Chapter II
She did not lock her door.
Not that the cheap contraption would deter anyone; he cast a withering look at the useless thing as he stepped silently through the doorway, sending out minute waves of chakra out.
No traps.
A slight scowl of displeasure tightened his face as he stepped inside. He didn't know if it was a by-product of her exhaustion, or the naivety that she would be safe in her home village, but Hokage's apprentice or no, such a lack of basic precaution was inexcusable. The ANBU Captain took in the dim, dingy surroundings, and something squeezed in his chest. He'd never been on the receiving end of having his heart torn out, but he imagined it was feel similar.
Since becoming independent from her civilian parents, he knew that she was supporting herself with a medic's salary, supplemented with missions. He knew not to expect luxury, not the sort that the Uchiha surrounded themselves with, but to see her living in such squalor...
The beaten, second hand sofa looked ready to collapse. There were more cushions on the floor than on the seats. The misshapen lumps that were once pillows squashed nearly flat, decorated the cheap carpet surrounding the low, battered table.
Books were everywhere.
Some were open with half scrawled handwriting filling in the margins. Others were closed with notes or even pens serving as bookmarks. There was a stack of scrolls on the floor. He lifted the first, careful not to upset the pyramid, and unfurled it. The paper appeared to be the anatomical map of chakra pathways. Specifically, a human eye. More books burdened the worn, rickety kitchen table. The top book seemed to be a detailed account of how to urge a blocked or corrupted chakra pathway back into operation. The second was a surgeon's account on how bloodline limits affected muscles and organs overtime.
The kitchen, looked as though it was barely used. His mind immediately drew a comparison to the kitchen in the Uchiha main house, the surfaces gleaming and his mother's warm smile of greeting. This kitchen belonged in an abandoned building. The cupboard held mismatched pottery, apart from two matching cups resting on a shelf alone. No teapot, just a box of cheap tea bags. Maddeningly, her pantry was empty apart from a plastic container of cup ramen. Miso flavored. He had to work a little harder to suppress his roiling chakra.
The refrigerator held only a withered apple and a small package of pickled plums. Dark eyes narrowed on the date. Expired pickled plums.
Irritation pulsed steadily in his temples. Did she have a death wish? Or was this personal neglect evidence of something deeper.
He slowly closed the door to the refrigerator, plunging the apartment into darkness once more.
Leave no trace. Leave no trace.
He repeated the mantra for infiltration assignments. It was too early to give the game away now, by throwing away rotten food to prevent her from eating it. Or by allowing his angry aura to wake her. Or her neighbors.
Soundless footsteps moved down the cramped hallway and into a bedroom roughly the size of a closet. The small dresser still had drawers open, like someone in a hurry jerked them open and forgot to close them. A pale green sleeve dangled over the edge of one drawer. He hadn't seen her in anything other than her famous red vest, or mint colored hospital scrubs; he wondered what she liked to wear. Did she like over-sized items to bundle up, making her look even more delicate? Or did she prefer softer, more clinging fabrics?
Saving the idea to revisit later, Itachi returned to surveying her living space. A picture frame rested on the windowsill. He saw his younger brother and the Uzumaki on either side of His Blossom with the Copy nin in the background, still immersed in his ever-present orange book.
The other door in the room led to a very small bathroom. He could see a pale pink wash cloth draped over the chipped bathroom sink. The harsh, almost chemical smell of whatever soap she was using clung to the still damp, threadbare towel draped over the ancient towel rack. Her toothbrush was starting to fray, the bristles pressed out, either from frustration or over use.
Still more books littered the floor in haphazard stacks resembling a bibliophilic metropolis. Or perhaps an impromptu obstacle course. There was no desk, no chair. What little furniture she had was obviously very worn and shabby.
