Disclaimer: They aren't mine, nor they will ever.

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Shinju

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The rain kept falling mercilessly.

The woman didn't tear her eyes from the window, remembering the last time she felt the biting cold on her skin, the last time she felt a myriad of sensations that didn't had to do with those chakra-enlaced fingers that basked on her body, softly, meaning no threat nor damage.

But Shizune knew better than that. It was the dark fun to be doing what she was doing and with whom she was doing it, which had those fingers moving slowly, almost lazily.

Tsunade could banish her from the village easily if she knew; but when she glanced at those dark eyes half concealed by the glasses, reflecting his mystery, his mortality, their sin... she couldn't do other thing than fall over again, and again.

First thing she did was loosing up his hair; removing his hitai-ate and with it his affiliation to that madman. Then the glasses were discarded... and lastly, she took off her conscience, hanging on her neck, to lose herself in that treason, that nameless oblivion, with no fate, with no hope.

But Kabuto too knew better than that. He knew that even when she was gentle and sweet was fierce and hard like the most strong of the katanas. He knew she could kill him easily, simply with a well-directed senbon to his heart while their bodies were busy doing other things. He too was exposed to danger and death when he left his Sannin to go to the encounter of an ephemeral passion and the feeling that could be easily faked.

However, he wouldn't admit that he himself gritted his teeth in frustration when seeing those relaxed female features, finally asleep, finally satisfied, finally at peace.

Maybe it was fleeting passion, as his logical and analytical mind pointed out every single time. But he couldn't refrain himself from wincing under his cloak, knowing that everything was narrowed to how damned and cursed was this life.

Because it never mattered how detached and cold he was, Kabuto knew well that he lost perspective when Shizune faced him in battle, keeping him on his toes, matching dance with dance, spin with spin, jutsu with jutsu.

And while she opened her eyes, awake since he abandoned his resting place in order to dress himself, she knew that everything was doomed. Finally she understood Tsunade's pain when her lover -her beloved uncle- passed away.

... But still, she didn't know what was worse, she thought with sarcasm. Losing your lover by the hands of death or losing him because, nevertheless, he was an enemy bastard.

Suddenly she considered death as not so bad choice, but she was too aware of her limitations, aware of her emotions and feelings, aware of her weakness–cowardice.

Removing a mask only to bear another, a negligible and sarcastic half-smile, amused internally at the situation, at destiny, at life.

Soon enough, they were going to meet again, only in another terms.

And they did. He could see that soft chin he liked to kiss and nip was being tightened to avoid screaming the rage that was boiling that body, those curves he was too much obsessed with, that pale skin he loved to caress on warm and moist nights; sober and alert nights, vain and elapsed nights.

She heard faintly Tsunade's anguish scream when that hand she loved so much on her pushed a wave of chakra towards her heart, shattering it in an internal explosion that made her fall on that hard body that she loved and kissed and scratched and tasted with abandon. It was better this way, was her second to last thought, the faster the better. No more pain, no more lies.

He absently heard Orochimaru's angry roar when those fragile and flexible fingers pushed the needles on the center of his chest. If the senbon didn't perforate the heart, he surely would die of poisoning. He knew this and welcomed the darkness serenely.

When both of them fell on the ground, earth itself greeting them on its soft mattress made of soaked soil and puddles because the rain just didn't stop falling, a sigh escaped the medic's lips, finally closing his eyes, being pulled into a warm embrace. She was gone, but she waited for him nonetheless.

Orochimaru fell on that night too.

Kabuto was buried with Shizune, after that Tsunade read the last setter from her almost niece. It was a double suicide for an impossible love. No matter how romantic it sounded, that Shakespearian story ended that day, on that rainy day, washing away grieves, washing away guilts, washing away glories.

Maybe, just maybe... they had another chance in their next life.

Maybe.

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- Tenna' ento lye omenta -