"So, how was your mission?" Sakura inquired in a soft voice as they strolled, lazily, through the main park, accompanied only by the darkness of the night and the sound of snow crunching under the weight and rhythm of their footsteps.

"Fine," was his short, clipped answer.

"Did that broken rib bother you at all?"

"My rib isn't broken anymore, Sakura."

"Your abdomen is still bruised, though," she insisted, looking up at him with large green eyes. "And you won't let me heal it."

"That's because it's fine," he nearly hissed in response, instinctively squeezing the small hand that was otherwise loosely, comfortably held in his grip. It wasn't the first time that she brought the subject up, and he'd learned, early on, to end the ensuing conversation swiftly, because it wouldn't the first time he'd had to fight her and her chakra-covered hands off, either.

She was working too much; picking up too many shifts; going through too many documents. An ugly bruise didn't bother him nearly as much as seeing her collapse right in front of him would.

But she didn't see that. In a typical, almost defining move, his wife seemed to be in tune with all of everybody else's pain and none of her own.

Thankfully, she appeared to realize that she was fighting a losing battle, and gave up with a silent sigh. "Thank you for coming with me," she offered instead, a heartbeat later. "I really appreciate it, especially since I know you must be tired from your mission."

"It's fine," he repeated with a small shrug.

Konoha's annual winter festival was something that Sakura had been looking forward to since—he was willing to bet—August. Officially, it would be the third festival they attended together, and he'd never, even for the briefest of moments, considered missing out on it.

He wasn't sure why. It was a routine—perhaps that was the reason. It was their routine; something that they did together, no questions asked, no eyebrows raised, no wide-eyed glances sent in a single direction. He knew it was something she enjoyed. He also knew she wanted him there. And, from the moment he'd accepted her invitation to the second festival, he'd known she wouldn't hesitate to extend another one—and another one, and another one. It was an opportunity for him to say yes, for a change. A way in which he could make her happy without feeling the weight of her surprise resting heavily on his shoulders, another reminder that he didn't do that nearly enough. A setting where he could enjoy her presence in a way he never really managed to do anywhere else anymore. Where they could have a non-awkward conversation that didn't involve food, or missions, or stories about the damn dobe. Where he could grab a hold of her hand without having her look at him as though he'd grown a second head or hit his only one on a rock.

Sasuke wasn't stupid. He was more than well aware of the reason why she was usually so stunned by all of those gestures—and a thousand more. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault but his, and the incident that had landed him in the hospital all those months ago had only served to cement that, as well as cause their entire relationship to move just a little further down the slippery slope it seemed to have been centered on from the very beginning.

Certainly, it wasn't as if he'd stopped being grateful for her presence when they were both simply together in the house, each tending to their own separate problems, and it wasn't as if he had any intention of ceasing to do little caring gestures—regardless of how much they surprised her, and regardless of how much of an annoying sensation that surprise caused to erupt in his chest. It was simply that… being there, with her, strolling through that nearly empty park, hands intertwined, footsteps in sync… It was… comfortable. Without tension. Without awkwardness. Without expectations. Without thoughts of everything that was wrong between them and everything that he couldn't fix circling his mind like restless vultures.

It was comfortable, yes—comfortable, perhaps, in a way that he could only hope their marriage would someday come to be.

"These festivals… they're a big deal to you," he observed quietly, and kept his gaze firmly set on the path ahead when she turned to face him in—he didn't doubt—surprise.

"They are," she admitted, before falling silent. A moment passed before she seemed to decide that she should continue. "When… when my parents were alive, we used to go to all of them. We were all pretty big fans." She smiled. "I'm sure that probably doesn't come as a shock to you. But there's more to the story, because…" Pausing, she took in a deep breath, before continuing, "We never really got along, my parents and I."

At the sound of that statement, Sasuke felt his eyes widen and eyebrows rise, both almost on their own accord. He turned a questioning glance on his wife, and received a small, indulgent smile in response.

"Everybody's surprised when they hear that," she noted in amusement, giving a shrug. "They just... didn't agree with my decision to become a kunoichi. I used to sometimes think they hated me for it, even. We'd have arguments and screaming matches all the time—all stemming from the same issue, all ending in the same way. I moved out soon after you left. Thank God I'd already convinced Tsunade-sama to be my mentor by then; she worked me hard, which meant I didn't have a lot of time to contemplate my depressingly empty studio apartment, and she taught me things that warranted me being assigned higher-paying missions—so I could actually afford the rent." She gave a small, but largely humorless, laugh. "My parents refused to support me in 'destroying my life' any longer. But to the festivals, we still went together." She looked up at him with a smile. "It was the strangest thing, but… it was almost as if we completely forgot about… everything we disagreed on. It was almost as if we made a conscious decision to get along and just enjoy the evening—but it was never an effort, not for me; I don't know about them. That's why… they're important to me. It was the only time that I got to spend with them without feeling as if I constantly had to defend myself or as if I had something to prove—something they would never understand, anyway. They're… nice memories, I guess." She smiled up at him again, green eyes half sad, half happy, and he had no idea how to respond.

"…I… I didn't know," he stammered, nearly failing to notice the comforting caress his thumb was rubbing into the back of her hand. He'd never, even for a second, imagined Sakura—Sakura, of all people—hadn't been blessed with a pair of warm, loving parents. He'd never even considered the idea that she was not a spoiled, privileged little girl who took everything for granted, including the support of her happy family, and had signed up to the Academy for no other reason than because she thought that being a shinobi was cool. Once again, he was hit with the notion of how much he didn't know about her, how much he'd simply assumed and taken at face value.

Yet… she'd seemed so happy all the time…

"I would have never thought that…"

She shrugged, briefly placing her free hand over his arm in a small gesture of consolation. "I know. I felt… so good with you two idiots. Ridiculously good. Back then… it was literally where I felt best. I didn't feel comfortable at home. I felt comfortable with you."

Sasuke almost had to shake his head to pull himself out of his trance. All the missions he'd wanted nothing more but to escape, while she'd probably waited for them with her breath baited…

They fell silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts, as they continued to wander, almost aimlessly, down the snow-covered path.

Sakura sniffled, causing Sasuke to curiously turn his head to the right, where she was walking alongside him. She squeezed his hand, sniffled again—and he didn't even have time to take in his next breath, much less brace himself against what would follow.

"…I have a little brother, you know?" she suddenly confessed, completely out of the blue, looking up at him with tears brimming in her green orbs.

His entire body stiffened in shock, all of his muscles locking so stubbornly and so resolutely that it was almost a surprise that he didn't stop, dead in his tracks, right then and there, in the middle of the pathway.

"What?" he managed to bite out, onyx eyes searching his wife's green ones carefully.

His expression must have said it all, because she gave a quiet, watery laugh. "Yeah," she said. "His name is Seiji." A small, genuine smile crept upon her lips as she spoke of him, of this family member of whose existence Sasuke hadn't even known, and any doubts that he might have had with regard to whether she was telling the truth or simply messing with him disappeared. There was love in her eyes; and, as brilliant of an actress as she may be, love was something that Sakura would never be able to fake. "He's the cutest little person you'll ever meet, I swear. He… lives with my grandparents now." Her voice turned sad, and started to chew on her lower lip. A moment passed before she continued. "They don't let me see him."

"You're kidding," he immediately snapped, this time actually stopping, keeping a tight grip on her hand, forcing her to stay by his side and look at him in the eye. "What do you mean they don't let you see him?"

"They just don't." She sniffled, shrugging in a resigned manner. "They say I'm a bad influence. My parents used to let me see him at times… But my grandparents won't. I haven't seen him in an entire year now." Shaking her head, she appeared to want to change the subject. "God, it's been almost three years since the war ended? Time flies."

Sasuke didn't allow her the privilege. "Sakura, why don't you go see him if you miss him?" he nearly commanded, barely able to wrap his brain around the enormity of what she'd just revealed to him. "Why do you even listen to what your grandparents have to say when they clearly don't respect you?"

She hesitated. "…Last time I saw him, right after the war ended… I brought him home afterwards. I picked him up from school and then I brought him home. My grandparents had a fit, obviously. I don't know why, but I stuck around after they took him inside." She was having difficulty speaking, but she was awfully good at keeping her tears in check—and Sasuke's heart clenched in his chest, yet again. "I couldn't help but overhear what they said to him. Ninja hearing, right?" She huffed. "Anyway… They said horrible things… about me, about what I did… that I killed people, that I…" She gave a small, pained shrug. "Half-truths, I guess you can call them. Not complete lies. Not things that I could just barge in and call them out on. And, in that moment, I knew that… whenever I saw him, whenever I met with him or said 'hi' to him… they'd pull him aside and repeat… all of those things. Over and over. Until he believed them. Until he actually came to hate me. And I… I couldn't take that. Just…" Closing her eyes for a brief, painful moment, she shook her head. "Anything but that."

"Sakura… I…" Sasuke tried to speak. He did—immediately. But what could he say? How could he comfort her? This went well beyond his inability to express himself. What could anybody possibly say in this situation to make her feel even the slightest bit better?

"It's fine," she told him. "I've come to terms with it." Tugging on his hand, she gave him a small smile, urging him to move. "Come on, I'm getting cold."

She never said another word as they continued on their way, out of the park and down Konoha's still lively streets, into the old Uchiha district and eventually inside their home.

As the mattress dipped slightly with her weight that night, Sasuke had to wonder how much more there was to know about her—and why a girl that had been so willing to do anything and everything to make herself heard and known and seen by him in the past was now lying next to him and doing everything in her power not to open up.

Oh, he'd fucked up. He knew that well, and there wasn't a second in which it ever slipped his mind. But… Sakura's love for him had endured so much.

Was it this that would finally break it? This marriage?

Was it finally beginning to fade?

Sakura shivered, pulling her thick, knitted scarf tighter around her neck, narrowing her eyes against the flurry of white snowflakes dancing violently all around her in a gesture almost necessary for her to continue to see the road ahead.

Konoha had been under red blizzard alert—something that, she was sure, happened only once every five years as it was—for an entire week, but it appeared as if the snowstorm had carefully selected today, of all days, to actually hit the village. Today, when she'd been caught up in a surgery for four hours after the end of her shift; today, when she'd left the OR successful, but covered nearly from head to toe in blood, turning the idea of a shower from an abstract possibility into an urgent requirement; today, when things had gotten so horrifyingly messy that even her otherwise carefully protected hair had somehow managed to get caught in the fray, needing to be thoroughly washed and dried, as well.

By the time she was finally ready to leave the hospital, night had already fallen, and the heavy snowfall had been well on its way to becoming the full-fledged blizzard the entire village had been buzzing about.

Sapped almost dry of chakra, Sakura had no choice but to start a slow trudge home. A few steps into her journey, catching her unaware, the wind had nearly swept her off her feet. Halfway to her destination and already in a foul mood, she started to curse everyone and everything that might have contributed to her current predicament in even the smallest of increments, from the rogue nin that had brought that dying shinobi on her operating table, to the weatherman who had certainly not been specific enough, to the winter season itself and its many inconveniences.

