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Hindsight's 20/20	By : tealeaf Category: Naruto AU/AR > General Views: 1090 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Disclaimer: Naruto still ain�t mine.

Author
Notes: This is�version three of this chapter.
Versions one and two can be found in my livejournal,
there�s a link in my profile. Thanks to J and Lily for helping me out.

Dedicated to Emmy, thanks
for putting up with my bitching honey.

��

Hindsight�s
20/20
Chapter
6

By: Tea Leaf

��

Naruto stared at the ceiling as the water
spread.

It was pouring outside. The roof had
collapsed in spots and the water leaking through gathered over the drywall of his
ceiling. It was steadily seeping through, creating warped puddles above his
head. As the drywall saturated, beads of water started to gather, hanging on
tenaciously.

A sudden boom of thunder shook the
building; the drops fell, splashing onto the scuffed wooden floor.

Flaring lightning ripped through the sky,
seeming to steal all of its power from the wires in his wall. The room
flickered into darkness as the building shook again as the thunder boomed. The
water picked up speed as it raced towards his floor.

Containers needed to be set up to catch it.
The thought dripped sluggishly into his brain but as much as he wanted to, his
body wouldn�t move.

He was surprised he could breathe.

The swelling around his black eye and split
lip throbbed in time with the rain. His scalp felt cold where the blood was
seeping through his hair and pooling on the pillow beneath it.

He shifted his eyes, numbing pain shooting
up from the effort and blurring his vision. When a mockery of focus returned,
he stared at the water steadily spreading across the floor.

He was helpless to stop it.

��

The rhythm of the rain was intoxicating. So
quick, so heavy, it hit the window pane, hit the rail and splashed, hitting
her. The exposed skin of her thigh shivered, shuddered as the cold drops landed
on her.

Haruno sat on the window ledge, slouched
with her feet against the frame. The cold glass of the open window vibrated
lightly against her skin as the sounds and smell of the storm poured in.

She suspected that that was what she liked
the most about the rain, the smell and the feeling that everything was being
pushed back down into the earth.

An open sketch book sat upright against her
thighs. Her hands lay dead against her stomach, her wooden pencil resting against
her palms. The weight of it pressed down into her flesh, nerves strangely aware
of its solid mass.

Her drawing was getting wet. She liked how
it looked.

��

The
smooth, gleaming sheath of the katana pressed heavily into his hands, his palms
caving to accommodate it like water.

He felt the weight acutely, as much
physically as psychologically. So heavy, it had been steadily drowning his
sanity since he was a child. This was the extension, his mean to the end he�d
been working so hard to reach for so long.

Sasuke had been six when his world crashed
irreparably to the ground. Over a decade later, he was still trapped in the
ruble. But this, this would save him.

He closed his hands around the wood,
knuckles white as he tightened his grip. How simple his
salvation would be, how simple his brother�s punishment.

He stood, sword held horizontally in front
of him as he moved towards the rack on his wall. He set the sword back in its
place reverently. He had never unsheathed it. He only would once.

��

Wood against wood; it was an overly
familiar sound that still managed to raise the hair on the back of his neck.
Maybe it was the sudden awareness that he was unarmed. Maybe it was the sudden
awareness that it was only temporary.

As the dark wood of his katana�s sheath
made contact with the rack mounted on the wall, he shook his head slightly,
trying to clear the strange echoing the sound made in his mind.

Whatever it was, he ignored it, not
bothering to justify his natural reactions.

The chair in front of the large windows
creaked. It was a strange sound, but would prove useful one day. It would give
someone away one day; it would save his life one day. Maybe.

He planned to be dead long before that day.

Red eyed, he stared, steadily focusing on
the rain tumbling down the side of the apartment building. Looking past, his
attention focused on the window two floors lower and slightly to the left of
the building opposite his.

That was his apartment. This was where he
lived.

The back wall of the apartment was blank,
clear of messages and missions.

There was no work tonight; nothing to keep
him occupied other than the patterns he saw in the rain as insomnia continued
to plague him.

