Title: Mistaken
Author: Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto-sama.
Rating: M for Violence more than anything.
Summary: Itachi takes something that Sakura can't get back. And she doesn't know the difference anymore, because he is so familiar she almost remembers what she's lost. But she's mistaken. (Sakura & Itachi)
Authors Notes: I wrote this for CF, because she rocks so hardcore for being my BETA for Sequencial on such short notice... and for reviewing every cappy thing I write. THIS, however is un-BETA-ed as of now, so if you see any mistakes, let me know. Savvy?
Her hands are sweaty, and she can't remember why she came in the first place. But she sees the blood that stains the ground and tints the mountain springs, and suddenly her hands are so cold she can feel the ice start to form around her heart and permeate outwards.
She was brought here for a reason, but she doesn't understand what. And the jutsu they are using to impede her thought process is so strong she feels like she might just crumble into a ball and stay like that until the haze of uncertain terror evaporates.
But there is a strong hand on her shoulder, and she keeps moving. One foot in front of the other on a never-ending march towards the phantom that plagues her dreams. She is feeble and hateful all at the same time, but she can't remember why. So she walks on, escorted by monsters and evil men that she can't seem to understand why she should hate.
It feels like tiny bugs crawling around in her brain, eating away at her memories and stealing her thoughts before she gets a chance to see them. She used to know someone who used bugs, a boy with glasses and a strange way of speaking. But his name is lost, consumed in the fire of her muddled synapses.
"This way." There is a gruff voice behind her, in the shadows and she thinks that maybe this is all just a dream. She could close her eyes and just swim her way back to her bed in that village she can't quite remember and the smiling faces she can't seem to conjure up anymore.
So she seethes quietly and allows herself to be lead through a cave of perpetual fear. With each step that takes her one pace farther from home, and shinning yellow hair and shimmer blue eyes. She feels safe, for just an instant. But when it's gone, she is left colder than she was before.
Somewhere inside there is a small voice insisting that she is strong. But the restraints on her wrists and the blood dripping from her cheeks tell her otherwise. She clenches her fists and tries to remember how she came to be like this.
There was a field, and targets. She was aiming, trying to hit something. She was thinking about something else. No, it was someone else. Black hair and crimson eyes fill her mind. She is almost bowled over by her own innate feelings for this soft, pale face. She is in love with the man whose eyes shine like blood and whose hair steals the light. But there is pain as well and the overwhelming feeling of abandonment and she weeps inside to know that his name is lost.
She is tempted to turn because it's almost like the face of the man who guides her silently though the dank cavern. It's so close she considers that perhaps her clouded mind just altered a few details. So she resolves herself to admit that it was him she was thinking of. There is a twinge in her gut and she is unsure weather it's joy of fear. Perhaps he stirs both paradigms in her.
She smiles because she's convinced now that she's in love with him. And even though it doesn't quite fit, she insists that her memories can't be trusted. So she giggles because she's with the love of her life and the romantic ideology in her heart that slumbered has awakened and she imagines that he came to take her away.
There is a tensing behind her but she ignores it and keeps walking. She feels light, like if she just floated her feet between steps, maybe she could fly. She tries to remember why she feels so light. It has something to do with her head, but she can't quite fill up the empty, missing space anymore.
So she treks on through the dark with her heart in her palm waiting for him to accept it. She is resigned to wait for as long as it takes. She lost him once, and she is resolute that she won't lose him again. She smiles, because she has a purpose now. And then the dark doesn't seem to frightening, instead, she likes it better than the blinding light because its cooler and she can pretend that she isn't tied and bruised.
"Did you come for me?" She asks quietly, over her shoulder in the crevice of the earth that holds her and him and a strange blue man with a large sword. His foot hesitates a moment in his stride and she misunderstands her fleeting victory. "I knew it. I knew you'd come for me."
There is a shuffling to her back and she doesn't pay attention because she is too smitten to care about much else. He came for her. She doesn't remember who he is, or why she loves him. But she's sure he is the same so all is right. Except the ties around her wrists, she's still working that one out.
"Are you sure you didn't break her?" The blue man with a rough voice asks her love and she patiently waits for the filtering lack of comprehension to pass. She's gotten used to not understanding anything, but as long as he's with her she is stated in her incredulity.
