#Solstice - 5: Forgotten Archive

[alphamecha-mkii]

Solstice - 5: Forgotten Archive Concept Art by Paul Chadeisson

[bobbietables]

SOLSTICE - 5: Forgotten archives

[zecorsican]

SOLSTICE - 5: Forgotten archives

[eskalations]

It wasn't until nearly a month after the birth of their second daughter that Roy and Riza began questioning if they had bitten off more than they could chew.

A series of oneshots documenting the life and times of the Amestrian First Family.

A/N: I REALLY struggled with writing this chapter. I don't know WHAT it was but I was seriously dragging my feet with this one. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it. I try to keep Roy and Riza as in character as possible, but with two children added into their dynamic, I feel like things just inevitably end up changing.

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Comments and kudos truly make my day!

~

It wasn't until nearly a month after the birth of their second daughter that Roy and Riza began questioning if they had bitten off more than they could chew.

Winter was still in full swing in Central. With the solstice only a few days away, children littered the streets with wide eyes and mittens, skipping to the park as if unaffected by the dreadful chill. Their parents followed closely behind them, sharing grins at the youth's enthusiasm in the face of the bitter cold. It was a delightful sight.

Despite this, Roy Mustang couldn't help but scowl at the scene as it played out from beyond the windows of his home.

Usually the solstice was a time of great cheer in their house. Once Elizabeth had made an appearance in their lives, Roy and Riza found themselves enjoying the festivities that surrounded the holiday season. With a child now in their home, they had taken to decorating the house and purchasing small gifts to celebrate the day of cheer – something they had never done before in the entirety of their relationship. With another daughter now brought into the world, they figured these celebrations were only going to become livelier.

That was until the flu struck their house.

After the birth of her sister, Elizabeth had returned to daycare for a short time. With Roy gone back to work and Riza working from home, the parents simply could not juggle both a near toddler and newborn baby during the day. They thought this would be a good idea, since this would keep Elizabeth on schedule, and she would get to enjoy the winter season with her friends. However, they were wrong – very wrong.

Upon being picked up on her last day of daycare before the break for the solstice holiday, Elizabeth came down with a slight sniffle. Neither Roy or Riza thought much of it, noting the cold temperatures outside and theorizing that possibly the chilly weather had just caused her nose to run.

Then the fever started.

By the time Roy was able to take Elizabeth to the doctor, it was painfully obvious that the young girl had come down with the flu – and a rather nasty case of it, too. The doctor had warned them to be sure to keep the two sisters apart, but the damage had already been done.

Once Mae started sniffling, they knew they were in trouble.

Lucky for them, Mae's case was not as severe as Elizabeth's. However, having two young children ill at the same time, was putting their parenting skills to the ultimate test.

With Roy still having to work during the day, Riza was mostly on her own with the two girls. The dark bags under her eyes and pallor of her skin was proof enough that she was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. That's why, upon his arrival home in the afternoon, Roy immediately jumped into action.

"Elizabeth's fever is up again." Riza bounced Mae up and down in her arms, trying to get the infant to stop crying. The young girl's cheeks were flushed with fever. "Mae's is also higher than it has been for the past few days."

Roy gave his wife a sympathetic look, watching as she shushed the baby in her arms. "You look like you haven't gotten much rest today."

Riza huffed, the sound imitating a weak laugh. "Well, I certainly didn't get any work done. Neither of the girls took naps so I've been back and forth all day."

Roy could tell his wife was beginning to feel out of her element. The hair she usually styled carefully every morning, poured out of a clip settled behind her head in a frizzy, blonde mess. She hadn't even bothered to change out of loungewear before starting her day. She was still wearing the long sleeve cotton shirt and pajama pants that she had been wearing when they had gone to bed the night before.

Noting the look of exhaustion on her features, the man stepped forward to give her a kiss on the forehead, careful not to disturb the screaming infant. Riza melted into his embrace, resting her tired body against his sturdy frame. Roy nuzzled his nose into her hair and inhaled before stepping back, his warm palms firm on her upper arms.

"I'm going to fix up some broth for Elizabeth and something light for you and I." Roy's hand came up to brush a few errant strands of blonde hair away from her face. "Let me take Mae while I cook and you can stay with Elizabeth."

Since their daughter hadn't greeted him upon his entrance into the home, the man assumed she was still bed bound as she had been when he had left earlier that morning.

Roy expected Riza to fight against the arrangement. Ever since Mae had been born, mother and daughter had been inseparable. It was quite different from when Elizabeth had first come home, but Roy figured it was because Mae was more colicky than Elizabeth had ever been.

Grateful for any help she could get, Riza passed the warm bundle of blankets to her husband. "I just fed and burped her but she didn't keep much down. Let me know when she starts fussing, so I can try to get her to nurse again."

Roy nodded, giving his wife a mock salute. "Yes sir!"

The woman rolled her eyes at the Fuhrer's actions. "Thank you, Roy."

Her husband simply smiled in response.

Dinner was much more difficult than it usually was. Between a squirming Mae, howling in her mother's arms and a fussy Elizabeth, who still refused to eat her meals, the two parents were about ready to call it quits. Luckily, Elizabeth was able to take a few spoonful's of broth in the end, but still gagged while swallowing them.

With the girls' temperatures, up so high, Riza suggested giving them both a cold bath. While the medicine the doctor had given them to battle the illness was supposed to fight the other symptoms, the one thing it wasn't helping with was the fever. Thus, why the physician had suggested the cold bath option when the girls' temperatures got too high.

Roy decided that said physician had never been tasked with getting two very sick girls into a very cold bath. You would have thought a war had broken out in their bathroom from the shrieks the two children were letting out. Roy sincerely worried that the two bodyguards who were on duty that night were going to report them if they kept screaming so loudly.

"No! No!" Elizabeth kept repeating as Roy attempted to lower her feet into the water, her small toes barely grazing the top of its surface. Her fingernails dug into the fabric of his button down as she fought to hold on to him. "Too cold, Daddy! Too cold!"

Roy sighed, holding her to his chest once more. "Lizzie, I know it's cold – but you're fever's too high. After this, you'll be able to sleep better."

"No…" The young girl whined, her sweet voice raspy by the stuffiness of her nose and the swollen glands of her throat. "It's too cold."

"It has to be cold, Lizzie. It's going to make you feel better."

While Roy argued with their five-year-old, Riza fought her own battle with their newborn daughter.

With a basin in the bath to better situate the baby, Riza had lowered the young girl into the cold water only to be met with flailing limbs and frustrated squeaks. Kneeling on the floor beside the porcelain tub, Riza carefully maneuvered herself over the side to hold on to the squirming infant.

Mae's squeaks soon turned into full on sobs as her mother took a wash rag and dripped the cold water over her heaving stomach. Riza tried to comfort the child, but it only seemed to make things worse. "It's okay, Mae. I know it doesn't feel good."

At the sound of her sister's cries, Elizabeth's cries seemed to get louder as well.

"Lizzie," Roy was still arguing with Elizabeth next to his wife, trying his best to pry her legs from around his waist. "The quicker you get in, the quicker you can get out."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!" Roy was finally able to loosen her grip from around his waist. "Lizzie, no more arguing. You have to take a bath."

With that, the father set her feet into the tub with her hands still hanging on tightly to his shoulders. For a sick child, she had quite a grip on her.

"No, Daddy!" She continued to howl as her father worked to pry her fingers from his shirt. Within a few moments, he was able to free himself from her death-hold. "I don't wanna!"

Gripping the girl's wrists gently, Roy forced the her to sit down in the cold water. At such treatment, Elizabeth began to mimic her sister's actions and started to flail her arms, sending water flying out of the confines of the tub. Riza, as quick thinking as she was, placed her hand out as a barrier to keep the water from hitting Mae.

