So what started out as a simple one shot has turned into a series of unrelated drabbles. I apologize for my inconsistency. Thank you for reading, and leave me a review if you feel like it. Much love to all of you.
Coming home, he walks into their flat and places the groceries he had just purchased onto the small kitchen table.
"Sakura?"
Arriving at the bedroom, he freezes at the sight of her. She stands on the far side of the room, and her back is to him as she fastens her ANBU gear.
"I just got a hawk. The hokage has requested to see me in his office in twenty minutes."
He thaws out a bit and rigidly walks over to her, picking up an arm guard and handing it to her.
"Was it urgent?"
She huffs and continues to fasten her chest plate, her fingers fumbling with the clasps in her haste. "Who knows? But I'd better hurry just in case. Oh for Kami's sake, I-"
"Tch. Stop." He gently takes her hands aside and finishes clasping her armor. She stares at him in annoyance- she is no longer a child, and she's not weak. She doesn't need to be doted on.
"Take care of yourself." he says as his fingers ghost over her anbu tattoo, the swirling design marking her pale flesh.
Green eyes flicker up to his in disbelief, "I'll be fine, Sasuke. Routine procedure. I am perfectly capable."
Out of nowhere, a hand grips her bicep and his eyes bleed red, three tomoes slightly spinning in their midst.
No.
Panic starts lacing itself between his thoughts, and his grip on her continue to tighten at the onslaught of his consciousness.
A million memories flash through his mind: grabbing Sakura around the waist- pulling her out of harms way, throwing himself in between her and an assailant, chucking a kunai to intercept another flying towards her unguarded throat, holding her back as she throws herself towards a fallen comrade- letting her emotions get the better of her.
She is weak.
Her eyes turn hard, and she glares at him. "Do not patronize me, Uchiha."
He returns her glare, infuriated and far from convinced. She is too weak. She'll get hurt. An uneasy pit fits itself in the depths of his stomach.
A tense moment passes until something flashes through her eyes, and her gaze softens. She moves the arm that is not being grasped and raises a hand to lightly rest on his cheek.
Her eyes search his as she questions him, "Are you scared?"
His pride will never let him admit it. Averting his gaze, he opts for looking down and just over her shoulder. He loosens his grip and exhales, "Do what you need to."
Only having returned to Konoha a year ago, he was far from accustomed to a life that was not completely overshadowed with pain and vengeance, and it was only six months ago that Sakura had accepted him as a part of her life again.
To others, they might have been moving too fast- flinching noticeably at the mention of Sakura letting him stay with her while he put his life back together. But they both knew first hand how quickly one could lose everything. The life expectancy for a civilian was forty two years of age. For a shinobi, one was lucky to live half as long.
The tension between the nations didn't help those odds. The ever impending threat of another war hung over them, and he was the one who had placed strain on the nations' alliances in his vendetta for blood.
He makes to turn away from her, but she stops him, "Don't." Her voice holds firm as the hand she had placed upon his cheek tenses. "Don't turn away from me."
He blinks and glares at her, his eyes turning dark once more.
Letting out a heated breath, she continues, "I am sorry. I promise that I will be careful." She pauses and smiles a little bit, "I'm a medic-nin before anything else; my job is to stay out of the way until I am needed, so don't worry."
"Tch. Annoying." His hands find her hips and he pulls her flush against him, kissing her roughly. His hand ghosts up and holds the back of her neck, pulling her closer and crushing her lips to his, while the other finds the hem of her uniform.
His thumb rubs across her hip bone coursely, and she lets him continue to kiss her hard- not worryied about his aggressiveness. He is not good with words, and she understands that.
He breaks the kiss and stares down into her eyes, his breath a little ragged.
Giving him a tentative smile, she clasps his hand, interlacing her fingers with his.
"I know."
She flash steps, and he lets her go- the window where she made her departure now open and letting the evening breeze flutter over his skin.
Sighing, he moves to their bed, curling on his side and staring at the wall.
He would never admit it, but he takes comfort in the fact that the pillows still smell like her.