Moon's Light, Reality's Dream

Author's Note: Hey guys! The eighth chapter is here. We're excited to reveal it and we really hope you enjoy it!

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Moon's Light, Reality's Dream
月の光、うつつの夢
Chapter Eight - 役に立たないキス (Useless Kiss)



忘れないで　痛みを知るアナタに惹かれた事
Don’t forget, I was captivated by you - who knows pain.



Hitori could only lie there, waiting for the quiet embrace of death. If she felt she'd earned anything from this entire mess, it was an ending. She would rather die than return to Suna, than face the emotional turmoil that she knew would be waiting for her. It was too late for anything else. That knowledge only cemented in her mind the moment Yomi’s fist connected with her face. Once, she'd believed Danzou's assertion that she was untouchable and flawless. She'd liked that feeling, as if she was unreal, untouched by the world she moved through like the wind.

Kankurou’s strong grip was on her now, lifting her into his arms, holding her gently, but firmly against his chest. She recognized the scent of the wood oil from his puppets and the faint, comforting smell that seemed to come from the desert itself. Hitori eased her eyes open, slowly looking around with what would have been surprise if she'd had the strength to feel it. There were so many Suna black ops crammed into this small clearing, tensed and just waiting for a fight. Her eyes fluttered closed again as her thoughts hammered away at her. She wasn't worth all this trouble.

“Come on,” Kankurou said in a quiet voice, one that she didn’t recognize. His
dark eyes finally met hers as she forced them open yet again. She felt unbelievably drowsy. “What the hell is your problem, Hitori? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that how Anbu works? The only place you failed your mission is in your own mind.”

“I’m…” She shook violently, the raging fever and re-opened wounds, on top of the beating at Yomi's hands, all combined to take a heavy toll on her. Each ragged cough proved the damage, as more blood stained her hand. She couldn’t force out the apology. It was probably for the best, since she’d have to wonder if she truly meant. Too many emotions were twisting within her, and yet fear seemed far away now.

“Don’t talk.” Kankurou’s hand moved across her back as he eased her up, and allowed her head to rest against his shoulder. She didn’t pull back this time, at peace somehow, yet vaguely haunted by the thought of returning to the desert. Soft, slow steps gave way quickly to a fast pace, and she knew exactly why that was. “Even though you failed to 'save Gaara', you did succeed at abandoning him.”

“It wasn’t my job to stay after that…” Apparently, she had been wrong about more than she first believed. “I should be dead.”

“No, you should live. Always live, Hitori. That's the only chance you're ever given to correct the things you see as your mistakes.” He felt her fingers tighten in the fabric of his sleeve. Kankurou wondered if she knew that he understood her sense of failure. It was deeper for him, since he'd not only failed his village, but his family as well. Temari’s rage and fear were palpable from miles away. And when he returned, completely useless and near death, it was only to discover that he'd also failed himself.

“If you're this angry, then the Kazekage must be furious with me,” Hitori muttered, choking on her own words. She felt overwhelmed by too many things, and the intensity of her fever had to be what was causing her eyes to water. She saw herself utterly pathetic, useless, and part of her resented Kankurou coming to save her. Somehow she'd even managed to fail at dying.

Kankurou grimaced, his steps never faltering as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Actually, he demanded I go to you, and that I bring these black ops with me - not for your protection, but in case you resisted.”

“That's a lie…” She rasped weakly as her eyes closed, unable to stand the tickling sensation when they were open. “…he would never…”

“It’s true that I'm the one who saw you sneaking out and requested to bring you back, but he was well aware of your condition and concerned about you to begin with. So, when he found out that you were making your way back to Konoha, which you didn’t even reach by the way, he was both angry and worried.” Kankurou stopped speaking as he looked down at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a reaction like that from him. He’s changed somehow, and for the better.”

She paused, hesitant to even speak again. “It's unlike you to be so nice to me…”

“Why wouldn’t I be nice? I’m always nice to wounded, ignorant inu-faced Anbu who give up and lie down to die like dumb-“

“Ah, there's the kabuki boy I know.” He smiled, kicking off of a branch. For once, he was glad to hear the annoying nickname.

