The Atrophy and Redemption of Uchiha Sasuke

Chapter Twenty-One: Journal of the Forsaken

"Spit."

Sasuke rolled onto his side and released a mouthful of blood into the bowl.

Her voice was devoid of most emotion, but her fingers stroked the back of his neck in a gesture that was anything but professional, twining tenderly into the sweaty baby hairs at his nape.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, "Let's start."

Her answering exhale sounded both weary and uneasy, "Sit up, please."

He did as she asked, eyes drooping with the day's struggles, most of which were emotional and admittedly self-inflicted. If Sakura noticed the tenseness in his shoulders, she chose to say nothing, and just used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his back before discarding it onto the floor. Her hand faltered, however; the Uchiha could feel the pad of her finger on the sensitive scar tissue at his bicep. He eyed her curiously.

"Sakura."

"Oh, sorry," she started, her smile sheepish, "got distracted."

When Sasuke offered no more words, she moved behind him to escape his piercing gaze. Her hands clasped his shoulders, "Straighten up as best you can, and tilt your shoulders back."

He did as he was told, but even he could tell that his muscles were too tense. Behind him, Sakura released a puff of air on his neck, letting him know that she was laughing.

"Try and relax, Sasuke-kun."

The humor in her voice coaxed a gentle smile to Sasuke's mouth. Her good spirits were infectious.

"Sasuke-kun?" Sakura murmured. He could tell from the mere inflection of her voice that she was now biting her lip, uncertain.

"Hn."

"I . . . it's unlikely that you'll be able to finish all the healing by yourself, but I can certainly show you how to push that chakra out of your lungs. That way you can do it whenever your breathing feels labored . . . that chakra just keeps coming back and I don't know why—"

"Sakura," he didn't know what made him interrupt her, but there was growing hysteria in her voice, and he refused to tolerate her blaming herself for what his own body was doing to him, "it's fine."

Before she could snap back with a predictable, "No, it's not," he reached up and placed his hand over hers atop his shoulder.

"It's fine."

When he turned his head to look at Sakura, her eyes snapped to his, and whatever she found there helped her to manage a shy smile. Her hand turned until it could touch his, palm to palm. He squeezed her fingers once, dropped her hand, and turned towards the fireplace.

"Show me."

With a determined nod, she pressed herself closer to his back and slid her arms around his torso, careful not to bear any of her weight down on him, no matter how slight. Chakra-filled hands grazed his sides and settled on Sasuke's chest.

"Remember, you can only do this after you've drawn the blood out through your mouth. . . . Focus your chakra here, around your lungs," she demonstrated the caress with invasive yet welcome medical chakra. "Breathe deeply, let your chakra push out the excesses."

"Excess?"

She nodded, eyes closed, "Sense it. You have to feel with your chakra, allow it to become your eyes."

Sasuke relaxed noticeably, pleased with her choice of words. Parallels to eyesight were ones he could always understand. She knew him well. He allowed her medical chakra—so light and rejuvenating compared to the gravity of his own—to guide his through the extended maze of his bronchioles, then into the flesh of his lungs.

"And whenever you come to the blockage, you must consume it with the chakra you're controlling. Normally I surround the chakra with my own and just draw it out through your skin, but it would be easier for you to do it the first way. Especially since it's you're chakra to begin with."

Sasuke breathed in deeply, instantly feeling the relief as she demonstrated exactly what she finished explaining. Then he followed suit, consuming the stray chakra with his living energy, before allowing it to retreat back to his core. Sakura's hands slid away and she squeezed his shoulders in encouragement.

His brow furrowed, "What of the damage already done by the chakra?"

She released his shoulders with a sigh, "That part, I'm afraid, is much more difficult to deal with. The lesions are so small and go deep into the tissue. But if you can manage to heal the the ones on the inner surface layer, then you can at least stave off the bleeding until I—or another medic—is available.

The Uchiha nodded. The ability to heal was a rightfully coveted gift, one that made medics both priceless allies and targets in battle. More now than ever before, he understood this truth.

He rolled his shoulders back and placed a thoughtful hand just below his collarbone, feeling the rhythm of his breathing as his chest rose and fell, "I should start training soon."

"I don't think so," Sakura crossed her arms with an exasperated huff. It was unbelievable how quickly he learned everything she taught him, "Sometimes I think that's viable, then you just regress again. It's too risky, Sasuke-kun."

"You are here," he glanced at her from the side.

She flushed, but met his eyes, unblinking, "What?"

"You're here, as my medic. That lowers any chance of danger."

It was obvious that an argument was starting to brew between them. The air felt static as it always did when their wills clashed. It was Sakura that finally broke their stare, turning away with a heavy sigh.

"I'm afraid you're too kind, Sasuke-kun."

He shook his head. The tips of his hair grazed his shoulders. Sakura noted it had grown so long the strands were beginning to weigh down his haphazard spikes. Fixing her gaze instead upon her lap, Sakura balled her hands into fists, dug them into her thighs to ease the distress and medical calculations warring together in her brain.

"Let's talk about this later, Sasuke-kun. Later."

". . . Hn."

They did not speak again until they went down to the river together to haul water in for their evening meal. But not all the silence was tense, only the first half. For the second half they had fallen back into the pleasant hum of their routine, wordlessly reading the other's intentions and monitoring Sasuke's lungs before their fireplace whenever time allowed.

Sasuke had been more silent than usual during the past days, brooding—particularly often when Sakura was gone—and internalizing his frustration over Sai's blatant secrecy.

He was no fool. He knew that Kakashi and evidently Naruto—the thought alone was insulting—were purposely hiding the details from him.

What was worse was that perhaps they were right to do so.

What he needed was training. Besides honing his skills, it had long been a welcome distraction in the past.

The Uchiha cast a wistful glance at Kusanagi, then took a sip of his lukewarm tea. The sound of the front door shutting reverberated softly down the hall, and when he glanced over his shoulder he discovered Sakura returning to the main room, a blithe smile on her face. And her body drenched from fabric to skin.

"It's raining," she announced excitedly, grin widening until her eyes too enflamed with the light. She spoke so victoriously, as if the wet hair plastered to her neck and shoulders was not enough for him to guess at the weather. From others, her words could have been an insult; from her, they were delightful, even amusing.

Sasuke said nothing and she began to fidget. His eyes traced her sodden form languidly from the crown of her head to her bare feet. He paused on her right hand, and lifted his teacup to his lips. The wooden bowl she had gone outside to wash hung from her jittery fingertips. He wondered if her hands had gotten red cleaning his blood out of it.

"Sasuke?"

Her voice wavered and she forgot his honorific, so he knew that she had seen the darkness in his face.

Still finding it unnecessary to say anything, he set his teacup aside and stood. His feet arched on reflex when they made contact with the cold wood next to the futon. He bent down and peeled back the folded blanket Sakura had been using for a pillow and retrieved the clothing that lay beneath.

Sai had brought her only two spare sets of clothes. One set currently hung wet from her form. The second one, the one she liked to sleep in, Sasuke held out to her with a pale hand.

