Pining

(Itasaku Festival Day 2)

It was a disgusting day. He had known it the moment he had opened his eyes and his nose had felt cold inside his heated apartment while the sounds of rain pattered on his window. Silencing his shrill alarm, Itachi sat up and rubbed his already aching head.

Coffee and a stale cigarette like any other day. As he sat watching the news, Itachi thought for a moment before he poured rum into his cooling cup. It was going to be one of those days. He dressed in whatever was clean in his closet. It was all just multiples of the same white shirt with trousers anyway.

The call came early in the afternoon. Sticking an unlit cigarette in his mouth, he sighed and pulled on his trench coat. He rode his motorcycle to the location texted to him. He was already wearing gloves before he entered the apartment. The door was already half-off its hinges and the smell of metal was thick in the air. He flipped on the light switch to blink at the scene painted out before him.

There was more to clean up than he had expected. The boss would have to pay him extra. He hadn't realized that one of the corpses on the ground was in fact not a corpse. The bullet hit his upper arm and the man managed to land a couple good blows before Itachi subdued him for good.

Itachi rubbed the sole of his shoe against the carpet, smearing it with red.

A classic murder suicide, the cops would say. Itachi dropped the corpse face down on the floor. Gathering his tools, he slipped out the door. His work phone rang as he got on his motorcycle.

"Is it done?" the voice on the other end asked.

"Done. Transfer the sum to my account. I had a live one," he said in response before ending the call.

As he put on his helmet, he felt a stab of pain in his left arm. He glanced over. Blood had soaked through his sleeve. He clicked his tongue. The bullet was in deep enough that it would be a pain to remove alone. He revved the engine.

Halfway home, the highway started to blur and spin around him. He pulled off sharply into an exit, earning a barrage of angry honks from the cars he cut off. He avoided the big hospitals. There was paperwork there, security cameras. People asked too many questions. And while he would prefer to stitch up his wounds in the safety of his own apartment, he could tell from how fuzzy things looked that he wouldn't make it home after losing much more blood.

He glanced at the passing signs. This was a smaller town, one of the many scattered between the bigger cities. He had never entered this particular one before, preferring to drive past it on the highway. But as he maneuvered his bike through the small streets and only found a vet's office, he began to wonder if it would be worth it to just go to one of the big city hospitals instead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small sign. It was so little that he would have completely missed it if he hadn't been looking.

Clinic

He squinted, chewing heavily on his cigarette as he scanned the line of buildings. This looked like a residential area. But then he found it, a small grey building with square windows. After some thinking, he spat the cigarette out, grinding it flat under his tire as he rolled on.

Itachi propped up his bike against the side of the clinic, in a narrow alley. Hands in his pockets, he quietly entered the clinic.

He appeared in front of the receptionist, sleeve soaked in blood and a darkening black eye.

"Um, Doctor," the receptionist said, quickly getting to her feet. Itachi followed her with his eyes, leaning heavily against the reception desk. He looked away for a moment to watch the dark blood dripping off his jacket and onto the white tile.

He heard the sound of a mug being put down. There was a click that sounded like a light switch. And then he heard two sets of footsteps come back. He lifted his gaze in time to see the pale receptionist slip back inside to take her seat at the desk. And then a second woman followed. She adjusted her glasses before she stepped right up to him.

When she reached out for his arm, he grabbed her wrist.

"Don't call the cops," he ground out. When she didn't respond, he grabbed her by the front of her coat, pulling her close to glower at her.

"Don't call the cops," he repeated in a growl.

Her eyes widened. They were the color of green sea glass. She didn't say anything in response. But she placed her hands over his and slowly pulled them down. With one pointed look at her receptionist, she stepped into one of the rooms in the clinic without asking him to follow.

He did anyway.

She treated his wounds in silence as well. Her hands were cold and her touches purely clinical. Everything about her smelled antiseptic and chemical. He traced the way she moved, at the way she plunged the needle filled with anesthetic into his arm or the way she threaded the wound shut once she had removed the bullet.

The receptionist peered in on them with a forehead crinkled with concern.

She covered the wound in some kind of clear gel before bandaging it up.

When he moved to stand, she stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. She stepped out of the room. And when she returned a moment later, it was with a glass of water and a rectangular box.

Painkillers. And just enough for a week.