He let the comfortable silence remain as the quiet sounds of the forest faded with the last of the trees. The run back to Suna was done swiftly, one mile after another vanishing beneath their seemingly untiring legs. Hitori slept restlessly through the entire run there. Kankurou wasn’t surprised, though he checked on her frequently to reassure himself that she wasn’t dead.

He wet a scarf and placed it against her head, hoping that it would somehow keep her cool in the blazing heat with her fever reaching its peak. The medicine from medical ninja seemed to be working. The only time he disturbed her was to get her to drink a little water now and then.

Even when asked if he needed help, Kankurou refused. He couldn’t let her go. As much as she irritated him, he liked having the stupid girl around. She'd become a rival to him, and someone who was obviously important to Gaara, as well. That alone made her different than anyone else.

A heavy sigh of relief came from him as they entered the village and made straight for the Kazekage tower. He was thankful one of the other ninja offered to go get a medic, and concentrated on bringing her back to where she belonged. The door to the study sat slightly ajar, allowing Kankurou to ease it open with his shoulder and keep from disturbing Hitori.

Gaara looked up from his mountains of paperwork at the quiet sound of his brother's entry. His turquoise eyes narrowed at them, taking in the unconscious body lying limp and battered in Kankurou's arms. Her pale skin was marred with bruises and cuts, fresh blood stained her mouth and dripped slowly from her hand. The girl was trembling and sweating as the medicine fought her fever. He eased out from behind his desk and walked over towards them.

“Thank you, Kankurou…” Gaara stood there for a long moment, a worried frown creasing his face as he studied Hitori’s pained expression. “Who did this to her? These marks are new…”

“It looked like another Anbu. We didn't get a chance to see much but the aftermath. Probably her punishment for returning to Konoha,” Kankurou laughed, sarcasm heavily laced through it. “…Some welcome home, huh?”

Gaara’s eyes closed for a moment. He could only imagine what type of operation Anbu Root was, especially with Danzou as the founder of it. His calm voice broke the tense silence of the room. “That's an easy enough answer. She’s not returning to Konoha.”

“I don’t think she’ll be okay with that." Kankurou's eyes went from Hitori to his brother as he nervously shifted a little. "She wants to leave because you…” His words trailed off there. It was a relatively new happening, one that made him completely uncomfortable with actually saying the words.

“I died.” Gaara walked past his brother, not stopping until he reached the hallway. “Take her to my room. The hard bedding from her previous quarters isn't acceptable, and would only slow down the healing process. I’ll speak with you later." He turned slightly to meet the other's eyes, his glinting with a flinty sort of resolve.
"There are some things I must tend to…”

Before walking away, he looked down at the Anbu again. "Also, make sure that the room is heavily guarded by black ops. I don't want her trying to run away again."

Kankurou raised an eyebrow, watching Gaara leave before making his own way towards the sleeping quarters. His brother was being unusually generous. Of course, he was looking after the girl’s best interests, but he’d never been one to ‘tend to’ anything. The way he'd said it made Kankurou curious, wondering if Gaara would actually use the Kazekage card to do something about this situation. All things considered, it would be completely justified.

He turned dark eyes down to the form resting on the bed before him as too many thoughts raced through his mind. Gaara's actions, and the Anbu's reactions, had him puzzled. What was he failing to see?

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“I have a cat waiting for me at home,” Nisei laughed to herself, picking up the kitsune mask and glaring at it - the Anbu mask that had once belonged to Kakashi. She looked up at the ceiling as she contemplated what the hell to do now that she'd be forced to see him, interact with him, for the next few days. She honestly didn’t want to. Nisei would have preferred to carry on her usual, unhealthy way of living with her past - letting the nightmares come, and watching them pass, breathing a sigh of relief until the next one.