"Elizabeth!" Roy's voice echoed off the bathroom tile. He rarely used such an authoritative tone on his daughter, but his frustration was reaching an all-time high. Elizabeth, at the sound of her name coming from her father's lips, froze in the middle of her tantrum. "Do not splash while your sister is in the bath! You don't want to hurt her, do you?"

The five-year-old stared up at the man for a few moments before turning to look at her little sister, almost as though she had forgotten she was even there.

Roy breathed a sigh of relief, settling himself on his knees beside the tub.

Then, Elizabeth released a loud sob.

"I'm so sorry Mae Mae!" The girl wailed, her hands coming up to cover her eyes, the cold temperature of the water forgotten. "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

Riza hurried to placate her daughter. "You didn't hurt the baby, Elizabeth. Daddy just didn't want you splashing her and getting her upset." She didn't bother to mention that Mae had rarely had a moment that day where she wasn't crying, so the splashing of the water really wasn't going to make much difference.

Elizabeth, as sensitive as she was, continued to wail.

"I don't want to make her sad!"

Roy sighed. "Lizzie, stop crying. No one is sad."

"Mae Mae is!" She pointed at her sister, who was still sat crying in the basin as her mother poured water over her fine blonde hair.

"She's not sad, she just doesn't like the cold." Roy, following Riza's lead, grabbed a small cup on the side of the bath and ran the water over Elizabeth's long dark hair.

As if remembering where she was, Elizabeth looked down at the water surrounding her.

Then the cries started again.

"Daddy, it's too cold!"

Roy groaned. It was going to be a long night.

~

Once the girls' were out of the bath, their parents were eager to check their temperatures once more. With Elizabeth now bundled in a fluffy towel, Roy held out the thermometer for her to place under her tongue. Still shivering even after drying off, Elizabeth complied.

While he was waiting on Elizabeth's temperature, Riza busied herself with Mae. After resting in the water for awhile, the infant had finally calmed long enough for her mother to wash her. Now, cozy within the confines of her own towel, the newborn cooed as her mother placed a thermometer under her arm.

Roy sat Elizabeth down in the nursery rocking chair so that he could check the red liquid within the glass. Upon reading the number, he released a frustrated groan.

"Riza," He picked up Elizabeth once more, the young girl going willingly into his arms, now tired from both her bath and her lingering fever. "Her temperature is still up."

"Give her one last dose of medicine for the night." The mother advised, reading the thermometer under the infant's arm. Obviously, her results were better than her sister's, since Riza breathed a sigh of relief at the number. "Elizabeth can have one more dose than Mae."

Roy nodded, following his wife's instructions.

"I don't want any more," Elizabeth moaned into her father's shoulder, clinging tightly to him. Her little fingers pulled at the dark hair on the back of his neck, causing him to wince in slight pain as he unscrewed the cap of the medicine. "It tastes gross."

The Fuhrer sighed, quite unused to having to argue with his child. Elizabeth was usually so well-behaved, albeit emotional, but anytime she was sick, her willful nature seemed to creep forward. Roy knew it was from not feeling well and being exhausted – however, it was no less tiring for him to have to deal with it.

"Lizzie, this is what's going to help you get better faster." Roy held her close to his chest, resting his back against the kitchen counter. "Even Mae has taken her medicine today."

"I did, too!" Elizabeth insisted, resting her warm forehead against the fabric of his chest. Roy placed one hand on the back of her head, comforting her as well as he could.

"I know, but you have to take one more dose since you're bigger than Mae." The young girl moaned once more in despair, her misery causing her father's heart to break a bit more. Placing a kiss on her forehead, Roy gently nudged the side of her face to get her to look at him. "Please, one more and then we can go put our pajamas on and go to bed."

"Can I sleep with you and mommy?"

"Yes," Roy replied without hesitation. "But you need to take your medicine first."

At the promise of getting to cuddle with her mother and father, Elizabeth was much more compliant. Without much more than a grimace and gag, the young child accepted the spoonful of medicine and hurriedly drank a cup of milk to rid herself of the taste.

As Roy helped her change into her pajamas, it occurred to him that perhaps the reason she was acting out so severely while sick was because of the amount of attention her new sibling was getting.

While Elizabeth loved on her sister constantly and begged for cuddles upon her return from school in the afternoons, both Roy and Riza had noticed that the girl had become a bit more difficult when it came to meal time and bedtime. It was almost as if she felt like when she came home from school, it was her time to get the attention rather than Mae's.

Riza had tried to explain to the girl that babies needed more attention when they were as little as Mae, but to Elizabeth, this reasoning held very little logic. All she knew was that, where she had once gotten all the attention, she now only received a part of it.

Roy knew that letting her sleep with them for the night was probably only going to add fuel to the fire, but he didn't really care at the moment. He would rather have a peaceful night with both his daughters by his side, then have them crying loudly from the nursery down the hall.

The tug of a little hand broke Roy from his thoughts. Elizabeth gazed up at him in expectantly.

"Daddy?" She asked sweetly, her little hand tugging at his still damp shirt. That was the last time he was helping out with bath time in his nice clothes. "Can I wear my pink pajamas?"

Roy looked down at the long sleeve shirt in his hands. It was blue - just like the matching bottoms that he had already helped her put on.

"But you already have the blue ones on – " Roy thought better of arguing with the young child as her lip began to wobble. Resigned to his fate, he set the blue shirt down. "Of course, you can wear the pink ones."

Although he was exhausted from a long day of Xing trade talks, Elizabeth's sweet smile at his words had a grin growing on his face as well.

Oh, how he loved his girls.

Once Elizabeth was changed into her pink pajamas, Roy carried her into the master suite where Riza was already in bed. With her back resting against the headboard, the woman cradled her youngest child close as she suckled at her breast. Even from his spot at the door, he could hear the stuffy breaths escaping from the small infant's nose.

"Mommy!" Elizabeth wiggled out of her father's arms. Once her feet were on the ground, the young girl ran to her mother's side of the bed. Coming up behind her, Roy lifted her on to the mattress, far from the suckling baby.

"Hi Elizabeth." The woman looked up from Mae to glance over at her husband as he walked into the closet to get ready for bed, frustration evident in her eyes. "Are you going to be joining us tonight?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth nodded excitedly, scooting closer to her mother. The girl's dark eyes danced as she looked down at her little sister. "Daddy said I could since I took my medicine!"

At the look of love on the girl's still flushed face, Riza couldn't bring herself to argue. "Alright, but you have to promise to go to sleep. Daddy has work tomorrow, so we have to make sure to be quiet so he can rest."

Elizabeth nodded, settling her head against her mother's shoulder so she could continue to watch the baby. Riza turned her head towards her, lips grazing the young girl's forehead. The mother was happy to note that, at the moment, the girl felt a bit cooler to the touch.

Roy exited the closet, wearing a robe paired with a loose-fitting shirt and pajama pants. Crossing over to his side of the bed, he removed his robe before laying it across one of the reading chairs. Finally, ready to turn down for the night, the man comically fell on to the mattress, prompting a giggle from Elizabeth and a small smile from Riza.

When Riza looked backed towards Mae, the infant had released her breast and was close to snoozing against the warmth of her mother's skin. The woman pulled down her night shirt, before laying the baby over her shoulder, patting her back to see if she could coax forth one more burp.

"Daddy?" Elizabeth drew Roy's attention away from his wife, her wide eyes shiny from the still lingering fever. "I'm cold."

The girl had been suffering from chills for the past few days and there was only one thing that she knew would warm her up.

Roy opened his arms, inviting Elizabeth to crawl on to his chest and snuggle into his warmth. The girl eagerly obliged, sighing contently against the fabric of his shirt as he pulled the covers over the both of them.