A small, almost child sized futon, faded with age was rolled out against the far wall. The blankets had been kicked off by restless exhausted feet, revealing pale, slender legs to a shining red gaze. Her hair was wet at the ends, almost rose colored, lightening to pale pink strands fanning out over the lone pillow and obscuring the gentle curve of her cheek. Her thin arms wrapped tightly around a triangular pillow of some sort.
Absurd as it was, the Itachi felt a twinge of envy towards an inanimate object, how it enjoyed the unconscious trust of her embrace while he could only watch. As if to drive the point home, Sakura mumbled and nuzzled the pillow, holding it closer lovingly. Her brow was slightly furrowed; he could see slight twitching as her eyes moved behind delicate veined lids. His blossom was dreaming. The urge to touch her surged so strongly in him, his fingers ached.
Mumbling again, this time it was almost a whimper, Sakura clutched the pillow tightly for a moment before her breath blew out in a huff, and rolling over onto her back. The thin white material of the top she wore was thin enough to be transparent. Highlighting instead of concealing the shape of her nipples. It molded to her high breasts, and the slender lines of her waist, the hem ending just below her belly button, baring a flat expanse of smooth, creamy belly before a small pair of cotton panties concealed her most private flesh from his predatory gaze.
The animal part of him, wanted to drag her into his arms, pull her from slumber, swallow her gasp of surprise and devour each subsequent moan. He could shred that tempting shirt with barely a thought, baring her sensitive mounds to his calloused hands and hungry mouth. He wanted to feel her small fingers tangling in his hair. Wanted to feel her arching against him, gasping his name, before pushing his head to trace the lines of her abdomen with his tongue until he reached her slick thighs and the softness between them. The other part of him wanted to cradle her in his arms and take her home, his home, where she belonged. He wanted to feed her, watch her face light up with delight as she consumed something hot and nourishing. He wanted to bathe her, tracing delicate, spring scented wash along her tired body with gentle fingers until she relaxed. Then he wanted to wrap her in one of his yukata and stroke her to sleep on his chest as they lay in his futon. Her breath tickling his throat while he traced the Uchiha crest on her back.
He forced himself to remain still. It was too soon.
She didn't know him yet, didn't know how badly she needed him, how much he could and would do for her. What being with him would mean.
Crouching next to the futon, Itachi bent his head until his lips were nearly brushing her temple.
"I'm going to take such good care of you." He promised, disappearing without the customary calling card of crow's feathers.
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His jutsu carried him to the edge of the Uchiha compound, and he walked the long path to his family home, enjoying the silence and peace of the quiet, orderly homes.
His own home was dark, but not cold. He saw a plate of wrapped rice balls on the counter, a sign his mother knew he would be late. He placed them in the well stocked refrigerator, appetite diminished after visiting Sakura's apartment. He knew she was hungry, she had to be. It was wrong that someone who gave so much, had so little. Especially when she deserved so much more.
His bedroom faced the garden, overlooking the complex and part of the village. His dark blue futon was turned down, waiting for him. He removed his shinobi gear, replacing it with a soft, sleeping yukata. The band slid easily from his hair and he rubbed the back of his scalp to ease the tension from having his hair pulled back all day. He reclined on the futon, hands folded on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling.
He was missing something. He assumed that she was getting proper nutrition at home at the very least, but that kitchen had seen nothing but hot water in weeks, if that. How was she doing it? Pushing your limits was a quality in all dedicated ninja; the determination to push past discomfort in the name of furthering a goal was one thing. Shinobi were expected to support their entire body weight and more on just their fingertips, walk on water, and cross enormous distances at incredible speed. Without false modesty, Itachi knew that he was one of the best, but not even he could ignore physical limitations for weeks on end without-
A thought tugged at the back of his mind, followed by a strain of disappointed anger. He hoped he was wrong. She couldn't, would not do that. Not as a medic, she couldn't possibly-
He needed to visit her office. And hear what Shisui thought.
Surely, she wasn't that foolish.
