Arranged

Summary: Arranged marriage in the twenty-first century might have been uncommon, but not unheard of. "What," she muttered tiredly, "have I married into?"

x

In a world full of temporary things, you are a perpetual feeling.

x

It was only after she'd said it that she realized how it had been niggling at the back of her mind ever since he'd told.

She appreciated his honesty—she really did, but that didn't mean her heart wouldn't rebel against her mind. She was, by no means one of those people whose lives were commanded by the concept of chastity. She'd kissed her fair share of frogs—it was just that her mind was scared to admit that Sasuke might be, not only a prince, but the prince. And if he was The Prince, then he wasn't perfect and the little child in her heart would be crushed.

x

He had the sexiest lips she'd ever seen; just the right amount of pouty and luscious. Gorgeous. And soft, she remembered. So soft. She dreamed about biting into them, sucking on them, kissing them thoroughly. She would almost feel the softness of them, taste the saltiness of them and she would lean forward unknowingly. Then she'd catch herself and blush furiously. She'd busy herself with menial tasks—run an errand, clean her locker, immerse herself in research, and one unfortunate time, even cooked.

Sasuke for his part seemed to have returned to his usual quiet, solemn self. He spoke when spoken to, took care of her when she needed him to and once, even let her talk him into lining his eye—until she actually started doing it—"Are you insane?" He'd cried out in listless fury.

His eyes were magnificent; black as onyx and such a startling juxtaposition of cold and warm her heart thudded with the intensity of it. Every time he would pin her with his gaze, she'd lose her train of thought. Case in point—

"Sakura, you put a goddamn fork in the microwave?" he asked incredulously, brandishing the fire extinguisher with exaggerated severity. Sakura feared it would fall from his hands and crash on the floor.

"I—you were distracting me!" she accused.

He gave her a disbelieving look. What is wrong with you? It said.

They looked at the charred, barely recognizable disposition of the microwave. It looked sad and depressing—like a cadaver lying lifeless on the morgue table. On the inside, they watched the grisly remains of that nights dinner with the tines of the fork still sparking menacingly.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

She heard him let out a sigh of long suffering and caved a little into herself.

x

He cried when Mufasa died. She was ninety nine point nine, nine, nine percent sure that he did. It was dark and the only part of his face she could see was his profile but—there was the smallest, tiniest pinprick of a tear. Her heart gave a little flip and keeled over in her chest.

She wanted to pinch the life out of his cheeks, kiss the thoughts out of his brain and hug the soul out of his body.

She didn't.

What she did do was weave herself around him even more snugly than usual, so that he wouldn't be able to move even if he tried.

He didn't.

x

She started noticing the bleary eyes and the late night's right when their schedules started coinciding. He woke up early, went to sleep late, tried to be everything else in between. She could see the heaviness in his shoulders, the knots in his muscles, the strain on his mind. She started worrying.

It kept niggling at the back of her mind, but when she tried to actually do something it always backfired.

"Sakura," he'd choked past the assault on his taste buds, "Please don't ever do that again."

In defiant retaliation she had taken a bite out of her homemade healthy egg white and kale omelet. Then she'd sat back in her seat and promised herself she'd never, ever go near the stove again.

A week after, he'd collapsed from a temperature of a hundred and four degrees. She had never felt more like a failure in her life.

x

She made the requisite calls for him—and by that she meant notifying Itachi, who handled things from there. Then she watched him lay down and breath hard, sway this way and that until she pushed him back on the bed, stroked his hair aside and felt his forehead. It was burning.

She tucked him in and fretted about what to do next, remembered she was a certified medical professional and cursed herself for losing her mind over nothing. She sighed. Then she reminded herself of the time when she'd insisted upon attending school in a hundred and three degree fever. It wasn't that bad.

She only just collapsed once.

She promptly took out her phone and called in a family emergency. Then she thought longingly of all the surgeries she'd miss, steeled her resolve against all the bad karma she was inviting by thinking such thoughts and came back to fretting over Sasuke again.

She wondered how he used to manage without anyone being there for him. An image of Mikoto popped unbidden in her mind and she understood now, how Mikoto would take care of her kids like a mama bear.

