A.N: I've been in a rewriting mood as of late (the second chapter of Gaea is well under way, and if I don't rework it I might be upping the rating). Anyway, just a note, Erinuki means the very best, or elite, and probably doesn't quite make sense when put with jōnin, but it's a made-up rank anyway. I certainly hope this is more lucid than the incomprehensible slur of its predecessor, the original Left Behind.

He was sixteen when he went from the smiling boy to the cold, distant killer, whose name thousands would curse to the heavens, begging retribution for their lost. For years, he had been beaten down, abused, hated for the power that lay deep, bound to his soul. But he'd seemed unshakable, smiling with inane grin and light of life shining in his cerulean eyes. For years he would honour the Yondaime as all would, and would lay the Amethyst flower for admiration, or daffodil for respect. Each year the Kyuubi died.

But the day of his sixteenth birthday, only three days before he'd been named erinuki jōnin, he walked up to the podium, and along to the altar that held the flowers to honour the great hero, and place atop the gathered flowers a short branch from the bilberry bush. To those who knew its meaning it was horrifying. That little piece of wood, plump fruit still hanging on, symbolised a single accusation; treachery.

That night, the boy took poison, strychnine, and was found thrashing about on his apartment floor. It was the first try, and most certainly not the last.

Bodies littered the ground, carelessly strewn in heaps of offal barely fit for the carrion birds that even now circled over head, their hawkish calls the only sound over the deathly silence that followed the storm. For storm was what he was known, Konoha no Makaze, the devil's storm of Konoha, and this was his aftermath, rotting bodies unburied on the ground. Several of the party wretched and the pineapple-haired jōnin fought off the urge to do the same. The stench of death was all-consuming, and he wasn't surprised when the lavender-eyed girl to his right fell to her knees. He wanted to lead her back to camp, take the pure girl away from the bloodshed, but he pressed her on. They had to check, they couldn't leave their comrade's body to vultures overhead.

One s-class nin, nine erinuki-jōnin, forty jōnin, one hundred and fifty tokubetsu jōnin and three hundred chūnin; the surveillance figures were recalled perfectly in the strategist's mind, the oncoming force had nearly equalled Konoha's own. He knew this was were Naruto had laid the first trap, so it was no surprise that they'd entrenched so far out of the pass, but since he saw no sign of the blonde, it meant he'd at least pushed them back.

The group of them had merely been a token force to guard the pass should Kumogakure try anything in Konoha's time of weakness; they were of course the allies of Iwa, but since the Rock were considered the threat, just he, Hinata, the Uzumaki and three squads of nameless, faceless ANBU were placed to delay the entirety of the lightning country's army. A fool's errand, but it had to be done, after all, he was assured by their great lead, shinobi treaties were so volatile, what was the probability of them actually assisting in the attack. "Very likely," the bitter thought came unbidden as he gaze upon the mass of bodies, entirely chūnin, he noted, so they must have held back the major power of the force.

Bitter guilt lay harsh upon his mind when he thought of his own actions less than a day ago. The sighting of the ninja army had startled him so that he had agreed unquestioningly when the jinchuuriki had ordered him and the rest of their group back to safety. All he could think about was the odds of their survival, what was one sacrifice to save the rest? A voice from a long forgotten age, where that blue-eyed boy still smiled, rebounded in his head. "Sensei said this, 'Shinobi who abandon the mission are called trash, but those who abandon their comrades are worse than trash!'"

So they'd cleared the lightning pass, retreating several miles, yet they could still hear the first signs of battle, the screams of dying men as they met that unstoppable force. It was only then, as the thunder rumbled without the rain, that Shikamaru had felt the weight of his own cowardice. He'd wanted to live, and for a brief moment that had overridden his sense of duty to a comrade. Knowing the odds of the blonde's survival, He'd sent an ANBU squad at full pace to Bel-roc, three miles behind the front line against rock, to send word, but no request for assistance. It was live or die here. Looking around, the jōnin had a feeling they might live.

The grass turned to stone underfoot, signifying their entry into the pass, and the horror intensified. This was not merely a massacre, now it was bloodbath, there was not a sign of the chalky white that naturally coloured the rock, the entire world seemed painted a crimson red. Dismembered limbs lay scattered on the ground. Men lay frozen, lost in their last moment, vainly trying to fight the scarlet tide from their abdomen. The smoke of charred flesh stung the eyes and nose, fires still raged where fuel gave them life and some men were not even human any more, their bodies turned to stone, a bastardised immortality.

