So here Hinata is, walking down these damned halls once again. But this time, she isn't looking for a blue-eyed girl with long blond hair who the boys can't take their eyes off of. This time she's not looking for a way out of this prison that she's trapped within. This time, Hinata isn't just wandering aimlessly until her feet bleed, revealed that she can still feel pain, because, hey, at least she still feels something. This time, the Hyuuga knows what she's looking for, and she knows where it is. She even knows how it get it, or at least, she would know how to get it, if only she could swallow past the stone of dread that has lodged itself in her throat.

She can't believe she's doing this. Yes, Hinata knows she's a kunoichi, and that this is what kunoichi do. But at the same time, she was never prepared for this. Sakura and Ino were the ones with soft lips and smooth skin. They were the ones who were taught that sometimes a kiss is more deadly than a knife. She, on the other hand, was a Hyuuga, one who got life handed to her on a silver platter. No one ever prepared her for this; not the Academy, not Iruka-sensei, not Kureina-sensei, not Tsunade-sensei, not Neji, not Sakura, not even Ino. They all just left Hinata to her own devices, and smiled their approval when she started throwing knives, nodded when she could cleanly cut off the wings of a moving fly with a senbon.

Because even with all her new-found confidence and bravery, no one expected little, sweet Hinata-chan to be a whore. That's Sakura's job, Ino's job, and maybe even a job for Temari. Hinata is like Tenten; better with the weapons made from steel. They all babied her, Hinata realizes with a shock, and she wants to start crying all over again. They were all protecting her, keeping her from becoming a true kunoichi, allowing her to maintain the tiniest sliver of innocence.

But she's going to lose that now. And maybe it isn't to a golden-haired boy with a smile like the sun and demon whiskers on his face. So what if she's offering herself up (A virgin) to an outlaw, and a rogue and a man who slaughtered his own family. Hinata is doing this for a reason. She's trying to save herself and her friends, and goddamnit, if this doesn't work, she'll give up completely. Because so much is depending on her, and Hinata isn't sure how much more of this she can take.

Ino's parting words ring in Hinata's ears, and she swallows with some difficulty. Hinata scrubbed the dirt, sweat, fear and loneliness from her body, allowed Ino to create a simple herbal oil which she rubbed over her skin and into her hair (Both now glow softly in the dim light, both are now soft and sleek and smelling of the fresh air). She combed her hair until it hung down her back like silk, and loosened the tight bandages that snugly hold her breasts in place. Her clothes are clean (Courtesy of Ino, who is trying her hardest to make this as easy as it possibly can be) and appearance-wise, Hinata is ready.

If only she felt it.

"There is a chance that you will be allowed to go free, go back home to Konoha, once Naruto is dead, because at that point, you will no longer be considered a bargaining piece, and the Akatsuki will have no use for you. (How can Ino speak so easily of Naruto dying, of that loud, obnoxious, kind-hearted, gold-haired boy they have all known since birth becoming nothing more than an empty, lifeless corpse?) But that's a small chance, and what's more likely is that they will just kill you, Hinata, and bury you body in the forest somewhere. Your only bet for safety is to seduce him, whoever he may be. They won't kill you if it looks like you have a use, either as a bed-warmer, or a medic, or a spy.

Of course, if you do end up fucking of one them, you'll never get to go free. But, staying here forever, as a prisoner, but alive, is better than being dead. Please Hinata, do this for me. Even if we aren't free to go home, we'll be here, together, you, Sakura and me.

Because if you die, Hinata, I don't think I'll be able to put on a brave face any longer."

Feet stop moving. While her mind was busy fretting and worrying, her body automatically knew what to do; when to stop and when to go. Hinata idly wonders if that will carry on into when she is lying naked in Itachi's bed. She certainly hopes so, because she really had no idea what she is supposed to do. For a moment, she cannot bring herself to raise her hand, and knock against the rough stone door. She is trapped, helpless, frozen in a moment, becauseshecannotdothis! All her emotions bubble together, surge upwards into her throat, and Hinata feels like she is going to break down and scream.

And then, oddly enough, she sees her father. His face is red with anger, and his hands are clenched into fists. Spit flies from the mouth of the collected Head of the Hyuuga Clan as he screams down at his little daughter. "Stop crying! You are a Hyuuga; Hyuugas do not cry! You are weak and pathetic, a nothing who's little sister is a thousand times better than her! You should not have been born into the Main Branch! STOP CRYING! You will never amount to anything, because you allow your emotions to control you! You are not a Hyuuga, and you never will be!"

Her stomach twists with hatred as she recalls this memory, and the Hyuuga Heiress's eyes flash with anger. But as quickly as these emotions come, they leave, and Hinata is left standing in front of a crude stone door, calm, collected, as blank as a sheet of white paper. Hyuuga's do not show emotion.