The fever would break only with proper rest, a tiny bit of medical intervention and a whole lot of chicken soup—both for the health and the soul. She was not good at making chicken soup—either for health nor for the soul.

With tentative, hesitant fingers, she called Mikoto.

x

Mikoto arrived in a whirlwind of homemade dishes and imported pashmina blankets.

Sakura immediately felt better.

"Thank you for calling me, Sakura-chan," she smiled at her, then went back to stroking Sasuke's cheek. His breathing was still hard, his skin was still glossy with sweat and his temperature was still running high. All of that was completely normal, and yet Sakura couldn't help but fret.

"I didn't know what to do," she told Mikoto, ashamed.

"It's alright," Mikoto told her kindly. "He's just tired."

All those late nights, all those early mornings, catching up to him, thought Sakura. She wondered if Mikoto thought if she was a failure of a wife. She didn't want her to.

They sat on the bed; Mikoto folded elegantly next to Sasuke and Sakura by his feet, almost at the very edge.

"He needs to take his medicine, but I didn't want to give him any on an empty stomach," she said, looking at the duvet. "I don't—um."

"I know Sakura-chan," said Mikoto gently. "Come help me make some porridge."

x

In the kitchen, Mikoto took out porridge oats, milk cartons and a jar of honey from a shopping bag. All the while Sakura stood on the side, awkwardly picking at the counter edge.

"Would you get me the salt, love?" Mikoto asked, taking out a saucepan and sprinkling a batch of oats in efficiently.

Sakura felt like an assistant nurse handing over the tin blade to the doctor. A small prickle of shame went down her spine as she handed over the salt. She found herself floundering for something to say.

"It's not like I didn't try," she started defensively, "It's just that every time I cook it turns into an epic disaster!" she finished, slightly hysterical, not wanting Mikoto to think less of her. She realized in that moment that Mikoto's impromptu and slightly senile liking of her had given her a confidence that she would never be ready to let go off.

"Oh, Sakura-chan," said Mikoto lovingly, "I would never judge you on something like that." She opened her arms wide and Sakura found herself sinking into her warm embrace. It felt like love and Sakura soaked in the acceptance from it.

When Mikoto let go, she felt the distinct loss of that embrace deep in her chest.

She accepted the carton of milk and yogurt she was handed and set on to thin the mixture while Mikoto poured milk into the saucepan and set it to boil. They worked in a comfortable silence and Sakura felt all her long-bottled misconceptions about the Uchiha matriarch slowly ebb away.

Mikoto poured the porridge into a bowl and put a thick glob of golden honey on top. It looked absolutely delectable.

Mikoto gently shook Sasuke awake. His face sharpened as he finally registered her face and when he tried to force himself up, it was Mikoto who lightly pushed him back and made him lean on the pillows instead. She spoon fed him the porridge forcefully and Sasuke shot her a look of such indignant grievance that Sakura couldn't quite smother her smile. He shot her a betrayed glance, then accepted the spoon hovering in front of his mouth.

Later, when Mikoto was whipping up dinner, he held Sakura back and with a puffy-faced, reproachful gaze, he said, "You called my mother?"

She shrugged helplessly, not wanting to explain how she'd lost all her senses.

He held her eyes for one, two, three seconds; then swayed precariously. Blinking back her edginess, Sakura gently pushed him back on the bed. "You have to rest. Let the meds work."

She could feel the annoyance in his sigh. She could also feel the dampness of his shirt. The fever was breaking, she noticed with relief. He must have been feeling slightly loopy, as through the delirious haze of fever, he said, "Thank you."

For what, she never knew.

x

All hands at deck, her pager insisted. It was ten to midnight and she needed to book it to the hospital. She also needed to take care of Sasuke. In the end, she decided to err on the side of caution.

"Would you stay with him?" she asked Mikoto.

"Do you even need to ask, darling?"

