Well, this is a bit
different from my norm, but I’ve decided to try my hand at this pairing. I’ve
developed a keen interest in Lee and Tenten recently, so I couldn’t help
myself. :grin:
Hurricane Rising
Despite the
months that separated his surgery and subsequent miraculous recovery, Rock Lee
could not boast immunity against bouts of nostalgia any better than the next
person. His past, after all, was a pillar of his current circumstances, a fever
dream that never quite abated even after the hallucinogenic mist of disjointed
memory evaporated.
Without his past, his
future would have no foundation, no cornerstone around which the rest of the
structure relied as it took shape, became, piece by piece, a whole.
Lee was not ashamed of his
past. On the contrary, he embraced it, revisited it almost daily, a constant
reminder of how far he had come since then, and how much was at stake if he
grew indolent, complacent, comfortable.
Unique in his predicament,
he could not afford the luxury of downtime, or the result would be inevitable:
he’d fall behind, the recipient of the dregs of the others’ advances. Oh, he
had the power, he had the strength of mind, the strength of will, the
unquenchable determination that made a conqueror out of a captive, but all
those attributes could only sustain him so far in the profession he’d chosen.
Some people labeled him a
half-ninja, about as useful as a three-legged pack mule. Such remarks, he
insisted, had no effect on him whatsoever. They were drops of frozen rain on an
already numb body, mere mosquito bites, annoying but tolerable.
Obviously, this was an
utter falsehood, or he would have settled for second-best, a painter who, in
his efforts to become a Van Gough, produced a slipshod emulation with no depth
or breadth or brilliance of originality. Lee wanted the exhilarated
satisfaction of a pioneer, not the mindless subservience of a drone.
So he trained. He pushed
himself beyond the limit of his flesh, forced it into compliance. He wasn’t capable
of utilizing either ninjutsu or genjutsu, so he focused on the one thing he could
hone, the art of hand-to-hand combat, taijutsu.
He would not be a failure. He
refused. He resisted. He persevered.
However, he did have help. Had
his beloved Gai sensei never taken an interest in him, never looked beyond the
defect, his Achilles’ heel, Lee probably wouldn’t have made it as far as he
had, would have bottomed out like a ship with a crack in her hull, drawn under
by the very sea she was made for.
Maito Gai connected with
the boy, saw an image of his childhood self in his struggle, and decided he
would shepherd Lee, teach him all he knew, mould and shape him into a
formidable shinobi capable of existing alongside his fellows, perhaps even
surpassing them. In Lee, he found an eager pupil, one that soaked up
instruction like a sponge, for, as he had lacked a mentor, he was very
susceptible to anyone who showed even the slightest interest in making him
better than he was.
Of course, there were
certain repercussions involved in Lee’s apprenticeship. Adoration for his
sensei elevated the man to almost demi-god status, and, in spite of his
vehemence to forge his own path as an individual, some of Gai’s more comical
eccentricities rubbed off on him. And the humorous, sometimes exasperating part
was, he convinced himself that bowl haircuts, shiny-toothed smiles, flamboyant
behavior patterns, and green spandex jumpsuits were the epitome of the ultimate
shinobi.
In essence, he was the
closest thing to a Gai clone there could be without sharing DNA, eyebrows
included.
Luckily for him, Lee’s
personality made him endearing, or he would have encountered problems. Much of
Konoha’s population was convinced that one Maito Gai was enough, and shuddered
at the prospect of another buffoon with a flair for the outrageous running
rampant among them. As it was, the public shows of affection between teacher
and student that included tearful embraces and brazen declarations of esteem
were bad enough.
Good thing Lee hadn’t
chosen a rival, too, or all hell would have broken loose.
But the antics aside, Rock
Lee, one-time dropout on a bridge to nowhere had become an asset through
diligence and hard work. He proved that the underdog could in fact come out in
front, that just because one wasn’t born a prodigy didn’t mean one would remain
in a stagnant position forever.
He was at the top of his
game, fired up, ready to take on the world…
And then he tasted his
mortality, and the taste was bitter.
Those who rise constantly
run the risk of plummeting, for the carpet can be yanked from under their feet
at any given moment. He hadn’t expected what played out during his match
against Gaara of the Sand at the Chuunin exams, hadn’t anticipated the extent
of his injuries and the prospect of never fighting again.
In his subconscious, he
acknowledged the fact that his way of life was a dangerous one, but he never
realized just how much until then. Every single action had a corresponding
consequence, one that would appear, if not immediately afterward, then at some
point in the future. As it so happened, his consequence was of the immediate
kind.
