Notes: The only clearly mentioned pairing in what I have written so far is Sakura x Sasuke. That is not to say that this is the final pairing, or that there will be more pairings, or that there will be less. Please bear with the slow beginning; I promise that by the end of the first chapter the plot will deviate from the one or two expected clichés that occur in "Sakura meets Itachi" stories.
Follows canon, except when it doesn't. (Where it disagrees, it's pretty obvious.) Written before Naruto Shippuuden, so I will be taking what I want from canon after the timeskip.
Disclaimer: No one owns anything here. (And a side nod to Gladiator; I stole the motto.)
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Truth, justice, honor...none of that's worth shit. What matters is people, and people aren't honest or just or honorable. They're petty and they're angry and they're afraid, and all anyone really wants, deep down, is to be wanted. And what's truth to that? -M. Clark
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The tattoo which a jounin acquires on becoming ANBU is not just meaningless vanity. The intertwined designs of dark red represent the two-part creed of Konoha's elite force: Strength and Honor.
"Hurry up, woman," the man snapped – not the man that Sakura was treating, but her patient's companion. Tearing her eyes away from the ANBU tattoo on the man's shoulder, the kunoichi shook her head. The blue glow faded from her hands.
"It's no good. I can't heal him out here."
"And why the hell not?"
She controlled herself, trying to remember that the man behind her, regardless of how deeply unconscious his companion, was dangerous in his own right. "First of all, it's a third-degree ninjutsu combination wound. I have no indication of how stable his mind is – whether he's able to endure extended surgery anyway, or –"
"He is." The man's voice was rough with irritation and perhaps (although he might never admit to it) a tinge of anxiety. At her raised eyebrow, he said, "Just go by what I say."
"Then I need to operate on him on bare ground, where I can write out the seals. This –" Sakura gestured at the grassy terrain fringed with trees in the distance, " – won't do."
"That's it?"
"…Yes, that's it."
The man bent down and scooped up his unresponsive comrade, slinging him over a shoulder, his other hand never releasing his weapon. So it was true that no matter how stoic or lonesome you started out as a fighter, most people ended up guarding their comrades fiercely. Sakura led the way this time, striding past the rustling grass, aware of every move her companion made. They halted at a bare field, once used by a farmer that had abandoned the infertile soil. Sakura ran out of excuses then, and so began her work.
It was a deep blue sky pinned up by a scattered handful of white stars that she looked up to see after mending the last scorched tissue. The man had taken the better part of the day just to bring her to the patient, and she'd only really started healing the unconscious one in the early evening. Sakura was sure she had broken her own personal record at the rate she'd worked. The thought would have made anyone feel a little self-satisfied.
Apparently, it had no such effect on the man. "Why isn't he waking?"
For someone who was so strong his chakra signature registered from 200 meters, he sure was ignorant. "Healing through this kind of set-up uses some chakra from both the performer of the technique and the recipient. He needs time to recover."
"Then why didn't you use another method?"
"This one's faster."
He had nothing to say for a moment. Then, "How long?"
"Three weeks on average; for him, and with the right medication, maybe two." It was almost – hell, it was a ridiculous estimate. There was still so much work to be done on the face. "There's the usual type of medicinal treatment you can give him to shorten the time between now and his waking hours, and –"
"Give me your hand."
She stiffened. "Excuse me?"
The man repeated his command, staring down at her with his strange yellow eyes. Sakura held his glare without flinching. At last, he said, "You may be stronger than I give you credit for, woman, but don't think the result will be any different. Do it now, and it'll be a lot less painful for you."
She held out her arm, the right one. Immediately after, she regretted it and started to raise her left arm instead, but the man had already grabbed the right one and …was he slipping a ring on her finger?
You must be joking.
He released her arm and she pulled back. "You'll see to it that he's fully restored to working condition. Don't try anything or think of escaping – you're bound to us now." The man picked up his huge sword and his comrade with the ANBU tattoo, slinging him over his shoulder. Sakura hesitated to follow, even though she knew she no longer had much choice. And she'd willingly walked into this bondage.
For many nights after that she wondered why. Even if someone had asked Sakura then, she could not have explained why she had agreed to a criminal's demand and healed the man called Uchiha Itachi.
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At the beginning, though, she hadn't even known her patient was an Uchiha, let alone….Itachi. She'd woken up that morning with a burden already.
It had been the first anniversary, to the day, of the night on which Sasuke had left for the second time. She remembered that day as one where most of the events ran together without distinction, with only the last standing out with any clarity.
Two and a half years ago, the Konoha guard patrolling the village borders found Sasuke's battered body near a gate – the one on the abandoned end of Konoha which the Uchiha clan had once occupied. Sakura's former teammate had been near death from blood loss. A vicious slash ran down the length of his left side, as if his opponent had intended to fillet him; the corresponding arm had been all but wrenched off the rest of the body. It had taken Sakura all her willpower not to scream.