When she had first found Kakashi’s mask half buried in the mud, her natural instinct was to pick up and bring it with her. The next notion was to destroy it, which she had attempted once and failed at doing. Then came deciding what to do with it once she realized she was going to keep it. Her thoughts and feelings had swayed from returning it, to keeping it locked away and trying to forget him. The second had proved impossible to accomplish. In order for Nisei to ever face him honestly, she realized that returning the mask was the first step towards reconciling herself with the past. Besides, it didn’t belong to her anyway. Keeping it any longer was entirely out of the question.

The short walk through Konoha at night was pleasant and peaceful. The usually warm weather was now tempered slightly by the evening's cool breeze. Dirt clouds puffed lightly beneath each step as she took her time, practically dragging her feet lazily towards the street lined with closely spaced apartments. All ninja received their perquisites and luxuries, if a luxury is what you would call it - paper thin walls and small compartments in a single, four walled room. Most of these apartments were shop owned, and Kakashi’s was aptly located above a bookstore.

Nisei stopped and raised an eyebrow at the irony of it. This wasn’t the first
time she’d had to bring something to Kakashi, but her mind seemed to have missed the complete amusement of this particular ninja living above a bookstore, until tonight. Now all she could do was put a period next to the question mark in her head pertaining to Kakashi and his immense liking for love novels. Even back then, as she recalled, his room gave no indication of such a hobby. Not a single book had ever been in sight.

The room itself was simple, she remembered. There wasn't much to it, which fit since he probably didn’t spend much time occupying it, anyway. It couldn't have been more unlike her room with it's disarray of puzzles and magazines, and the occasional plant that Nisei was likely to start talking to as she tended to it.

Sighing heavily, she willed her feet into carrying her up the stairs and down the tiny hallway to his door. It was left slightly cracked open, as she expected it to be. One, she didn’t have a key, and two, this man should not be walking whatsoever. Tsunade had lectured her about it repeatedly when Nisei had returned to the Hokage’s office for the medication.

Kakashi’s body was nearly drained of all its chakra, which could have resulted in killing him. Supposedly, he’s now suffering a case of severe vertigo upon standing, which causes dizzy spells and headaches. Nisei didn’t have to wonder if he was regretting it, because he never would. Everyone would have died if he hadn’t pulled that explosion into another dimension. He would see the injuries to himself as unavoidable collateral damage.

‘And yet he seemed perfectly fine as he walked across the hospital room to flicker on the lights and prove me a moron’, she sarcastically mused to herself as her arm nudged the green door opened. The light tan colored walls were the same, and oddly enough, she felt a brief wave of comfort wash over her at the warm familiarity. Some things had changed, she discovered quickly, at the sight of the chaotic stacks of books, like tall towers staking claims over the eastern side of Kakashi’s room. Whichever room this might be. It was hard to tell with all that clutter.

“Nisei…” Her eyes widened slightly at hearing her name, and she turned, looking up to see the figure leaning in the doorway separating his bedroom from the room she was in. Nisei didn't bother to reply, she just knelt slowly and rested the bag on the table. Both of his eyes settled on her now. “You’re a few minutes off of that very precise schedule you tend to keep.”

“And you seem to be up and moving well. I'm sure you're perfectly able to take your medicine.” She set the two pills down on the table, looking in the general direction of his face, but avoiding his eyes. “There you go.”

Quietly, like some sort of unearthly apparition, he moved across the room and sat down at the opposite side of the table. With a steady hand, he placed both pills in his mouth and swallowed them dry. The mask remained behind her back, her nervous fingers touching softly over the shape of its nose. When would be the right time to bring up the past? Her fingers tightened on the porcelain when a small moment of habit overcame her, and she finally met that pair of onyx and crimson eyes.

“Ne, Nisei-chan, how are you recovering…?” His voice dropped as he studied her openly. He knew that Nisei would have a difficult time being here, though she tried to hide it from him, but there was something else tonight. He narrowed his gaze, as he often did while in deep thought, and her pale skin seemed to grow even paler. She was definitely hiding something from him. His eyes darted to her arm, which had lingered behind her back for quite some time now, and watched her slowly reveal the item, placing it on the table between them.

