung aside. The sturdy double layer of canvas that comprised the main body of the bag attested to the designer’s intent that his creation would survive the violent and unpredictable lifestyle of its owner.  Finally the metal caught and parted beneath his fingers; he wrenched the top open and carried it over to his dresser. 

A three-day mission required a minimum of commodities; anything that could be done without would be left behind.

Two shirts were all he really needed, one for traveling and then one to look presentable in.  He considered for a moment staring at the neat rows of folded clothing.  No... on second thought perhaps he ought to bring another shirt in case of rain or battle.

Three identical, dark blue tops were taken from the drawer. Two disappearing into the depths of the open bag and the third flung to the side.  It landed with a slight thump on Sasuke’s bed next to his one pillow.  A pair of pant soon followed it, its companion joining the other shirts.

He pushed the drawer shut and grabbed a couple scrolls off the top.

Shuffling through them he quickly read the labels and discarded or threw them in the bag.  The art of Fire: Lost jutsu of the-, it could be interesting to study while the bureaucrats in Grass made him wait.  He turned the next one around and sighed in irritation, recognizing his own handwriting. Great, a scroll full of blunt weapons, it followed the first.  Might as well do it tomorrow, he thought with some irritation. The rest of the scrolls were set aside as being superfluous, nothing extravagant was needed on a non-hostile mission.  He ran a hand through his unruly hair; packing was always such a bother.  Snagging his Chuunin vest off a chair he tossed it on the bed and continued moving around the room, collecting various pieces of weaponry. 

The sky outside was a light pink, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, a thin sliver of gold against the dark sky, when he finished gathering all the necessities.

Stumbling to his bed in the half-light, Sasuke left the three quarters filled backpack against a bedpost.  Fighting his growing fatigue he stripped down to his boxers. Leaving the wrinkled clothing where it fell, he tumbled into bed, shoving the vest and shirt aside.  He barely had the presence of mind to set his alarm before he sank into blessed darkness and oblivion.  The sun’s soft rays played over his sleeping form, slowly filling the silent room with light as the minutes ticked by.

 

 

* * *

The slow walk to his apartment served to cool Naruto’s skin and body, if not the familiar fury inside him. Destroying the training course had bled the sharp edge off of it, but it was still there.  Only now it was manageable.  He shivered slightly as frigid gust of wind blew past him, ruffling his blond hair.  This never happened during a battle.  There he always kept his hard won professional detachment.  It was afterwards, when she was lying pale and unconscious in the hospital bed, an IV taped to her arm and bandages littering her skin, then the rage came.

 And the anger, and last came the hate. 

The urge to kill and enjoy it, to rend flesh to pieces, spray blood across the trees and make it rain.  It didn’t matter if the ones responsible were dead, he still wanted to resurrect them and kill the perpetrators painfully and gruesomely again.

The problem, he suspected, was that he wanted it in some way.  Down under his complex layers of levity, jokes, and honor something pulled him towards that blind unthinking ferocity instead of… what?

He shook his head harshly.  Don’t think about it, not now. Not with…

Naruto jerked his head again as if to forcibly dislodge the half formed thought.

The delight in killing…

Naruto hadn’t told Sakura.  They didn’t discuss these things; he didn’t want to see the shadow of fear in her eyes when she looked at him.  She probably suspected anyway; she’d seen him when Sasuke had returned from the covert mist operation last year that had ended in disaster.  And she’d followed him into the Forest of Death where he’d preceded to massacre anything stupid enough to come near him, and then she’d taken him to her and Lee’s apartment after he’d collapsed and helped him clean the blood off his body and washed it out of his clothes.  Neither of them had ever mentioned it, and Sasuke had never been told about that particular incident.

But he probably understood.

 

* * *

 

The light cotton curtains covering the windows dimmed the early morning light to a soft glow. The small recovery room was quiet with the muffled deliberate silence that is in attendance when someone is sleeping.

Small currents of air brushed the vase of flowers by the bedside, rustling the leaves every so lightly.

In the grey shadows that tinged the lightly colored room, a figure slowly eased the heavy door shut, cutting away the outside world again.

Muted light played over Tsunade’s smooth skin and pigtails eliciting the occasional burst of color as the honey colored strands caught and held the sun’s rays.

She sat in a crinkle of stiff cloth and cotton sheets, watching in silence, for a moment, her chosen protégé.

Haruno Sakura had proven herself well in the last five years, doing so much better than anyone, Tsunade included, had expected.  The childish teenage girl had come to her in what might have been a fit of guilt and desperation, with just the beginnings of the fierce determination and confidence that she carried today. 

Seeing the girl’s earnest face, the faded streaks of tears staining Sakura’s cheeks had brought back memories.  Old memories that opened scars she had thought long healed.

 

“Tsunade!” She turned to her teammate in his rain-flecked vest and mud-splattered zori, apprehension in her eyes, shadowed by reluctant certainty. She was fearful of the news and yet unable to resist hearing it.

“I-It” her voiced cracked and she struggled with the lump in her throat.

 He put a compassionate hand on her shoulder, “Yes.”

