Thanks so much for your awesome reviews and PMs. It means so much to me. This chapter was an absolute beast to write—between getting all the historical facts right and the character interactions down, it took a while to hammer everything together. HUGE THANKS to Sakura's Unicorn for betaing; this chapter is a million times better because of her!
Without further ado, please enjoy the chapter!
Chapter Two: Reunited
Sakura slides the old shoebox out from under her bed. Usually, she only lets herself go through it once a year on June tenth—the anniversary of their first date—which is months away yet. Kneeling on her bedroom floor, Sakura bites her lip and, with tremulous fingers, opens the box.
On top is a faded black-and-white picture of her and Sasuke that June, sitting on a picnic blanket outside the Central Park Zoo. They beam up at the camera, Sasuke's arm around Sakura's waist, her sun hat falling off as Sasuke leans his head on hers. If she could somehow jump into this picture and stay frozen in that moment forever, Sakura would do so in a heartbeat.
With a painful smile tugging at her lips, Sakura flips to another photo of the same spot one year later, this time a double date with Naruto and his then girlfriend, now wife, Hinata. She doesn't linger to look at this picture. It's too painful, knowing that Naruto is just as in love with his wife today as he was in the photograph, while Sasuke…
She quickly turns to the next image, and her fingers freeze when she finds the picture of her posing with Sasuke's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Uchiha are wearing immaculate white tennis clothes, lips pressed together in smiles that do not reach their eyes. With forced cheer, Sakura waves her racket at the camera, smiling tightly.
Sasuke had taken the picture with a Vest Pocket Kodak when they'd spent the day at his parents' country club. The camera was a birthday gift, the first pocket-sized folding camera of its kind to use a smaller film reel—and Sasuke owned one of the first ever produced, months before it became available to the public. The cameras later went down in price, but Sasuke's parents had remarked often that day to their wealthy friends that they had paid dearly to be one of the first to have one.
Sakura studies the faces of Sasuke's parents as if she can find clues or answers, but they are as expressionless in the photograph as they were in life. Whenever she joined the Uchihas for tennis or racquetball, Sakura always had the sense she was being touted around the country club as an item to show off, much like their son's new camera. She had always taken pains to dress well and to be polite, but Sakura can see now how thin her own smile is in the photo, how anxious her eyes are, eager to please but not sure how.
But if Sasuke ever felt awkward around his parents, he either didn't show it or didn't care. Hands shaking a little, Sakura shuffles to the next picture: a portrait of her, posing with her chin propped on her tennis racket, and this time, her grin is warm and her eyes are soft.
Her vision clouds over with memories, and she can almost hear Sasuke's voice as he tries to get her to smile for the camera.
Come on, Sak. You know you're the prettiest girl here!
Aw, applesauce. You know that's not true, Sasuke.
A laugh. Sure it is! Don't hide behind your racket, Doll. You're the most beautiful girl in New York City.
And the shutter would click, and Sakura would giggle, not caring that Sasuke was being cheesy. She loved the way he looked at her, like she really was as beautiful as he said.
Sakura glances back to the previous picture, the one of Mr. and Mrs. Uchiha. Before his parents died, Sasuke was a different person. Now that she knows the truth—that they were murdered—she understands now, why he never smiled after their deaths. He also never took another photograph.
She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to block out the pain of those last few months after his parents died. How Sasuke would lock himself in his office for hours and wouldn't talk to her. Whole days when Sasuke's eyes seemed to slide right off her. His silence scared her back then, but she thought that he would snap out of it, once the shock had worn off…
She shakes her head. She doesn't want to remember Sasuke like that. Forcing her eyes open again, she comes to a photo that she had taken with his camera, just a simple picture of him drinking coffee in their apartment. He's smiling wryly at her over the top of his newspaper, and there's a gleeful light in his eyes.
She remembers that day. Sakura had been fiddling with his precious Pocket Kodak, squinting through the lens.
"Don't break it, Sak," Sasuke says as he takes a bite of a bagel.
She scowls at him. "So what, the hospital can trust me to do surgery, but using a camera is too hard?"
He rolls his eyes. "Are you going to take a picture, or are you just ganna glare at me all day?"
"I'm getting ready for the right moment," Sakura replies haughtily, adjusting the aperture. Sasuke had taught her a few things about taking a good picture, but she is no expert like him.
"Try and get the exposure right," Sasuke says, leaning one elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. "You always overexpose."
"I do no such thing," Sakura says, turning down the exposure without making it obvious she's following his advice. But Sasuke must have seen her adjust the dial because he lowers his newspaper and grins, and that's when she snaps the shutter.