A group were still alive, among the jōnin, writhing and screaming in agony, but Shikamaru saw the light leave their eyes as they approached. Poison obviously, just one of the many thousands of deadly arts hidden in the young blonde's arsenal. Each step brought the body count higher and higher, and each step brought the hope in his heart higher that Naruto might still be alive, that his long-sought for death had yet to take him.

His subconscious mind estimated that they'd seen nearly three hundred and thirty bodies so far, and they had yet to reach the peak of the pass. If he was right, then this was the largest force the blonde had fought and survived, for it had been a year since the complete destruction of the sound, the pretender to Orochimaru's throne had claimed the title Otokage, boasting an equal power to that of the deceased sennin. Naruto soon put his village to fire and sword, and disembowelled the ambitious leader. And now the power of the Cloud was stripped by the blonde, whether he was alive or dead, they'd never recover.

By now they were at the rise, and his eyes had closed unbidden, afraid of what he might see, a living man, or his bloodied corpse on the ground. Opened, his sight took in that true terror before him. Blood-soaked, he was a sight to behold. There was barely a sign of his sunny-hair, so mingled with his enemy's blood was it, as were his clothes so bespattered that not an ounce of their former quality stood. They'd caught him at his final kill; they could see him with ensanguined boot kick free his blade from the final body.

Five hundred kills. He would have liked to have said that significantly increased the number of souls torn from life by the all-powerful shinobi. As it was, it had barely risen by a fifth. But such thoughts were soon dispelled from Shikamaru's mind. The man had turned, and the Nara prodigy was met with a demon's blood-fixed gaze…

He awoke short of breath. Each year, to the day, that haunting memory of his own cowardice had plagued his dreams; for today would be the fourth anniversary of when, aged nineteen, Naruto had destroyed the army of Kumogakure no Sato, and earned Hi no Kuni an empire. "Though that wasn't how history told it!" He'd called into the streets the truth, that he was a coward, that he'd run, but the council would not listen. They'd never acknowledge the 'demon' as anything but a cruel and malicious evil. Almost all, subconsciously, knew the truth but only those truly close to the blonde would admit to it. They say that history was written by the victor, how wrong that was.

His wife stirred a little beside him, his drawing away the blankets had exposed the thin shift below it. Her blue hair scattered cross her cheeks and her brow furrowed in anxiety, a slight whimper escaping her. He brushed away the hair, calloused hand deftly stroking her cheek, before he lent down and kissed her on the forehead. The lines eased at that and he felt satisfied he'd dispelled the oncoming nightmare.

The festival was a joke. The Rokudaime Hokage, Hyuuga Hiashi, would not allocate public funding without the Uzumaki as part of it. The shinobi who supported Naruto, however few there were, would not attend, eliminating the strongest and most celebrated warriors of the leaf, many of whom had refused the mantle of Hokage before the Hyuuga had reluctantly accepted. It was a civilian-held festival for a shinobi-led war, and it was disgusting. Only the thirty-strong shinobi council condoned it, and even then they were divided, with a few of the Rookie nine already taking their roles as clan heads.

But he hated it most for two reasons, the lesser of those was it sent him into fits of self-loathing, he could never forgive himself for abandoning a comrade, and the oath to help the young man had still been left undone. The other reason was that he knew, in his bones, that Naruto would try to kill himself this day. They could watch him, they'd try at least, but the chance of success would be minimal. In the end, they'd never have the heart to tell him stop, and it would in all probability be another sleepless night in the hospital lumpy chairs. He was at least thankful that under Tsunade's unending influence, there were doctors sympathetic to the Uzumaki's plight.

Weary of all that would happen, and knowing their lay no respite in sleep, he heaved his body from the warm confines of his bed and opened the door. Silent, he threw on old clothes and crept through the door. It was unfortunate that the squeak he had spent so long cultivating was the same one that woke Hinata.

She rose sluggishly, the hour of early morn weighing heavy on her limbs, and looked over at her husband, who merely mouthed "Got to clear my head." She twisted back the covers and sat up, dainty toes nearly reaching the floor as she sat up. As she pushed herself off the bed she shivered at the unforgiving chill of the wooden floor. She brought herself up on the tip-toes (he was a little taller than her) and planter a tender, lingering kiss on his lips before passing over to the drawer. She lifted the thin shift she slept in and let it tumble to the floor, exposing her nude body to the light of the moon. She then chose her clothes for the day and dressed.

