Top of the Tree XII

Waking up with a start, I found myself in a stark-white room, with an all too familiar smell of medicine and sterilized air. To my left I found the sleeping form of my mother on (what looked like) a really uncomfortable chair. The curtains were drawn obscuring the already dark room. It was night time, and the only light that could be seen were those of the machines, keeping me alive.

With extreme discomfort, I noticed the tube running down my throat, and almost reflexively gagged. It was an awfully strange feeling, not breathing by myself. An IV drip was needled into both my arms, providing my body with saline, and other medications. For the most part I felt tingly, most likely anesthetized. The only part of myself that wasn't immobilized was my eyes, which studied the room hungrily.

For several minutes, I just lay there, not a single thought running through my head. I just stared at the ceiling, and breathed.

The peaceful moment was shattered when the memories came rushing back far too quickly for my mind to process correctly. With every horrifying image, my heart rate sped up, causing my mother to wake with a jerk due to the monitor's uncontrollable beeping. I was still alive? Or rather, why, how?

In a few other seconds, several doctors and nurses came rushing in, and headed to my panicked form. I couldn't breath, and my vision blurred, and almost as sudden as consciousness came to me, it left, and I was once again floating in darkness.

Once I came to, the hospital room was empty save for myself. Sunlight was peeking through the curtains, reflecting on the white walls, and making the room brighter than it appeared. I no longer had a tube shoved down my throat, and was breathing on my own. The faint sound of machines to my right went unnoticed as I tried moving into a sitting position. The door opened mid attempt, and I turned my head in it's direction, silently giving up for the moment.

Tsunade walked in with a stern look on her face. Her shoulders were tense, reflecting her mood as she crossed her arms, and stared at me impassively.

"How bad was it?" I croaked, my throat dry from not using it for so long.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead with one hand while the other reached for my chart that was hung at the edge of the bed.

"Honestly?" she began, I kept quiet, and just looked on, "I'm surprised you alive at all, given the state you came in".

Looking down to my hands, I didn't know what to say.

Tsunade took a few steps and found a jug and filled a cup besides it with water. I accepted the glass and gobbled the water.

"And the others?" I asked, my voice shaking, scared of what she'd say.

I looked up in time to see a pained expression pass through her face, "not good," I winced, "just... tell me".

"Toshiko has lost movement in her knee and will be forced to retire from the force. Satoru is in a coma and has yet to awaken. His state is critical. Your arm is broken in three different places, you had a deep laceration on your side that will undoubtedly scar, and you have a severe concussion. By all means, you should be as unconscious as your teammate."

I paled but didn't say a word, only jerking my head lightly into a nod.

Tsunade's expression softened, "You're not at fault Kozue; the mission was doomed from the start—I don't know what was going through your father's head when he sent a group of genin on a A-rank inside enemy borders".

I nodded again, but didn't meet her eyes. Tsunade just sighed and left my room, leaving me to my own company—my own thoughts.

I spent two month hospitalized, I didn't have much of an appetite for the bland food, the pitiful looks, or the company. Time seemed to have slowed down, and a grey filter put in place. I was numb.

The day came when Satoru's death was announced. I felt an acute pain in my stomach, but on the outside I didn't react. Fixed with potent glue was the mask barring the world of access to my emotions and feelings.

The doctors said I was depressed.

All I wanted was to curl up in my own bed, and disappear.

I didn't go to the funeral.
I doubt I missed much.

My mom spent time by my bedside knitting, reading or peeling apples (even though I don't like them). When I asked her about work, she said family always comes first, and as her daughter, she'd spent the rest of her lifetime by my bedside if needed.

The day I was released from the hospital I spent my time cooped up in my bedroom, gazing out the window—unmoving. I felt like my limbs were shot with a heavy dose of anesthesia, but at the same time a cutting pain that you only felt in extreme low temperatures. I couldn't stop myself from letting out a sob. Mom came rushing into my room, and wrapped me in an embrace. My body shook, and wails scraped passed my throat. "It hurts, mommy!" I gasped, tears no doubt wetting her shoulder.

