Collapse

Synopsis: Pity-verse (5+ years later). They've created a fake reality. And that fake reality is on the edge of collapsing.

I said Pity would never have a sequel.

So *cough* this is an alternate continuing of the story.

Those of you who enjoyed making up another ending to Pity; don't read this.

For those of you who haven't read Pity, I would suggest that you read it, if only for some backstory of how they got into this situation. Be warned, you might be utterly confused in parts if not.

:/ if it sucks too much I'll take it down. I actually have issues reading particular stories like the one you (may or may not) be about to read.

This story has a more mature tone, same as in Pity if not a tad bit darker.

Because this is a *cough* alternate continuing of the story the time placement is about five to eight+ years after Pity.

I hope you enjoy. (btw reviews are appreciated)

Z.Z~~~

~0000~

Chapter 1: What ifs

She is a traitor.

The reality of her actions is a weight and that weight presses so heavily in her chest that she can no longer look at her own reflection. If she does, she sees where once upon a time a gleaming, thin sheet of metal—that represented everything she ever stood for—rested above her brow.

She remembers every lesson of loyalty from her academy years, every speech from her blond-haired friend and every lecture from her white-haired sensei. Sometimes she wonders how someone like her could go astray. She'd been surrounded by loved ones and had kept to the narrow road, never strayed or experimented from the teaching like others in the academy. She'd sat through every lesson, eager to be a true shinobi. Her second teacher had been a wanderer but the woman had kept to her beliefs no matter what happened.

She remembers once having that passion; the determination to set right the wrong, to provide justice to the innocent. But it was gone. It had disappeared when her world became a swirl of lighting and demon chakra; when she met a half-dead, blind man on the side of the road. She just hadn't felt it go. But it had slipped through her fingers and had been replaced with something so dark it shook her very core.

Every belief, every stature, every morality has now been swept away from her. All sense of condemning and justice has left her with just one notion. She is a traitor.

She knows the only way her life is going to end is on the end of a rope. She knows that the time will come when she will be forced to pay for her crimes. She fears it. She dreads it. But she acknowledges the fact that she deserves it and will never escape, though she knows she will try.

When the betraying thoughts had begun, she'd thought it only as medical curiosity.

Could she heal the eyes of a man that was blind?

Any man, not just him…

That's what she had told herself over and over again; until it was ingrained in her skull.

But the truth, it never left. It was still there at the forefront of her mind. She refused to see it. That was when her lines began to blur.

It had only gotten worse. Every night symbols of medicine ran in her head. Her hands could twist and bend to the desired seals with ease. She knew all her years of formulas and late night readings were ready. All she has left to do is put her plan into action.

She can do it. She can bring back the power he lost. The sense he is missing.

Then again, she can still kill him. Move her hand around his throat and squeeze with all of her might and chakra; because she knows if she continues she will never be able to turn back. The thought of hurting him rips her apart. She promised herself she would never love him, she would kill him if she did. But now…her mind freezes and she hugs herself; things never turn out the way they're supposed to.

In a selfish way, she wants to prove herself. To prove she is still the best medic-nin. But if she were really to examine her desire, she would know she wants him to see her. To see who she really is. To see how much she has lied to both him and herself. To see the life they've had together. A peaceful world built on top of a fake reality which is slowly falling apart.

She used to tell herself, if he remembered who he was then she would kill him, because she knew he would kill her. She'd walked in on him, several years ago doing katas. She'd been stunned. Her heart had become a cold stone in her chest, she knew it could only be a matter of seconds before he turned and casted a fire ball in her direction.

He'd turned, noticing her presence. His arms had dropped and his lips pulled into a tight smile.

She didn't know how long she stared. She didn't know how long he waited for her to say something. She wanted her little peaceful world to stay the way it was. He hadn't tried to kill her, so he had no idea she was a ninja. She decided she was going to keep it that way.

She'd finally burst into fake giggles, which really hinted more at hysterical laughter. She asked him what kind of dance he'd been doing.

His smile became less tight and he walked closer to her. His hand had slipped through her hair and he had hugged her to his chest.

He never answered her question though…

It had been a month later when both of them ended up with several bottles of sake. At first, neither knew what to do with change in relationship, but both gradually and gratefully accepted it.

That is what had truly led to her downfall.

Now she can only think of what ifs. She wants him to see. For the sake of everything that is between them. But she fears he will abandon her; just like everyone else has (they hadn't even looked for body parts.) Things have changed though. Even if he did leave, she knows she'll be alright.

There is barely anything holding her back.

Death is something she deserves, abandonment she expects. The thought of bringing a mass murder back should be the thought that stops her.

The thought of thousands of more people dying because of her used to make her want to stop. But the horror of it has gone. Just like the years dwindled down her pink hair to a pale, off-sheet, tint of pinkish white the years have dwindled her determination to remain true to her beliefs and her once powerful, pristine body to that of a civilian.

The only thing she has is her chakra, which has grown only more powerful and more in control with her constant shielding of it. That is the only thing a medical-nin is supposed to need anyways.

She sighs and her hand instinctively rubs her stomach.

The only thing that is stopping her now is the question of what will come next.

Would he slaughter, torture or throw her against the wall? Would he use his eyes to put her in an endless dream, stealing all sanity from her?

She doesn't mind them, but she does have one question preventing her from going any further in her plans.

Would he kill what's in-?

A long arm wraps around her, right below her chest and above her stomach.

Soft lips press against the side of her face and another hand brushes her hair back. His murmurs are quiet, reassuring that everything will be alright.

She hadn't known she'd started to cry. To sob. Her whole body is shaking in his loose grasp.

