martyr
-lilacwrath-
2/21/2017
Shanghai
Disclaimer: Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto
A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews! Keep it coming, folks! To my lovely guests: Please do sign in if you have an account when you review! I always reply to my reviews, and it makes me sad when I'm unable to thank you for giving me such heartwarming feedback.
This chapter has been beta'd by jamielmx. Ah, to think you even have to put up with me in school. Thank you, Jamie!
See you at the bottom :)
-chapter vi.-
enigma
"You are terrifying
and strange
and beautiful,
something not everyone knows
how to love."
–Warsan Shire
As a well-rounded, meticulous person devoted to raising his family, governing his clan, and conducting the Konoha Military Police Force all at once, her father is also proving to be an astonishingly skillful cook. Sakura watches him with an amused light in her gaze as he flits around the kitchen, handling pans and ladles with the same easy dexterity as if he were gripping a kunai. She likes the idea of getting used to the sight of this stoic, battle-hardened man pattering around in his wife's frilly, polka-dotted apron.
"Tell me about your day," Fugaku says to her later, when the family of four settles into their seats around the table for lunch. Her baby brother curls up in their mother's lap, suckling on her milk-laden breasts.
"My jōnin sensei is Nara Shikaku," Sakura answers, her chopsticks pausing in midair. "I'm sure you're familiar with the name."
"Ah, Shikaku-kun!" Mikoto beams, "Your father and I were in the same class as him. I trust that he'll make a splendid teacher. What do you think, Fugaku?"
Her husband slices into his plate of omuraisu, eyelashes lowered in contemplativeness. "You'll learn a lot from him, that's for sure. The Sandaime made a good decision."
"Tell me more about him," Sakura requests.
"He's a smart man," Mikoto says, stroking Itachi's head as he nestles closer against her bosom, little hands fisted in her robes. "Sharp as a razor."
"He wants to make Jōnin Commander," Fugaku adds. "I reckon he'll succeed, too. I've known the man long enough to know that he can do anything he puts his mind to. The members of the Nara clan are proclaimed as entirely too slothful and indolent, but don't let them fool you, Sakura. The mind of a Nara is capable of anything. Remember that."
"I know, tou-sama," she replies, because she knows. Oh, she knows, because she can still remember Shikamaru's face flecked with grime, eyes gleaming with a kind of cruelty she had never before seen from him, and the way his lips had curled over his teeth as he told her, every word soaked in vindictive satisfaction, "—and I'll leave him there, the bastard, buried and suffocating and slowly dying with the fact that he's never going to get out of there, ever."
Even now, the image has never quite faded from her mind.
"Tell me about the rest of your team," Mikoto says, maneuvering her arms carefully as she shifts her baby into another position. Itachi mewls in protest before quieting down again when his mother murmurs soothingly down to him.
"My teammates are Yamanaka Mika and Inuzuka Kaito," Sakura says, before hastily adding, "and Ryū, his ninken."
"A team of clan members," Fugaku scratches at his chin thoughtfully. "Interesting formation."
"Kaito is the nephew of the Inuzuka's leader," Sakura supplies. "Mika seems to be closely affiliated with the head of the Yamanaka clan."
"I'm not surprised," Fugaku nods. "Both of them are tight-knit clans. The Inuzuka, especially. The Uchiha and Hyūga are really the largest and most prominent clans located in Konohagakure."
"You should bring them home for dinner some day," Mikoto says. "Your teammates, I mean."
"Of course, kaa-san." Sakura agrees, "I do believe you'll find them rather likable."
[martyr]
"I want the three of you to tell me your abilities. Kaito, you go first. Remember, now is not the time for modesty—but I don't think we'll have that problem with you, right, boy?"
"Wait a moment. I didn't quite get that." Kaito frowns, cocking his head to one side in a doggish manner. Beside him, Ryū mimics the motion, making an inquiring whine at the back of his throat. "Can you go first?"
"Very well," Shikaku sighs. "As a Nara, I have the ability to manipulate shadows through Yin Release. I've been told that I'm a shrewd tactician and strategist, able to rapidly analyze a great deal of information, anticipate actions, and use it to quickly formulate or reformulate highly effective plans. I also have some knowledge in the healing arts." He quirks an eyebrow at the gawking boy. "That good enough for you?"
"You know," Kaito murmurs, stunned. "I didn't think you were very impressive at first, but now I gotta admit that you're actually pretty cool."
The man flashes a grin in response. Leaning his back against the trunk of a tree with his long legs stretched out, Sakura absentmindedly worries that he'll fall asleep in what looks to be a very comfortable position. Even she herself is feeling particularly lackadaisical in the summer heat.