A shiver wracked Sakura's body as she accepted the clothes, and she quickly wrapped her arms around herself. Sasuke quirked a brow. She shrugged sheepishly, and pushed a lock of damp hair out of her eyes, "Must be a draft. It wouldn't surprise me if this old building is riddled with cracks and holes."

She smiled just then, and released a stream of mirthful laughter, "But to be honest, Sasuke-kun, I don't mind. I've grown rather fond of this place, which is a good thing considering all the time we've spent here, no?"

"Aa," he nodded once. But his gaze was focused somewhere to the right, near to the ceiling. He remembered the stream of water he had spotted some time before, how its source had appeared to be somewhere on the top floor.

". . . Sasuke-kun? Is something wrong?"

The jolt of her voice made him step away. Upon perceiving her worried look he inclined his head in a manner he knew that she would decipher as being reassuring, "It's nothing."

Respectfully, he turned his back to her.

And as he focused painstakingly on the flames that flickered high and bright in the hearth, he made a point to ignore the soft sounds of Sakura disrobing behind him.

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The rest of that day passed with relative ease, a peace that was soon shattered the following morning when Sasuke decided that he had finally had his fill of caution.

"I will begin training today."

Sakura stopped gutting the fish that Sasuke had caught for their breakfast. "Already?" she shook her head, "No. It's too soon."

Despite her hasty response, the Uchiha remained silent for a while. He just folded his arms and leaned against the side of the fireplace, contemplating her body language; everything he saw in her did not bode well for him. Watching her retrieve the knife and slice violently though the fish's midline, he deadpanned, "I was not aware I required your permission."

This sudden spike in her temper bothered him and he observed her like he would a battle strategy. The light of the fire coalesced with the anger rising in bursts across her honest features. It was a response he had not seen in a while.

She chucked a piece of fish into the pot, "No, I don't suppose my opinion as a friend ever meant that much to you; as your medic, however," she grabbed the nearest daikon and ripped the leaves from its head with a brutal tug, "I think your request warrants a professional refusal."

"Sakura."

His response was not what Sakura expected—at least, the tone of his voice was not. She finally turned to look at him, if only to appease the tight terseness in his face.

"I might agree, had you refused as my medic and not my," he paused momentarily, seeming to mull over several words before settling on one with disguised reluctance, "teammate."

A blush instantly assailed Sakura from her breasts to her cheeks. He was right. Of course he was. Medics were supposed to be impartial and here she was, nursing her ire like a wounded kitten.

When she glanced down at her handiwork she found that, in the haze of her anger, she had somehow finished slicing the entire daikon, nearly minced it to mush. Sighing in acquiescence, she placed the pieces into the soup and hung the pot over the fire. She was well aware of how easily he could read her tone, and made sure to speak with her medic's authority, "Fine. Just make sure I'm there. I won't let you overexert yourself."

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Sasuke's chokutō sliced through the air as he completed another form.

Sakura leaned away from the tree trunk at her back, eyes alert in concentration, "Breathing well?"

He froze in a drawing stance, new Kusanagi back in its sheath and his hand poised readily upon the hilt. A stance meant for utmost speed; a sword is useless unless its wielder is able to unsheathe it properly.

Testing himself, he inhaled deeply, "Fine."

Sweat beaded on his forehead, betraying he fact that he had not exerted himself so much in a long time. Sakura abandoned her medical text beneath the tree. She was heading towards the garden, where their teapot sat steaming on a raised mound of soil.

"Sakura."

"Yes?"

"Spar with me."

She froze with her hand on the porcelain handle, unsure if she had heard him correctly. When she turned to him, he was watching her out of the corner of his eye, "Spar with you? Now?"

He nodded, expecting her to lunge at him at any moment, eyes blazing with verdant fire.

She did not disappoint.

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Back to the stronghold wall, Sasuke peered around the corner and into the copse of trees his companion had vanished into. Only the rustling wind and the occasional bird made any sound. Even the odd insect noise had become nonexistent as winter crept closer and closer.

Something disturbed the air behind him, and Sasuke flashed around the corner just in time to avoid a triple barrage of kunai.

"Tch," red eyes scoured the tree line, spotted movement amidst the leaves.

She had just been there.

Blood roiled beneath his skin in an intoxicating rush he had not experienced since the logging village: the adrenaline-inducing thrill of battle, the morbid enjoyment of the chase—regardless of the fact that, right now, Sakura was the one doing all the chasing.

A smirk tilted the Uchiha's mouth at the thought. That would soon change. He would make sure of it.

Observing the trees with in his peripherals, Sasuke skirted along the edge of the forest, feet making no sound.

He felt nothing. Her chakra was suppressed. Yet he could feel her watching.

This knowledge only heightened his senses, tuning his ears to the sounds of the forest and his skin to even the slightest sensations of the weather. When he stepped within the nearest cluster of trees, the wind stirred up, and just when it began to sail through the branches above him he turned his face in the opposite direction, feigning distraction.

A veritable hurricane behind him, she crashed down through the branches like a wildcat, kunai raised in one fist and arms bearing down with gravity on her side.

Perfect.

Sasuke suppressed a smirk as he leaped back. She landed lithely, teeth gritted and eyes narrowing as he easily evaded her feet, and before she could bring down her kunai, Sasuke's arm darted out—not with a fist, much to her surprise—but with an open palm that collided with her unprotected stomach and pushed her several paces backwards.

The kunoichi allowed her kunai to drop and instead used that hand to steady herself on the ground; she was not about to let him see her fall on her ass. A cloud of moist earth spun up around her upon impact.

Panting, she wiped the sweat from her broad forehead, resisted the urge to break their unspoken pact to only utilize taijutsu.

"Sakura," the Uchiha smirked, head tilting so that his bangs obscured his eyes, "Can't handle it?"

"You know I can."

Mouth still set slightly in that pleasant curve that would normally have her blushing, Sasuke widened his stance. Dark eyes took her in. From the white-knuckled fist still grating into the earth to the rosette hair riding the breeze about her clenched jawline. Everything he saw merged into a single conclusion. He should have suggested this spar much sooner.

"Aa."

Sakura really did almost blush then, but was obvious and adamant in her suppression of it as she stood from her crouch and rushed towards her opponent. Something vital in their fight changed in those few scant seconds. There was no more willingness in either of them to keep this spar long-range.

The way they fought was completely unorthodox. They allowed one another to get close in ways they would never allow from a true enemy. They were taunting, testing to see how the other would react when forced into close fighting quarters. Sakura was somehow the most aggressive, taking advantage of the comfort close-range combat provided her.

But she always watched, medic eyes keen to detect any misstep in his rhythm or breathing.

Little did she know that Sasuke was finding this battle—not easy, certainly—but interesting enough to overcome any discomfort in his throat and lungs. The headache that had seemed to burden him for days was now gone, crashed upon and swallowed by their own surge of battle hysteria. It was magnificent. The rush of cool air by his ear when he barely dodged her fist. The severity when they got in too close and their eyes clashed.

Had she been his enemy, it would have been all too easy to harm her with any number of his acquired jutsu, ignite her with Amaterasu, or cast a genjutsu and hope her adept mind would not decipher its weakness.

But where was the fun in that?