Hyuuga Hinata and Nara Shikamaru, a love born of shared adversity. That was their whole life in a single phrase, they understood each other perfectly, they shared the same fears, the same nightmares and the same shame. He would give anything to protect her from the harsh realities of the world, but that once naïve innocence was lost at the lightning pass, seeing the pain of war, for the survivors, as well as the dead. It was only a year after that terrible battle they were wed, each of them keeping their own clan name, and their union was complete.

The seals of his own design needed no lock to their door, as they headed out to the streets, still waiting for dawn's first rays.

They were not surprised when, at three in the morning a bedraggled Uchiha Uzumaki Sakura opened the door without so much as a knock. She was the closest to the blonde, they were as loving as any siblings could be; she'd even taken his clan name so strongly did she care for the blonde. It was only she who could convince him to go to their get-togethers; it was only she who he'd visit uninvited. And it was only she for whom he'd put love before duty. She was the closest he had to family. It was the opinion of all that they truly were brother and sister.

"Shikamaru-kun, Hinata-chan," she inclined her head to both. Looking closer at her he could see the red streaks and swollen eyes that showed she'd cried. There was no doubt for her instincts were perfect; Uzumaki Naruto would be in hospital tonight. "You can't sleep either?"

"How can we?" It was Hinata who answered, and Sakura let them in without another word. She led them into the main living room, before disappearing into the kitchen. Minutes later she returned.

"Bad dreams?" One would almost consider Sakura's words more a statement than a question, with the consistent regularity that this situation occurred. She looked at the raven-hair first.

"I dreamt of the pass." He need say no more than that, the meaning of those words was deeper than any could imagine, the horror of the battle had passed into legend, only a few short years after its completion.

"I dreamt of his sixteenth birthday…" Sakura tensed when she mentioned that, the boy's first fall. "… I have always wanted to know what that branch signified." When she saw the pink-haired girl's face at the question old habits resurfaced and "Butdon'ttellmeifyoudon'twantto," came out in a single breath.

"No, no, it's okay, I'm just surprised no one's asked me before, but it seems appropriate it would come up now." She sighed now, her eyes a little wistful. "You know what Naruto is, don't you?" At their nods she continued, "And you would understand if he hated the Yondaime, correct?"

"I don't see how he'd betrayed Naruto though." Shikamaru had understood what the pink-haired Kunoichi had told him, and had always assumed he'd missed part of the puzzle.

"Kazama Arashi was his father." The stare the girl levelled them with showed no lie. Shikamaru's answer had finally come.

"Blood-traitor…" The woman nodded, and his wife seemed close to weeping, biting back a sob. He threw a comforting arm around her; the blonde had an uncanny ability to send women to tears.

"He told me he'd learnt of it from Jiraiya, while they were travelling, and it shattered him, to know the cause of his suffering was his own kin." She looked into a well-stoked fire in the hearth, and the reflection of the dancing flames shone in her eyes. She straightened. "So what'll the plan be for today?"

"The only thing we can do, stay with him, reassure him, keep him calm." There was venom born of self-loathing in the shadow-nin's voice, a helpless frustration giving it a hard edge.

It was a weary silence that fell on the Uchiha household, and it held there until dawn's light.

The rain was unceasing that night, as if the heavens wept in cosmic sympathy for the man who cried out to the darkened skies to let him die. The thunderous roars silenced the man's tortured howls as he lay there in the darkened street, but lightning flares showed to those watching the contortion of his face, furrowed deeply from the excruciating pain.

Of those that surrounded him it was Rock Lee who ran towards him first, closely followed by Sarutobi Asuma and Hatake Kakashi. The giant of a young man held down the blonde's arms while the elder's held his legs, even weakened by fits of insufferable agony the great warrior was still of mighty force. A bead of perspiration ran down the thick-browed man as he struggled against the convulsive form, but he held firm, allowing a teary-eyed Sakura to come near.

She scanned him with chakra, her manner growing progressively calmer as she allowed her instincts to take over, and send her emotions down into her body deep; they'd have to be dealt with later. As she looked upon his left arm she gasped. A significant portion of the flesh was dying, and she could sense the poison. The Kyuubi's chakra was already active, suppressing the spread, but it had not reacted fast enough to expel it. She could see why he was screaming. She looked at his face and felt the tears well up.

"Stupid girl, he needs you NOW!" Her inner self cut in quickly to cut off any emotional outbursts, and in silent agreement she wiped aware the moisture with a forearm. She had work to do.