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Sakura grumbled as she studied her hastily scrawled grocery list. She had hoped to jump on the paperwork she could sense accumulating on her desk, unfortunately the Hokage knew her apprentice better than the pinkette thought.
"Rest means rest, Sakura," Tsunade steered the embarrassed medic down the hall, in full view of the gossip factory of other medics and nurses. "I'll see you after your vacation."
So, there went her first idea. She wanted to hit something, train away her frustration, but right now that would only be counter-productive. Kami forbid she collapse on the training field only to be found by some well-meaning Samaritan. Or worse, a fellow shinobi. The edge of her sandal caught on a loose stone and Sakura stumbled, but didn't fall. She refused to fall in front of civilians.
I am not weak, dammit!
Brutally short nails bit into her palms, as she minutely shook her head to clear it.
No, but we are exhausted. Just take the break, eat something, get some sleep, then get back to business.
The smell of fresh takoyaki wafted over from a nearby stand, filling her head and making her stomach grumble. The medic gritted her teeth despite her watering mouth. Fried food was the last thing she needed. It would sit heavy, making her sluggish and taking even longer to recover.
She would buy soldier pills first and if she was still hungry by the time she finished shopping, maybe she would pick up some fish to steam to have with plain rice-
Ugh, plain rice and steamed fish? Why don't we just eat cardboard?
What's that? You want plain tofu?
….Steamed fish is great!
With a defiant toss of her weary head, Sakura moved towards the rows of stands and shops.
Do I want mackerel?
Tuna's on sale!
Mackerel is cheaper in general and less fatty.
Tuna cooks faster! Or we don't have to cook it at all!
That is not sushi grade tuna, and I'm not desperate enough to eat raw, discounted fish.
Sakura reached for the mackerel. Steamed mackerel with rice. Simple. Filling.
And BLAND, dammit! Why are we punishing ourselves?!
It's not about punishment, it's about not overindulging. The last thing we need is to be fat along with inept, Pig will have a field day.
"Hey, Forehead!"
Speak of the Devil.
"Where the hell have you been?! We were supposed to hang out last week!"
Sakura racked her memory. Were they?
I thought she was busy with some new guy since she and Shikamaru are on another 'break.'
"Sorry, Pig! I've been busy." The pinkette shrugged and pasted a self-deprecating smile on her face.
The blonde snorted, dragging Sakura towards the exit with her arm around the shorter girl's neck. "A likely story!"
"Pig! Geroff! I need pay for my groceries! Pig!"
To avoid being labeled a shoplifter, Sakura dropped her basket as she was towed outside and into the crowded street. "Where are you taking me?!"
"Lunch. Your treat."
"My treat! Why?"
"Because you stood me up last week."
The blonde kunoichi paused for a moment, releasing her best friend's throat only to link their elbows together so that they could walk side by side instead of a stumbling, diagonal headlock.
"Now shut up! Hinata told me about the cutest little café near here."
I have a bad feeling in the pit of my wallet.
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The little café was pretty cute, to be honest, but Sakura had nearly snorted into her water glass at the thought of Hinata trying to bring Naruto on a date here. There was lace on the table clothes and not a single noodle on the menu.
"Isn't this good?" Ino popped a bite of salad into her mouth.
Sakura forced herself to sip slowly at her soup instead of gulping directly from the bowl like she desperately wanted to do. "Not bad, Pig."
"Anyway, what's up with you?"
"Nothing." Sakura swallowed a thick tendril of seaweed and immediately regretted it as the salty slime slithered down her throat to her shriveled stomach.
Okay…so, just broth from now on…
Ino pushed her half (exactly half) finished plate away. "No, seriously. You look like death warmed over."
"Thanks, I really appreciate that."
"You do! Your bags have bags and if you get any skinnier, you're going to have to shop in the genin department!"
Ino tossed her hair cattily and examined her nails. "I mean, more than you already do. Or have you just given up on bras completely?"
