Cynosure (SY-nuh-shoor; SIN-uh-shoor) noun:

1. An object that serves as a focal point of attention and admiration.

2. That which serves to guide or direct.

3. [Capitalized]. The northern constellation Ursa Minor, which contains the North Star; also, the North Star itself.


Haruno Sakura is a great many things.

Strong willed. Determined. Naive. Innocent. Practical. Smart. So many things. Hoshigaki Kisame was well aware of the fact that one day, when she is older, she's going to probably leave them. Or try to, anyway. One day she's going find a boy and fall in love and leave them - because she is going to be very pretty and sweet and strong and goddamn it they're going to let her go.

The only way to keep her tethered to them would be to fork her off one of their own. Which...just wouldn't work.

Glancing at the boy beside him, he thinks this more firmly. Like hell she was being let near any of those psychos. Uchiha Itachi, nearly fourteen, wouldn't even get a fucking chance in hell. Samehada, strapped to his back still, vibrates violently in agreement. He doesn't care what Sakura says, because ha ha they haven't met yet! And if he (Sasori, Konan, and possibly Pein) have any say in it, they never will.

"Take that, pretty boy." The prodigy glances at him with reproachful scarlet eyes, but doesn't comment on the weird outburst. Kisame clears his throat awkwardly. He hadn't meant to say that. "So, anyway, this is the kitchen and two lefts from here is my room." And one right turn after that is Sakura's.

His new partner nods, damn near imperceptibly. The kid is creepily still at all times, but always watchful. The former Kiri-nin is at a loss as far as conversation goes, so he lets the silence continue. The base is mostly empty of members at the moment and he wonders where Sakura is. Probably out training as best she can. He helps her whenever he can, but mostly she has to teach herself and learn from whatever books she can acquire – she has already been through most of the ones in the base. Maybe the independence is good for her. He's not sure yet.

They pass the common quarters where some of the Akatsuki (and Sakura) lounge in their free time. Somewhere down the hall a crash sounds, and echoes through the empty corridors loudly enough to make the boy beside him blink sharply; this apparently his equivalent to surprise. A little girl's voice rings out, high and wavering with anger, "I most certainly will not!" Kisame flinches and tries to play it off by taking the opposite hall instead because crap that was Sakura fighting with her nanny again.

He knows that Sakura is very calm child most of the time - and creepily logical sometimes, too - so the nanny must have really done something this time. He glances at his still partner, gauging his reaction. There is now mild interest in his eyes - which is not good. The two are too close in age - what happens if (Kami help him) Sakura develops some sort of...like, crush? He's fairly certain his blue head would explode. Another crash, closer this time. The voices are louder.

"You spoiled brat! If you were my child, I'd beat you black and blue!" Hoshit. When Konan hears about that one she's going to flip one hell of a bitch.

"Just try it, you crotchety old bat!" Kisame attempts to smothers a grin, but fails miserably. He knows that the pink haired little tyke is ferocious when she wants to be. The old bag would be down in seconds.

Itachi peers down the hall and opens his perfectly symmetrical mouth to ask a question; Kisame beats him to it. He says, "Don't worry about it, man." and attempts to steer them towards the opposite direction. He is pleased that he managed to refrain from calling him "little man" because that did not seem to go down particularly well last time – at least, as far as he could tell. Maybe after they had been partnered for a while he would be able to read the Noh mask that was his partner's face better.

From down the corridor he can see a speeding pink blur. Headed straight for them. If there is anything he knows about his Squirt, it's that, when she's angry, she has no idea where she's going. At all. Like some kind of tiny pink train stuck on a rail from which she cannot deviate. Before he could react and tell Itachi to get the hell out of her way, the monster was upon them.

The small mass of pink crashes directly into Itachi's knee caps, though the young prodigy makes an attempt to move there is no room in the narrow, dishearteningly low corridor. Unfortunately for her, the only place left to go after that is on the floor - luckily, though, she has a great blue protector to save her from some serious butt-bruising. A big blue hand snaps out and lifts her by the collar so they are eye-level. Disoriented, she thrashes for a moment, hitting nothing but air and probably just managing to tire herself out. Her head hurts from whatever she hit and she's crying because she's furious.

