Title: Subversive

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Maybe a little bit of language.

Date: 5/22/2011; 1:52a.m.

Soundtrack: What you've done to me(needtobreathe)

Setting: AU, modern universe.

"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more."

-Erica Jong

Monday

Their first meeting had not been an auspicious one. As far as any casual bystander would have concluded, the future of the pair was doomed for failure. Frankly, no one could be blamed for that belief. How often was it that one saw Uchiha Itachi, sprawled out on the street from a blow?

Admittedly, he had maybe been expecting the young woman who had barreled into him to stop. It would have made sense for him to conclude that the population at large would give him his space, negating the necessity for him to move out of someone's way. He was, after all, the Uchiha Itachi.

And she, he realized with a puzzled little frown, was none other than Haruno Sakura. Well. That was..unexpected.

Itachi had, of course, instantly recognized the young woman for the unruly mop of pink hair. While his previous acquaintance with her did not extend beyond a brief meeting (she had been associated with his foolish ototo then) Sakura's familiarity went beyond the pleasantries of the mandatory dinner with a significant other's family. (He, if he recalled correctly-and if one were honest, Itachi was never accused of a faulty memory-had managed to dodge the inauspicious occasion through work. As such, they had only been briefly introduced before he had taken his leave.)

She was renowned as a prodigy. In fact, it was her own reputation that might-at least, in her field-have stood par with his, in his own profession. Haruno-san had no equal other than her mentor, Tsunade-sama, when it came to the medical profession. While the young woman was renowned for her skills in any area of specialization, it had been quite the scandal in society when the brilliant young doctor, at the age of twenty three, had chosen to go into general pediatrics.
Wasted, her detractors cried! Such talent, such skill, was going into a general practitioner for children? She might have become the country's top brain surgeon! She could have been a cardiologist with skills enough to draw clientele from overseas! Yet, for all of this skill, she chose to waste it on children?

Those who had been privy to her decision process had been extremely limited, Itachi recalled. Even his brother had been taken aback-and even found reason to scorn her for it. Unsurprisingly, the tentative relationship that had been fostered through a mutual acquaintance faltered shortly thereafter.

Assessing everything he knew about the young woman-she would be twenty five now, he concluded, being five years younger than his own thirty-his dark eyes blinked slowly, still waiting for comprehension to slowly dawn in brilliant verdant eyes.

He would be waiting for a very, very long time.

. . . . .

Scrambling off of the rather...wait.
Reining in her wayward thought process, the woman generally addressed as Sakura-san in her workplace assessed her situation. She had been making a dash for the bus stop, endeavoring not to be late.
Of course, late was a relative term. It being fifteen past six in the morning meant that she wouldn't technically be expected at the hospital for nearly another two full hours. However, there was lab work she wanted to check up on and one case in particular had caught her attention. It couldn't hurt to get there early to look over the details to make certain the diagnosis had been correct.

It was in this wayward rush that Sakura had failed to realize that she was barreling into another individual. Slightly taller than average at her own mature'd height of five foot six (and only aided by the two and a half inch heels she was still determined to wear around work all day, despite the suffering her feet would endure for it) the man that she had crashed into was significantly taller. It was a surprise that she had been able to take him to the ground as well-but given the way his arms wrapped around her, ensuring that she didn't suffer so much as a scratch in the fall, perhaps she oughtn't to have been startled.

The stranger had put her own safety before his own. Physics-such as his own nearly six foot stature, or more solid weight, or even better balanced frame-could not compete.

. . . . .

He might have been imagining things, Itachi acknowledged, but as her green eyes blinked down at him in bewilderment, did a spark of recognition flicker in her gaze?

Perhaps not.

She apologetically offered him a hand once she had regained her feet-one that Itachi conspicuously did not take, as he elegantly came to his feet once more-before the extended appendage dropped limply to her side. Shifting uncomfortably, Sakura seemed...unsettled, he observed shrewdly. However, with a glance to her wrist, the woman bit her lip in irritation.

"I'm so terribly sorry about all of this," she said, genuinely upset over the incident. "But-and I'm so, so very sorry!-I have to go! If you were hurt, please, don't hesitate to see me! Haruno, at the Konoha General Hospital. They'll know where you can find me!"

It hadn't even been three minutes since he first laid eyes on her.
It was less than two since she had crashed into him.
And within thirty seconds of standing, the pink haired woman was gone, crossing the road as she lifted a hand to stymie a bus driver's impatient nature.

