A/N: Thanks so much to all the new reviewers! I promise I read and think on your criticism. Hopefully you see it reflected well here: two chapters for the price of one, and the end of an arc!

seven: fever, part I

Somewhere beyond the interlocking bare branches that shaded the caravan, a screeching hawk pierced through the rough caws of crows and the tittering of smaller forest birds. The sound grated on Shikamaru. He was starting to miss the eerie silence of the desert. The wild border forest of his home country was thronged with animals that enjoyed hearing their own voices. Where, he wondered desperately as the hawk screamed again, where gentle, silent deer of his clan forest? Where was the calming, cleansing, soft-whispering wind?

And when would this goddamn mission end? Thanks to Neji's watchful eyes Shikamaru knew Matsuo's routine by heart now, but there was nothing to do about it until they had more evidence of some kind of wrongdoing. And evidence seemed to be slow in coming. They were now four days after the rogue raid and they hadn't crossed a single security checkpoint, meaning that he and Sakura hadn't had half a chance to investigate the cargo or the crew any more than their communal dinners allowed. Matsuo was staying shut up in his caravan car except to eat and to exercise, performing katas by himself in the early hours of the morning and walking for an hour or so after lunch. Communications from Gaara had been necessarily aborted and they hadn't heard shit from their squadmates up in the trees, who must surely be just as tired of this as he was—of this endless trudging, of inane conversation with exhaustingly stupid samurai, of waking up in the middle of the night to Sakura's gasping, hacking breaths.

Not that the rest of the team was subject to that, although by this point the Hyuuga had probably seen something of it—no, Sakura's nightmares were under his and her jurisdiction alone. Under her fierce, challenging glares, he didn't say anything when she woke up choking on her own spit; he would merely reach over to her pallet and put a hand somewhere in her vicinity, which she would squeeze in reassurance or ignore, depending, he supposed, on the draem. She hadn't vomited, at least, since the last time, so it seemed like she had it under enough control. As terrible as the visions might be, at least they cut his personal boredom. He was so exhausted with this mission that he'd been having trouble sleeping himself, which hadn't been a problem since Asuma's death.

Boredom on a mission like this was dangerous; boredom killed. But he couldn't help feeling shut-up and shut-in, and consequently shutting down. There was simply nothing for him to do. No new information to add to the complicated mental networks he'd made, remade, and reviewed. No new strategies to form. He was just waiting, waiting, and walking.

Now, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground, Shikamaru tried to be logical. They had to stop sometime soon—Matsuo wasn't one to be cooped up, either, and surely the caravan's supplies must be getting low enough to warrant a stop at the next town. Maybe, though traveling within it was by far the most efficient way to get to Lightning, the caravan wasn't keen on stopping in Fire Country? Maybe they knew that the Hokage of their hidden village was corresponding with the Kazekage and wanted to stay as much out of Tsunade's hair as possible? Wouldn't blame them. The woman was terrifying at the best of times. But the Fire Country border was long, and they couldn't stay moving within it forever.

A third time for the damn hawk. His temples throbbed. He wanted a cigarette. I will choke you with your own shadow.

Next to him, Sakura's shoulders stiffened, and he heard her breathe out an "oh!" Shoving his irritation to the back of his head for a moment, he turned to face her, brushing hair out of his eyes as he did so. It was becoming such a habit that he suspected he'd still do it with the return of his ponytail. Long hair was a drag. "What is it?"

She appeared to be suppressing a smile, and was looking up into the canopy. "Sai," she said. "I recognize the sound of that hawk."

"No wonder it's so annoying," he muttered. "I guess that means they have a message for us."

"About time, don't you think? I wonder—" She returned her eyes earthward and looked around at the groups of samurai clustered at the front and back of the caravan. "It's going to keep screeching if we don't get the message. D'you think you could keep an eye out if I pretend to need the bathroom?"

"That's a little crude," he said dryly. "Have you been taking lessons in espionage from Naruto?" Still, she looked pleased at a sign from a friend, and it'd been days since he'd seen her smile, and they needed to get the message somehow. He sighed and nodded. "No problem. Be quick."

"Good." She re-tucked her veil into the white headscarf. "And for all Naruto's faults, you know, sometimes the sophomoric is best. He did manage to pull his stupid pervert jutsu on the mother of all chakra…"

"What are gods and men," he quipped, "in the face of Uzumaki Naruto?"

