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[heavenly_earth]

They tell him he's a genius. He's gifted, they say. His father, his teachers, his clan.

(The latter of which unnerves him because of the dark looks flickering between him and his cousin when it's openly, grudgingly acknowledged.)

For awhile, he believes it.

And when he's older, he takes a vicious joy in it. In mastering forms that take most several more years to grasp fully, and developing others he knows are forbidden to him. He's not stupid enough to show them off of course, but it's a secrecy that can't last. No matter his inevitable punishment, they can't take that knowledge from him, and it's a morbid sort of glee. Even if he winds up brain-dead or worse, they will always know what he was capable of, forced to acknowledge that there was a bird that dared to rise above and for a few precious moments, succeeded.

They swallow the knowledge like a bitter pill as his achievements are praised in the Academy, and then outside of it once he graduates. Chased by the feeling of living on borrowed time, he makes himself valuable fast. They can't interfere with him if he's a village asset.

He doesn't expect to love his team, finds himself pushed by Gai until his cold mask of indifference snaps and he's left snarling defiance against everything and everyone that's ever dared to hold him back. Because strange as it is, he finds kindred spirits in his teammates. All three of them have something to prove and Gai is there, urging them on and rallying their spirits when their bodies weaken and their will falters.

He commands them with a brutal efficiency called leadership, guided by mission objectives lauded as good judgement. It's how shinobi are meant to function and he's following the rule book up until a mission almost succeeds in ripping them apart. He learns about breaking points and humanity, compassion and weighing lives. He doesn't remember how they escaped, remembers only the fear of their flight and the desperate relief of the village gates when they finally came into view.

Not even half of it makes it into the mission report. Sure, the facts are all there, and on stark white paper all of it even manages to make almost perfect, logical sense, but there's no mention of agonizing over what made a decision the right one, or the hysterical, panic-filled moments that made him want to scream and cry all at once. To say nothing of Lee and Tenten's white faces and unnatural silence.

It's the day he realizes that all legendary figures are human, and that 'genius' is just a title. (If he's astoundingly good at anything, it's writing mission reports.)

From then on, Lee and Tenten trust him with an unwavering confidence, and the knowledge is like falling into a stream of shockingly cold water, paralyzed without comprehension. Because leadership is terrifying and he doesn't know what constitutes as good judgement anymore. He feels like he's learning in reverse, and it takes several months of acting cocksure to reach that equilibrium again.

By the time they make Chuunin, it's no longer a goal- they just have the title to publicly acknowledge their skill now. The additional training is a rehash of everything he's learned over the past three years in more expansive detail, and the emotional training is more a relief than a grueling trial. It's an extremely important skill, he's told, and he doesn't tell them that he understands.

He probably should've expected the promotion to Jounin only a year later with how successful his team is over the course of what's probably the best year of his life. But it comes in the wake of his greatest failure, directly responsible for the loss of life under his command. In lesser moments, he's only grateful it wasn't Lee or Tenten, and he buries the guilt as deeply as he can.

The promotion keeps him busy for a solid six months. This time, he feels unprepared, but never one to back down from a challenge, Neji takes up the new mantle with a driving determination to conquer everything that's thrown at him. He half-suspects it's all a test anyway. Where Chuunin sought to fortify him, Jounin shows him the dangerous edge of sanity when even those defenses crack, and he learns how to fall apart without destroying himself in the process. It helps.

ANBU is a distant consideration, because it's here that he stops advancing. Jounin is the highest official rank, and there's nothing else in front of him. And as a member of Team Gai and therefore a vehement dissenter of hard limits, the idea is discomfiting. It's just a new goal to work toward, he decides. He might not actually be a genius (although arguably talented where Hyuuga's concerned), but he's had time to come to terms with himself and where his strengths actually lie. He's even-tempered, rational, objective, and it seems like a sensible choice. But even if he does qualify on some level, it won't be for years.

He's tested not a week later.

Quite before he knows what's happening, there's a mask in his hand and a lingering burn on his shoulder. He's presented with the most difficult challenge anyone's ever put before him as he turns the faceless porcelain over in his hands.

Who are you?

It's a merciless question, and one he has no answer for. It frightens him as he stands before a mirror and tries to strip away his heritage. Who is he, if not the product of his clan? What is left of Neji, when his eyes, his skills, his name is taken from him? His entire identity collapses in on itself, strung together by the only thing he's ever carved out for himself: defiance.

It's not the best base to work from, but he spends days mulling it over, nurturing that sense of rebellion until it sparks into realization. Hyuuga would love to convince him that they made him into who he is, but the simple reality is that the entire clan had never been anything more than a chain attempting to bind him to their will. Hardly a day goes by that he doesn't conduct himself as he was taught to from the day he could walk. Therefore Swan would be the personification of everything he's ever wanted to be, do, say, or think but hadn't.

