Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Burn: "Have we met before?" The stranger shook his head and pulled down his hood. Sakura, at age 34, is retired from her Shinobi life. But who says she can't fall in love again after twenty-two years?
Burn
3. Doubt
The black-cloaked stranger had gone away, and a few days had passed since their encounter. Sakura looked up at the darkening sky, silently vowing that she hated the colour black, yet there she was… entranced by the mysterious hue.
Sighing, the pink-haired woman walked up to the front to close her shop, when she spotted frantic screams coming her way. Instantly, her suppressed shinobi skills swirled within her, and her senses sharply heightened. This was her home now, and she wanted to protect it.
Instead, it was merely a woman – Gotou's mother, to be exact – but tears were streaming down her face.
In between her sobs, she cried, "Gotou! My G-Gotou has been killed!"
Her heart clenched with panic and worry, and she forced the woman to show her the way to the dead boy.
Maybe, she hoped, maybe she may still be able to save him.
When she got there, she knew her hope had been silly. The boy had been found long after he's died, and Sakura felt that familiar stream of helplessness course through her body and mind.
Solemnly, the former medic inspected Gotou's body, and a sickening realization dawned on her. The little boy, in this peaceful village, had been slashed by a shinobi. For a second, her mind flickered to the black-cloaked man; he was the most probable culprit.
Instead, she shook her head. He had already left the village a few days ago… right?
. . .
The next day, Sakura almost considered closing the shop. She was in the mood for mourning, but she changed her mind, since work always helped her forget her misery.
The chime tinkled, and she welcomed her customer without looking up. There was the sound of crinkling fabric, and the staggering of a very injured man. Sakura stepped up at once, and realized it was the stranger. Eyeing him with suspicion and doubt, she was almost tempted to ask him the question clawing inside her, but then he fell unconscious.
Her hands caught him in reflex, and her heart may have thudded from such close contact with a man, but her instinct took over. With no time to spare, she carried the man, dragging him across her pharmacy, and kicked open a door at the back.
Carefully, she set him down on the bed, and upon shedding away his clothes for inspection, she gasped in horror. There were countless battle scars across his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his back…
Trembling, and because he was unconscious, the thirty-four year old woman gathered chakra to her hands. For the first few seconds, nothing happened, and she sighed in defeat. It had been too long since she had last used chakra.
And then, as if to prove her wrong, the familiar green glow surged from her hands. Without dwelling on her worries, she immediately set out to heal him.
. . .
When he woke up, his throat was parched dry, but most of his severe injuries have been mended. Beside him, on a small chair, was the sleeping pharmacist, an image that sent a pang of shock to the man. Hastily, his hands reached up to his eyes, and he breathed out a sigh of relief that the blindfold had not been removed.
And then a wave of shame overcame him, because he had unconsciously gone to her.
He cursed silently, and decided he should sneak away and never come back to this small village. Silently, he slipped from the covers and was about to step to the door when a hand caught him by the shoulders.
He turned almost reluctantly, for he knew it was her.
"Are you really mute?"
He frowned; why did she ask him that? Carefully masking his gaze (though it already was by the blindfold), he nodded once.
"Have you…" she abruptly started again, but there was a pause, like she was doubtful of her own voice, her own question. "Have you killed a boy named Gotou?"
He raised his eyebrows, and silently shook his head. Why was she suddenly accusing him?
"Tell me you didn't."
His eyebrows furrowed together. He already gave her the answer, so why was she persistently confronting him?
"Tell me you didn't!" She almost screamed, a seething fury beneath her calm surface.
"Damn it! I know you can speak! I used to be a medic, and I can tell you're not really mute!" Hot tears threatened to be shed. Her anger and grief was swooshing around, and she couldn't tell if it was because of Gotou's death or the stranger's lie.
And, still, there was no response.
It was too much for her in a single day. Unable to fight the urges, and feeling unnecessary to do so anyway, she started crying softly. Uncontrollable tears streamed down her face.
"I know you're Sasuke. So, won't you tell me?" Her whisper was barely audible, muffled by her crying, but the stranger had definitely heard her.
He looked stunned, though maybe that was her imagination, and silence stretched out. Remembering that she was a woman now, and quite old for that matter, Sakura wiped her tears and waited for him to reply.
But then he turned and walked away, leaving her again, leaving her deprived of the truth.
Long after he had left, Sakura fell on the bed and wondered dazedly. Doubts of her own feelings and assumptions came crashing down on her. Maybe he wasn't Sasuke, after all. If the stranger indeed was, it would hurt her too much, because she knew one thing for sure.
If he was capable of lying, he was capable of murdering.
Notes: Thank you readers & reviewers! Oh... The last chapter (chapter 2) needs some serious editing... (groans). Reviews are greatly appreciated. Thank you!
I apologize for any confusion! This story will be continued!