Itachi watched as she boarded the transportation, illuminated by the vehicle's interior lighting. She sat, as the engine groaned in protest and began motion again.

. . . . . . . . . .

Friday

In a grand art of understatement, Haruno Sakura was not expecting a rather large (large and looming her subconscious so helpfully supplied) figure leaning against the door frame to her office. She was in pediatrics', for goodness's sake. The tallest people that came in her department were fathers with their children! Even the doctors were...well. Small. She, in her two inch heels and slightly taller than average stature, managed to swan above her staff at the oh-so-grand altitude of five eight.

The man who was blocking (looming and a fire hazard to boot...) her door effortlessly destroyed any facade of an advantage that the young doctor had in terms of height.

"I'm sorry, how can I help you?"

Blinking blankly at the door, Sakura recognized the man. It was the one from the early morning collision, four days ago. After the first day had been completed without a sign of the dark haired man, she had breathed a little easier. When Tuesday passed and he didn't show, one might almost say she relaxed. Wednesday found her nearly giddy with joy at his absence, and Thursday meant the return to her normal routine. There would be no interruption to her mundane little world, there would be no foundation-shaking from that which she was comfortable with.
The Uchiha family had always been a little too good at that, she had thought with a wry smile.

And yet, here he was.

Friday found him in her doorway, looking for all the world as if he belonged there.

The startling realization bothered her. Frankly, it went deeper than bother. Unsettled to her very bones, Sakura fought to maintain her poise. Regarding him blankly, as if she couldn't possibly fathom what he was doing here (which wasn't too far of a stretch, given the doctor had absolutely no idea why he had deigned to invade her own personal kingdom) she simply smiled politely.

"Mr. -?"

. . . . .

Itachi could not, he mused as he looked on with studied patience, figure out which bothered him more. Either she genuinely didn't remember him, or that he couldn't catch whether or not this was all a fine piece of stagework to make him believe that she didn't recall who he was.
The dual blow to his ego was nearly insurmountable.

"Uchiha," he murmured lowly, meeting her eyes evenly. "Uchiha Itachi."
As he spoke his name, the man was waiting for something. Anything. A flash of the eyes could give away her recognition, or the tightening of her muscles. Or, alarm. He couldn't quite recall the terms with which the young woman before him had parted with his foolish younger brother, but if they had been poor then one might expect tension. Sasuke was bad enough for the personality typically accredited to their family, Itachi privately admitted-but he was worse.

Or better. One always preferred to be better than one's younger siblings. It was a matter of honor, of course.

To the point though, it was unfortunate that the young doctor displayed no behavior that indicated she recognized him on a personal level. His name, of course, was easily placed in the society they both traversed in-Uchiha Itachi, the youngest commissioner general ever to have been a pointed by the Public Safety commission, approved by the prime minister himself. Beyond that accursed blank smile, though, Haruno Sakura betrayed nothing.

"And how," she queried politely, finally replacing the folder she had been rifling through atop her desk, "might I help you?"

The cold, aloof cloak of formality was an unwelcome one from what he remembered. With Sasuke, she had only been all smiles and gracious kindness. Even on that ghastly Monday morning, there had been something genuine in her profuse guilt and apologetic gestures. There was nothing recognizable from that in the woman he saw before him. It was a mystery, and one that he found with abrupt clarity, he was determined to solve.

A slow smile curled over his lips as Itachi straightened from his indolent slouch against the door frame. It had been, he admitted, a very long day. The weekend offered no promise of respite either, considering that his
 particular duties seemed to give little regard for something as mundane as time off. The young doctor was proving to be quite a breath of fresh air in his otherwise stale life. "I do believe I am not incorrect," Itachi began gently, that unnerving smile still affixed to his features, "in saying that you told me to find you should I have been hurt."
Shaking his head slightly, Itachi's tone became nearly benevolent-and a more frightening sound, few ever would hear-as he continued to speak.

"The staff were very gracious in helping me find you..though I admit, they seemed a bit...misled about the nature of my inquiry."

. . . . .

Oh no he didn't!

