Chapter 4: Frosting

"I brought you tomatoes."

She's later than usual, and she smells of frosting and cake batter. The seventeen-year-old is on her second visit to his cell, holding a woven basket of dark red fruit. "They're healthy and they aren't sweet, so I figured you'd like them."

He did. He despised confectioneries.

Sakura Haruno had developed a routine. She'd always thought doing the same thing daily would force people into ruts of depression and boredom. But her repetitive tasks seemed to raise her spirits instead of drop them—every day she would bring Sasuke his lunch and his dinner, and every other day she would heal his wounds.

He had been damaged badly. Although she would never say it aloud, his injuries almost doubled to that of Naruto's. Still, even if Naruto had landed more hits, Sasuke's throttles had caused more trauma. Maybe, in some way, this put them on the same platform. Sakura did not want to know Sasuke's thoughts on that, however. The two had always been overly confrontational.

"How is your shoulder?" She asks. The rotator cuff on his left arm had been torn painfully. The tissues connecting muscle to bone around the joint were severely damaged. Keeping his body bound in his jacket rid Sasuke of most of the pain, but his nights were unbearable and sleepless.

"I don't know."

Although he cannot see it, Sasuke knows her green eyes roll dramatically. He wonders—what type of green are they now? When they were children her irises resembled two bright emeralds. Has war and death dulled her colors? He wanted to know what she looked like more and more.

"Eat this and we'll do some therapy."

Her fingers unravel his jacket so he can hold his meal. Sasuke vowed to keep his visual prowess sheathed, but was more lenient with the swath that halted his normal movements. The white covering pools around his feet and he sits once more, letting his teeth sink into the thin skin of a ripened tomato.

Sakura works his left shoulder as he chews. He was uncomfortable with her touch at first, because his arm was not there and the feel of it was off-putting. Sakura is a medic, though, and a good one at that. She is accommodating and sure. She makes him feel safe—normal.

As she goes through the range of motion exercises her palms glow. It wards of most of the discomfort. "I think I will have to surgically repair this tendon."

"Ah,"

"I may be able to do an arthroscopic operation using an endoscope. It's less invasive. What do you think?"

Sasuke did not know the meaning of most of her words. "I'll trust whatever decision you make."

Sakura pauses.

It has been two weeks, and she has made very little progress with Sasuke. At first it was quiet and awkward. He did not like to be helped, and did not like to be stretched, and did not like her hands on his body as she checked for infections and inner distress. There was always a silence around them.

Yesterday was the first day she touched him without his eyebrows twitching. And today, for the first time in her life, Sasuke said he trusted her with something.

She is no longer a juvenile adolescent. She will not scream into her pillow when she gets home, and she won't slide down her bedroom door and repeat his words internally. She will offer him gratitude.

Her hands start back up again and she smiles, even though he cannot see it. "I appreciate that, Sasuke-kun."

Sasuke has not ever been so weak. Perhaps he chose this solitude because openly healing in a room with nurses and people he did not know terrified him. Sakura was the best of the best, and he did not even have to snuff out his pride to get her to heal him. She'd made the decision herself.

In her presence, he did not have pride or superiority. He was completely at her will.

As a young girl she'd fallen in love with what she thought was Sasuke. Her image of him had been an unconquerable God—he was the boy that no one could beat. That assumption had been shattered quickly on their first mission to The Land of Waves. Sakura found out that Sasuke could really, really die. There were so many senbon embedded in his flesh, and even now as a trained doctor, Sakura isn't quite sure how he had survived.

Maybe it was because he was needed for bigger and better things. He needed to become a bigger and better person.

Whatever it was, Sasuke was here. He was living and breathing under Sakura's fingertips, and she thanked whichever God it was that kept him alive. She wanted to get to know the true Sasuke—the man that was not consumed with hatred.

They did not talk about the future or the past.

Sakura did not want to know what he planned to do once his probation was let up and she did not want to know of his sins. She visited Naruto frequently, but kept Sasuke's condition secret. Only Tsunade and Ibiki knew of her visits. It was only fair, she thought, since Kakashi and Naruto always hid so much from her. She felt closer to Sasuke knowing that they shared their own veiled relationship.

The weeks turn into months and she stares at Sasuke's motionless body now on her operating table. Shizune assists with the surgery and they expertly repair his damaged tissue. The arm Tsunade is working on has a long ways to go—Hashirama's cells are delicate, and Naruto's hand is being developed first. They expertly mend the tendon of his left shoulder.

It is the middle of the night when they finally finish, and Sakura waits for the sedatives to wear off as Shizune makes her exit. The moonlight fills the room and all of the lights are off. All Sasuke has to do is awaken. Until then, Sakura stares helplessly at his face as his lips inhale life-sustaining breaths.

She's helpless because she's so in love.

Sasuke's jaw is more angled now. It didn't curve delicately like the boy she crushed on all those years ago. Nothing about him was delicate now. His lashes are so long that they almost touch his cheeks, leaving long shadows that catch the moons rays. It's been a while since she's seen them.

Slowly she brushes away his bangs, letting her nails smooth along the perspired surface of his forehead.

He opens one eye, like he'd never been unconscious at all. It's a dark purple and rimmed—absolutely stunning against porcelain flesh. "You didn't kill me, I presume."

"Did you think I would?" Sakura boos, letting her fingertips tiptoe down the bridge of his nose to the top of his mouth.

Sakura's touches have not yet been this delicate. He wondered if she'd truly changed into a wildebeest after all. These days she was a dominant and absolute dictator, pushing and stretching his sore muscles as she worked him through his physical therapy and chided his daily food intake.

But as the pads of her fingers sweep around the side of his lips, Sasuke understands that the old Sakura is still in there.

And she's just as beautiful as ever.

"You're touching me."

Oh god, I didn't even notice! "I'm sorry. I thought I could get away with it."

At least she was honest. "I didn't say you had to stop."

Her eyes blink and Sasuke is drawn to them. They aren't the same color as in her youth after all. Instead, they are filled with flecks of yellow and lime—more chartreuse than forest green. The way she blushes is the same though. The heat spreads across her upper cheeks like a wildfire. She catches a velvety bottom lip between her upper and lower teeth.

"Ah, right. Well, you should be able to move within the next few minutes. The surgery seems successful. I'm going to have to monitor your progress more closely, however. You shouldn't move your arm at all. If you're still planning to use that straightjacket, it works out well. …"

Sasuke listens to her monologue. She's yapping a thousand words per minute it seems, and he's never known anyone who could talk so quickly and clearly. Killer B would be impressed, if only she rhymed.

As she goes through the basic care instructions, Sasuke wonders if she's able to talk like this to just anyone. This woman is passionate about her beliefs and job. She's worked her way up to the top with shear willpower—it had nothing to do with destiny or her clan.

"I'm rambling, aren't I? Oh geez, I'm sorry."

Does she apologize because other people reprimand her? Does she stop speaking because she's been told to shut up before? When she talks about things she's enthusiastic about, her eyes darken, and they turn into that deep earthy green he remembers them always being.

He thinks that it could be his favorite color.

You will be loved, one day, it's true.

By your pet, by your darling, by a friendship that's new.

But first let me tell you of what you must do,

before your love can follow through.

Accept your flaws and your scars and your doubts,

know what you can and cannot do without.

Smile at your reflection, don't believe the lies,

there is pure admiration behind those eyes.

-BK