"Hey, Squirt, what have I said about running when you're angry?"

She bites out: "Don't do it."

"Good. Now," he sets her on her own feet and crouches down to her level as best he can manage – he doesn't get that close to her diminutive height, but it is close enough. She is shaking and her pretty, wide green eyes are glass and red rimmed from tears and her hair is a disaster, "what has the old bat done now?"

"She stole my weapons! She says she's going to make a lady and ladies don't play with knives or get mud on their nice clothes or ruin their hair - but, Kisame, I don't want to be a lady! I want to be just like Konan!" She doesn't tell him, but she's also angry because Madara gave her those and that means they are precious - not to mention how disappointed he'll be when he comes back and finds she hasn't improved since he saw her last! Kami, it's her worst nightmare.

Kisame finds it amusing that she's so angry that she hasn't even noticed their newest member yet. Maybe, if he plays this right, she never will.

Itachi, for the most part, takes the whole thing in with only a blink. No one notices that his breathing is just a fraction faster than normal and that his eyes - pretty things with their pinwheels and crimson coloring and long, dark lashes - are completely zeroed in on the little girl that crashed right into him. There is a little girl in the Akatsuki base.

No. That can't be right. She has to be some sort of bait. These S-class criminals would not keep a pink-haired little girl with them. No. Even with his lightning fast mind, he had difficulty working out exactly who she could be.

His breathing is a little laboured because she is just about Sasuke's age and her eyes, though lit in anger, are wide and innocent - just like his little brothers'. Just like his Mother and the few little girls his clan produced. She is too close, too close, and the massacre was not so long ago. In his mind's eye, he can see her bleeding – he would kill her close, personal. The part of his mind dedicated to suppressing emotions began to kick into overdrive.

Kisame was speaking, "...and stash some in secret places, too. But I'm sure Konan will want to talk to her later, too."

A heavy-set woman with a salt and pepper braid – more the latter than the former - swinging behind her, rushed down the hall, her beady eyes zoned in on the girl. Her face is aged and slightly sweaty, there is a bitter set to her mouth that reminds the Uchiha heir of a fishwife, but she is dressed very primly and neatly with a few tasteful, discrete pieces of jewellery. She bows quickly to the men and puts her calloused hand on the kid's shoulder with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

"I am so sorry she's bothering you, Hoshigaki-sama. I will take her back to her room so she won't continue to be nuisance." Sakura squawks indignantly and jerks out of the woman's bruising hold. Kisame puts one of his large hands atop her head, the startling contrast between her hair and his skin devastatingly clear, and guides her to stand in front of him, facing the nanny with a united front.

This woman was relatively new, only a few weeks in service, and she was on a fast-track to getting herself killed. The last one had nearly gotten her hand chopped off for drinking on the job. (Apparently, it's damn hard to find good help in Ame.)

"You know," the shark man begins, his tone deceivingly flippant. "she isn't a bother at all. In fact, I like her a hellavu lot more than I like you."

The woman puffs up and seems to miss the underlying threat in his voice entirely. "Hoshigaki-sama, I am a very capable nanny. I have turned little monsters into refined ladies plenty of times - and Sakura is no different. I will not tolerate such raucous behavior as playing shinobi or rolling around in the dirt like a filthy little pig."

"Yeah, well you suck." Sakura plants her hands on her hips in a way that might be threatening when she is grown and growls at the woman. "I don't want to be lady, so you can quit trying to make me!"

Kisame gently pats her head, proud that she knows how to stand up for herself. "Listen granny, Sakura-chan isn't going to ever be a lady. She is going to be a kunoichi, so she can go train and roll in the dirt all she wants."

As they trio watched, the nanny's face turned an ugly, splotchy purple color. She glares hard at the ex Kiri-nin but when his pale gaze becomes too intimidating, she shifted it to the youngest of the three. All in all, the girl wasn't that bad of a child. She didn't fuss and throw tantrums, she minded her manners most of the time, and all she really wanted to do was read and train. Unfortunately, the nanny had been taught to rear young ladies who would bring gentleness and poise to society, not sharp weapons and warfare. She had hid her pointy things on top of the fridge in the kitchen - place where she knew Sakura couldn't reach and probably wouldn't look.

