Title: Generations
By: Midnight Unicorn

I'm a bit of a fatalist, that's where this fic came from. Wrote it a while ago, then lost, and just found it again. Usual disclaims: not mine, no money made.

I can't believe it! I mean, we're Genin and all we do is weed gardens, and look for lost animals and organize stupid old libraries no one uses.

I shove a stack of papers to the side angrily; a box spills all over the floor.

"Be careful, baka," my teammate calls through the door. "Break anything and Yamanaka-baa-san won't pay us."

"Mind your own business, bastard," I snap.

Growling curses that one would never associate with my delicate Hyuuga breeding I stooped to scoop up the contents of the box back into their shelter. It's a bunch of photos, an old hitai-ate, a red hair ribbon, some half-disintegrated files…damn, this place is old.

I pause to examine a photo, yellow with age but well-tended until it was thrown in this box, There's a good-looking black-haired boy glaring out of the corners of his black eyes, possibly at the pink-haired girl smiling precociously at the camera, but more likely at the blue-eyes blond scowling less subtly at him. On each of the boys' heads rested the hands of a white-haired sensei, most of his face masked, but his one visible eye narrowed in a grin.

I flipped it over; scribbled on the back was 'Team Seven'.

"Huh," I mumbled. More fascinating than that was the hitai-ate, with a deep gouge across the Konoha leaf. The metal was dull, the crack filled with dust and dirt and the blue cloth moth-eaten.

The next picture I pick up is of a woman in familiar white robes and head cover with the fire kanji. Pink hair is visible between the folds of the cloth. I stare at the solemn face of a young woman who has lost everything and then the fresh visage of a twelve-year-old sticking out her tongue.

"No way," I breathe.

I hear the thump of the cane too late.

"Rokudaime Haruno Sakura," the tired old voice of Yamanaka-baa-san came from the door. "Only rival I had worthy of the title."

"Er, that's nice, Yamanaka-san," I said nervously as I hastily shovel things back. "Well, eh…I'm done here!" Worse than clearing her old library was listening to old Yamanaka-san. She had been pretty enough once with blue eyes and pale hair, nice shape, but now her eyes are watery, her hair as wispy as the wind and she is old and bent and scarred.

-break-

I watch the young Hyuuga heiress scamper from the room, running from my stories. Everyone does, now, even the Kyudaime. I am afraid that when I die there shall be no one left to remember them, to remember how great we were.

I lovingly twine Sakura's hair ribbon with Sasuke's hitai-ate, setting them on Team Seven's photos. At least the girl didn't get to Kakashi-sensei's old Icha Icha books.

Briefly I wonder why nobody seems to care about the Rookie Nine and Team Gai, about Konoha 11 when we were the most powerful single generation to ever come about. But it almost doesn't matter anymore; even if the Hyuuga, less like her gentle great grandmother than her prideful distant cousin of the Branch House, doesn't think to take this glimpse to the past one of the Genin will. Perhaps Chouji's great-great nephew, or Kiba's inquisitive cousin r Sakura's own granddaughter will find something to interest them.

"Ah, well," I sigh, watching the young Hyuuga, Nara and Umino stroll away. "Better luck next time."

On my wide green lawn spreads the ghosts of them I cherished most. "It will not be long," I whisper to their expectant looks. "I just have to find someone."

They fade one by one, Sai with a whispered 'gorgeous' and Sakura with a fond 'Ino-pig.'

Just a little longer, I repeat to myself; I just have to find one.

I have my own predictions for the ultimate end, and you can see some of them here. For the record, the ones she cherished most is all the Rookie Nine, Team Gai and Sai, but I didn't want to list all their names or mention them by traits. Ja.