A/N: Written for one of my best friends as a late, late Christmas present (I promise to finish that TamaHaru picture for you one day!). I haven't written something outside of angst or Naruto in forever, nor have I read W Juliet in a while (two years, coughcough) and OH MY GOD, I FELT LIKE I HAD TO BEAT THE FIRST HALF OUT OF ME WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER. WHYYYYYYYYYY?

Well, I hope it's not as bad as I think it is, and that if you miss me while you're at college, you'll read this and think of me. Have fun at Davis, Colleen! :D

It was dark. In the quiet, sleepy streets of their neighborhood, a lone car passed, its headlights shifting into and over the sleeping residences. Creeping into the window, the light slinked over the sheets, tracing his legs, his waist, the delicate features of his face before passing over his head and cutting off as the car passed their house, its inhibitors undisturbed. In his sleep, his finger twitched at his side and the peaceful expression on his face abruptly darkened as beads of sweat collected on his skin.

'No. No. No,' he thought as he turned fitfully in his sleep, his grip on the covers a milky knuckle-white, tightening as the seconds passed. Breathing became a struggle, fear and anxiety cloying at his throat, suffocating him. His brows knit, his heart raced as he bit his lip.

Suddenly Makoto sat up.

"No!"

His shout rebounded harmless off the walls back at him, muffled and smaller than when it had first started. In the ensuing silence, he scanned the room, starting with the dresser to his lift before passing over the vanity cluttered by makeup and photos, over the large window with its split curtains, over his nightstand, before he finally allowed himself to release the breath he was holding. Exhaling his tension on a sigh, he raised a hand to touch his forehead and assure himself that he was awake and no longer dreaming. It was only a dream. Only a dream, he told himself.

It had started pleasantly enough. On a bright, clear summer day, he and Ito were going to have a picnic. They had packed the basket that morning and held the handle together, letting the basket dangle between them. As they made it over the crest of the hill, Ito ran forward, already eagerly scouting out the perfect spot for them to set down their blanket as he watched on with a patient, adoring smile and readjusted the blanket under his other arm.

He watched the scene for a while more, watched as she stood in the middle of the field, the wildflowers swaying gently around her ankles. A breeze picked up and he watched as her hair shined and danced in the wind.

Seeing her pause, he supposed that she had found the spot and began making his way over to meet her. Sensing his approach, she began to turn around.

However, it was then that the nightmare began, for as soon as she turned around, Ito's appearance changed. Her jaw became heavier and her long hair was cropped messily at the sides of her head. To make matters worse, Makoto felt a familiar weight on his head as he spied long blonde tendrils at the corners of his eye and felt the familiar brush of a skirt over his legs. He made a sound of surprise, mortified as his voice pitched into a feminine squeak. In response, Ito gave a deep laugh and ran over. "Need any help with the basket, Mako-chan?" Ito intoned in a bright, boyish voice that spoke volumes of the cheer in his character. Meanwhile, Makoto was trying very hard not to scream.

The nightmare playing back in his mind, he felt the dark tendrils of anxiety coil around his heart. He could feel his pulse race as his breathing became shallower, the pace becoming worse as he caught sight of the long blonde tendrils dangling at the sides of his face. Unable to breathe, his hand flew to his chest, feeling and pressing as his fear mounted inside him. However, he (thankfully) found nothing there and his worries gone, he let his hand fall from his chest and placed it over his eyes as he tried to calm his racing brain.

Sighing, he let the silence wash over his frazzled nerves and frowned to himself. It had been a while since he'd had a dream like that.

Though he and Ito had been married for a while now and the boundaries had been clearly marked, Makoto still couldn't help the fear that he would one day turn back into a woman. He supposed it was due to the ridiculous agreement between him and his father that was to blame (honestly, there were obviously going to be some ramifications to having him cross-dress for two years), and while he had become more masculine in the past few years (dangerously so if Ito had any say in it), he still couldn't help his fear of reverting back into a woman.

