a/n: (this takes place during the latter half of the time skip.)


Divergence: Sasuke.


The night was cold. The Hokage's Tower gleamed against the night sky, overshadowing the small apartment complex beneath it. Sasuke stooped on top of a house and jumped down to the front door. The apartments were all silent, still. He was one of the few ninja who boarded there.

Sasuke stalked up the steps, one hand clutching his shoulder. The wound had closed up, and the blood had dried, but the pain did not go away so easily. When he reached his apartment, he twisted the door knob, opened and closed the door. Sasuke stood in the seclusion of his own apartment, away from the rambling drunks on Fifth Street and far away from the screeching iron, which had hailed all over the west forest.

Passing one hand through his hair, Sasuke strode into his living room. He disarmed himself, starting with the tight wrap around his leg. As he set down a final clump of senbon, he stared into the hallway. One civilian crept along the paths outside his window; three ninja ran along the roofs; but there was another sound. An inhale; an exhale.

The presence didn't trigger his Sharingan. Closing his eyes, Sasuke focused on the faint chakra—as faint as the dimming burn of a match, whose edges glow but a weak blue—and he knew who it was. He stole down the hallway, steps perfectly silent, and peered at his bed.

Short pink hairs splayed over his pillows. Sakura's chest rose and fell peacefully. Sasuke guessed she had only been asleep for an hour or two; and it was already half past five in the morning. He shook his head (what a stupid girl, he thought) and entered his room.

Sakura stirred, but made no other move. "Hey, Sasuke-kun," she mumbled, sleepiness pervading her every word. She rolled to her right and fell silent.

Sasuke rubbed at his forehead. Against his desk he leaned, mouth pulled into a frown as he thought. The border was getting stronger, Sasuke appraised. In the last two weeks there was an decrease in activity, and there were fewer sightings...

Arms crossed, he looked at Sakura. But shouldn't that mean there was less work at the hospital, if fewer people were being injured? But sometimes it seemed like there was no changing Sakura. She worked relentlessly, and for what Sasuke couldn't imagine. People worked to make a living, to survive, but she... That wasn't how she worked.

The sky was dark, and the moon bright, but Sasuke knew the sun would be rising soon. His legs were tired; the mission had been taxing; his shoulder throbbed; but he couldn't make himself lay down. His mind was preoccupied, restless. But that had always been Sasuke's problem—thinking too much.

Sakura made a sound in her sleep, and Sasuke's eyes were drawn to her. At her innocent expression, strangely free of her customary worry and stress, he thought of Naruto's previous threat. The memory remained oddly clear.

Naruto's serious face. "Make sure nothing happens to her, Sasuke," he had said. "If you don't, I'll know when I come back. And I'll beat your ass, too!"

The protectiveness in his words was perplexing. Idly Sasuke had stood in front of him, still unable to understand how things had changed so fully since he had left. "Why?" he'd asked. "Worried for your medic?"

Naruto, after all, never checked himself for asking favors of Sakura, no matter how tired, no matter how busy she was.

With a tight, constrained smile Naruto had shook his head. "Sakura is more than just a medic, Sasuke. People like Kabuto can be medics. Sakura," he had paused with decision, "is an angel. She didn't have to learn how to heal. She always knew."

Naruto's thoughts still running through his mind, Sasuke reached out one hand. He touched Sakura's face, with hands that had just, not two hours ago, snapped a man's neck.

The immediateness of her response, even in sleep, surprised him. Sakura felt his skin and turned toward him. "What have you been doing?" came her tired whisper.

Sasuke, although he had no reason to, censored his feelings. Around her, he felt it inappropriate to say he had been killing, healerthat she was. "Hurting," Sasuke replied.

Sakura's bright green eyes opened to moonlight for only moment, before shutting themselves out of his view. She pulled in a deep breath, murmuring, "Yourself or an enemy?"

Her muscles became limp once more, and for that Sasuke was grateful. He hadn't meant his answer that way, but her question brought a wave of emotion, that he didn't want to deal with. Remorse had evolved into a sort of companion; he found himself slipping into that... breathing it.

When the dull soreness in his legs morphed into an active throb, Sasuke straightened and walked to the other side of his bed. As he toed off his shoes, he pushed aside the covers. When he lay down, Sakura mumbled something unintelligible. Sasuke remained on his back, taking care of his injured shoulder, and listened to her faint murmurs, which ever revolved around her team, the hospital, and her mentor.


The sun was directly above, hot and beating against the roofs and streets. Sasuke woke up in a sweat. He threw the sheets off his legs and huffed, panting desperate, dry breaths. Sakura's absence was among the first things he noticed. A paper was left in her wake, which held the neat script he had become accustomed to.

"Sorry for using your apartment, Sasuke-kun; I hope you didn't mind. I left food in the kitchen for you," were the words stroked across the white note. Her letters were neat, as they always were, but the end was large, as if she had been in a hurry. For what, Sasuke again could not imagine. Wasn't she just practically at the hospital? Why did she feel so compelled to be there, every hour of the day?