There is an agonizing moment where he doesn't speak and she rocks on the balls of her feet in nervous anticipation to hear is smooth, rich voice. "I simply removed the troublesome aspects of her mind." She is so happy to hear him speak that she almost misses the tug at her heart when he says troublesome.
She used to know someone else that used that word frequently. He had a handsome face and a deep voice. But he's lost in the sea of floating anarchy that swells in her mind so she is left with fragmented pieces of a boy she might have known in another life.
But it is of little concern now that she's with him. All the other faces of all the other boys in all the other lives are drifting back and away from her heart and she welcomes this new concrete image of strong, regal creases that give his face a kind of wise, sage impression.
She muses that perhaps he left her because of the age difference. She feels young still, younger than he. She imagines that he came to her on a starry night and told her with that strong, silky voice that he couldn't sully her reputation. They were forces apart by an unkind society full of useless rules and idiotic taboos.
But he came for her now, and she is happy. If she could just remember where they are going, or how she came to be tied and cut. Her muscles feel fatigued, and she can taste blood in her mouth. Perhaps he fought for her. Perhaps this is all just in her imagination and she is still in the green field, asleep in the warm afternoon winter sun.
There is a light in the distance, and she fears that they have left the protective cover of darkness to illuminate her lacking senses and she will look foolish. She pauses, and is rewarded by a hand on her neck to guide her forward. She leans back and tries not to be too obvious as she runs her bloody cheek over his painted black nails.
He draws his hand back, and she fears she's taken too much liberty with his person. After all, theirs is a forbidden love. So she obeys his sequestering movement and glides on the wings of blissful love into the blazing sun and absent memory.
Sakura is lost, adrift on a sea of inconsequential musing that center around the man behind her. She twists and turns his face in her mind, trying to fit it into the blurry memory she knows she loves. But there are pieces missing that she can't put back so she ignores the nagging pull of her heart that insists she's made a mistake.
She feels different, but she has nothing left to compare herself with. So she pretends that she doesn't feel the mounting fear and disgust growing in her chest. She's with the man whose blood-red eyes make her cheeks turn a rosy hue and whose voice, though she can no longer recall ever hearing it, makes her knees quiver.
She wishes he would say her name. But in a moment of fitful panic, she's certain she has no name. Until she comes to understand that she has simply lost her name. But still, she insists she's safe with the tall, cloaked man. So she turns in the blinding light and breathes easier because she feels safe.
"What's my name?" she asks, as though it were an everyday occurrence to misplace your name, and life. This time, his foot stops dead against the unyielding earth, and she is compelled to pause as well, lest she venture too far from her avenger.
"Perhaps I took too much." He speaks not to her, as though she's not really there. And for a long, drawn-out lifetime of a moment, she's sure that she doesn't exist anymore. She imagines that she's become the wind, so she can swirl through his hair and over his rigid face. She imagines that he would smile in the blowing breeze and think of her. But then he spins her around by the wrist and she is painfully aware that she is real, and badly injured.
There is a spark of recognition in the vast legacy of her dwindling mind. She feels the powerful need to heal, as though she were capable of evaporating the pain and the cuts with nothing but her own willpower. But then she's caught in his gaze and whatever fleeting sense she had drifts away again. And she is happily lost in him.
The sky turns as red as his eyes, and she falls to her knees because that sinking impression is now a thundering alarm bell resounding in her muffled brain. She feels as though there is a separate consciousness in her awaking and screaming, in a loud, shrill voice, for her to run or fight. It's telling her to do anything but just sit there and wait for death to come.
But still, she grasps at the swinging tendrils of hope that cascade down her shrinking spine, that insist he will come to save her from this, just as he did before. She wishes, and hopes and dreams like never before that the man with crimson eyes and raven hair will save her from this strange land of red ground and sky.
She waits, patiently at the foot of her own demise and bows reverently to the memory in her mind that doesn't match up with the reality. She is so loyal, and faithful in her devotion to him that she fails to acknowledge the winding hand, with painted black fingernails that rapes her mind.
