Author's note: As I said in the description, there's character death in here. As much as it pains me to have to write the death of one of my favorite characters, when inspiration strikes I don't have much of a choice. My brain is a simple thing, you see, and things get stuck in there easily. Like that freaking song about lady lumps. Reviews and constructive criticism are very much welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever owned Naruto or anything associated with it. Damn it. That doesn't mean that I won't some day in the future. Whenever the CIA stops watching me.

His hands were like ice next to the warmth of hers. Fitting really, considering the differences in them. For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, he couldn't help but think how unworthy he was to even have the chance to touch her anymore. Only she had welcomed him back to the village with open arms without asking questions, without hounding his footsteps for answers about what he had done while he was away. He in turn, found himself spending more time with her, and eventually moving into her apartment. She'd held his hand as he walked along the path of the self-induced darkness that he'd damned himself with, providing just enough light for him to slip past the night-prowling demons that lurked somewhere in the shadowy corners of his mind. She was his sanity, his promise of redemption, and the only one he could ever count on to stop him from drowning in his guilt. She was his personal pink-haired savior.

It was ironic, really, that he had once thought of her as the pathetically submissive altruist of Team Seven, and in all of his arrogant glory, made a point to be her protector just to show her she couldn't do it alone. She couldn't fight off her emotions in battle because she was definately not ninja material. And now it was her protecting him from an invisible hunter that he simply couldn't escape; she was protecting him from himself.

Years ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of the pretty pink-haired kunoichi protecting him from anything, much less an enemy even he couldn't handle. He couldn't have imagined himself put in a postion where his emotions would take over. No, all he cared about was getting strong enough to murder his brother, and in a mindset like that, he didn't have time for such petty things as emotions. Aside from anger, of course. Now, though his expressions and carefully chosen words never showed it, he clung to her like a child who'd discovered the shadows in his closet were living and breathing.

He didn't deserve it, especially not from her. She was so pure and innocent and good, and he had ruthlessly attacked hundreds of men, women and children purely for the sake of achieving the mindless goal of becoming stronger than Itachi. Perhaps if he would have paused and thought for a minute before running off to Orochimaru, he would have realised that there was more to true strength than being able to kill anyone at any given time with nothing but his bare hands.

His onyx eyes fell into focus on the strong hand that Sakura held in her own, misleadingly dainty one.

His hands disgusted him.

They were spotlessly clean from hours of obsessive scrubbing, and he had long since lost the feeling in his fingertips from cutting his nails to nothing more than nubs in an attempt to clean away the blood. There was so much blood on his hands, and what frustrated him the most was no one could see it but him. Again and again he had woken in the middle of the night, sweating and screaming amidst the tangled sheets. If it weren't for being wrapped up like a mummy from all of his tossing and turning, he would have vaulted out of the bed to scrub away the imaginary blood that was dripping from his fingers. And again and again, Sakura had held him against her chest, those dainty, clean fingers stroking his hair as she murmered comforting, nonsensical words in his ear. Eventually, he'd fall asleep in the warm circle of her arms, too ashamed of himself to even meet her worried glances and let her know that he was okay.

Even if he told her that, she wouldn't believe him anymore. Sakura knew he was a disturbed man but had still taken everything in stride, with a smile on her face at all times, no less. It puzzled him that she never seemed to grow tired of comforting him when all she got for it was the priviledge of holding his hand in public. He couldn't quite bring himself to voice the thoughts that played in his head over and over again; the apologies he would like to give her, the reassurances that one day he would do the same for her, and the promise that he wouldn't let his pride get in the way of them anymore.

Most of all, he would like to tell her that what had destroyed him in the past was just that; a thing of the past.

But even this day, over a year later, he could remember those life-altering moments quite vividly. Unbidden, images flooded into his mind:

A triumphant noise escaped Sasuke's throat in a shout that echoed through the stone walls of the Uchiha Hideout. He had finally bested him. There was crimson everywhere. Blood. So much of it. It covered him from head to toe from the wound in his brother's chest, despite the fact that his sword was still protruding from the taller man's back, staunching the flow somewhat. A surpised, gurgling sound fell from his brother's lips and he stumbled backwards, his violet-nailed fingers clutching at the hilt of the sword. With no more complaint at his postition than a grunt, Itachi collapsed to the ground, dragging Sasuke painfully to his knees beside him. His heart wrenched at the sight of his older sibling lying there, avoiding moving for the pain it caused.

