Chocolate Candy Bar, Anko&Hanabi, 1229 words
So, mattador said one day that he wanted to write Anko as Hanabi's genin teacher, to which I replied, DO IT. and also, if you do, I will so write AnkoHana fanfic of fanfic! (Warning: Hanabi is still a girl in this, but nothing between them actually happens, so.)
And he did, and you should definitely check it out here -http://mattador.livejournal.com/416318.html - and here http://mattador.livejournal.com/416701.html - because 1) it's five shades of pure awesome, and 2) this won't make sense if you don't.
Hanabi let herself in matter-of-factly. It was a simple thing to channel chakra into the lock so that it slid open; the deadbolt hadn’t been thrown, confirming that Anko-sensei was indeed out for the evening.
She gave some thought to waiting there, perhaps locating the most questionable scroll Anko had in her possession, one so borderline illegal that Anko had not yet taught it to her team. Then she would let Anko find her curled up with it on the sofa. Anko-sensei would be drunk when she returned from her night out. She shivered a little, thinking about Anko advancing on her, demanding to know what she was doing, perhaps drunkenly pinning her back against the wall. When Anko spoke, there would be that edge her voice sometimes took on, but only for Hanabi, never for Tobi or Hayabusa. The one that was borderline to something Hanabi couldn’t name. It was sticky and half-violent. It thrilled her to her core.
What would she do after that?
Probably die of happiness that she was right about me, Hanabi thought with a sniff.
It was strangely tempting to let Anko be right. Something inside her wound up hot and tight when she thought about how she could wave it at Anko. I, Hyuuga Hanabi, was headed for a safe enough sort of future until you put it in my head that I could become someone dangerous. Like Sasuke. Like you once upon a time.
Not that she would act on it. But still - still, she was here. She didn’t even know why. It seemed to demand a further action of some sort, now that she had taken it this far. She moved quietly through the apartment, though there was really no need for stealth. She could explain it to herself as training, she supposed.
Past the tiny kitchen (she thought about tidying up the sink for her action; it would be a good solid statement, a god, you’re filthy kind of statement) and the bath, she found Anko’s bedroom. She couldn’t help but feel a little excitement as she eased open the door, careful to cover her hand with her sleeve before she turned the knob. The hinges murmured, then burst into a groan.
Hanabi winced, and then nodded appreciatively. She eased the door a bit further, slipping inside.
The wood planks beneath her feet immediately creaked, announcing her as if the door hadn’t been enough. Her eyes flew to the bed to be sure. What if Anko-sensei had just decided not to bother with the deadbolt?
But no, there was nothing but covers. In the shadows, another’s eyes might have mistaken the wadded covers for a sleeping body, but Hanabi’s eyes were the better sort. She treaded lightly into the room, heart knocking against her ribcage. Anko had left the shades yanked open. Yellowed light from the streetlamps spilled through the window. Past them, Hanabi could see the washed out moon.
It was a nondescript room. Small. Messy. Clothes cluttered up the floor, including an unholy amount of fishnet; pillows of assorted size and shape spilled off the bed and made a nest. Hanabi couldn’t decide if it was deliberate. She didn’t know if Anko were a nesting sort or not. The only pillow that was still on the bed (askew though) had a candy bar wrapper half-tucked beneath it.
I could make the bed, Hanabi thought, wrinkling her nose in disgust. But no, this was training, remember. Her action should follow from that.
-Training, or testing, she thought with excitement. Yes, that was something much like a reason to be here. She was testing her sensei, to see how observant Anko was. Would she notice a small, subtle intrusion to her lair?
Hanabi smiled to herself. She toed a skirt. She could hang just this one. That’d be subtle. The material, silk, slithered against her arm as she lifted it. A shiver overtook her, shook her. She swallowed and hung it quickly in the closet. The clothes already there whispered as she shifted them aside, beckoning her to run through them and test them to see what ones could make her shiver-shudder. She turned away from the closet; the fewer things she touched, the better.
Oh, and surely Anko had a stash of candy somewhere. She could slip a fresh one beneath her pillow in the wrapper’s stead.
--------------------
Hanabi was first on the scene at the training field the next morning. Part of her said to stay away but the rest (infinitely smarter) pointed out that it was her habit to be there first.