On the other side of the bed, Riza had just finished burping Mae and was carefully placing her into the bassinet that they had temporarily moved into the room. With Mae having both colic and the flu, the two parents found it easier to keep her by their side in the dark hours of night rather than in the nursery down the hall.

With Mae tucked in snuggly, Riza turned back to the rest of her family that lay in the bed. Seeing their expectant looks, she released a short laugh before switching off the light beside her. Roy soon followed suit with the light that lay on his side.

For a few moments, with the moon as their only witness, the family relaxed and enjoyed the peace that had finally descended over their household. With Mae already snoozing and her temperature down, the only thing they had to worry about disturbing their sleep was Elizabeth.

However, when Roy looked down at her pale face, snuggled deep into his chest, he began to think that even she may be able to make it through the night. Already, in the warmth of her father's arms, her shivers had stopped and hopefully within a few hours the sweats would begin.

"Roy?"

The man in question glanced up from his daughter's features to instead look at his wife. He was surprised to find a sad look on her face.

"What's wrong?"

Riza chuckled dryly at his question. "What's not wrong?"

The woman turned on her side, propping herself up on to an elbow. Reaching out, her slender fingers began to play with a dark strand of Elizabeth's hair. Roy watched as an array of emotions played across her features – guilt, sadness, fear, uncertainty – they were all there, just as if he were watching a film.

"Do you think we can do this?" Riza asked quietly, eyes still focused in on Elizabeth.

Roy's brow rose. "What do you mean?"

"Parenting."

Roy smirked at the word. "You're about five years too late on that question."

Had Elizabeth not been resting on his chest, Riza would have swatted at him. The cheeky look on his face was enough to have her rolling her eyes. The man just never changed.

"No." Riza glanced back at where Mae slept, cocooned in her own little bed. "I mean parenting the two of them."

Roy gave her a sideways glance. "At this point – we really don't have a choice."

Again, Riza gave him an exasperated look. The woman looked so different from the former sniper he had once knew that it was hard not to chuckle at the sight. However, his amusement soon ended when Elizabeth made a low noise of discontent, before turning her face in the opposite direction.

Roy patted the young girl's back until he felt like she had settled again. Turning his attention back to Riza, he noticed the shiny look of sadness still lingered in her eyes.

"Riza," Roy made sure to keep his voice quiet, aware of the two sleeping girls that were currently sharing the room. "Kids get sick. This isn't the first time Elizabeth has been sick and it probably won't be the last. We just have to get through it as best as we can."

"I just feel guilty." The woman ran a gentle hand over her daughter's back, warm fingertips searching for those of her husband. Together, their hands lay clasped over the girl's back. "Ever since Mae's been born; I feel like Elizabeth is feeling left out."

"She knows babies need more attention." Roy reasoned, his thumb massaging the skin of the back of his wife's hand. "It's an adjustment."

Riza was silent for a moment and Roy could tell that she was debating whether to share what else was on her mind. Knowing his wife, she had been burying something within herself for so long, that finally – under the stress of taking care of two sick children – she was about ready to burst.

"I just never thought I was going to be a mother." Riza admitted, her gaze never leaving their joined hands.

Roy waited in silence, encouraging her to continue.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it right at all." She looked up at her husband, her light amber eyes shining with no longer repressed emotions. "I don't think I was made to be a mother and that's why I never know what to do."

Roy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wanted her to speak her thoughts, but he never wanted her to think that he agreed with them.

"You're an amazing mother, Riza." The man argued, trying hard to keep his voice down. "I've never thought any differently. Just because you're stressed from having two sick kids, doesn't make you a bad parent. Everyone goes through this."

"I had to call Gracia for advice today." Riza admitted, as though she hadn't heard anything of what he said. "I didn't know how to get Mae to stop throwing up every time I fed her and finally I just had to ask someone else."

Roy stared at her incredulously.

"Riza," He spoke slowly, squeezing her hand tightly in his, demanding that she meet his gaze as he spoke. "It's okay to ask for help. You don't have to know those things automatically. You didn't act like this when Elizabeth was sick the first few times – what's bringing this on now?"

"I don't know," The woman muttered sadly, sinking further into her pillows. At such an uncharacteristic sight, Roy could feel his heart break. "I just – I don't know. I was fine asking for help the first time, but now I get so upset with myself over it. Maybe it's the hormones."

This concerned Roy greatly. "Have you spoken to the doctor about this?"

"No…"

"Riza!" Roy wanted to yell, but held himself back in case it woke their two slumbering children. "This isn't something you keep to yourself."

"It's just not like me, Roy." The woman buried her face in her pillow, the movement causing her messy, blonde bangs to frizz further. "I just don't feel like myself and I'm scared it's going to affect the way I parent."

Roy reached an arm out to his wife, gesturing for her to snuggle into his side. After a moment's hesitation, she finally scooted forward, careful to not disturb their sleeping daughter who still lay on her father's chest. With one hand still holding tightly to her's, Roy pulled her close and wrapped a strong arm around her.

"I spoke with Dr. Knox when we first found out you were pregnant with Mae." Roy admitted quietly, tangling his free hand into his wife's hair. Her usually brushed locks were tangled in several different places, deepening the concern he had felt building for her over the past few days. This just wasn't like her. "His wife had their son late in life and he warned me that you might suffer from strange moods after the birth. He told me to watch you and to always ask if you were doing okay. I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner."

"Roy," Riza released a long sigh, nestling her face into the area between his shoulder and his neck. "You're busy. You have the trade arrangements with Xing to worry about and a couple hundred more things that you need to stay focused on. I don't want you worrying about me. I'm fine."

"You're obviously not."

"But I am." Riza insisted, tilting her head up so she could meet his worried gaze. "I'm sorry to have brought any of this up. I guess talking to Gracia today and then dealing with the nightmare that was bath time – it just has me stressed."

Roy didn't look convinced. "It didn't sound like those were just spur of the moment thoughts. Please, talk to me."

The woman shook her head, pulling away from her husband. "Roy, you have work tomorrow and need your rest. I'll call the doctor in the morning and tell her how I'm feeling."

Sensing that his wife was beginning to close off from him, Roy drew her back to his side. "I didn't mean to upset you; I just want to help you. I don't want you thinking you're a bad mother when you're most certainly not."

Riza fought against his hold for a moment, before finally giving in and letting him settle her against his chest.

"The Madam never expected that she would become a mother." Roy's comment had Riza looking up, surprise written across her features. The man continued with a small smile. "But she was the best mother I could have ever asked for."

Riza had to admit, he had a point. "Yes, she was."

"So, why do you have to be the perfect mother in order to be the best mother to our daughters?"

Riza hated to admit when Roy began to make sense, but still she couldn't fight off the lingering doubt that still lay within her chest.

"I guess…" Riza trailed off, not quite sure how to answer her husband's question. "I guess, I don't have to be."

Roy smiled. "No you don't. No one's perfect – except me."

The comment had his wife rolling her eyes. "Yeah, that's what you think."

The man chuckled at her dry response, drawing her in closer so that he could nuzzle his nose in her hair. Mae would be due for a feed in a few hours, so he was going to enjoy this time he had snuggled up to his wife before the baby's cries had the woman leaving the comfort of his embrace.

"I may still call the doctor though."

Roy smiled, his lips brushing the skin of her forehead in the form of a soft kiss. He knew Riza hated sharing her emotions with anyone, so for her to share these feelings with a doctor would be a huge step in the right direction.

"I think that's a good idea."

The room went silent for a few minutes and Roy could have sworn his wife had fallen asleep – that was until he heard her quiet voice whisper in his ear.

"Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The man could feel a sleepy smile bloom across his features.

"You're welcome."

[dayseternal-blog]

She's a nameless girl. Strange in dress, appearance, and accent in a foreign kingdom. She stowed away on a merchant ship, running from a certain future much worse than just losing her name.