She sighed. "Sadly, that's a valid question." She headed off to Arashi with her hands pressed together in a plea. Shikamaru heard her adopt a nervous, apologetic tone—"It'll be so quick, gomen, gomen, I really don't need a guard—" and heard Arashi grumble—"Well we're not stopping for you, medic, and if you die it's your own damn fault—" and then she was off into the trees, looking every bit like an embarrassed, anxious girl. A couple samurai joked and leered at her, but no one made a move to follow.

Shikamaru was vaguely impressed by her acting. She'd gotten better at playing the role of Tsukiko, using the medic's things and making good judgment as to her tendencies: he'd even once caught her looking at the picture of the girl's mother with a frown, as if trying to figure out why the woman in the photo would be of such importance. "I just feel like I'm getting to know her," she'd said when he'd asked. "Tsukiko. She's just another kunoichi who was treated like she had no talent and wound up acquiring none. She took a high-paying medic job to support her mother, had a fling with a samurai that ended in nothing, and then got captured by Gaara just so I could come and snatch up her life. I mean, at least that warrants some sympathy."

He'd raised an eyebrow, about to ask if she'd ever considered becoming an actress, and she'd blushed and put the photograph down with a sort of sadness in her fingers that stopped him from opening his mouth. "Oh, don't," she'd said, punching him on the shoulder with a familiarity she usually reserved for her blonde teammate. "I'm not trying on a new life. It's not—escapism. I'm just—" She'd stopped. The fringe of her dyed hair hung over her face, hiding her eyes. She was still fingering the photograph. "I'm just thinking of the reasons people do what they do."

Shikamaru stood to; Sakura was returning from the forest, jogging to catch up with the caravan. She looked good—he caught himself immediately—what he meant was that she looked happy. Her cheeks were flushed, probably from the cold autumn wind up above the canopy, and her veil was a little bit askew. A lock of dark hair had escaped from her scarf. When she reached him, she carried the sharp scent of trees and fresh sap with her. "Good news," she said.

"Looks like it. What did you do up there, get married?"

"I won't be nearly so pleased with marriage," she answered cheerfully. "No—Sai and Neji were up there, following from above. They say we're heading straight for a resort town on the border with the Land of Hot Water. Neji saw Matsuo signing a bill for an inn there, so he's probably going to take the hot springs for a night. They have an extensive security checkpoint—their clientele is all super wealthy—and will insist that all the cargo is taken from the caravan and placed in temporary storage somewhere within the town."

She was beaming, which made him slightly uncomfortable. Her daily dullness and nightly disturbances had become normal; now, seeing her smile generated an odd stomach-urge that made him want to smile, too. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from doing so. Troublesome. "That is good news," he said instead. "I suppose the other piece of that good news is that they'll be waiting for us in the town?"

"I wish you wouldn't guess things before I tell them," she groused, "and don't take that as a compliment. Shino and Sai are going to patrol the town. Neji will have an eye on Matsuo. And Kakashi-sensei wants to join you when you look at the cargo."

"Which means we need a plan for getting to it in the first place without being seen," he mused. It was good to feel his gears turning again. "Yare, yare. I could have been assigned a taichou who didn't like to make things so complicated. And what's your role for this busy night?"

"Staying put," she said primly, with supreme effort put towards sounding okay with it, "while you macho men go do all the work. I go wherever the rest of the caravan goes, and keep your clone with me in case anyone peeks in."

"It might not be all that bad," he said reasonably, trying to keep his grin from spreading. "Hosh might take you to the hot springs. Ouch."

"You deserved that."

"Well, someone should take you," Shikamaru said, rubbing the rib she'd just bruised. "You need to take a breather."

As if in reply, she exhaled long and low. "Not yet, I think." The dullness that had accompanied them for the past four days flickered briefly over her eyes again, which he watched with a mild fascination. She was suppressing herself. Calmly and quietly, like cloaking chakra. She'd been tempering her rages and frustrations, and her pleasures, too.

"Kota, you're staring." And he was—staring in mild disbelief at the way her eyes had changed in tone and color. His hand was still massaging the rib upon which Sakura had exacted her revenge. So he looked away and stuck his hands in his pockets again and fell behind her a couple of steps, returning to his subservient assistant's position. Internally he considered her steps, working her out. Sakura was intentionally blocking herself off, whether subconsciously or with full knowledge it wasn't clear. She had apparently deemed it the best way to avoid any further attacks of the sort that had sent her vomiting underneath the caravan and down on her knees on that mission weeks ago, where she'd growled at him in an otherworldly tone to 'let me go.' He was almost impressed with her masking ability. She was another Sai. Danzou would have loved her. He shuddered.

