Title: If I Should Die

Author: AppleL0V3R

Beta-reader: SymphoniaFreak

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: Uchiha Itachi and Haruno Sakura

Other Characters: (mentions of) Uchiha Sasuke

Summary: On death row, the only thing Itachi is concerned with is getting a message to Sasuke. And the only way to do that is the prison doctor, Sakura.

Word Count: 641

Rating: T

Type: One-shot – Complete

Genre: Modern era AU, hints of pre-romance

Warnings: N/A

Disclaimer: If you've heard of it before, then it's obviously not mine.

Started: May 28, 2016

Completed: June 9, 2016

Last Edited: September 7, 2016

Note: I recently got into the TV show Prison Break, and this little one-shot was inspired by it. However, if anything else is written in this verse, it will not be.

"Can you get a message to my brother?"

Sakura glanced up at the patient who had just walked in for his weekly check-up. The ones he'd attended for the past few weeks because the state required that he be deemed healthy in the months leading up to his execution, and as the prison doctor, she ended up being slated with the job. He was not in fact, perfectly fit, and not just because of his living conditions for the last two years.

But she knew why he was being executed, and not the official story about him being some terrible mass murderer, though she suspected that held a little water to it as well. No, the real story was so far reaching that it kept her mouth wired shut and made her think twice about noting that this particular death-row inmate was in deed suffering from a hereditary, possibly fatal illness and did need treatment for it. After all, what good would it do him now? Make him a little more comfortable until the day of his execution? He wouldn't appreciate it, and she'd been sufficiently warned.

No funny business.

Do her job. Keep her mouth shut. No one needed her two cents about the injustice being done, and his gorgeous, rare red eyes told her that he didn't want her help in that.

But he did, apparently, want her to reach out to his family. His family that was supposed to be in hiding. His family that there was no way he could know she knew, or know that said brother knew her.

So she merely blinked at him, doing her best to affect curiosity and surprise. Whatever the message, she would deliver it, but there was a reason that even her relationship with this man's younger brother had been covered up since their adolescence. Some secrets really only could be kept by the original parties, no third wheels. Even if it was the handsomely breath-taking, well-cultured, charming man in front of her. "Sure," she gestured for him to take a seat and turned back to her table while he did to grab what she needed to get the checkup started. "I can get a message. What's his name? Or how do I get ahold of him?"

A hand caught her shoulder, and she paused in place. When nothing but silence followed, she tipped her head up and back slowly, until his face came into view and their eyes met. For a beat, he simply kept eye contact, unmoving in that same steadfast, serious way of his. Ever watchful eyes noting and calculating, thoughts forming in that brilliant mind. A part of her ached at the thought of such person being forcefully removed from the world. Itachi would be nothing more than collateral, a loose end for a delusional psychopath with too much power. She tried not to clench her jaw at the reality, pushed away thoughts of how much he knew about his own situation.

"If you're looking for a promise," she said quietly, barely more than a whisper, "Then I promise to do everything I can to help you." Once the words were out, she realized exactly how much she meant them and how little they were about the simple idea of delivering a message from one brother to another. She couldn't help but wonder if he caught the unintentional underlying meaning as well.

His lips parted just slightly, followed by a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Finally, he nodded and let his hand fall down the length of her arm before dropping to his side.

Beyond the trail of fire across her skin left in his wake, the ever present awareness of him, she did not miss the unmistakable sense that she had connected the first fragile, wispy thread of trust between them.