She can't explain it, why her rage towards her father is able to leave her so...well, at peace with what she is going to do. But Hinata doesn't question it, nor does she think about it too hard. Instead, she places on hand on the door handle, and twists, pushing with her weight against the door, forcing it inwards.
Hinata stands in the doorway, eyes blinking rapidly, waiting for them to adjust to the gloom. Itachi's quarters are sparse and spartan. A bed is pushed up against one wall, a end table placed next to the bed, and a simple wooden wardrobe rests in one corner. There are no windows, and the darkness seems to be pressing down on Hinata, suffocating her, making it hard to breath. Her heart hammers against her chest, and she forces herself to take a deep breath.

She can't stand to close the door behind her, because the thought of being alone in this lightless room makes her skin crawl. So instead she walks over to the end table, and picks up the box of matches with trembling hands. The candle, thankfully, looks new, so she does not have to worry about it burning out. But with her hands shaking like tree branches in the breeze, it takes her several tries to light the candle, wasted matches falling to her feet.

The candle creates giant shadows, which leap and dance against the walls of the room. She sits down on the bed, running her fingers over the coarse fabric of the sheets. The room is cold, Hinata realizes with a shiver, and she stretches out on the bed. The faint scent of ash and pine trees clings to the fabric, and Hinata breathes in deeply, remembering that this is the same scent that clung to Itachi's cloak.

She doesn't fall asleep exactly, because Hinata's mind is still working furiously. She still remembers where she is, and why she is here. It's more like a doze, one which allows her tightly clenched muscles to relax, and her breathing to even out.

Still, even if she is aware of things, it's distantly, so the soft footsteps and the scrape of a closing door don't register until it's too late. Hinata's eyes fly open and she sits up with a jerk to see Itachi looking down at her with a blank expression, save for a slightly arched brow.

"Itachi-san!" Hinata's mouth is dry, and she can't get the words to form properly. "My most sincere apologies; I merely wanted to come and thank you once again for saving me from Hidan-san." She is painfully aware of the tightness of her clothes, and the loose bindings around her chest. "I realize that I was not entire grateful when I saw you last." She slides from the bed, and lands in a crumpled heap at his feet, head down and arms out in front of her in a bow. "You have my thanks, Itachi Uchiha."

Itachi's voice is calm, but there is a hint of something that could be amusement. "Get up, Hyuuga-san. There is no need for you to sprawl on the floor like a servant whore."

She stands slowly, keeping her eyes downcast, like she is too afraid to look up at them. "Hinata. Please...call me Hinata." She says in a whisper, one hand twisting her hair in what she hopes is a girlish fashion.

"Hinata." The Uchiha says the name slowly, and she dares to look up at him, to meet those cold, dead black eyes.

What happens next, it seems as if Hinata has no control over. Her body reacts and begins to move, while her mind stays behind, frozen with fear and shock. She straightens up, standing on her toes, and leans forward to gently press her lips against Itachi's. It's not a long kiss, nor is it deep, or passionate, or any of those things. It's more like shock, and surprise on both their parts, with fear and self-loathing on Hinata's.

(A kunoichi's body is just another weapon. She does not care what happens it to, although she keeps it in perfect condition. A pretty face, made beautiful by make-up, soft hair, smooth skin. Some say a kunoichi is nothing more than a prostitute with daggers hidden in the folds of her dress. Seduction and lust are her allies. A kunoichi will stop at nothing to get what she wants.

Tsunade drilled that into Team Kunoichi's heads when they were still in training. Don't let your feelings get in the way of completely the mission. And don't dwell on the unhappy memories of the past.)

Hinata tries to remind herself of her sensei's teachings as she pulls away from Itachi; shame and fear coursing through her. His face is perfectly blank, black eyes as dull and emotionless as when she first met him. Hinata is doing this to get revenge. She's not in love with the Uchiha, the man who killed his own family. She's doing this to fool him.

She thinks of Sakura and Ino. Hinata is doing this for them. Something, this is all for them. And because she can't think clearly right now, hasn't been able to think clearly since Team Kunoichi was captured, she really just doesn't know. Somehow...somehow, giving up her body to the Uchiha...somehow, that will help her, save her, just like doing something like this saved Sakura and Ino. This has nothing to do with emotions; just another carefully planned fuck.

Or maybe Hinata should just stop lying to herself. She's also doing this because she is attracted to the silent, pale, ghost-like Uchiha Itachi. Hinata can pretend that this is just another sex mission. Just another sleep-with and destroy. But this time it's different. Because the true goal of the mission is unclear. And because this time, Hinata wants to know what it's like to have someone else's body pressed against your own.