Anko showed up late. She staggered off the trail. “Goddamn it, you three actually showed up.” She flopped onto the ground and buried her face in the wet grass. “Your teacher is half-dead. Go run laps or something.” Still flat on her face, she lifted her hand and made a shooing motion.
Hanabi just looked at her.
Tobi poked her in the side. “Why are you glaring? I know you take training seriously, but sheesh -”
“I’m not glaring,” said Hanabi, realizing she was. “Let’s run laps, then,” she said flatly.
She ran, not the way she wanted to, which was full-out with her legs pounding her anger into the ground. No, she ran with care to warm up, and only sprinted one lap well after she had fallen into a steady pace, and after that one lap she made sure to come off it into a jog. She didn’t know how Anko could think anyone who ran like this would ever turn traitor in a stupid flush of emotion. Not that stupid Anko would even stupid notice if she was about to, for all her stupid worrying -
I’m being irrational. Let’s review. One, Anko-sensei is hungover. Two, Anko-sensei quite possibly ate the candy bar when she was drunk, so three, now only has a wrapper under her pillow anyway. Four, Anko-sensei owns approximately five thousand items of clothing, therefore five, would not notice one having moved from the floor to her closet, even if six, she bothered to get dressed this morning. Seven, which is doubtful. Eight, if I turned traitor, I’d probably give off more obvious clues than rearranging a closet and replacing a wrapper with a real, live candy bar.
Hanabi was very proud of herself for that train of thought. She started sprinting again anyway, stomping her feet into the ground (which was bad for her shins, by the way, which was why she stopped after a few moments).
-----------
“Short day today,” Anko declared, after she’d given them some dozen assignments, none of which required her. She picked herself up off the ground, grass stains on her coat, and offered them a bleary grin.
“Here, I have a treat,” she said. She reached into an inner pocket. As she drew out a candy bar, she caught Hanabi’s eye and smirked. “Want some, Hanabi?” she said, and that edge was in her voice, only to disappear as she added, “Tobi? Hayabusa?”
“I don’t like chocolate,” Hanabi said, sniffing. To her amazement, her voice didn’t shake at all, though her hands had gone sweaty (her hands never got sweaty) and she hoped to heaven that she wasn’t blushing, because her face was hot enough for it. And inside her, something was soaring - soaring sweaty and embarrassed, but soaring nonetheless.
And he did, and you should definitely check it out here -http://mattador.livejournal.com/416318.html - and here http://mattador.livejournal.com/416701.html - because 1) it's five shades of pure awesome, and 2) this won't make sense if you don't.
Hanabi let herself in matter-of-factly. It was a simple thing to channel chakra into the lock so that it slid open; the deadbolt hadn’t been thrown, confirming that Anko-sensei was indeed out for the evening.
She gave some thought to waiting there, perhaps locating the most questionable scroll Anko had in her possession, one so borderline illegal that Anko had not yet taught it to her team. Then she would let Anko find her curled up with it on the sofa. Anko-sensei would be drunk when she returned from her night out. She shivered a little, thinking about Anko advancing on her, demanding to know what she was doing, perhaps drunkenly pinning her back against the wall. When Anko spoke, there would be that edge her voice sometimes took on, but only for Hanabi, never for Tobi or Hayabusa. The one that was borderline to something Hanabi couldn’t name. It was sticky and half-violent. It thrilled her to her core.
What would she do after that?
Probably die of happiness that she was right about me, Hanabi thought with a sniff.
It was strangely tempting to let Anko be right. Something inside her wound up hot and tight when she thought about how she could wave it at Anko. I, Hyuuga Hanabi, was headed for a safe enough sort of future until you put it in my head that I could become someone dangerous. Like Sasuke. Like you once upon a time.
Not that she would act on it. But still - still, she was here. She didn’t even know why. It seemed to demand a further action of some sort, now that she had taken it this far. She moved quietly through the apartment, though there was really no need for stealth. She could explain it to herself as training, she supposed.
Past the tiny kitchen (she thought about tidying up the sink for her action; it would be a good solid statement, a god, you’re filthy kind of statement) and the bath, she found Anko’s bedroom. She couldn’t help but feel a little excitement as she eased open the door, careful to cover her hand with her sleeve before she turned the knob. The hinges murmured, then burst into a groan.