Sasuke sometimes asked himself those questions, fleetingly, scornfully, but he knew the answer. Although he hated to admit it, Sakura bore a tremendous burden, whose weight, he knew, was often too much for her. Sasuke was neither blind to her responsibility nor to the the faith everyone had in her—her talent no one denied. He thought she was fickle, reckless, and headstrong; he thought all of those things, but not because she lacked ability.

Sakura was heedlessly self-sacrificial. And for what? thought Sasuke. What was the purpose in that? Sakura's behavior was a constant puzzle. He didn't understand what satisfaction she could derive from the life she lived. He didn't understand why she chose to do the things she did, when she had nothing that bound her to responsibility.

Sasuke understood Naruto. His decisions made sense; he had a path, a purpose. Kakashi made sense. His past drove him. Sakura, however, needlessly put herself through pain.

Sasuke couldn't think of a single instance she had belittled him, condemned him. If their roles were reversed, Sasuke knew what he would do. What he wouldn't do was smile and cook her food, offer to heal her, get her an apartment, and drive himself half-crazy trying to look after her, when she had done nothing to earn it. And Sasuke knew, better than anything, what he deserved.

He wondered why she tried to content herself with work, when all it gave her were dreamless nights, exhaustion, and an empty sense of satisfaction.

Shaking his head, Sasuke stood up. When he wandered into his kitchen, he spotted a carefully arrayed meal and scoffed. It was when he sat down and began eating that he realized she, too, had healed his shoulder.


Sasuke passed through the streets, hands stuffed into his pockets and his eyes trained on everything but faces. Villagers, some but not all, looked his away, quickly averted their gaze, and leaned down to their partner. Their whispers found their way to his ears. Sasuke dismissed them, but had heard the rumors and contemptuous opinions so often that they had long been ingrained in his mind.

It was evening again. Sasuke had completed another mission, as was his daily routine, and found himself void of distraction. The mission had been easy and short. It was but quarter until seven, and he had nothing to do. Feeling particularly morose, Sasuke headed toward the one place he could think of.

The faces, the windows, of the hospital all beamed at him with sterilized, fluorescent eyes. The steps, well worn, welcomed him. The receptionist did not hesitate in her welcome, either, for he was a common visitor.

Sakura's chakra was still faint, but not as faint as the previous night. He could feel her on the third floor, but he did not bother her. Even if he tried, Sasuke wouldn't succeed in dragging her away from the hospital so early. With a surly expression he warded off unwanted conversation. He made his trek to her office swiftly and closed the door upon entering. Her office was cool, isolated. It smelled like her, because that was what Sakura smelt like—light like vanilla, and recently tinged with the metallic odor of blood.

Sitting in her chair, Sasuke thoughtlessly rotated the office chair a few times. Everything was hushed in here, and it was colder, too, in this office than in the stuffy, crowded streets. He enjoyed the seclusion of this part of the hospital, as if the relativeness emptiness could actually clear his mind into a similar state.

He dozed, to his surprise.

When Sasuke awoke, the images of his dream—his deceased family, the manor he had once dreamed would be his (the wish seemed so ironic to him now), Team 7, Sound, and the scores of battles which had been fought without meaning—mixed with a simple view of Sakura. She stood in her lab coat, a brown clipboard perched in her thin, alabaster fingertips.

"Sasuke-kun," Sakura breathed.

The relief that came with his name elicited his frown. Her freely-given trust sickened him some days. His stomach turned, because he wondered if she knew half the things he had done, whether or not she would fall asleep around him so quickly, and whether or not she would be so happy to see him. Perhaps what sickened him most of all was that Sakura did know. And she would continue to do all those things.

Because she had grown immune to his moods, Sakura could ignore the frown which marked his mouth. "How is your shoulder?"

"Perfect."

Sakura's kindness never faltered at his sarcasm. One thing he had learned about Sakura was that she could never give him a certain something: apathy. Apathy was what he longed to see from her on days like these, but Sakura couldn't seem to do it. She combated his recalcitrance with more benevolence. Her heart swelled, and for what purpose he didn't understand...

Into a complacent attitude Sakura momentarily escaped. She set down her papers and flipped through them one at a time. From his station he surveyed her documents, hardly able to understand more than a sentence on each. His pride, of course, prevented him from ever mentioning something of the sort, lest she should take it as a compliment. And compliments, everyone knew, were just a way of admitting inferiority.

At Sakura's sigh, however, Sasuke reevaluated that sentiment. At her constant strive to prove herself—that was the only reason Sasuke could invent for her work—he softened. Sasuke could never express in words his understanding, but he did understand. The many nights he had strove to impress his father, and failed, could be recalled without effort. Those childish yearnings marred his pride, and he looked back on them with mortification.

Sakura's sudden movement drew Sasuke out of his thoughts.

"Have I ever told you that you stare?" she wondered aloud. Her voice, although still the same crisp tone, had altered since her younger years. Now it was kinder, stronger and fatigued.

Sakura, not waiting for a response, continued, "But I suppose stare is poorly chosen word. It implies something more much vacant than yours, Sasuke-kun."

