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Chapter Ten: The Unraveling, Part II
There was a brief period of time when Sakura looked forward to her dreams. When they were all she could think about during the day, and when she impatiently counted the hours of daylight down, until night fell and she was that much closer to being able to sleep and hopefully to dream again. After waking up from all of these dreams, she sat upright in bed and reached for the notepad she kept hidden in the topmost drawer of her nightstand, and she hastily took note of what and whom exactly she had dreamed about, her eyes shining with excitement. There were certain recurring figures that triggered an overwhelming feeling of warmth and familiarity and love in her, and 'seeing' them was one of the reasons she anticipated every night's sleep with such eagerness.
The blonde boy with the bright orange jumpsuit stood out the most, and then the tall, masked shinobi. Then there was the beautiful blue-eyed girl dressed in purple – Ino was her name; one of only two names that Sakura had been able to remember. Ino-pig, she had called her, for some reason. A couple more recurring figures were the chubby red-haired boy with the armor, who always carried the potato chips, and another boy dressed in green with a lazy look on his face and spiky black hair pulled into a ponytail. Lastly, there was a gentle-looking lady with short black hair, who wore an elegant gray dress and often (inexplicably enough) carried around a chubby little pig – and, of course, Tsunade-shishou, who had taught her everything she knew as a medic.
This night had started like any other. Sakura snuggled under the covers eagerly, closing her eyes, because last time, she had dreamed about sitting with the blonde boy with the infectious laugh and smile like sunshine, at some kind of outdoor restaurant eating ramen. It had been mundane, compared to some of the other wild dreams she'd had, but she had awoken with a smile on her face anyway. Sakura slipped off to sleep with her eyes shut tight, her brow furrowed with anticipation of what was to come, and her heart beat faster than usual out of excitement.
The dream she ended up having had that night, instead, was utterly terrifying. She was standing in the place she now knew as the Forest of Death, horrorstruck, with the orange boy at her side and the blue-shirted boy she occasionally, vaguely, dreamed about at her other side, and they were confronted by a horrible, shape-shifting thing. There was no other way to describe it. It started as a man, unnaturally pale and long-haired, with a sneer on his face, but with every ninjutsu that he used and attack he aimed at them, he turned more and more – literally – snakelike, into a freakish hybrid unlike anything she had ever heard of before. He was attacking the boys, and the chakra that emanated from him was the darkest and most frighteningly suffocating and overwhelming that she had ever felt, and worse than that, she was powerless. Utterly powerless to prevent the nightmarish serpent-human shinobi from hurting her teammates, leaving them broken and unresponsive on the forest floor. She cradled them in her arms, but they wouldn't wake up.
That was the first night Sakura woke up in tears, shaking spasmodically, her body curled up into a tight fetal position. It was hard to get through the day that followed, and she kept trying to convince herself that the nightmare was just probably a one-time thing; that she had grown up in a shinobi village and of course not all of her memories would be sunshine and rainbows. After lying awake rigidly for an hour that night, muscles tense beyond belief, she finally managed to fall asleep, and it was only then – well, to be accurate, four hours later, when she almost fell out of the bed, soaked in cold sweat and her bottom lip bleeding because of how hard she had bitten it during the night – that Sakura realized just how wrong she might have been.
It was most definitely not a one-time occurrence. No matter how fervently she hoped otherwise, every night before she went to bed, these dreams had gone on for a little over a week now, with each nightmare just as disturbing and traumatic as the last. Needless to say, it was different from any normal nightmares, because the worst thing was knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all of this had happened to her – that all of this was real. Once, she had been crushed to within an inch of her life within the iron grip of an unyielding fist made out of sand, and Sakura had woken with her ribs aching. Even worse, though, was what came the next night – seeing her blonde teammate hurt, sometimes seriously, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth and bones fractured, before he gradually stood up straight and prepared to fight again. His extraordinary determination was tangible. He inspired her and worried her all at the same time, and from the frequency that she dreamed about him, Sakura knew that he had been important to her. One of the episodes involving him had bordered on the nonsensical, though. She had the feeling that it was on the battlefield, and the boy was yelling at an unseen opponent. His normally sky-blue eyes began to glow an unearthly red, while an aura of tremendously powerful, orange-tinted chakra began to emanate from every inch of his skin.
This was on the same night that Sakura had the next new nightmare, one that rattled her even further. She fell asleep again after the first nightmare to find herself standing in some kind of cave with an elderly lady at her side, and the remembered horror and sorrow she felt at the sight before her eyes was as strong as if this had just happened yesterday. There was a red-haired boy dressed in desert clothes lying motionless, limp as a rag doll, on the cave floor, and in a flagrant display of cruel disrespect that made her stomach turn, there was another shinobi sitting on him. Blonde, male, so arrogant and disgusting that it made her want to scream.