The Uchiha recovered over the course of several months, which was remarkable if one took in the shape he had arrived in. By the third month, Sasuke had woken once or twice, sometimes even attempting to sit up or shove food or assistance away.
Naruto had not been as quick to forgive Sasuke as Sakura, and – because the Uchiha had few real friends even back in the golden days of Team Seven – for long, quiet hours it was just the two of them, the kunoichi and the silent patient who refused to look at her. During those days, Sakura struggled to hold in all her questions, her concern. Outside the infirmary wing, the buzz about Konoha's prodigal son died down from lack of fresh fodder. One day in early summer, the Godaime sent a nurse to summon Sakura from her vigil, presumably to reprimand her for neglecting her duties.
As the nurse began to shut the door behind them, Sasuke could be heard asking, "Why is it so important that she leaves?"
The woman had snapped, "Because there are people other than you who need the Leaf's best healer. Tsunade-hime cannot see to everyone herself, and you're obviously not doing anything for each other!"
It had taken Sakura a while to find out why everyone used to shun Naruto, but only that woman's retort to show her that Sasuke was now pretty much despised in the same way. The following morning she returned to his room with flowers from the Yamanaka shop.
"I'm sorry about what the nurse said the other day." Sasuke's dark eyes were looking past her through the window, where gentle sunlight illuminated the houses and buildings of Konoha.
"Is it –" His expression flickered for a moment "- is it true that you are the Leaf's best healer, as she said?"
For some reason, the way in which he finally acknowledged her stung. "I…can't stay here all day anymore, Sasuke. I brought you flowers. You'll have something new to look at, ne."
She arranged the flowers by their slender stems in a vase as Ino had recommended and started to leave, when a hand caught her wrist. For a brief moment, it held her in place.
"Thank you, Sakura."
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The weeks leading up to Sasuke's full recovery passed like a dream. She remembered taking even more time off to argue against the permanent closing of his tenketsu, saying – as coldly and impersonally as possible – that to do so would destroy the only way the Uchiha could give anything back to Konoha in public service. Backed by everyone from her graduating class (no matter how reluctant they had been initially), she convinced the village council to allow Sasuke a probation period.
For that one year, Sakura devoted her time to relearning who Uchiha Sasuke was.
The first day he could leave the hospital, Sakura walked him home, leaving only after lunch. She learned that Sasuke liked to eat tomatoes, and could make the most perfect riceballs she had ever seen. The day after that, she visited Sasuke with notices from the Godaime and an update on the village news, also staying for lunch. She also learned that riceballs were the only thing Sasuke could make.
The third day, Sakura brought dango and learned that Sasuke hated sweet things. On the fourth, she gave up and invited him to lunch at Ichiraku's.
Not many people walked up to them to talk when Sasuke was there. One or two greeted Sakura, remembering her from some past community service or for tending their injuries. On one occasion a cocky civilian sauntered up to the two as they were eating at the stand and said that if the "jou-chan" here ever stopped wasting her time in that dreg of humanity, they could –
He never finished that sentence, and the two of them resumed eating. Not that Sakura could help smirking a little at Sasuke's fleeting expression of alarm.
They spent several days' lunches eating in companionable silence at the booth. But the second time that Sakura saw a familiar, blond-headed, whiskered face head their way and abruptly change direction, she felt that it was time for a talk. She knew that Sasuke must have noticed Naruto, having learnt in her career to interpret every muscle's twitch or fluctuation of chakra. She'd heard from her teammate – in the Uchiha's absence – that Sasuke had confessed to have considered Naruto as the best friend he had ever known the first time he'd left.
Even as he'd been trying to kill him.
Before the entrance to Sasuke's house, Sakura spoke. "Sasuke."
He half-turned, about to slide the door open. "What is it?"
Breathe in, exhale. "I think you should talk to Naruto." She watched Sasuke's shoulders rise and fall gently as he took a calming breath, just as she had moments ago. When he said nothing, she said, in a more definite voice, "As in, apologize."
Sasuke glanced away. Watching him, Sakura thought that shinobi shouldn't have lashes like the ones he had; lashes that shadowed already haunted eyes. Attractiveness aside, the man before her exuded a powerful aura of sadness.
"– I'm sorry."
Sakura promptly blushed, trying and failing to stop it from showing. "No, you don't have to say it to me, I…" It was her turn to avert her eyes. "I don't need it." Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, so she dared to glance up in the silence.
Tormented dark eyes met hers. She struggled, and finally broke free of his gaze to stare, unfocused, at the street of empty homes and ghost shops. Even when you mattered to me..."I was never anyone who mattered to you."
And suddenly, she was enveloped in a hug of startling gentleness. Everything she had been planning to say left her. A quiet voice spoke into her hair.
