FRACTURE
PAIRING: A little of SakuNaru and SakuSasu but not much so don't be disappointed.
AU?: I loathe the way the manga's going, so I kind of changed things up. So here's how it is, according to me. Time skip is still a go; Sasuke formed Hebi, but never got the chance to kill Itachi, who died of natural causes. Sasuke consequently hasn't come back yet, uncertain of his goals, and hasn't learned of the truth behind the Uchiha massacre. This makes the following story possible, if not probable.
ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING ELSE: I don't own Naruto, and please review. Thanks!
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The night Sasuke left- the chill, the words, the heartbreak, the look in his eyes. Branded forever into her mind, the product of three years of rumination.
What could be done for a boy that grew in hate and despair? What could she do? So small. A flicker of light in a hurricane that she had no knowledge of. Things bigger than the love of a little girl.
She could crawl into that memory the same as her bed or a sweater, but it felt more like a deep grave and it left a bitter taste in her mouth. The stuff of nightmares, but this was real. This was affection mutated, obsession undaunted.
She could become that little girl. Sobbing, pleading, gasping with pain as her heart broke into one thousand pieces. There was some sadness in his gaze, some caliber of kindness that she had always known him capable of. And there was some grace in his goodbye, though it would never be enough.
"Thank you."
Thank you.
Years of her life and a devotion that never faltered. Love like a weight that lay on her heart. The salt of her tears on her tongue as she begged to come with him. The knowledge like acid that she would defect for him. The cold ascension of dread up her spine when his resolve strengthened in his eyes. His eyes.
And a thank you dissolved these complexities into nothing, into the dirt she sank to, to cry in. When she woke he was gone, in so many more ways than the physical sense.
Shapes and colors, the smell of him, the determination only present in little boys. But little boys don't grow up this way, don't dream of killing their brothers, don't come home to the corpses of their parents.
It's been years now. She is no little girl but she is still wounded, and he carries a piece of her heart that he doesn't care about. In some ways, she has learned to let go. In some ways, she doesn't care either. He will always be the first boy to break her heart.
xxxx
Sasuke was gone and the mourning set in. A great chasm in her chest, something lost that could never truly return.
Her pain was expected. Naruto's was not. His grief was obvious and shocking, and in some crevice of her being she began to believe that they were more alike than she had considered.
So many people talking, condolences on everyone's lips. No one knew, really, what they were saying. Comparisons to a bird leaving its cage. Sakura felt inexplicably like a child that had come home to find the bird dead.
xxxx
Sasuke is a grave but Naruto is worse. Her love for Sasuke was young and timid. Unrequited, unfounded, senseless, meaningless. Sasuke is an apparition, and she is fearful of him but entranced. It is morbid curiosity, not love. Infatuation, not understanding.
Naruto is more. Naruto is indulgent, empathetic, kind, forgiving. He is the fire that simmers in her, warming where Sasuke numbed. His hardships never breach his cheerful countenance. He is the strongest person Sakura has ever known, and she is in love with him in a million different ways.
Memories are like warm tendrils, drifting lazily in her brain. Ramen, mostly. Orange. Laughter. The familiarity of his whiskers and his blue eyes, alight with a vast array of emotions.
He left to train, but returns as promised. Three years later and he has become stronger. Taller. His obliviousness has not faded. He tells her earnestly that she doesn't look older. He thinks it's a compliment.
Days later and they're under the stars. The air warm and thick, sticking to their bodies uncomfortably. Crickets. Frogs. The whoosh of the wind through grass and trees. He's pointing out shapes in the stars, one arm folded comfortably behind his head. His eyes crinkled with relaxation, happiness.
She's staring and he turns to look at her. Her eyes are watering, her mouth is a wobbly line. He gasps, holds her. Her face buried in his shirt. He smells like sweat and grass. She cries harder.
She knows he's leaving and it's breaking her heart.
xxxx
He has to leave soon. It's tugging on him, an insistent child, a task that can't be neglected. Sasuke was his friend and ally. He won't let him sink into the abyss of his own untended heart.
He visits Ino the day before he goes. She's at the flower store, as usual, tucking some lillies into a vase and scanning a glossy magazine simultaneously. He waits, she turns to look at him. Her gaze is cool. She knows.