Now, it wasn't due to any misguided notions of Ito "out-manning" him that he was afraid—he loved and respected Ito completely and was completely secure in his masculinity in that sense—but rather, what that period of his life represented for him. Those two years (while being some of the best years of his life) were also the worst. He always had to look over his shoulder back then and the fact he could never openly embrace Ito—that she was constantly being put into danger time and time again because of him, angered him. He could never rest—always had to keep planning, keep thinking, keep worrying. His situation chained him; he could never be as honest with Ito as she deserved, and whenever she hurt herself trying to help him, it frustrated him. The whole thing frustrated him because while he wanted to help—while his heart, head, and every fiber of his being was shouting and begging to be allowed to rush in and help her—he couldn't because no one could find out his secret. He was helpless against his father—by his political power or by the confines of their agreement—and that sense of helplessness—of abject weakness and loss—crushed him.

They were older now, and while he constantly reassured himself that it was over—that he was able to be his true self and that Ito was at his side and he could finally, finally show off their relationship proudly—he could never fully push away the lingering feelings that clouded his heart—the "weakness of a woman" as he called it. Though he knew women were by no means weak (both his family and his wife attested to that fact strongly), Makoto knew no other way to describe the feelings of confinement and helplessness he felt during those years because he had been trapped by his disguise as a woman. Even now, when he looked at the blonde wig he used as a disguise all those years ago, there was still a feeling of wariness mixed with his fondness.

Feeling the dark fog forming around him once more, Makoto shook his head with a frown. 'I'm being ridiculous,' he told himself grimly.

Dimly, he realized that his shout might have woken Ito up and he pushed back the last stubborn shreds of cloying anxiety from his mind to turn and check if he had awakened his wife, smiling when he found her still soundly asleep. In his chest, a bubble of laughter tried to escape, but he swallowed it down, a faint amused smile on his face being the only clue to its existence. Only Ito could sleep so soundly where others would instantly awake.

Satisfied that she was still sleeping, Makoto let his fingers wander to her hair. He knew he should be getting back to sleep—that he had work later that day, but that dream ensured he would be awake for a while, and he twirled his fingers in the long, dark swirls of her hair on the pillow. Watching his hands tangle in her soft strands, he was instantly reminded of his own long hair (he usually kept it short, but work had kept him busy) and with the nightmare fresh in his mind, looked at the golden strands distastefully and reminded himself to schedule a haircut as soon as possible.

Below, his hands continued to tangle in her hair. Idly, he thought about how her hair shimmered in the moonlight. She had grown it out to the same length her mother had when she was alive, causing her father's outrage that Makoto was stealing his precious daughter to swell once more while her brothers commented on how beautiful she looked and how much more she looked like their deceased mother. Though Makoto was more partial to shorter hair, he had to admit that Ito was pretty no matter what length her hair was (though secretly, he hoped their future daughter would have long hair).

Watching as her chest rose and fell evenly as she slept, Makoto smiled. No matter how stressed or frustrated he was, Ito's sleeping face was always enough to put him at ease, and he marveled at how she was able to do it so easily.

Suddenly, Ito began to stir and with a brief flutter of her long lashes, she looked up at him blearily. Seeing him awake, a flash of worry crossed her face and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked, stifling a yawn. Makoto merely smiled down at her.

"I had a nightmare. In my dream, I was a girl and you were a boy."

At his explanation, Ito merely looked up at him and gave a sleepy "Huh…?" causing Makoto to chuckle and smile warmly at her.

"Oh, it's nothing. Go back to sleep. You've been tired the last few days, right?" he whispered. His raven-haired wife nodded in return and laying down her head, was soon fast asleep once more. Makoto watched as she slept, amazed and slightly exasperated by how quickly she fell asleep. Then again, her workload had picked up a lot more than his in these past few weeks, and he made a quick mental note to pack her something to help energize her later that day.

As he watched her breath even out once more, Makoto felt himself calm to the even pace of her breathing. In a way, it was ironic. Though he had always wanted to be the one to protect her and soothe away her fears, he found himself more often than not being comforted by her instead.

Still, as he watched her even breathing, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and the light flutter of her lashes across her cheeks, he found he didn't mind their role reversal because in their protection and comforting of one another, there was always love and that was all that was needed.

And with that thought, he kissed her cheek and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.