"This was four years overdue."
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As Sakura fell in love all over again, Sasuke managed to return to civil terms with most of his graduating class and earn the right to regain the usage of his chakra. Naruto no longer actively avoided him, but when other women began to notice the Uchiha again, he only had eyes for a pink-haired kunoichi. Still, she should have known enough about Sasuke to expect what happened less than six months after his probation ended.
He was only this sweet before he hurt those who loved him.
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No use thinking about it now.
"Woman, go buy those herbs you said you needed."
Reflex alone helped her catch the jingling wallet. The air was crisp and chilly, and she wondered whether the man even felt the cold. "We should spend the night at an inn. Your comrade will catch a cold, and it's more convenient if we're in town." Sakura gave the criminal time to think it over, not moving from her perch on the rock.
"Fine. Let's go."
The inn the man chose was average, just within the bounds of decency. The receptionist blinked when they walked up to her desk and asked for their names.
"Sakura of Konohagakure." The woman made a note in her book.
"And your companion?"
"Kisame," was the brusque answer. He dealt with the rest of the arrangements, and the woman soon placed a key and two cards on the desk. "Room twenty-four." Leading the way like he'd been there before, Kisame located the room, unlocked the door, and gave Sakura just enough time to clear the doorway before closing it. He dumped the unconscious man onto one of the futons without ceremony.
"That was smart, concealing the body," said Sakura, having observed how doing so had prevented some unnecessary questions. She dawdled by a decorated screen standing to the side.
The man glared. "I don't need your comments. Now fetch the herbs."
"He doesn't need them at once. Right now, rest should take priority. May I have your permission to wash up?" The card passes to the hot springs downstairs had not escaped her.
Kisame grunted, then tossed one of the cards at her. On the way out, Sakura heard him mutter.
"…The bother I go through for you."
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"Sasuke, please wake up soon."
"I don't know if you remember, but…."
"Promise me that you'll never leave again…I won't even ask you about what you did, if you don't want to talk about it. Just wake up."
Her voice swam in his head, echoing strangely in Sasuke's ears as it said words he wasn't sure she ever had. "Because what you did in the past doesn't matter…you can change. I forgive you. Please forgive yourself."
"I love you."
Sasuke sat up in the lumpy bed, eyelids flicking upwards to reveal Sharingan red. But for all that those eyes could see through every illusion and he stared straight at the closed door of his rented room, he didn't see anything except a woman with mournful green eyes.
He wondered if she would ever know how many nights he'd woken to the touch of her hand on his face, only to find that she wasn't there.
Now he forced himself to get up. His mind argued, You fool, there's nothing left for you to wake for. You've had your revenge.
That didn't count, Sasuke wanted to say. It was meaningless. He had replayed it in his head more times than he could count, but the hollowness he'd thought it would fill refused to disappear.
The other man with the sword, the one with whom Itachi traveled, had not been there. Sasuke had taken his chance when he could. Maybe the surprise of seeing his brother alive had made Itachi pause long enough for Sasuke to plunge his hand, burning with chakra that pierced the air with the sound of a thousand birds, into his brother's torso.
He remembered: Itachi's whole upper body and most of that side of his face eaten to the bone by the blow. Itachi, recognizable only to those who knew exactly how he had once looked, against the shattered trunk of a tree. Itachi, with his eyes closed, seeming indifferent.
It may have appeared otherwise, but there was no way in heaven or hell that Itachi had died with a satisfied smile.
The point was, Itachi could not be anything other than dead, because even if his shark-impressionistic friend found him, there was no medic-nin with skill enough to heal him in time, with the possible exception of Sakura…and she was a kunoichi of Konoha, honorable and loyal to the end. She could have joined ANBU, he knew, or made something more of herself. Instead, she'd become a healer, just so that she could be there for him when he returned.
Correction: had returned. Then left again.
Now there was no reason why he was still so far from home. He owed it to her to be executed formally, because surely that was how a betrayer twice-over was welcomed.
Going home to die was the last duty he needed to fulfill. The thought gave him a bizarre feeling of peace, even closure. The only thing left in this life to fear would be that a certain pair of green eyes would no longer look at him with compassion, only cold detachment.
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Her patient's condition was improving at last, after all the reconstruction she'd been doing for the past two weeks. Kisame had moved them from one inn to another in three day intervals to prevent tracking. Sakura found it strange; surely to just head for an Akatsuki stronghold would be the safest way. Who would care if she discovered its location? It was a given that she would be disposed of after her job was done.
Sakura began to see more of her patient's face with each session. Sculpted cheekbones emerged from a face made angular from lack of solid food – he'd been living off chakra that Sakura helped channel from Kisame – and dark, aristocratic brows arched over his eyes.