To her shame she only cries hard. Everything inside of her is snapping. He's so different than what he is supposed to be; her reality is so warped that she doesn't remember what truth really is.

With every one of his sweet words and chaste, tear eating kisses her resolve is shattering.

And that, in turn, is shattering her.

~0000~

He can't do anything. He can only try and hold her in his arms but each sob cuts him deeper than the last.

He doesn't know why she cries and the townsfolk may say they know, but they don't. Her cries are not natural. The agony in the sobs doesn't come from an infliction of pain upon or in the skin. He's heard every sound imaginable and he knows exactly where to place hers.

The night of the massacre his brother had made those same cries.

It was the cry someone made when their entire world was being destroyed before them. He's destroyed enough worlds to know the sound by heart. Hearing it from her is just a continuous reminder of what he has done. He doesn't know what's causing it. But he has a guess.

It's him.

He is the one causing her so much mental anguish. He doesn't know why. Perhaps she knows who he is and what he's done. Maybe it's because she feels she has betrayed her late husband. He doesn't know. He wants to know. But he fears her answer.

Because if she tells him, and he's right, he doesn't know what he will do. Somehow she's become his world. The night he committed his last sin and laid awake, feeling the alcohol leave his body, he'd forced himself to decide what to do. He'd been putting it off for too long.

He has fallen for her. And he had promised himself he would kill her if he became attached. He's become so attached though that he cannot bring himself to destroy her, at least more than he already has. Out of his own selfish desire he wants to keep her alive. He has wanted a life a peace ever since he'd taken is first kill. He knows he doesn't deserve it but now that it is in his grasp he isn't going to let it escape.

He fears he won't even give it up for her sanity. Which he feels is slowly ebbing away from her.

She finally stops, her breaths equal out and she leans her head into his.

A short sorry is all that escapes her lips and even the small word cracks in her throat.

She deserves to be happy. He should have left a long time ago. But it's too late. That's what he tells himself. He can't leave her now, not at this time.

His only choice is to try and help her. She is cracking and splintering, breaking into pieces. He doesn't know how to fix what is broken. He only knows how to break, and he knows how to do that too well. He doesn't understand what he can do. The fragile, civilian woman in his arms would surely shatter if he tried anything more.

He just holds her. It's the only thing he knows to do. It is the only comfort he remembers from his past. His mother's simple embrace as blood gushed from his eyes as he tried to forget the face of the dead man.

He murmurs words of comfort he knows won't do anything. She brushes her hand against his face and asks him to help her with picking flowers. She is leading him away by his hand before he can ask the question that has been on his mind for months.

He lets it be; if she doesn't wish to speak about the past he won't force her. He understands that sometimes silence is the only thing that helps when darkness clutches at the mind. He also knows that too much silence will crush her.

With the utmost care he squeezes her hand. She is far too fragile for someone like him.

He can only hope it will pass. That they will continue in this life of peace. That nothing will disturb them.

He is always listening though, for something from the past to come to their village. Any shinobi would probably still recognize him.

If word ever reached Madara… He shudders at the very thought of it happening. But he has planned for every possibility. If they have enough time he will find someplace safe; preferably in the sand or leaf village vicinity. He believes the other villages have lost their alliances.

He would then offer himself to the hokage of his homeland. Hatake would surely enlist his help or at least hear him out. He would then provide the man with every jutsu he knows and all his information concerning his insane family member.

But if Madara got to them first.

He would take her life before Madara tried anything. He would jolt her entire system with his chakra or snap her neck. She would die quickly without pain or knowledge. No one deserved that man's torture. He wouldn't let her become an experiment or temporary entertainment. He could do at least that much for her, for them.

He plans to do everything to stop it from coming to that point though.

His fingers stroke her wrist; her skin has become much softer. His hands have stayed the same, if not rougher. With coarse thread sliding across his palms and fingers they have never gotten the chance to heal or soften. It is good, he has decided, because if he ever needs to wield a weapon again he wouldn't be at a complete disadvantage.

Her hand slips from his. He hears the tiny crunch of flowers being snapped near the roots. He holds the wooden basket up subconsciously; he's done this chore so many times there is no real need for thought. But the lack of weight jolts him from his contemplations.

He knows she is there, his hearing hasn't warned him of her departure or anyone's arrival. But she is no longer picking flowers, nor completing the routine of dropping the plant life into the basket.

He waits. It is several long moments before he hears her shift towards him.

Her soft voice asks him what he would do if he could see. The tone is gentle; he knows he doesn't have to answer.

He doesn't know the answer. He knows there is no way for him to gain his sight back, the possibility has never occurred to him. He has never planned for it.

She whispers she's sorry, it was a rude question.

But he shakes his head; he has never considered such a possibility. There were so many choices, so many different possibilities. He would be able to finally meet her. He would be able to see her face, to see her real reactions, to see her eyes. He would become reliable; he would be able to fix broken things around the house, cook and clean. He would even be able to see his-.

He stops. It is false hope. What ifs were sources of evil. He had been taught that since childhood.

He is blind—He will never see again—He doesn't deserve to see again.

Remembering he is being watched, he smiles. He would help her choose flowers, he tells her.

But then he pauses. She shouldn't fill her mind with what can never be. He extends one of his arms out and she walks into his embrace. He holds her tight.

He cannot say what he wants her to understand. It would hurt her, because she isn't use to such disheartening wisdom; he doesn't want her to be use to disheartening things.

He tilts his head and speaks into her ear the only words that will gently get his point across.

"I don't need anything more than this."

~0000~