Do you ever think about kakashi, with his constant unwavering attention to the right hand, his murder weapon, the weapon that never gives him the gift of peace, the hand that time and time again plunges him away from closure, the hand that relives its tragedy in a handful a strangers, and a handful of not. The hand that repeats its crimes through his dead friend’s chest, the hand that shakes and relinquishes its duty only after, to let him realize what he has done, and what he has had to do. The hand that refuses to be clean, the mind that refuses to be rid of. To be separate than. To frustrate and agonize its owner. Do you ever think about kakashi
Sasuke is learning how to be gentle in the ways that count. (On dos!Sasuke and affection)
It is so very easy to look at Shikako and feel jealous. The freedom with which she interacts with others, the way she seems to pull new techniques, new seals, out of nowhere, it’s all quite enviable. Sasuke likes to think that since joining ANBU he’s become more secure in his own abilities, but sometimes it's difficult for him to not notice the tremendous growth she’s experienced since leaving the academy, and compare it to himself. He always seems to be lacking in what counts.
Now is not one of those times. The sleeve of Shikako’s cloak, clutched desperately in his grasp, is becoming damp with the clamminess of his hand. Shikako is breathing- in through her nose, out through her mouth- and trying hard to compose herself. She’s embarrassed, perhaps a little ashamed, to be seen in such a vulnerable state. By him or by the Hokage, he’s not sure. Maybe both. Her hands have been inside of you, elbow deep in your guts, he should say. Some tears aren’t going to change her opinion of you, she’s seen worse. But Shikako knows this already. She’s smart, smarter than him, even. She knows, and yet, you’ve seen me worse. He should say. He wants to say. You’ve seen me at the edge, stopped me from making irreversible choices, made some irreversible choices of your own, for my sake. He should have more to offer her than this. A hand, not even sure enough to touch her own. He should be able to give her more comfort than that, but he knows that he can't, won't, doesn’t know how. The truth sits, a guilty weight, heavy in his stomach.
He listens, with building dread, as she recounts a face-off with a god of death and silently curses the world for his inability to exist in a capacity that allows him to protect those who are precious to him. It must be some cruel joke, at this point. It had been too close, a near miss. Next time, will she make it back? What will he do, if she doesn’t? He doesn't know. He hopes he’ll never need to know. Shikako is a grounding point, a team member, a friend. He needs her to survive, for both of their sakes. He shakes off that train of thought, it will take him nowhere. Shikako is here, in front of him, trying to calm down and he is being ordered to protect her while she… recovers. The order is redundant, he would have done it regardless, but it might be more for her benefit than his.
He leads her to one of the in-village ANBU waypoints, carefully observing her every step. She is unsteady, but determined. Tired, too. He worries, for her, and as they enter he reaches again for the right words. Fumbling mentally, he finds he lacks the ability to articulate any of what he wants to say, instead imitating the sorry state of a fish on land, mouth opening and closing and opening and closing- it’s a bit embarrassing. He opts instead to watch her, and he notices, suddenly, that her hair is down. It’s been down, this whole time, but it’s different, somehow, to watch her try and act like her normal self with her hair like that. It looks out of place, but that can be remedied. A three-strand braid, simple, but efficient. He’s done it a million times Before- but while the memories blur, his fingers have not forgotten. He pieces through the strands of her hair as gently as he can. This, at least, he can offer her. He ties off the braid and hopes upon hope that she understands.
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