It had been worse lately.

Uchiha Itachi hadn�t slept in five days.

��

The sharp wail of his alarm clock sliced
through the air. With a groan, Kakashi pulled his thick pillow tightly over his
ear.

He wasn�t ready to get up yet. He�d been
dreaming for the first time in years, or maybe remembering was more accurate.
His mind was still lost in the fog rolling in with the ships, and the soft
smell of cinnamon drifting up from her hair.

The alarm persisted, steadily growing in
volume.

A hand crawled out and groped at the contraption,
hunting for the right button to shut the shrieking. Finding it, the hand
dropped limply before he rolled onto his back stared blearily at the ceiling.

Sunlight filtered through his windows. The
clouds from the day before had rained themselves out finally.

Slowly he sat up and checked the time, lips
pulling into a grimace before he crawled out of his bed far earlier than any
sane person ever would.

Damn school. He�d gotten on just fine
without it when he was a kid, why had she been so insistent on going?

What did she see in this second rate,
recycled garbage he and every other teacher in that school spewed on her every
day? He had never understood, and she had never explained.

Awkwardly, he made his way into the bathroom
and twisted the faucets for the shower. Something red flashed in the mirror,
catching his attention. He turned, and stared at the tattoo on his shoulder,
the mark that would forever dictate his life and his loyalty.

That was the reason he�d never asked, never
pressured her. If she needed to be at school, then he needed to be at school to
look after her. Because that was what he�d sworn to do.

Steam started to rise from behind the
shower curtain. He watched it fog over the mirror, erasing the swirling red
lines, erasing him.

��
��

If he were the type to be distracted, it
would have been that elusive gleam of cold steel against the pitch black of the
room that would have been his undoing.

So many nights, like this night, that sharp
gleam, sliding easily down the edge of his katana as he swung, was the last
thing he wanted to see.

The blade he carefully polished everyday
bounced the light. The spark, that one spark, blinked at him a million times
over as glossy blood arched through the air and reflected it. Was it poetic?

He couldn�t tell.

It was just an idle observation.

Face hidden behind cloth as dark as his
eyes, he flicked the blood from the katana sharply, before he sheathed it in
the wooden case strapped to his back. He�d clean it once he was back.

The darkness in the room was impenetrable
now; whatever the light�s source had been was lost now that the steel wasn�t
amplifying it.

The realization stayed with him on the long
walk from the city to the barracks.

It wasn�t the bodies hidden in the
darkness, it wasn�t the blood staining his weapon or splashed on his clothing,
it was that illusive, unreal spec of light.

He looked up as he walked, staring at the
stars. How bright they were, how close. They were always like that in the winter
though.

The cold went unnoticed, despite the
exposure his uniform left. He rarely felt anything more that mild curiosity
these days.

It was that curious feeling that slowly halted
his progress along the frozen dirt road and distracted him from the white fog
his breath caused in the air.

Dimly, he was aware of the roar of an
engine but he ignored it, dismissed it and the car slowed to a stop beside him.
There was a slight squeaking noise as the window rolled down.

�Sempai.� The voice was cold, professional, the only voice to be heard now
even if the speaker changed. �You�re late.� So it was feminine this time. He
could barely tell.

�Ah�� Cold, professional,
and bored. He sounded like the rest of them only worse.

�Get in; the boss wants to see you.� She
was getting impatient, her voice tightening just so.

He stared at the stars for another minute;
strangely involved with the steady numbness the cold was impressing on him.

Finally he turned to her, eyes cold,
professional, bored. �Were you sent to fetch me, Yuugao?� he asked the girl,
recognizing her dark hair, dark lips, and determined stare.

The color drained fractionally from her
already pale skin; she was afraid of him. Maybe it was the blood. Maybe she
hadn�t fully desensitized herself to her work.

Maybe he would be lucky enough to be dead
before she did.

She swallowed, once, shallow, and nodded.

He moved with the grace and direct lines of
a predator unconsciously. They�d never taught him how to turn it off.