Itachi almost smirked. It seemed that the doctor knew his type if she wasn't trusting him with a large box.

He held her gaze for a long time before he drank the water and pushed the cup back to her. Her hands were shaking.

How funny. They hadn't been shaking while she worked.

Itachi got to his feet. Without a word of thanks, he strode out of the room. How long would it take for either of them to call the cops after he'd gone? It was better to get moving quickly.

"Um, your total comes out to-" the receptionist squeaked out when he walked past. But before she could say a number, the doctor shook her head. Itachi stared at the doctor as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Take care," she simply said. It was the first time he had heard her speak. Her voice was clear and bright, like the first snow of the season. His stare pierced her for a moment longer before he grabbed his helmet off the counter and walked out of the miniscule clinic.

He rode straight back to his apartment. Setting the security codes and checking out past the blinds for anyone suspicious had become second nature to him. He poured himself a drink and lit up a cigarette before collapsing into his favorite armchair. As the ugly smell of smoke filled his nose and mouth, he yanked off his shirt to take a better look at the bandage. It barely hurt anymore, though he suspected that once the anesthesia wore off, it would get worse.

He scoffed.

To get wounded doing a cleaning job.

As he downed his whiskey, Itachi stared up at the white ceiling.


He found her again a few weeks later. She was just opening up the clinic in the morning. She unlocked the front door and went inside. And as she opened up the window in the reception area, she looked down and found him slumped in the side alley- next to a garbage can. Blood ran down the side of his face and he squinted up at her through it.

Her mouth opened up in a perfect 'o'.

She was surprisingly strong as she pulled him to his feet and into the clinic. He sat in the bed in the back room, eyes roving around to take in all the equipment and the drawings from children up on the wall. She washed her hands in the sink with plenty of soap. The smell clung to her hands as she moved toward him.

As she pushed his hair out of his eyes, she paused for a moment. He scrutinized her face. For some unfathomable reason, she almost looked sad. But then the look of soft apathy came back. She sanitized the cut on his head and stitched it up. His split lip also got the same treatment. As she gingerly felt his sides through his shirt, he saw the glint of a silver necklace peeking out from under her clothes.

"You've lost a lot of blood. Rest here for a bit before you leave," she instructed before she closed the door softly.

Itachi was going to wait for a few minutes before he took off. But it was warmer in the clinic than it was outside. The bed was substantially more comfortable than the concrete he had been laying on for the past two hours. He could hear the rise and fall of voices outside as the receptionist came in for work. He closed his eyes just for a moment.

A moment. A nap.

He woke to her entering the room again. There was a glass of water in her hand. The sunlight danced off the glass in strange, glaring ways. When he squinted, she moved to draw the blinds before she looped around the rolling stool to give him the water.

She waited for him to chug the whole thing before she held her hand out. He pushed the empty cup into her grasp again. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he twisted around to look at the clock up on the wall.

He had slept nearly two hours.

And the good doctor stood without saying a thing. There was no condemnation in her gaze. And to call the expression fear would be wrong too.

She looked like she was waiting for him to do something.

With a soft grunt, he got to his feet. He moved past her without a word. The weight of her gaze followed him even as he opened the front door and left the clinic.

He showed up again later that same week.

She stood in the reception area, hands deep in the pockets of her white coat. She let out a deep breath at the same time that the door opened. The little bell attached to it jangled merrily. The door shut after him with an oddly heavy thud.

The receptionist nearly choked on her mouthful of bread. The doctor only sighed again.

"Your stitches ripped," she stated.

She sewed him back up right there in reception. As her thumb ran over the neat row of stitches, their gazes met. Her eyes widened for a moment. She lowered her hands, tucking them back into the pockets of her coat.

Itachi regarded her for a long time. And then he dipped his head ever so slightly before he left the clinic.

She stood watching him from the window as he drove off on his bike.

He thought about her that night. Lying on his side in his bed, he touched two of his fingers to the bandages on the right side of his forehead. The cognac he had drank before bed warmed his stomach and the taste lingered in his mouth. It made the inside of his head feel slightly fuzzy too.

The doctor had pink hair, almost like the color of peach flowers. She never smiled, though he understood that most people had that in common when he was the person in front of them. But she had a soft mouth with a hint of gloss on her lips. He imagined for a moment what she would look like if she pulled that mouth into a smile. Would it be crooked? Would she show her teeth?