Now, already in the old Uchiha district and with only a few minutes to go, much of Sakura's anger had melted away—or perhaps a better way to put it would be that it had frozen. Completely. Along with her ten fingers and toes, her nose and the parts of her long hair that had not been lucky enough to fit under her hood.

Squinting at the blurry outline of the street stretching out in front of her, snow crunching under her boots and wind howling in her ears, the medic seemed to only then notice how completely empty it was—and she told herself it was alright to be slightly jealous of the people who had managed to get to shelter in time; smarter people, perhaps, that knew better than to allow a snowstorm to catch them anywhere other than under the protective cover of their households.

Unwittingly, her mind started to wander towards her own home—towards the large bathtub that always just begged to be filled with hot water and sweetly-scented bubbles and that she ignored most of the time in favor of the much quicker, much more efficient shower cabin; towards the heated hardwood floors and the red fuzzy socks she had bought the other day and hadn't had a chance to wear yet; and towards the one person that could be there, waiting on her, for her.

He was due back from his mission today, and she had planned on leaving the hospital on time so that she could be there when he arrived, to heal his wounds and cook him dinner. As it was, though, that hadn't happened—and would it be so entirely wrong and horrible if she were to admit that a part of her, however tiny and negligible, had been alright with that? Pleased, even? Perhaps it would. She loved him, after all, and despite his stubborn refusal to allow her to carve herself a place in his life, she was still practically the only family he had.

Briefly, she wondered if he noticed. She wondered if he noticed that she hadn't been there. She wondered if he noticed that, lately, she hadn't had much to say to him. She wondered if he noticed how difficult it had been for her to look at him in the eye. And she wondered, not for the first time, if he'd ever been able to tell that her schedule and her entire life had been built solely around him, in the first place.

She had no way of knowing.

But she did know that, suddenly, spending time around him wasn't as easy as it used to be. It used to be effortless. It used to be something she looked forward to; something that brightened up a cold, dull day; the highlight of a week. It had always been bittersweet, sure, as most things were when it came to Sasuke, but the sweet ingredient had been there, and Sakura was nothing if not an optimist seeing the glass half-full. But now… now, each and every one of their interactions seemed forced; awkward, even when it had no reason to be. Now, she couldn't really have a conversation with him without asking herself when his next mission would come and where it would take him. She couldn't really lie down beside him at night without actively dreading the possibility that, at some point in the near future, he would end up, once again, on her operating table. Welcoming him home became harder and harder with each passing day, just as her heart had taken to leaping, faster and faster, straight out of her chest whenever she wasn't able to immediately identify a critically injured patient. And, God, she couldn't look at him—she couldn't look at him without wanting to burst into tears and beg for an explanation.

And that wasn't fair, to either of them.

She wasn't mad at him. She wasn't punishing him. But she was tired. She was so, so terribly tired of having all of these painful, horrific thoughts, and if the only way she could be rid of them, if only for a couple of hours a day, was by picking up an extra shift at the hospital or keeping her nose buried in research papers at home, then she would do it. She had to do it, if she wanted to protect and maintain at least a tiny part of her sanity intact.

It was almost surreal, how a single incident no more than a couple of months ago had managed to cause such a radical change. Sasuke had been leaving on S-rank missions since before they married. It was downright ridiculous, to think that her wake-up call had come so late, bringing shock and horror and change, when, in reality, every last painful inch of it stemmed from a fact that she had always been subconsciously aware of.

It was so easy to get used to him… Perhaps that was the problem. She'd done it when they became husband and wife, just as she'd done it a million times before. When Sasuke was home, she was a different woman—a happier woman; one that never failed to fall into a peaceful, comfortable routine. She had his faint warmth in bed at night. She had the shower steamed over from when he used it before her. She had his quiet presence at the dinner table, and food disappearing from the fridge. She had him, and she had all of these little things that constituted a life they had built together, and what more could she possibly want?

The truth was, she'd always been secretly afraid of losing that—losing all of it. She'd always been afraid that she'd become so used to him, so used to them, and that, one day, when he would suddenly stand up and leave, decide she wasn't worth the effort, she wouldn't be able to recover. He'd abandoned her before—many, many times—but rebuilding a life that wasn't completely dedicated to him had, in retrospect, been easy. Now, without him… she'd have nothing; she'd be empty.

It was a fear that she kept hidden, subdued by the promise he had made her, by the vows he had taken, and by the knowledge that he was, above all, a man of honor. Subdued by the thought that she could be what he needed, in whatever way that he needed.

But, as she'd recently found out… she wasn't; she couldn't. There were a million ways to leave her, she'd discovered… and all would end with her alone.

It was on that grim note that Sakura finally stepped onto the front porch of the old, imposing Uchiha Mansion, stopping to brush the snow off her coat and boots, before removing her knitted gloves and reaching into her pocket for her keys, hurrying to unlock the front door and then slam it closed behind her.

She gasped; she'd barely taken half a step forward when she crashed into a hard, warm chest, causing her to stumble back in surprise, green eyes quickly flicking upwards, only to collide with her husband's familiar, bottomless onyx orbs.

"Sasuke-kun," she gasped, heart racing, as her mind settled around the realization of something that her body seemed to have instinctively known—there was no threat in the vicinity when Uchiha Sasuke was there. "You scared me."

"Where were you?" he demanded forcefully, without even addressing what she'd just said.

Sakura's surprised eyes rose to meet his again. Brows furrowing, she stopped in the action of unwinding her scarf from around her neck. "I was… caught in the OR." Studying him closely, trying to glimpse the reason behind his strange behavior, she finally actively noted a detail that had subconsciously been bothering and that she hadn't been able to place.

He was dressed. All the way down to heavy winter boots and a scarf of his own wrapped around his neck, his coat unbuttoned but properly on his broad shoulders, he was decked up and ready to step outside.

"Where were you going?" she inquired curiously.

"Hn," he grunted in response, shrugging out of his thick coat with a bit more force than necessary, offering no further insight into his mind.

Content to let the matter go, more than used, as a doctor as as Uchiha Sasuke's wife, to receiving explanations that were anything but, Sakura started the process of removing her own clothes, sniffling as her nose began to thaw, fingers, toes, and all extremities starting to tingle in that annoying way they always did when they found warmth in winter.

"You're shivering," Sasuke noted in a low voice that just might have sent another shiver down her spine; she couldn't be entirely sure what it was caused by, but it happened.

Mildly surprised that he was still there, standing in the foyer with her even after he'd finished undressing, she agreed, "It's crazy out there." Then she sniffled again, muttering a small curse under her breath when her stiff fingers encountered trouble in pulling the zipper on her coat all the way down.

A silent footstep later, Sasuke was officially in her personal space, towering over her in that unnerving manner that only served to make him seem a thousand times more intimidating. His fingers accidentally brushed against hers when he reached for the frozen zipper, and she swore a bolt of electricity zinged straight through them and all the way into the very depths of her body, leaving her breathless.

It was only a second before he had effortlessly unzipped her coat, and then stepped away.

"Thanks," she murmured, shrugging the wet piece of clothing off and hanging it up before reaching down to tend to her boots. "I'll be better once I take a hot bath."

"I wouldn't bother with that if I were you," came his quiet answer.

Green eyes instantly snapped up. "Why?"

The Uchiha motioned behind him, to the dimly lit hallway. "The lights have been flickering for a while," he explained calmly. "We won't have electricity for much longer."

At the sound of that, Sakura barely resisted letting out a childish whine—but she did get to throw her boots in a corner instead. "Great," she huffed, annoyed.

"…I made a fire," her husband offered after a second. "It will get you warm just as quickly."

A moment of hesitation passed before she agreed. "Yeah. I guess it will." Stepping forward, she started a slow path down the hallway. As she rubbed her hands together for added warmth, she didn't have to look back to know that he was following her. "So, I take it we should grab a bunch of pillows and get ready to sleep downstairs tonight, then?"

An hour later, with the house plunged into complete darkness and with her lying on a thin futon on the living room floor, bundled up in a blanket in front of the fireplace, Sakura remembered why a hot bath had been exactly what she'd needed.

It was because nothing compared, and nothing worked quite as well. The fire had warmed the surface of her skin, but it had done nothing to chase the chill out of her bones.

Today just hadn't been a good day.

And she got that. It was fine. Bad days were part of life, and she was used to them; she'd had more than her fair share. But she really would have preferred it not to end with her shivering for an entire night—because, that? That set the grounds for a bad week, and she wasn't sure she had it in her to survive one at this very specific point in her life.

"Sakura," a gruff voice sounded from behind her, startling her. Sasuke had claimed his side of the futon a little over ten minutes before, but, seeing how he wasn't the most talkative being on the planet and his chakra was almost always calm and collected, she had concluded, with good reason, that he might have fallen asleep.

As she'd now found out, that hadn't been the case. "Yes?"

"You're shivering," he pointed out, for the second time that day, in the same nonchalant, purely observatory fashion.

"Hmm," she agreed. "Sorry, Sasuke-kun. It's just cold. I really needed a bath."

A moment passed in silence.

Then, all of a sudden and completely out of nowhere, a strong arm reached out and wound around her small waist, pulling her easily across the futon and straight against a hard, warm chest.

Wide-eyed, Sakura barely had time to gasp. "What—"

"Shut up," was her husband's considerably more annoyed response. "Do you want to freeze to death?"

At the reminder of her current predicament, it finally seemed to dawn on Sakura's body that it was pressed up against the most comforting source of incredible warmth there was in the whole wide world. The tension melted away in an instant; her skin warmed all over, and the tingles started.

She dared to shift and turn around in his arms. "Thanks," she murmured, tucking her hands in between their bodies and burying her nose in his chest, right in the spot where his heart was beating a strong, reassuring rhythm.

What she didn't dare do was look at him.

Inhaling deeply, she breathed in his warmth, the smell of clean cotton, of musk and purely Sasuke. It was a scent that had always calmed and comforted her. A scent that reminded her of crackling fires and badly anchored tents and insults flying back and forth across the camping site.

His embrace didn't budge, didn't loosen; his large hands were spread out on the small of her back, and as she closed her eyes, Sakura swore she'd never felt better.

Sasuke never really held her like that. He never hugged her, and he never tugged her close after they'd had sex, much less in bed, at night, simply because. She, herself, aware of how much he disliked this type of physical contact, hardly ever dared to wrap her arms around him anymore, with or without a reason. The only times when she really got to touch him was when he had nightmares—and she loved doing it; oh, how she loved being able to comfort him, even without his knowledge or his gratitude. But she never received the same from him. And she'd convinced herself, very early on, that it didn't matter, that she didn't need it, and now she knew that she could live without it. But… being so close to him now, feeling warm and safe in the cage of his arms, having him hold her in such a close and intimate manner after having had a bad day… It was heaven. She didn't know how else to describe it, couldn't think of another word to label it… It didn't compare—to anything anyone has ever done for her. And she thought that, if only she'd have this to count on… she could be invincible in every aspect.