"You're still staring. I can feel it, which means they can see it." To which he didn't have an answer. So he dropped his eyes, frowned, and kept in silent pace behind her. Shikamaru didn't know what was happening to his teammate, and if she didn't seem to feel like explaining it—so be it. But if he was sure of one thing, it was that keeping it all buttoned and bottled was not sustainable. Not for her. Knowing Sakura, she would at some point explode. He could only watch for it, get out of its way, and try to keep their work intact when it did.

She gave him the silent treatment after that, probably as punishment for his obvious concern. It didn't much bother him—now that he had something to focus on, even the racket of the birds above wasn't bothersome. He ordered his thoughts to the rhythm of their steps. They'll move the cargo inside the town. The kikaichu can follow them. I'll make a clone to stay with Sakura and meet Kakashi-taichou at night. And then several courses of action presented themselves. If the cargo is sensitive, we inform the Hokage and wait for permission to move on Matsuo and the samurai. If the cargo is innocent, we'll have to work harder on getting Matsuo to talk. Or—and this was the worst case he could possibly imagine after a week of drudgery—we stick with the caravan all the way to Kumogakure. Get into closed meetings between Matsuo and the Raikage. Have Sakura pry Hosh for information on the way there. And then—and then walk all the way back to Wind Country. He could weep.

Three hours later, as dusk was approaching and the crisp fall cold had effectively seeped through Shikamaru's cloak, they reached the impressive metal gates of the town. Resort towns had always puzzled him: how is a place so singly devoted to people who only pass through? The idea of a town based entirely on pleasing foreigners seemed implicitly stupid. But then, maybe a town based entirely on raising fantastic killers wasn't much smarter.

I should have abdicated the clan and become a civilian, he thought absently, watching Matsuo step down from his caravan car with the usual smooth swagger to meet the guards at the gate, who looked more like hotel staff than police. Matsuo exchanged words with the guards and Arashi, who ordered samurai to begin unloading the cargo cars. Matsuo barked something to his assistants, who immediately scurried to assist. Shikamaru heard a brief hum and caught one of Shino's sly little spies weaving towards the exposed boxes. He looked to his left and saw Sakura's satisfied smile; so she'd seen it, too. All was according to plan.

But no—of course it wasn't. Shikamaru noticed with some feelings of ill premonition that Matsuo was making his way towards the two of them now, wrapping himself in a heavy and expensive-looking traveling cloak. His hair, normally pulled back in a ponytail, was loose and hanging around his jaw like strips of black silk. Out of his caravan car and ordering people around had put him in his element; the rich man radiated confidence and power, as rich men will do. The forest floor seemed to bend under his feet. Shikamaru hated him, suddenly, with a feeling like he'd taken too big a gulp of hot tea. It burned his chest.

"Tsukiko-chan, my medic-in-waiting," the big man said. "You've been remiss in your duties. I never came to you to have the stitches removed."

Sakura flicked her veiled eyes up to him. He was a head and a half taller than her, but Shikamaru could tell that she was purposefully slouching so as to emphasize the difference. She was a smart actress and a woman who knew many powerful men; she knew what they assumed, what they took for granted. He felt a grudging respect for that kind of observance. "I didn't presume to come to you first, Matsuo-sama," she answered, "and I wasn't about to underestimate you. I assumed you'd know when they needed removal."

He grinned at this, rather wolfishly. Shikamaru, not having been addressed, felt free to focus his attention on the cargo. The samurai were loading crates onto a horse-driven truck on the other side of the gates; the guards were checking inside one of them, pulling out items wrapped in paper. "The time has come," Matsuo was saying. "I don't want to enjoy these wonderful springs tonight with twine in my arm."

"I'm happy to assist. Would you like me to remove them now?" Sakura's voice was pleasant. Maybe this was why she put on the dull act: to conserve her energy for smiling in the face of this insufferable jackass. Shikamaru peered into the space between Matsuo's arm and his body. The guards didn't appear to find anything wrong with the contents of the box; they'd begun repacking it.

Matsuo waved his arm in a dismissive way, distracting Shikamaru into looking at him again. "No, no, later on. I'd like to get cleaned up first. And I assume you'd like some rest after so many days of walking."

"I'm not about to complain about sore feet, Matsuo-sama," she answered with dignity. Shikamaru surreptitiously watched the guards check another box. Still nothing suspicious. But maybe they weren't looking properly…? It wasn't impossible that Matsuo would have bribed them. Resort towns often hosted the seedy and the slick.

"No, you wouldn't." Matsuo's tone had changed—gotten softer. Shikamaru glanced back without moving his head; the man had shifted his posture, too, and was leaning closer to his teammate.