Sealing rapidly, the memory of the s-rank jutsu ingrained into her mind from years of practice, she whispered under her breath, "Dokunuki no jutsu." Within moments of her contact bubbles of caustic toxins formed within her chakra as the poison was slowly extracted, and her patient calmed. Once she finished, she bottled the extract and quickly examined it. She gasped at her results.

"What is it?" It was Shikamaru who asked, it always was.

"Viper venom, the strongest form, it is a terrible cytotoxin." She heard the sharp intake of breath from the Nara heir, and turned back to the patient, keeping her scientific nature alive, marvelling at the Kitsune's rejuvenation of the necrotic flesh. Musing on her little brother's choice of suicide was too painful a thought to dwell. Unfortunately she didn't share this sentiment with the shadow-nin

"He was that desperate?" She felt the tears rise again and she tried to fight them down but they came full force, and already salty streaks began to stain her cheeks.

"…Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper as she choked back a sob. A cytotoxin was a terrible way to die, a poison that actively digested the flesh in the body. She gazed down lovingly at the man below her. With the ensuing pain he could not have considered survival. She moved to his side quickly as his body stirred.

"…Geji-….mayu?" The childish nickname provoked a swell of emotion of the Taijutsu Master, as did it to all who remembered the boy's former manner. The blonde tilted his head to the right and lifted his body, pushing down on the ground. He practised sounds again; his voice was still hoarse from unending screams. "Sakura-chan?" He sighed as he slumped back down again. "I'm alive?" The question seemed more directed at himself than any other person.

He got up again, trancelike, and as some spectral phantom, wordlessly left the scene, his body soon consumed by the night's shadowed embrace.

None made a move to stop him.

Jiraiya was now almost as strong as he was thirty years ago. His body had so long degenerated over decades of dependence on his summons that when he'd first trained the second blonde though his ninjutsu skill had continually surpassed his physical strength was barely half its former glory. But that had been the better part of a decade ago and Jiraiya had all but imprisoned in Konoha since then. Training was all he could do, he wouldn't take another apprentice. He'd had the best, not another could match it.

He was officially retired so the only time he was going to get anything like a good fight would either be a war or hitting the road again; and neither of these options were possible thanks to one man. Uzumaki Naruto was the sort of deterrent the jinchuuriki were aimed to be and more. He was powerful beyond all imagination, with the capabilities of performing feats of godlike ability that awed the rest of the world. His power dwarfed any other of the demon prisons and it wasn't just the extra power of the bijuu king. He'd seen him defeat the carrier of the Hachibi without a single use of scarlet energies. Not only was he powerful, he nearly equalled his own demon, a feat unheard of.

And yet he was a broken man, and for that he tied the aged shinobi to the leaf, for he could not abandon him when at any moment he could be breathing his last breath. He owed his father that much at least, though the younger man's temper would be volcanic had he known that Jiraiya stayed for the sake of the Yondaime, so great was the son's hatred of the father.

Jiraiya knew what was wrong with the boy, and it did stem at least partly from the man who formed the Shiki Fuin that brought the Shinigami to the human plane and sealed the Youkai in his stomach. The hatred of the villagers had always worn at his spirit and shackled everything he did, but there was always was Kazama Arashi. A man to aspire to, a great hero who led his people as any great warrior should; that was the inspiration for the boy's attitude and ceaseless smile that had kept him sane. That mask had slipped at the knowledge that it was that courageous man who ruined the boy's life, but he still had one last hope.

For all his life, through all the trials and suffering, he'd held onto to the belief that his family had loved him; that they hadn't thrown him away like the trash he was always called. And Jiraiya himself had in his folly crushed that belief with the single fact of his lineage. He'd thought the boy would be happy, but years of concealed expression and deceptive masks had kept from Jiraiya just what he had thought of his now known-to-be father, and rage had flared in his eyes.

At that moment the boys hopes and dreams had turned to dust, he'd lost his self-worth, his brash nature, his joie-de-vivre. He became colder, more reserved and soundless killer. He'd had his moments of lucid smiles but he seemed hell bent on power. His purpose was later learned to be so he would be strong enough to kill himself.

When they returned Jiraiya had noticed the boy's change as they passed through the gates, his frozen eyes, his tensed body. He tolerated not a single glare that singled him out. But the white-haired sennin never saw the true extent of the boy's damaged psyche until that fateful, day when the bilberry bush fell, and he'd taken on the brunt of leaf's full rage.

It was days later when Shikamaru's wife ran in to him, clearly excited.