"Hey! Stuff's cheaper there! Unlike the extra charge you pay for plus sizes, Pig!"
Sakura's own teasing glare faded slightly under the weight of her friend's stare. "Honestly, I'm fine. My workload just caught up with me a little bit."
Ino dropped her pretend offended expression to don her 'no bullshit' face.
"A little bit? You're running yourself ragged!"
"I'm fine. I can handle it." She was not ragged, just a little tired.
The blonde girl snorted and twirled the end of her long pony tail. "Yeah, not like you got kicked out this morning or anything."
Sakura felt her shoulders tighten. Despite her screaming stomach, she pushed the soup away. The waiter appeared, as if he'd been watching, to remove their plates. "I wasn't kicked out. I'm on 'vacation'. I needed to catch up on my research anyway."
Ino opened her mouth to retort that if Sakura was on 'vacation' then she wouldn't say it with the same tone most people reserved for 'house arrest', but her expression softened as she took in her friend's drawn, exhausted appearance.
Her pink hair was choppy, as if she cut it herself, the ends were split and dry. Her skin looked dull and the shadows under her eyes looked more like bruises. She was in desperate need of a spa day. And night. Hell, a spa week, would just begin to cover the surface damage. The Yamanaka heiress nearly cringed when she saw the medic's nails. Where was her pride as a woman?
The pinkette was delicately built anyway, but she looked dangerously fragile; her iconic red top now looked like an over-sized sack. The bones in her finely built wrists were stretched against paper thin skin. "I'm just worried about you, Forehead. Don't burn yourself out."
"I won't."
Sakura forced herself to smile again, and Ino's eyes narrowed on her chapped lips.
"Of course you won't; I won't let you. Now, I'm a good friend and good friends deserve a piece of cake. Where did that waiter go?"
"Cake?" Sakura's stomach clenched in want, but her gorge rose simultaneously at the thought of sugar. "I thought you were on a diet, Pig?"
"I am, but a cheat day now and then is important. Plus, I'll need the sugar rush for my next mission!"
"Mission? You? Don't tell me you're going alone?"
"I am the ONLY one qualified for the task."
Sakura's brows furrowed in worry for her best and only female friend. (She and Hinata just didn't click.)
"Only one? What is it? Infiltration?"
"Nope! Transformation."
The waiter interrupted then with a dessert menu. Ino wasted no time in ordering some kind of berry something or other with fondant, and bullied Sakura until the other girl caved and ordered a coffee.
"What d'you mean transformation? Long term henge?"
Ino rolled her eyes. Sakura really was tired if she couldn't recognize jokes anymore. "I'm talking about you, stupid! Turning you back into a human being should qualify me for ANBU!"
Embarrassed, Sakura flushed and tugged at a loose thread in the table cloth. "I'm not that bad."
"Pssh!" Ino waved the excuse away. "You're hopeless. If I didn't know I could fix you, I'd refuse to be seen with you. Luckily, I am accustomed to working with next to nothing where you're concerned."
"Shut up, Pig."
"You know you love me."
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He enjoyed watching her shop.
The slight purse of her lips as she compared prices and quality, the calculating gleam in her eyes as she haggled with a vendor, the flash of her small white teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her full lower lip when she found something she wanted.
He wanted to carry her basket, walk beside her and listen to her chatter, buying her anything she wanted, regardless of her protests. He wanted to bicker about what to have for supper, see the realization on her face as she noticed his teasing.
Her distinctive red outfit moved among the crowd, easily traceable, but he imagined her in navy. Her pink hair pulled up to reveal the graceful curve of her neck and the uchiwa fan sewn into the collar at her nape.
He tensed when she walked into a shinobi supply store, sharingan activating to track her movements, but it receded when a taller kunoichi with long blonde hair almost comically dragged the medic out of the markets, towing her towards a small, rather…embellished café.