Pulling open the
passenger side door, he slid into the car, slouching and staring out at the
road.

Yuugao shifted the gear and took off like
the hounds of hell were on her heels. She was still new.

They drove, further and further down the
dirt road, deeper into ignored territory as he stared out the window. The stars
seemed fainter now, the darkness of the night more consuming as they sped down
the road towards the ANBU compound.

They passed the deceptively rusty gates,
following the serpentine driveway to the main house. Yuugao dropped him off
there, telling him the boss was in his office.

The harsh glare of the electric house
lights drowned out the subtle brilliance of the sky.

Another pointless
observation.

The house reeked of old money, and could
easily be qualified as a mansion. It was meant to intimidate, he supposed, in a
grand �I�m better than you� kind of way. He�d always found that it reminded him
of a person with lung cancer who didn�t know about it yet. On the outside, it
looked perfectly normal, beautiful and well cared for. On the inside, it was
rotting and steadily eating away at itself. And every now and then, people like
him were coughed up like black blood and spat onto the sidewalk.

He avoided the main house as much as he
could. His missions were usually delivered to the barracks, and he was good at
his job so it was rare that the boss ever complained. He�d never been
ambitious, had no interest in the business part of what he did, and so had
never sought to participate in the main house activities.

His was a simple existence. Sleep, eat,
train, and occasionally do what he was told to do. He�d never wanted anything
more from life.

His feet were heavy as he walked up the
steps leading to the main door, solid, polished oak that swung silently and
gracefully as he pulled it open.

He didn�t bother wiping off his shoes or
changing out of his uniform or even just into one that wasn�t covered in blood.
He didn�t care to impress anyone, and the house impressed no sense of respect
on him.

When he thought about it, nothing really
did anymore.

The main entrance led to staircase and
lazily, he wandered up. At the top of the stairs, the carpet led left, and
ended at another closed door.

He didn�t knock; he was expected.

The room was too big, too stylized, and too
dark, like the rest of the house.

He sighed slightly as blood arched through
the air, flying past the body that had been standing a few feet in front of
him, and spattered the side of his masked face. He felt a few drops land, still
warm, in his pale hair. Idly, he wondered if it would stain.

The body slumped to the floor, dark, thick
blood pooling on the polished hardwood floor. But that wasn�t what he was
looking at. The fall of the body revealed the crouched form and glowing red
eyes of the latest to be inaugurated to the rank of ANBU captain.

The boy stood frozen for a second, sword
still extended, in the perfect finishing pose. He watched him intently, watched
him hesitate between sheathing his blade and continuing his attack.

Finally, Uchiha Itachi straightened and
pulled a cloth from the dark pocket of his uniform. Slowly, he wiped the blood
staining his katana then sheathed it fluidly in the wooden casing strapped to
his back. Sharingan remained locked to coal black.

�Hatake. You�re late.� The cold voice of their boss cut the tension between
the two captains better than any weapon could have.

Kakashi dismissed the younger man and
stepped around the body and the murderer, moving to stand in front of the boss.

Despite the straight lines and sharp
angles, his face always managed to seem smooth and polished. It had taken
Kakashi longer than usual to get used to how well his boss used his facial
mobility, get used to expressions that looked like they were held in place by
wires pulling at his skin. They still vaguely disturbed him but they no longer
caught him by surprise.

His slow blink hadn�t been caused by the
boss�s �friendly� smirk or by the familiar greeting, but rather the little girl
sitting in his lap. She was new.

He couldn�t tell how old she was, she was
small and dressed in lace and ribbons which made her seem young. But there was
something in the way her skin had drained of color but her eyes remained steady
as she stared at the dead man on the floor that made her seem old. Maybe the
look had something to do with the way the boss�s hand seemed to be just
slightly lower on her hip than was appropriate, or in the way it dug into her
slightly, forcing her closer to him.

He mentally shrugged it off. She was no
concern of his.