"Ino,"
"Naruto,"
"You know her better than anyone," Cut to the chase.
"Who? I know many women."
He frowns. That's how it's going to be, then.
"Sakura," His voice cracks and he fights not to turn away, walk away and just leave right now.
She remains quiet. There's fire stirring behind her eyes.
He tries again. "Have you spoken about… about-"
"You leaving?" She turns back to the arrangement. Her hands move quickly. She is frowning.
He nods meekly, but she can't see behind the flowers and so he mumbles a 'yes.' She hums her disapproval.
"I have to go, Ino. He won't always be around. What if he dies? It's not the same out there, it's not a team of people who care about him and want to see him live."
"And you know this, how?"
"I just… I just do."
"Seems to me like he made his decision a long time ago."
"He was a child, Ino. Itachi's dead. What if he's afraid to come back? We have to show we still care."
She fixes him with a detached stare. "Some of us don't care, Naruto."
Shock then silence. His fist, clenching and unclenching.
"Team 7 never ceases to amaze me," Her icy eyes have moved to haunt the lilies once more. "You know someone a day and you think they're your best friend."
"A day? Hardly, Ino. Sasuke was like a brother to me."
"And obviously Sasuke is in the business of trying to kill his brothers."
Silence again, and now he knows it wasn't even worth it. He turns to go.
"Sakura is in love with you."
He pauses. Winces. His heartbeat speeds. His eyes hurt.
"I'm not leaving forever."
A grunt. "Might as well be."
"I love her too." Quieter, tender.
"Then you wouldn't leave her. Take her with you." Compassionate and kind, unlike the rest of the conversation.
"She can't, Ino."
"She's stronger than either of you give her credit for." That same venom. "You want her to be strong, but you always want to defend her. She's got the emotional balance of a child. I'm so glad I didn't end up with you people, you ruin lives and self-esteems."
"She is strong. I know that." Defensive. "But what if he doesn't come back? Can she handle that?"
She considers his words, and then looks sincerely at him. Pleading. "Naruto, Itachi is dead. If Sasuke wanted to come back, he would've. He doesn't need you or this village. Sakura let go of her fantasies a long time ago. She's scared of him now. She's scared, even more so, of losing you." He shakes his head, she finishes strong. "You leaving will destroy her, Naruto."
"I have to, I promised her."
"Don't bullshit me," Rage. "This isn't about your goddamn promise. This isn't about her at all. It's never been about her. You stupid boys get an amazing girl like that on your team and you can't wait to leave her, can't wait to prove to her how worthless she is."
He's angry and pivoting, his hand is on the doorknob. Fight or flight kicks in, he wants to be gone.
"You wait just one goddamn second," She's angrier than he's ever seen, so reminiscent of Sakura that it hurts. "If you came here to hear me say that she'll be fine, she'll be alright, then let me tell you right now that she won't be. Maybe never again. Be the second boy to walk out on her. Be the second boy to forget all about her, leave her alone in this village. See how fine she is. And if you want me to tell her that you came here today, remorseful and- and- telling me that you loved her, then forget it. I'm not telling her a damn thing. She's better off hating you two for the rest of her life."
He stands there for a long time. Her words are a dark cloud, he's enveloped in them, choking, choking- the door is wide open and he's sprinting, clutching his face, trying to catch the tears that stream there like blood from open wounds.
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Sakura wakes up knowing that Naruto, too, is gone. For the second time in her life, she cries for a boy that couldn't find it in himself to stay for her. Ino appears magically around lunchtime, and she strokes her friend's hair good-naturedly and wonders aloud why boys are so stupid.
In the night she lays huddled like a baby bird in the warmth of her bed. Her face is tearstained and red, her hands are cold and motionless. Naruto becomes the second boy to break her heart.
xxxx
The year passes slowly. Red leaves, yellow leaves. Cold, frost, snow. Sakura is hollow but her smile is flawless. People prefer to be lied to. Missions are few, hospital work is constant. The village grows in some ways, dilapidates in others. There is certainly no more sunshine to be found here, not for Sakura at least, and even the moon seems listless upon examination.
Sometime in February, Tsuande asks her with proud eyes to consider ANBU. Elation becomes solemnity when Sakura wonders if Naruto would be proud, if Sasuke would be proud. Kakashi doesn't have much time for his former student, but he makes it a point to congratulate her and he seems genuinely pleased.