Her body language was odd. Sakura seemed genuinely happy to see her friend, but there was a slight curl in her delicate shoulders and a stiffness to her arms. The Yamanaka heiress chattered almost nonstop, her hands fluttering and waving as she told some story. The contrast was startling. Despite her vibrant coloring, Sakura looked almost transparent, a shadow of herself. She picked at the soup she ordered, scooping out the tofu first, stirring the broth first clockwise, then counterclockwise, her face scrunched adorably as she swallowed seaweed that had attached itself unseen to the bottom of her spoon.
The blonde girl was blunt, almost deliberately insulting, something gripped his chest as he watched his blossom curl into herself protectively. She felt inadequate to the Yamanaka girl, he could tell. Ridiculous, but rivalry usually was. He was slightly mollified by the concern the blonde kunoichi showed.
Itachi opened his eyes from where he sat underneath a cherry tree, the crow he was using to track Sakura's movement remained on its perch near the café, watching as his pink haired medic cringed to avoid a forkful of icing and strawberry brandished by her friend. He was mildly disappointed that Sakura didn't order a dessert. He wondered if she liked sweets. He wanted to lick the sticky sweet syrup of dango from her lips and watch her blush before she scolded him in a hushed tone to cover her embarrassed pleasure.
The main house was warm and filled with the delicious aromas of his mother's cooking. His little brother was standing next to the counter, still in his jounin gear, obviously just returned from a mission. He looked tired, but none the worse for wear as he stuffed the last bite of a tomato into his mouth. The Uchiha heir allowed his features to soften with relief. "Sasuke, welcome home."
"I'm back."
"Sasuke, go wash up before your father gets home, supper is almost ready." Mikoto smiled at her youngest son, contentedness evident on her face.
"Ah." Sasuke set his plate in the sink before heading upstairs to change.
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"Ne, Sasuke, how are your teammates these days?" Mikoto asked between dainty bites.
"Dobe is Dobe."
"Language in front of your mother." Fugaku rarely bother to contribute to the conversation unless it was a progress report, but he knew his wife's distaste for vulgar language.
"…Naruto is fine. Loud and blonde like always."
"And Sakura-chan? I haven't heard you mention her in a while," The Uchiha matriarch remembered a petite girl with pink hair, though Sasuke had never brought her for a visit.
Sasuke shrugged, lifting a slice of grilled eel to his mouth. "She's at the hospital a lot. Don't see her much, she's probably fine."
Itachi felt his irritation grow. He loved his little brother unconditionally, but sometimes his oblivious immaturity was absurd. "She's part of your team, Sasuke. If you want to be a Captain one day, you must be depended on to see in others what they neglect in themselves."
And be prepared to take action when the neglect reaches a point where intervention is necessary.
Sasuke's shoulders tensed under his brother's criticism. "She's a medic. She would know if something was wrong."
"Why don't we have her over for dinner, Sasuke?" Mikoto was eager to interrupt the tension between the two brothers. "Everyone enjoys a home cooked meal."
Sasuke narrowed his eyes at his brother in suspicious confusion. Itachi ignored him and sipped his tea quietly. Whatever conclusion his brother drew was inconsequential.
"Gouchiso-sama, Mother." Itachi nodded politely and padded down the hallways towards his room, Sasuke's gaze between his shoulder blades.
If you didn't want me to have her, little brother, you should have taken better care of her.
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The office was small and dark, the lack of windows making it look almost like a cell. The desk nearly buried beneath a mountain of files and scrolls. None of them appeared to be hers, but belonged either to the Hokage, or other nurses. An effort appeared to have been made to separate completed work from new assignments, but the system was undermined by the sheer number of papers. A nearly empty mug on one corner contained long cold dregs of instant coffee. The drawers were so full, they were nearly jammed. More file folders, an extra set of scrubs, a cheap container of shower gel, dry shampoo. Clearly, she spent too much time here. He slowly tugged at the bottom right hand drawer, easing it open soundlessly.