Fighting to find her breath, to settle the irregular rhythm of her beating heart, Sakura stared blankly up at Itachi. Her desk, she concluded absently, was proving to have been a wonderful investment. The solid depth of it was an imposing barrier that dared any transgressor to even try to invade her space, her sanctuary. In an added benefit, her bent knees were braced against the drawers, disguising the sudden shakiness that had overtaken her. Steadied by the stalwart nature of her furniture, her verdant eyes met his gleaming black ones-and saw nothing but polite inquiry.

Itachi, though, had not been fast enough in hiding the flash of triumph that flickered over his expression. He thought he had won.
Her own dismayed disbelief was foolish, she acknowledged. If anyone dared, it would be he-there was no stricture that could hope to hold an Uchiha when they did not wish to be held.

"How unfortunate," Sakura remarked blandly. "I'm certain that the misunderstanding can easily be rectified. I do apologize for the misapprehension, Uchiha-sama."

More like deliberate misinterpretation, the young woman concluded sourly. For some reason, she was being backed into a corner. Unfortunately for the Commissioner General, the young pediatrics doctor was more than up for the challenge. A cheshire smile replaced the affixed expression of polite curiosity as she made to step from behind her desk. Walking towards him calmly-and attempting to ignore both her protesting feet, and knees that wanted so very desperately to shake-Sakura had replaced bewilderment with brusque efficiency.
Itachi had unknowingly given her an ace in the hand he dealt her.

She did not wish to be reinstated with the Uchiha family. When she had broken it off with Sasuke, his family had been, apparently, dismayed. However a relationship that had been all of a few months' duration was no real cause for high hopes. Seeing the truth of his family-the power, the prestige and the expectation-the woman, who had been just twenty two at the time made the executive decision to cut her losses and to walk away. Uchiha Fugaku had never been anything polite and Mikoto-san had been unfailingly kind.
It did not mean, though, that they were anything close to family.

Seeing Itachi again, a flagrant reminder of all that she had willingly abandoned all those years ago, was nothing short of a cruel taunt. Life, Sakura concluded, was anything but kind. She could not, however, be swayed in her resolve. She did not wish to resume the familiarity that years of casual friendship with Sasuke had garnered her. There was too much trouble, there.
Far, far easier to maintain her facade of ignorance.

She had only met Uchiha Itachi once, despite the myriad of occasions during which she had seen him. He was the focus of his family. He had the attention, the wishes, and the aspirations of every one of his extended relations. A younger brother's girlfriend was of little importance, and while all those years ago she had felt slighted, Sakura thanked the status quo for it now.

There was too much memory - and all too often, memory only served to bring pain to those it stirred from slumber.

. . . . .

It went without saying that Itachi was nothing short of baffled at the change in situation.
In what was less than a minute, it seemed to him, he had gone from physically owning the most crucial space in the area-her escape-to..sitting on a (cold) table, his jacket carefully being stripped from him.

For a brief moment, he admired her gentle hands and painstaking attention to the details. His coat had been tailored for him, and as such had become more of a second skin than outerwear. Mindful of any area that might result in pain, Sakura's small hands had dedicated themselves to the task of exposing whatever hurt he had incurred to her sight.

"You know," the doctor commented quietly as she bent to see to her task, "I don't believe that anyone might have misconstrued my phrasing as anything other than, had I hurt you by crashing into you, you were welcome to find me. I had not thought to treat a wound incurred by-" she paused, lifting her gaze to him, a brow raising archly. "Actually, you hadn't mentioned precisely how this happened."

For years, Itachi had apparently been laboring under the misapprehension that only his mother could demand an answer without ever asking a question. Clearly, he had been incorrect.

. . . . .

There was nothing remotely endearing about how this was happening, Sakura concluded sourly. The only saving grace for the current situation was that she had managed to crowd him out of her office and into an examination room. There was something inherently unsettling about seeing him in the space that could only be categorized as hers. Not generally a possessive person by nature, there was something in this man before her that evoked a vehement reaction-the desire to remove him by any means necessary from her territory.

He was just that threatening.

But really, what threat did an injured police Commissioner pose? Well, beyond the political clout he carried. It was irrational, she recognized-but she couldn't help it.

Distracting herself with attempting to roll back the collar of his shirt far enough to expose what seemed to be a knife wound, Sakura shut her eyes to steel herself. Gently peeling the cloth away from his shoulder-off, and down both, the young woman exhaled steadily as delicate fingers made free the area.

"This really isn't," she remarked mildly, engrossed in her work, "my area of expertise, Uchiha-san. You really ought to have seen an emergency technician for this."