They pull at her past and steal away fragments of her soul. And slowly, she begins to feel the dread of a life being stolen in her heart. But it's too late. No matter how hard she squints her eyes against the blinding pain, that resounding, comforting, concrete image of the boy she loves is fading away into the mist that obscures her mind in a shroud of missing time.
She buckles under the pain and scream out a name she doesn't remember and balls her useless hands into clenching fists. Her body contorts against the pillaging hand that takes away what little she had left. But it's not use… all that's left when the sky clears is the empty shell of a girl who doesn't remember who she is or where she comes from.
So she rises on steady legs and lets these two strange men lead her farther from home. And the man with the unnerving eyes still echoes in the vast expanse of her blank skull. She should hate him, but she doesn't remember that. All that's left is the waning love that she harbored as a desperate hope that now clings to her soul, like honey dripping from the inside her ribcage.
"What did you do to her now?" A tall, strangely blue man spoke and her addle mind quivered for a moment at the cusp of recognition. But then it was gone, and she autonomously continued through the bright sun at the point of a kunai in her back.
"I removed everything." The other man responded, sounding somewhat young, and daringly handsome. She considered for the passing moments that she had an insane weak spot for red eyes and black hair. But hat seems to be farfetched, so she walks on almost oblivious to what they are saying. There were words, that much she was sure. She could understand them in a sequence, but still the meaning or implications of his words are lost on her.
"What good is she now?" The blue man with matching cloak responded yet again, and her mind supplied, somewhat sluggishly, that this was a conversation. She walked on, eagerly awaiting the next installment of the words. The handsome man would speak next, and she waited for a glimpse into his soul through his monotone voice.
"She is still bait for Konoha." There is a sharp, blinding joint of painfully recognition in her gut as the last word rolls from his tongue. And she holds it like it was the only way to breathe under the weight of all the emptiness in her head. She wraps it around her fingers, and feels the texture of this impossibly painful word on her soul.
She can feel her heart contract and simultaneously speed up, and her vacant mind eagerly drinks up this word and stores it safely away in the vast expanses of her clutter-free head. There is now a steadily increasing collection of information in her brain. And she experimentally runs through the list.
I'm a girl. I'm injured. The man with the kunai is ridiculously handsome. I think I might have loved him. Konoha is important, for some reason. The blue man seems to be some kind of monster. I don't know who I am.
It was a short list, still. But she had confidence that it would soon get larger. So she soaked in her surrounding environment, which at this moment consisted of rocks and dirt. The sky was heavy on her shoulders, and her nose indicated a coming storm on the horizon. She expected the sun to set, and night to come. And the idea of the dark is comforting.
"Oi, what's your name?" The monster spoke and her feet paused on the dirt path. She thought this question over for a moment, twisted around her empty skull and framed it out against the shrinking daylight. After a while of experimental theoretical, she was satisfied in her ability to answer.
"I don't have one." It seems a logical conclusion. After all, people don't just forget their names. Instead she was nearly certain that she never had one to begin with. And this was a soothing thought, indeed. Instead of fearing she'd lost her name in the spring-cleaning her mind underwent, somewhat forcedly, it was much nicer to believe that she never had one to begin with.
"I see." His response is measured, and she considers that it is either from confirmation of what he already knew, or to be completely incongruent with the information his mind indicated. She preferred not to think of it.
"Who am I?" The interrogation was grating at her rattled nerves, so she sighed, dejectedly and spun on her fractured pride to face the stunning man and chilling eyes.
She narrowed her line of vision and drank him in. Her eyes raked over his form and up his face, committing ever inch of it to memory. And there might have been the dull roar of past progressions seeping in but she ignored it in favor of learning the lines of his face.
"You are someone very important to me." He didn't react, and deeply innate, she was sure this was her expected response. "You saved me from the red sky." She felt so small then, like a child looking up at their older brother and begging them to love them. But she turned, and this ridiculous thought was gone. He was no her brother, in fact, she theorized that she was his lover. She liked this idea quite a bit.
She walked on, and they followed, even though she didn't know who she was, or where she was going. But the restraints on her wrists evaporated and she touched the sore, red flesh tenderly and inspected her wounds. There was, again, the dull ache in her chest that perhaps this was a common action for her. But seeing as though inspecting her own wounds seemed a little ridiculous, she ignored the nagging felling her gut. She resigned herself to ignore it henceforth, since it never seemed to provide her with anything useful.