Sasuke felt her melt against him, the tension that had been previously tightly contained inside her small body dissipating in thin air. She hadn't been in the best of moods when she walked through the door, and he'd read that perfectly and immediately. He'd hoped she would want to talk to him about it, if only to complain, but it seemed as if, nowadays—and even more so since he came home half dead from his mission—if her annoyance or sadness or happiness wasn't caused directly by Naruto or by Kakashi, people that they had in common and whom Sakura was sure he'd be interested in hearing about, she wouldn't let him in on anything that happened in her life.

Sasuke wished she were able to tell that he would be far, far more interested in listening to a story about a surgery he had no idea how to pronounce, perform, or even understand, than he had ever been in hearing what the dobe's latest show of stupidity was.

But she wasn't, and what did he expect, really? He should have known this moment would come, and he had no right to complain now that it finally had.

With the snowstorm intensifying outside, she'd only had time to heat up a small plate of leftovers for herself before the electricity—along with many of the advantages of modern life—left them. She hadn't said a word as she ate, and she hadn't said a word as she walked upstairs to change. She'd returned to the living room with an extra pillow tucked under her arm, she'd slipped under a pile of blankets, and he'd lost all hope that he would be able to do anything at all to comfort her or make her feel even the slightest bit better that night.

Lying there, with her so warm and soft in his arms, made him frown upon his manner of rushing to conclusions before the day was even over.

He'd almost forgotten how small she was, and the thought sent his heart clenching in his chest yet again. She was tiny; slim; soft—in a way he was sure that no one, himself included, ever really noticed anymore until she was quiet and relaxed and lying peacefully in his arms. Until she was just a woman. Not the best medic in Fire Country, not an amazing kunoichi, not a great friend, not a hot-tempered teammate. Just a woman. Just his wife.

His grip tightening slightly, he shifted his head on the pillow and gently pressed his chin to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of shampoo coupled with the distinctive, sterile smell of the hospital clinging to her pink hair. It was the most comforting scent he knew. It meant Sakura; it meant home.

As if in response, she shifted even closer, nuzzling her nose in his chest, squeezing one of her legs in between his, grabbing a fistful of his shirt with one of her hands.

He smirked, thinking that she acted very much like a cat when she found something warm to cuddle up to.

"You think I can't tell you've stopped shivering?" he couldn't help but tease.

He didn't expect her to immediately tense up in his arms, otherwise he never would have opened his mouth.

"Sorry!" she gasped, and, eyes wide and mouth open in shock, Sasuke could only watch as she quickly disentangled herself from around him and moved away, rolling awkwardly onto her back, leaving just enough space between them so that they were no longer touching. She swallowed, gave a small laugh, met his eyes—and if she noticed the mix of surprise, annoyance, complete and utter disbelief, and pain swimming in them, she didn't do a thing to address it. "Sorry," she repeated. "You know me. It could be the middle of summer and I'd still want to cling to something warm. But I'm good now. Thanks."

Pushing his weight up on his left elbow, Sasuke raised an eyebrow, jaw clenching automatically in annoyance and impatience.

"I'm serious!" Sakura insisted, traces of a confused frown visible on her otherwise smooth forehead, as she made herself comfortable, tucking the covers over her chest and beneath her arms. "I'm fine. It's not like I expected you to hold me for the rest of the night!" She scoffed—scoffed, as if the idea was the most ridiculous one she had come across in her entire young life.

Sasuke could barely keep a lid on his anger as he suddenly threw the covers off him and stood, glaring down at her in the most intimidating, annoyed manner he could muster as a million words formed string after string of complains in his mind.

"Why do you always do this?" he hissed.

Full-on frowning now, Sakura sat up, watching him closely, clearly unsure of what to make out of his strange behavior. "Do what, Sasuke-kun?" she asked, so innocently that it nearly pushed him over the edge and drove him completely crazy.

"Do all of these—these stupid things, thinking of how not to bother me," he spat. "Thinking about how I wouldn't want to hold you all night—what the fuck? Don't you think I would care just a little bit more if I found you frozen to death beside me in the morning?"

She laughed unsurely. "It's not that bad… I'm seriously fine."

"You were fine as you were," he hissed.

She blinked. "I was, but—"

"But what?" he nearly shouted.

"But I know that you don't like physical contact, okay?" she finally confessed. Her green eyes were wide, she was frowning, and he could tell she had absolutely no idea why she was sitting there, having this conversation with him in the middle of the night in the midst of a snowstorm—and that only served to piss him off even more. "Yes, I did think of you. I did remember that you're not exactly comfortable when I'm wrapped around you like an octopus. And I do want you to be happy. I don't understand why you suddenly find fault with that." She paused, but continued to firmly hold his gaze. "We're very different, Sasuke-kun. Very different. I'm annoying to you because of that, and I can't change that any more than I can change who I am, but I promised you—I promised you I would be the best wife I could, and I'm trying to hold onto that promise."

"And what?" he scoffed. "Kill yourself?"

Sakura's frown deepened. "Sasuke-kun…" she began, but trailed off, not knowing how to respond.

A hiss escaped Sasuke's lips in his agitation. "You…" he pushed out, but then stopped, and tried to get a good grip on his feelings. He didn't manage, but as he looked at her, he realized that maybe he didn't have to. He'd been keeping his emotions bottled up for years and years and perhaps letting them out of the box would finally bring some light in the room and some understanding in her eyes. "You never do things that you like. We never do. You… You want to go out, take walks, go to festivals… and you never do any of those, because I don't want them. You didn't even expect me to be at your best friend's wedding! You wouldn't have forced me—wouldn't have even asked me to reconsider—if I'd said no!"

Still bewildered, Sakura gave a gentle, one-shouldered shrug. "Like I said, Sasuke-kun… we're different. You wanted to say no, I'm sure you did, but you didn't. And we've been to every festival since we got married. We do do things that I want. But…" She shook her head. "You have to understand, it's not them that make me happy. It's you. Being with you is enough for me."

The words hit him like a blast of cold winter air that nearly bent him over. A shuddering breath leaving his lips, he braced his hands on his hips and hung his head, suddenly and completely overwhelmed by the realization of how much he loved this woman. He looked into her green orbs and saw tenderness and honesty and concern and love, so much love, and even as he squeezed his eyes shut, the realization didn't budge an inch, continuing to stare at him right in the face, and he felt as if he could barely breathe under its oppressive weight: he returned those feelings; all of them; completely. He wasn't just used to her presence and her home-cooked meals and her clothes in his closet and the way she left her hairpins scattered around the house. It wasn't just that he was a selfish bastard who enjoyed taking everything she gave so easily and selflessly. She wasn't just someone who'd sacrificed what could have been a brilliant future in order to spend it with him, and she wasn't just someone he was grateful to because of that. She wasn't just something that filled his lonely existence. She was his entire life. He truly, genuinely couldn't imagine his days without her anymore.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. The words physically pained him. "Why did you even say yes? Why… I don't understand, Sakura."

"I love you."

"I've heard that before."

She gave a small laugh, and her eyes started to sparkle. "Isn't that like you? To have everything right in front of you and not be able to see it."

A glare was her sole response.

Sakura smiled—somewhat sadly, he immediately noted—and reached out towards him. A moment passed in which he simply started at her outstretched hand, bewildered, before he swallowed and finally worked up to courage to take it, kneeling down on the futon.

"I love you," she confessed gently, one more time, as she looked at him in the eye, removing her hand from his only to bring it up and cup his cheek gently. "That's why I do everything I do. And you're going to say it's stupid, and that's fine, I've heard that before. I'm not unhappy with you, Sasuke-kun. I know you don't love me back, but that's alright, you don't need to. Because I can make this work myself. Sasuke-kun, you can't tell me there wasn't at least a single moment in these two years that we've been married that I didn't make you feel… good. Content. Even if it was fleeting, even if it was insignificant. You can't tell me there wasn't at least one moment that I managed to make you forget that… that you were hurting. You can't tell me that," she whispered—and she hoped she was the only one who heard the pleading note in her voice. Because, as much as he, for some reason or another, seemed to need to hear them, she didn't trust the words she was saying. Had she ever made him even the slightest bit happy? She didn't know. Could she really make this work by herself? She doubted it. Did she still want to try? So much, so badly. It was a conflicting state of mind to be in, but it was very much real.

A few months ago, he'd done the worst thing he could have to her self-esteem and to their marriage: he'd proved to her that he didn't care about her efforts; that nothing out of everything she'd tried to make him happy had worked. And she'd been devastated by the realization. But as she sat there, looking at him, her heart beating steadily in her chest, she started to wonder—was there actually something else out there that she could try? Was there more that she could do? It was as if the very words she had used to calm him turned into a boost of confidence for herself. She loved him, yes. And she'd tried everything she could think of, yes. It hadn't worked, clearly. But her love for him hadn't diminished one bit. And what else could she do? What else was she supposed to do? Drown in the pain that invaded every cell of her being whenever she now saw him? Abandon him, abandon this marriage, abandon all of her previous efforts? Could she really live with herself if she did that? If she simply… stopped trying?

The answer was simple. Of course she couldn't.

He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her in the worst way imaginable, in the worst way he'd ever had. But her heart still jumped when he touched her, and her lips still tingled when he kissed her, and she still felt the safest in his arms. How could she just come to terms with living without all of that when there was still the possibility that she could have them? How could she not want to try harder, to be better?

And how could she not be completely terrified of the idea that she might not be able to? That she'd truly given him her all?

"…What about you?"

Her eyes filling with unwelcome tears, she told him the one thing she was sure of: "I'm happy to be with you." She smiled. "You made me the happiest woman alive when you gave me the chance to be with you, to show you how much I love you, to be the one you share your life with and the one to at least try to make you happy. You don't understand what and how much that means to me—but don't underestimate it, please."

Her fingers stroked his cheek one last time before she leaned in and brushed her lips against his in a short, tender display of affection. Then she pulled away and settled down on the futon, with the covers over her shoulders and her back to him, and Sasuke thought he could finally feel what she'd probably felt all along—how she was slipping through his fingers like sand, without him being able to do anything at all to stop it, as hard as he tried to clench his fists and hold on.

Months passed without incidents, and the atmosphere in the Uchiha household returned to normal. Sakura's twenty-first birthday came and went and spring settled in the country, before, one day in the middle of the week, the village's most famous knucklehead ninja all but burst into the mansion, a grin the size of Konoha and the brightness of the sun plastered stupidly on his face, mouth running a thousand words per minute as he babbled nonsensically and gestured widely and in a visibly very excited manner, his voice loud and booming across the empty hallways… and causing his best friend, currently the sole inhabitant of the house, to grimace in half pain, half annoyance.