Lee was not the sort of
person who accepted defeat easily, and so, after Tsunade performed a risky
surgery to patch him up, he pushed himself once more to the brink of his
endurance, determined to regain full use of his legs and arms. He did fight
again, while under the influence of sake, thus reviving the Drunken Fist style
of taijutsu, which had been retired for its sheer recklessness and
unpredictability.
In other words, a perfect
fit for the likes of Rock Lee.
This particular clash had
been seeped in irony, as he was rescued once the effect of the sake wore off by
none other than the person who nearly killed him in the first place.
After that, he understood
that he had not been granted immortality, and must use discretion from then on.
Starting over fresh, he
relearned the value of patience.
Time passed, and many
things changed once Naruto, in the company of Jiraya, departed Konoha for a
three-year training session.
Their enemies were
preparing for war, and it was time for the villagers to do the same. The
members of the Genin teams, save Shikamaru, the only one among them awarded
Chuunin rank, began their own specialized training, sometimes in the presence
of a sensei, others unaccompanied or with a teammate. Lee generally favored the
group approach, but every now and then, when the mood struck him, he branched
off on his own.
Almost as if by instinct,
his feet led him to the place it all began, the place he stumbled upon as a
child searching for an obscure hideaway where no one would find him and
distract him, where he could be by himself.
The clearing looked exactly
as it had when he first found it, the old, solid tree-stump, a wide crescent
moon hollowed out of one side by countless kicks and punches he himself
delivered, still standing tall and expectant, as if, upon his departure, it had
been frozen in time, waiting for him to return.
In a strange way, he felt
at peace here, at home, and he came as often as he could manage, performing the
exercises that had built up his stamina before the ordeal that nearly cost him
his dream.
Gai knew what his protégé
was doing, however he pretended ignorance whenever questioned about Lee’s
random disappearances, often replying with some cockamamie story that, most of
the time, was highly implausible. Lee did not own a golden retriever, for
instance (and therefore had no reason to visit a groomer), nor was he allergic
to salt (so the last meal he ate had not made his head swell up like a
balloon).
Nobody believed a word of
the original Green Beast’s fabrications, but they were amusing, if
nothing else. Though Lee’s friends finally accepted the fact that whatever he
was up to, he wanted it kept private, they badgered his sensei if they were in
the mood for a laugh, and then grilled the dark-haired boy later on, sniggering
as he tried making his tale and Gai’s fit. Sometimes it worked, others it did
not.
He didn’t really mind,
though. By nature, Lee wasn’t secretive, and he wouldn’t have a mental
breakdown if the others unveiled the truth about where he went. In all honesty,
the only reason he didn’t state it openly was because he enjoyed the solitude,
just him and the tree stump and the occasional bird or woodland creature, and the
breeze on his face.
In his heart of hearts, he
had always been a romantic.
Sighing contentedly, he
clasped his hands behind his head and fell back against the grass, exhausted. This
particular day, the sun beat down on him from its niche in a clear blue sky,
heat giving the air visible form in the undulating vapor that surrounded him. Sweat
poured from his glands, coated his skin with a slick sheen. His chest rose and
fell as he breathed deeply, eyes closed.
Behind the cover of a
nearby tree, Tenten observed him as she always did, cheek resting against the
bark, lips turned up in a tiny smile.
He didn’t know she chose
one day a week and followed him here, didn’t know that it made her happy seeing
him happy, didn’t know that, from the time they were younger, she’d watched him
out of the corner of her eye, admiring the lotus as it bloomed.
Perhaps Lee’s appearance
was…distinctive…and perhaps his character leaned more towards the hyperactively
animated, but there was something about him that resonated with her, as if he
were the musician and she the chords.
To some degree, they were
similar. The fact alone that Tenten was a female in a profession commonly
occupied by males put her at a disadvantage. Oh, the village could boast
equality all it wanted, any village could, and would, yet the separating lines
were there, even if they weren’t boldfaced. Much more was expected of her, she
knew. She couldn’t slip and exhibit ‘girl’ behavior or she’d lose the respect,
and the trust, she’d busted her ass for.
A weak, whiny kunoichi who
went hysterical and cracked under pressure was a potential danger to all around
her, and her days as a ninja were usually limited. Softies never made it far;
if the sensei in charge of them did the job right, they were weeded out early.
Tenten made sure she
wouldn’t wind up a feather pusher, the name given the female rejects.
‘So frail, can’t even beat
off a feather,’ was the slogan.
She sure as hell could kick
the snot out of more than a feather that was for certain, and she liked it that
way. She didn’t want any extra privileges. This set-up made her tough, made her
able to take hits and dole them back out. Yes, it was a harsh system, but at
least she didn’t fall to pieces when it really mattered, when the blood was
flying and the enemy ten times faster, stronger, more intelligent.
