A/N: This was written a few years ago, and so by its own merit, becomes AU. Still, a view of how things could have been.
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Thank you.
How curious, that these words which should have haunted her gave her strength. Sakura cracked her knuckles, leaning against the doorframe. Tsunade was bent over her desk, frowning at something she was reading. Shizune coughed, but the Fifth ignored the subtle hint until it sounded as if Shizune was "politely" suffering from bronchitis.
"Have you seen a doctor about that chest cold you seemed to have developed, Shizune?" Tsunade looked up, her brown eyes passing over her friend and consort of sorts to rest on Sakura. Ah. It was time then. She closed her eyes, sighing internally as she heaved to her feet. Tsunade rarely felt her age. This morning she hadn't been able to shake the cold from her bones. She frowned. She hadn't even hit eighty, yet. She was too young for aches.
Then again, she pondered, regarding her student (No, former, her former student) with impassive eyes, were you ever really too young? Aches and pains were part of living.
Or at least of being human.
They exchanged nods, the briefest, barest inclinations of their heads speaking volumes. Shizune understood, and stood silent. There was change in the air this morning. It was solemn, weighing down on everyone's shoulders. The unspoken contracts, the promises. Even the uncried tears. Idly, the young woman wondered if those tears would ever be shed.
Yes, she decided, they would. Maybe not now. Eventually.
Sakura had always been strong enough to cry.
Master and apprentice, as equals, perhaps more, walked the strangely quiet streets of Konoha. Everyone knew the barest of the facts. There had been an attempted coupe. It had been foiled, and not everyone was happy. They never was, but now their bitter complaints seemed to still on their lips as the second piece of information stilled their restlessness.
A missing one had returned.
Another one, but special. Different. Uchiha.
Tsunade only paused briefly on the threshold of the containment cavern to look at Sakura, searching her face. One last chance to say no. "I will understand."
Green eyes flashed, not in annoyance, nor anger. Just a simple understanding. Sakura smiled, a strained, honest smile, and shook her head. "I made up my mind the day I walked into your office and demanded to be your apprentice." Steel beneath the silk, she was. Tsunade understood.
Sakura led them in, past the seals and boundaries, the locks, keys, guards. She was frightened, but she embraced the fear. She was sad, but she allowed it ebb and flow, eddy around her heart and then move on. She would protect those she cared for, despite themselves. Naruto lay safely recovered in his bed, knocked out on this morning. It was the first unforgivable atrocity she'd committed this morning.
She stared at the silent, accusatory form in the middle of the torch-lit room. Here would be her second. Sakura felt her mentor's warmth behind her, silently thankful she was not alone. She wouldn't have been able to bear this totalitarian silence, alone.
"Hello, Sasuke-kun." She used the familiar suffix, inhaling deeply. "I hope you've been treated well." She moved closer, unable to see his eyes. He was blindfolded, but not blind. His head tracked her movement around the room, honing in on her ever foot-fall. She came close, squatting down to eye the bandages covering his chest, arms, and legs. Clean. Tsunade had been thorough in her work.
Had she expected any less?
He moved, but not well. The restraints riddling his body kept him mostly immobile. She tilted her head to the side. His bedpan was full. She reached for it, feeling the disgust, the abhorrence Sasuke held for this, for here, for her as she did so. He calmly flung himself at her, attempting an attack. It was so much like the boy she had once know. Only this time, she was his target.
One hand stopped him, gently. "No," she said, forcing him to stillness. She fought the urge to draw him close, hold him to her stomach, run her fingers through his hair. She didn't know this man. She knew him, knew him, but didn't know him.
Sakura was here on business first. Later, perhaps, it would be different. If.
If.
Tsunade was ready. Sakura knew it, letting go of Sasuke. One of the shadows along the wall moved. Shikaku. Shikamaru's father. Sakura nodded to him. He was key in keeping Sasuke still while Sakura and Tsunade worked.
Sakura felt his immboility, his frustration, his bubbling anger. She empathized. There was no pity. She had never pitied him. She never would. She was well aware of his faults, but she would never debase him by pitying him for those faults. Beside her, Tsunade mumbled some small word, meaning to catch her attention. Sakura jerked, looking at her mentor. A wooden bowl, filled with the gelatinous liquid Sakura had prepared the day before, rested in her sure hands.
Only one thing left. Sakura slid her kunai out of it's holding place, knowing Sasuke followed the movement with deadly accuracy. He would think it was for him? No. He knew better. She knew better, pressing the tip into her flesh and restraining her flinch as she cut across her palm. It stung, but the blood that fell from her clenched fist to the bowl sizzled and sighed. Instinctively, she knew when it was enough. Sakura began to heal herself, then paused. She would be better served conserving chakra.