"—Listen to this, you bastard, just listen to this—this is the best thing you'll ever hear—nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever sound as sweet to you, and at twenty one—or however old you are—you've heard a lot of things, haven't you—but this is just—"

With a groan, Sasuke swung his legs over the edge of the couch and onto the floor, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, well-trained ears selectively picking up only bits and pieces out of his ex-teammate's fast-paced discourse.

"—So I go into baa-chan's office today—let me tell you, she was wasted—well, you know, I mean, not wasted, not, like, wasted enough not to know what she was saying—and she looks at me and goes, 'It's time you owned up to what you've always wanted, Naruto'—and I know, right?—so my dream is finally coming true, Sasuke-teme—it's like, I always knew it would, you know—but did I see it coming? I totally didn't—"

Yes, Uchiha Sasuke had been having a peaceful day, eating his wife's cooking, stretching out lazily on the living room couch, reading a book about military tactics—relaxing after the long, exhausting mission he had returned from the night before.

Then, Naruto happened. Barging in, interrupting him, riling him up, taking a hold of his arm and hauling him off the couch and dragging him out of the house—all before Sasuke even fully really realized what was happening.

Outside, the sky was grey and overcast, and the scent of impeding rainfall was hanging heavily in the air, but it wasn't too hot and it wasn't too humid; it was a pleasantly cool spring day, one that Sasuke—and the rest of the villagers that were unlucky enough to be caught in Naruto's path—would have most likely enjoyed.

"I'M GONNA BE HOKAGE! BELIEVE IT!"

That was what the blond yelled, approximately once every two minutes, chasing birds from the trees and getting incredulous glances sent his way.

Sullen, with half a mind to stop walking and simply allow him to continue on his path, testing to see when exactly he would notice that he was talking to himself, Sasuke didn't bother to point out that screaming an unofficial announcement at the top of his lungs probably wasn't the best bet he had at making people feel safe and comfortable with him at the forefront of their village.

But because he seemed to instinctively know where Naruto was heading, he didn't stop—and he didn't comment.

"YEAH, YOU HEARD ME! I'M GONNA BE YOUR NEW HOKAGE!" he yelled—again, and again, and again, and one more time when he stormed through the main entrance of the hospital, gaining the attention of everyone in sight, startling the receptionist, causing one ANBU to draw out his sword, and making a baby burst out in loud wails.

Sasuke sighed, hung his head, and tired to inconspicuously head towards the elevator, not even bothering to check if his friend's stupid, grinning face followed him.

The ride to the third floor was filled with the same loud, unbearably fast-paced chatter, and in a desperate attempt not to allow even a single sentence in, Sasuke came to be glad that no one interrupted their ride. Surely, the last thing a busy doctor would need in the middle of their shift was to have their mind tattered by Naruto's zest.

Was he not happy for his old friend? Of course he was. Was he equally as enthusiastic? Not so much. Had he seen it coming? As much as he repeatedly but half-heartedly told himself it was a bad decision… yes, he had; and everybody else must have, as well.

Thus, in the light of that last statement, he thought Naruto's excitement… was a bit—or a lot—misplaced.

But then again, what did he know?

"SAKURA-CHAN!" he yelled, bursting out of the elevator when the doors had barely even finished opening. "SAKURA-CHAN!"

Sasuke sighed, stuck his hands in his pockets, and patiently waited until it was safe to step outside; two footsteps later, he found his wife already in Naruto's grip, being hugged so tightly that she was lifted a few inches clean off the ground and looking completely and utterly baffled as she awkwardly, unsurely patted his back.

"SAKURA-CHAN, I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE NOT IN SURGERY, SAKURA-CHAN!"

Catching his eye from over the blond's shoulder, she threw him a questioning look that could have very well passed as a cry for help.

Sasuke simply shook his head in response, an universal sign of 'don't bother'.

"Um… I'm glad, too?" she half said, half asked. Then she patted his back one more time. "I'm glad, too, Naruto."

Seeming to finally become aware of her confusion, Naruto grabbed her by her slender shoulders and pulled away, gazing down at her with the same joyous grin that hadn't yet left his lips.

"I'm going to be Hokage, Sakura-chan!" he exclaimed happily, shaking her slightly in his excitement. "I start my training tomorrow!"

From where he was standing behind them, Sasuke noticed his wife's expression morph from slightly worried and totally confused, to purely happy and enthusiastic. He recognized the transition well, although he couldn't remember an occasion when he had been its primary cause. Green eyes softened. Full lips stretched into a beautiful, genuine smile. Cheeks became rosier. Two dimples made a discreet appearance upon flawless skin.

Sakura couldn't hide emotions; she couldn't hide happiness any more than she could hide sadness or worry or surprise or nervousness. But she was awfully, awfully good at hiding what generated them.

"Wow, Naruto!" she exclaimed, standing on her tiptoes to throw her arms back around his shoulders. "That's amazing! I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you, Sakura-chan!" he answered as he returned the embrace, bending down slightly to rest his chin on her shoulder.

"Wow," she repeated as she gently pulled away, looking up at him with a smile. "It's finally happening, huh?"

"It's finally happening!" he yelled in response, bringing about a small laugh from Sakura and a roll of his eyes from Sasuke. "Believe it! And now we have to go celebrate!" Grabbing a hold of the young medic's hand, he abruptly jerked her into his side before reaching behind him and, before he could rect, yanking his other teammate just as close, wrapping his arms around both of their shoulders. "What do you say to some tasty Ichiraku ramen, huh? Your treat, of course! It'll come in handy when I'm Hokage and you want to ask for a favor! Hey, no! Actually, don't answer that! As your Hokage, I command you to treat me to ramen!"

"Pfft, idiot," Sasuke scoffed, shrugging him off. "You're not Hokage yet. You can't command anyone to do anything."

"But I will be!" Naruto yelled back. Blue eyes narrowing, he let go of Sakura and placed his hands on his hips, watching his best friend suspiciously. "Have you not been listening to a single thing I've said today, teme?"

"I've got better things to do," was his haughty response.

"Well, you listen here—" the blond started, but Sakura's amused laugh interrupted him, putting a stop to their argument before it fully started.

"Boys, come on," she said, smiling fondly. "No fighting in the hospital, remember?"

"Fine, let's take this outside!" Naruto immediately suggested. "And while we're at it, head towards Ichiraku! Ha! How about that, bastard?"

Sasuke snorted and once again rolled his eyes, but decided not to dignify him with a response.

"I'm sorry, Naruto," Sakura spoke, causing both men's attention to redirect towards her. "I'm swamped today."

"Aww, Sakura-chan!" he whined, his entire frame slouching in disappointment.

Narrow-eyed, Sasuke studied her with a healthy dose of skepticism. She was dressed in tight black jeans and a simple, long-sleeved grey shirt, along with matching high-heels. Her long hair was parted carefully, with half of it pinned away from her heart-shaped face, and he was pretty sure she was wearing lipgloss. She wasn't clad in loose scrubs, wasn't even wearing her white doctor's coat. She didn't have a single hair out of place or a single speck of blood on her entire body. Her arms were free of any paperwork whatsoever, and she didn't even have a cup of coffee in her hand to speak, perhaps, of how much she'd been straining her eyes and her attention since she slid out of bed early that morning.

She gave Naruto a soft smile, reaching up to pat his cheek gently. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "You two go and have fun. And tomorrow? I'm all yours."

And she had the time to stand there and patiently have this conversation with them, even taking the time to soothe Naruto's disappointment.

No, Sasuke wasn't fooled. She was calm and well-rested, not at all frazzled; perfectly put together in a way that she never, ever was when she was even the slightest bit busy.

But why would she lie? And why would Sasuke choose not to believe her? She didn't tell him a lot—not at all. If he stopped trusting the little that she did… What would become of them?

So, he gave an internal shrug and didn't resist when Naruto grabbed his arm and started to drag him away. Didn't even glance back at his wife. Because he knew that, if he looked closely enough… it was very possible that he would find a reason—or a million—to doubt her.

"So, how's Sakura-chan?" Naruto asked through a mouthful of food, not even bothering to look up from his beloved ramen bowl.

The disgusted glance that Sasuke sent him went unnoticed. "Fine," the Uchiha grunted, expertly—and much more elegantly—twirling his chopsticks in his noodles.

"I'm asking because…" the blond stopped, set his chopsticks aside, lifted his bowl to his lips and unceremoniously slurped up what was left of the broth, before raising his hand and immediately ordering another portion. Then he set his bowl back on the countertop and briefly turned his undivided attention on his best friend. "Well, you know." He shrugged.

Sasuke's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He knew? No, he did not know. Nowadays, it felt as if he knew nothing about this woman. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

Unknowingly putting salt on the wound—and heightening his friend's already dangerous irritation—Naruto snorted. "Dude, you didn't actually believe she denied my invitation because she was too busy," he said, eyeing him with bemusement. "She's Sakura. She knows it would have made me happy. She'd never have blown me off because she was busy." Naruto rolled his eyes, and Sasuke's temper flared.

"Then what is it that you're saying?"

"It's her little brother's birthday around this time of the year," he said, then paused and narrowed his eyes at him. "You do know about her little brother, right?"

"Hn," was Sasuke's tense answer.

Thankfully, Naruto had known him long enough to be able to decipher it. "Yeah, well, she's sad, you know? She was devastated when her grandparents just woke up one day and decided not to let her see him anymore." Huffing an annoyed breath, he shook his head. "They're real bastards, those two. I couldn't cheer her up with, like, anything. Seriously, I tried everything, and nothing worked." A new, steaming bowl of ramen was placed in front of him then, but he didn't instantly dig in, as he normally would have. Instead, he started to play with the chopsticks laid on the side. "Every year… she gets him something. And she spends a lot more time than she should—and a lot more time that is healthy, really—debating whether she should or shouldn't pay him a visit or even make sure he receives it somehow. And, the thing is… I don't think she'll ever have the guts to do either. And I think she's starting to realize it." He shrugged again. "It's just tough on her, Sasuke. That's why she didn't want to come eat with us today. And the worst part is that I get it, you know?" he said, turning to look at him. "I get it. I don't expect her to be lively and happy and I don't expect her to be cheered up. It's completely justified, the way she feels. Really, she's coping the best she can." Sighing, he finally separated his chopsticks and turned his attention to his meal. "I just wish she wouldn't have to go through all this. If there's anybody out there that truly doesn't deserve a single ounce of harm, that's Sakura-chan."

At the sound of that, something snapped inside of Sasuke. Something that had been coiled tight with tension for a long, long time, without his permission, without as much as his knowledge. Yes, something had been quietly festering inside him from the first moment he realized his wife was lying to him—hiding things from him, not being the Sakura he'd once known, not being the woman he'd chosen to spend the rest of his life with—on that rainy evening, before they were even married, that she'd sought shelter and comfort in his house, but not in his arms.