He met the boss�s eyes, daringly
languorous. �Mm�� he agreed blandly.

A pale eyebrow arched on the older man�s
forehead. �Mm? That�s all you have to say?� There was
a dare in there, a challenge maybe.

Kakashi sighed mentally, noting how Itachi
moved to stand at anticipatory attention behind the right shoulder of the
boss�s chair. He really didn�t care for these games.

�Mm�Haruno-san,� he amended.

Haruno laughed, suddenly and harshly. The
little girl cringed, ever so slightly, her pink eyebrows drawing together
nervously over sea foam green eyes. Uchiha didn�t flinch.

Neither did he for
that matter.

His shoulders slumped back into a slouch as
he slid his hands deep into the pockets of his black uniform pants. Simply waiting.

�See darling,� Haruno began, nuzzling the
little girl�s ear. �I told you he had a sense of humor.�

The girl looked up at him apprehensively,
studying him with eyes far older than they should have been. He arched a pale
grey eyebrow under her scrutiny. Her eyes hesitated on his white vest and the
paleness of his hair.

Blood stains.

She met his eyes for a second before her
gaze scampered to the floor by Haruno�s feet. She nodded slightly to the man�s
comment and his thumb ran lightly along her side, pleased.

She looked uncomfortable.

He remained silent; his boss would get to
the point eventually, and the less he said the faster that would be. He wasn�t
in any real rush; it wasn�t like he had anywhere to be or would have cared if
he had, he simply�disliked being here. He would have far preferred his long
walk back in the cold under the night sky.

�Hatake, do you know who this is?� His boss
asked, jostling the little girl slightly to draw attention to her. She bit the
inside of her lip, the skin at the corner of her mouth dipping in like a dimple
where her teeth pulled.

�No, I do not, Haruno-san,� he replied,
following the proper formula blandly. He didn�t care for formalities; they were
trivial to him. But his boss insisted and bending was just so easy.

He was pleased, Kakashi could tell from the
way his attention shifted slightly out of the malicious spectrum. Haruno�s
attention was focused almost fully on him, but he remained well aware of Itachi
at his back. It was the child he ignored completely, treating her like an
inanimate accessory rather than a living being. He shoved the girl out of his
lap.

She stumbled but caught herself quickly,
like she was used to it.

�This is my daughter, Sakura.� He
introduced her grandly, like she was an award he had won. The girl curtsied
immaculately.

�Someday, all of this� he gestured grandly
to imply the house and the lands �Will be hers.�

Kakashi frowned mentally at Haruno�s tone;
something wasn�t quite right in it. His outward expression remained one of
extreme boredom, he simply watched from half-lidded eyes.

The mob boss�s eyes settled on his own,
smugness sparking in them.

�Someday, all of you will be hers.� He
continued, not so subtly reminding Kakashi of the bond he had walked into, the
contract that had been tattooed in red ink on his left shoulder. The same
contract every ANBU member signed.

He looked down at the girl; she was staring
at him from beneath her eyelashes, trying not to get caught. He nodded to her,
acknowledging her.

Color crept back into her skin, ever so
slightly.

He turned his attention back to the men
behind her.

�Your next mission starts now.� Haruno told
him, finally getting down to business. �You are to take Sakura to our apartment
in the city and care for her for the week.�

Kakashi didn�t blink, didn�t question or
ask for explanation. He simply held his hand out to the girl. She hesitated,
looking back to her father for his approval. He nodded slightly to her and she
moved slowly, her small, trembling hand engulfed in his much larger and gloved
hand.

Without a word, he turned and left, taking
her with him.

��
��

Black spots swam behind her widened eyes as
sharp pain shot through her body. She coughed violently, choking on the air
that had been pushed out of her lungs. Blood splattered on the cold concrete
floor of the warehouse.

Sasuke stared at her, waiting for her to
recover rather than pressing his advantage.

That was the third solid hit he�d landed in
the past half hour.

When she recovered enough to speak, Haruno
called off training for the day.