And if he even attempted any of those things, this would be over too soon. He was enjoying their taijutsu-against-taijutsu fray, combating her skin on skin and blow for blow. It awakened a more visceral taste of offense that made him forget the burn in his lungs in favor of the chase and sweet adrenaline.

When it finally did end nearly an hour later, the disappointment in his chest did not surprise him. They were sweating profusely by this time, slickened and panting and not even realizing that the sun was about to set. Sakura had executed a swift roundhouse kick aimed for his head and, without thinking to calculate the outcome—his eyes had been trained on her face—Sasuke had ducked and grabbed her other ankle. Once he tugged, she had her back to the grass and his hand pinning her shoulder. Two of his fingers pressed between her neck and collarbone, indicating that if he had been armed she would be dead.

Her eyes opened wide in shock, "Wha—"

Then a sly grin overtook her bewildered expression. The smile caused her eyes to narrow in green bliss. Her irises appeared almost watery to the Uchiha as she continued to smile up at him.

Suspicious, Sasuke took a quick survey of himself to determine the source of her strange behavior. When he found it, he knew he should not have been surprised.

He had activated his Sharingan some time during their spar, and now her shoulders were shaking and her lips were still smiling and this was the first time in a long, long while that he could remember seeing her so pleased with herself.

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Listening closely to the sound of Sakura breaking branches for firewood outside, Sasuke climbed the stairs to the second floor of the stronghold.

Mentally, he mapped where the source of the water should be located along the hallway, based on where he had seen the dripping water downstairs days before.

It was easy to find.

Near the end of the hallway, he paused before a door constructed of strong wood. It appeared sturdy, but otherwise typical compared to the other doors extending down the hall, some of which had been opened by Sakura and Sai on the first day, some of which had no doors at all.

A quick perusal of the iron doorknob told Sasuke that this was one of the doors that had not been left open; it had rusted shut. The floor beneath it was still wet and stained in several widening patches where water had once pooled and dried. For the length of several steps, water streamed down the hallway and most likely seeped down to the ground floor where Sasuke had first noted its presence.

He quirked a brow. Curiosity—almost childlike—piqued just behind his dark eyes and goaded him forward. Impatient, he tried the doorknob.

The door refused to give way. Only a thin curtain of age-old dust moved, causing Sasuke to slap a hand over his mouth and take a step back. He paused and strained to hear movement from outside. There was a hum of soft breeze caressing the outer walls, the muted grazing of branches against the side of the building. But he could no longer hear Sakura working.

He could, however, imagine her chiding him for exerting himself again so soon after a training session, could imagine the look of worry that would cross her face in that moment, the disappointment in her eyes.

The Uchiha held his weight up, arms extended and hands high above his head on each side of the door jamb. He allowed his head to fall forward. Ebony hair fell around his face, masking his indecision, forehead barely grazing the aged wood. Thinking of her reaction should not have been something that concerned him so much, but it did.

Irritated, Sasuke straightened up and leaned his shoulder against door. His feet dug into the floor and he prepared to push.

"Sasuke-kun?"

Downstairs, the front door creaked open. He felt the walls rattle as its heavy frame banged inwards with the wind.

His sigh was deadpan, "What is it."

When Sakura did not answer, he repeated her name, and asked again, though he was certain she had heard him the first time. Whether or not they were on different floors of the fortress, and whether or not he spoke in soft tones. Regardless, she always seemed to find a way to hear him.

". . . I um . . . are you alright?"

He swiped a hand down his face and felt dampness there. He had not even realized that he had been sweating, "I'm fine."

She seemed to hesitate again before calling back up to him, letting him know that she most likely did not believe him. Yet if she could read his voice as well as he could decipher hers, then she would know that he was in the mood to be alone. Sure enough, her tone lightened.

"I put the firewood in the main room. I've been feeling bit cooped up, so I'm going to train. If you're feeling up to it, would you go ahead and start our dinner for us? You're probably so tired of my food by now, right?"

"Aa."

He smirked softly when she chuckled. Her voice was loud with content. It traveled up the stairs and echoed down the hall, cloaking him in her contagious bliss, "Yes, you'll make food tonight or, yes, you're sick of my cooking?"

"I'll prepare the meal, Sakura."

He waited for her to respond, peered warily down the hallway; he half expected to see her shadow on the far wall, signaling to him that she was coming up the stairs—

"Thanks, Sasuke-kun."

The door shut below, sending the vibrations to his feet. Releasing a sigh he had not realized had been waiting, Sasuke pushed away from the door and ambled leisurely back down the hallway.

He had spent all of his adult life hiding everything from everyone. And yet she was making him feel guilty for doing so with her. Regardless, he had long surpassed the urge to curse her presence here.

Glancing once more over his shoulder at the small puddle, he returned to the staircase.

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Unfortunately, Sasuke could only suppress his curiosity for so long. His nightmares had grown worse and deprived him of any rest that night.

Early the next day, following their morning meal, the Uchiha practically stormed out the front door, leaving his sword and polishing rag behind him. Sakura had gone outside earlier to practice her taijutsu and wash laundry. By the time Sasuke circled around the side of the fortress, she had just finished rinsing the sweat from her skin by the river. His harried approach startled her.

As Sasuke passed, he spared the kunoichi a cursory nod. Her undershirt stuck to the damp skin of her shoulders, and the barred flesh of her lower back developed gooseflesh beneath his eyes until she managed to yank the fabric down over her stomach.

She ascertained from the determination glinting in his gaze that it would do no good to ask what was bothering him. Instead, she balled up the washed clothes in her arms and jogged after him.

He was halfway along the building when he stopped, craned his head back to stare at the wall. Sakura slowed to his side and, together, they squinted up into the early morning darkness.

This side of the stronghold pressed close to the forest and one tree in particular grew close, its large branches and shadows concealing most of the wall with shadow. Next to the web of leaves and branches, a gaping crack was visible in the concrete. The opening was not, however, completely exposed to the elements. Something filled in the space, dark and crinkled in appearance. A gasp froze in Sakura's throat.

The edges of the crack were singed. Burnt nearly black.

As the morning breeze picked up, the branches of the tree scraped against the concrete and the wind whistled along the eroded crevasse. Sakura's lips parted, eyes widening. It seemed they had just stumbled upon the source of their mysterious draft.

She glanced to the side. Sasuke's head was already tilted in her direction, revealing that he had also recognized the familiar noise, "Sasuke-kun? Itachi told you he had never been inside, right?"

"Another lie, I see," he shook his head, eyes shutting. "One of many." Without questioning this revelation further, he turned around and headed towards the river.

Sakura sulked. Beneath her furrowed brows she watched the stiffness in his retreating back, mind reeling at the wild shift in his mood. Just that morning, he had been so affable. Their conversation had been free and pleasant over breakfast.

In the recent past, he had always been the one to take—to demand—the initiative required by whatever situation they faced. And she rarely saw him so empty.

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When Sakura made her way back to the stronghold, Sasuke was seated before the fire and polishing his chokutō, back facing the entrance hall. The tightness in his shoulders alone told her he was in no mood to talk about what they had just discovered outside. Sakura resolved that she would have to explore the upper floor alone.

Yet when she was about to turn, his voice called out to her, eerily calm.