He was able to understand why it was that Naruto knew more about the subject than he did. It made sense. He'd been there when it happened. He'd been there when he hadn't. Confiding in him hadn't been a conscious decision that Sakura had made.

But he didn't—he couldn't, for the life of him—understand why he hadn't known what was wrong with her. Why he hadn't known that there was something wrong with her. Why they'd been married for two whole years and he'd never once realized she was suffering for another reason than because he was hurting her. Why hadn't she ever come to him? Why hadn't she ever talked to him? Why hadn't she ever asked for a damn hug?

The fact that he was well aware that the only reason why he'd even known, beforehand, what Naruto had started talking about—and not only just found out—came down to a mere chance only served to upset him more. A chance. That was what her entire confession of two months before had been. They'd been at a festival, he'd been holding her hand, memories had been swirling in her mind, it had been cold, she'd heard or smelled or seen something—any of those could have been why she had chosen to open up to him; a feeble product of the environment that could have not happened just as easily as it had. It hadn't been because she felt as if he should know. It hadn't been because she'd been searching for solace or understanding. And it definitely hadn't been because she'd expected something—anything at all—in return. No one knew better than him that she'd been back to her indestructible persona only a second after she finished speaking.

No. His wife didn't seek comfort. And perhaps that was his own fault. But she needed it, and she had damn well earned her right to receive it. And not only would he be a poor excuse of a husband, he'd be a poor excuse of a human being, if he didn't call her out on all of her crap—today, right now—and forced her to accept it; forced her to accept what he'd been always willing to give her, and what she'd always been too blind to see.

Everybody knew that Uchiha Sasuke wasn't a great person. But his wife deserved him to be. And it was time that he stopped hiding and hesitating and he finally stepped up and owned it.

With that thought in mind, he slapped a few bills on the counter, beside his unfinished ramen bowl, and violently pushed his chair back.

"I'm leaving," he snapped to a surprised Naruto.

He didn't wait for a response. He had much more important things on his agenda.

Sakura drew in a shuddering breath, trying—and failing—to calm her racing heartbeat as small, dainty hands turned red, scrubbed raw under the hot faucet. Stopping the continuous flow of water with a none-too-gentle thump on tap, she snatched a white towel from the heated rack pinned to the wall in between the sink and the shower cabin.

Her pulse continued to jump rhythmically, but visibly, under the tender skin of her slender neck. Her collarbone felt clammy with sweat. Thin strands of hair escaped from a messy ponytail were sticking uncomfortably to her nape.

She huffed a breath as she finished drying her hands, chucking the towel carelessly in a corner. It wasn't even hot in the bathroom.

Leaning forward against the counter, she closed her eyes, avoiding even something as little as a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.

Medics who claimed that losing people got any easier over time were a fraud—plain and simple. It didn't. It never did. All you could do was learn how to deal with it in a more efficient manner. Learn to protect yourself against its devastating effects. To become less invested. To block it out when all else failed.

And then there were these cases. These cases that hit you like a ton of bricks, completely blindsiding you and leaving you scattered all over the floor with only a vivid recollection of what had happened to hold on to and no strength whatsoever to do as much as curl into a ball and lick your wounds, much less pick yourself up.

A child. A child had died by her hands today. A child—a little girl, with a long, bright future ahead of her—had coded on her operating table. And she'd done everything—everything in her power to save her.

She'd failed.

A metaphor for her life, it appeared—a depressing thought, perhaps, but one that seemed to gather more and more shards of painful truth with each day that crawled by.

Standing there, eyes closed, with nothing more powerful to focus on than the persistent pain inside her chest, she didn't sense his presence, nor did she hear his silent, trained footsteps.

But his voice—his firm, rough, tight voice—instantly broke through her torturous trance, bringing her back to reality. "Sakura."

The pink-haired medic took in a deep, cleansing breath, straightened her bent, defeated spine, and refused to meet his gaze in the mirror. Before she turned around, she made sure to clear her expression of any lingering negative emotion.

Any other day, she would have attempted a smile—except she was too aware of her emotions and abilities and the way they interacted with one another, and knew she wouldn't have been able to convincingly pull it off this time.

"Sasuke-kun," she greeted, not warmly, not coldly, leaning heavily with her hands on the counter behind her, feeling completely sapped of energy.

For a brief moment, she entertained the notion of what he would do if she suddenly stepped forward and closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest. Would he pull away? Would he grab her arms and push her away? Would he, maybe, hug her in return? Or would he simply stand there, without moving, waiting for her to conquer her weakness, gather her bearings, and finally let go?

Which one would hurt more?

She became aware of the uncomfortable silence a second too late, and her eyes instantly started a path down his body, paying a little more attention to his overwhelming presence—enough to notice the deep, angry furrow between his brows, the icy coldness in his eyes, and the irritation firmly locked into all of his muscles.

She frowned, standing up a little straighter.

She opened her mouth to speak, a sliver of worry working its way into her pained heart, but her husband beat her to it with a hiss, "How could you never tell me?"

Her frown deepened. "…What are you talking about, Sasuke-kun?"

His answer was vicious, and instantaneous. "You never spoke to me about him! Not before we were married, not after—never! I didn't even know of his existence before you suddenly decided to mention him one night—on a whim, probably!—as if you were just commenting on the weather or telling me what you wanted to cook for dinner!"

Sakura heaved a too tired sigh, her entire posture sagging against the counter as she pushed stray locks of hair away from her forehead—because she knew who 'him' was: exactly the last person she wanted to be reminded of at this point, having just lost a child of his own age and knowing perfectly well that, if something, God forbid, ever were to happen to him, she would be the last one to find out.

"Sasuke-kun, I…"

"You've been holding out on me," he accused. "You've been hiding things from me. If you were able to lie—so fucking convincingly—about something of this magnitude… how much more did you lie about?"

She remained silent.

He didn't have the right to be doing this, a little cynic voice in the back of her mind reared its ugly head and started to whisper as she stared at the white tiles beneath her bare feet. He didn't care unless he didn't know. She could have told him, and she would have most likely been pushed away, but because she hadn't, he seemed to be under the impression that he had the right to feel betrayed, to be angry and demand an explanation. She knew it. She knew how Sasuke's mind worked. She was on a much more intimate level with the mechanisms of his thoughts that she was, had ever been, and now ever hoped to be, with any other part of him.

But no. He did not have the right. He did not have the right to stand there and command to know why she hadn't opened up to him, when she had,and he'd been the one to criticize her. He did not have the right to pin the fact that he knew next to nothing about her recent past on her, when he was the one who hadn't been there. And he most definitely did not have the right to claim she'd hidden things from him when he was the one who hadn't noticed when her eyes were red and bloodshot and puffy from crying, or when her smile was wobbly and fake and pained, or when she had to curl up in a ball in their bed at night just to keep herself together. Because how could he have noticed? How, when he'd always been busy—training and leaving on missions and trying to get himself killed. All, admittedly, much more important things that anything related to good, old, dependable Sakura ever could be—provided, of course, that wasn't something that she consciously tried to exclude him from.

Because that was Sasuke. Taking and taking and taking and then discarding it all. Discarding what he'd already been unconditionally given, fighting for the small pieces that she tried to keep for herself, and then flinging them away, too, without another thought and sometimes without even another glance to see where they had landed.

"Aren't you even going to answer?" he goaded with an incredulous scoff.

This time, Sakura's response was immediate. Slamming her right hand on the marble counter behind her, she defiantly met his gaze, green eyes fierce as she snapped, "What do you want me to say?"

A moment passed in silence, the only indication that he was surprised by her outburst being the slight furrow between his brows and the change in his previously menacing posture.

"…What happened to you?" he asked, a second later, his voice softening as he took a step forward, entering the bathroom.

There were things he hadn't noticed before, he realized, when he first stomped up the stairs and into the master bedroom they shared, seeing red, determined to grab her shoulders and shake her and shake her and shake her again, until she came to her senses and he could catch a good glimpse of the woman he'd married and the wife he'd wanted. But, he saw now—her stance was defeated. Her shoulders were sagging, as though tired from carrying the weight of the entire world. She looked exhausted. There were little specks of blood on what had, earlier in the day, been an immaculate shirt. Her hands were lightly shaking. Her eyes were red and puffy, as though she'd been crying.

"Nothing," she answered flatly, causing his exasperation to spike again, this time mixing with worry and impotency to form a dangerously volatile combination.

"Why can't you just confide in me?" he demanded angrily.

Green eyes instantly snapped up to meet his own onyx ones, and the shock displayed so clearly in them, as if she couldn't believe his audacity at even broaching such a subject, made his blood freeze.

"Confide in you?" she spat. "Sasuke, how can you, of all people, ask me that? You don't trust me enough to tell me what you do on the days that you only step foot in this house at sundown! You don't trust me enough to tell me what happened on your mission that has you in a bad mood! You don't even trust me enough to tell me what you're dreaming about that has you so restless and so miserable! How can I confide in you?" She heaved a controlled sigh, and the anger appeared to leave her—and in that moment, she seemed so tired, so completely run-down, so sick of this entire situation, that Sasuke couldn't help but wonder how in the world he'd been able to look at her for so long, so many times, and not once notice it before. Because it wasn't a new development. No. That type of exhaustion didn't settle in overnight. "I can't, and I don't want to be the only one to… to bring drama in this relationship," she continued in a softer tone. "Okay? It's fragile enough as it is, and we both know it. I don't want to ruin it. I can deal with things by myself and it's not a big deal at all."

"You shouldn't have to," was his simple answer.

A bitter smile stretched on her lips. "That's what I've been trying to show you for how long, Sasuke-kun?"

His dark eyes immediately narrowed into a glare. "Is that it?" he spat. "Is this you getting back at me? Is this your revenge?"

Sakura sighed heavily. "No, Sasuke-kun. I'd never do that to you. I just…" She shrugged. "I'd want you, sometime in the future… to come to enjoy my presence—and I know you. That's not going to happen if I start complaining about things that don't even have a solution. Yes, that's my nature, that's probably why it feels so unnatural and fake, but I'm going to be honest here and tell you that I really don't know how to act any other way around you anymore."

Pushing off the counter, she brushed past him, more than ready to walk out and end the argument, but Sasuke grabbed her arm and stopped her before she had even left the bathroom.

"That's crap!" he snapped, abruptly turning her around to face him.

Green eyes flashed, and she violently yanked her arm out of his bruising grip. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me!" he nearly yelled, taking a step closer, forcing her to crane her neck upwards in order to maintain eye-contact. She didn't budge, though; she stayed right where she was. "That's crap!"

Sasuke noticed her hackles rising, saw the tiny sparks of anger going off like fireworks in her expressive eyes, and he didn't know whether it made him feel relived or grateful or whether it really only served to heighten his own frustration. But he did know that it was the first time in forever that Sakura was showing him an emotion other than love and patience and kindness, and for whatever it was worth, he was going to take full advantage of it.