Sakura seemed conscious of this, too. She was biting her lip. Shikamaru wished she wouldn't. "So." She glanced absently at the trees. "Where are you staying, then, Matsuo-sama? I can come to the resort after we've both rested."

He chuckled, a dark sound. "I'm staying where you're staying, Tsukiko-chan. The resort on the hill. They have a beautiful onsen with purportedly wonderful healing qualities. I assumed a medic would appreciate it more than I."

Shikamaru whipped his head around with such violence that his neck cracked; eyes watering, he blinked at the crooked M made by Sakura's legs leaning back and Matsuo's stepping forward. Sakura's mouth was open slightly underneath the veil. Matsuo's eyes were unassuming, but his lips curled in a smile. "I, um, I'm sure I would—" Sakura began, but Matsuo cut her off with another chuckle.

"How did that samurai get you in his bed, Tsukiko-chan? You're dense. Consider this an employee directive: stay in the resort. I've already paid for your room. You can come to the waters and finish healing me there, and take them yourself if you're so inclined."

Sakura blinked. "Not dense, Matsuo-sama, only principled. Your generosity is appreciated, but I—"

"Didn't we already go through this with the ring?" Matsuo said gently. "I don't want to tell you twice. You're here to provide medical services. I'm merely telling you where to provide them." He leaned back, finally, but Sakura remained on the defensive, one foot behind the other, as if ready to run. "My assistant will come find you when I'm ready. Bring your supplies—unfortunately, I neglected to reserve a space for Kota-san." He gave Shikamaru an off-handed nod and walked blessedly away, where Shikamaru could not reach him to stab him in the throat. Which was sort of Sakura's M.O., anyway.

Shikamaru swallowed the bad taste their target had left in his mouth and looked at Sakura instead; she was laughing gently and his scowl. "Well. There go your best-laid plans, I suspect."

"I always have backups," he said, which was true. He'd still need to leave a clone in whatever shoddy excuse of a bed he'd been assigned, but his meet with Kakashi, at least, could go on as planned. Hyuuga Neji would be watching Matsuo already, so Sakura would have backup no matter what. The question was, why was Matsuo inviting her in the first place? "He either suspects you or he's smitten with you. Neither," he added, "leaves you in a very safe position tonight."

Sakura shrugged a single shoulder. The caravan was fully unloaded now, and two of Matsuo's staff were closing up the cars. The samurai were moving into their formal lines now to hear orders from Arashi and enter the village. "I'll get what I can from him, regardless," she said, and though her voice was calm he saw her lips twist in a little grimace.

"Tsukiko-san! Kota-san!"

It was Hosh, of course, striding to them in the official samurai gait: straight legs, shoulders thrown back. "I have been instructed to inform you," he said to Shikamaru, "that you will be staying at the Five Stars All-Quality Inn with the samurai. It is on the eastern end of the village. We will be heading there straightaway."

Shikamaru sighed. Inns with more than three words in their name always seemed to have moldy walls and seedy bars.

Hosh continued, his professionalism faltering when he turned to face Sakura. "I have been instructed—well, no I haven't been instructed as such—I mean—" The samurai looked seriously displeased. Shikamaru raised his eyebrow pointedly in case Hosh looked his way, but of course the samurai's eyes stayed on Sakura. "I think you should be careful, Tsukiko-san."

"Be careful?" she reprised.

Hosh finally sent a glance at Shikamaru; he looked almost panicky. "Look, Tsukiko, I know we haven't—we never spent much time together. And that we probably won't, ever. Not again. But Matsuo-sama—he's a powerful guy, and I don't want you to think that—that just gifts—" He paused again. "He's dangerous, that's all I'm trying to say. He knows you're the daimyo's medic and he wants to keep you close. He's told all the samurai that we're to keep an eye on you. So you can put your loyalties wherever you want, but I just want you to… to know."

Sakura was either speechless or playing the part very well. Shikamaru couldn't think of much to say, himself. But after another quick glance his way and a nervous smile at the woman he thought was his once-lover, Hosh turned around and marched himself back to his captain.