"Do you think that was wise, Itachi?" His name, deep and primal reverberated off the inside of her mind and swam through the murky water in her soul like it was always there, just below the surface. She is certain she loved him in another time, because the name is buried deep in her heart and she imagines that they were separated by time and an intolerant society.
She smiles at the sound of his name, and repeats it in her mind a few hundred times until it is as real on her tongue as her lips and teeth. He is real, and her love for him is deep and profoundly rooted in a past that was taken from her. But he saved her from that, and freed her from the bonds that kept her from him.
"She belongs to me now." His voice is thick and rich and so ingrained in her mind now that she nearly drops on her knees at his feet. Because not only are his actions that of compassion and ultimate bravery, but what he says strikes a chord in her heart that vibrates in tune with his glorious face and splendid kindness.
So she pauses and allows his presence to consumer her frail, trembling form. And she does drop then, hard and resounding to the dirt and shed tears of joy for his everlasting love for her. And she is humbled in the presence of his heart. He pauses at her side, and pulls his fingers around her upper arm. Then she is being pulled up and forward, bathed in the waving material of his cloak and she weeps a little to be so close to him.
She's sure then, that she's loved him since she can remember. Because his face stirs something so deep and true in her soul that she can't deny that nagging feeling that he is so much more than she could ever imagine. So she looks at him, past the setting sun in the distance and reaches her bruise palm to his collar.
And she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him close. She breathes him in and gasps to find that even his smell is almost completely engraved in her soul. It's not quite what she thought it would be, but since she has nothing to gauge it against; she assumes that he is everything her battered heart has yearned for.
So she lives as his. Her life sways in his inconsistent breeze. He is cold. He is harsh. And he asks her to kill, and take no pity. She doesn't remember what she used to be anymore, but there is something trickling in her soul that tells her she wasn't like this. But his hand on her back brings her from those useless, hallow thoughts and she is once again in his hands.
He gives her a name, and smiles every time he says it. He calls her his 'Saikaga-ru', his little 'mistaken girl'.She doesn't know why he chooses this, but he reminds her that it's better than not having a name at all. So she learns to smile when he calls her 'Saika-chan' with a dark voice full of foreboding and malice.
It doesn't take long before he asks her to prove her love. And she does, with a kunai in an old man's gut, and her hands soaked in innocent blood. She swears she can hear something in her break then. It's clear, and crystalline, like her faith in Itachi. And after that, those pesky little urges to try and remember who she was fades. She considers that perhaps its better she doesn't remember, then. And she shivers because the dark is quickly becoming frightening.
She lies under him and feels empty, even though he's inside her. Huge, silent tears streak down her face, unnoticed or ignored by Itachi. And she can feel her heart ache is ways she can no longer wish away. She tries to shrink in his presence and wanders off through the forest alone at night, preying he doesn't come for her. Her resolve has evaporated, and that clawing, insisting voice that screams for her to run is getting stronger.
She says a silent thanks to the heaves when he doesn't take her into his tent at night. She pretends that she doesn't notice the lonely pang in her gut as she sleeps alone under the stars that she doesn't have any memory of. But at least the lonely sky is a better companion than the wandering, rough hands of the killer who gave her a name.
She has sad, strange dreams with figures that have no faces and places that have no names. There is a streak of blond against a blue sky and there is a gripping pain so deep in her mind that she falls to her knees and cries. Sometimes is snows silver flakes and rains blood. And sometimes, she can hear a voice on the wind. She can't hear what he says, but his cold voice is familiar and makes her think of Itachi.
When she wakes, she looks at his face and imagines that he's everything she's ever wanted. But she's sad, in a sickly kind of way because he's so familiar, she can almost taste it. But there's something in his face that makes her pause, and roll his features around her head like a puzzle she can't quite see. Something's different. The subtle way his eyes move and his mouth curves, and she's almost certain he's a copy of her copy that was reassembled in the dark.
So she stood, blankly and freshly snow laden in a pasture of broken homes and smoldering decay. The white flakes mask the death she missed and the frustrated welling of a forgotten urge. So she stands and clenches her cloths covered fists and waits for Itachi.