And all Sakura could notice about him, in her dream, was the cloak he wore. Black embroidered with many scarlet clouds. Sickeningly familiar. The very same one that she saw on Itachi and Kisame every day.
It was the very first thought that came to her mind when she woke up, twisted into an uncomfortable position in the corner of the bed, as if bracing for an attack. It was the only thought that she could seem to focus on, and it circulated around her mind in a relentless endless loop that made her want to grip her fingers into her hair until the pain distracted her. Itachi and Kisame wore the same cloak as the man who had killed her friend and so cruelly disrespected him after death. And she didn't know what it meant.
Sakura stayed upstairs in her room for most of the day, claiming a headache, unable to open her bedroom door and face either of them. She lay on her side on the floor, rigid and unmoving, thinking so desperately hard that her vision blurred and at several points she couldn't remember or distinguish between what was real and what wasn't. Such uncontrolled displays of emotion were very unlike her, but she often found herself crying intermittently, when the confusion and disorientation and yes, suspicion, became too much to deal with. All she wanted was to run into the kitchen downstairs and flip back the pages of the calendar to one month ago, before all of this had started and when she felt so perfectly carefree and at home with Itachi and Kisame (and when Itachi and Kisame didn't look so tense and worried all the time, and before Itachi started spending so much time looking through the letters he received from his contacts and staring at the calendar every morning, looking like the innocuous pages foretold his doom). His strange behavior in itself was yet another weight pressing down on Sakura's shoulders. She was his partner in more ways than one; she should know what was going on with him; she should have asked, but all of what had been going on in her own life had stretched her own emotional capacity to the limits.
The sight of the setting sun brought on a sense of panic that she had never felt before. Can't sleep, can't sleep, don't sleep, Sakura couldn't keep herself from thinking frantically, with every breath that she inhaled and exhaled. If I don't sleep, the nightmares can't come to me. So she stayed up all night when darkness fell, unwilling to close her eyes for fear of what terrible tableaus would play out in her mind's eye if she did. She reread one of her books, hardly paying attention to it, and sparked herself with brief electric jolts of chakra whenever she felt like her eyelids were in danger of drifting shut. The thought of sleep, and what further dark secrets her memories held, frightened her so much that her hands began to tremble every time it even crossed her mind. It was only when she saw the sun beginning to rise through her bedroom window that she could breathe easily again, feeling as though she had a few hours of safety.
Sakura made it through the next day again, fully intending to repeat this treatment on herself for the second night in a row, but the second she curled up in her armchair after coming upstairs from dinner, she fell asleep, unable to hold out for any longer.
This nightmare was more disjointed than the others had been, but no less terrifying for that. It was just composed of brief scenes and feelings, all unusually vivid. The adrenaline coursing through her veins, the pull of the chakra strings guided by the same old lady that she'd dreamed about last time. The cold, unrelenting knowledge that she was fighting for her life (the hardest fight of her life), and the lady's, and her teammate's, and the briefest misstep on her part would result in death. Her opponent was another creature that seemed to defy reality – some kind of strange puppet-man. She held her own, but then even when the fight looked like it was over, like she and the old lady had won, something happened; he broke his bonds, and the puppet-man tried to run the old lady through with the sword, and that couldn't happen, and—
Sakura dashed forward and took the strike instead, positioning herself in front of the older woman without even thinking about it, and there was one sickening instant when she saw it coming, and then felt the blade pierce her in the stomach and straight through – the cold steel was inside her – and then protrude from her back. Piercing her internal organs; shredding skin; tearing her apart. Her blood was hot, against her hands, and…
She fought to wake up, before it could get any worse. Her eyelids felt leaden and her vision blurry, but she forced her eyes open and struggled to keep them open. She had slid off the armchair and onto the floor sometime during the course of the dream, and though her muscles were unbearably stiff and there was a crick in her neck, Sakura couldn't find the strength to get up. Her cheeks were damp with tears, and she could feel her heart pounding hard and hear her own ragged breaths.
The man who had stabbed her had been wearing a black-and-red cloak too. Akatsuki. Her…enemy. She knew that. She had thought that, or…her past-self had, during the fight. Whatever.