"What is it?" When Hinata got so excitable (at least in this sense of the word) it rarely meant anything good for the lazy genius. In the other sense of the word it was very good, so very good indeed. He groaned, thankfully she didn't hear.

"It's Hanabi-chan's sixteenth birthday in a week…" She squealed happily, but Shikamaru merely raised an eyebrow.

"And?"

"… and she practically begged me to get Naruto-kun to come." Now that was odd. Hinata's sister, though having inherited a little of her sister's shyness, and later acquired bubblier side, was famed as being utterly untouchable. For her to be so interested was a strange thing indeed. Hell when did she ever meet him? As if reading his mind, the famed strategist truly believed she could do that, she answered.

"She's been talking about him since they were on a mission six months ago, after her unit were injured thus on leave." It was B-rank in tea country and they completed it easily, but she came down with a fever in the middle of the forest and he nursed her back to health over a week. Her voice quietened a little, a wistful smile on her face, and she continued, "She thinks she loves him." The aforementioned bubblier side to Hinata rose to control as she went on into a chorus of appreciative coos and slight squeaks of 'so romantic' and 'oh they're going to be so cute together!'

But Shikamaru was struck by something, "Sixteen that's a bit young isn't…" The glare he was sent cut off any continuation of that thought.

"At sixteen she's old enough to marry and that's that!" When the usually tender girl gets fierce he knows to back down. "Plus she's the first girl to ever show any romantic interest in him. We can't afford to blow this chance if we want him to stay alive…" Shikamaru knew what she meant. To find an unmarried woman without any hate directed at the blonde shinobi was a rarity, to find one willing to be with him rarer.

And now it was a tactical field, his speciality, and he had to make it business. "How are we going to get him there?" Hinata first thought he was trying to find holes, but looking in his eyes, the focused concentration shone in his eyes, and she knew he was on her side.

"We ask Sakura-chan to convince him."

"How do we get him to interact?"

"I'll talk to Hanabi-chan, tell her to tread carefully." He smiled at that, the blonde would undoubtedly be a little skittish at any signs of overt affection.

"How do we get them alone?" A glint of amusement was in the shadow-nin's eye.

"Balcony, I can guarantee on the night of the full moon Naruto-kun will be there by the end." Shikamaru nodded understandingly, when the parties raged both of them would end up outside, weary of crowds. He'd just have to hang back awhile before joining him.

"I think this might just work." His wife gave a smile at that.

She was giddy as a schoolgirl. That was the only way to describe it. She, a married young woman of twenty-three years was giddy as she glided through the forests of Hi no Kuni. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that they could make her brother happy to be alive. And for that she'd give anything. However minute the hope was it made her want to find the younger of the Hyuuga sisters and kiss her out of sheer gratitude.

She was, at that very moment, heading south of Konoha to the favoured haunt of both her brother and the Sandaime's grandson Konohamaru. It was a four-mile clearing in the middle of a forest, surrounded by mountains on all sides, and was roughly an hour's hard run from the hidden village of leaves. Once she reached the basin it wouldn't be hard to find them. Unlike usual spars, between the only two active s-class ninja of the leaf even the highest rank jutsus were used. Things got pretty destructive.

The two were almost brothers, for it was Konohamaru who trained with him ever since the blonde began to strive for true power, and thus their styles match perfectly, however different their elements were. If Sakura would say anything about the nineteen year old, though she understood Naruto's heart, it was Sarutobi Konohamaru who understood his mind.

One thing that was surprising about him was that, instead of modelling himself after his grandfather (though he knew his clan's techniques) it was in fact the Sandaime's teacher who he idolised; the Nidaime. The boy's perfection of the suiton element had, at least according to Tsunade (the last living person to have seen it), surpassed the old master. He'd also defeated Hoshigaki Kisame in a one-on-one duel, proving his power and earning the s-class rank. When he improved the Nidaime's signature jutsu, the water shockwave, the slug sennin gave him the forehead protector her great-uncle wore, the metal snugly fitting around his jaw.

As she ran across a rise she saw spotted an explosion on the horizon. Due to the relative improbability of them being in any one place she'd refrained from using the Shunshin, but now she could see them she flashed through the seals and willed herself across that last mile. Within thirty seconds or so she was sitting on a branch, watching the fight begin anew.

"Katon: Hibashira no jutsu" The first of the techniques came from Naruto, flashing through seals a towering pillar of fire erupted from the earth, a maelstrom of volcanic power that grew and grew, reaching the skies before in a roar of burning wind rushed towards his opponent.