"Saika-chan…" there is a low chuckle to his left.
She turns, wordless and watches his black and red cloud-covered-cloak move with the delicate bits of snow and a pang erupts in her battered heart. She wants to get away, she wants to run and cry and scream until her throat tears and bleeds.
"You've missed all the fun." His voice is just as cold as the frostbitten air that swirls her short pink hair in her eyes. She pretends that she doesn't want to vomit and says nothing. He smiles, and she forces the retching back down.
"Not long now." The shark-man spoke and a fierce shiver ran down her spine. His watery eyes and dark tongue also haunt her in her dreams. She can see the way his eyes follow her when Itachi beckons her into his tent at night. "The scarecrow and the fox are moving."
His slitted nostrils tilt with his head and sniff the air. It's almost as revolting as the sensation of Itachi running his blade down her skin last night. He can smell something she can't and the wide, heart-wrenching smile that spreads across Itachi's face makes her quiver. His teeth are pointed and menacing past his thin, tight lips. Usually when he smiles, someone is about to die.
"Here they come." But no sooner had Itachi spoken the words that two streaks zoom through the frozen air and crash against the billowy snow.
"Teme!" There is a man with blazing blue eyes and vibrant yellow hair. There are whisker-like etches on his face and his bright orange outfit makes him seem almost comical. But the way he looks at Itachi, and the angry quiver in his voice makes her think that he is capable of a lot of damage.
Next to him stands another man, taller, and older. His silver spikes stand through the snow and contrast with his dark blue mask. He has one swirling red eye and a deep, ragged scar. His half-gloved hand clenches a kunai and his eyes come to rest on her slowly.
There is a long, drawn-out moment where she forgets how to breathe, or live, or think. Because the claw that grips her heart and has told her countless times over these past few months that she doesn't belong is screaming. It's trying to rip its way out of her mouth, but she doesn't know their names or who they are. All she knows is that her dreams have jumped through the snow and materialized into the faces that were always there, just past the red haze.
"Sakura…?" The older man speaks to her. But she doesn't know who Sakura is, or why his eyes seem so soft then. She feels like running to his arms and burying her face in his familiar green flack jacket and crying for the rest of her life. His eyes are still dangerous, but she feels safe.
"Stay back." Itachi's hand on her writs yanks her back before she's even realized that she's taken a step towards them. "These are the people who attacked you." He whispers in her ear as he puts his tall, muscled body between her and them. But she doesn't want to be separated from them, so she tentatively peers out from behind him and watches the blond man, who looks about her age, growl and lunge.
But the older man holds him back. "Sakura-chan, what are you doing with him?" His voice is like a cold shower as it washes over her. She knows she should hate them for trying to steal her from Itachi, but she can't quite make herself believe it anymore. "Let her go!" He bellows once again and pulls from the older man's grip.
He is strong, she can feel his aura explode with chakra as he duplicates himself and flies at them from all angles. But Itachi is faster than him, and pulls her along as they dodge the clones and watch them puff in white clouds of smoke.
He waves his ringed finger at the boy and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Foxes should obey their masters." And his black eyes shift to red as he traps the boy in his mind. She's seen him do it before; no one has ever come back. And her hands ball his coat in her fingers as she fights back the tears she doesn't understand.
"And you should pay more attention!" The voice comes from above, where the white cloud is thickest. But it parts in a wave of orange and blond streak across the blue sky. She's sure that she's on the wrong side now, but can' bring her feet to move. She doesn't understand anything anymore. Her battered, emptied, confused mind tries to put the pieces of her stolen life back together but she is still mistaken.
Itachi smiles at the brazen boy and tilts his head towards the sky. The older man moves then, but not for her Shark companion, but for the boy barreling full force towards her. She knows Itachi will kill him, but still she can't stop her heart from begging for him to take her away.
However, instead of the fox, Itachi catches the other man in his spell and there is a bloodcurdling scream. The handsome man's face twists is pain, and blood pours from his cracked lips. He's being tortured from the inside. And her heart is slamming so hard against her ribs, it hurts.
"Kaka-sensei!" The boy's face is horror stricken as he lands in a heap of snow and his eyes glow red.