After a moment, Sakura turned to look at Shikamaru. Her face was a picture of disbelief. "I'll do a henge for the ANBU tattoo and my seal," she said, gesturing at her forehead. "If Matsuo wants me in his bath, or his room, I've got to do it. There's something we don't know that we obviously should. By why Hosh thought he had to warn me especially…"

"Tch." He wondered about that, himself. What was Hosh worried about? He was getting paid by Matsuo, anyway. "He might still feel loyalty to the daimyo," Shikamaru mused quietly. "I'll think on it. But…" The samurai had begun moving out. He supposed he should follow them. Matsuo's assistants looked to be waiting for Sakura to get a move on. "Well, seduce you or kill you—Matsuo'll try one, at least, tonight. You have eyes on you if you need help, don't forget." He felt like he should say something more…positive. More optimistic. "I'll find you tomorrow morning." That wasn't really it, was it? But that was all he had. The samurai were moving out and the sky was growing darker. Shikamaru spared Sakura a nod and followed the samurai through the gate, his eyes on the helmets in front of him. Just what he wanted: a night in the company of the Great Unwashed.

He looked back, just once, just to make sure. Sakura was getting supplies out from their caravan car and talking amiably with one of Matsuo's assistants. She looked totally at ease in stance and smile. But her eyes were still all wrong.

Trou-ble-some. Trou-ble-some. The birds were laughing at him.

Watch.

Sakura opened her eyes and saw broken ground. Rubble and dirt under her knees—she was on her knees? She tried to stand and immediately stopped with one foot on the ground, balancing still on the other knee; her muscles were strings tuned too tightly, ready to snap and ruin the chord. She couldn't stand fully. Dimly, she heard someone panting; it took a moment for her to realize that she was the one out of breath. She looked to her left and to her right and saw nothing. No one was around her. She wondered briefly if she'd created all this destruction—it wasn't impossible, not with a couple well-placed punches into the fault lines of the earth. Absently she rubbed some dirt between her fingers. It didn't feel quite real—

Suddenly, she knew where she was. A glance at her right arm confirmed it; the sleeve was torn off. An unfamiliar lightness at the top of her head told her that her hitai-ate was missing. I'm at the end of the battle with Kaguya. She surveyed the surroundings again: still, no one was around. If memory served, Sasuke and Naruto should be in front of her, arguing over who would be Hokage. Kakashi should be behind her, weakened.

Watch.

Inner. Sakura looked around a third time, but of course this was in vain—she hadn't actually seen Inner since her reappearance. "Okay," she muttered. She wasn't feeling sick yet, at least. "Am I dreaming?"

You'd better damn well hope so.

Sakura grudgingly acknowledged the truth of this.

Suddenly, in her peripheral vision, a figure appeared—she turned her head and couldn't help gasping. "Obito!"

He doddered towards her like the living dead, but he wasn't the shellacked creature who'd helped transport her to other worlds; he was Obito as he should've been, an Uchiha through and through: dark hair, well-deep black eyes, Sasuke-brand smirk. Able to ignore the pain in her legs at last, she ran to him, but he put out a hand to stop her before she could touch him. "Sakura, I'm sorry."

No that—that was Sasuke's voice. She felt herself take a step back. "Obito?" But it wasn't Obito anymore. It was Uchiha Madara: wild eyes, wild hair, monster.

"I'm sorry for everything."

Sasuke's voice coming out of that mouth. She pressed her lips together in a line. "I don't want his apologies from you."

Watch!

Kakashi was behind her, limping. "Don't be angry with them, Sakura," her sensei said gravely, hooking an arm around her shoulders. "The last Uchiha."

"There were a lot of last Uchihas," she snarled.

Kakshi didn't let go. "You're stuck."

You're stuck.

"You're stuck." Sasuke's voice coming out of the right mouth now, at least. She stared at him. He was whole and undamaged, twelve again, petulant mouth and scowling eyes. "Ne, Sakura. You're so…"

"…annoying," he said, but it was Shikamaru who was saying it now, and rolling his eyes. Sakura squeezed hers shut.

Watch.

"I don't want to," she said, and already she could feel the bile well in her throat at her rejection of Inner's vision. Kakashi's arm moved from her shoulders to her waist and she jumped forward, alarmed and eyes fluttering open despite herself, but the arms held fast—it wasn't Kakashi behind her anymore after all, it was Hyuuga Neji holding her so tightly, her captain, and there was blood coming from the corner of his mouth. He was smiling softly, like he had been when he was sure—when everyone was sure—that he was dying a worthy death, a hero's death. She stared at his head on her shoulder, stared at his hair matted in blood. "I don't want to watch this," she said again, shaking her head and pushing him off—he fell like rocks, right on his face, which was now Sai's face, complete with close-eyed smile. "I don't want to and I shouldn't have to. This is all over."

"Sa-ku-ra-chan,"groaned the voice of her golden boy, and she shut her eyes against whatever possible image of bleeding, dying Naruto she might be confronted with. Not that. Not him.

"Tsukiko-san!"