"I know." It's funny, I'd never really appreciated my mother, always taking her presence for granted. I knew I'd lose her eventually—perhaps not for a while, but it would come eventually. And then, where would I be? Curled up in a fatal position?

I hadn't realized how much my soul needed comfort—I'd been spread too thin, and holes started appearing in the middle.

She held me for the longest time, neither saying another word, only listening to my hagged breathing.

Losing a teammate had always been hard, even in my past life, but here it somehow hurt more. Can't say it was a pleasant feeling.

I spent six months of that year in rehabilitation and therapy. I was fond of neither, but understood that I had my limits—the human body can only take so much before breaking (and I had come quite close).

During said time, the second war ended,Hiro became a jounin, leaving the village for longer periods of time on missions—and Asuma was too preoccupied with his academy friends to to spend time with his big sister. I was also team-less. I felt inadequate, for some reason—like I needed to prove something to someone.
Through my years as a ten and eleven year old, I spent most of my time (after recovery) out on missions, always being assigned to different squads. I tried my best to interact with my mom and siblings, but I'd been determined to work 'till I'd drop, not leaving any room or time for troublesome thoughts. It took time, but eventually I conformed to the cookie-mold that every other Konoha ninja was. Bet daddy was proud.

My promotion to chuunin wasn't anything glamorous—I'd been called into the Hokage's office with several other genin (most of which I'd never seen before). He started a speech saying that the peace we'd spent the last two years was coming to an end, as tension grew on our borders, and Konoha needed strong and capable ninjas (like our selves) to keep her safe. And with that, we were all handed the standard chuunin vest—in a very unflattering olive green.

I was reluctant to accept. Being promoted meant more danger, harder missions—I wasn't sure if I was ready for the additional responsibility. But in the middle of an audience with genin, their jounin teachers and the council members, I fell to peer pressure, and slipped on the vest.

Dad had a glint of pride in his eye. I stepped back into line.

BONUS

Asuma didn't like not being told what was going on. Just because he was the youngest didn't mean he couldn't handle the responsibility of knowing. It made him angry and confused, he decided as his entire family, minus his big sister (together at last for what felt like months) sat in the waiting room of the hospital. No one told him Kozue was the hurt—the one they were waiting information on.

He stared long and hard at Hiro, whose legs wouldn't stop kicking the conjoined row of blue plastic chairs—making the thing shake like an earthquake. He'd never seen the young man so restless, and that didn't sit right with Asuma. His father just stood there, immobile, leaning against the wall. Not a single expression betrayed his thoughts or emotions, whereas on the other hand, his mother sat hunched, wringing her hand—her brow marked with a crease of worry.
He felt like asking where Kozue was, but for some reason—or maybe because of the palpable tension in the air—he decided to be quiet. She'd turn up eventually, she always did.

A medic came in.

Hiro's shaking stopped, and his mother looked up—a depiction of hopefulness. The medic went towards another family also waiting along with Asuma's. Hiro and his mother went back to their previous occupations, but the younger child kept his own attention on the doctor and the family. The couple stood up instantly as the informant approached, leaving their three-year-old on the chair (amusing herself with a straw, for some reason). In hushed tones, the doctor informed the couple of their loved one. The woman broke down, curling into herself as she finally knelt on the floor. The man, tried to keep her upright, but he too was overweighed with grief, and was pulled down to whom, Asuma assumed, was his wife. The medic left the couple to grieve on their own.

And suddenly Asuma was afraid as to why he was reunited with his family in the waiting room of a hospital—with his elder sister missing.

And then another medic came into the room, and headed into his family's direction.

So…. I'm not gonna lie, I've had half of this chapter written back in July of last year, but frankly nothing seemed to make it flow. I'm really sorry for such a long wait, I know how annoying it can be (I'm also a fanfic reader). I'm not going to give up on this story, I promise that, however the updates with continue slow (especially this semester because I'm taking way too many classes at uni).
You've probably noticed that this chapter is also shorter that the normal—that's because I couldn't wait anymore, and leave you all to suffer for the sake of another 500 words.
I'd like to thank you all for the support (favs, reviews and alerts), and I'm sorry for being crappy at updating.
Cheers,
CL