An NH retelling of the fairytale Catskin.

Inspired by Tumblr's NaruHina Week 2019 Days 4-7 Day 4: Promises Day 5: Family Day 6: Forgotten Day 7: Yesterday

Rating: M

Chapter 5: Deceit/Honesty

She can’t go.

The thought is silly.

She’s a maid.  She serves his family.  She’s employed by his parents.  

She could get caught.  She could get sent home.  She would have to face all of Konoha in shame.

But what if he discovers her a year from now?  Five years from now?  Ten years from now?

It seems practically inevitable that he would eventually discover her.  She didn’t say a single word to him the last time he saw her, and he nearly recognized her.

It’s just a matter of time, one unlucky encounter, for him to realize, stare at her in shock, reject her, and send her home.  

...Would he reject her?

The days toward the Summer Solstice Ball dwindle, and these thoughts plague her constantly.

Naruto…Naruto…

Master Naruto.

Can she handle watching him from afar for the rest of her life?  Certainly his life will move on.  Marriage, a family, the eventual lord of the province.

What’s worse?

Never knowing what could be, living safely, but constantly in fear of discovery?  

Or his rejection, returning to Konoha, facing her father, and the scorn of the rest of the town?

There is an upside.  She would see Hanabi again.

Either way, she will never know anything like him ever again.  Whether she stays a servant or is sent back to Konoha, she is destined to grow to be an old spinster.  At some point, she will be discovered, and that could go three ways.  The first, that he accepts her, mysterious background and all.  A thought she doesn’t dwell on for its implausibility.  The second, that he rejects her but lets her stay on staff, condemning her to another kind of eternal shame, albeit one without fear.  The third, that he rejects her and sends her away, condemning her to a sad life with her father.

She would see Hanabi again.

These thoughts circulate, over and over, day after day.

The avoiding and hiding doesn’t help.

She wants to see him.

A part of her wants to know if he would recognize her.  A test of his feelings.  Can he see her past the drab clothing, or did he only see her dolled-up appearance?  

How much does he like her?  As much as she likes him?

...What if she just told him?

What if I told him?  What would he say?  How would he react?  Would he not believe me?  Would he accuse me of stealing the gowns?  Would he hate me?  Or would he not care and still like me?

What if she just went up to him one day when he’s alone in the library?  What if she just told him herself?  Then she wouldn’t have to wait for him to recognize her.  She wouldn’t have to wonder and wait in fear.  She could take her fate into her own hands, at least a little.

But days pass, and she can’t muster up the courage to face him.

She’s not a cultured young lady anymore.  She’s just a maid.  Her hands are cracked and dry.  Her hair hangs in tangles that can only be hidden in buns.  Her clothes are not just plain now--they’re stained, used, and worn, too.  She has no money, no family, no connections.

There’s no way he would believe her.

“Bucchi” is a far-cry from the “Miss.”    

He would probably think that she’s trying to be sly.  He would probably think that “Bucchi” is trying to pretend to be the lady he met.  

Or even if he did believe her, he would be so shocked, he would be disgusted.  There he was, spending all of his attention on a maid!  He would feel humiliated to have spent all his time on a messy girl like her.  

She can’t face him as Bucchi…

But what if he weren’t disgusted?  What if he were just happy to find her?...

The week of the ball arrives, and she isn’t any closer to a solution than she was three weeks ago.

“Shizuka,” she murmurs.  “I don’t know what to do.”

Her friend sits with her in Hinata’s dark room.  “Do?” she asks, encouraging Hinata to share.  She knows, though, that her secretive friend has been worrying about the young lord.

Hinata nods.  She explains her predicament as quietly and as simply as she can.

“So you want to tell him?” Shizuka whispers, just as quietly.  

“I...I think I need to...I don’t think I can hide forever.”

“...I don’t think he would send you away...Master Naruto isn’t like that…”  She doesn’t share, though, that he can have a temper.  She thinks that itis possible that he would get angry, or at least feel hurt at the deception.  “I’m sorry, Bucchi.  This is all my fault.  I shouldn’t have forced you to go to the ball.”  

Hinata shakes her head.  “I could have refused.  You wouldn’t have really forced me to go.  I wanted to go.”  She sighs.  “It’s my own fault,” she says regretfully.

“It’s not...I pushed you to go.  If I hadn’t done that…”

The two girls look at each other sadly.  

“...I think the sooner you tell him, the better.”

“I know, but I’m too scared.”

“What if you told him at the ball?  He would have to believe you.”

Hinata nods.  If she told him at the ball, he would have to believe that the Miss is the same as Bucchi.  She considered this possibility, too, but it seems underhanded, like she would be trying to sway his opinion of her while dressed nicely.  

But isn’t that what she wants?

The morality of the situation is too confusing.  And she realizes, even now, she’s trying to get Shizuka to make the decision for her.  She’s being manipulative, a side of herself she never knew before.

Because hasn’t she already decided what she wants to do?  

Hinata buries her face in her hands.  “I really like him, Shizuka,” she whispers.  “I-I just want to see him.”

Shizuka doesn’t know what would be best for the shy maid, but she does know that she shouldn’t try to influence her decisions anymore.  “...Whatever you decide to do, Bucchi, I’ll support you in any way I can.”

The ball draws ever closer, and she only finds reasons that persuade her to follow her heart.

“I saw him pull out her glove from his pocket this morning.”

“He says his parents will have to force him to dance.”

“Oh, I’m sure after dancing with that lady all night, he wouldn’t want to dance with another.”

“Shion said he looks at her shoes every night.”

“He sighs too much these days.”

“Our poor young master.  He’s too innocent in the ways of love.”

“He has always been too trusting.”

The gossip surrounding the servants’ favorite topic fills her with equal parts longing and guilt.  How she wishes she could reassure him of her affection!

How she knows that she needs to make things right.

…“Right.”  

She doesn’t know what’s right.  She only knows that she wants to see him and spend time with him.  Is that wrong?

Is it wrong for her to remember the way he talked so freely with her?  The way he let her talk about herself?  The way he allowed her to share herself and keep other parts secret?  Never pressing too much, never forcing her to do or say anything..or nothing.  

Being with him felt so right.  How could it be wrong?

Is it wrong for her to want to catch his attention?

To want to be pretty for him?

To be the only girl to have his time?

“So you’re going to tell him?” Shizuka whispers as she pins the feather hairpiece in place.

Hinata nods.  “...I’m scared.”  

“Master Naruto is a good man.  He won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of getting hurt.  I’m afraid...of hurting him…”

Shizuka takes a careful breath.  “...It would hurt him more the later he finds out.”  She nods in affirmation of her own words.  “It’s best to tell him tonight....there.”  She pulls the ribbon of the dress once more for good measure.  “You’re ready.”

Hinata looks down at herself.  She’s never worn this dress before.  The blue is nearly as dark as her hair.  The bodice fits tightly, dipping down in the back slightly lower than conventions.  Soft feathers adorn the full skirt, and she can’t imagine how much dye was used for such an expensive color.  

Shizuka smiles.  “Even if you tell him, he might have a hard time believing it.”  She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen such an extravagant dress before.  It’s hard to connect Bucchi with the magnificent sight before her.  And again, she wonders about Bucchi’s past.  To have come from such wealth, why would anyone run away to a completely new country?

“Thank you,” Hinata softly says.  “Shizuka, I wanted to tell you...in case I don’t get a chance to later...thank you for being my friend.  Thank you for always cheering me up and helping me when I didn’t know what to do.”

“What is this all of a sudden?” Shizuka asks, shaking her head.  “Don’t say that!  Everything will be alright, Bucchi.  Everything will be alright.”