"The fifth door."

She nodded hesitantly, even though he could not see it, and tiptoed upstairs.

The first thing she noticed upon reaching the door was the rust on the knob. Bracing one hand above it, she pushed once and it opened will a dull snap. Dust rained down, its presence throughout the room betrayed by the sunlight streaming inside, flickering whenever the branches outside swayed in the wind.

Immediately, the kunoichi's gaze rushed to the crack in the wall, the dark fabric shoved and crammed along its length. Upon initial consideration, she determined that it was a dark blue tarp. It was extremely threadbare, frayed along all the edges. Enough of the crack had been obstructed by the tarp that most of the sunlight was kept out, but some still streamed in, along with stray rainwater that dribbled down from the roof and flooded into the hallway.

The tarp felt rough against Sakura's fingertips. She shook her head in disbelief, This has to be nearly a decade old . . .

She then fingered the burn marks along the opening, which had evidently spread to the inside as well. Sasuke had jumped to the worst conclusion regarding whoever had apparently broken into this room; any remaining evidence as to that individual's identity was ambiguous, but his instincts were not to be considered lightly. In addition, the seclusion of the stronghold significantly limited the number of people that could have come across it.

But why would anyone break in at all? Anything of meager value, in both the labs and the weapons' keep, had been left untouched.

That was when she turned to behold the contents of the room.

Spiderwebs encased an entire corner of a large bookcase, in front of which sat a desk. The remains of a chair lay in a heap of wood and dust between them. A stack of miscellaneous papers cluttered the desk and spilled over onto the floor; the pages fluttered whenever the breeze intensified and wedged its way between the concrete and worn tarp.

Only two other objects occupied the desk. An old oil lamp. And a journal. The latter of which had been placed on the end of the desk farthest from the crevasse in the wall, out of the path of any invading sunlight, wind, or spattered rain. This large journal, though seemingly commonplace and appropriately aged, seemed unable to close all the way.

Sakura picked it up. She half expected it to crumble her hands. But before she could realize how heavy it was, something dropped from its pages and clanged onto the floor, nearly missing Sakura's bare toes. She flinched and looked down.

A kunai.

It was old issue, the kunoichi noted immediately. She picked it up and ran her thumb over the dull, rusted blade, the cool metal, the gristly cloth that once encased the entire handle. Most interesting to her searching gaze was the loop at the very end of the weapon. It appeared bigger than those of modern kunai. Vaguely, she remembered that, before she even graduated from the academy, kunai like these had gone out of production. This had been one of the results of the Sandaime's insistence that the village be more frugal with their metal supply in the event of future conflict.

Breathless, Sakura murmured to herself, "How long has this been here?"

The wind outside seemed to answer, picking up speed until it shrieked down to the very foundations of the fortress. She quirked a fine, pink brow. She had her own quirky habits when haunting the libraries with Sai, but even she had never used a kunai as a bookmark. If that was what this was.

She put down the kunai and turned to observe the contents of the grimy bookcase. Most of the journals were bound books, not scrolls. This came as a great surprise to the medic, considering how old they seemed. Having passed her gaze over all the various book spines, she looked down at the nondescript cover of the one currently in her hand. It looked as if it had been through at least two wars. Perhaps it had.

Hesitating for only a few seconds, Sakura let it fall open in her outstretched palms.

On the first page, a single line of script ran down the length of the right side:

Uchiha Shou, Clan Medic

The kunoichi's eyes widened. It was indeed a journal. A medical journal.

She had suspected as much by all the small laboratories located on the ground floor, but this presented her first concrete proof. Attention instantly captured, Sakura flipped to the next page.

She recognize the format instantly. It was one used by many medics to chronicle experiments and observations of trial treatments.

There was a number painstakingly painted at the top. It suggested that this journal was one of many, and definitely not the first. If this medic had been anything like her, then he must have had at least dozens of journals. Her eyes devoured the first words.

Entry 87

For the sake of a newly specified pursuit, and at the suggestion of my colleagues, I begin a new journal:

. . . A sickness has long been the subject of clan folklore.

After extensive studies over the course of these passed months, I have concluded that the curse of hatred that has long plagued our clan to be capable of causing a ruinous physical affliction. This "curse," while possibly indirect, does indeed appear to be causal in the rare respiratory disease that has taken the life of many a great warrior—a disease so rare, that no apparent cases of its occurrence among the Uchiha have been officially documented in our clan's historical archives, which are otherwise both exceptionally accurate and exhaustive.

While I must concede that I have yet to propose a tested theory as to a possible treatment, much-less a cure, for this disease, I can only attest to various similarities present within my few observed cases of those afflicted:

—all display a violent, almost incontrollable urge to expel large volumes of blood through the mouth, the tendency of which seems to increase steadily with time

—all those afflicted reportedly suffered through the death of their closest loved one, yet none of them succumbed to the overwhelming tendency of our bloodline: that our love for the deceased would be converted into hatred; some call it a curse, but I believe not in curses.

—thus far: fatal

. . . Although I do not have the means to follow through with more extensive experimentation at this moment, I—

Sakura's nails practically scratched at the paper as she clawed to the next page. Green eyes darted wildly back and forth, skimming then repeating every other sentence.

. . . all afflicted suffered through the death of their closest loved one, yet none of them succumbed . . .

To hatred. Her breathing met an obstacle. Her shoulders violently shook. Much like her hands. And they snapped the book shut, but her unsure fingers slipped and it fell loudly to the floor. She flinched and bent down to retrieve it, but chose to merely occupy the floor next to the small tome. Judging by the jittery state of her knees, sitting was indeed a wise decision.

For certain, it was an interesting hypothesis, but everything sounded so familiar that its proposition only became painful to consider. She had not expected anything like this. Unique insight into the past, a history lesson, perhaps, but not this.

With both relief and paradoxical dread, it had not been at all difficult for Sakura's medically-adept mind to absorb all of this Uchiha Shou's theories. And everything suddenly made horrible sense.

Gathering her senses, Sakura placed the notebook upon her crossed legs and delved back into the journal's depths, more eager now than any other time in her life to learn. To her frustration, however, several pages seemed to be missing—shorn haphazardly from the spine—in between the first entry and the next. Most of the following pages were scrawled with series of numbers and jumbled notes. The kunoichi presumed they were results from various experiments, but they were written using abbreviations and systems that she did not recognize.

Strangely enough, there were no dates scrawled at the top of each entry, so the kunoichi had to glean the approximate years through clues within the text itself.

Entry 103

Relations with the Senju are worsening, yet I was successful in convincing a small group to extricate themselves from our clan, many of whom are showing signs of our cryptic illness; the number of those afflicted seems to have increased drastically with the potential rise of war and its ensuing casualties. For safety and research purposes, we have relocated to a more temperate climate further inland . . .

Several descriptions of the new terrain and the benefits of its local plant life followed, allowing Sakura to conclude that the clan medic had been referring to this very part of the Land of Fire, the towering stronghold that was giving her and Sasuke such coveted shelter all these years later. The entries that followed after this one were all shorter but, for some reason, had increased significantly in number.