Kaka-sensei. Her mind twirls this name around and around until she's sure that she knows it. Kakashi, the scarecrow. She knows him, she loves him. She needs to protect him. Her mind finally beings to turn and the cobwebs and red haze are beginning to dissipate. The boy, the fox, Naruto. Her heart nearly soars then. Konoha, medic-nin, Itachi, Sakura, Sasuke. Everything comes flooding back, like a tsunami of lost years and a life just under the surface, slowly drowning.
She does throw up then, Itachi still pins Kakashi with his evil graze and tears spill from her green eyes like blood falling from old wounds that will never heal. She can feel his hand on her wrist and all she can think about is getting away. She doesn't want to remember what it was like to sleep with him, to hear him say her fake name like a snake hissing in her ear. She doesn't want to live like this anymore.
Her blazing strength and crackling chakra flow through her veins and burn her skin. She can feel all the hate, disgust, and bloodlust pool in her stomach as her hands dip to her leg and un-strap the kodachi from its sheath. The blade is between a katana and a dagger, and perfectly suited for her short arms.
She smiles, a wickedly satisfied grin as she recalls Itachi presenting it to her after her first kill. She draws the blade back with all her chakra concentrated at the tip of the blade and plunges it through his back, and through his heart.
There is a gurgling sound, as she draws her hands from his splinter flesh and bones that tore from the force of her impact. He turns to her, red eyes fading, and half-grin forming. "That's my girl." He says as he falls to her feet and dies before the first flack of snow reaches his warm skin.
She can feel the tears on her cheeks and the burning in her nose. She forces the vomit back down and pulls all her chakra to her feet. She moves faster than opening a fifth gate as she heads for the Shark who pulls his sword from its bandages. She slows just fractionally as she approaches him and pulls all the chakra to the balls of her feet.
She can feel the sting as the snow hits her face at such speed. She moves sideways, just missing the downward slice of his sword. She can feel her chakra being pulled out and away. But she already expected that, so she leaves her reserve hanging in the air as she pulls back and behind him.
Her kodachi is slick in her hand, dripping with blood. But she holds it tight and pours all the chakra she has left into the tip of the blade. She sharpens it, and extends the edge forward to catch the flesh of his neck just before the blade does. And the skin, bone, arteries, and spinal cord sever like running a hot knife through warm tofu.
She pulls back and watches, in slow motion as his head tips forward and tumbles from his body. It rolls helplessly through the snow, leaving a red trail in its wake. But she won't allow herself to collapse just yet. She's seen what happens to the fallen members of Akatsuki.
So she bends on stiff knees and removes the ring from his blue hand. She trudges her feet through the snow, back to Itachi's body and pulls the ring from his as well. Then she kneels, shaking and nearly hysterical and she concentrates all the chakra left in her fist. She clears away the snow to find a concrete slab of one of the demolished homes. And with one, final burst of energy; she smashes the rings into a fine power of metal and stone.
Then she falls, into the snow, next to Itachi's body and lets her swollen, weary eyes shut. She's so tired, so can barely make out the frantic cries from Naruto or a grunt from the lump to her right shaped like Kakashi. She remembers who she is, and that's enough for now.
She sleeps in darkness that's no longer oppressive and sees a pale face with red eyes that fits perfectly with the image from her childhood.
There's no more blood on her hands when she wakes, sometime later, in a hospital bed. There is the same familiar smell of disinfectants and distant pine. She's home. There is a blur of blond at the foot of her bed, and attached to that, Naruto sleeps with his head on her bed. She smiles then, and cries silently because she can still remember everything that happened in-between her life here and away.
"You're awake." Kakashi speaks, and it's then that she realizes her hand is caught in his. She sobs into his chest as quietly as she can and thanks god that he doesn't ask questions. She doesn't want to relive it just then. He looks pale, and sickly still. But he's alive, and she's relieved to find him by her side.
"You came for me." She says into the curve of his neck and wishes she couldn't remember what it was like to place her face exactly there on Itachi on her first day of capture.
"Of course I did." His fingers mix with her hair, and she's reminded just how much he reminds her of a father. She feels safe and protected in the circle of his arms. They stay like that until there is a stirring by her feet and she hears Naruto climb into her bed next to her.