He kept himself awake with thoughts of the doctor's smile until his heavy eyelids drooped and he had to settle for dreaming about her instead.

He woke with an odd crick in his neck. There was also the irritating beep from his phone that told him he had a new text message. Grumbling unpleasant words under his breath, he reached over to slide his thumb across the screen.

Someone made a mess. Time to get to work.

Itachi rolled onto his back. Today was going to be a disgusting day too.


The fourth time he stumbled into her clinic, he drove nearly an hour out of his way to get there. It would have been faster just to go home and take care of it himself but through the pain and adrenaline, his body ran there instead. All he could see was her face as he swerved past cars.

It was late at night, too late for any small-town clinic to be open.

Three moons blurred together in the sky as he stumbled off his bike and to the front door. He nearly slipped in the snow. The little wooden sign dangling inside the window said 'Closed' in looping black letters. Still, he tried. He knocked on the door, barely noticing that his blood smeared on the white paint. And when that didn't work, he leaned heavily against it, trying to catch his breath.

"Ah."

It was the sound of someone inhaling while surprise set it. It was the sound of cold hands and eyes that reflected the sea.

He lifted his chin.

"What…?" Her one word trailed off as she scanned him slowly. A mittened hand rose to her mouth. The other hand was holding onto a plastic bag from the convenience store. She ran to him, her boots crunching through the snow.

He was barely aware of what was happening as she pulled him to his feet and put his arm over her shoulder. She dragged him through the snow that slowly turned brown and red under their feet. They went through the side alley where his bike rested on its side. In the shadows was a door he had never noticed before. She struggled to prop him up against the wall as she dug the keys out of her pocket. Eventually she tore the mitten off with her teeth and spat it on the snow so she could jam the keys in the lock and open the door.

Inside she flipped the light switch and sat him down on the wooden steps leading upstairs.

"Hold on," she breathed before she ran off somewhere, missing one mitten and still wearing her boots. He swallowed down a shaky breath. There was sharp pain in his side each time he inhaled. But still he was conscious enough to look around. This wasn't the white clinic he had become somewhat used to. It was some sort of mud room. The walls were painted light yellow and there were various potted plants placed near the windows. Hooks near the door held a red raincoat and a clear umbrella.

She came back, cheeks red from the cold and expression flustered as she found him sitting just where she had left him.

She looked at him, at the way his shoulders shook from the cold and at the way his eyes couldn't focus completely on her face.

Sighing softly, she put her arm around him and helped him to his feet. The strangled noise of pain that escaped his clenched teeth made her hesitate for a moment. But she glanced at him again before she turned them around and began the slow journey up the stairs.

To his surprise, upstairs was not an extension of the clinic. It was clearly where she lived. There was a living room. The blue sofa had a fuzzy throw and a few pillows. There was an empty wine glass on the table, along with a newspaper. The walls were covered in picture frames. White string lights dangled along the tops of the walls, arching gracefully across the windows.

She led him to the left, down the hall to a room where she switched on the light with her elbow. He collapsed gratefully onto the bed. The pain made his head swim to the point that he couldn't protest when she began taking off his shoes and tossing them on the floor. Another hiss left him as she pulled his legs up onto the bed. Her face pinched as she tried to arrange him in the least painful way. When she moved over to help him out of his jacket, his fingers clenched into the front of her shirt. She wadded up his sopping clothes and left them in the corner on her way out of the room.

When she returned, it was with a metal tray in one hand and a glass of water in another. She handed him the glass and waited for him to drain it. Something like amusement touched her lips as she watched him gulp it down. He handed it back to her and she set it on the nightstand.

She sat on the bed, setting the tray on the nightstand too. Her cool hands pulled up the bottom of his shirt. Then her hands slipped underneath, fingers carefully pressing against the muscle and bones there. When they brushed near his side, he flinched ever-so-slightly. After a while, she pulled his shirt back down and then moved to check his head. Her fingers followed the same probing motions, combing thoroughly through his wet hair as they searched his scalp. When she pulled the flashlight from the tray and told him to follow the light with his eyes, he saw the way her forehead wrinkled. She checked his arms and his legs. She even helped him sit up to check his back for anything else.

Muttering something to herself, she stood. She left the room again. And she was gone for such a long time that he closed his eyes, just to rest for a moment.