. . . . .

Itachi was far from surprised by the little doctor's attempts to rid herself of him. It seemed that there was something about him that unsettled her. Fighting back a smirk at the discovery, he simply exhaled shortly in response to her statement.

"Are you rescinding your offer, Sakura? I had been under the impression that you were a woman of your word."

Observing the woman's reaction-her cheeks flushed most enticingly-all he did was lift a brow, archly. Wordlessly, she had turned back to where he had been hit earlier, the result of a maddened criminal desperately attempting to escape capture. Of course, the fool thought that a hostage would be the most efficient way to do so. That, in and of itself, warranted the man's death-whatever the cost would be.
Most thankfully, all that he and his men had incurred was the one wound which was now being fastidiously attended. All in all, the day had been successful.

It gave Itachi the much-needed excuse to hunt down the woman who had managed to effectively disappear from the network that his family (in this case, his foolish little brother) maintained. It was unacceptable, of course.
Then again, it was a more severe reflection on Sasuke than anything else. The situation could only give credit to the woman in question-she, at least, had better taste than Sasuke.

. . . . .

Having numbed the area, cleaned it and carefully suturing the wound, Sakura was at the point where she was carefully covering what had been nearly a medically perfect incision with gauze. Her eyes didn't move from his outer pectoral region, his skin shades darker than hers, the contrast illuminated by the bright light she had affixed onto the area for clarity. There was something about the sight of her pale hands-now that she had stripped them of gloves-against the tawny shade of his skin that...moved her.

Frankly, the sensation was beyond uncomfortable-and only compounded by the heavy silence of the room. It didn't help that the wing of the hospital she resided in was nearly deserted this late on a Friday evening. Visiting hours had long since passed, and the staff and nurses that worked there during the day for appointments and regular checkups had returned to their homes. Only those personnel who were involved with overnight shifts to monitor patients that were kept at the hospital and those individuals who had drawn late shifts in the event of emergencies were around.

It was a skeleton staff, at best.

However, sometimes being one of the few doctors on property in the wing came in handy. Sakura was spared the difficulty of wrestling with one, Itachi Uchiha. The silence between them that was just starting to span into the realm of awkward was shattered when the door to the examination room was rapped upon sharply, and then opened-she glanced up sharply, aware that only in the most dire of situations would staff not wait to be bidden to enter.

"Doctor Haruno, it's-"

"-an emergency. It always is." Standing, the young woman attentively took in the details of the patient that was experiencing difficulties, before waving the nurse away. Moving to the sink to wash her hands-it was compulsive at this point-as she dried them, Sakura glanced at Itachi politely, although her mind was already wrestling with the details of the case that she would be returning to momentarily.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to see yourself out, Uchiha-san. Forgive me my impoliteness."

Watching him as he shrugged his jacket on, she was returning the room to sorts as quickly as she could.

"I understand," the man remarked calmly, his quiet voice unmoved by the situation at hand. "Thank you for your assistance, Sakura. It has been interesting seeing you again. I look forward to when we shall meet next."

And with that, Sakura watched him stride out of the room, shoes tapping sharply on the linoleum floor.

Interesting? There was no other way about it-interesting was the kiss of death. And somehow, she was not at all reassured by his exit.

. . . . .

Wednesday

Time off had always been a double edged blade, Sakura thought morosely. There was something so inconsolably desolate about being left alone with one's own thoughts. Coming face to face with your emotions was horribly uncomfortable on the best of days. And, on days like these, the woman concluded, it made her downright despondent. Being strong armed into taking the day for herself, despite any arguments to the contrary, Sakura found herself sitting upon a bench on one of the local parks, reduced to spectating.

There were families, she saw-children playing. Mothers smiling. There was laughter, and joy.
And then, there was Sakura.

The melancholy cloud that seemed to have enveloped the woman was unshakable. It was a contrast to the people around her, and the day at large-the sun was bright, and the weather only lightly breezy, enough to keep the worst of the heat at bay. Privately, Sakura thought it was life's way of mocking her.

She had failed. There was no way around it. A little girl had perished because she had failed. A little girl, with skills and laughter, and love and life, and hopes and fears, and dreams, was dead.
Because Sakura could not save her.

For days, the pink haired doctor had labored over the eight year old's case. There was something about it that felt wrong. Previously prescribed medications by other doctors to treat the symptoms but not the illness, Sakura had been unable to isolate what was a byproduct of so many years on drugs that were themselves, detrimental to the human body and what was the disease itself.