Wait. There was something wrong here. Wasn't it supposed to feel good that he had destroyed the reason for his miserable existance after such a long time of waiting? Wasn't he supposed to be beside himself with glee at his brother's pain? His eyes widened as he stared at the wound he had inflicted with his own sword, willing it to heal by some miracle so he could ask Itachi what exactly went wrong there. After all, big brothers are always supposed to know best, right?

But it wasn't healing. Itachi's breathing was slowing, and with every exhale a fair amount of blood was trickling from his lips to pool under the collar of his cloak. God, he felt so dirty. He numbly noted his own ragged breathing as he withdrew the sword from Itachi's chest with a sick, squelching sound. It wasn't fair that he had been denied that moment of glory he had dreamed about since Itachi had slaughtered his entire clan. It seemed so wrong that everything he had hoped for in this moment had turned out to be something he had only imagined.

A cough sounded from Itachi, and Sasuke managed to look up from the wound, only to notice the first smile he had seen on his brother's lips in a long time. His insides squirmed with guilt. "You've gotten strong, little brother. I'm proud." His normally deep, toneless voice held some hint of emotion that he couldn't quite distinquish. Slowly, Itachi reached out his violently trembling hand and Sasuke flinched, screwing his eyes shut tightly against whatever pain his brother had saved for his last moments. He prayed that whatever it was would make him angry enough to stop the guilt that was slowly consuming him.

He was disappointed once again. A sharp, stinging pain formed at his forehead where Itachi had poked him with his fore and middle fingers, a gesture Sasuke vividly remembered from his childhood. Unconsciously, his own hand rose to rub away the stinging sensation, and his eyes opened once again to find Itachi's hand falling limply at his side, every last once of energy he had spent. One loud, rattling cough forced itself from his brother's chest and finally, he went still, the eyes that had once haunted Sasuke's dreams glazed over with death.

He couldn't tear his gaze away from that damned smile on his brother's lips.

Slowly, he reached foreward a trembling hand and gently lowered Itachi's eyelids. With his eyes closed, it almost looked like his brother was merely resting peacefully after a long, tiring mission.

Cupping Itachi's still-warm cheek in his palm, Sasuke looked at the contrast of his own bloodstained hands against Itachi's fair skin. It was then that it struck him like a bolt of lightening; he was a monster. Twice the monster his brother had been. His crimes had been borne of such a despicable thing as veangfulness and had cursed him in the end. All at once, every face of every person he had murdered for this moment swam before his vision, and in the center was that that of Itachi, smiling up at him even in death. He knew Itachi wanted it to be like this somewhere in the corners of his mind, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he had just made one of the most horrible mistakes of his life. An empty, bitter laugh fell from his lips as he stared at the calm face of the man he had just murdered. Leave it to Itachi to make sure he went out making someone's life miserable, even if he didn't mean to.

Wearily, he lifted his bloodied hands to wipe away the tears he handn't even known he was crying. He was tired. So tired. He just wanted to go back home and sleep.

Sasuke's limbs felt heavy, but still he stood to his feet, arranging his features in a perfect mask of indifference. "I didn't want it to be like this." He whispered to Itachi's corpse over his shoulder as he turned away, taking a small step away from the scene. So intent was he on forcing himself to keep moving and not collapse in a pathetic, sobbing heap that he didn't notice the remains of his sanity slipping through his fingers.

"Sasuke?"

Sasuke blinked at the sound of the soft voice invading his thoughts, and just like that, he was released once again from the bonds of the memories he'd chained himself to. He looked up at her concerned face and lifted a hand to cup her cheek, just as he had done for Itachi a year ago. "Are you alright?" She asked softly as her own hand rose to cover his, her fingers tightening around his as though she was anchoring him firmly to reality.

And really, she was.

"I love you."

He breathed the words, not even daring to blink lest he miss some of the emotion that was now written clearly in her expressive viridian eyes. Her gaze softened as she took a step closer, bringing her body so close to his that he could feel the warmth radiating off of her. Her lips hovered inches from his and she held his gaze, a gentle smile forming at the corners of her lips. "And I love you. I always will."

She always knew how to keep him breathing.

And she kissed him. For that second in time, everything melted away. All troubles, fears, doubts and cares were swept away in the heady, intoxicating rush that followed. He lived for these moments of comfort that he could only find with her, for those few seconds that his mind was at ease. And God help him, if he ever lost her, his life would hardly be worth living.

"Let's go home." Sakura smiled as she pulled away, lacing his fingers with hers and giving his arm a gentle tug to get him moving despite his protest at such treatment. Even so, when she turned and smiled at him over her shoulder, he couldn't help but return it wholeheartedly.

Home. Somewhere he belonged. It was nice to have that again.