No one in this place knows how to raise a child properly - but it's not like they are there often enough to spend time with her anyway. The girl is practically raising herself!

"I...apologize, Hoshigaki-sama." She bows deeply, but the biting anger and hint of sarcasm never leaves her eyes. She shoots Sakura one last withering stare before turning tail and walking briskly down the hall, presumably to clean up the mess Sakura had left when searching for her missing possessions.

With his hand still planted on her head, Kisame can feel when she relaxes. Her clear voice, now back to usual chipper (and sometimes a little sarcastic, too) tone rings clear in the dim passageway, "Well, now that that's over - can you please help me find my pouch?"

"Sure, Squirt - just after I finish showing-" Fuck. It's too late to take it back and crap Sakura is too perceptive and suddenly she's glancing behind him and nononono she's seen him!

Her lily white forehead creases a little when she finally meets the newest member's eyes. Her emerald ones widen hugely and Itachi is mildly alarmed to see her pupils dilate when she recognizes the black and red pattern of the Sharingan. He is unable to tell whether it is from fear, or excitement, but stores her reaction in the back of his mind for later examination. She manages to catch herself just before running to hug him because whoa this is not Madara. He's too short, his shoulders not nearly as wide, his features too refined to be her Madara. They have the same eyes, though, and she wonders if they're related. They even have the same color hair, although Madara's seems more rough - not mention way more spiky and short.

"Uh, Sakura-chan, this is my new partner - Uchiha Itachi. Itachi, this is Haruno Sakura." Kisame feels like banging his big blue head against something hard - like a brick wall or something.

Sakura bows politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Uchiha-san." Something about him seemed very sad to the younger girl. She's fairly certain he needs a hug - or so she's read. I mean, it's not like she gets all that much physical affection from her family. Konan hugs her delicately sometimes and Madara likes to pet her hair and entwine her fingers with his own and, sure, she gets the occasional piggy-back ride from Kisame - but that's about it. Maybe she could sneak one.

Itachi's crimson gaze was intense and completely focused on Sakura. He is a little fascinated by the fact that she hadn't thrown a fit when Kisame told her she'd have to wait. Sasuke would have. He would have stomped his foot and stuck out his bottom lip and sulked in corner until he got what he wanted. He had no idea what her nanny was talking about - as far as he could tell, she seemed almost...sweet. That thought snapped to a close almost the moment it started.

"And you, Sakura-san." Kisame watched him warily. He knows how cute six year old Sakura is and he'll be damned if he's going to share.

.

Sakura sits on a rough wooden workbench – swinging her legs back and forth with her hands planted on either side of her. It's been two weeks since she met Itachi and her mind is still buzzing about the possibilities. If Madara has a son that he never told her about, she's not going even say hello to him next he's in base. She thinks that he must be old enough to have fathered Itachi, but is not exactly sure. Her feet swing back and forth under the bench that Sasori cleared for her in a steady rhythm that doesn't match the hectic pace of her thoughts.

The puppet master sits cross-legged on the floor before her, painstakingly carving a wooden figure. Sakura watches avidly as he uses a small, curved knife to define each strand of hair on the figures head. "Sasori-kun," she picks up a wood shaving and inspects it carefully. "What're you carving, anyway? I've been sitting here for hours!"

Without looking up, "It's only been twenty minutes, Sakura."

"Well it feels like hours upon hours." She drops the wood shaving and sighs dramatically, sagging in her seat. "You said you were going to have a surprise for me..."

"And I do," He plucks a knife so small it could pass for a needle off of his worktable and gets to work on the eyes - they have to be flawless. "But you must be patient."

"But I'm not patient!"

"I noticed." His lips curve in a smile when his doll responds with a loud raspberry. "Talk to me. Finish telling me about what happened with your nanny." He doesn't need to look up to know that she's grinning.

"Okay, so I told you about how she hid my kunai pack from me, right?"

"Twice."

"And how she yelled at me and then I yelled at her and then Kisame totally burned her?"