"Seriously, Sasuke?" she demanded. "Seriously?! You're being reproachful now? I've done everything to be the best I possibly could for you, and you're being reproachful? You're telling me off? For what? For doing what you wanted? For shutting up like you told me? For acting like I'm not there to make you feel good about your life?"

"Oh, so that's what you think?" he shouted back, taking yet another step forward, almost completely closing the distance between them. "Come on, tell me what's really on your mind! Tell me what you really have to say!"

"You're a bastard!" she screamed, pushing him suddenly backwards with angry force, sending him slamming into the bathroom doorjamb, a wide-eyed look on his face. "That's what I have to say! How could you?!" she shrieked, pushing at his chest again, causing his back to thump against the wall it had just straightened away from, before stumbling backwards and putting some distance between them.

She was crying, he realized as the surprise wore off, and it was a short succession of slow, torturous moments before he found out why.

"How fucking could you? You came home—you came home, broken and bleeding, knowing that I'll be the one to patch you up! Knowing that I'll be the one in that OR with you! Do you realize what you've done to me that day?" she screamed. "Do you realize how inhuman that was? I love you! I love you more than anything in this stupid world and you choose to come to me nearly dead! I could have lost you on that operating table and blamed myself for the rest of my life! Fucking hell, Sasuke," she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut. "You said you wanted children! You said you wanted to revive your clan! I thought—I thought—the least I could count on was you being there to see it! I thought the least I could count on was a long life with you and our children and the family we were going to build together and you go off and almost die on a mission and then come home so I can revive you!" She held his gaze, and the Uchiha was struck by all the emotions he saw swimming in her eyes—anger, resentment, pain… so much pain.

Angrily, she wiped her cheeks free of glistening tears, before she spoke again, and said something that made his heart clench so painfully in his chest it suddenly became hard to breathe.

"And I saw your file," she spat, watching him with betrayal written in her green orbs. "I saw your file… I saw the missions you take. You don't care, Sasuke. You…" She gave a slow shrug, and helplessly shook her head, her voice gaining a softer, more resigned undertone.

He realized in an instant that he would much rather have her screaming, and shoving him, and hitting him—but not giving up.

"I don't know what you want," she whimpered. "You don't want me. You don't want a family. You don't even want to live. And it's fine," she added, just as soon as she saw him opening his mouth to contest her accusations. "It's fine. You never really made me any promises. But how can you ask me to rely on you? How do you ask me to stand here and pour my heart out to you—how do you expect it, even if you did care, even if you wanted to hear it all—when I know that, tomorrow, you'll get a suicidal mission and take it and come back on my operating table or possibly not at all? Would you do it?"

Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, because it's you, and I would do it for you. I would do anything for you. But that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? Because he hadn't done it. Because he hadn't done much of anything for her during these past two years. Making her breakfast every once in a while? Picking her up from her shift at the hospital to ensure that she didn't go overboard? Accepting invitations to festivals and holding her hand? What did all of those represent in the grand scheme of things? Nothing. They didn't soothe even a fraction of the wounds he had consciously or unconsciously inflicted upon her, and they certainly didn't come within a mile radius of even starting to heal them.

"…No."

Sakura nodded. Direct honesty, she had learned early on, was one of the few things she could count on when it came to Sasuke.

"Do you want to hear what I think? Do you want to hear how I feel? You'll be gone one day. One day, you'll go on one of your missions and never come back. I dread that day. I dread it so much. It's on my mind every time I wake up in the morning. It's there every time I look at you, it's there every time you're not here. It haunts me. It makes me have nightmares. I don't know how a restful night of sleep feels anymore—because of you. Every time you leave this house, I wonder if it's the last time I'll see you. Every time I look into your eyes, I wonder if it's the last time I'll ever be able. Every time I talk to you, I wonder if they're the last words you're going to hear from me. Do you have any idea how that feels? Any at all? You'll be gone one day. And I'll be here, all alone, in this big house, with all of these memories. With all the things we've done and those we never did. With a child, if we make it that far, that looks exactly like you. And I'll have to go on. I'll have to live. For him. For us. …So, forgive me," she said, smiling bitterly through her tears. "Forgive me, for not wanting to become more invested. Forgive me, for not wanting to become even more dependent on you. Forgive me, for not wanting to come running to you with my problems and tell you about my day and—and… be who I was before. Forgive me, but I don't think I could deal with the silence afterwards. I know how it feels to have you be the center of my universe and then watch your back as you leave. It's horrible… it's… it sucks the life out of you. And, all these years? They only served to make me love you more. So, forgive me… but it would be a thousand times more painful this time. And, you want to hear something else? I've started to hate myself—for the times that I'm weak and I hold your hand and I tell you about my brother. I've started to hate myself for those time at night, because they're really only making it harder for me. Becoming the wife you want… that detached, silently supporting wife in the background… Sasuke, that's not only what you need anymore. It's what I need, too. And I should have realized that from the very beginning. I should have realized that you didn't need me to take care of you, or to love you, or to be there for you… You don't need anybody—for anything. And I should have never tried to be that person for you just because I thought you did. I should have never thought that you had anything—anything at all—that maybe, just maybe, you wanted to give me. I should have never thought that you'd willingly choose to spend the rest of your life with me. And I should have never, even just for a moment, thought that you'd care about me enough not to make me go through the pain of losing you again." Raising her hands in the air, she stepped away. "But that's my own fault. Just like everything else in this sad, pathetic excuse of a life."

"Sakura—" Sasuke attempted to speak, but she simply shook her head, a deceiving sort of calmness to her demeanor as she turned to leave.

Annoyed, he stomped the remaining steps towards her and grabbed her arm, trying to keep her in place, determined not to allow her to slip through his fingers like she'd done so many times before, only to have her turn and violently rip herself out of his grasp.

"No," she spat firmly, viciously, pushing him away in one swift movement. Everything about her screamed pent-up anger and frustration—but her tear-filled eyes gave her pain away. "Don't you fucking touch me."

With that, she whipped back around and all but ran down the hallway—and Sasuke could only watch, eyes wide and, unbeknownst to him, terrified, as she disappeared out of sight.

Her heavy, hurried footsteps sounded down the stairs.

Shoes were tossed on the floor and hastily put on.

Then the front door slammed behind her, and silence reigned—and it was as if everything he had been secretly, unconsciously afraid of for all of these years suddenly materialized right in front of him, knocked him on his back, sat on his chest, and made it impossible for him to breathe, think, or feel anything—anything at all other than numbness and heart-wrenching pain.

She'd come back home.

Late at night, after he had paced deep holes in the hardwood floors, after a thousand near successful attempts at following her, stopped only by a strange need to respect her privacy and not cause her more harm than he already had, after he had nearly driven himself crazy with worry and anxiety and left his abused scalp with barely any hair at all.

She'd opened the front door quietly, walked straight past his tumultuous chakra presence where he was still walking the length of the living room, and soundlessly hurried upstairs.

She'd taken a shower and slipped under the covers of their bed and hadn't said a single word to him, even though she'd still been awake when he finally gathered his courage and followed her into the bedroom.

But she'd come back.

Sasuke didn't sleep that night. He claimed his side of the bed and tried to close his tired eyes, tried to get at least some semblance of rest and peace now that Sakura was home, safe and sound and only an arm's length away. But he couldn't. He couldn't keep his eyes closed. He couldn't get his mind to shut off. His clothes felt too hot and his skin felt too tight. He wanted to toss and turn and, more than once, he barely caught himself in time before he violently threw off the covers that seemed to want nothing more than to tangle around his limbs more and more tightly until they suffocated him. But he didn't want to wake Sakura up; it had taken her long enough to fall asleep as it was.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. About how she'd yelled at him. About how she'd cried. Over the course of their marriage, Sasuke had caught glimpses of how he'd been hurting her. Glimpses of how much she was giving up for him. Glimpses of how much she was hiding. Glimpses of how much she loved him. But glimpses weren't enough to form a full picture—and having it suddenly pieced together and thrown at his face all at once was enough to knock him over sideways and ensure he had no way, and definitely no motivation, to get up anytime in the near future.

Eventually, he heaved a sigh of resignation and slid out of bed, making his way downstairs, where he sat down at the kitchen table and waited for the sun to come up. He tried not to think, and it didn't turn out to be too difficult. Everything came back to Sakura's words, to Sakura's tears, to Sakura's pain, and what they caused within him went much further than thoughts. They caused feelings—feelings of all types; they went straight to his heart, and made it hard, so very, very hard, to breathe.

He knew what he had to do; there was no need to contemplate it. He'd known all along what he had to do.

Loving her had never been the problem. Showing it had. Opening his mouth. Speaking. Changing.

Sasuke didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve her in the slightest. All the good things that he could dig out of himself couldn't add up to deserve a single gentle smile of hers.

Yet she'd given him so much more.

What did he have that he could possibly offer in return that would maybe, just maybe, account for even a fraction of all of these years that she'd spent loving him unconditionally?

Small footsteps coming down the hallway snapped him out of his thoughts, alerting him of another presence in the vicinity. He opened his eyes, blinking at the harsh rays of sunlight that were just breaking over the horizon. When had the kitchen gotten so bright?

A moment passed, and Sakura entered the room, dressed in a pair of purple pajamas, pink hair thrown in a tousled ponytail—a tired, disarmed expression on her face.

She startled at the sight of him, as though she hadn't expected to find him there, still in the house.

With only a small pinch of surprise, Sasuke found that he couldn't blame her. He'd been running away for years, after all.

Their eyes met, green clashing with onyx, and even as an awkward, tension-filled silence blanketed the room, the young Uchiha felt as if he'd finally reached a destination.

Sakura swallowed, and almost immediately averted her gaze, busying herself instead with walking over to the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice.

She wasn't going to apologize. The realization hit him all of a sudden, and a strange sense of relief washed over him. He didn't know what he'd expected, but she clearly had no intention of taking back what she'd said; she wasn't even trying to clear the air. And Sasuke didn't think he'd ever been so glad to know what another person truly thought of him—because she'd finally said it; she'd finally come clean to him about her thoughts and feelings.

And she was right. He'd never made her any promises. He'd married her without making a true commitment, because, somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice had whispered that he shouldn't bother; he shouldn't make the effort, because there was a good chance that he might lose her in the future, either way.

But she was there now. And she was hurting—because of him. And he had her, and, lately, he couldn't think of anything better than to gather her in his arms and keep her there, forever.

He opened his mouth—and hesitated.

A second passed, and then he realized that he couldn't keep on doing that. He couldn't keep on hesitating and missing out on perfectly good opportunities forever. He'd been doing it, left and right, for long enough—and look at where it had gotten them; look at how much pain it had brought them.

Determined, he stood up, rounding the kitchen table and closing a bit of the distance between them. The action didn't go unnoticed; her hand shook as she set a tall glass on the counter.