Tsunade took her hand, tracing the thin red line with one finger, the warm glow of life mending the flesh.
Now it was Sakura's show, alone. Tsuande was here to steady her, provide unspoken support. The job, the responsibility, lay on Sakura's shoulders. She'd asked for it, demanded, recieved. As she etched and painted the elaborate symbols into the ground around Sasuke, she felt the weight of his hooded gaze. He was a falcon, waiting until light reached his eyes to move. His eyes - those dangerous eyes.
She touched his back, fingers tracing the bandages. It was regrettable. Sakura hated to chance infection, but this was necessary. Shikaku held him firm.
A displaced tenderness followed Sakura's hands as she unwound the linen wraps. Habit had her rolling them as she went, strong hands tempered by feelings grown only more intense with time.
She would protect them. Even from themselves. This was the one thought, the one surety. As her fingertips passed over his lacerations, she noted their healthy, healing edge. He was recovering.
She was jeopardizing that.
She had to.
Sakura knew the thick almost-paint was cold to him. She was numb, but she could see the gooseflesh rise over his body as her fingers traced arcane lines and swirls. She could feel the tension, the struggle. Shikaku still held strong. Sakura was thankful, in a small part of her mind. The large part focused on the patterns, the symbols. Up and down his arms, across his chest, marching ants of color and purpose. Her ants, her legions.
Protect them. No matter what.
Her hand pressed down over the three dots that had haunted her dreams for as many years. They burned her palm, but it was only in her mind - the seal lay dormant, contained for now.
Sakura teased up the energy from the depths of her toes, regulating her chakra flow, pausing, collecting, pooling. He should know when it was coming. She allowed her power to brush against his rage, his inferno, in warning. She was coming. She was sorry. She was resolute.
Now.
The sudden, concentrated chakra drew the circle of characters spiraling up Sasuke with a blinding quickness, the seal glowing red hot then white as pain tore through Sakura, through Sasuke. Their screams mingled, entwined, birthed each other. She wanted to faint. He tried to. She couldn't allow him that darkness. The poison of evil was pooling around her hand and she couldn't allow Sasuke the ease of darkness.
Then it was over. Sakura sat panting, the pain a sharp ache up her arm, Sasuke panting beneath her hand, flinching away instinctively from the source of his agony. From her.
The second atrocity had ended.
She had no energy, no strength to move, yet still she did. Sasuke was barely conscious, too weak to hold himself up as Shikaku's bind freed him. Sakura caught him, steadied him, pulling his head on her lap. He offered no protest, curling up in a fetal position so reminiscent of earlier years, earlier events. Only now she was the reason. One hand clasped tightly with his, Sakura dared to hope. She brushed his feather-soft hair away from the base of his neck. A sick, twisted scar sat there, but nothing else. Her fingers ran over it lightly, unable to recognize at first. Then she did. She recognized, and her eyes blurred, tears trailing down her face to stain Sasuke's struggling one.
She'd dared it all, and won. She sobbed silently, witness to Sasuke's pain, her triumph. Tsunade remained silent. The watchers breathed out in relief and confusion.
Sakura tilted Sasuke's chin, regarding the profile only grown more handsome over the years. The blindfold hid his eyes from her, but it was a useless barrier to her now. She needed to feel him, run her fingers over the unfamiliar features that had thinned, changed with enroaching puberty. Fumbling, she tugged at the blindfold, teasing it down. Her free hand's thumb brushed over his closed eyes, and she bent over, giving him one last gift. Her cool lips touched his pasty forehead, and she willed the pain away. She willed him to sleep, feeling him fight her, feeling the rage slowly turn to dismay, then to recognition, then something else.
Thank you.
"Thank you," she whispered, knowing she had won, truly won, as the dimness set in. She treasured this last moment, Sasuke asleep in her arms. Sleeping, this time, unconscious, this time, because of her will.
She had protected him. And as she faced the third atrocity, accepting with a grace few would truly comprehend, she was glad. Sasuke had years of healing ahead of him, but she had finally been useful. For this time, this last time, she had not been the one needing to be protected. Even as Sasuke was taken from her, moved to the hands of the capable medical agents who would escort him to the hospital, Sakura felt the tears of joy threatening. Tsunade, at least, knew their source as she knelt next to her student.
"I did it," Sakura finally said, smiling. "I did."
And as Tsunade looked into Sakura's now blind eyes, she allowed the ghost of a smile to cross her lips. Youth was moronic, idealistic, and the only hope for this world. For the first time in years, Tsunade dared to dream.