ReRight
She found him on a Thursday. The moon was only half full, concealed beneath a thin layer of listless clouds. He eyed her (black eyes, she noticed. Black liquid and oh so normal) but said nothing. His face was gaunt, and blood was rapidly pooling around him. The forest was silent as she approached.
"Uchiha," she muttered, unsure as to what to do. He was dangerous, but he was also injured.
"Kunoichi," he replied, voice a bare whisper.
"You're dying."
"Yes."
She studied him for a moment, his broken body twisted awkwardly against a tree. She should feel nervous, anxious. She was standing mere feet away from a dangerous S-class criminal.
"I won't heal you," she stated.
"I expect nothing else." He coughed and blood dribbled down his chin.
She sighed, and trudged forwards, hovering over him with hesitation. Then she sat. He wasn't looking at her anymore, his eyes focused off to the sides again, as though she didn't even exist. She had overseen enough executions, enough deaths, that it was ingrained in her--the way to treat the dying. Despite him being the enemy.
"Is there anything you wish to say?" she asked, green eyes intent upon his hands. White, white and white in gloom.
He didn't reply. Didn't move. Didn't acknowledge that she had even muttered a single syllable. Sakura shrugged. It wasn't surprising. He could have been normal, she thought to herself. He could have been a comrade. She could be healing him right now. She could save him.
But no. Konoha was much more important to her than this man's life. She would not revive a criminal, only to watch as he murdered her friends, her allies. She has more pride than that, and the guilt would eat her up inside. She would never even entertain the notion.
"Sasuke..." she whispered, "will be upset."
Itachi's eyes slid to meet hers. "Yes, but he will survive."
"I suppose so," she said.
The puddle of blood wrapped around her. It was staining her clothes, she thought distantly. Another pair she would have to toss.
"You could have lived a good life," she said.
Itachi grimaced slightly, and Sakura wondered how bad his wounds were. The cloak hid them very well.
"No," he finally said, "that was not my purpose."
She noted his voice was getting weaker, but she ignored it. She could still save him. Instead, she reached forward and tangled her fingers with his. They were cold and damp, and she had to force herself to remain so, to not pull away. His fingers tightened around hers.
"You're purpose is to die then?" she said.
"Isn't yours?" he shot back, though his voice hitched.
"It's different," she whispered, "and you know it."
"I know nothing," he replied. "I was created for death, I made death, and now I am death. That is all I know."
"You're an idiot."
"Perhaps."
Sakura sighed, then stood up, unwrapping his hand from hers.
"You are leaving then," he said.
Sakura shouldered her pack. "Yes."
"Ah."
"I hate that response."
She thought she might have saw his lips twitch a bit, but she couldn't be sure.
"I don't think you were made for death," she said, reaching down to rip the edges of his grungy cloak. "And perhaps someday you will learn that."
"I doubt it."
"Pessimism is a bad disease, Uchiha-san."
She reached a glowing hand to his stomach, chakre flowing to stop the bleeding that was slowly stealing him of his life. He watched, then looked up at her, "You are betraying your village."
"Not quite," she replied, and with that, she bashed him over the head, knocking him out.
"So negative..." she sighed as she slung his limp form over her shoulder.
On Wednesday, she arrived home to Konoha, Uchiha Itachi with her.