And she had failed.

A little girl, afraid and at the end of her life, had died-she, who did not know what death was, other than that it was something she feared. There were years, decades!, more that she should have had, Sakura keened shrilly in her mind. For a child that was not her own, who she had not known other than to speak quietly to the girl of how she was feeling, Sakura Haruno mourned.
The world was just a little more empty.

Dreams had been lost. Potential had been unrecognized.
What hurt most of all, though, was the way that the child had trusted her. Had given her faith in Sakura to fix it, to make it better, to give her more than a chance, more than hope, but to give her life.

And she had died, nevertheless.

. . . . .

Finding Sakura was no easy endeavor to undertake. It would, Itachi concluded, be disrespectful to make free of her professional time. The Hospital was her place of refuge. It was her work, her dreams, her aspirations. And what she did there, was nothing short of a miracle. The people who spoke of her, were nothing short of smitten. She was an angel, they said. There was nothing she couldn't fix, couldn't handle, couldn't face. She was all poise and dignity, calm composure in the face of death itself.
To such an end, monopolizing the pink haired woman at her workplace would be unsatisfactory. Her attention, as evidenced from their previous encounter, would not be his alone.

And that, suffice to say, was what he craved.

However, forgoing the convenience of finding her in her office or roaming the halls of Konoha General meant that locating Sakura would be infinitely more difficult than he had anticipated.

How bothersome.

Yet, it was a worthy challenge. Manipulating his foolish little brother into conversation about his former relationship, the girl who had walked out on him just when he was expecting things to get serious, had been pathetically easy. Unfortunately, Sasuke had been virtually useless in his endeavors.
How could his brother know so little about such an enchanting little prospect? He couldn't speak of her favorite restaurants-or even foods!-or haunts. Leisure time? He hadn't the faintest idea, Itachi was informed.

It was just like Sasuke, Itachi concluded. He had failed to recognize the treasure before his eyes-the enigma of joyful laughs and earnest apologies combined with careful comments and veiled quips.
She was a challenge that his brother had not seen.

And Sasuke would not be made aware of all that he had lost, all those years ago, until it would be far too late to reclaim it. Of this, Itachi was absolutely certain.

Such a dearth of information would hardly force him to cease his pursuit of the woman. Instead, the elder Uchiha had turned to a coworker, the chief of the investigative forces. Nara was a rarity in their line of work-laid back enough to work efficiently with anyone he was partnered with, and smart enough to not need a partner in the first place. Both traits were useful, but given their most recent encounter, Itachi thought, briefly, that his life might have been just a little bit easier had Shikamaru been less intelligent.

"Why are you collecting information about Sakura," he had asked the Commissioner suspiciously, within three sentences of the conversation.

Suffice to say, the following dialogue was nothing short of a chess match between geniuses.

Unfortunately, the Nara had made one single mistake-just one. "Even if your brother doesn't give a damn, if Naruto hears about this, you'll be plagued with the idiot for weeks with him showering his concern for Sakura."

Which understandably lead to the conversation with the blonde haired officer. Where Shikamaru had been impossibly closemouthed, Naruto was...well. No one would ever accuse him of understanding nuances, Itachi thought with a triumphant gleam in his eye.
It was from Uzumaki that he had gleaned his most useful tidbits of information. The places that the girl frequented, her habits-but most importantly, that she had the day off.

How fortuitous.

That, then, lead to the inevitable. Standing on the outskirts of the city park that the blonde loudmouth had proclaimed with the utmost certainty that his "Sakura-chan" (and Itachi had filed away his instinctive protest to the familiarity, intending to investigate his vehement distaste for someone else addressing her in such a manner) would be at, the black haired man concluded that the doctor either truly did enjoy the company of children, or simply sought an escape from the metal grid of the city they lived in.

He would be certain to identify which reason goaded her to be in this place, the man concluded adroitly. Both certainly had their perks.

Any thoughts he had, though, ended there. Uchiha Itachi was not an unintelligent man-and as such, relied on his instincts. He might even be called intuitive at times-well, as intuitive as a man might ever claim to be.
Such awareness jolted him-and he was left with the pressing realization that something was wrong. Of course, this was only cemented by the mocking sunlight reflecting silver trails upon her cheeks-even from this distance, he could see the liquid emerald of her eyes gleaming more brightly than ever.