She doesn't complain as his arms pull her from one strong chest to another. Kakashi surrenders her hand, after one last squeeze and she wraps herself around Naruto. He strokes her hair like a brother would and doesn't complain when she cries all over him.
The next few days all blur together as she's released, and debriefed by Tsunade and Shizune. She tells them, through torrents of tears what it was like to live like a murder and become one. She tells them about the people she killed, and the ones she didn't save. She tells them about how she killed Itachi and Kisame and they say she's done well. She's not sure she believes them.
Then Tsunade dismisses her and she returns home to an empty apartment and has nightmares of Sasuke coming back to kill her. She tosses in her sleep as she apologizes for stealing his chance at vengeance. She doesn't notice the cold black eyes that watch through her window at night and disappear with the rising sun. She doesn't know how close her dreams have come to being fulfilled.
She'll never see Sasuke again, but as she's called in for a check up a month later, she's glad he's gone.
Tsunade holds her hand and asks her if Itachi did things to her. Sakura twists her fingers and pretends she doesn't understand. But Tsunade just sighs and says she's sorry before she hands Sakura a manila folder and leaves the room.
The papers fall from her shaking hands as she crashes to the tile floor and shatters her kneecaps. But she doesn't care, because the only thing she can feel is the extra heartbeat coming from somewhere in her body and the cold, tile under her palms.
Two Months Pregnant
She throws up blood, as if she could purge the extra life in her belly like that. She doesn't want it in her. She thinks can feel the monster move, even though it's all in her imagination. She wants to tear it out with a blade, but she can't.
So, eventually, she goes home and builds a nursery for the spawn of the man who stole her virginity. She works at the flower shop and ignores the strange looks she gets as her stomach swells and bulges.
She loves it, because it's a part of her and hates it, because it's a part of him.
She names the little girl Saika and rocks her to sleep with tales about the great Uchiha blood that flows in her veins. She tells her daughter that her father named her because she was so beautiful he 'mistook' her for an angel. Sakura shows her the kodachi her father left behind and pretends that the Uchiha name her daughter has adopted belongs to someone else.
Saika grows strong, and gets her first sharingan at five. She graduates from the academy when she's only nine. She is made chuunin when she's eleven and jounin when she's thirteen. She's a member of ANBU at fifteen and a captain at seventeen.
She visits her father's name at the memorial stone, and learns why her mother still cries at night, all alone. She used to think it was because she missed her father when she was small. And she would pretend that her parents were so in love, that when her mother was taken from him, he died of grieve. But it was a little boy, with bright blond hair and strange white eyes whose three years younger who told her what her father really was.
Her stepfather, Kakashi; and her sensei, Shikamaru are the ones who told her the whole sad story when she became a chuunin. She cried herself to sleep that night and ran away to the dilapidated Uchiha shrine. That was when she discovered the loose floor board and the secret that tore her clan apart.
She doesn't resent her mother for remarrying anymore but she always wonders if they really loved each other. She thinks that Kakashi probably did it to protect her mother more than anything. And her poor mother, broken and exposed accepted her former sensei's proposal just so she wouldn't be alone anymore. Saika accepts this as she gets older and trains hard to become a powerful shinobi. She makes it her mission to prove to Konoha that her Uchiha blood isn't cursed. She will be successful.
Someday, Saika will become the Hokage, after the Sixth has passed on. Naruto-sama is loved by the entire village and always treats her like his own daughter. She has a happy life, despite never falling in love or having children. And when she dies, in her seventies, surrounded by her village and the next appointed Hokage, Aburame Shinta (whose grandmother was best friends with her mother) – she's happy.
Footnotes:
Saikaga-ru means 'Mistaken Girl' - obviously.
Sakura marries Kakashi... but it's NOT in a romatic way. She needed someone to take care of her, and he has no one else either. It's a relationship of necessity, not love or attraction.
Saika, Itachi and Sakura's daughter, becomes the seventh Hokage.
The little boy who tells her about Itachi is Naruto and Hinata's son.
And the next Hokage after Saika is Ino and Shino's grandson.
I think that covers it all, if you have any more questions, just let me know. But hopefully this should all make sense.