There was a humming in her ears: Shino's bugs. "Good," she said as her stomach lurched, "good, eat me up, take my chakra—" What was she saying? "Good, I don't want to see this, I don't want it."

"Tsukiko-san!" That wasn't her name, who was calling her that? A rumbling sounded off somewhere in the distance.

"You're stuck," it was Sasuke again, his voice deeper and closer this time, and she knew what was coming, Fine, she thought, let's get this over with, and she opened her eyes just in time to see his impassive eyes boring into hers, just in time to feel him shove his hand up through her before she could exhale properly to deal with it, just in time to open up her eyes in the real world, in the resort room in the Land of Hot Water, and bolt up from the bed where she'd promised herself only a twenty-minute nap, and run to the door like it was a last resort.

She took a moment before sliding it open; swallowed once, twice, three times to keep her stomach at bay and to reassure herself that she was in the right place. It was the same room she'd fallen asleep in, with a futon made of dark wood taking up most of the space and pleasant paintings of waterfalls and happy onsen-goers flanking the side tables.

Matsuo's shaky-handed assistant looked pleased when she opened the door. "Good! Matsuo-sama is ready for you now."

"Of course," she answered, surprised at how level her voice sounded. "I have my things right here—just a moment." She gathered them quickly: scissors, ointment, extra bandages just in case, all stuffed in a cloth satchel and slung over her shoulder. She hadn't had time to set her henge in place, but surely Matsuo wouldn't ask her to actually strip in front of him? She wouldn't have to feign primness for that.

The dream had shaken her up. She forced herself to take a deep breath and just perform. Tsukiko was an orderly, prudish, goal-oriented medic with a romantic streak. She went to the highest bidder out of love for her family. A textbook character on the surface with tension roiling on the inside. That's me. Okay.

Sakura gave Matsuo's assistant one of her best smiles and slid the door shut behind her. "Let's go, then."

The assistant led her down the hallway of rooms and took a left at the main entrance, following the signs for the outdoor onsen. When he slid the door open to the outside Sakura's skin puckered; it was a frigid fall night, and she wished she'd brought a sweater. Apparently Matsuo was already enjoying the water. Bet they kept it open for him.

Indeed, while other resort-goers appeared to be finishing their baths, Matsuo luxuriated in a separate pool, cordoned off from the others by an aesthetically-planted line of grasses. It was a beautiful set of pools; the resort was obviously very expensive. There were no families here, only elegant-looking men and women in pristine white towels. The heat from the water coiled above the surface in steam, shrouding the laughing bathers in fine mist. The effect was somewhat creepy, like walking through a ghost town. A bathhouse for the spirits.

Matsuo smiled a guileless smile at her, which immediately put her on guard. He had his injured arm out of the water, at least. "Tsukiko-chan, you came to the baths in your full regalia?"

"I came to remove your stitches," she reminded him, kneeling by his head. She rummaged for her supplies in the cloth bag, making a distinct effort not to look in the water. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, but she didn't quite trust him to keep it there. "This is pretty unhygienic, by the way," she couldn't help but add. "I assume you had to pay a pretty penny to get a pool all to yourself."

"If you come to this place worrying about losing a little extra, you're thinking about it all wrong," he said, quite relaxed as she began snipping the threads on his arm. "What's a couple ryo more, once you've already spent so much?"

"I suppose that's only natural if you have so much to get rid of," she answered, pulling the threads slowly. They came away easily. He was almost completely healed; a quick session with her hands and his arm wouldn't even be marked anymore. "We who scrimp rather than spend might go for discount luxuries."

He chuckled at that. "Discount luxury isn't luxury at all. Keep doing good work like this and you won't have to scrimp much longer." She didn't answer, but in her peripheral vision she saw Matsuo wave his assistant away. After a moment, when she was three-quarters of the way through with his sutures, he leaned closer to her. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to, Tsukiko-chan. I know what you want out of all this."

She didn't raise her eyes, but quirked her lips in a silent question mark.

"Status. Money. Security. Isn't it what we all want from life? Safety in our own skins? Eh?"

"Is that why you gave me the ring? Because you're worried about my financial security?"

He sighed, annoyed, and made a fist, flexing his forearm so her eyes, which were fixed on her work, would see his displeasure. "You obtuse girl. I'm giving you an out here. Your daimyo isn't going to be able to provide a salary for you much longer."

She flicked her eyes up at him, finally. He wasn't even looking at her; he was looking at the sky. Sakura licked her lips. "Why not? He's the daimyo. He rules my country."