"I've always achieved high marks in taijutsu and ninjutsu back in the Academy, but Ryū and I haven't been taught our clan's combination techniques yet." Kaito rubs a hand along his ninken's furry flank, earning him a low huff of approval. "We've already mastered the basics of tracking, though. Tsume-obaa even said that the two of us has got one of the finest noses she's ever seen!"
Shikaku nods before shifting his gaze to Sakura.
"My Sharingan is fully mature with three tomes in both eyes. While not as capable as the Byakugan, they enable me to see chakra through most obstructions. They give me an incredible clarity of perception upon activation, allowing me to read lips and copy movements—" Sakura pauses, "I think it would be better if I demonstrate the Sharingan's abilities in the future, Shikaku-sensei. It's…quite a lot to take in. However, I would like to say that I have some skills in medical ninjutsu in addition."
"Well, your kekkei genkai does come with multiple equipment," Shikaku nods. "I suppose you don't have to expand on them now, as it would definitely be too troublesome. May I see your Sharingan, though?"
Nodding, Sakura lets red wash over black and green. Instantly, everything is sharpened down to the smallest detail—the lint peppered over Shikaku's vest, the faintest smattering of freckles across Kaito's cheeks, the thin sheen of moisture glistening on Ryū twitching nose, and in Mika's widened eyes, she can see her own, vivid and bright with tomoes of black silhouetted starkly against crimson. The sight is arresting, because she knows that a part of her will never get used to the sight of Sharingan eyes gleaming back at her in every reflective surface.
"As I've come to know," Shikaku says, "To gain the Sharingan, its wielder must experience a powerful emotional condition—more often than not, a traumatic event. But you are an exception, Uchiha Sakura, for you activated your kekkei genkai upon birth." He draws a leg back and props an elbow atop of it, leaning forward with cagey eyes fixed upon her. "I want to know why you're different from your clansmen. Tell me why you're special, Sakura. What is it that makes you so peculiar?"
Sakura looks back at him silently, blinking red away from her eyes. It's a small comfort, though, because the mismatched black and green are no less unsettling.
'These are not a child's eyes,' Shikaku ponders. Too sharp, too astute, too inscrutable. 'Who are you, Uchiha Sakura? Who are you? What are you?'
"We are who we are for a lot of reasons, Shikaku-sensei," Sakura replies, almost as if his thoughts had rung aloud. "Perhaps, one day, we shall know why that is. But for now," she turns to the other girl, "I do believe it's your turn, Mika-san."
For a short moment, the Yamanaka stares uneasily into her eyes as if the image of her Sharingan has not yet faded, before speaking, "The members of my clan specialize in mind-centered techniques, espionage, and interrogation—which is kinda why the majority of T&I are made up of people from my clan. We've developed sensory abilities, transferring consciousness, reading minds, and communicating telepathically."
"How did your clan come up with so many useful techniques?" Kaito complains, throwing his arms up into the air to emphasize his displeasure. "That's so—that's so unfair!"
"Unfair?" Shikaku chuckles. "That's exactly what it is. Life is unfair. The world is unfair. It doesn't matter whether you're up or down. What matters is how you play the game in life. To build a strong team, you must learn to use someone else's strength as a complement to your weakness and not a threat to your power."
"You already come from a very notable clan, Inuzuka Kaito," Sakura says, "There are those in this world who are shadowed by the plainest of ancestries behind them, yet they manage to rise from above the dust and forge legends of themselves. Talent is something everyone possesses, yet some still fail to explore and sharpen it to its full potential. If you think you're not good enough, then work harder. Let what is unfair teach and guide you. It is too easy to use your ancestry as an excuse. Do not take the lazy way, Kaito-san."
Kaito turns his face away, but the ears peeking out from his hair are visibly tipped with red. "I get what you mean," he mumbles. "Geez, you didn't have to rip into me like that."
"If you're wallowing in the delusion that everything should be made fair, then you're a fool." Sakura continues, before she softens her tone. "You've managed to merit praise from Tsume-sama, and that itself is not an easy thing to achieve."
"Sakura-san is right," Mika says gently, "If you keep on working hard, I'm sure you'll become very strong. The comeback will always be stronger than the setback, after all."
At her words, Kaito turns back to face them, skin reddening even further.
"Each one of you has a solid stand in this team. The Sandaime put us together for a special purpose," Shikaku says. "Does anyone have an idea what that might be?"
"At first, a team of hunter-nin seemed likely," Sakura starts.
"Why not, then?" Kaito asks. "We're certainly versatile enough to perform the wetworks—given the right sort of training, of course."
"Um, I…I think I might know," Mika looks up from where her fingers are nervously knotted in the grass, thin blades of green peeking out from between her knuckles. "Kaito-san and Ryū-san can track with their noses. I will soon be trained to further expand my telepathic range. And, perhaps, our most vital tool—Sakura-san's Sharingan, which has the ability to imitate movements."