Beautiful, but tragic.

. . . . .

Left to drown in the depths of her own melancholy, Sakura had always appreciated the privacy that the children's park had granted her. None of her coworkers would traverse in territory so firmly belonging to children. They, they said, spent more than enough time around families not their own to willingly spend more time in the same situation outside of work. Her friends outside of work failed to see the appeal of the little postage stamp of land that provided green and trees, and play sets and children. They wouldn't bother her there, either.

It went without saying that, for such reasons, Sakura Haruno was nothing short of astonished when she was gathered up off the bench. Her forearms had been grasped firmly, drawing her to her feet. And then-the hands did not let go. Glancing up in misery, wondering who it was who transgressed so unrepentantly on her mourning, the lips that were parting-either to draw in another ragged, tormented breath from her silent weeping or to scold whomever disturbed her so-snapped shut.
Her jaw tightened.

She swallowed.

And then her verdant eyes dropped to her feet-bracketed by his. It would be him, Sakura thought miserably. Of all the people in the world to witness her unprofessionalism, her poor control of her emotions, it would be Uchiha Itachi himself.

Drawn from her pity party by a slight, but firm, shake, his hands shifted higher up on her arms, clasping her upper arms with calloused hands, thumbs unconsciously stroking the soft skin on the inside, attempting to soothe the woman before him.

"What," she heard him ask, "is wrong?"

Sakura shook her head-it was nothing. The direct refutation to his query did not, however, deter Itachi in the way she had wished it would. Instead, one hand rose, following her arm-up, and up, and then up even further, settling in the crook of her neck. Splaying his fingers; long, elegant digits curling behind her neck while his thumb found purchase on her jaw bone, drawing her head up to meet his earnest gaze, Sakura found herself somehow, lessened.

"Sakura," he insisted in that low, quiet voice, "why do you weep?"

And for some reason, Sakura found herself speaking-and found herself telling him everything.
Of fears, and hopes. Of life, and endeavors, and failures. And of death, and of dreams.

And all the while, Uchiha Itachi listened to her, her soft voice trembling with rich emotion, eyes brimming with sorrow that etched itself so completely into her form.

It had been his calm that was her undoing, Sakura would later identify. The soothing voice, the firm touch that reminded her-she was here, and she was alive. Somehow, his dark eyes did not judge her. Neither did they condescend.

. . . . .

Her skin was soft-so impossibly soft. It almost felt a travesty to touch it so casually with his own calloused hands, and yet had anyone told Itachi to stop, he would sooner have killed them than obey. There was something in her eyes, in the way that she instinctively leaned into his fingers, that told him-if he stepped away now, the sorrow that Sakura had so desperately tried to keep at bay, to rationalize, would flood her. It would overcome her and drown her.
That was unacceptable.

He knew nothing more than that.

Drawing her closer, her small form almost too small, too fragile compared to his own, Itachi enveloped Sakura with his own presence. An arm around her waist secured her to him, and the other behind a shoulder, drew her head against his shoulder.

"There is no shame," he murmured lowly. "Weep, Sakura-if it will heal you, then cry. The world will not know."

It was in an embrace that looked like that of lovers, that Haruno Sakura quietly sobbed into his shoulder. Her tears were silent but the grief, absolute. And the man above her, behind her, around her, shielded her from the world. It was not for anyone to see-it was not, Itachi thought with fierce resolve, for anyone else but he to know.

He would protect her. He would keep her whole, and shoulder her grief. Flexing his arms instinctively, he drew the young woman even closer to his own frame, determination clear in his gaze.

She might have been an intrigue-but there was more to it, now.
Just as certain as the tears that soaked through his shirt to his skin, she had branded him-and he would never be able to walk away from her.

This, Itachi thought, felt right.

A/N: So this was originally going to be a oneshot. Then I hit 3,000 words and realized I was nowhere near done. However, this stands well on it's own. So I'll put it up as complete, but expect a continuation of it sometime in the future.

For any who are curious, this entire story was inspired by Christina Perri's song, "Arms".

Thank you to the lovely Alis Volat Propris for dealing with my somewhat manic determination mulling over this. And, for helping me to decide how to cut it down to size. I appreciate the help! (And the encouragement!)

Unbeta'd. Feedback would be lovely. If you find errors, do let me know.