On the fly, she learned
that, in order for anyone to take her seriously, she had to carry herself with
confidence, or people would walk all over her as if she lie stretched flat
beneath their feet. Apparently, given all the comments she’d either overheard
or been told directly about how intimidating she came off as, she had the
tactic mastered. It helped also that, ever since she was a little girl, she’d
had an insatiable fascination with weapons, the sharper and pointer the better,
and most of her efforts centered on wielding them with efficiency.
Once she picked her target,
she never missed it. Never.
But even though she had
proven herself, there was still pressure on her, whether her conscience put it
there or her fellow shinobi. There was always pressure, and, on occasion,
doubt, and doubt was deadly. The minute she started doubting, she’d be that
much closer to the grave.
Just like Rock Lee.
Though some aspects of
their circumstances were different, they were in essence the same. Lee, the
gimp, the runt, taijutsu his only definitive skill, had the fear of becoming a
liability hovering over his head, and so did she.
Lord, so did she.
And so she watched him,
drew inspiration from him, was amazed time and again by his courage and his
intense loyalty to the people he cared about. She may have acted like she
didn’t give a rat's ass, that Neji was the only worthy training partner, but
that ruse was just a cover for her anxiety.
Now, she’d had time to grow
up, and she understood him, she thought, better than ever before. She
understood him, and…he understood her.
“No other girl’s got sass
like you,” he told her once, flashing that ridiculous grin. “And none of ‘em
look half as good slicing people open with those cleavers of yours.”
She smacked him upside the
head after that, of course, for his grossly inadequate use of terms. Butchers
used cleavers. She used knives. There was a difference.
The leaves of her tree
rustled overhead while she stared at him, a shushing sound mingled with Lee’s
snores; he had fallen asleep, and no wonder. She was surprised he hadn’t
shattered that old tree stump to smithereens the way he’d been attacking it.
“Looks comfortable,” she
mused, already on her way around the tree. She tried keeping her footsteps
light and undetectable because she’d rather him stay asleep for a while before
she revealed her secret. It was much easier to leer at him that way.
And she did leer. There was
no nice, sugarcoated word for it.
He had an exceptional body.
Toned, sleek, muscular. Soft skin. Good abs. She liked it.
Besides, there was no harm
in looking, and, after growing up in a house with three brothers she knew males
liked to feel desirable.
He was definitely
desirable.
Tenten sat next to him, the
grass prickling her bare legs. She decided on a skirt today, since her
customary breeches were too hot in this weather. She always felt weird when she
wore skirts. You had to walk differently when you wore them, because they
restricted movement, and your legs had to be crossed when you sat, or everyone
in the vicinity would get a flash of panty.
The last thing she wanted
was extreme panty exposure.
Gotta keep my legs
locked together…
Her eyes honed in on Lee’s
crazy black bowl-head. A few years ago, he wore his hair layered and flipped at
the ends, and it looked absolutely adorable on him. The attention was shifted
away from those bottlebrush eyebrows, which was a good thing. Not for the first
time, she wished he hadn’t chosen their sensei as a fashion plate.
Fingers inching out of
their own accord, she ran them through his hair, pushing it away from his
forehead. A slight crease formed between his brows, though the snoring
continued.
“See?” She said, half to
him and half to herself. “It’s so much better out of your face, you goofball.”
The crease intensified, and
the snoring had grown somewhat strained, but his eyes didn’t open.
That she swallowed her
giggles came as a marvel. Lee had never been an expert at deceiving people. He
got stuck midway, and by then, his cover was completely blown. Which was fine.
Tenten preferred a sincere Lee over a snarky Lee, especially since snarky Lee
would be more at home in a mental ward…although she could not state with
confidence that sincere Lee had all of his screws bolted tight, either.
Well, whatever. Lee was
Lee, that’s all there was to it.
A zebra in a herd of
giraffes.
Her gaze shifted from his
face, took in his sweat-soaked body, for once not encased in green spandex and
orange legwarmers, but baggy sweatpants that tied at the waist and naught else.
Must’ve been in the
adventuresome mood. She could only recall a few scattered occasions on which
he’d shed the spandex for casual, real-people clothes, however this phenomenon
occurred so rarely that it was…well…thrilling when he did. And a harbinger of
upcoming apocalypse, no doubt.
Actually, now that she
thought of it, he had been in a similar garb every time she came to spy on him,
probably because of this damned humidity. And she had glimpsed his shirtless
torso up close before, when he had been in the process of dumping a bucket of
water over his head. The top half of the jumpsuit was shimmied around his
waist; the water cascaded in gleaming rivulets down his arms, his chest, and
further.
Her dreams were interesting
that night, she remembered.