He was a lucky one to have taken a hit that fractured his face and shattered half of his torso, and still retain perfectly intact eyes, not to mention survive at all. The more Sakura worked on his face, the heavier the sinking feeling in her stomach became. At first, she convinced herself that she was doing it subconsciously, giving the Akatsuki a face resembling the one she thought of almost daily. Soon, however, she had to admit to herself that the facial features, matching so well with those in her mind's eye, must be more than coincidence.
Aside from a few minor discrepancies, the man was the spitting image of Sasuke or, at the very least, an Uchiha.
So it was, that particular morning on which she could no longer lie to herself, not entirely a surprise when Sakura returned her attention to her patient and found that she was being watched by a man she had faced across a battlefield three years ago.
"Where am I?"
Itachi's voice was just as she remembered: velvet, low, and deceptively soft.
"Be quiet and sit back down so that I can finish this." She couldn't believe she'd agreed to this task. What am I going to do with you, Sakura? Stupidest of all the unremarkable, unmemorable Harunos.
But the Uchiha out-waited her with his three-comma crimson eyes, until she snapped for fear (and guilt for that fear) of the commas becoming pinwheels, "I'm sure you can ask your fish friend later."
Thankfully, Itachi did not say another word as she frustrated herself for another two hours. She had tried to plant foreign objects in his body before – something like tags or time bombs – but it would bother her conscience, as a healer, until she took it out. And that had been when the Uchiha was unconscious. These wasted opportunities kept occurring to her as she worked.
Her patient had the unfortunate manner of asking her questions like an ANBU captain expecting a quick, concise report from his subordinate. "Sakura, who brought you here?"
For Kami-sama's sake. She would have rolled her eyes a year ago, but the intervening twelve months had driven out any inclination to disturb her facial (or ocular) muscles into forgotten expressions, and most of such childishness had left her since her initiation into ANBU. Even now, she felt the instinctive urge to respond, snap to attention, and rattle off a thirty-word report, if not for the self-taught mantra all ninja knew –
Never offer information to an enemy.
The best option was to refrain from speaking at all.
Moments later, this was forgotten. "You are in no condition to get up. Sit down!"
Itachi gave her a bemused, contemptuous look in reply. Apparently he was in a condition to get up, for he did so without suffering any side effects, making his way to the old-fashioned, circular window of the room.
She knew the other Akatsuki would be back soon, for every other day she channeled chakra from Kisame's inexhaustible reserves into Itachi. The other man would not know his partner was lucid now and needed food. Sure enough, Kisame turned up within the same half-hour.
He brought a parceled lunch for Sakura, which he deposited on the low table near her when he saw his comrade standing at the window.
Itachi had been eying the huge, bandaged sword leaned against the wall in a corner of the room. Now Sakura watched the dynamics between the two Akatsuki: how the Uchiha took in the black-cloaked, tall form of Kisame without betraying any hint of his thoughts.
"You eat, and then we can leave," Kisame said, assuming his role as it must have been before his partner's injury.
"And the girl."
The former Mist-nin shrugged. "Pity about that talent, but there's nothing else to be done." Sakura stiffened; was ignored by the men. She vowed to at least take down the Uchiha – having carefully left some gaps in the healing of his body, there were some advantages available to her. Then she would blast a hole out the other wall if they guarded the window…
Tsunade-shishou taught me more than healing, after all. And it wasn't like she hadn't fought the Akatsuki before, even if this time around, death was a much stronger certainty.
She hadn't noticed Itachi ask to be alone until Kisame closed the door and the lock clicked. So Itachi wanted to dispose of her personally – she tensed, hands close together as her mind picked a technique to execute. The man faced her, a silhouette against the light from the window. He slid one foot forward; eyes of purest green narrowed….
He didn't spring a trap or make hand seals. "Sakura," his voice again, very low – "who is that man?"
It was no use, she was already off-guard. "What?"
"You heard me."
And he still made no move to attack.
"Kisame? He's your partner-in-crime, your fellow missing-nin of the Akatsuki!"
"…What crimes?"
Sakura coughed, fighting the hysterical laughter that was creeping into her voice. "How the hell," she said, "do you expect I should know all of them?"
"And the Akatsuki – what organization is that?"
The soft query shocked Sakura more than anything else he had said so far. No; it was too good, too convenient for her, to be true. "You can't be serious! If you don't remember anything how do you know my name?" This last in a scream she threw at the man and the sunlight. Everything had suddenly become strange and unreal.
Unreadable red eyes darkened. The black dilated, seeping from the pupil to turn irises a deep brown so dark they could be black.
"I remember…some things. I have seen you and heard someone call to you before. Your mother and father are civilians. The last time I saw you, you were eight or nine years old."
"And the massacre?" She watched closely for his reaction.
The calm façade wavered for a fraction of a second.
"What massacre?"
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TBC