In a flurry of pink hair and neon backpack, Sakura was gone.

x

Sasuke came to again at precisely six-thirty in the morning. He was disoriented to find that he wasn't backed up in his usual tiny corner of the bed. In fact, he was very firmly tucked in and could distinctly feel the swollen state of his throat. His eyes, he found were gritty and irritable. His body felt heavy and cumbersome. His nose was stuffed and unable to perform.

He heaved himself up on noodley arms. His head swam. He sighed and hauled himself up, then trudged slowly into the kitchen.

Halfway through he couldn't quite catch his breath, but because he was Sasuke, and therefore intermittently stubborn, he pushed himself all the way into the kitchen. He even managed to pour himself a glass of cool water that he promptly choked on because his throat constricted at the cold.

And then, like an avenging angel, his mother swooped out of nowhere and pounded him on the back to ease the cough. Sasuke hacked through the bewildered haze of the severely sick and when he finally felt like he could breathe again, he croaked out an incredulous, "Mother?"

"Oh, Sasuke-kun," Mikoto sighed, dismayed, "Why would you get out of bed?"

Sasuke blinked long and hard to clear away the disorientation, then croaked again, "Mother?"

"Yes, darling," said Mikoto, gently helping him up and towards his room.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, shuffling listlessly and trying to pry away from her.

"Sakura-chan had to go to the hospital, so she asked me to stay," she told him kindly and held on firmly to his arm.

Sasuke scowled past the soreness in his throat.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"I'll make you some porridge."

"Mother—"

"You just lie down, darling."

"I am not an invalid, Mother!"

"Of course not, darling."

Sasuke found that he didn't have the energy to even sputter out a decent rebuttal. So he gave up and let his mother tuck him in.

By the time Mikoto returned, he'd partially dozed off again. He woke up to a gentle hand stroking his head and let her feed him porridge. Then he swallowed his medicine with warm milk and passed out again.

x

Sakura found herself rushing from one patient to another, not even having time to breathe. The labs were overcrowded, her chief was on a warpath and there was a girl bleeding her guts out on the OR table. In the back of her mind she worried about Sasuke, and in the front of her mind, she worried about the artery being cauterized and still bleeding blood.

Ten hours later, when she finally had time to breathe again, she called home. Home. The modernist monstrosity that Sasuke owned was now home. She wasn't quite startled.

Mikoto picked up after two rings.

"Hey, how is he?" she asked urgently.

"He's fine, sweetheart."

"That's good. Did he take the afternoon dose?"

"Not yet."

"Okay, would you please make sure he does?"

Mikoto's laugh was happy and tinkling. "Of course, dear."

Sakura breathed a small sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Anytime, dear. When will you be back?"

Sakura looked around the throngs of people morosely. "A bus was hit by a train. It's going to be long."

"I see," said Mikoto, and Sakura could hear the sad compassion in her tone even through the phone. "Take care, Sakura-chan."

"I will."

x

When he woke up next, he felt decidedly clear headed. Even his throat itched less. Mikoto sat at his desk, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose as she read.

"Mother?"

She looked up and smiled. "Yes, Sasuke-kun?"

"You're still here."

"Of course I am."

Her bright, sunny countenance made him feel a little better. "Sakura?" he asked.

"At the hospital, still."

He closed his eyes, opened them again when she came to sit by his side. The look in her eyes made him remember childhood years when he used to stick to her like glue.

"Do you remember Sasuke-kun? When you were a baby, you never used to sleep unless you had a fist full of my clothes in your hands."

Sasuke did remember. "Aa."

Mikoto sighed. "I miss babying you boys."

He didn't reply, just scooted to the side so she could sit beside him. He closed his eyes in warm bliss when she stroked his hair again.

"How is life with Sakura-chan?"

Sasuke knew she must have been dying to ask him that. "It's…getting there."

"Is she nice?"

"She's…Sakura."

Her laugh was warm and bright. "Are you happy?"

Sasuke thought about it. "Yes."

"I'm happy for you, too." Mikoto leaned across and tucked him in a little better. "When you reach my age, you realize what really matters most in this brief time on earth. Family, honor, love." She put a gentle hand on his head. "Of a man should have all three, he is indeed blessed."

"I know, Mother."