"Suiton: Daisui Shoha," the great water shockwave; at the last seal an equally massive tidal wave rose up behind him, and hastened towards the oncoming inferno. In the final clash a scalding mist erupted, settling on the whole plane. Sakura was high in the tree, above the boiling steam, so she could not see what happened next, but already, as always, she was awed. Two s-rank jutsus performed; two of the most powerful in fact, and the fight had barely begun. Had she the skill to perform such techniques her chakra level, which was suitably impressive, was insufficient for even a single one. And yet she knew from past experience it barely affected the two warriors hidden in the fog.

Though she had a vague feeling they were putting on a show just to impress her.

"Kuchiyose: Hōyoku!" The deeper voice of her brother sounded first, followed closely by his partner.

"Kuchiyose: Tenshi no gin'yoku!" They were definitely doing it for her benefit, she realised as she saw the two break the line of cloud-line like birds, a pair of silvery angel's wings sprouting fully from the brown-haired boy's back, and wider-spanning phoenix wings from Naruto. She remembered when they first used the technique, a little over three years ago, only Naruto had been able to bear the pain of the morphing, the growth of new bone to accommodate the wings had been too much to the sixteen-year old Konohamaru. Though if you saw them use it now, neither would even flinch.

The blonde arched his back and flipped over, the wings angling to shoot him forward, and as the seals started, she recognised them from the snow country. "Hyōton: Kokuryūbō Fusetsu," A giant red-eyed black dragon formed of ice shot off towards Konohamaru, who charged at it. A the last moment, who drew the second gift of the Godaime, the restored Raijin Ken. With a swoop, a dive and great battle cry he decapitated the ice-formed beast, and then, blade held in hand he dashed at his elder, flying above. Naruto, demon-blade Muramasa in hand, plunged to meet him.

It was all over in a single pass, Naruto's sword drew blood across the younger nin's chest, and both, wings cowed, flew down to the earth. Seeing the end, Sakura rushed over to help, shouting "Kono-kun!" He winced at the sound of his childhood name, but shook of the thoughts of it. His girlfriend of the last six years, Moegi, still called him that and he hated it. "You idiot get up!" Sakura as a medic-nin would never get any "angel of mercy" titles that some got, a point clearly illustrated when she pulled the powerful shinobi to his feet by the ear, his face creasing in pain.

There are three pains that cannot be given a trained resistance without a form of self-mutialiation: pulling the ear is one of them. The others are a poke in the eye, and a kick in the balls. The brown-haired nin was happy the woman didn't use any of the other two, though he wouldn't have put it past her. He could take broken ribs when he was fighting, the adrenaline driving out the pain from his mind, hell he could stand on a broken leg when push comes to shove, but a kick in the balls when he's calm? He'd take a stabbing anyday.

He felt the tension in his chest relieve as the woman's mystical palm technique took effect, the wound knitting together perfectly. She may have the bedside manner of an enraged ape, but her skill as a medic-nin was unequalled, and in a time that rivalled his brother's own regeneration he was healed.

"Arigatō gozaimasu, Sakura-san!" He bowed as he thanked her, his tone formal. He was rarely, if ever, formal.

"So why are you here, since I assume you didn't arrive just to heal the brat?" The mocking barb did not go unnoticed by the youth, but he didn't seem to react besides stomping his feet a little. For a battle hardened warrior, in peace time he was still a petulant kid.

"I'm here to invite you to Hanabi's party tonight." She made sure to fix him in the eyes, and she could see him tense. He hated large groups, they terrified him. Sakura knew it was because in his life a crowd hid the knife aimed at you, so he was never relaxed, even among the closest of friends.

"I'm not going," his voice was barely above a murmur but she still heard it

"Yes you are!" It was a common dance, and never went in his favour.

"No!" More forceful this time, he'd always raise his voice, thus she went softer.

"Please go…" she grabbed his hand, her thumb rubbing the back, gently reassuring him. "…for me?" That usually got him, a flutter of the eyelids, a pouted lip, it was all good.

The indecision flashed in his eyes. Argument wasn't really necessary, and for something like a party he wouldn't put up much of a fight. She couldn't stop him torturing himself, a bitter thought that she was reminded of everyday, but she could tell him to at least try and enjoy life a little. She flashed him a smile as he hung his head in defeat and muttered an inaudible "Fine."

She kissed him on the cheek before she left, standing on the tips of her toes (he was a fair bit taller than her) and whispered, "Love you," into his ear.