Her right shoulder bears the mark well, though it burns at first and in time shames her. She knows that she never would have been considered if Naurto were here now, or even Sasuke, because she is always third and could never hold even the smallest candle to them. Her accomplishment satisfies her, but never fulfills her. It takes more than awards, prestige, porcelain masks and risks of death, to do that.
Some days are good, some are bad. She is not dependent and she fashions her own makeshift happiness- lunch dates with Kiba, who is attractive but unlikable; hospital work, draining but rewarding; shopping and sleepovers with Ino, who has become a fountain of guidance and unexpected wisdom. In time, wounds close, but never fully heal.
A particularly bad day finds her slumped at her kitchen table, hands rubbing at tired eyes. ANBU mask glinting in the near darkness of the room, laying facedown on the counter. Pink hair forming a curtain around her, pooling around her shoulders. Sobs racking her body for no reason, gloom like a chokehold.
Where was Naruto? Did he think about her? Did Sasuke? Did they remember her? Would they ever be back?
Were they even alive?
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She returns from a mission in early December. The team disbands in front of the village, with her promising to deliver the report. It's bitterly cold and there is blood on her grey ANBU uniform. Her hair is long again, longer than it ever has been. Her mask glints in the winter sun, only a shade paler than her skin. She stands outside the village. A wraith against the snow, a visage of death against such purity.
Something is different. The air, the feel. The village seems quieter. The guards are irritable, restless. She glides into the village and to the Hokage Tower, knowing that her mission report would be accepted at anytime.
The door opens. First, Tsunade's face, which flushes with indignation. She begins to bark out an order to leave, but halts. Her eyes are fixed on Sakura's hair in recognition. Her jaw shuts immediately, her mouth twists into an awkward line.
Sakura's mask faces right, then left. To Sasuke, then Naruto.
Sasuke is initially impassive, though there is shock in his eyes when he, too, recognizes her hair, bright against the dull ANBU grey. Does he still like girls with long hair? He is older. Hair longer, skin paler, eyes narrower and emotionless. So much like Itachi she could cry. Straight in his chair. A cold prince.
Naruto is broader, taller if that is possible, pure light. Her eyes mist when she sees him, staring at her with guilt and heartache, looking the part of a jilted lover. Perhaps the one doing the jilting. Golden scruff splashed across his wide jaw. He wants to say something. He stops himself.
Sakura turns again to her mentor. "I came to give my mission report, but I see you are preoccupied." Voice foreign, toneless. Fear that it might crack or flood with emotion if she uses it too much.
"Sakura," Tsunade begins carefully. "Surely you don't need to keep your mask on when in the presence of friends." Unnecessary, perhaps a test. Sakura's masked gaze sweeps once more across the room. Notices for the first time Kakashi, leaning against the wall in a mockery of nonchalance, though he is tense. Meets Sasuke's cold eyes, and Naruto's sad ones.
Her hand lifts gingerly to her mask. Her fingers brush the alabaster surface, cold and hard. Her thumb slips behind it, edging it gently forward. Then her hand drops and she says tersely: "You'll forgive me shishou, but these are no friends of mine."
The door closes. She leans against it numbly and then flies down the hallway, the stairs, the street.
Her bed is cold and unmade. She drops her mask carelessly to the floor and crawls piteously into the comforts of the sheets, stripping off the grey ANBU uniform all the while. Her sobs, echoing loudly in the dark. Two pieces of her heart sitting not a mile away from her. And she wants nothing to do with them.
Boys have broken her heart too much.
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OKAY! Some last minute things:
* Sakura in ANBU say whaaat? Yeah, I know, I made an improbable decision there, because I think Sakura's a badass and deserves it!
* Why was Naruto gone a year? In my story, he briefly defects to bring Sasuke back. No village mission shit for him, it's too personal for him to take a team. He thinks it's better this way. And solo, it took longer to track him down and return him.
NOW REVIEW. TELL ME ALL YOUR THOUGHTS. GOOD/BAD/IRRELEVANT. I know I'm probably missing some questions/plot bunnies/whatever so ask away.
And I really enjoyed writing this, so maybe I'll continue this story or write something similar. /shrugs