Underneath a stack of empty manila folders was a small pill bottle. It wasn't labeled, but he recognized the pills inside.
S-boosters.
True anger tensed his jaw and stung behind his eyes. This explained it. Her suicidal work schedule, her failing health, and the lack of collapse despite depleted chakra levels. This was unacceptable, her system couldn't take much more of this, her body was beginning to buckle under the constant stress of the chemical onslaught she was putting it through. These pills were strictly regulated, available only through prescription. He had taken an S-booster once and while it had allowed him to complete his mission successfully, despite his exhaustion, the resulting crash had taken him out of commission for nearly two days. Her stubbornness was driving her to either steal, or falsify a prescription. She was jeopardizing not only her health, but her reputation and career.
Anger mixed with disappointment and panic, making him feel faintly nauseous. He had no idea how long she'd been taking these. This was no longer a case of her being a workaholic, but a complete neglect of her own needs to the point of self-harm.
His brow furrowed slightly.
She was going to kill herself at this rate.
His hand closed around the bottle, almost wanting to crush it. This ended now. She was not allowed to damage herself, especially not to satisfy some false sense of insecurity.
He would strip every crutch from her, allow her to fall as far as necessary until he caught her. Then, once she was his, he would never let her go. She wouldn't want him to.
She'd be stubborn at first, he knew, it was part of why he wanted her. She was a stunning kunoichi, and had the makings of a brilliant matriarch, but she insisted on squandering her potential on minutia. She would eventually realize this was best. She would learn to trust his judgement, understand that he wanted to be responsible for her.
Pills still clenched in his fist, he left the office.
She would see.
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Sakura pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as she set her shoes down carefully in the hallway of her apartment. Her half empty stomach lurched as she moved, but she refused to throw up, even if it would make her feel better to get the refined sugar out of her system.
She would not throw up.
Damn Ino-pig and that stupid strawberry cake!
She would not throw up.
Nobody forced you to eat it, stupid. Sugar doesn't sit well on an empty stomach and half a dozen spoonfuls of soup didn't cut it apparently…
In her living room. She would not throw up in her living room. Priorities.
She made her way from the entryway, to her crooked, bent sofa. Then she stumbled into her bedroom. Okay, progress. Now, she'll just go to bed and-
"Ow! Shit!"
Nausea momentarily forgotten, the kunoichi hopped on one foot, swearing. Bright green eyes glowered at the heavy tome in the doorway.
'Myopia De-Mystified'
Oh yeah…I was working on that.
How can you resist a title like that?
Sakura bent and picked up the book, flipping the switch for the overhead light, before hobbling over to her coffee table, folded her slender legs beneath her, the book landed on the already overburdened table with an ominous thump. Her right hand scrabbled for one of the many pens as she flipped the pen over to the last page she recognized. The diagram in front of her broke down the eye, identifying the different nerve endings and blood vessels. There were several scrolls along the floor with different diagrams, each was copied from a different text. Sakura was certain that an accurate model was somewhere in the middle.
She hadn't dissected someone yet, but she was convinced that the blood vessels and the chakra pathways had to interact almost co-dependently, otherwise, how would chakra exhaustion have such an impact on physical tissue? Or, in the event of bloodline limits, how overuse led to physical and sometimes mental deterioration. She remembered watching Shizune treat Kakashi's migraines from using his borrowed Sharingan.
She knew Sasuke's eyes bothered him too, but those were only two incarnations of what the doujutsu was capable of, but only the Uchiha heir was capable of activating the Mangekyou. Her professional curiosity was at war with her innate wariness of the prodigy. Maybe she could convince shishou to let her see some medical records...
Her pen scratched aimlessly on the corner of her scroll, the three comma marks of the sharingan beginning to form. Sakura ignored the slight shakiness of her hands and shook her head minutely to clear her wavering vision.
She'd just stay up for a few minutes. If she couldn't go to work, she should at least work on a project or two.
It would just be a few minutes.