Hanabi winced, and then nodded appreciatively. She eased the door a bit further, slipping inside.
The wood planks beneath her feet immediately creaked, announcing her as if the door hadn’t been enough. Her eyes flew to the bed to be sure. What if Anko-sensei had just decided not to bother with the deadbolt?
But no, there was nothing but covers. In the shadows, another’s eyes might have mistaken the wadded covers for a sleeping body, but Hanabi’s eyes were the better sort. She treaded lightly into the room, heart knocking against her ribcage. Anko had left the shades yanked open. Yellowed light from the streetlamps spilled through the window. Past them, Hanabi could see the washed out moon.
It was a nondescript room. Small. Messy. Clothes cluttered up the floor, including an unholy amount of fishnet; pillows of assorted size and shape spilled off the bed and made a nest. Hanabi couldn’t decide if it was deliberate. She didn’t know if Anko were a nesting sort or not. The only pillow that was still on the bed (askew though) had a candy bar wrapper half-tucked beneath it.
I could make the bed, Hanabi thought, wrinkling her nose in disgust. But no, this was training, remember. Her action should follow from that.
-Training, or testing, she thought with excitement. Yes, that was something much like a reason to be here. She was testing her sensei, to see how observant Anko was. Would she notice a small, subtle intrusion to her lair?
Hanabi smiled to herself. She toed a skirt. She could hang just this one. That’d be subtle. The material, silk, slithered against her arm as she lifted it. A shiver overtook her, shook her. She swallowed and hung it quickly in the closet. The clothes already there whispered as she shifted them aside, beckoning her to run through them and test them to see what ones could make her shiver-shudder. She turned away from the closet; the fewer things she touched, the better.
Oh, and surely Anko had a stash of candy somewhere. She could slip a fresh one beneath her pillow in the wrapper’s stead.
--------------------
Hanabi was first on the scene at the training field the next morning. Part of her said to stay away but the rest (infinitely smarter) pointed out that it was her habit to be there first.
Anko showed up late. She staggered off the trail. “Goddamn it, you three actually showed up.” She flopped onto the ground and buried her face in the wet grass. “Your teacher is half-dead. Go run laps or something.” Still flat on her face, she lifted her hand and made a shooing motion.
Hanabi just looked at her.
Tobi poked her in the side. “Why are you glaring? I know you take training seriously, but sheesh -”
“I’m not glaring,” said Hanabi, realizing she was. “Let’s run laps, then,” she said flatly.
She ran, not the way she wanted to, which was full-out with her legs pounding her anger into the ground. No, she ran with care to warm up, and only sprinted one lap well after she had fallen into a steady pace, and after that one lap she made sure to come off it into a jog. She didn’t know how Anko could think anyone who ran like this would ever turn traitor in a stupid flush of emotion. Not that stupid Anko would even stupid notice if she was about to, for all her stupid worrying -
I’m being irrational. Let’s review. One, Anko-sensei is hungover. Two, Anko-sensei quite possibly ate the candy bar when she was drunk, so three, now only has a wrapper under her pillow anyway. Four, Anko-sensei owns approximately five thousand items of clothing, therefore five, would not notice one having moved from the floor to her closet, even if six, she bothered to get dressed this morning. Seven, which is doubtful. Eight, if I turned traitor, I’d probably give off more obvious clues than rearranging a closet and replacing a wrapper with a real, live candy bar.
Hanabi was very proud of herself for that train of thought. She started sprinting again anyway, stomping her feet into the ground (which was bad for her shins, by the way, which was why she stopped after a few moments).
-----------
“Short day today,” Anko declared, after she’d given them some dozen assignments, none of which required her. She picked herself up off the ground, grass stains on her coat, and offered them a bleary grin.
“Here, I have a treat,” she said. She reached into an inner pocket. As she drew out a candy bar, she caught Hanabi’s eye and smirked. “Want some, Hanabi?” she said, and that edge was in her voice, only to disappear as she added, “Tobi? Hayabusa?”
“I don’t like chocolate,” Hanabi said, sniffing. To her amazement, her voice didn’t shake at all, though her hands had gone sweaty (her hands never got sweaty) and she hoped to heaven that she wasn’t blushing, because her face was hot enough for it. And inside her, something was soaring - soaring sweaty and embarrassed, but soaring nonetheless.