Hinata nervously smiles at Shizuka.  She hopes everything will be alright.  She doesn’t know what’s going to happen after tonight or how Naruto will react, but the one constant she has had since arriving at the Namikaze estate has been Shizuka’s camaraderie.  She grabs her friend’s hands and squeezes them.  “Thank you.”

“Stop that, Bucchi.  Now go!  Our young lord is waiting for you.”  

Hinata blushes but lets go of her hands.  She tentatively parts from Shizuka’s reassuring expression and steps out into the still day-lit evening.

The back of the estate is devoid of people as all hands are on-deck for the party.  More guilt floods her.  She should be in the kitchens at this very moment, helping out.  It was incredibly selfish of her to have gone that first night.  Even tonight…

She stalls at the side of the estate, once again feeling an onslaught of confusion.  She shouldn’t be out here in this dress.  She shouldn’t have come out here.  She swore to herself that she was leaving everything behind for a life of safety.  She promised Hanabi that she would never return to Konoha.

But at this very moment she is shirking her duties, her safety...for what?  For what exactly?  

Her heart hurts as she pictures him.  

Everything was a mistake.  Even now, is she making a mistake?  Is she fooling herself?  So what if she has to live her life in fear of being discovered?  That’s just an “if” situation. There’s no certainty that he would ever figure her out.  As far as he knows, she disappeared that night two months ago.  

It’s better for him if he never sees her again.

She has nothing.

She’s just a manipulative, selfish, nobody girl.  

She stares down at her feather-covered skirt.  A nameless girl all dolled up.

A trick.  She’s a trick.  

She stands there longer in the hidden corner, unable to make the turn that would bring her closer to the party.  

“Our young lord is waiting for you.”

Is he waiting?  She heard the rumors of his melancholy, and that supposedly she’s the cause.  But she wonders if she really can be the root of such romantic heartache.

She can’t imagine Toneri wishing to see her like that.  She doubts that he ever really missed her at all.  

She wonders if, right now, Naruto has already met someone else.  Or if he really did say to Shion that his parents would have to force him to dance with another.

Two months is a long time.

Maybe he already got over her?

She shifts her weight uneasily as she wonders what she should do.

Should she turn around and go back to work, to a safe life?  

Should she tell him?

If he really did get over her, then there is no need for her to tell him.  If he has already forgotten her, then telling him would just be even more selfish on her part.

She just needs to see him.

She just needs to know if he’s still thinking of her or if he’s moved on.

She rounds the corner and slowly steps up to the veranda.  People mill about inside as the night is still young, and many of the guests make their rounds to greet others.

She stands outside, unsure, peeking inside.  She looks around but doesn’t step through the crowd, hoping to not call attention to herself.  However, it seems that her costly gown makes that impossible as she notices people’s heads turning to look at all of the blue feathers.  She can only hope they don’t recognize her.

Unable to spy her employers from where she stands, she slowly makes her way through, keeping close to the wall.  She avoids people’s gazes, hoping that if she doesn’t return their stares, they won’t look at her.

Finally she spots them at the other end of the hall.

He stands with his parents, engrossed in conversation with another family and their daughter.  As usual, his blue eyes, tan skin, and blond hair are bright in a way she’s never seen on anyone else.  She hasn’t seen him in so long, not since that stormy day.  He’s really beautiful.  Even from where she is, she can see the energy he radiates, completely unlike the somber refinement of Konoha’s men.  He exudes cheerfulness, as if just being near him would infect her with a case of high spirits.  She can almost imagine his voice, just as bright as he is.  She wishes she could hear it.

But he’s talking with the daughter, a young lady, who’s dressed in a simple purple crepe gown.  Much more tasteful than her own flashy dress.  She wears a smile just as bright, just as warm as Naruto’s.

It turns her gut inside-out.

She can’t do this.

She can’t watch him dance with other girls.  Just imagining it hurts her chest in a way she’s never felt before.  

“Young miss-”

She turns to notice a man addressing her.  She steps back.

“You look very familiar-”

She shakes her head, sudden nerves crushing her.  She actually forgot.  She hates talking to strangers.

“Have we met before?”

She steps back again, shaking her head.  “P-please excuse me.”  She turns and rushes away rudely, escaping outside to the terrace, then down to the manicured courtyard.  

She should return to work, she should help light the evening candles, she should help wash the dishes.

But she can’t bring herself to work a ball where Naruto will find some other girl to shine on.  

He’ll forget about her eventually.  She’s just fooling herself.

She sits in a secluded garden, one Naruto had taken her through that first night.  She looks around, recalling the stories he told her about acquiring certain flowers.  These are precious memories, ones she needn’t try to relive.  But just for tonight.

Just for tonight.

She lets shadows extend around her, and she promises herself that she’ll be over him by morning.

“You’re not going to dance?” his mother asks.

He shrugs.  Maybe he will, maybe he won’t.  He didn’t see anyone he wanted to dance with.

His mother audibly sighs.  

“You need to find someone to dance with.  It’s only polite to all of the guests who came,” his father reminds him.

He frowns to keep himself from rolling his eyes.  He can be sassy with his mother.  Not so easily with his father.  

“I’ll go ask Lady Konan.”

“She’s practically your aunt!  She doesn’t count,” Kushina negates.

“Well, I don’t know who you expect me to dance with,” he fusses.

“I can choose someone for you to dance with,” she suddenly says, a bit of sadism hidden in her voice.

“I’ll find someone on my own!” he backtracks, to his mother’s evil smile.

“Good.  Go take a look around.  You never know,” his father encourages.

He nods and steps out into the crowd, noticing his own parents take to the dance floor.  He watches them for a moment, admiring his parents’ grace and ability.  The two make a lively match, his father’s cool demeanor a perfect complement to his mother’s Uzumaki fire.  

“Did you see that young lady in the feather dress?”

A nearby couple’s conversation filters through the music and noise.

“I wonder who she was?”

The question perks his attention.

“She looked like-”  Noise detracts from his hearing.  “-the young master was dancing-”

He looks around trying to determine who’s talking.  He steps up in a bit of uncertainty to a couple of guests.  

“Young Master Naruto!” the lady says in surprise.

He nods.  “Hello Mister and Missus…”  He can’t recall their names.

“Ayukawa,” the man supplies.  “Our family is in charge of the ports at Kishijima.”

He nods at the memory.  “Right, yes. Um…” He grasps at polite manners.  “Are you enjoying the dance?”

“Yes, we are.  We might join your parents for a dance ourselves in a moment,” the man answers.

“They dance beautifully,” his wife adds.

They watch his parents for a moment.

Naruto nods, aching to just ask them about the subject of their earlier conversation.  “My parents want me to dance with someone, too...I’ve been looking for a young lady, I thought I saw her…” he lies.  “She has blue hair, light eyes..”  He watches them to gauge their reaction.  He’s far from disappointed.

“Oh, yes, we saw her, didn’t we, dear?” Lady Ayukawa says.  “See, I knew it,” she exclaims, as further realizations come to her.

The man looks thoughtful.  “She may have stepped outside.”

“She is certainly eye-catching.  A young man tried to talk to her, but she brushed him off,” the woman recalls with an amused smile.  “You had better hurry, young master, before someone else gets to her.”

He can feel blood rushing to his head, adrenaline running under his skin, his chest tight with combined disbelief and hope.  He quickly bows with a word of thanks and jogs outside. He looks out from the terrace, scanning the grounds, half-expecting to see her dancing form like the first night.

She’s not there.  

He gulps back the disappointment and descends the steps.  The tall trees and hedges cast their long shadows on the ground, creating dark corners that could easily hide anyone.  He resists scratching his head and messing his hair up.

She can’t be out here, right?  Were they talking about someone else?  She can’t possibly be here.  She left a long time ago.

