Small, Meaningful Steps
Just A Starving Writer

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Author's Plea: Oneshot. Again, it wouldn't leave me be. Spoilers for up to manga chapter 393 or thereabouts. My tenses are atrocious as are my characterizations. I think I got Itachi's crazy childhood timeline correct, but feel free to scream if not. And... Screw it. Enjoy if you can.

When she'd first heard of the atrocities committed by various missing nins, she'd been appalled. Some of the details had left her nauseous. She hadn't understood how and she couldn't comprehend why.

Now she knows.

She is perhaps luckier than most. Because she had begun so weak, she hadn't purposely killed anyone until she was thirteen. It had been a matter of life or death and her victim had been killing civilians without thought or pause. She'd known she was right to kill him. Knowing hadn't made her any less sick to her stomach. It hadn't been until she was sixteen that she killed someone outside of combat. Once a shinobi reaches jounin level, assassination missions are more regular than she had ever imagined. She'd again been lucky: she'd only had to watch him threaten a few whores before killing him with a dart to the neck. Still she'd felt nauseous, but each successful mission had made the ache diminish until she barely flinches as she kills a man after he kisses his children goodnight.

By the time Sakura turns twenty, death means more to her than life, and she's not surprised at all anymore. She can tell herself there's more honor in her intentions than in those of the average missing nin, but she knows she would be lying to herself.

Though she trusts in the intentions of those who assign her, she knows how easy it would be for her own thoughts to slowly step towards something just a bit different. She knows how easy it would have been for her to have followed her heart elsewhere if she had only started a little bit sooner.

She doesn't envy the prodigies anymore. She knows the sooner you can kill, the sooner you'll be forced to kill.

And maybe it is because she knows this that she cannot find it within herself to kill this man.

He is blind and his breathing is shallow but he is alive which is more than enough to surprise her. It surprises her because she'd seen his dead body in the moments before her team had rescued an unconscious Sasuke from a terrifying mixture of regular and otherworldly flames. As they had rushed away from the heat, she'd risked one last look back and she'd remember forever seeing the black flames catch on the body's clothing and rush to consume the remains of Uchiha Itachi.

Of course, there hadn't been time to absolutely guarantee his death, but considering nothing had been heard from the infamous shinobi even during the ultimate destruction of Akatsuki, everyone had been happy to assume his demise was real and true.

But he is living and though he is struggling for breath and his blank eyes show his blindness, there is no mistaking Uchiha Itachi and no denying he is alive.

"You are Konoha," he almost whispers.

"Yes," she answers similarly.

"You know who I am."

"Yes."

There is a pause as they both examine their thoughts.

"You are not interested in killing me," he says as if he doesn't understand her motivations. She isn't quite sure she understands either, but she knows and that is enough.

"No, I am not interested in killing you, Uchiha-san."

"Why?"

"There wouldn't be a point in killing you. You are already dead."

"Perhaps."

His voice has regained some of it's previously strong tone, but it is still nothing compared to its former glory. She has only minimal experience with this man, but she knows he is amused.

"You will die again if you do not have someone heal your lungs," she states plainly.

"Perhaps," he repeats before lapsing into a coughing fit. She can see from his response, from his vital signs, that he has been ill for a long time. She wonders if it was initially caused by the fire she'd been so sure had consumed him. She wonders if he's received any treatment at all and doubts it. Her clinical mind begins a more thorough inspection even as she approaches his prone form with a sigh.

"If you are so intent upon dying again, please make it as meaningful as your first death," she mumbles as her hand glows and healing chakra seeks out and repairs his damaged lungs.

"Very well," he responds as he closes his useless eyes.

When she finishes her treatment he is breathing easier and sinking into a recuperative sleep. The pain that had been tainting his expression has receded and now if she squints she can almost see the child he must have been once.

A serious child who was struggling with the moralities of what he was doing even as he was being pushed to be better, more successful, deadlier... He was thirteen when he killed his clan, but he'd been killing people since age eight. Now that she knows, she can see how he could have been so easily pushed to his madness. Just as easily as Naruto had been pushed to his childish deviance. Just as easily as Neji had been pushed to his hatred. Just as easily as all shinobi children are pushed to kill in order to obey.

Still, Sakura can't ignore that this fallen man is still an unknown, and she doesn't wish to wait for him to regain his strength. She leaves once she knows he'll survive. She is long gone before he wakes.

The air is so crisp it almost hurts to breath, but it doesn't hurt for the first time in years and that is enough to make him grin honestly. He opens his eyes out of habit and stiffens instantly.

He cannot see, and he will never again be able to; the damage he has forced upon his eyes is irreversible by even the most skilled of medics. However, there is a certain difference now, and though it is by no means sight, the blackness perpetually surrounding him is now broken by slight wisps of something.

It takes only a moment before he realizes he is seeing the woman's chakra trail. From the dissipation and the faint glow, he knows she has been gone for hours.

Since the ill-fated battle with his brother, he's been condemned to the darkness; he has become accustomed to it so that the slight glow from the free floating chakra is enough to almost burn his senses. As he rises to his feet and breathes deeply, testing out his newly healed lungs, he wonders if the woman knows her healing has produced other effects. He doubts she would have risked it if she'd known her chakra's impact on his optic nerves would result in this ability.

He breathes deeply again and almost chokes on the crisp air. The faint glow around him seems to be thickest to his left. If he doesn't move quickly, the trail will be gone before he can locate her.

There is no lying to himself; he is still blind. But he has been living as the dead for too long and her pity has given him a new purpose. With another deep breath, he begins the difficult task of following his savior.

She has asked him to have a meaningful death. He is gracious and will oblige.

He cannot think of anything more meaningful than dying at her hands.

fin.