"I don't think you broke your ankle. It seems like it's only a sprain," her whispering voice woke him. He blinked to find her holding onto his hand. There was a damp cloth. She was running it over his fingers, between them and even under his nails. Unlike her examination, it wasn't fleeting and clinical. Comfort radiated from her every touch. Itachi watched her lips move as she spoke.

"You fractured this rib at the bottom. It's not broken. You might be concussed, though," she murmured.

The warm washcloth moved over his knuckles. She patiently rubbed the dried layers of blood and dirt away until his skin peered through again.

"That means you should avoid sleeping for a few hours if you can," she added. The washcloth paused and he looked up at her.

"At least for the beginning of the night. You're lucky it's Christmas Eve because I won't be open tomorrow. I'll keep an eye on you," she said. Then she resumed cleaning his hands. The pads of her fingers were soft as she helped him out of his shirt. Her fingers quickly popped the buttons open before she eased the torn fabric off his shoulders.

"Christmas?" he repeated in a croaking voice.

She smiled this time and pain pierced his chest, entirely different from the ache of his injured rib.

"Yeah. Actually, it's past midnight. So Merry Christmas, I guess," she replied. She looked up at him through long eyelashes. Her hands moved to begin washing his forearm. She was extra careful as she moved over a dark bruise forming there.

She rinsed the cloth every so often in a basin of warm water beside the bed. The motion of her washing the cloth and then wringing out the water reminded Itachi of his mother's hands as she moved around the kitchen. She washed meticulously, even getting behind his ears and between his toes.

When he was clean, she proceeded to sanitize his little wounds and cover them in ointment and bandages. She listened to his heart and to his breathing. She tucked a bag of ice under him before turning him on his injured side.

"Even if it hurts, I'm going to need you to take a deep breath about once an hour. It'll keep you from collapsing your lung," she explained as she adjusted the ice so that it cradled his aching side.

There was another bag of ice for his ankle. She elevated it on a stack of pillows. And the cold was a welcome relief from the throbbing pain he had been experiencing.

She popped his dislocated finger back into place and stitched up the gash on his right thigh. And when all of that was done, she gave him another cup of water along with two painkillers.

"Did you take the ones I gave you?" she queried as she watched him finish off the water. He stared up at her for a long time.

"No."

She didn't seem bothered by the terse answer. She gathered up the bloodied cotton and the used needles into her metal tray.

"Ok, well I'm going to shower. Don't fall asleep in the meantime," she ordered as she got to her feet. Itachi's hand reached out to grab her wrist before she could leave. She turned back to him with a question in her eyes.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

How had this woman not run off screaming by now? How did she see him barge in with all these injuries and not ask a single question?

But she only blinked at him.

"My name's all over the walls downstairs, you know. I'm Haruno Sakura," she simply replied before she walked off.

She came back close to half an hour later, her hair wet across her shoulders. She smelled like something floral and fruity all at once. In a loose t-shirt and shorts, she carried a wooden chair into the room and then set it down beside the bed. She came back again with a stack of thick books that she dropped on the ground with a disturbingly heavy thud. Then she settled in the chair with her legs crossed. Itachi stared at her. When she felt his scrutinizing gaze, she only blinked at him.

"I told you that you can't sleep for a bit. I'm here to keep watch," she explained easily. She then proceeded to pick up the newspaper that had been sitting on the coffee table and then a pen.

"Do you want a crossword too?" Sakura offered without looking up at him.

Itachi sighed.

"No."

When the sun rose, Sakura rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms and legs. She let out a huge yawn that made tears come to her eyes. Itachi briefly glanced her way before he resumed staring out the window. She had told him it was alright to sleep a few hours ago but he wasn't the type of person to close his eyes so easily around anyone. And she hadn't told him to sleep again. Instead she proceeded to finish two crossword puzzles and read through half of one of her giant books before the night was over.

Letting out a sigh, she set her book down on her chair before she shuffled out of the room. She paused in the doorway to stretch her arms high above her head.

"Oh, so your name's Itachi. I thought I'd go my whole life without finding out," she said to him over breakfast later. She brought him a tray with water, coffee, toast, and two eggs sunnyside up. She balanced a bowl of cereal on her knees as she sipped her own coffee. The beans smelled strong and a little burnt- just the way he liked it.

"Well, with your ankle, I'd say it'd be impossible for you to walk around at least for the next week or so," she remarked as she gestured to his leg with her spoon.