"In name," Matsuo allowed. "But you know he's got financial troubles of his own, don't you, medic-chan? You give him his daily dose of tranquilizer when it all becomes too much for his little old head. And you know that it's money, not titles, that confer power. You're a smart girl. You know who holds the reins here."

Sakura considered her options. He was saying a lot, but none of it was news. Sakura realized that she had to play him into talking outside of Tsukiko's realm of experience: she had to find out about the samurai, about their destination, about his business. He's being direct with me; I'll be direct with him. She was getting a better sense of him through this than she had from Neji's reports, which had described a calculating, disciplined man with a vain streak and a tendency for overthinking. All that was true, but Matsuo also seemed lonely. On the road, he was out of his element. This was a guy who liked the cat-and-mouse power-plays of business and politics; a cunning strategist of people and place who enjoyed a good mental tussle. On this front, he wasn't unlike some shinobi she knew. The thing she couldn't understand was his focus on her, but that seemed secondary to digging out a complete picture of his decision to go on caravan to Lightning.

"Matsuo-sama, with all due respect, I don't know why we're having this conversation," Sakura said at last, as she took the last threads from pliant flesh. "If you're asking whether I will work for you for a higher salary than the daimyo can pay, the answer is yes, and you know that. If you're asking if I'll spy for you, I don't understand why—you already know everything I could tell you. So…"

"So?" He seemed to be enjoying her verbalized logic.

"So, what?" Chakra flared at her fingertips. "This might twinge."

"Twinge away." She leaned over his arms, tracing the ripple and pucker of his wound with her fingertips, watching with some pride as the scar tissue diminished, paled, and disappeared. It took her a moment to realize that he was twirling an errant lock of her hair around his big-knuckled finger. "The fact is, little medic-chan, you intrigue me far more than your dossier led me to believe you would." He paused and licked his lips. The motion of it unnerved her. "Why don't you run back and get a towel when you're finished? You can come join me in the bath here."

She hesitated. He saw. "Completely platonic bathing," Matsuo said, smiling wide. "You make good conversation, and I'm tired of obsequious assistants and rough mercenary samurai. If it makes you feel safer, you can bring a scalpel."

She finished with his arm and sat back. Her arms vibrated with residual chakra and maybe, if she'd admit it, with nerves. "No scarring," she told him. "You heal well."

"No, you heal well. Go on. I'll wait."

She had no choice, really.

Walking briskly back to her room, Sakura tried to divide and re-collect her thoughts, Shikamaru-style. If he made a move on her, would she let him? Would Tsukiko let him? No, Tsukiko would not. She wouldn't give in to slick charms and the promise of more gold rings. She would keep her distance. If it was conversation Matsuo wanted, it was conversation he would get.

How best to turn the conversation to the samurai, the Land of Lightning, or the cargo? So, Matsuo-sama, what's so great about soy products, anyway? So, Matsuo-sama, I hear we're going to a hidden village. Are they in dire need of nutrition? Matsuo-sama, what the fuck is in the boxes?

In the safety of her room she performed a quick henge. It was a relief to take off the veil and headdress and bandages. Looking in the mirror, she saw another woman: one with dark, wind-tangled hair, with flushed cheeks and Ino's blue eyes, just in case Matsuo had noticed their lightness from underneath the veil. No seal to reveal her Strength of a Hundred. No tattoo to display her loyalties to her leader and her village. No sign, really, of kunoichihood. She tried a smile. It worked.

Without ceremony, she stripped, wrapped the towel tightly around her chest, drew a robe around it for good measure, and stepped back out into the night.

Why did the daimyo assign me to you? He must know you're after his power, might be a good question to start with. From there they could go into the dangers of travel, and from there into the need for the samurai, and etc. That was natural and practical conversation. That would be her first question.

Her sandaled feet slapped the ground, but none of the other bathers appeared to notice her passing. Their soft laughter mingled with the softer mist; the candles set around the pools set both to a kind of warmth that Sakura wondered if one could only buy. No wars and no worries. Her dreams could be put far behind her if she only sank deep enough into the life of the wealthy civilian elite.

Matsuo was in the same spot of the pool, admiring his unmarked arm. When Sakura approached, he grinned. It wasn't a wholly unpleasant effect. "Medic-chan, all unwrapped! You have beautiful eyes. Come into the water."