He looks back toward the ballroom, crowded with people here to have a good time.  Except that he’s not having a good time.  It’s hard to forget someone when people are telling you to.  He never had an easy time with doing what people tell him to do.

Never good with rules, with expectations, with boundaries.  

Why should tonight be any different?  His parents can’t actually expect him to just find someone, right?  He thought it a stroke of fate when he met that young lady.  She was pretty, completely unaware of his rough reputation, curious about him and not his money, very obviously of some sort of noble birth...she checked out in everything his parents could have asked for, she was perfect.

He thought she was perfect.  She held not only similar ideas to his own about social ranks, but she was way more progressive in thought, almost entirely unorthodox regarding family birth...it was fascinating.  Yet everything else about her was so traditionally ladylike, almost too predictable.  Dancing, reading, walking in the gardens.  Easy to please.  Certainly that must be true when she seemed easily amused by him and easily forgiving of him.

He turns around and heads to his gardens.

Maybe she’s there.  Most likely she’s not.  

He remembers her smile the most.  The way she just seemed to grow happier as the night progressed during that first meeting.  How he showed her this plant and that flower.  Two months ago, that tree was full of peach blossoms, and she looked at them with such wonder.  

He’ll never forget that.

Nor how he could see the shyness and propriety melt off of her as she got to know him.  And that smile of hers on their last meeting.  How they danced and danced and danced…

He intakes a sharp breath of air.

He forgets how to breathe.

He stares what feels like forever at the lady sitting at the ledge of one of the lotus pools, her finger caressing the pink petals, a luxurious skirt of dark, shimmery feathers trailing down.

A step toward her breaks her contemplation, and she looks up, blinking in shock.  Her lips part, her light eyes widen.

She hardly has time to stand, to react at all, when he rushes toward her, his hands briefly taking hers before sliding up to hold her forearms.

“What are you doing here?” he asks breathlessly.  “I thought you left!”  Yet there’s no accusation in his tone.  Only surprise, a hint of wonder that brings a smile to her face.

She registers the firmness of his grasp, only to realize that she’s holding his arms just as tightly.  “I-I couldn’t.  I tried, I really tried, but I couldn’t go back...”

He stares, the words barely registering as he takes in the last rays of the sun on her skin.  

“Forgive me...I had to see you again…” she whispers, suddenly shy under his attention.

He smiles.  She had to see him again.  He tries to stifle his smile from growing any wider.  It wouldn’t be a very becoming look.  But the happiness brightening her own expression is too much.  To know that she reciprocates every feeling he holds is a joy he’s never felt before.  He sneaks his thumbs at the skin just beneath the ends of her gloves.  

They gaze at each other for longer.  He’s really here in front of her, as if he knew she’d be here.  She takes in every bit of him.  The exact shade of his skin, the shine of his blue, blue eyes, the way his brows have strands slightly darker than his blond hair, the dimple on his cheek, his lips…

He should have said something in reply by now, but he has no words.  It’s his default with her, never saying or asking the right things.  He’s heard stories of people falling in love with looks and regretting it, cautionary tales from his mother and father that he never thought would happen to him, but so be it.  He hardly knows her.  That’s fine.  He’s always broken the rules.  His story will be one to join the many.

It’s a relief to allow it, to feel it.  

The softness of her lips on his.

The clench in his heart finally freeing from the confines of his chest, and he can breathe again in slow, slight, aching pulls that make his body feel heavy but his extremities light.

She tightens her hold on his forearms, fuzzy clouds filling her head, a fluttering in her gut, tingles sparking through her legs.  In all scenarios of them meeting again, and not one had been like this.

Wilder than even her wildest dreams.  

She lets her hands slide up his sleeves to his shoulders, fitting herself more easily in his arms that hesitantly come to rest around her back.  But there they settle, his fingers pressing solidly into the material as his lips brush against hers once more.

Another gentle kiss sends a flush through him from his head to his toes.  She doesn’t pull away, so he lets them meet for a fourth, a fifth, and he loses count when her fingers start to tease at his collar and his core starts to twist.  He lifts his head, opening his eyes to see her lashes unwillingly flutter open.

We were kissing.  The thought is unbelievable, and yet, here they stand, closer than she’s ever been to anyone, their bodies only a breath away from each other.

“I missed you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“I missed you, too,” she replies.  

It doesn’t take much to give in to her sweetly dazed expression, to lean down and kiss her again.  

And it doesn’t take much for her to lean in to his promised warmth.  To let his heat spread from her cheeks, through her arms, and down to her toes.  It makes her brows pinch together; it makes her fingers feel like grasping onto something solid, to pull at the cloth of his vest; it makes her feel like tippy-toeing to reach out for something more, for his something more.

She brings him closer, and he embraces her tighter, feeling the rise of her shoulder blade and the narrow of her waist in his hands, chest shuddering against the knowledge of her bosom pressed to him, tasting the softness of her lips, only to suddenly find the softness of her own curious tongue.  Hesitation slips away.  He loves this.  He loves the way she looks.  He loves the way she feels.  He loves the way she holds him and kisses him, and the way she lets herself be held by him.  He loves it.  He loves her, and isn’t that fine?

Isn’t it fine?  To love him?

She doesn’t want to let him go even as she quickly realizes that the kiss is moving too fast.  In all propriety, she should not be clinging to him, encouraging him by keeping him pulled close.  But once it ends, once the kiss ends, he’ll have questions.  So she leans into him for another kiss.  

Just for now.

Just for another minute of him.

Just to memorize the way his arms feel wrapped around her.  To commit to memory his intimate breath and the solidity of his shoulders.  

To experience this kiss.  

It should feel shameful, but it doesn’t.  One meeting leads to another, and another, and any thoughts of guilt are forgotten.

A match strikes within her, lighting her in anticipation.  She can’t breathe, but she doesn’t want to.  It’s his hands and his pressure, steadily gaining weight upon her body.

She feels wanted.

Sensation settles deep, building and building.  It’s something she’s never felt before, coursing through her veins, through her heart, racing.  The taste of his lips and tongue, the sound of him breathless, the feeling of his hands holding her tightly.  

She wonders if he feels it, too.

“Naruto…”

His name from her airy voice, a breath upon his lips, fills him with a desperation unlike any other.  

Everything about this is so wrong.  It’s so wrong and it feels so good.  How he wishes he could say her name in return.  

He gasps hard, trying to regain his sensibility.

She kisses him again, and he leans into it instinctively.

“Wait…” he murmurs.  He tries to breathe.  “Wait…”  He pulls up reluctantly, only to see her, pressing against him, her eyes lidded, her cheeks rosy, her lips swollen.  His heart shoots into his throat.  He can’t possibly ask for her name right now.  Any man with common sense would know that.  He needs to kiss her.  It’s the only thing he can do.  

He kisses her.  Over and over.

Her cute breathy sounds fill his mind, and he keeps going, just to earn that sound of approval.  A heavy tightness gathers at his trousers, a worrying distraction that splits his morality between pressing forward and stopping altogether.  So he stays against her lips, unable to bring himself to separate from her nor engage her in a completely illicit act.

The kiss itself feels amazing enough.  Not just her lips.  Her body.  Her breath.  Her voice.  Her hands at his chest and neck.  He’s never known anything like her.

He feels his brain melting, all sense of time and decency lost.  He can only tell that shadows surround them, concealing their shameful act.  Twilight chased dusk’s last light away before either of them realized, and he thinks neither of them care.

How long has he been gone?

Gone with her.

Oh, he wants to be gone with her all night.

She feels his hands sliding around her waist, up her sides, across the bare of her back, one to her neck.  She registers him pressed against her, hard.  It’s too much.  She knows she messed up, remembering the awful lesson she suffered through in preparation to marry Toneri.  She finally fully realizes what she’s doing to Naruto.