Itachi glared at his foot.

"You're welcome to stay here for the time being," Sakura then added.

Itachi would have refused had he not tried to sit up then and failed miserably.

She spent the rest of the day in her chair with her laptop. She gave him control of the remote so that he could watch the TV from bed. But there wasn't much on except holiday variety shows or sentimental family movies. He settled for watching the history channel, where there was a marathon of war documentaries.

Sakura didn't comment on his choice of shows. She brought him water throughout the day and supplied a bedpan without complaint. She brought him lunch and dinner in bed. When the bags of ice melted, she brought new ones to keep the swelling down.

"I don't have any men's clothes. Sorry. I'll run to buy you something when the stores open again," she said as she went to put his clothes in the washer and decided against it upon seeing their tattered state.

Itachi watched her chew on the end of her pen and laugh quietly whenever she saw something funny on the internet. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and played with her hair as she thought. She was in her pajamas all day and she drank wine from a coffee cup when she didn't feel like getting up to go get a clean glass.

The next morning, Itachi heard her head downstairs to open the clinic. He opened his eyes with the urgent need to go to the bathroom. Clenching furniture and doors for support, he hopped on one leg to go relieve himself. He paused to marvel at the array of cosmetics on her bathroom counter.

Tired of lying in bed all day, Itachi hobbled his way down the hall and to the kitchen where there was breakfast on a plate wrapped in plastic wrap. The food was still steaming. He ate and spent the rest of the morning watching television in the living room. Sakura came back upstairs for lunch with Chinese food and a convenience store bag with a cheap t-shirt and pants.

"Sorry. There was nothing else that didn't look repulsive. I hope that's ok," she said sheepishly as she handed them to him. He dressed in the bathroom without saying thanks. They ate lunch together in relative silence. But Sakura cheerfully cleaned up and headed back downstairs to work. As soon as she was gone, Itachi pulled on his tattered coat and made his way down the stairs as quietly as he could on one foot. He slipped outside and picked up his motorcycle. As he passed, he peeked in through the window.

Sakura was talking to one of her patients. The smile stretching her mouth made his chest tighten again. He looked back toward the door to her home upstairs. It was warm inside. It was full of good smells and little things that echoed of her. But his phone buzzed from inside his pocket and so he got on his bike and sped away through the snow. He heard the door of the clinic slam open but didn't look over his shoulder back at her.


He saw her again because someone sent him a picture. It wasn't from a number he knew. But it was just a picture of her through the window of her clinic with the words 'Found your weakness, asshole'.

Still covered in blood that wasn't his, Itachi sped through the city and cut through the ramp on the highway to her place. It must have been a slow day from the way she hung out the window sighing at the melting slush on the streets. But at the sound of his motorcycle, she suddenly perked up.

"Itachi," she said.

"Get on," he said, looking around warily.

"What?"

"Get on. We're leaving," he growled.

"I'm still working. No we're not," Sakura retorted as she pointed at the sign on the door that said 'Open'.

"You're in danger. Get on the bike, Sakura," he said with an added edge to his voice. That made Sakura stop. She scrutinized him for a long moment before she slipped back in through the window. Itachi saw her say something to her receptionist who turned to look out the window too. Then the receptionist got to her feet and grabbed her coat. They left the clinic together, Sakura flipping the sign around to 'Closed'.

"Where are we going?" Sakura asked as she climbed onto the bike and tentatively slipped her arms around his waist. Itachi didn't reply as he revved the motorcycle and zoomed forward. They turned sharp corners around the narrow streets before he merged onto the highway and began weaving in and out of cars. Part of him enjoyed the way Sakura pressed up against his back as she trembled. But another part of him wanted to go faster. To get her away from that place.

Protect her.

He went back to his place in the city. Because even if it was a rat's nest of the worst scumbags in the city, at least none of those scum knew where to find him. He brought her up to his apartment with its security codes and cameras and the access elevator that only opened with a special key.

She clung to the edge of his coat as they took the elevator up. He wouldn't have minded if she just held onto him instead.

Itachi sat her down on the leather sofa and pushed a drink into her hand. He took a deep breath before he explained.

"I'm a cleaner, Sakura. Do you know what that is?"

She shook her head. Innocence shone bright in her eyes. She was so pure.