Kakashi recognized his mask as soon as her hand moved away from it. His silver eyebrows drew together with a mixture of confusion and touched realization. It was odd to be suddenly reacquainted with an object that had caused him grief on so many occasions. His thoughts turned to Nisei, and he nearly questioned her position on masochism. That day had seen the worst moments between them, but she'd kept his mask. He found himself more curious about the woman he'd once regarded as his student, and even occasionally as a child. Despite her skill, he could never let himself fully see her as someone who could handle being Anbu. And yet here she was, an Anbu captain, as if defying him and his conscience with her accomplishments.

“Why?” He stared into her golden eyes, as if he'd be able to see what was going on within her mind just through sheer force of will. Nisei had never admitted to loving him in the past. At that time, he had merely assumed, but now, with so much hatred evidently boiling in her blood, he questioned himself again. Why would she keep such a thing? His eyes hardened, as his gaze turned dark. He could barely stand it. How much could she hate him?

“I’m returning it.” It was hard to force herself to voice even those few words, but she did it without stuttering, which was something to win an award for, given the current situation. Before he could say anything else, she climbed back to her feet and headed towards the door. “I’m sorry about everything. I was wrong, back then, for trying to stop you. It was not my business, nor my place to get involved…”

She was grateful that her back was turned to him. It almost saved her from the embarrassment of knowing that she had let her emotions eat at her again. Tears waited impatiently to fall as she closed her eyes tightly, and tried to will away the images of disaster: blood staining his grayish white Anbu uniform, slender muscled limbs covered in dirt, cuts, and bruises. She remembered staring into the glowing Sharingan, and feeling struck by the sheer power she could feel as his chakra roared. An overwhelming feeling struck her chest as her hand clenched the fabric of her shirt. Even as hard as she willed it to, the pressure there wouldn’t go away.

Was she still breaking from that day?

White roses cannot blossom under a crimson moon… The steady rhythmic drum of her heart beat filled her ears, as sound and sight, reality itself, momentarily escaped her. Even if I try to forget the anger on his face and the smell of war that radiated from his body, I will never forget the image. It’s the image that breaks me. Nisei wasn’t sure what was real anymore or what feeling she was supposed to feel. Fear flooded through her. The fear that if she opened her eyes, she would wake up to that day and have to live it all over again.

“I became an Anbu captain to follow in the footsteps of the person who influenced me above all others at the most crucial point of my life. Even though you were no longer there, I still pretended as if-” She stopped suddenly as her back met the wall. His fingers closed tightly around the sleeves of her jacket, and she held herself still. The grip on her arms was firm, unbreakable. Suddenly, rationality escaped. A vague, unsettling sense of déjà vu hit her, and she tensed against the Jonin.

“That’s enough, Nisei…” Kakashi murmured, his voice soft against the shell of her ear, as he tried to hold her still, forcing her into an embrace. He didn’t fail to notice that her hands were pressed to his chest in a feeble attempt at stopping him. “I’m sorry for how much I’ve hurt you. The things that were going through my head that day were difficult to deal with it. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I was wrong.”

He didn’t have enough strength to pull back, not with her like this, with the mental and emotional damage he’d done to her finally so visible to him. She shoved weakly at his chest when he pulled back enough to see her face. Kakashi felt guilty as a new thought corrupted what he'd been pondering. He shouldn’t find her beautiful when she was a mess like this, with tears streaming down her face and that fixed angry glare refusing to let him ignore her dislike for him. It couldn't be right, or even slightly okay to feel the need to consume another person, to make claims, to act as if she was always his. His to abandon and then take back whenever he felt like it. He was painfully aware, especially in this moment, of just how wrong he could be at times.

Gently, his hand slid along her cheek and held the left side of her face as he leaned down, pushing all coherent thought aside, and not allowing himself to acknowledge what his own mind was telling him. Guilt, and everything else, fled the moment his lips met hers.

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Dun Dun Dun ! Chapter is over, but Nine is already being worked on. It'll be up within the next two days. Tomorrow or the next day. Thank you very much for reading!