"Are you saying…" Kaito breathes excitedly. "We're gonna be a jutsu-theft squad?"
Shikaku's affirmative smirk is all the answer they need.
"Between an Inuzuka's nose, the sensory of a Yamanaka, a Nara's brains, and the Sharingan of an Uchiha," Sakura's eyes gleam, "there won't be any prey too big for our jaws."
"You forgot about Ryū," Kaito sighs. "How could you ignore him just like that?"
[martyr]
While they do engage in one-on-one sparring sessions, Shikaku is more comfortable with setting up impossible team exercises and combat situations, working them doggedly until they ache down to their very bones. When not gathered for team training, they carry out their share of missions for the village.
On one C-rank, Sakura had been promptly horrified at the sight of the all too familiar brown pelt and red ribbon of Tora the hellspawn. At the peak of his prime in his kittenhood, it seems that the escape artist is even faster than she'd last seen him in her past genin days. Fortunately, in this timeline, he has apparently not yet discovered as many hiding spots as he will eventually find through decades of experience, so it'd taken a significantly less amount of time to get ahold of him.
Mika had sustained pale lines from his whetted claws when she'd tried to soothe the savage beast in her natural benevolence. Even now, Ryū still has tufts of fur missing from his flank.
"If we ever have to deal with that demon cat again," Kaito had sworn vehemently, before they'd limped back to their respective homes to tend to their wounds and dented pride. "We should just take him to my clan compound and neuter the little shit. That ought to put a stop to his tyranny."
Sakura had then reminded him how that would just invoke Madam Shijimi's outrage, and he'd grudgingly dropped the plan.
It becomes an acknowledged fact that Sakura is the best fighter of the trio and inarguably the most likely to be promoted to chūnin. She herself learns a few things, too. She learns that Mika, for all her meek and skittish nature, is far from the type to be pulling her blows any time soon. The girl can really pack quite a punch when she puts her heart into it. Kaito, after a few particularly sticky trials that their team had been forced to undergo, has proven to possess a surprisingly sharp wit and intellectuality. Sakura doubts that Kiba would be able to outmatch his cousin if they'd been the same age.
A few weeks after the team's formulation, Shikaku pulls her aside after a day of training. In the clearing scattered with cracked leaves, the earth fissured with rainless days and alight with the fading glow of the late afternoon, they stand before each other for a long while, legend against child, until he finally heaves a deep sigh.
"Curious," he remarks.
"What is?"
"You have more chakra than the average child," he then shakes his head. "No, not more—way, way more. Your chakra control is ridiculous. You're, what, three-years-old? You shouldn't be able to form chakra threads at your age, yet I've see you perform even more advanced tricks during our training sessions. I do not believe even the blessed genes of the Uchiha bloodline could've given you such raw, natural power."
"What makes you think any of this is natural, I wonder?" The corners of her lips bow up in a secretive smile. "Do you really believe me to be so blessed?"
"Special training?" Shikaku presses. "Complex meditation, perhaps?"
"Why, yes. You're getting closer." Her smile widens. "You'd be surprised by what a little meditation every now and then can do."
That, and she herself had been astonished when she'd realized that somehow, traces of her former chakra were trickling slowly yet steadily into her body. Slowly enough for it to mingle with her current body's components and to be remodified to the same signature as her chakra, yet steadily enough for her to enjoy utilizing an immensely upgraded version of a three-year-old's body. She thinks it has something to do with the same reason she'd managed to retain a single green eye and most of her memory.
"Curious," Shikaku repeats.
"We are who we are for a lot of reasons, Shikaku-sensei," Sakura says, "We may not have the power to choose where we come from, and perhaps we never will, but we do have the choice to decide where we go on from there. What is your dream, if I may ask?"
"What?" Shikaku blinks, a little taken aback at the rather abrupt question.
"Your dream, Shikaku-sensei," Sakura says patiently. "Do you not wish to gain strength with each passing day? Do you not dream of living halcyon days with no troublesome matters whatsoever? Or perhaps, you aspire to be an old man with an old wife, laughing at old jokes from a wild youth?"
Shikaku opens his mouth and then closes it, looking at her strangely. "What is yours, then? Your dream?"
"To do whatever it takes to protect my precious people," Sakura answers without missing a beat. "That is my nindō."
Shikaku is silent for a long moment, and she can almost hear his thoughts, clinking and whistling through that remarkable brain of his. That's something dangerous you've got there, Sakura. A fool's dream, that is. What a naïve, dewy-eyed little girl. How terribly delightful it'd be to break her, to trod that viridity into the very dirt.