Sasuke took another step, and then another, before stopping. He knew himself. If he didn't speak up now, he never would. And she deserved much, much better than that.

"I don't know how to be a good husband to you," he finally, after two entire years of marriage, offered.

Sakura froze, the hand holding onto the carton of orange juice suspended in thin air, and turned her head to look up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

He shrugged, and all the words he'd been holding back, all the thoughts he'd been yearning to share with her, all the things she'd been needing to hear, just spilled out. They were a mess and they were late—they were so, so late—but he couldn't have stopped them if he tried, and nothing—absolutely nothing—mattered more in that moment than getting his point across, in the fastest way possible.

"I don't. I'm not good husband material. I don't even know how to be a husband. But I look at you. I pay attention. I see. All the time. When you're not getting enough sleep. When you've been holed up in the hospital for too long. When you're sad and try to hide it. When you keep things from me. I notice that. Sometimes, it makes me so angry that I don't even want to yell at you, I don't even want to argue. But, most of the times… I do want to yell and I do want to argue. I want to tell you that… that you don't have to do it. You don't have to hide things from me." He paused, tripping over his words, and swallowed. "I… I know I don't share things about myself. And maybe that's an imbalance that you sought to restore—I don't know what you're thinking, because you never tell me. But… it's not natural. You—I—I'm selfish, Sakura. I take and I forget to give back and I don't know how to be any other way. I… Part of me hates myself for marrying you. For… taking away your chances at true happiness. I've felt that way since I saw you walking down the aisle—and yet I didn't do anything to stop you. Then or now or ever, Sakura, I'm selfish," he stepped closer, feeling panic swelling up inside him. "You say you're happy with me, but I know I could never give you what you deserve—what we see in other people; what I know you secretly want. But I don't want to be without you, either. I don't know—I don't know how to talk to you, and maybe I don't try enough, but sometimes it feels as if I don't even know how to try. I don't know how to relate to you, I don't—I don't know how to take care of a girl like you, Sakura. And you… you're not helping me, like you promised you would." Running his hands through his hair in agitation, Sasuke spat, "You promised, Sakura."

There were tears in Sakura's eyes as she finally set down the carton of orange juice, the tight grip she'd had on it leaving a dent at the top, and took a hesitant step towards him. Her expression was a strange mixture of surprise, relief, confusion, pain, hope.

"…I didn't know…" she whispered slowly. "I didn't think… you wanted to take care of me."

"I do," he stressed. "God, Sakura, what did you think…?"

"I don't know," she confessed as a single tear escaped one of her eyes and traveled down her cheek. "I don't know what to think about you, Sasuke-kun. I love you, I do… but that's the only thing that's ever been certain to me in this marriage."

The truth of her statement hit home.

A long moment passed before Sasuke nodded. "We can change that." A sudden bout of panic overwhelmed him then, causing him to swallow nervously. She'd vowed to be there, yes—she'd promised that and a million other things—but she hadn't in a long time, had she? She'd been pulling away for what seemed like an eternity. "You still want to change that," he coaxed, watching her in a hawk-like fashion. "Right?"

He needn't have worried.

With no need for further prompting, Sakura burst into tears, closing the distance between them in two quick strides and impulsively jumping straight into his arms, clinging to his neck and only sobbing harder as he immediately returned the gesture, lifting her off her feet as he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tighter than ever before, his own relief seeping from his every pore.

Sasuke thought he'd come to terms, a long time ago, with how close he sometimes came to losing Sakura. And he'd thought he'd know… how it would feel. How he would deal with it. He tried not to entertain the possibility more than was necessary, because the mere idea of losing even more people tended to send him in a dark, dark place inside his mind, but he still considered himself prepared.

But he hadn't, not really. He'd known nothing.

And nothing was exactly what could have prepared him for the overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated panic that washed over him in that moment, as he heard himself speak, as he heard himself finally pouring out all the things he'd wronged her in, as he looked into her eyes and he saw the surprise, saw the defeat. Nothing could have prepared him for the guilt, the alarm, the anxiety and the way in which they swallowed him whole with no promise to ever allow him to escape.

He'd lost people in his life. He'd lost more than others could ever comprehend. The proverbial rug had been pulled from under his feet on more than one occasion. He'd even lost himself, more than once.

Yet he'd lived on. Damaged as he was, he'd survived.

But, in that brief moment, Sasuke came to the vivid realization that—if he lost Sakura? If he lost this insane woman that had been a constant in his life since before he could now remember? If he lost this amazing human being that had somehow wormed her way into his body and all around it and planted herself in his chest, embedded herself in the wall of his heart so deeply, tattooing her name on it like the curse mark on the skin of his neck, until nothing made sense anymore if she wasn't, in one way or another, in the picture? There would be no recovering from that.

She clung to him as he carefully maneuvered both of them out of the kitchen and into the living room, where he sat on the nearest couch, bringing her down with him, settling her onto his lap, holding her just as tightly as she held him.

Sakura didn't let go. She shifted, wrapped her arms more securely around his neck, and laid her head on his shoulder with a sniffle. Sitting there, curled up in his chest as she was, she seemed small and thin and frail, and he felt as if he was holding something precious, something that might break, if he wasn't careful, with the smallest of wrong movements.

He often had that feeling with Sakura, he realized, but perhaps he hadn't, until now, held her long enough or tight enough or often enough. Perhaps if he had, if he'd allowed time for all these feelings and first impressions to fully settle in his mind, then maybe he wouldn't have found it as easy to push her away. Perhaps if he'd had this tangible proof of her vulnerability, of her need of him, if he'd managed to distance himself from the smiles she gave him on a daily basis and the easy-going manner in which she always brushed off his hurtful comments and the holes she could punch through walls and mountains, perhaps he would have thought twice before opening his mouth and spewing venom in her direction. Allowing himself to be close to her, he thought as he ran his fingertips down the length of her curved spine, might have solved a million problems before they even appeared.

There was no turning back—but there was looking forward. He did have a second chance. And, broken and stubborn and emotionally stunted as he was, Sasuke was still not foolish enough to let it go to waste.

Arms tightening around her, his nose unconsciously sought out the comforting smell of her shampoo, and Sasuke swore—for the second time—to give this woman all that he had, and do his best to make her as happy as he could.

"Stop crying," he grumbled, feeling her back shudder as she struggled to take in choppy breaths. Somewhere around the time when he decided to walk out of the kitchen, she'd stopped sobbing, but he could feel her hot tears soaking through the thin material of his shirt. "What do you need?" he whispered, and even to his own ears, he sounded desperate. Unwrapping his arms from around her, he reached behind his neck to grasp her forearms, gently pulling her away, just enough so he could see her red nose and her tear-stained cheeks, just enough so he could cup her face into his hands and wipe the salty moisture away. "What do I need to do?" he asked. "What do I need to do to make you stop hurting like this?"

"I don't—" she immediately started, but then stopped. Shaking her head, she took another moment to calm down, before reaching up to wipe the rest of her tears away as his hands dropped down to hold onto her hips. "I don't need anything from you, Sasuke-kun," she whispered, green eyes bloodshot, but gentle and honest. "That's not the way my love for you works. I just wish…" Trailing off, she shrugged one shoulder in a self-conscious manner. "…you'd need me. Sometimes, I feel like… like you don't need me. No, scratch that," she huffed an amused breath. "Honesty, right? I don't mean sometimes; I mean constantly, all the time. You don't need me to take care of you, you don't need me to cook for you… you definitely don't need me to comfort you… Most of the times, you don't even need me to heal you. And I just…" With a sigh, she looked down, avoiding his gaze, and watched her fingers as they nervously played with the collar of his shirt. "You're so used to being by yourself, you're so self-sufficient, so strong, so independent… you don't need me. For anything. You can do everything by yourself. And I guess I would just like it if you… shared a bit of your life; if you… leaned on me. Sometimes. Not all the time, but… sometimes." Lifting her head, she briefly met his gaze. "I love you, Sasuke," she told him. "I love you more than anything in this world. And I wish… I wish you needed me. I wish I had a place in your life that was only mine… even if it's just the place of that person whose coffee is better than yours." She shrugged, and her eyes once again filled with tears. "I don't know."

She was wrong. She was so, so wrong.

Stunned, that was the only thought that looped around in Sasuke's mind. He could hardly believe how incredibly wrong she was—but she was his wife and she was telling him the truth and he had no other choice but to believe it. Over time, over the course of these two years that they'd spent together, his need for her had increased so much that it scared him. It had grown, stealthily and without his knowledge, with every little gesture that she did, with every smile that she gave him, with every word that she addressed him, until, one day, not too long ago in the past, it had planted itself in front of him and refused to leave, refused to do anything other than stare at him in the face and terrify him. And she didn't know that. He'd never showed it, he knew, and perhaps it had been silly of him to think that she might have figured it out on her own. But, for at least half a year, it had been so present to him—so vividly there—that hearing her claim that she didn't know of its existence turned him inside out with confusion.

How many more of these essentially groundless assumptions were floating around in her head, he wondered? How many more floated in his?

They'd made a huge mess out of this, hadn't they? They'd made a bigger mess than he would have ever been able to imagine. And it would take time to sort through it all. But he was willing to do it, and he was still swallowed up by the gratitude and relief that came with the realization that so was she.

"This… blatant disregard that you have for your life just makes everything… glaring," she added with a small frown. "Infinitely more painful. I shouldn't have looked into your file that day, I know… but I did, and…" She shook her head. "I haven't been the same since. It's one thing that you're not dying after my homemade meals. It's another that I don't even make you want to live. So, if I could ask you just one thing…" She took in a deep, shuddering breath, but she didn't continue.

Sasuke's eyes softened. "…You're doing the same thing," he pointed out gently.

Surprised, Sakura looked up at him. "What?"

"You don't need me, either," he explained. "For anything. You do everything by yourself. You never tell me anything, you never ask for anything. You haven't even told me how you felt about my mission until I pushed you too far and you yelled it in a fit of anger. You said it yourself, you want to make this relationship work all on your own. You've been so sure that I don't want to give you anything that you've been rejecting everything that I can give." He paused, and swallowed. The next words were hard to articulate, but he found the strength. "I do need you," he told her, after a long moment of silence, seeking to meet her gaze, needing her to see the honesty reflected in his eyes. "I do."

It was only a second before he realized he'd made her tear up again. "You say so?" she whispered.

"I do," he confirmed. "And… I will work on showing you that."

Sakura gave him a watery smile. "Okay."

"Your food is better than mine," he immediately offered, before doubt had a chance to creep in her consciousness.

She choked on a small laugh. "No, it's not," she chided, still fidgeting with the collar of his shirt.

"It is," he insisted.

She looked at him then, and gave him the first genuinely amused glance that he saw in a long time. "Sasuke-kun, that's something that's hard to believe—for anyone who's tasted your food at least once."

"Your pasta is better."

She smiled sadly at his instant response. "That recipe is from your mother's notebook," she told him quietly.