And Sasuke had been watching her; he didn't realize it until she said so. He had been staring at her clothes, which were remarkably unwrinkled, and at the circuitous trail of blood along her right forearm. The blood was in tiny patters, as if Sakura had bled through her pores. Out of habit, Sasuke had eyed the way her hips leaned against the desk—for support, he assumed—and pondered on the well-stitched seam on the inside of her pale thigh.

Sakura ran a hand through her hair. She shook her head, as if dismissing whatever she was thinking. "Do you want to get a drink?" she asked, in that softly wondering tone.

Sasuke merely nodded. He was not sure what was better, working or drinking, but he thought he preferred one drink to four hours of work. When they set out, Sasuke determined she would have just one.

The stars shone above them, but not half as bright as they would away from the glowing streetlights. Sakura, he knew, was thinking the same thing as she looked up and twisted her mouth. Her white, delicate neck craned upward; her short hair tickled her neck; then she faced the streets again, the flash of wistfulness gone and replaced with hardened strength.

Sasuke had learned he was not the only one who had been forced to grow up. All of Team 7... had suffered because of him.

The streets were not crowded, but Sasuke could still hear the whispers. This time the gossip was of the two of them. Sasuke felt burning hatred in his chest, which he longed to quench, but couldn't. Violence... was not Konoha's ninja way.

The woman beside him, however, was either perfectly indifferent or unaware. Because Sakura (he had observed) was hardly in tune with the world, he was more readily convinced of her ignorance. But when Sasuke thought more, he could almost believe that Sakura really did notice the traitorous murmurs. Perhaps when all of Team 7 had left her, she had just become accustomed.

A certain stand came into their view. When Sakura sat down at a long wooden counter, she ordered her typical drink. Sasuke declined the worker's persuading, "And what can I get you?"

The two were silent until Sakura began, "Why did you come, Sasuke-kun, if you weren't going to get anything?"

"Because you asked."

Sakura smiled. He wondered if it was simply from courtesy or from insight into what he had implied. He was inclined to think it was the latter.

After a pause, Sasuke asked her a question. She was so startled by his conversation that he had to repeat himself. "How are your students?" Sasuke reiterated. He called the medic students hers, although she did not teach them.

Sakura set down her drink. "They're getting better every day. It's just a long process..."

The process, which had been Sasuke's own idea, was much longer than he had anticipated. Sasuke had not known how hard it would be, or how long suffering Sakura would need to be. To train more medics, Sakura had lost a few nurses. Now more understaffed than ever, she was waiting for her sacrifice finally to pay off.

Sasuke stared at her cup, around which were wrapped even whiter fingers. "How much longer until they can help in the hospital?"

"For the best ones, a few more months." Sakura tucked a pink bang behind her ear. "Patience," she whispered.

Patience, Sasuke thought with irony. Sakura had exercised enough patience.

Sakura began to ramble soon, although it was not from alcohol, for he persuaded her not to order again. She talked about the hospital, Tsunade, and a patient or two. During her speech, she brought up Naruto. A smile, full of a tenderness that made Sasuke look away, grew on her soft pink lips when she mentioned him. A flash of fire, of life, burned in her eyes.

"He might come home soon," Sakura murmured, almost to herself.

Her expression and speech when she talked of Team 7 gave Sasuke some idea of how she had acted when he was gone. The longing (the mixed hope and despair) was so potent it brought to remembrance those first years after his family's death. Sakura, more than anyone, stirred up his familial memories. Why, he hadn't found out yet. What he did feel, distinctly, was a binding empathy.

"I miss them all so much." Sakura took another sip of her drink, and Sasuke knew he wasn't imagining the slight sheen over her eyes. "It feels like I've spent more time away from them than with them." Sakura seemed to realize the full honesty in what she'd just confessed and shook her head. "At least it shouldn't be much longer... until they're all back."

The look which came into Sakura's eyes transfixed Sasuke. Her words, coupled with the sorrow, made him wonder if she was waiting for him, too, to come back.

Under Konoha's stars, surrounded by distrustful eyes but faceless persons, Sasuke was aware that Sakura was the thread he held onto—the thread which was drawing tight, and raveling...


a/n. this chapter was added to Variance solely because of my reviewers. i wrote it just this week, and i have to say, the idea grew on me! in fact, i'm thinking about two more sasuke 'divergences' (as i called it). so reviews do make a difference! feel free to ask for things. and now for my BIG thanks:

TrueHeartsGlow, shkh4ever, jolteonforever, zara dragon, Sairalinde Inwe, Lady Rini, SasuSakuKawai, Unknown, Misery's-Toll, Charm Caster, Fonnin, Anonymous Reader, Storms-winter, drgn, Sakura Haruno . . . CHA!, zingyo heart, cutecookiechick, Dictionary Ink, Bone-Conjurer, Kaze and Kiba, Queen-Cocaine, Sakura's Indecision, MidniteCurse4Eternity, J-Cut, and 17child-of-the-moon17.

i'm glad so many people are enjoying this. because Variance is exactly how i like to think of sasuke and sakura in the future. since kishimoto makes ninja teams really close, i like to write the two with a sense of understanding or familiarity. sasuke and sakura, in this, are more than just potential 'lovers'; they're teammates. which is part of the reason i find the couple so appealing.

OK. i'm done. :D please review!