She closed her eyes. That was it then.  What they’d been suspecting for weeks, ignoring in hopes of it not being true, willing the evidence to just be a mistake, a coincidence, anything but this, was now irrevocably in the open.  Rain dripped off the roof and splashed to the ground, joining the small torrents of water gushing down the cobbled street.  Dimly she heard the steady pouring of the rain over her own harsh breathing.  Jiraiya tightened his hold on her shoulder in concern.  Tsunade was strong, but this…was a thousand times worse than anything thing they’d faced before.

With a strangled cry she tore out of his grasp and stumbled to the open edge of the battlements, heedless of the rain and wind tearing at her hair and kimono.

“I’ll kill you Orochimaru-kun”, she screamed into the elements.  “I’ll kill you”, the words faded in strength and volume.  Turning she half fell into her remaining teammate’s strong embrace.

“Orochimaru-kun”, she sobbed into his shoulder.  Jiraiya held her tight, pretending that the water streaming down his face was all from the heavens.

They stood like that for a long time, the two of them, alone in the rain, mourning the loss of the friend they’d never really had.

 

It was too much like her own past, too much like looking at a reflection of her younger self.  She’d accepted the girl’s plea to be taught expecting to regret it later, but unable to refuse.  Sakura had surprised her, and now she considered it one of the best decisions she had made in her life.

Reaching out a hand she gently smoothed back the pale baby-pink hair and planted a soft kiss on the broad forehead. 

“I’m so proud of you, Sakura.” She whispered, “So very proud”.  Carefully, with one last tender look at the sleeping girl- no, she was no longer a girl; Sakura was now a woman, Tsunade slipped from the bed and across the room.  Pausing by the door she collected her composure and strode out into the hospital the loud, bossy Tsunade-hime that the village knew.  But her thoughts lingered in that quiet, dimly lit room with the young woman that was as dear to her as the children she would never have, and she could still smell the heady scent of rain.  She took a deep breath. It was no matter, Sakura would wake by mid-afternoon and life would go on.

The past was over, it was the future that was important now.

 

* * *

 

The familiar clink of bowls and the hot wafting steam from under the cloth hanging/awning(?) brought him back to the present and the state of his stomach.  It rumbled at him dangerously, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten since... he was thinking of getting a late lunch or early supper when he felt her enter the village. Her chakra.. flickering. He leapt off the roof, running for the hospital.

The ramen stand beckoned his empty stomach and with almost a semblance of normality he dropped onto a familiar stool.

The ramen was warm and comforting as it slid down his throat, and for a moment he almost felt like things were normal- what was normal?, but then last drop slid down his throat and the moment was over.   He set the sturdy ceramic bowl down on the countertop, dropped a few crumpled bills next the worn bamboo chopsticks, and left.

The light was cleaner now, clearer and brighter. While he had been eating the sun had cleared the horizon entirely erasing the last streaks of pink and orange from the gentle/pale blue.

As his feet trod the familiar path home his mind did likewise along the lanes of memory. 

Nothing was really the way he had expected his life to go as a child of twelve.  Ineffable exuberance, optimism, energy were simply burning out and he felt so tired and confused these days, and life still moved on.

 

* * *

 

It was a brisk four-minute jog to Konoha’s West gate, where the courier from Kusagakure was waiting.  Normally they would have left through the South gate, but they were trying to avoid Oto.  Early morning dew clung to the hem of the extra Anbu robe Sasuke had borrowed for the mission.  He was going as a diplomatic representative of Konohagakure, not an Anbu member, but the formal uniform served as a reminder that he was a trained shinobi to any who thought to assassinate a visiting dignitary.  That was the official version released for public viewing.  The files three securities levels up stated that this was a passive reconnaissance mission, hostility unlikely, but plausible.  Thus the official Anbu garb sans mask. The robes were warm and practical as well as being waterproof and adequate camouflage; if things became nasty they could save his life.

Sasuke ignored the cool brush of the dew-laden grass against his feet and nodded curtly at cloaked figure standing by the gate with two dark horses.

“Let’s go.”

The man, Tak, handed the nearest horse over to him. For a brief moment Sasuke stood there, the leather reins radiating faint warmth, pliant beneath his fingers.  The crisp morning breeze blew past him bringing hints of rain, dirt, and new green shoots. Promises of a better season, a land reborn.  Sasuke held his breath a moment, reluctant to let the air go, savoring the delicate aroma of his birthplace, so different from the dry acrid tinged air of the land they were going to.

Next to him the horse snorted and stepped restlessly to the side, breaking the spell.   His eyes snapped from their soft, almost dreamy gaze, to hard obsidian.  The leather saddle creaked loudly under the added weight when he swung himself, with the ease of long practice, into the saddle. As one they wheeled their horses around and with a short flick of the reins and the sound of pounding hoofs, were gone.  Leaving only an empty gate open to a dirt road with two sets of prints embedded in the dust, as evidence of their passing.  The fine, grainy, particles moved and shifted in the wind, and soon even those meager signs were covered.

 

* * *

The clonk of his foot against wood brought Naruto’s attention back his physical surroundings.  The familiar rough wooden balcony and steps caused something in his chest to tighten, but he blithely ignored it in favor of climbing the worn step to his (don’t think about it) apartment.