The implications of everything crushed her like iron, and Sakura pulled herself up with difficulty. When she did, she lost her balance, staggering against the edge of the bed. She placed one hand on her stomach, where she had been impaled, and shuddered to feel herself whole – at the very same instant that she remembered, explicitly, looking down and seeing the sword protruding from her body and the blood beginning to seep from the massive wound. What had happened? She was all right now, obviously, but what had happened to the old lady, and to the red-haired boy that the Akatsuki had killed…and to her teammates? The masked shinobi, the orange-clad boy? It hadn't been too long ago, she felt, with a sudden certain, intuitive spark of knowledge. Maybe even less than the year that Itachi and Kisame had claimed that she had been their teammate…
She buried her head in her hands, huddling within herself for several moments as she tried to regain her composure. No, she couldn't think of that right now. And despite the raging confusion inside of her, Sakura's first instinct was to grab her pillow in one hand and make her way to the door, wiping the tears away from her face with the palm of her hand. Regardless of – everything that was going on inside her mind – Itachi was what she needed right now. He made her feel calm, and sane, and at peace, like everything was once again right in the world and in her head and not falling apart.
She knocked on the door to his room a couple of times, before folding her arms around her pillow, hugging it close. A few moments passed before Itachi opened the door, and Sakura could see that the lights were on and the bed was made; despite the late hour, he obviously hadn't slept yet. "Sorry for bothering you," she murmured, looking at the floor and realizing just how weary she was. "I just…"
She trailed off, momentarily losing her train of thought, and Itachi immediately confiscated her pillow and took her limp hand in his, leading her inside. "There is nothing to apologize for," he countered gently, and Sakura felt herself relaxing just a little bit at the sound of his voice.
She headed in the direction of his bed, intending to lie down and try to unwind somewhat, but then she hesitated, noticing something on the sand-colored blankets that she had never seen before. It was a small black-and-white photograph, looking somewhat lonely and forlorn, lying by itself. It was obvious that Itachi had been sitting in bed and looking at it when she had knocked, and Sakura settled herself down on the blankets before inspecting it, the slightest threads of fascination emerging from her stress and fatigue. She was vaguely aware of Itachi joining her, but her unwavering attention was devoted to the four faces in the photograph. She brushed her fingers against the two adults' faces first, taking in the shape of the eyes and the contours of the faces, and there was no question that this could only be Itachi's family. His verbal descriptions of their personalities and little stories that he had told her seemed to match their appearances perfectly. His father stood straight and stiff-backed, the expression on his face stern and unyielding, with no trace of warmth. Though he couldn't have been very old, there were pronounced stress lines on his face. In contrast, Itachi's mother had a gentle smile – similar to Itachi's – and a sparkle in her eyes that perfectly complemented the aura of warmth that seemed to emanate from her. She was beautiful, but she made Sakura's heart ache for the mother that she herself couldn't remember.
Itachi was several years younger in the photo, looking only thirteen or so years old, and Sakura touched his face lightly, taking in the extraordinarily serious, focused expression on his face, and the stress lines underneath his eyes. She looked up at him and felt a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips. Yes, it was definitely still her very same Itachi. But then another face in the photograph drew Sakura's attention – the younger boy, standing between his parents, his mother's arms on his shoulders. He looked like he was about eight in the photo, and this had to be Itachi's younger brother, the one he said was her age—
She stared into his face, taking in the way his hair hung into his eyes and framed his cheeks, down to such minute details as the set of his mouth, and Sakura felt a strange shiver run down her spine as she gently tapped the tip of her finger on the boy's head. Something pressed against her chest as if it was yearning to get out, and… "Sasuke," she whispered, almost to herself, her voice barely audible. She didn't know where it had come from – she didn't remember Itachi ever telling her his brother's name before – but she knew that was it. The name felt unbearably natural and right on her lips and in her mind, as if she had said or thought it a million times before. Sasuke Uchiha.
And yet, as strange as it seemed, considering the…familiarity…she felt, she had never seen him before…right? He seemed vaguely familiar, yes, but that was only because he was Itachi's younger brother, after all, and the family resemblance was clear even in the photo. Right?
It felt like ice water had replaced the blood in his veins, and Itachi froze, his muscles tensing up as he watched Sakura stare at his brother so searchingly. She had said his name. He had never, ever mentioned Sasuke's name to her before. It was what he had been afraid of from the second he had seen Sakura's gaze light on the photograph, but by then, it had been too late. He could hardly have ripped it out of her hands. He should have been more careful; he should have just taken another second to put the photo back in his bedside drawer where it normally resided, before opening the door. This spontaneous recovery of Sasuke's name could very well be a sign of total recall, and—
Sakura finally, gently rested the photograph back on the blankets and turned to him, placing her hands in his and looking up at him guilelessly. "Why don't you have a more recent picture?"