And so, his next words surprise her. "I didn't think I would, but I actually quite like you," Shikaku admits. "And you must know that I'm not usually wrong." He tilts his head in consideration, the afternoon light golden on the burnished metal of his hitai-ate. "You're an enigmatic child, Sakura."
[martyr]
She knows that she is not who she had used to be.
She is reminded of the painful fact every time she gazes into a reflective surface, every time a strand of dark hair falls into her vision, every time she returns to a house that is not quite her home and to parents whom she does not remember having such dark hair and even darker eyes—
Two sides war within her, wrestling and grappling for dominance.
One side deems her too ungrateful. You have been given another chance at life, the voice hisses, disapproving and disappointed. The future depends on what you do today. And Sakura is grateful, so, so very grateful. It has taken losing her life once to rediscover the abysmal depth of appreciation she has for capricious, simple little things.
Yet, the other shamelessly screams and wails for all that she's lost and all that she wants back. You're not dead, but not alive either, the voice cries out, empty and hollow and aching. Just another ghost with the heart you stole. She does not move slowly over the past, for it's all compressed in one bright flash—all of the years, pictures with their edges frayed, a box of secrets, and a kind of sorrowful joy. Because as cruel as the world she'd lived in had been, it had also been breathtakingly and heartbreakingly beautiful.
But she knows that she is not who she had been. She is not who she had used to be, and it has made all the difference. She has a past, and she cannot live there anymore.
She needs to let go.
Some sliver of pride reels away from this newfound vulnerability, for it's been so very long since she'd last let cracks spindle over the near-impenetrable walls she'd slavishly erected around herself. And look at where that had gotten her. Look at what her vulnerability had costed her.
She has caged so much anguish and anger inside of her, and she's grasped the agony of it all and held it to her chest even as it festered and rotted and withered away in its wasted little space. Something has ripped and torn within her. It has changed her into something she'd never meant to be. It has transformed her into a person whom she does not recognize. And she's afraid that she does not know how to let go, because she can't remember what it's like to not feel broken.
She's trying, though.
She's trying.
[martyr]
Sometimes, Shikaku gives them days for resting after dreadfully hellacious training sessions, and Sakura likes to spend her free time with her baby brother.
Ever since he'd started toddling around on those chubby little legs, Itachi dedicates a large portion of his time waddling after her like an imprinted duckling. Whenever presented with the opportunity, he'd wrap his short arms around her legs until she bends to pick him up, hoisting him onto her shoulders.
One of her favorite moments is toddling with him in the Uchiha front yard.
Unsurprisingly, Itachi is already displaying glimpses of his prodigious talent with his unsteady yet unrelenting steps. Of course, there are a few times when he wobbles and topples over, but instead of steadying him when his knees buckle, she lets him tumble down and spill into a pile of tangled limbs onto her lap.
After he regains his breath, he owlishly peers up at her with strips of grass in his mussed hair, cheeks smudged with sweat and dirt, little hands clenched in the hem of her shirt, and joyous giggles bubble forth from his mouth.
"The hardest step you will ever take," she tells him tenderly, reaching out with a thumb to rub away a stain of spittle from the edge of his mouth, "is to blindly trust in who you are."
"S'kra," Itachi pipes, pressing the pad of a finger against her cheek with another giggle.
"Sa-ku-ra, Sa-kura," she says, biting off each word with clean crispness. "Sakura."
"S'kra," he gurgles in reply. "S'kra, S'kra, S'kra!"
The sight of her baby brother clapping his little hands with the exquisite happiness only babies seem able to exude renders her speechless with an ineffably profound emotion. The next thing she knows, she is doubling up with a deep-bellied kind of laughter, pressing a shaking hand against the ridges of her teeth to smother the sounds with no effect.
She can't help it. She can't seem to stop. It's been so long since the last time she's felt this whimsical jubilation, and even longer since she's decided to act upon it.
When Mikoto hears the voices of her children ascend into a fit of laughter, she curiously pokes her head out through an open window. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees her usually unmoved and stoical daughter hunched over her baby son, eyes brimming with tears of mirth, entire frame wracked with jovial wheezing.
"What mischief are you two up to?" Mikoto walks up towards them, eyes twinkling.
"Watch this," Sakura tells the woman, wiping a hand across her dampened cheeks before turning back to Itachi. "Sakura, Sakura, Sakura."
This time, he is even quicker to respond, "S'kra! S'kra!"
And as their mother throws her head back to laugh in delight, Sakura trails a hand over the softness of her baby brother's face, the frailness of his ears.
'Mine,' she thinks with joyful wonder. 'Mine.'
-to be continued-
A/N: Ah, I'm going to be writing lotsa family fluff scenes. Feels good, man.
Feedback is appreciated!