But…

She whispers his name again.

He squeezes her closely.

She can’t get enough of this.  And she’s luring him on, closer.  It’s unbelievable to her that she can entice him so.  She can feel how he kisses her harder when she sighs or gasps.  She can hear his hum of satisfaction when she presses against him.  

It’s altogether too shameful.  

She should feel ashamed.  

She should.  He doesn’t even know who she really is.  But she can’t possibly tell him now.  Not when she desires him so, and he so obviously reciprocates.

Just for tonight.

Just for one more night!

She twists her hips, feeling the pressure of his ardor against the heat pooling within her.  

He shudders, breaking the kiss to let out a gasp, almost a groan.  

It’s something completely unknown to her, and she kisses him again, wondering at the mystery between them.  She wants more from him.  He gives her shades of light and dark she’s never experienced before.  Feelings so pure and honest; feelings so wrong and deceitful.

It fills her with suspense.  

His fingers reaching through her hair, keeping her lips locked on his.  His pelvis pushing against her, rubbing against her.  His breath hot on hers.  His arm wrapped around her waist.

She steps back against his leaning weight, and he presses forward.  She realizes he’s walking her back, directing her somewhere, right when the back of her legs hit the bench.  Her knees, weak from their tryst, easily give out.

He stands above her, his chest and shoulders heaving.  He bends down over her, connecting their breath again.  His hand threads through her hair, pulling her pins, her hairpiece out, until she can feel her long hair spilling down her back.

It’s such an intimate act.  

Ladies never wear their hair completely loose around gentlemen.  And she’s never had her hair touched by a man before. She gazes up at him as he smooths his hand down her hair.

The air feels heavy between them.

“Miss…”  He doesn’t know what he wants to say.  He wants something.  He ardently wants something.  He needs relief.  He needs her to comfort him, to give him her sweetness, her softness.  Everything about her excites him, thrills him, and he needs her to do something about it.  He needs to be closer to her, he just wants to know her.  Everything about her.  Inside and outside, he wants her to be his.

He wants to love her.

To leave himself with her, irrevocably, permanently.  To receive her, to have her.

To see her.

Feel her.

Every part of her.

He sits beside her.  They kiss, but her lips and tongue aren’t enough.  He slides his hand over her feathered skirt, feeling the angle at her hip, the round of her thigh, testing her boundaries with him.

She gasps away from his kiss, and he watches her look down at his hand.

He waits for her reaction to his intentions, hoping that her heavy breaths, shivering body, and misted eyes are an indication of how much she wants him.

Nothing about this is right, but he was never really a good boy anyway.  

If she agrees, he can take her back to his chambers.  They can get to know each other without worry. It can be just the two of them.  Just her and him.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmurs to her.  Not just tonight, but ever since they met.  He'd been dreaming of kissing her since that second night, and this, this is far better than he thought a kiss could ever feel like.

She turns away, hiding her face from him, her long hair sliding over her small, pale shoulder.

He thinks to encourage her back into his arms when the sight of her strikes him as...odd.  His gaze traces over her thick, inky hair, and when she turns to peek at him, he watches her lowered eyes.  Before he can process any of it, he’s whispering a name.  “Bucchi?”

She looks up in alarm, her eyes wide.

His hand retracts from her leg.  “You’re...Bucchi, aren’t you?”  His eyes, straining in the dark, searches her face, looking at her as if he never saw her properly before.

She wants to deny it.  She’s not Bucchi.  But she’s not “Hinata,” either.  She hasn’t been in a long time.  She’s not anyone.

He reaches for her, but she suddenly stands.

She doesn’t want to be Bucchi.  She wants to be someone else.  Someone who’s right for him.  She steps away.

He doesn’t move.  A belated expression of shock seems to be dawning on his face, and it makes her feel so ugly.

So ugly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.  “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t...I didn’t…”  Her heart breaks at his dumbfounded stare.  And she flees.

She shuts the door of her room and curls up in her bed.  She stifles her sobs in her blanket and wishes the dark could swallow her whole.

He sits in the garden, suddenly alone.  One moment, heat and attraction were nearly suffocating him into madness.  The next moment…

He’s not sure what on earth happened.  

All he knows is he was kissing the maid.

But logically he can’t make sense of it.  They seem so different.  Bucchi, so timid and silent.  The Miss, alluring and fascinating.

How could he have known with one always looking away from him and the other looking like Heaven’s jewels?

Still, the Miss and Bucchi are obviously one and the same.

Obviously.

He wants to hit himself for being so ridiculously, stupidly blind.

He didn’t know a maid could be so eye-catchingly gorgeous, so heartachingly desirable.

He blinks himself into awareness.

She ran away.

No, he let her run away while his slow-as-a-turtle brain processed.

And he’s still processing.  Like the fact that every time she ran away, he never found her because he never thought to check the servants’ quarters.  Or that she, Bucchi, never looked at him because she didn’t want him to recognize her.  And that she never told him her name or where she’s from because she didn’t want him to know that she’s a maid.

Or did she want him to figure it out?

She said things like “comb” and “bath” because…

His cheeks flame worse than during the kiss.  Oh...nooooo…  She wasn’t being timid because she is timid.  Oh NOOOOO…  Realizations hit him too quick, and he’s hiding his face in his hands, slumped over, in terrible embarrassment.  She was right there while I was…no wonder she couldn’t look at me!...  And then she was combing my hair…  He thinks he might die from his heart spasming from such severe embarrassment.

There was that time, too, after the rainstorm…  For a second he’s filled with self-righteousness at having been correct that day, until he remembers the way he grabbed at her.

Embarrassing memories, just one after another flood him.  

He was pining away right in front of her before that second ball.  Just laying out all his insecurities for her to see.

What was she thinking during all of that?

Oh gods.  He doesn’t want to know what she was thinking.  What she must think of him!  He never acted suave in front of the maids because he never thought he needed to impress them.  Kimiko and Shion have always been sort of like his confidants, more like family than anything else.  He pretty much grew up with them around.  So he acted no different in front of Bucchi.

The way he was sighing and moping in his bedchambers right in front of her.

It’s mortifying.

His fingers run through his hair with the stress.

His mind flashes back again to when he last saw the maid.  The way he grabbed her arm that day!  That really was her, and he just manhandled her thoughtlessly, and he’d never have done that to a woman, anyway, but to her.  To her.  In front of her.  

How could she still like him even after that?

He sits there, frozen, staring at the ground.  His sight slides over to her shiny hairpins and feather hairpiece left on the bench.  He picks it up, remembering the vision she presented when he found her here earlier.

He kissed her.  They kissed passionately, in fact, and if he hadn’t finally recognized her, they might have gone even further.

He stands in panic.

He needs to see her.  She ran because she thought he must have rejected her.  He’s still hopelessly in love with her.  He needs her to know that.

He runs out of the gardens and dashes toward the servants’ quarters.  He runs through the halls of their bedchambers.  He has no idea if she’s in any of them, so he calls her name aloud, hoping she might respond.  

Nothing.

He runs up to the kitchens.

“Master Naruto!”  Servants call his name in surprise.

“What do you need, sir?”

His intrusion completely halts their work.  Everyone stops what they’re doing to look at him.

He looks out-of-sorts.  His hair is noticeably mussed.  His shirt is wrinkled.  Their stares focus in on the hairpiece in his hand.

“Are you alright, Master Naruto?” a cook asks.

Naruto’s gaze darts anxiously from face to face, none of them the one he wants to see.  

“Master Naruto?”

He takes a moment to calm his breath.  “...I’d like to speak with..Bucchi.”  He tries to tame his feelings of embarrassment, which are threatening to explode across his face and color his skin a telling red.  “...Has anyone seen her?”