Sakura drew in a shaky breath and scoured to the next page, before rethinking her decision and instead flipping to the very end of the journal until her thumb landed upon the last entry. She would read the rest later.

Her eyes furrowed at the scratches on the page. This medic's once pristine writing style had become somewhat careless and hastened. Several statements were harshly crossed out, as if in anger, and it scarcely seemed that the same person could have written it. There was no more organization, none of the careful planning typical of any respectable researcher's notes.

Entry 327

The climate of this region, while it appeared to slow the symptoms at first, no longer offers any noticeable benefits . . .

. . . six dead in two months . . .

. . . coughing grows worse under duress . . . difficulty breathing . . .alarming amounts blood . . .

. . . attacks the respiratory system at the earliest stages.

We burned the bodies yesterday.

However, Uchiha Shou appeared to have taken greater care with the last half of the entry, his statements making more sense, but the kanji was smudged and almost illegible. Sakura focused chakra to her eyes to read what remained, her enhanced vision revealing more of the odd stream of consciousness beneath the smeared ink, most of which she struggled to skim over in favor of finding any definitive information.

At the very bottom of the page, one final block of handwritten text. Sakura scanned its presentation with a critical eye. The ink that had given life to it seemed lighter than the ink in all the lines previous, as if the author's grip had slackened at the end of composing his final entry. Either that, or his pen had been dying.

My colleagues and I once believed the overuse of Mangekyou—once awakened by personal tragedy—to alone be the cause of our eventual blindness. But I am convinced no longer.

I now believe that this ocular degeneration transpires closely before or after—if not simultaneously with—the beginnings of our respiratory affliction.

. . . even provisions to perform autopsies on the corpses of my deceased brethren are low, and it is doubtful that our cousins in Fire's newly established hidden village will come to our aid, for we are heralded as deserters. For these reasons, I fear that the clan will go on without paying my research any heed. And at times I cannot deny that I have failed, and all I am left with is the dark thought that, perhaps, we truly are destined for darkness and should be left there.

We will continue to burn the dead. And may this disease die with us.

Our curse is myth no longer.

And then all records ended. Abruptly and without resolution.

The sight of the following blank and unblemished pages made Sakura freeze. She tore through them again, devouring anything she might have missed.

For more than one reason, her eyes watered, causing the inked words to blur out of focus as panicked thought after panicked thought consumed her consciousness until her palms became sweaty and her ears rung with the deafening silence of the room, a silence that even drowned out the overwhelming vibrations of her heart slamming unforgivingly in her chest. She slipped fingers into her hair and pulled, blinking through unshed tears.

She wanted to believe that the medic had merely continued to record his findings in another journal, that what she had finished reading could not possibly be the last of it. Immediately she whipped around and pulled armfuls of journals from the bookcase, ignoring the spiderwebs. She dropped them on the table, stirring up dust, and began to flip through them, hoping fervently that there was more to be read, despite the fact that Uchiha Shou had stopped writing only midway through the present book.

Sure enough, all the other journals appeared to pre-date the one she had just skimmed through.

She sank back down to the floor with a despondent sigh, elbows on her knees and hands still wrenched through her pink locks in frustration. That could not be all there was.

Yet Sakura could not deny that Sasuke would not be dying this very moment, had his ancestor Uchiha Shou ever discovered a cure. Had the medic himself fallen victim before he could continue his work? It would seem so. Or perhaps he had given up and left this place, left both his research and his remaining brethren and the scent of death decaying behind him.

The kunoichi did not even realize that she had been staring listlessly at the wall until a hand entered her vision. She snapped her head back and found Sasuke watching her, eyes morose and darker than usual. She did nothing to stop him from removing the journal from her lap

No words passed between them as Sasuke leaned against the desk and read the first entrance. For a long while his expression remained stoic. Then he flipped to the last few entrances.

Sighing, he picked up the kunai that lie beside him on the desk and weighed it in his hand while he read.

Sakura eyed the blade sadly, "That was wedged into the pages, keeping it open. Do you . . . Do you think he, Uchiha Shou, was right? About the sickness' relation to Mangekyou?"

Sasuke's eyes paused on the final lines.

"Related, perhaps. But not directly," he shrugged his left shoulder. "Probably grasping for answers in his final days."

Sakura had to concede. Sasuke's eyes still bled when overused, but his vision was fine. The eyes in his sockets, after all, were not his originals. But that was something neither of them liked to mention. She jumped to her feet and sat down next to Sasuke on the desk.

She would have been alarmed at his apparent lack of interest in these findings, had she not been so closely acquainted with his mannerisms. She watched him carefully, noting the enhanced abruptness in his manner.

She sidled closer to him on the desk. Her voice reached his ears softly, hesitant, "Did you . . . hear about anything like this growing up? From the clan elders? Or your parents?"

He shook his head.

She bit her lip.

"Itachi," he mused quietly. But he stopped there. He did not have to voice his thoughts for her to know what he was getting at. It was more than almost likely that Itachi had known more than even Sasuke thought he did.

Sakura's eyes fell to Sasuke's left hand and found that he was strangling the kunai handle in his grip.

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"Clan-specific diseases are rare, but when they do rear their ugly heads they tend to be a pain in the ass. Remember the mold illness that broke out at the Aburame compound last year?" Tsunade snorted. "That's two weeks of my life I'll never get back."

The air in this wing of the library was practically charged with age, smelling of wood pulp and the dust coating the majority of the room's medical archives.

". . . Tsunade-sama? What do you think?"

Tsunade eyed the cup of saké positioned on the windowsill.

"Tsunade-sama?"

"Oh—sorry, Shizune. It's been a rough few days. Let's see . . ." she slammed the tome shut, ignoring the dust that sprang into the air. "It's like I thought. No record of it. Or anything like it. As far as we know, the Uchiha were disgustingly healthy."

Shizune shook her head sadly, "Do you think I could go, Tsunade-sama? To help Sakura, I mean. She might need a second opinion . . ."

Before the Godaime could answer a third voice interrupted. Both women turned to the doorway.

"Sai going back there once is enough. I won't risk the elders finding out where Sasuke is, especially now that he can't defend himself."

A wry smirk tilted Tsunade's glossed lips as she took a tentative sip from her saké cup, "You'd think you were Hokage, the way you've been throwing around orders lately, Sharingan Brat. It's too bad; you've missed your chance."

Kakashi shrugged humbly and tucked his hands into his pockets, "I'm merely relaying the plans I've arranged with Naruto."

"And what am I—a piece tofu from some of Hokage-sama's spoiled ramen?—because that's just insulting."

A second slouching figure pushed its way passed Kakashi and paused within the doorway.

"Ah, Shikamaru," Kakashi's eye creased, "I was just about to mention your very valuable contributions to the planning."

Rolling his eyes, the tactician turned to Shizune and deadpanned, "Kakashi-sensei's right; you might be followed. Sai had an advantage because he travelled by air. As of right now we can't risk it, especially now that we're so close. If anyone wants to help, it would be best if we focused our efforts along with Yamato-taichou's team. They're the ones closest to the enemy."

Suddenly solemn, Kakashi nodded, "The base we've set up near their hideout has been successful. Sai is there now as well, so all we need to do is wait for an opening—"

"I'm going too."