"Itach-san," Hinata stuttered, trying her best to appear flustered and embarrassed (which wasn't hard). "I-I'm sorry...I don't know why-" She doesn't want to meet those dead, black eyes. It's not hard to appear ashamed of her actions. Hinata allows her eyes to dart around the dark room, twisting her fingers together, and always keeping her eyes focused on the ground.

Lies. Everything is a lie.

But Uchiha Itachi is a clever man. He isn't fooled by Hinata's lies. Because he knows what someone who will do anything to get what they want looks like. And although he's never seen the uncaring, determined driveness in a female, he now sees it in Hinata. Itachi can tell that she's planning something. Or, at least, trying to plan something.

And like the Hyuuga Heiress, he doesn't care. Doesn't care that Hinata might have a plan, doesn't care that getting attached to this black-haired wench could spell disaster for him. Itachi just does not care. So maybe they can both gain something from this. After all, she is very pretty.

Hinata's pathetic attempts at being embarrassed and cutely ashamed at put to an end when she feels a pair of firm, cold lips meet her own, forcing her into silence. She makes a sound of surprise in the back of her throat, and raises her hands half-heartedly, as if to push him away. She can't. She couldn't push Itachi away, even if her life depeneded on it.

Because this is what she wanted, after all.

And this is nothing like the sweet, awkward kiss she shared with Naruto a long, long time ago. Itachi knows what he wants, and he's older and stronger that Hinata, and because of that, he will get exactly what he wants. Nothing less.

Somehow (Hinata isn't entirely sure how this happened, but it did, and that's all that matters) her fingers are entangled in Itachi's long hair, and she standing on the tops of her toes, chest pressed against his, lips locked, trying to breath. His hands rest on her waist, pulling her closer, sharp teeth teasing the soft skin on the insides of her lips.

She can't remember when they break apart to breath. Maybe they don't. The kisses all blur together in a never-ending battle that resembles a dance; demanding teeth and tongue and lips. One of Itachi's hands removes itself from her waist, up to her breasts, cupping one gently. Hinata gasps, and tugs at the concealing cloak all Akatsuki members wear. She hates that black and red patterned cloak. She wants it gone.

That way, maybe she can forgot who Itachi is, and what he's done. If they both forget everything, they can pretend to be just a man and a girl, lonely and needy.

Her jacket and shirt are long gone. They were discarded to the floor once merely kissing wasn't enough. Hinata is now wearing only her pants and breast bandages. She has a feeling that in a minute, she's going to lose those too. Itachi is also shirtless, which gives her a small sense of satisfaction.

Hinata's hand trails down his pale shoulders, to the hard muscles of Itachi's stomach. She's no medic, but it's clear that Itachi has been living a hard life. Lean and taunt from going days on end without food, his chest and lower abdomen are covered in scars and nicks that mar the once-smooth skin.

Itachi turns his attention to the untouched skin on Hinata's neck. Biting and sucking, his pale hands fumble with the knot that holds Hinata's breast binding in place. She wants Itachi to stop biting her. She doesn't want him to stop. The pain hurts. The pain feels so good. The pain is real, and reminds her of why she's doing this. Hinata digs her nails into his sides, producing a hiss from the once-emotionless Uchiha.

Bare breasts press against bare chest. Breathing is fast and ragged. Hinata knows that in the morning, her once-untouched neck will be covered in bite marks and bruises. That's alright though. Then at least Sakura won't be the only one who's using each night, and another person's body, as a way to forget.

Hinata doesn't know about Ino, hasn't seen Ino since that fateful day. But she assumes that things for Ino are the same as they are for herself and Sakura.

She's the last one out of the three girls to fall for a monster; a demon hiding (trapped) in a man's body. But that makes sense, because Hinata never really was good at seducing people anyway. And in the back of her mind, Hinata can't help but wonder "Is this really love?" Love is what Ino feels for Choji, what Sakura feels for Sasuke, what she feels for Naruto.

Love is not what Ino feels for Kisame, or what Sakura feels for Deidara, or even what she herself feels for Itachi. Because loving someone requires you to care about them. And Hinata doesn't care for Itachi. She just wants to see him dead.

Because what Hinata feeling, what Itachi is feeling, what they all are feeling, is lonliness. Hate and fear and anger and lonliness. And lonely people band together. But never in the name of love.

Hinata underneath Itachi now, the scratchy sheets rubbing against her back. His face is blank again; a mess of white skin, and dead black eyes, and long black hair. But that's all she sees before he's biting at her lips again, one hand resting on her chest, the other between her legs.

Hinata knows that in the morning, she's going to wake up, and regret this. Now, though, her attention is focused on the cool hand slipping beneath the waist of her pants, and the firm chest pressed tightly against hers.

Because it's all just a lie. A goddamn lie.