Her arm trailed his as she moved to leave, but he locked fingers with hers, stopping her. She turned, unsure of what to say, but was quietened when he spoke. "Goodbye… Nee-chan." She nodded, still grinning lightly, and turned back.

She was halfway through the seals for the flash step when she snorted, suppressing laughter, at Konohamaru's, "So whipped." These days, she needed something to laugh about.

Thinking on it, he had only ever called her by so affectionate a name once before, almost seven years before in fact: a week after the fated day that brought onto him the full force of the villager's wrath.

"Uzumaki Sakura paced through the dense fog, nervous memories of a mission long ago brought eagerness to her step as she headed for home. The enveloping darkness and the shards of scattered thoughts of the nukenin Momochi Zabuza brought terror to the young chūnin's heart. She felt it beat hard in her chest, and with trained will tried to calm herself. "This is stupid", she told herself, "You're in Konoha and you're safe." The words, however true they rang would not quell the tidal pull of fear, and she hastened. She would not dally in the heart of the mist a minute longer than necessary.

"So the demon's slut is here?" She heard the gravely voice laugh from the night's quiet shadows and turned to face the accuser.

"Feisty little bitch isn't she?" Another voice came and she was terrified, the nightmare of the utsusemi technique brought forth the fragmented recollections of their first encounter with Orochimaru.

"We'll soon show the little tar a good timet." The ardent lust wasn't lost in the last voice, and it disgusted her. The vile, slimy little bastard was willing to do, that, to her and the coward would not show his face! But anger turned to terror as they closed in, the faceless masks that hid the wraiths of the Konoha elite brought into her the basest of all fears, the unknown. She screamed once, and a hand slipped round her mouth, silencing her, and two other's grabbed her arms, binding her in place.

"Well what have we here? Let's have a look at these." She could here the repellent sound as tongue sloppily ran across lips, and the free man, who seemed the leader, grabbed her blouse and tore at it, exposing the lace of her bra beneath. She thrashed as she tried to escape from the intensity of his gaze through that damnable mask. Her strength was still by far the inferior of most jōnin, and these were no exception. She couldn't cry for help, she couldn't fight back. Tears rose, she was helpless.

She knew she was strong, her strength would equal about half of the jōnin in Konoha's force, but convulsive force could not dislodge the vile creatures who held her down and stared with wanton gaze at her chest. She couldn't get away. She tried to scream, but the sweaty palm held her firm, she tried to wriggle out of their grasp, but it seemed to excite them further, she saw the hands of her attacker reach out of touch her. She closed her eyes, but nothing came.

The leader howled in agony and she saw kunai hilt deep in his palms, wires tied on quickly spread, attaching themselves via sticky seals to opposite walls, suspending the man like a marionette under some bizarre crucifixion. And then the final part of the technique reared, the he shuddered in an electric storm as the last Raiton seals released, and his body danced in galvanised torture. There was but one who knew a technique like that, and as the fog cleared at his mere presence she saw him, claws and fangs borne in primal fury, a dance of crimson flame about his body. Her brother was finally here.

In a flash of light she was cradled in his arms safely, lovingly, and those damnable attackers had erupted in gouts of flesh and blood. She snuggles deep into his chest and softly cried, letting turbulent emotion flow out of her, to the comforting sound of his voice.

"It's alright nee-chan, they can't hurt you now…"

To hear him say it again had brought such lightness to her heart that she hadn't felt in a long time. It was good to know, that through all things, he stilled called her family.

Why did his sister have to get convince him to come here. It was unbearable! So may people, so many memories attributed to each and every face. Endless streams of apocryphal smiles and controlled eyes wearied him. At least he got to see his friends again, got to chat with Sasuke or play Shogi with Shikamaru, though he'd likely never beat the genius strategist, and even talk to the now-drunk Kiba who was trying to get Lee to drink. Luckily Lee now knows what happens when he drinks and was with equal fervour resisting the temptations offered by alcohol.

It was in this situation that he left the crowded halls of the Hyuuga complex and was now resting his arms on the rails of the balcony, and gazing up at the stars above. He took solace in the mystical jewels that hung in the sky, and it quelled the yearnings in his spirit, more so on a night like this, when the moon was full and the sky clear, there was a kind of magic in the air. He let the tension fall from his shoulders and quietly relaxed. He did not sense her until those dainty fingers entwined with his.

"Hey…" Her voice was soft, charming, and he had absolutely no idea why he girl was here. He'd talked to the girl often enough outside of work, but without any perceived degree of intimacy. Hell she was still a child, and he old before his time. Why would she want to be with him?