"I know," he answered, bringing one of his hands up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, compelling her to meet his gaze again. "You make it taste like hers."

Smiling, Sakura wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. Sasuke returned the embrace without thinking.

Words almost came more easily once he didn't have to directly bear witness to her tears. "I can't sleep right when you're gone anymore," he continued his string of confessions. "I almost can't stand being in the house when you're not there. I…" Pausing, he furrowed his brows, struggling to express himself. "I never really had to make space for you in my closet. I said I did, but… but my stuff was really just everywhere. You… you came and you filled that room, and… and so many others. And I do see that. And I do appreciate that. I appreciate it in a way that you probably won't ever be able to understand. And that's fine. But don't underestimate what your presence here has done… and how much it means to me."

A quiet sob reached his ears, and his arms tightened around her.

"I do need you," he repeated. "I just… I need you. You used to make me want to be a better man, Sakura. I didn't only marry you because I needed a wife or because you were my only female teammate or whatever it is that you believe—whatever it is that, maybe, I put in your head, whatever it is that I let you believe. I… I want to be a good husband to you. The kind of husband that you deserve. Forget the things that I can do for you, there are things that I would do for you! I would do so much for you, Sakura, but you have to tell me what you need. You have to tell me what you want, because I don't know! I can't figure it out and I'm never going to guess! And you have to… Sakura, you have to open your eyes to the things that I do. To the things that I try to do. Because if you don't outright expect anything from me… then you're blind to everything that you deserve from me. And you deserve—" He swallowed, closing his eyes as the reality of his next words washed over him, "—so much. You deserve everything."

A moment passed before Sakura's response came in the form of a small whisper, "I tried so hard to be what you needed…"

"Except you were what I needed," he finished. "All along. It's my fault that you doubted that," he admitted, gently running a hand up her back. "But I'll make sure you never will again."

They fell silent, but she was crying again—he felt the tiny shudders in length of her body and the wetness of her tears on his shirt.

There were so many things that Sasuke had wanted to say that morning, so many words that had been fighting to tumble out of his mouth and materialize because he had finally, finally found his voice, but now… now, Sasuke felt strangely like in the aftermath of a long battle. Tired, but successful; with small drops of adrenaline still coursing through his veins, but at peace. She was there, after all; with him, in his arms, where he'd been wanting her, he could now tell, for much longer than he'd previously thought.

There would be time for everything else later.

"I miss him," she finally offered with a sob, tightening her hold on him and turning her face into the crook of his neck. "I miss him so much. He's my family, the only one I have left, and… and it kills me to know that he's gonna grow up seeing me as a killer. I don't deserve that."

Sasuke sighed, rubbing comforting circles on the small of her back. He buried his face into her fragrant hair and breathed in deeply, almost overwhelmed by the need to do something other than just comfort her—almost overwhelmed by the need to fix the problem, to make it alright; to make her stop hurting; to bring her happiness. It was a powerful, vicious need, one that swelled rapidly inside him until his chest could barely accommodate it, and his fingers itched. But he remained where he was, exactly as he was—because life had no real guarantees, but this? Holding her? This, he could do.

"I know you don't," he murmured in agreement. "It's going to be alright."

Beside them, on the side table next to the couch, Sakura's pager beeped, starting a rhythmic series of low vibrations that caused it to spin in small circles on the wooden surface.

"Is it 911?" She sniffled as Sasuke picked it up.

"No."

"Then ignore it," she murmured, burying her face further into his shoulder. "I don't want to see anybody today. I don't want to deal with anything. I just… I just don't."

"Alright," he conceded easily, returning the still buzzing pager on the table. "You should see him," he stated firmly after a lengthy silence.

She gave a small sigh. "Sasuke-kun, I just told you—"

"You shouldn't care," he interrupted. Frowning, Sakura pulled back to look at him, and Sasuke, as if on autopilot, immediately reached out to wipe her cheeks clean of the last traces of tears. "People are going to talk, either way. You think he doesn't ask about you? What do you think he's told? Whether you make an effort to see him or not, your grandparents will take care of shaping his opinion of you. The only thing you can do is be there to at least try to make it into what you want it to be; into what it should be."

"…You really think so?" she asked, surprise mixing together with hope in glassy green eyes.

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise," was his resolute answer.

"Thank you, Sasuke-kun," she murmured as she hugged him again—but, this time, he didn't feel any fresh tears soaking through the material of his shirt.

"Do you think…" she started in a small voice after a second of silence. "…you could let me hug you just like this… while I take a nap… and hope I don't wake up to find all of this has been a dream?"

"Aa," Sasuke sighed, and in one swift movement, slipped one arm under her knees and effortlessly lifted her into his arms, before standing up and walking around the couch and out of the living room.

She snuggled against him. There was no other way to put it; no better word to describe it. She adjusted the circle of her arms around his neck, pressed her face into his shoulder and her nose into his collarbone, sighed, and all but melted against him.

It occurred to him then, that out of all the things he'd never done with her before, this was one of them. He'd never really held her like this. Not since the war was over. Not since he returned home. Not since she became a woman. She felt soft and warm in his arms, light and firm at the same time—in a way that he hadn't been able to discover from simply touching her at night.

The feeling of protectiveness that had been slowly swelling inside him since the first moment he saw her bloodshot eyes the day before nearly overwhelmed him then.

But why would it be a problem? he thought. He had everything he needed to keep her safe.

And so that, he vowed with new confidence and determination, was what he would do.

When Sakura awakened, the room was filled with shadows, the sky outside covered by dark, heavy rainclouds, and her usually sharp senses dulled by a strange mixture of confusion and disorientation.

A loud bang sounded from somewhere downstairs, but it failed to alert her, failed to elicit any other reaction than a sleepy frown.

She felt woozy and slow, wrapped up in a blanket of warmth and security and absolute comfort as she was. She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a nap during the day. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so soundly and so peacefully—the last time it had been so difficult to return to reality—either.

Letting out a small breath, she shifted, curling up under the heavy duvet, bringing her knees closer to her chest—and it was only then that she consciously realized she wasn't in bed by herself.

Someone shifted along with her; the unknown weight pressing against the side of her waist tightened, wrapping all around her and bringing her closer to a warm, hard chest. Someone's face pressed into the back of her head, and a heavy exhale brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck. And his scent enveloped her—light and musky and comforting, and she suddenly felt fully awake. Tears started to prickle at the corners of her eyes.

He was there. He'd stayed. She hadn't dreamed the past day, after all.

"Yo!" a muffled voice carried through from downstairs, followed by another loud bang.

Sasuke groaned in her hair, but before she could as much as open her mouth to voice her confusion, the front door burst open, and the realization that seemed to have taken her husband no time at all to make suddenly dawned on her, as well.

"Sasuke-teme! Sakura-chan!"

Sakura sighed. "What is he—"

"Oi! Oi, you two!" Two seconds, a couple of rushed footsteps, and the door to their bedroom was the next one to be unceremoniously pushed open, nearly banging against the wall as it swung around in an arc.

"Oi—Oh!" His tone of voice changed in an instant, a not-so-smooth transition from half-worried to one-hundred-percent mischievous. Through half-lidded eyes, Sakura witnessed his expression undergo a similar adjustment, a sly grin the size of the entire village stretching upon his lips. "Well. There you are!" Leaning against the doorjamb, he relaxed, watching them smugly. "Would you look at that! People were all worried, asking questions back and forth, wondering where sweet, innocent Sakura-chan was, because it's not like her not to answer her pager! But I see now—you were busy!"

Somewhere in the very back of it, Sakura's brain registered that these were the type of comments that Naruto would normally be punched through a wall for. But, she found, with no great amount of surprise, that she couldn't quite bring herself to care. She was warm and felt safe and still a little sleepy, and so, so content—a type of content that she wasn't sure she'd ever really experienced before—and Sasuke was warm and solid behind her, and although there was no way he wasn't aware of his best friend's presence, he hadn't moved an inch.

So, Sakura gave a small sigh and melted into the mattress, and, just this once, she allowed Naruto to get away with his borderline insulting comments.

"—Busy snuggling in bed with Sasuke-chan, to be more exact! You could have left a message, you know? Say, 'Hey, can't make it to my shift today, I have to smooch my husband! Thanks, bye!' Would have saved a lot of people a lot of trouble, I'll tell you that. And, besides—"

"Dobe," Sasuke's voice boomed across the room. It was rough and scratchy, with a barely awake quality to it, but it was firm enough to put a stop to Naruto's rambling, his infamous lack of patience seeping through as a warning. "Fuck off."

Naruto gave a good-natured laugh, waving him off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, straightening and turning to leave without a single word of protest. "I'm going. I don't need to see this, anyway!"

The bedroom door slid shut behind him.

Slowly, Sakura shifted so that she was lying on her back, and turned her head to the side until she was met with her husband's half-lidded eyes. He was so close that she could feel his even exhales fanning against the skin of her temple, but he didn't move, and he didn't break eye-contact. Instead, one of his hands came up to tuck a lock of pink hair behind her ear, brushing gently—and completely unnecessarily—against her cheekbone in the process, a movement so tender and uncharacteristically sweet that it almost brought tears to Sakura's eyes.

But it appeared as if she'd shed enough of them, and had enough of crying. Instead, she decided to flip the coin over and smiled.

And Sasuke's heart stopped. It skipped a beat and then stopped altogether and only restarted when his wife once again shifted and snuggled into his chest, pressing her face into the crook of his neck and exhaling sweetly against his skin.

He didn't completely unfreeze until a moment later.

Because it was there. It was finally back.

His smile. His big, unique, genuine smile, that he hadn't seen in so, so long.

And he made another promise: he swore, as he re-wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face into her hair, that he would never allow it to go into hiding again. He'd learned what it was like to live without it.

Now it was time for him to learn what it was like to give it the recognition and appreciation it fully deserved.

He couldn't wait to get started.

A/N: So sorry this took so long, you guys! But it is very, very long in itself, so I hope that makes up for it—as well as partially explaining it.
Also, yes, I have no idea how I thought I could fit even more stuff in this chapter. Needless to say, there is going to be a next one.

Two things: One, the idea of Sakura having a little brother came to me sometime after I posted the first chapter and I wasn't sure it was really going to be included in the actual story; but I needed something to push both of them to finally snap, and this proved to be perfect for that purpose (and it also added somewhat of an unique twist, if I do say so myself). Two—well, the usual; please let me know if you spot any typos, I edit every document thoroughly before I post it, but some are hard to spot, especially when I'm so familiar with what's been written, in the first place.

Thank you very much for your patience and your reviews and all your love! Save for a few 'demands' that I update 'now', I felt very supported throughout this entire process, and I want you beautiful people to know that I really, really appreciate it!

Please review and let me know what you thought! A lot of work went into writing this chapter, so it would be great if you could take just a minute of your time to let me know what you liked/didn't like, etc. Thank you! :)