"Now if we could just find a nice, young man for Itachi—"

"Mother."

"Oh, alright," she said, and was silent for only a second. "But I was right about Sakura-chan and you."

She sounded triumphant and Sasuke didn't have the heart nor the energy to deny her. "We were lucky," he said instead.

"So…grandbabies?"

"Mother!"

"What?" she said innocently.

Sasuke let out a resigned sigh. Mikoto patted his hand. None of them missed how it was fisted in her shirt.

x

By the time Sakura returned, Mikoto was spoon feeding chicken-noodle soup to Sasuke.

"What," she muttered tiredly, "have I married into?"

"Sakura-chan!" Mikoto trilled. She looked ecstatic. Sasuke looked about ready to jump off the deep end, but Sakura suspected that was just a ploy to appear more adult than he actually felt.

"Hi," she said, and moved forward to feel his forehead. It was slightly warm; better then the furnace it was ten hours before.

"You look tired," said Mikoto, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I am," she said, feeling the ache in her bones and the grit in her eyes.

"Oh, honey," said Mikoto, taking her bag and pulling her into a tender hug. "Let's put you to bed."

Sasuke suspected his mother was having the time of her life.

x

Mikoto returned home on the utmost insistence of her husband. Sasuke suspected Itachi might have a hand in her impromptu departure. He felt grateful yet strangely bereft.

Sakura lay next to him—still tired, yet awake.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Better," he replied.

Sakura squinted at him. "I guess you are," she said, for he looked slightly better than death warmed over. Then, "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

She looked ashamed of herself and Sasuke didn't know why. "It was fine."

"It wasn't," she insisted, "If you'd have left me like that I would have punched you in the face."

Amused, Sasuke said, "I'll keep that in mind." Pensive, he added, "Although I would have preferred if you wouldn't have called Mother."

She smirked, the edges of which were softened by exhaustion. "As if. You like being emasculated by mommy."

Sasuke let out a series of decidedly undignified sneezes in response and she patted him on the head, almost patronizingly. "It's very cute."

"Shut up."

"You, shut up."

Sasuke shot her a semi-irritated glance. Any other day, she would've leaned forward and cocooned herself in his embrace. Today, she stayed rooted for risk of infection. "How was your day?" she asked instead.

His lips twitched at the side, before settling back into a straight line. He shrugged.

"What did you do all day?"

He shrugged.

"Was it like being little again?"

His expression was self-aggrandizing, so Sakura knew she'd hit the nail on the head. She burrowed deeper into the pillow and rested her cheek on the side. "What did you used to do when you were a kid?"

He didn't answer. Just stared up at the ceiling.

"What did you used to play with? What was your favorite subject to study? What did you like to eat the most?"

Slowly, Sasuke turned his head to the side.

Under the duvet, she reached out and tucked her hand in his. "I didn't have many friends, so I played with my dad. I used to love chemistry because I liked mixing stuff in beakers; made me feel like a scientist," she squeezed his hand gently and whispered grandly, "I always did and forever will, love cheesecake."

Slowly, Sasuke squeezed her hand back, then looked up at the ceiling again. Just when she thought he had fallen asleep, he said, "Played with my brother, studied hard and tried to please my father."

He fell into silence again and she scooted a little closer to him. "My only friend was a kid named Shikamaru and he was so lazy he refused to play anything but board games."

"Itachi was my best friend."

"Was?"

"Is."

"He's evil."

"He's not."

"Is, too."

"I refuse to indulge your childish behavior."

"And I refuse to indulge your crappy entendres."

He coughed. She didn't cringe away. "You're annoying."

"Your face is annoying." There was no inflection in her words.

They both fell into silence.

"I would very much like to kiss you," she said softly.

Sakura knew that his shuddery inhale could only have been of surprise. In the soft light of the lamp her cheeks grew warm. "I mean, not now, because you're sick and I don't want to catch that bug. But maybe when you get better?"

"Of course," he said in stiff appropriation, as if committing the remaining days of his life to a suicide squad.

"Good," she said and closed her eyes, finally succumbing to sleep.

x

tbc

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