"Yes." Working on the lips now, gently sloping - like Cupid's bow.

"Well, Kisame told Pein and Pein told Konan - Konan got really. really, reallyreallyreally mad at her. She didn't yell - because she's way too cool for that, see - but nanny got really stuttery and clammy and I thought maybe she was going to throw up."

"Konan can be a very scary woman, Sakura." Switching knives, he starts carving the figure's arms - in motion, lunging, fierce.

"I know! But Konan made Zetsu take me out to his garden after that, so I didn't get to see what happened. I don't have a nanny anymore, 'cause Konan's not sure I really need one - since I run away from mine so often anyway." Hands on her slightly scraped knees, she leans forward to try and see what the red-head is doing. All she could see was a tan...blobby thing.

"I'm sure it's for the best." Switching knives once more, he begins on the soft lines of the torso. "How is the Uchiha? I have yet to meet him."

Sakura fidgets with the hem of her black shorts nervously. "Um, he's not so bad, I guess. Seems really sad to me. I dunno. I don't think he likes me much."

At this, he glances up. There is a distressed twist to her lips that he doesn't like at all - it throws off the symmetry of her whole face. "And why would you think that?"

Feeling his scrutiny, she ducks her head to hide the blush blooming across her cheeks. "He just...I don't know. Whenever I say hi to him or try to be nice, he kind just stares - like I'm a freak or something and walks away."

He starts on the legs and frowns. The Uchiha must have something wrong with him. If even Orochimaru can stand her, there should be no reason this boy can't. "There must be a very sensible reason, Sakura."

"But, Sasori-kun," He looks up sharply because suddenly her voice has gone shaky and there is a noticeable change in the atmosphere. "did I do something wrong? Am I ugly or something?"

Startled, he puts down the figure and his knife. "Doll, you are most assuredly not ugly. I highly doubt you did anything wrong, either."

Apparently that doesn't quite do the trick - because she's been trying so hard to be his friend and he doesn't want anything to do with her. Maybe she smells. Her bottom lip trembles at the thought. Wouldn't someone have told her if she was smelly? Obviously not.

Sensing the direction of her thoughts, the former Suna-nin stands and scoops her into his cool arms like the doll she is. "Sakura," Watery green eyes focus on him and he carefully swipes a thumb under her eye to catch a tear. "Sakura. If he does not wish to have the pleasure of your presence, then that is his loss. Ask anybody and they will say the same thing. Especially Kisame-san. You know how much he adores you."

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," he says firmly as he sets her back on the bench. "the misguided opinion of one boy should hardly be counted when you have dozens of others who care for you. Right?"

Swiping at her eyes, "O-okay..."

"Now, would you like to see your surprise?"

She brightens immediately, the only traces of her earlier tears being the light pink tinge to the whites of her eyes and the slightly shining wet tracks down her rosy cheeks. "Yes please!" Blowing some sawdust out of the smaller cracks, he hands the carving to her gently and sits gracefully beside her to watch her reaction – he is sure her expression will be worth recreating.

"Who...is it?" she asks, awed. It is a figure of a woman in action - hair blowing, mid-leap, arm extended as if to deal a crushing blow to an enemy, her eyes are determined and very, very pretty. She has no forehead protector.

"That," Sasori tangles his hand in her pink strands fondly. "is you. Ten or so years from now."

Sakura looks at him sceptically. There is no way she will ever look like the figure. This woman too pretty, too ethereal.

What Sakura doesn't know is that Sasori, through his many years of collecting and creating puppets of every race, age, size, and shape, has come to have a very good understanding of how the face and body age. He knows that Sakura's forehead is going to get smaller, he knows that her cheekbones are going to rise and her chin is going to sharpen, he knows that she will have curves and dancer's legs. She will be delicate. All soft lines and fragile bones.

She will be beautiful in a quiet way. The beauty that most don't notice until its wrapped around you, trapped you, devoured you. Something that only blooms in a startling revelation – the kind of beauty that was shown through actions, movements, the spontaneity of expression. Not for the first time, Sasori considers his collection and the place he has left in his mind for her – when she is grown, should she fall in battle. She will be startling - body and mind contrasting sharply with your expectations. And even then he is sure she will be modest about it.