Lee was finding it harder
and harder to keep his eyes closed. The fingers in the hair had done him in. Sure,
he was surprised when he discovered he hadn’t been as alone as he’d thought,
but he quickly forgot his astonishment upon the scalp rub. That, and Tenten’s
intense scrutiny made him feel as though he were carrion prey to a raptor.
He thought his hormones had
been acting bizarre lately; now he knew why. They were under siege, and their
liege lord hadn’t lifted a sword in their defense.
Cautiously, his eyelids
slitted, cracked, opened entirely.
Tenten smirked at him.
Her hair wasn’t tied in
buns, and she was wearing a skirt.
Shit.
“About time,” she said
mischievously, eyes twinkling. “I was about ready to backhand you.”
For some reason, he lost
track of his voice. It just up and disappeared. That, he thought, was
remarkably rude.
“How long have you been
there?” He managed to croak after a lengthy game of cat and mouse with his
delinquent voice.
“The whole day. I followed
you.” She seemed to be enjoying this a bit too much. It made him
nervous.
He said, “But…I didn’t see you at all.”
“I was behind a tree,” she pointed back a ways. “So I’m not surprised.”
He wanted to reply with something really witty that would suggest he was in
complete control of the situation. The best he could do was, “Oh.”
By far, one of the un-wittiest phrases in any language.
Even more unfortunately, his mental volume of Gai-isms appeared to be using the
same travel agent as his voice, and was currently out of town.
Not fair.
A peal of silvery laughter drew his attention back to the vexing woman by
his side, one on whom he happened to harbor an attraction close to perilous,
particularly now that she wore that skirt.
“I have a confession,” she admitted gravely when he sat up, hyper-aware of
his lack of clothing, and looked at her.
One of his eyebrows arched. Confessions were typically negative in some way
or another. “And?”
“I hide behind that tree once a week.”
His palms were sweaty, and he knew it had nothing to do with the heat. Why
the hell would she do something like that? She was Tenten. She had
bigger, better fish for frying than Rock Lee. Every eligible female in the
known universe did, too, for that matter.
She wanted to know, “Are you angry?”
Angry? How in all hell could he be angry?
“Of course not,” he answered, deciding now was a good time for the smile.
Tenten rolled her eyes. “Will you ever give that up? Yeah, you can call Gai
your hero, if you want, but, for cripes sake, you don’t have to be him.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
His face fell. Normally, he would be consumed with righteous indignation
over the dig at his sensei, but something about this conversation was
different. No, not the conversation…the person he was conversing with. This
wasn’t a random bystander; this was Tenten. His teammate. His friend. His…
“Do you really—”
“Look, I didn’t mean that,” she interrupted, genuinely upset. “I like you
the way you are, Lee, I do, and I wouldn’t want you to change for anything.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Well…maybe I’m not being entirely truthful, there, you
know…with the hair…and the spandex…Oh, shit.” She bit her lip and glanced at
him apologetically. “I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.”
Suddenly, the entirety of this incident became so hilarious that he could
not help but laugh out loud, tears streaming from his eyes, and it was not long
before she joined him.
Once his mirth was under control, he looked at her again, really looked at
her, and he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, but he thought he saw a glimmer
of…something, the same something she might have seen when she stared back at
him.
I’m an idiot, he berated himself. A total idiot. Why didn’t I ever
see you before now?
Because he thought she was out of his league, so he directed his desire at
Sakura. Because he believed he would never be good enough for her.
Because she hadn’t worn a skirt and left her hair down.
She’d rip my guts out if she heard that…
At least he was honest.
Tenten raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” he replied, too fast.
Her eyes narrowed. “Lee…”
To the end of his days, he had no clue where he mustered up the balls to do
what he did next. In retrospect, he was pretty damn proud of himself, though,
even if he had signed his death warrant.
He kissed her.
“Next time, don’t bother with the tree,” he advised huskily after he
released her.
She blinked a few times, dumbfounded, and then she smiled.
“If you insist,” she said, and promptly smacked him.
No pain, no game, right?
He didn’t quite grasp the reason for the slap, however.
“What’d you do that for?” The right side of his face stung.
For a moment, she appeared as though she were preparing to box his ears, but
the moment passed. “Lee,” she said in a measured tone, “do you know where your
hand is?”
As a matter of fact, he didn’t know. Perhaps he ought to check.
Ah.
He became an instant albino, skin drained of all its color.
Needless to say, the world got a peek at Tenten’s panties.
She knew there was a reason she didn’t like skirts.
Woo-hoo!
Hee-hee. I know this is random and off the wall and goofy, but…I can’t see
these two having your normal ooey-gooey relationship, you know. :cackles: Let
me know what you think!