If he wants to rail against his Captain, he'll do so without a thought for the clan's reputation, and be prepared to back it all up without hesitation. (His Captain turns out to be an entirely reasonable man, but Neji gets over his initial disappointment quickly enough.)

In the end though, he's not actually that creative. Swan isn't much of a departure from himself, except maybe a little more aggressive and opinionated. Ironically, he also takes to smiling more, and that bleeds over the village life as well. He tells himself it's good practice, because ANBU is where the heart is buried and shinobi become those soulless weapons that every child is told they should be.

(He's starting to think Chuunin is actually the greatest rank to aspire to- that lovely balance between respected and sane.)

But Yamato is surprisingly compassionate. For all he learns about killing with as little feeling as possible, they only do so when necessary, and both find incapacitation a much more agreeable solution where possible.

Temari helps. Quite by accident, she's running counterpoint to the dark embrace of ANBU. He comes to associate her with the sky and wild winds. She's beautiful and startling, and comes into his life with the grace of a tempest daring him to fly before the storm. She's everything he'd never known he was looking for, and perhaps sensing their weakening control over him, Hyuuga steps in abruptly and slams the cage door before he can do more than consider the wisdom of such a flight.

(It would be very unwise, but he's still half-convinced he wants to try anyway.)

Being robbed of the decision of course, only succeeds in making up his mind, and he throws himself against the bars in a self-destructive rage until his training kicks in and he drags himself back into the calculating rage that burns with an intense cold. Real hope is beyond his reach, and it scares him to think that if he'd never met Temari, he might just bow down and accept the engagement to his cousin, contenting himself with the knowledge that at least the next generation will be free. But she's ruined him for quiet acquiescence, because he no longer desires safe and sure, but wild and free.

Neji picks apart the problem with a ruthless determination, goes about shredding apart pieces of information and looking for counters like he's planning an elaborate trap. It's not far from the truth. The Hyuuga, he realizes, need to think they're getting what they want to be satisfied. So armed with Sasuke's research and Hinata's support, he helps paint a picture of what they don't want. It gives them the illusion of a choice between two undesirable outcomes, and he watches as their predictable fear and traditional views work against them and turn the tide in his favor.

The engagement is broken, and Neji doesn't hesitate this time. He flies straight into the approaching sandstorm and rides out the winds.

But through all the extra training and political machinations of his clan, it's his team that suffers for it the most. He's incredibly absent and worse, he has no reason to give them. ANBU is meant to be secret for security reasons, and he can't tell them. By necessity, it's one of the first things he has to learn- how to lie to the people he loves. For all he can string together half-truths on paper, he doesn't feel like he's very good at verbalizing it, but in truth there are only so many things that could keep him away from his team no matter what he says, and he knows that Tenten at least suspects.

He's actually a fairly good liar, all else considered, but his silver tongue is disconcerting at times, and he finds himself using it to reassure and redirect on a greater scale than before. He's always been fairly manipulative and it's served him well, but it eats at him now, drives the wedge between him and his team more with each passing day. He's stretched too thin and he can't find the time to devote to them, and he's almost relieved that Temari is native to another village and doesn't expect him to be around all the time. Because there are a dozen people to appease, and he's failing a number of them.

Predictably, it all comes crashing down on him not too much later. He takes a mission with his old team for the first time in a year and a half, and it's no straightforward objective. There's a skirmish, then a revolt, and he's spent too long in ANBU because when the fight becomes chaos, he loses sight of his teammates and fights only for himself. Tenten and Lee lose their scout and ultimate defense, and their dynamic breaks. Lee is angry and in too deep, but he's not paying attention anymore, can't tell Tenten to focus her cover fire on him.

When it's over, there are dozens of bodies scattered around them and blood everywhere. It's soaked into his hair, wedged underneath his nails, and painting his robes red. Only two of them are standing, and it's Tenten that finds Lee first. He's broken and bleeding and Neji feels sick. He's failed them. They could've died, could've died and it would have been completely his fault for not looking out for them when they trusted him to. As it is, Lee isn't looking too good.

Tenten's not talking to him, and they carry Lee back home in heart-pounding silence. Every second is another off of Lee's life and he doesn't know if he'll be able to live with himself if he dies.

(He will, he knows. He's well-trained and the knowledge that this won't break him is almost bitter because Lee deserves better.)

But Lee is nothing if not stubborn, and he holds on until they make it to the hospital. The medical staff takes him and it's there in the lobby that all the pent-up worry and anger explodes into a full-blown argument he hasn't had since he accused Lee of being a talentless failure. By some stroke of fortune, they're herded out of the hospital before the secret source of it all comes out. They part ways to clean up and give their report, but they're back in the hospital before long, waiting for news in sullen silence.

And when Lee opens his eyes again, Neji swears to himself, to them, to everyone that he will do better. He has to. He's supposed to be a genius.