This is how he was, her Sasuke, when he still loved her. Always ready with a quip but good-natured, teasing but never unkind. God, but she still misses him. Even after all these years…
A smile creeps onto Sakura's lips when she finds her favorite photo, the one of her and Sasuke ice-skating at Rockefeller Center; he's holding her around the waist, smiling impishly as he pulls down her knit hat over her eyes.
But then Kakashi's words shatter the quiet in her mind like bullets as their bizarre conversation from this afternoon plays again in her head.
"That's a lie! Sasuke can't be a criminal. He wouldn't have killed his own brother!"
"Maybe. I can only hope that you're right. The fact is, we need more evidence." Kakashi sucks in a deep breath. "We want you to go undercover and investigate," he says.
"But I'm not an agent!" Sakura protests, smashing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "I'm a forensics expert!"
"You're all we've got."
"It doesn't make any sense," Sakura says, head spinning.
"And you think it's a good idea to send Sakura in undercover," Naruto grouses, stubbing out his cigarette as well.
A muscle twitches in Kakashi's jaw. "She won't need to get in close. He might trust her. And," he adds when Naruto looks like he will object, "she'll be saving lives."
Sakura shakes her head, staring down at the image of the ice-skating rink full of happy people, the goofy grin on Sasuke's face.
It just can't be true.
A sudden knock startles her, and photographs spill from her fingers to the floor. She leaves them and hurries to the door, opening it slightly without undoing the chain lock. It's Naruto, his hair clinging to his forehead from the misty rain.
"I was worried about you," he says. "Can I come in?"
"Of course," she replies distractedly, undoing the bolt. "I'll put on a pot of coffee."
He looks like he might protest, then yawns widely and shrugs before nodding acquiescence. He hangs his damp hat and trench coat. When Sakura returns from the kitchen moments later with chipped mugs full of steaming coffee, she finds Naruto perched on the edge of her sofa, hands clasped in his lap, staring intently at the murky night through the window.
She sits in an overstuffed armchair, and they sip their coffee in silence for a long time. When Naruto finally speaks, her mug is only half full and the coffee is lukewarm.
"You don't have to do this," he says.
She shakes her head. "Kakashi said that none of the victims were women."
"Doesn't mean it's safe."
"I want to see him," Sakura says, surprised at the vehemence in her voice.
Naruto studies her for a moment, his eyes soft and sad. "I couldn't believe it either, Sakura. I mean, I only knew the guy a few years, but he didn't seem like a murderer or nothing—"
"He's not." She gulps. "There's no way he could be a…" She can't say it: Killer.
"Yet another reason why you shouldn't go anywhere near the guy. You're biased! I should do it instead."
"No!" Sakura realizes she's standing. She shakes her head, sits back down, and forces herself not to shout. "You've got a wife and kids. Me, I've got nothing."
"Sak…"
"And this bullshit Kakashi's talking about—rumors that Sasuke's into some voodoo or something. He thinks gouging out his brother's eyeballs means Sasuke might be into some kind of occult hoopla! That he's got some magic lightning powers, or that he can hypnotize people! It's all a bunch of hooey!"
Naruto puts down his empty cup and takes her hands in his, the concern etched on his face making her realize that she's been shouting again.
"I don't mean to be hysterical," she says, cheeks coloring.
He pats her hands. "I know you never got over him leaving like that, Sakura. Believe me, I know. Hurt my damn feelings too, what with me thinking we were friends and all."
"I just want to see him," she says. "Talk to him. Find out why he's back in New York. Maybe I'll find a tip and maybe I won't, but at least—" She cuts off abruptly, her throat suddenly too tight to speak.
"You want closure," he says, releasing her hands. He leans back in the couch, looking tired. "I know you do. But it's not… I just don't think it's a good idea."
"I know it's not," Sakura says. "But I know that if I don't do it, I'll regret losing this chance the rest of my life." She smiles at him weakly. "I have to try, Naruto."
#
On the Upper East Side, Sakura emerges from the Children's Hospital at half-past eleven. Her new cover job has been surprisingly enjoyable; it's nice to work with real, living human beings for once. But as she marches down the streets, her good mood sours with anxiety, her gut twisting, her pulse starting to race.
She wipes her clammy palms on her skirt and checks her makeup in the side mirror of a Chrysler B-70. Her lipstick and eyeshadow are unsmudged, her strawberry blonde hair down for a change and falling in waves along her shoulders, despite the current fashion calling for bob cuts. Sasuke always did prefer long hair, she thinks with a twinge.
The closer she gets to the Italian deli, the more her palms sweat and her stomach churns. She smokes a cigarette for courage and strides down the final block. When she opens the door, the smell of pickles and cured meat does nothing for her nausea.
She stubs out her cigarette under her Oxford shoes and makes her way inside, sweat now covering her forehead in a thin sheen despite the chill day. She unbuttons her gray pea coat, unwinds the wool scarf from her throat, and orders a plain turkey sandwich, with no goddamn pickles or mayonnaise, just plain mustard, thank you.