She did so, taking off her sandals in a line and folding the bathrobe as she thought the orderly Tsukiko might do. The first step into the hot water made a blossoming warmth run up her spine—the cold air on her face and the heat on her foot made her feel almost fizzy. Sakura kept her towel closed tight as she entered up to her shoulders, but she couldn't keep a sigh from escaping her lips. When she looked up, Matsuo was looking at her still. She ducked her head. "Matuo-sama, I was wondering—"

"No, I was wondering." With a surge of movement she chided herself for not expecting, he was in front of her, quite close, nearly pinning her to the wall. Sakura had a crazy moment of wondering if his towel was still secure. But he wasn't looking at her with happiness or desire; he was radiating some other kind of energy. Something cruel.

Well, shit. All of a sudden she thought of her oft-taichou Neji, watching from somewhere above. It gave her little comfort to know he was seeing her trapped between a wall and their target's pectorals.

"I was wondering," Matsuo continued quietly, "why your assistant wasn't in his room, and why this moron was." He gesticulated roughly to his left, and when Sakura looked she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

It was Hosh. Helmet off, armor removed, held by Arashi. The captain of the samurai guard had a dagger placed precariously at Hosh's neck, but Hosh was still trying his damndest to shake his head at her, his eyes wide and scared. Sakura ran through a list of possible answers, but the only good one was the true one. "I don't know," she said breathlessly. "Matsuo-sama, really—"

"I was also wondering," he interrupted her, "why, when I went through your medical supplies before this caravan even began, I found explosive-testing kits."

Again, this was news. Sakura widened her eyes. "What?"

Matsuo narrowed his eyes at her and, if it was possible, pressed closer; she kept her hand fisted at the front of her towel. "I'm currently wondering if you've been working with this idiot the whole damn time."

Hosh made a wild, desperate sound; Arashi bent his arms back in response, and Sakura looked back and forth at them, flabbergasted. "Matsuo-sama, I swear I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

The businessman's eyes were dark and thunderous as he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into them. Sakura began amassing chakra in her fist. He looked at her for a long time, Hosh's grunts sounding pathetically from behind them both. Then, with another violent motion, he pushed himself back to his side of the pool. He was smirking. "Drop that towel, medic."

"I'm—what?" Of all the fucking things.

"I'm not asking," he said, rolling his 's' in a sibilant way that reminded her too much of Orochimaru. Except Orochimaru could have dismembered Matsuo of the Sand without half trying. "Do it, or Arashi will drown you."

Sure, Arashi looked like he'd have no problem with that. Sakura knew without a sliver of doubt that she could take them both, but there was still a chance she could save this—that she could keep (or gain) Matsuo's trust. He might be testing her. She'd obviously misjudged him. He was cunning, and he was lonely, but he was insane. And explosive—he'd found and taken explosive-testing kits—so that meant—

The cargo.

Sakura willed her face to stay in a mask of frightened disbelief as she stood in the pool and began peeling off the soaked towel. Thinking again of the supposedly-present Neji, her face burned. The cargo is made of explosives. He suspects Hosh. He suspects me. What are they doing taking explosives to a hidden village? When she was naked in front of them all—the gods, Matsuo, Hosh, Arashi, Hyuuga Neji—she quickly threw it on the ground and sank back into the pool. "Matsuo-sama, I really don't know—"

"You're not—that's not—"

She wheeled around in the water; Hosh had been staring at her body. His eyes shot upwards and met her new blue ones; his mouth gaped. Sakura knew as surely as she'd known anything in her life that Hosh had just finally realized that she wasn't the girl he'd loved that one drunken night back in Wind Country.

Arashi shook him. "That's not what, fool? That's not what?"

Hosh just kept staring at her, as if trying to align his thoughts. Sakura stared back, not pleading or communicating at all but just waiting, chakra in her fist, for Hosh to bring her story crashing down around her.

The samurai blinked. "That's not true," he said quietly, never taking his eyes from Sakura's. "Tsukiko has nothing to do with it. The daimyo told me to put the explosives tests in her supplies so that she'd be suspected. Then I could go on as planned and activate them early and blow you sky-high. He wants you dead," Hosh added unnecessarily to Matsuo, never straying from Sakura's eyes, "to get back his money. He talked with your investors about it. She had nothing to do with it. He just didn't care enough if she—if you lived or died." Hosh looked apologetic, nauseous, scared. "I planted the tests—I didn't know you were you—"

Sakura stared at him. And kept staring at him even as Matsuo sighed and said, "I think that's about all the use we're going to get from him." And kept staring even as Arashi pulled the dagger across Hosh's throat with practiced precision, in a straight line, so that blood, warm but not as warm as the water, splattered on Sakura's naked chest, on her face, sank into the beautiful pool in which she stood.

And then, with a crash-bang and a strong tug from somewhere outside of her, she was under the water, and everything collapsed.