"Am I really going to be that pretty?" she whispers uncertainly.

"I have no doubt that you will outshine even Konan." He watches as she run a small finger over the carved fist. Stronger, too.

"Wow."

.

Uchiha Madara is a very primal man. Always had been. You could say it ran in the family. In fact, it seems that the more talented and prodigal the Uchiha was, the more feral they were – even if they often hid it well. It was probably a product of too many inter-clan unions. You can take "keep it in the family" for only so long before you start producing two-headed offspring and pure psychopaths like Itachi.

Sakura twisted fretfully in her sleep and turned to nuzzle her face into his chest like a large, pink kitten as though to reassure herself that he was still there. Madara thinks that, had the Uchiha clan been living - he smiles smugly - and had Sakura been born in Konoha, she would have been a very good candidate for marriage. She would have been paired off to one of the higher standing members - that brat Shisui, or maybe Sasuke - and started breeding little green-eyed Uchiha babies immediately after. The clan would have been happy to have her - good genes, no prior connection to the clan, pretty, gentle, good manners, and no bloodline limit to speak of – so far – that would get in the way of the Sharingan. They would have tried to mould her to fit the Uchiha standard.

Burying his one hand in her hair and keeping her close with the other on her back, he thinks that maybe that wouldn't have been so bad - if he had still been the leader, that is. He would have picked her husband for her. Someone worthy. One of his closer relatives. Or him.

His more animalistic side knows, innately, that she will grow up to be very mate-able woman – strong, fertile. Much too young now, of course - but give it ten or so years and she'll be ripe for the picking. He's not quite sure what he's going to do when she decides she likes a boy. Probably kill him and say he ran off with someone else... then be there to pick up the pieces.

Now, if it was someone within the organization, that'd be another story. Depends on who it is and what stage his plan is in. Who knows, he may need her for something.

The girl buries her nose in his cloak, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then sighs in a contented manner. She loves the way he smells and he knows it. He supposes she has been conditioned that way – he knows he has held her more than her own mother and that his appearances – far apart enough to be special – are usually accompanied by things she enjoyed – attention, teaching, affection... Smiling wickedly, he curls his whole body around her sleeping form - covering her, petal coloured head to tiny foot, in his smell. It makes his primal side rumble in satisfaction; knowing that she will be around other males and still have him all over her. She is too small to appreciate it yet, but when she is older he will be more...thorough.

For now, he is content to leave little pieces of himself on her. One of his old cloaks is slung over the back of her desk chair. The holster full of weapons sits next to her bed. She is sleeping in one of his old shirts at this very moment. Slowly but surely, he is carving a permanent niche for himself in her life. She will never remember a time when he was not there in some form. When he thinks about letting some other male take that spot from him, it leaves a sour, bitter taste in his mouth like the black, coppery taste of holding a kunai in the mouth. Like hell he'd ever give her up. Someday, she may be the cynosure of his plans. Who knows?

"Madara," she mumbles into his shirt, half asleep. "you gonna leave soon?"

He breathes into her cotton candy hair, "No Sakura-chan, I will be here for a long, long time."

Sleepily, she sighs. He can feel her lips curve into a smile against his chest. "Good."


A/N: Whoa damn, son! three updates in - what? - two weeks. You can thank the flu. Its kept me home from school and forced me to have some quality time with my computer. :D

As for the chapter: Madara is a creep, isn't he? Also. FUCK. Itachi is hard to write. I swear to God, I must have rewritten his bits at least six times - and it wasn't until my super gorgeous BetaLadyPimp, Ophelialovesthefishes, added some awesome lines in there that he really came together. So. Thank her. A lot. Seriously, if it wasn't for her, all 'o this would be a pile of mush. BLAH.

You rock my socks Phe!

EDIT: Ugh. I forgot to thank you guys for all the reviews! I love them. Also, thank you to the anonymous reviewer who left me those super long comments last night! Thanks so much, Anonymous. (People, the longer the review the better - just saying.) Oh, and I also thought it was hilarious that she/he was the only one to comment about Kisame's mad birthday pie-making skillz. LOL. :D