According to their reports, Sasuke eats lunch here every day, without fail, at precisely twelve o'clock. She checks her pocket watch. Only five more minutes until her ex-boyfriend is expected to show up. Not just an ex-boyfriend—a possible murderer. She thinks she might puke; there's no way she can eat this sandwich.
She is so consumed by worry and anxiety when she turns away from the counter that she walks right into another customer. Her sandwich smashes against his crisp Italian suit, mustard smearing his black coat. Her plate falls to the floor and shatters, sending bits of porcelain and clumps of lettuce flying over his designer loafers.
"Oh my God!" Sakura cries. "I'm so sorry!"
She's so flustered, she doesn't have the courage to look up. She takes out a handkerchief and tries to blot away the stains on his lapel, but she only ends up mashing mustard deeper into the wool fibers.
"Oh Christ, I'm sorry! I'll pay for the dry cleaning," Sakura pleads, close to tears, knowing that she can't possibly afford to replace the clothes. "I just started a new job and I'm—"
A strong hand grips her wrist, firmly but gently, cutting off her tirade and her feeble attempts at cleaning.
"Sakura?"
She freezes, like a deer caught in the sights of a gun. Slowly, her eyes travel up the black suit. Up the red tie with the golden clip emblazoned with a fan. Up to the full lips, the strong nose, the chiseled cheekbones framed by black locks. Up to his eyes, hidden by dark-gray sunglasses.
Her breath hitches in her throat. She doesn't have to feign surprise; no, she can practically hear her own jaw thudding to the floor. For a moment, she just stares at him, clutching the mustard-stained kerchief while Sasuke holds her wrist, the contact sending electricity up her arms.
She wants to kiss him, throw her arms around him and embrace him. Then she wants to weep. Then anger floods her, red hot and searing, a volcano exploding unexpectedly and raining down hellfire.
"You fucking bastard!" she roars, surprised by her rage and unable to control it.
He remains perfectly still; his face is a mask of calm. This enrages her even further, especially when he doesn't unhand her.
"You could've been dead!" she blurts out. "You could have been dead for all I knew—you left me no note, no nothing, just walked out on me! Why? Why, goddammit?"
The proprietor of the shop, a big burly fellow with chest hair curling up over the top of his shirt, freezes with his dustpan in hand and backs away slowly from them. Other customers edge away; some slink out of the door before running down the street.
"Sakura," he says softly, the low rumble of his voice like a caress. He opens his mouth to say more, but Sakura won't let him.
"I loved you, you bastard," she says, biting off the words. Tears course down her cheeks, but she doesn't bother to wipe them away. "You are such a goddamn—"
He presses his mouth to hers, wrapping his free hand around her waist, which is fortunate because otherwise, she would have swooned.
When he pulls away, Sakura gasps for breath, chest heaving with her emotional outburst and the impact of that kiss. Her stunned silence gives him an opening to speak at last.
"Good to see you, too," he says, as infuriatingly calm and ready with a quip as he ever was.
She gapes at him. He's acting like they've never been apart—like he'd never abandoned her.
The moment is broken when a man in a well-tailored suit steps forward, tips his fedora to Sasuke, and says, "Mr. Uchiha? You'll be late for your next appointment."
Sasuke curses lowly. "Get me a new suit and coat," he orders tersely. He looks down at himself and grimaces. "And a new pair of shoes."
"Yes, Mr. Uchiha. Right away. And lunch, Sir?" the man says, eyeing Sakura.
Sasuke purses his lips. "Get it to go." He waves his hand dismissively, his eyes never leaving Sakura.
"Yes, Mr. Uchiha," the man says before scrambling away.
Sasuke steps closer to Sakura and trails a finger down her cheek, wiping away her tears. "I can't stay, Doll. Business. But why don't I pick you up at six? Take you somewhere nice?"
Sakura nods dumbly.
"Where are you living these days?"
For a minute, she can't remember her own address. She shakes her head, clears her thoughts, and whispers it to him.
"Wear something nice, okay? You'd look cute in one of those flapper dresses, you know?" When she doesn't respond, he adds, "Okay?"
She just nods, blinking tears out of her eyes.
Then he finally lets her go, and a flurry of men in black suits and coats follow him out of the door.
She stands there, staring after him, the jingle of the door's bell seeming to echo on and on.
The big guy with the dustpan clasps her shoulder. Startled, she looks up at him.
"Lunch is on the house," he says, gesturing to a table. He leads her to it and pulls out her chair for her and she sits, not because she can eat under these circumstances, but because she doesn't trust her legs to hold her up.
Thanks for reading! Please review :)