The servants look around.  One of the cooks hollers her name out, as if she might be hiding in another room, which, honestly, everyone half-expects with the young master in the vicinity.  Murmurings rise when she doesn’t appear.  “She could be helping to clean the rooms?”  “Maybe she’s in the scullery?”

“Sir, I think I might know where she is,” Shizuka says, speaking up.  She nods assuredly to the fellow staff.  “I can take you to her.”

“Thank you.”  He follows the maid to a quiet hallway, far from the kitchens.  He’s surprised when the maid abruptly turns around.

“Master Naruto, so...she told you?”  The maid looks at him worriedly.

He stares at her for a second to collect his thoughts.  “She didn’t tell me anything…”

Shizuka looks at the feather hairpiece in his hand.

“This is Bucchi’s, isn’t it?” he asks.  “I need to speak with her.  Do you know where she is?”  Impatience threatens to leak through, but it’s obvious that Shizuka is his lover’s friend.

“I thought...I thought she was with you, sir,” Shizuka replies quietly.

He keeps himself from grimacing.  “She was...and then, I thought maybe she returned here.”  

Shizuka pauses and then nods, turning back around.  She leads him down a hall he hadn’t ventured into and to a shut door, where she stops and knocks.  “Bucchi, are you in there?” She leans her ear against the door.  When she doesn’t hear a response, she goes on, “I’m coming in, okay?”  She turns the door handle and looks at Naruto pointedly.

“I’ll...wait out here.”  He can’t just go into a woman’s room, even if it’s the servants’ quarters.

“I apologize, Master Naruto.  I will try to bring her to you if she is in here,” she whispers.  She turns the handle and enters, shutting the door behind her.  In the dark, she can barely make out the lump of her friend on the bed.

“Bucchi?”

“...Shizuka…”

She approaches carefully to her bedside.  She wants desperately to ask what happened, but now is not the best time.  “Master Naruto wants to speak with you, Bucchi.  He is waiting right outside for you.”

Hinata turns her head in confusion, and then rolls over to face her friend.  She doesn’t believe it.  She was crying in humiliation and shame just a moment ago and only managed in the past few minutes to slightly calm herself.  “...Really?”

“Yes.  Are you able to talk to him?  He really wants to talk to you.”

Hinata touches her swollen eyes.  She’s still in her dress, but she must look like a complete mess.  Not to mention her long hair is all over the place.

“What happened?  Were you crying?” Shizuka asks, realizing the state that Bucchi is in.  “Are you okay?  I can try to ask him to leave if you are indisposed.”

“I should...I should talk to him.”  

Shizuka frowns, wondering what happened.  Bucchi said that she would talk to him, but instead, it seems that something went wrong.  She helps Bucchi sit up and get out of bed.  “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes, I’m sorry, Shizuka, for the trouble.”  Hinata does her best to fix her hair, but it’s useless.  She tries to wipe her face clear, but she knows she must look awful.  Crying never looked good on her.  She decides to change out of her gown at least.  Slipping out of the tight-fitting material is another call back to reality.  She’s not anything fancy.  She’s just a maid.  She cracks the door open, keeping her head bowed, and catches sight of his shoes.  Shame engulfs her once more.  She made him go looking for her again.  And this time, he found her.  “M-m-master Naruto, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t!” he interrupts, a bit too loudly.  He sees her shoulders tense.  “Don’t call me like that.”  Hearing that from her makes him feel sick.  And why won’t she look at him?  Even if she’s a maid, it’s been clear to him that she wasn’t always one.  She has no business calling him that way, not after everything.

“N-naruto, I’m sorry f-for deceiving you.”

“No.  No, no, don’t apologize, Bucchi, I understand.”  He looks up from her bowed head to see Shizuka standing awkwardly behind her.  “Thank you, Shizuka,” he says as a way to acknowledge and dismiss her.

She nods quickly, rubs Bucchi’s back, and scampers away.

Naruto waits for her to leave before taking a deep breath.  He turns his attention back to the young woman before him, the dream that’s been haunting him, his lover.  All he can see of the beautiful lady is the top of her head, her long hair cascading over her strange coat.  She seems so much smaller. Even still, it’s her, but the difference is so incredible, he feels now that he really doesn’t know her, that he has no business touching her at all.  “...Come with me.  Where we can talk somewhere private,” he invites quietly.

She nods, still unable to meet his eyes.

He navigates them as quickly as possible through the halls, and she follows at a respectful distance.  To anyone watching, no one would know of their relationship.  He opens the door to his bedchamber, quickly realizing the irony of the situation.  He had been thinking of bringing her here earlier in the evening to get to know each other.  Now he really means it.

His entrance immediately alerts Kimiko and Shion.  “Master Naruto, you’re back early. Is anything the matter?”

Many things are of matter right now, but first, “I need to speak with Bucchi, alone, please.  And I don’t want any interruptions.”

Their eyes shift to the shy maid in confusion before they leave the two of them alone.  

When the door is securely shut, silence settles between them.  

Hinata’s hands twist together anxiously.  She doesn’t know what to expect now.  He said he understands, but does he?  What does he understand?  She glances up at him in curiosity.

“You’re finally looking at me.”

She drops her gaze again.

“Bucchi, no...Miss.  Please.”

She looks up at him, slowly meeting his eyes that are surprisingly soft.  It encourages her to stand straighter, to relax her grip on her fingers.

“What’s your real name?”  He steps closer, carefully.  “Won’t you tell me, please?”

She doesn’t know his intentions.  If she gives him her real name, he can certainly send her back to Konoha.  She shifts uncomfortably as he draws closer.  It would be rude of her to step away from him.  “M-my real name is of no importance to you, N-naruto.  I’m just..just a maid...I lost my name when I arrived in Uzushio.”

“Then, where did you come from?”  He doesn’t like that she still looks scared.  What makes her think that he’ll hurt her?  “Please don’t say you’re from Towel,” he tries half-jokingly.  

She bites her lips in shame at how she tricked him twice.  “I-I’m sorry.” She lets her gaze drop, but he quickly steps up to her, his fingers at her cheek.  

“Look at me.  Don’t look away anymore.”  He trains his gaze on hers until her light eyes are on him, too.  “Nothing’s different to me.  I still see you.  And, it’s me.”  He pauses to see if she understands him.  “It’s just me.”

Just him.  Hinata studies him, matching his words with his expression.  He doesn’t sound or look angry. Concerned, definitely, but not really upset.

“I just want to know you.”  

She can feel herself breathing easier.

“Bucchi, Miss, do you know?”

She looks at him in confusion.  When he doesn’t go on, she asks quietly, “...Do I know…?”

He smiles at hearing her voice, calmer now.  “I don’t think you know.  That even now, I want to kiss you.”  He watches her blush.  “But I don’t know you.  And you don’t know how much I want to know you…”  Now that he can see her face clearly again, and so, so close, close enough to kiss, he finds it hard to focus on anything other than her soft skin.  Her makeup looks smeared...from tears...but that only makes him want to kiss her fears away.  It would be so easy to just continue where they left off.  It’s frustrating to think that he’s the only one so affected, that she can leave him so easily, that she really did leave him, even after their tryst in the garden.  It’s not fair.  Not fair at all.  “Is it the same for you?  Do you want to know me?”

“Yes,” she whispers.  “Yes, Naruto, I want to know you, too.”  She says this as earnestly as she can.

“Then...tell me about yourself.”

She nods and swallows her hesitation.  Nervously, she takes his hand, letting him feel the roughness of her fingers that her gloves had concealed all this time.  She avoids his gaze, not wanting to see his reaction to her work-worn hands.  “I...I’m from a land of great forests.  I disguised myself, ran away from home, boarded the trading ships, and...and ended up here.”  She takes a deep breath, readying herself for his questions.