Shizune leapt to her feet with a gasp, knocking down her chair in the process, "Hokage-sama."

Scratching his head sheepishly, Naruto pushed his way passed Kakashi and Shikamaru and stood proud and tall as a beacon at the center of the room, "I know you've just been trying to spare me the details of what's wrong with Sasuke, but I need to do something—anything but sit around and stamp papers all day."

"Naruto—"

"You said yourself, Kakashi-sensei," he turned to his former mentor, cloak swirling about his calves, "you said yourself that all the plans are in place. That means I don't need to do anything else here in the meantime, right? Right, Baa-chan?"

Tsunade sniffed when he turned his pleading blue eyes on her, "Don't be foolish. The Hokage always has responsibilities, no matter how seemingly menial they are."

"I . . . I know that," he pouted, and ran a hand up the back of his blonde head, "but I can do that once this is all taken care of, right? My teammates, they need me. And the sooner we take care of those geezers, the less they have to worry about. This is important. They're important."

Everyone fell into silence as the last of his words dispersed in a hushed but passionate whisper.

It was the Godaime who broke the lull, her voice brisk with determination, "Alright. You three go join Tenzou and the recon team, and I'll remain to run the village in your absence. Shizune, I want you to stay with me in the meantime and maintain contact with Sakura through Katsuyu. Relay to me all the details of her progress, but be as covert as possible."

Jaw set, her eldest apprentice nodded firmly, "Hm."

"However," amber eyes flashed to the reigning Hokage. They softened only momentarily at the grateful glow Tsunade saw in his gaze, ever eager and ever hopeful, "I expect this to be taken care of as soon as possible because, dammit, I volunteered to retire for a reason."

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Sakura entered the main room balancing a teapot and Sasuke's cup. Pressed protectively under her arm, was the journal.

Sasuke sighed, resigned himself to the fact that he may not see her without it for a while. He tore his gaze from its worn edges and searched her face instead. A streak of dirt marked her cheek. The tea was fresh then.

Smiling, Sakura sat knelt down before him. She dropped the book onto her lap and began pouring, "Green tea with ginseng, just picked this morning."

He reached towards her outstretched hand, as if to take the tea, but then his own hand moved beneath hers until he cradled the back of her knuckles in his palm. Cold fingertips just touching the back of her wrist, no more than the scrape of leaves against a weathered petal's remains.

His dark gaze flickered across her features, hair to feet, pupil to pupil.

He saw the startled widening of her verdant eyes, saw the breath catch in her chest.

After maintaining the standstill, he startled her again; his wrist turned slightly, skin grazing hers with the slightest of touches until the rough pad of his thumb rested atop the sensitive hollow of her slender wrist, just above the veins, covering the strong pulse of the heartbeat beneath.

He breathed his words so quietly, that she scarcely heard them. He really must have been tired, "You haven't been eating enough. You need more rest."

"Sasuke-kun," Sakura exhaled, chapped lips parting in response. She wanted to remind him that his own appetite was nothing to brag about, but he knew that already. Her hand, still open upwards, relaxed into his. His thumb smoothed over her wrist bone as if to sooth; however, it only resulted in the opposite, "I do sleep. I do."

His eyes hardened, flicked down to the book then back to her face, and she knew her added emphasis was doing nothing to sway him, "You've already read it."

A change of subject, then.

She averted her gaze and smoothed her hair behind her ear, "I don't know enough. All I've been able to do is treat your symptoms. What have we got to lose?"

He looked at the journal on her lap, then gently pried it from her hands, "You won't figure anything out of you don't sleep."

"But—"

"Sakura." He shot her a baleful look. His eyes were stern as usual, but his hand pressed gentle as he coaxed her hands away, "I'll read through it. You rest."

Most people would presume that Sasuke was never a man to be argued with, but Sakura could discern when he would listen to an argument and potentially change his mind. This, unfortunately, was obviously not going to be one of those instances.

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Her medic's instinct woke her at midnight.

The room was noticeably colder and Sakura rushed to replenish the wood in the fireplace. Hands rubbing up and down her arms, she watched dispassionately as the fire grew and the warm, autumnal light flooded their room once more.

Satisfied with the temperature, to Sasuke's side she returned. He had actually fallen asleep before her that evening, so she had been awake to see him restless, sweating and grinding his teeth under the influence of a nightmare he refused to confide in her about. Thankfully, it seemed he was finally resting peacefully.

Lips pursed, Sakura folded the covers back and flinched at the sight of his gaunt body. He looked so ill and pale. His body mass had begun to decrease again, and if his appetite did not return, muscle would be the next to go. The sickness was apparently still in its early stages, however, and Sakura would have admired the fact that he still managed to appear attractive and somewhat strong despite his affliction, had the sight not depressed her so. Though much of his muscle definition had faded, his physique remained wiry, a testament to years of dedication to his physical prowess.

His chest rose stunted with each inhale, sweat forming atop his skin from the effort it took to merely breathe. His hips were narrower than usual, and his clothing had slipped low on his hipbones, revealing more wan skin and, just above the hem, a dark edge of coarse hair.

She pressed a cool hand to his forehead to brush away the perspiration glimmering there. He inhaled raggedly upon the contact, so deeply that Sakura could hear the gurgle in his lungs.

Again.

Her features collapsed in on themselves.

It always came back.

Immediately she moved her hands to his chest and began the meticulous process of stabilizing his lungs to prevent a coughing attack. Tired as Sasuke was, that was the last thing he needed to deal with in the middle of the night.

Several moments passed around them, bereft of sound besides that of the fire and the ever-present winter gale outside.

He spoke without opening his eyes.

Sakura started, for she had not even realized he had awoken. He murmured with a quiet hollowness in his voice, as if in a state of distracted observation, "Healing chakra is dangerous."

He opened his eyes. Seeing her face in the orange gleam of the firelight would forever be a relief. As well as her glowing chakra.

Yes, indeed, this kind of infiltrating power would be very devastating in the wrong hands.

Still recovering from the shock, the pinkette smiled softly, but kept her eyes on her work, ". . . You trust me?"

Sasuke frowned, as if thinking of all the reasons they had not to trust each other. Then again, they had many reasons to the contrary as well. When it took him a while to respond, a frown began to tug at the corners of her pretty mouth. But her chakra never wavered, so he pushed an answer forth without a second thought.

"Yes."

He swore he had not seen her eyes shine so brightly in years. The fire only amplified their radiance.

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The moonlight gave the bare skin of his torso the appearance of pale marble.

Sasuke tilted his head back to open his airways, lips parted and shaking arms holding him up against the wall. His chest heaved.

He had to get this under control.

Sakura was asleep inside and had no idea that he had crept out in the middle of the night for more training.

It took several minutes, but eventually the heavy burden in his lungs dispelled and he managed to make it through the attack without coughing up his insides. The night air was too brisk, but its freshness did seem to help. Eventually his arms collapsed and so the Uchiha turned to rest his back against the wall instead. He closed his eyes, bent his knees, and allowed himself to slide onto the earth; on his way down, his sweaty hair snagged lightly along the smooth rock.