"I clean up murders for a crime lord. And sometimes I'll dispose of the witnesses too," he spelled it out for her. There was sadness in her expression but no surprise.

"Oh."

"And you make a lot of enemies that way. One of them found you. I don't know how. But it's better that you stay here for now," he said.

"Oh," she said again. And this time, she looked down at the drink her hand and swallowed it all down with a grimace. He almost wanted to laugh at that. Eyes liquid, she stared down at the glass.

"Am I going to die?" she questioned in a soft voice.

She was so pure. So clean.

"No," he solemnly answered. She lifted her gaze to him.

She was so clean. He wanted to corrupt her.

She spent a month with him. She filled his days and nights with soft smiles and wondering gazes. The noises of her sleepy laughter against his shoulder became his bedtime lullaby. The sheets smelled of her. The pillow clung to strands of her pink hair in the morning, as if it too wanted to remember her forever.

And in the mornings that text messages or phone calls came for him, she stared up at him with those wide, hurt eyes. He embraced her, kissing her shoulder and pressing himself into her flesh, as if he could sink into her forever. There was never judgment in her gaze.

Only fear.

When he returned to her at night, she flung herself at him. She kissed his bloodied hands and scoffed at the sums of money he told her he had earned for the day's work. She never wanted any of his money.

And then he found the man who had dared to threaten her and he split his skull with a crowbar. He came home that night with red flecked across his knuckles. As she sat in the bathtub patiently scrubbing the blood from the back of his hand, she listened to the news.

"You can go home, Sakura," he uttered. The words fell like poison from his lips.

"I see," she replied without meeting his eyes.

"I'll take you in the morning. Your patients are going to be looking for you," he went on.

"Alright," she agreed in a flat voice.

"Sakura."

She finally looked at him.

"You want me to leave," she stated firmly. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Itachi took a deep breath.

"You don't belong here," he told her.

He wrapped her up in his arms and watched the rise and fall of her breaths until dawn came.

He dropped her off in front of the clinic. Someone had taped up a sign on the front door telling patients that the doctor had left on a family emergency and would be back soon. Sakura stared at the sign. She slowly peeled it off, crumpling it up in a ball in her fist.

"Go inside. It's cold out," he said.

Sakura stood, her back to him. He could see her shaking.

"Goodbye," she practically spat out before she stiffly marched into the side alley and into her apartment. She was hiding her tears.

They both knew that he wouldn't be coming back to her for his injuries anymore.


"Kisame."

The man at the bar looked up. He smirked.

"Haven't seen you around here lately. Got yourself some better company?" Kisame asked his old friend. Itachi gave what almost looked like a smile. He motioned for the bartender to bring him a drink before he turned to Kisame.

"I've got a question for you," Itachi said. Kisame leaned back in his seat as he waited.

"Go for it," he grunted.

"How do you leave?"

There was utter silence between the two men as the question sunk in. Kisame stared blankly down at his drink for a long time before he could process the words properly. And when he lifted his head to scrutinize Itachi's gaze, he saw something glinting in those dark eyes that had been absent in all the years he had known him.

"Listen, man. That's a dangerous path," Kisame began in a low voice. He glanced around the bar to make sure no one was eavesdropping. But Itachi's eyes remained steady. Kisame then cleared his throat.

"Alright, listen. A guy like you creates a lot of ties going around cleaning up after a big guy's messes. And until you break all those ties or… those people, there's no getting out," Kisame whispered. Itachi opened his hand as the bartender slid the glass down the bar toward him. He caught the drink without looking.

"So you're telling me that I'll have to kill anyone that gets in my way," Itachi summarized. Kisame nodded slightly. He watched Itachi down his strong drink.

"It's not going to be easy," Kisame warned him.

Itachi imagined her hair, the way her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee on a cold morning. He could hear her laughter and the noise she made when she was mad at him. Her smiles melted into one another until all he could see was her delight whenever she caught sight of him. And when he spied her through the window of her clinic interacting with her patients, he could see the love sparkling in her eyes. There was no way someone so good and pure could ever abide someone like him with filthy, stained hands. There was no way he could continue to spill blood when all he could see was her face whenever he closed his eyes.

He would destroy everything that stood in his path on his way to her. He would crush people under his heel and close his eyes to the trail of destruction he would leave in his wake.

Because it was so much more painful to be without her.