��

His fists slammed with muted thumps into
the punching bag, the reverberations of the collision echoing up his arm
satisfactorily. Sweat slid down the side of his face, down the curve of his
spine as faint pains shot through his muscles.

When they had started, he�d gotten this much
of a work out training with Haruno. But he had outgrown her, with remarkable
speed, and found himself needing to add to their routine once he was home
again.

Sasuke had reached the extent of what he
could learn from Haruno, he knew it and it frustrated him. Finding someone new
to help him, who would quickly push his abilities to the level he needed, was a
daunting but now necessary task. The only person he could even think to ask was
their deceptively mellow English teacher, but instinct told him that that would
be a dead end and a waste of time.

A final hit sent the bag swinging and he
turned away for the day, picking up a towel to mop the sweat from his face and
neck.

When he�d arrived here, Ino had told him
that there were many organized crime groups in the city. All he had to do was
find one strong enough that would be willing to bargain.

He threw the towel into the laundry hamper
in the bathroom before his drenched clothing followed.

He�d already managed to hack a few criminal
records without really knowing what he was looking for. He was sure that now
that he had a better idea, he�d find someone soon enough.

He fiddled with the taps until he found a
comfortable temperature and stepped beneath the spray, appreciating the
pressure of the water against his skin.

��

The water pouring from her leaky kitchen
sink was cold, the hot water tank having already been exhausted by the other
residents of her apartment building. Haruno didn�t care though, cold water was
more appropriate anyway.

She filled a large glass, and then
carefully filled the grooves in her plastic tray with varying amounts.
Satisfied, she turned off the tap as tight as she could and carried the two
containers to the table.

A large, thick sheet of Fabriano Artistico
traditional white cold press paper had already been laid out, an extensive set
of watercolor paint tubes and a case of soft bristled paint brushes with it.
All supplies she�d pilfered from the art room earlier that day.

With a very hard pencil and a very light
hand, she sketched the general outline of her work, basing it on the
preliminary layouts and sketches she had strewn around the table.

Perusing her colors, she settled on a tube,
dripping it into various grooves on her tray, mixing the consistency she
wanted.

Finally, she picked up a large, clean
brush, and dunked it into the glass of water before washing the surface of the
paper as the steady drip from her kitchen faucet filled her ears.

��

Itachi stumbled, tripped on the first step leading
up to her apartment. He�d used up his coordination for the day earlier on the
commission he and Kisame had been sent on. His body wasn�t used to going this
long without rest.

The keys shook ever so slightly in his numb
hands; his body heat had shut itself off. Once the door was open, he headed up
to the third floor, the top floor. Turning to the only door on the right side
of the hall, he unlocked it; he always had to unlock it.

She had her back to him, crouched over some
work that was taking up the entirety of her kitchen table. Again.

He closed and locked the door behind him.
She hadn�t even looked up.

He shrugged off his dark coat, hanging it
beside her red one by the door, before untying his katana from his belt. There
was an odd clacking noise that made him grimace as the hilt hit the bare brick
wall. It was an undignified sound, an unfamiliar sound no matter how often he
heard it. It was just not the sound he was supposed to hear when he retired the
extension of his arm for the day. He hated that sound.

She refused to put up a rack for it.

He moved around the table, collapsing into
the chair opposite her. Her green eyes flicked up for a second, seeing him but
not looking at him.

Her hands switched paintbrushes, switched
colors and she set to work on a new level to her painting, looking up every now
and then.

He was too tired to ask what she was
working on; he was too tired to ask about anything. Steadily, his eyelids
cemented themselves together, like someone had drawn a line in superglue along
his bottom eyelid.

Haruno watched him as he fell asleep, each
glance turning into a new layer in her painting.

She�d chosen watercolors for Itachi,
building him in shifting, translucent layers.

She�d tell him in the morning. If he remembered to ask.

She hoped he didn�t.

She wasn�t sure what he was going to ask
her to do once he knew Sasuke had outgrown her abilities.
- 5
- 6
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Hindsight's 20/20