His head hurt. His throat ached a bit. But he had certainly felt much worse before.

Subconsciously, almost before he could register taking any initiative, he reached out with his chakra to seek Sakura's softer signature. She remained at rest, safe within the stronghold.

Into a grim line he set his mouth, and tiredly opened his eyes.

She probably still lay in the same position on the futon that he had left her in. Between training, reading, and healing him, she was always tired well before the sun set.

After a while of sitting idle, he began to feel chills break out across his skin as the sweat cooled. Inside, Sakura's chakra spiked, growing restless before gradually soothing again.

Sasuke climbed to his feet, as if answering her unrest, and returned to the main room. In the doorway, he hesitated for a moment. The room was dark except for the receding flames in their fireplace. Its shadows licked across the walls and the two futon in a stunted dance dictated by the wind outside. The movement highlighted the form moving on the futon.

She had just begun to writhe across the bed, displacing her sheets. He noted the pained furrow between her brows and wondered if she was having a nightmare.

Sasuke himself had been having the same one during the last few days. Portions of it flashed before his mind's eye.

His dead body. The raven. The woman grieving over him.

—her hand wrenching the blade through her throat and her warm blood spraying across his chest.

He had suffered through it again that same night. That was his real reason for sneaking out to train.

Sasuke shook his head, as if to rid his mind of that image, and eased down onto the welcoming sheets. The fire in the hearth had kept them reasonably warm. He lay there for a long time, listening to the crackle of the fire and Sakura's breathing.

Hours passed. Daylight approached beyond the window. He closed aching eyes and fell into a state of meditation, refusing to move lest he agitate his breathing more than he already had that night.

When Sakura sought his warmth and moved against his side, he still did not move.

And when morning did arrive, accompanied by all the reinforcements of a new day, neither shinobi mentioned how sakura had woken up on Sasuke's futon.

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They fell into uncharacteristic languish after another spar.

Sakura herself had not been feeling well, an observation which had the Uchiha even more on edge than usual. He unnerved her with how often he watched her, eyes accusing, for she had obviously ignored his insistence that she rest more often.

And so she had suggested that they simply rest until nightfall, though their interaction was tense enough to make her want to brave the cold outside.

Attempting to hide her frustration, Sakura pulled her hands away from Sasuke's chest and allowed her healing chakra to disperse, "Not as bad as yesterday. But I think we should cut down on your training for a while."

The Uchiha released a displeased sigh, nostrils flaring slightly. The day had been weary and they lay on their sides facing each other.

Thanks to their earlier fight, she no longer had any clothing for her upper body. Her first set was dirty, while the other had been snagged to a sad, unwearable state when they had chased each other through the trees. She now wore his old shirt, the one he had given her to wear in Takigakure—now washed clean of his blood, of course. The fabric was worn and stretched wide at the collar.

Though preoccupied, Sasuke was not completely unaware of his actions when he reached out and touched the fresh bruise on her jawline, just beneath her ear. She shivered as his callused fingertips strayed down to trace headily back and forth along the curve of the shirt's wide neckline.

Concentration swaying between her skin and his trailing finger, Sasuke blinked. Living with her in such close quarters seemed to be blurring their joint understanding of typical proximity.

For the first time he could remember, he thought seriously about his self-induced celibacy. Truly, it had not even been so self-induced; his other desires had consumed most of his thoughts for many years, had allowed no time for other considerations.

And with those thoughts came the confused realization that Sakura was the source of this inquisition. Another sigh.

He poked deftly at her bruise. The pad of his finger hovered just above her skin, "You can heal this easily, yes?"

She quirked a pink brow in bewilderment, and brought her hand self-consciously to her ear.

"Oh—I didn't even realize. Thank you, Sasuke-kun," she channeled chakra into a single finger, considering the guilt on his face. It was thinly-veiled, manifested in the hardness of his gaze and the slight wrinkling of his nose, "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt at all."

Once she pulled her fingers away from her jawline the mark had completely vanished. Sasuke's eyes, hesitantly, still lingered there. Sakura noticed this, but once she seemed prepared to say something, Sasuke had turned onto his other side to stare moodily into the fireplace.

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Following the evening meal and another healing session, time drifted lethargically through the stronghold that night. Perhaps it was the growing chill in the air. Perhaps it was the fact that neither shinobi had been quite able to fall asleep.

His bad mood, at least, had dissipated during the evening.

Beside him, Sakura let her eyes drift open. He could almost sense it, envision the slits of brilliant beryl that would gradually widen as she revealed them to the night air.

"Sasuke-kun."

He blinked slowly at the ceiling, then his head lolled to the side until they faced each other eye to eye. His earlier vision proved correct; her irises practically glowed, innocent, gentle, sad in this instance, yet somehow still feline. Perhaps it was because Sasuke had not only seen her like this, but also burning with passion in the midst of battle.

Sakura felt her throat clawing for air at the sight of Sasuke's undivided stare. She breathed deeply, then revealed her woe, "I wish I understood you more."

Her soft words emerged so gustily, warm across his neck.

Suddenly, a slight pressure settled upon her lower abdomen. Sasuke rasped, too close to her ear, "You have lost weight."

". . ."

Just then she realized that it was his hand, for when his fingers twitched they grazed against her stomach. Once drowsy green eyes widened almost comically. The unmasked concern in his voice made her mind reel.

Sasuke continued to peer across the futon at her, dark eyes thoughtful. He looked his most gaunt at night, cheekbones not sunken in but not as filled as they usually were. The firelight was unforgiving, made the difference in the angles and slopes more harsh than they were in the daytime.

"Sasuke . . ."

"Sakura," he snapped. His eyes narrowed as she merely looked at him, did not seem to pay any attention to the concern he had just expressed, "It's foolishness to sacrifice your own well-being. If—"

"I love you."

Again.

An anguished cry of mortification rent through Sakura on the inside, even before the words finished leaving her lips.

Sasuke's eyes widened a fraction. He sucked in a harsh breath and Sakura could not tell if he was shocked at having heard those words again, or if he was angry that she had cut him off. Finally, his eyelids closed with tired finality and he turned his head away.

Several strains of drawn-out silence spanned between them, and Sakura began to shake with heartbreak at the thought that he had blatantly ignored her and afterwards just went to sleep.

Then suddenly he turned over onto his side. His movements were slow, but eventually he lay facing her.

But he almost regretted it. She was crying—only teary-eyed, in reality, straining under physical exhaustion and emotional regret—but in his eyes she might as well have been sobbing.

There was an overwhelming urge to crush her form against him, to anchor her body to his own because she felt so unbelievably tiny in comparison. His hand could more than span the base of her skull, earlobe to earlobe.

He could not remember the last time he had wanted so painfully to protect something. It hurt too much to fight anymore, for it almost made him ache physically, and protecting himself with excuses no longer seemed as important.

He could barely stand to watch as the pain of rejection filled her eyes. He had already seen it many times.

Then she raised her hand, and his eyelids had to lower again once her touch manifested like a petal of her namesake against on the side of his face. Her fingertips smoothed across the skin, grazing just over a closed eyelid before stopping against his ear. "You don't want me," her voice cracked with tears, but what it did not have was a question. She only assumed and stated, which roused a slight yet familiar annoyance in the form of a lump in Sasuke's throat.