"Shouldn't you be inside, playing the gracious host?" She stuck her tongue out at him because of that, it made her look cute as a button, though she generally was anyway; a stark contrast from the graceful, serene beauty that marked out the Hyuuga clan.

"But I am, as a host I should check up on the welfare of all my guests." The protruding lower lip silenced any thought that she was even trying to sound mature.

"I am fine, you can go now." A dismissive hand from the blonde caused her resolve to melt a little, but she steeled again. This party was about her becoming an adult in the eyes of the law, and she wanted to be seen by him as such.

"You are not." She, still holding his hand, brought herself a little closer to him, and she saw him tense a little. That was not what she wanted. Recalling a time she'd seen his sister calm him, she rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. His shoulders slumped, and he gave a weary smile.

"You…" She wondered what he was going to say to her, recalling several fantasies where he had professed his undying love, but quickly dismissed them. He had stopped though, and sighed, muttering out a weak "… you have soft touch."

"Thanks…" at least she thought it was a compliment.

"Why are you really here?" His voice was colder now as he turned to her, and she wavered under the gaze

"I…" She considered coming up with an excuse, but under the sudden scrutiny could not form the words. "I wanted to see you…." Her voice was soft and trailed off as she looked down at the floor. She hated that he had this affect on her; she hated feeling like she was still a child.

"Why."

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU DAMN IT!" She held a hand over her mouth in shock; she herself was surprised by the sincerity of those words, the surety with which she said them clouded over any doubts she'd held over recent days. The anger-field courage had risen unbidden when she thought of him accustomed to loneliness, and now she felt like she might have driven him away.

But it was not so. He merely turned back to the night sky and leaned once on the rails. The emotion in those pearly eyes and brimming tears had unsettled him and he had to rally the strength to speak. He had not the experience to talk of such matters, but he had to try.

"You are very beautiful…" He did not look at her as he spoke and she felt put-out, but neither had he taken away his hand; he let it reach out behind him as it was entwined with her own. "… and you could have any man you want. You would be happier with another."

"Don't you think I should be the one to decide that?" He looked at her and her heart leapt in her chest as she saw the faint traces of a smile grace his lips. He opened his arms and she ran in, embracing him tightly, feeling the warmth of his arms envelop her, caress her, protect her. She allowed herself a grin.

As he held Naruto wondered what he'd let himself in for, but hearing the impassioned words of the girl had touched him in a way he'd always hoped for. The feeling of her nuzzling against his shoulder was one that he though he would cherish for ever; the warmth generated by every inch of the slender body that pressed against his own felt so perfect, so right. He made a silent promise to himself then. Come what may, she was now one of his precious people, and he'd do anything to keep her happy. Maybe, one day, even love her.

But all good things must invariably come to an end, and once more the guests in her house called Hyuuga Hanabi back to her party. She looked up at him, willing a silent question asking if she could leave him, and he gently nodded. Rising up on the tips of her toes, she planted a soft, sweet, lingering kiss on his lips before pulling away and turning back into the mansion.

Had she looked at him one last time, she would have seen on his face the ghost of a vulpine grin from better days, and flickering in his eyes, the ghost of an old warrior's pride.

It was six months later that he finally returned to that festival, and all were surprised to see him there; the better part of a decade had passed since he had last climbed the steps to the altar that held the Yondaime's body. Grumblings murmured throughout the gathered crowds from those who remembered the fiasco of earlier years but most held their tongue. It would not do to publicly insult a legend, however vilified he was.

Some strained to see the flower that he held for their departed hero, but he guarded it close to his chest, keeping it from view, as if taunting them with the possibilities it could entail. Would it be a peace offering, some apocryphal show of admiration for the so-called 'greatest of the Hokages?' or would it be another insult, goading an escalation of violence.

He held it close even as he ascended the steps and walked across the dais to the altar. He did not bow, he still refused to bow to the man, yet no arctic fury shone in his demeanour, so blood-lust in his aura. He seemed surprisingly calm, so it was with great hope that those close to him walked up to growing pile of flora a single mallow flower. And they smiled, happy for him.

It's message, you ask?

"I forgive you."

A.N: You do not know the stress and panic those last two scenes caused me. They had to be perfect or the story was ruined and I procrastinated and procrastinated, until last night I buckled down and just did it. Please tell me what you think and any suggestions to me made. This Fanfiction has caused me hell. I want to know if I did it right.