"Well," Sakura continued, pulling her hand away with great difficulty and looking down at the wrinkled sheets in acute shame, "I should know better. . . . I suppose you never did, and—and you're right; I'm a fool—I'm a fool for forgetting."

Dark eyes snapped open. And as Sasuke thought back on the last time he had rejected her, he realized that, in truth, he had given her no real answer. But they were older now. A war had begun and run its course since then. They had experienced more sorrow and more loss, known the bitter ache and anger of facing each other from opposite sides, known the guilt that ensued. They were older now.

"It's never been," he finally murmured, "a matter of wanting."

She hesitated to decipher his shifting expression through her fog of tears, unsure as to the context of his words, "What is it, then?"

It seemed the question was meant to be accusing, but it left her lips sorrowfully, with that soft, wistful lilt that situated itself much too perfectly between hopelessness and desire, that made him want to do things to her that would prove her wrong completely.

But they were themselves, after all, and whatever was between them could never be a mere issue of desire or demands.

It became apparent, however, that Sasuke had failed to quell her shame and pain, when Sakura rose from her futon. She stumbled over the teapot and leftover fabric from her makeshift curtains until she reached the wall. She knelt down there, gritting her teeth and wiping angrily at her face. Now, it was less his rejection and more so his failing health that toyed with her emotions. When she was a little girl, perhaps things might have been different. But saving Sasuke had stopped being about a potential future with him a long time ago. All she yearned for was his happiness, whether or not he wished to include her in it.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun," a dry laugh died in her chest, frigid and shaking "I'll go outside if I'm keeping you awake."

His shadow fell over her then, his form's outline taking up the majority of the wall. She spun around, another apology on her lips, but the forlorn look on his face made her movement cease.

"Sakura," he whispered. "Were my sins not so great, I might consider."

"Your sins?" she fell back against the wall and sat down, shaking her head. Just what was he getting at? "What are you talking about? The past—"

He shook his head, but offered no further explanation. His shoulders were slumped with a weariness that frightened her. It reminded her of his posture back at the inn in Lightning, that dark moment when he had utterly given up.

He crouched before her and sought out her eyes, leaning his weight on one hand situated on the concrete just above her head. Shadowy flames danced around them, the fire reflecting onto Sakura's face from an angle and mirroring its undulating movement in verdant eyes wide and uncertain.

Somehow Sasuke's stony frown deepened further.

Some of her hair had snagged against the wall and, from the corner of his eye, the Uchiha saw his own pale fingers picking the strands from out of the shallow rifts.

He wanted to reach out to her, to be able to touch her neck, feel her lifeblood flowing through the pale column with a voracity for life that could not be denied. To touch her neck without her flinching away in fear and remembrance of one of the darkest times in their lives. Finally he murmured, "I'm sorry." He leaned closer, rising up onto his knees so he could peer down at her through the ebony slits of his gaze, "Sakura."

And he kissed her. Chaste, gentle. Barely grazing the side of her mouth.

The desire pulsed through him like forest blaze, as if it would consume them both if he did not quench it through her and within her. It devoured all hesitation.

But fear lingered.

He removed his skin from hers. Hands clenched at his sides.

Despite his apparent confidence and undeniable skill, Sasuke had long wrestled with a keen sense of inferiority. In his father's presence, in Itachi's presence, in his own presence. This fear—for that's what this inferiority was, unmitigated fear—had initially driven him toward Orochimaru's promises of power, jealous of Naruto's progress and disgusted with the utter lack of his own. This same inferiority had denied him many things and, even still and now, it held sway over him.

He had nothing to offer her. Of this Sasuke was all too aware. Either he would die soon or put her in even more danger than they had already faced together in recent days. They had been safe here for a time longer than he had expected, but how much longer could that last? And even if they were not attacked, she was wasting herself on him and that damned journal.

"You should never have come to find me," his hands rose. Palms hovered just above the sides of her face, shaking although they only touched the air, the heat radiating off her skin and into his. Like he could not bring himself to close the distance. "Every moment you stay with me, you'll regret it."

Sakura tilted her head back into the stone, leaning away from him when all she really, truly wanted was to touch and touch and touch. Her gasp was ragged. Her tears had dried, but her eyes watered for a different reason. She licked her chapped lips, "You're not very convincing. Saying things like that . . ."

Sasuke's hands shook some more.

Her eyes were searching his, clouded with lust but calculating, devouring every shift in his expression, "I don't regret it. Not a thing."

His eyes narrowed. If Sakura noticed the red heat, the spinning tomoe, she said nothing.

Well, then. Satisfaction of an unknown origin welled up within him. If she truly regretted nothing—

A guttural groan caught in Sasuke's throat when he finally touched her, seized her face in his hands and pressed himself to her. The meeting of his hardness against her own heated, damp arousal created a level of stimulation he had never before experienced. But his control never wavered. It reined his movement in and held his body still until small muscles in his jaw clenched at the mere exertion of it all.

No longer able to keep her hands suspended at her side, Sakura tightened her fingers around Sasuke's arms at the biceps, not wishing to interfere with the hands he had anchored to her cheeks. Every sensation made her dizzy; the stone at her back was cold, but every place where his skin and breath touched her just burned and burned. It was overwhelming. In the many years they had known each other, they had probably touched more during the last few hours than they had in all their prior acquaintance. Now she understood why every moment alone together had always been irrevocably tense and unfulfilled. Finally, Sasuke dropped one of his hands to her hip to steady her. He leaned in closer. The raven tips of his hair tickled her neck and clavicle.

"You're fucking killing me," he turned away and shut his eyes, breath raging hot against her ear. His words were so vulgar yet dripping distinctly with such Uchiha passion that Sakura could not find it within herself to recognize the sad irony of his words. Without realizing it, her hips fought against his grip and undulated longingly up into his pelvis.

Unadulterated emotion was radiating from his eyes and body in a manner Sakura had only seen anger—and, recently, sorrow—manage. The sight enacted an attack on her body. Tears flooded her eyes as the ache simultaneously intensified both in her chest and between her legs.

"Good," she rasped, eyes growing heavy-lidded as she blushed all the way from her forehead to her breasts, "Feel how alive you are." She leaned forward; her lips grazed his jawline with every word until she reached his ear and let her teeth nip and her tongue soothe. "Maybe now you'll want to live for something."

A/N:

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I'm not sure how I feel about the pacing, but I hope you enjoyed this!

Again, I would like to express my deep gratitude for all the support every reader has offered up; you're always an encouragement when I struggle to find the time to indulge in my writing. I know some of you were asking for an update some weeks ago, fresh off the "Naruto Gaiden" high, so I'm sorry it took me a while to oblige.

Please, do review and tell me what you thought about this chapter. What were your favorite parts, your favorite dialogue? Specific feedback makes me smile (or nod morosely and thoughtfully, whatever the case may be).

Next chapter: "When I Meet You at That Peak"

Not gonna lie; I'm very excited, you guys, because this is essentially the calm before the storm.

And a new chapter of "Reign of Red" will also be out soon!