It took him a moment to comprehend the innocuousness of her words, and another for Itachi to determine that the query, and the expression on her face, was entirely genuine. Sakura didn't even seem to question how Sasuke's name had sprung to her mind. The sudden release of tension was almost painful, but not as much as the guilt he felt and the nature of her question and the truth of the answer, and all of a sudden, Itachi felt his throat close over, bringing him closer to tears than he had been in years, before he forced himself to regain his composure and his typically calm tone. "The opportunity never came up," he responded, and every word hurt.
She let him put the photograph away and draw the covers back, and she turned off the lamp, and Itachi reached for Sakura as he always did, pulling her into his arms and holding her close, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. He hadn't been blind to the fact that her eyes had been reddened when she had knocked on his door, combined with how saddened and withdrawn she had seemed over the past few days. His utter powerlessness to help made Itachi feel a little sick. Sakura curled up against him, resting the top of her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around him, and he braced his hands against her back, rubbing gentle circles against the fabric of her shirt, knowing that she would open up to him when she was ready. Sakura's eyes were closed, but she showed no signs of sleeping. After a long while, her fingers curled into fists around his loose black t-shirt, and she gave a deep, shuddering sigh, as if she was breaking down from the inside out and unable to hold it in any longer. "I think I'm going crazy, Itachi," she confessed quietly, her voice choked with tears. "I keep having…these awful dreams, every single night…"
Her words didn't really take him for surprise, considering the fact that he had noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the ashen tone of her skin, and the way she kept her bedroom light on all night, but the confirmation of what Sakura had been going through made Itachi grimace a little. He was no stranger to chronic, visceral nightmares and the effect they could have on the psyche, and he had just opened his mouth to try and comfort her when Sakura continued to speak, her voice sounding even more tremulous. "I mean…it doesn't even make sense, but some of the nightmares…they're just so…there are these people, in black-and-red cloaks just like yours and Kisame's, but not like you and Kisame, because they killed my friend and left him lying in some cave in the middle of nowhere, and they stabbed me right through the stomach, and…"
Sakura stopped abruptly, now sobbing too hard to speak, and Itachi could do nothing but stroke her hair mechanically, as if her words hadn't just filled him with a deep sense of sinking dread. Everything was beginning to make sense. He hadn't witnessed the events she was talking about firsthand, but he still knew them all too well. Deidara. Sasori. The capture of the Kazekage.
Itachi tried to comfort her, all too aware that he knew nothing of the special brand of anguish and torment that must be consuming her mind. Every single word was a lie, no matter how kind it sounded, and it was terrible of him, but it still was what he had been doing since he turned thirteen, and how was this any different? "It's not real," he told her, as softly and reassuringly as he could. "I know that such recurring events may be traumatic to experience, but it is ultimately nothing to worry about." He stopped then, and even through her blurred vision and hitched breathing, Sakura could see the shadow that flitted over his face. She touched his cheek, worried, and then Itachi seemed to come back to himself somewhat, exhaling slowly. "…I have had frequent, terrifying nightmares myself," he admitted after several moments, his voice barely audible. "The things that the unconscious mind comes up with in sleep can often be disturbing and violent, as well as unexplainable."
Sakura inclined her head, wanting badly – more intensely than she had ever wanted anything – to believe him. But she couldn't, not quite. She wanted to be honest with Itachi about what she felt, as she always had before; to spill out her torrent of confusion…but what could she say? That she believed, from the clarity of the dreams, that they were not just random nightmares at all, but her own memories returning? That in the moments where she lost her grip on reality, she remembered what she had read in the shinobi history book about missing-nin, like Itachi, having rescinded their allegiances to their villages after criminal acts? That she had made the connection and was battling with the knowledge that Itachi and Kisame's Akatsuki was the same one that had killed her friend, targeted Roshi for the demon he held inside him…and had tried to kill her and her teammates as well? And how could she possibly admit that in those darker moments, she had doubts that the two of them had told her the whole truth when she had recovered from that head injury? Sakura wanted to hear his answer; she wanted to hear the whole truth. But at the same time, now that she thought about it, she was paralyzed with fear at what the answer would be.
She blinked to keep her eyes from filling with tears again, noticing the concern written into every feature of Itachi's face, and so she nodded. It was – so hard – knowing Itachi and Kisame like she did, knowing that they were both good people who genuinely cared for her, while still having these subconscious suspicions working away at the back of her mind. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "I understand. I'll try to remember."
Itachi patted the tears away from her face with infinite care and kissed her pale cheekbones and lips, holding her close like he could keep her safe. Finally, realizing once again how bone-weary she was – too much to fret any longer – Sakura pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone and settled herself against him, draped over his chest like a blanket. And in spite of everything else, she still felt reassured when he was near. The other men in the black-and-red cloaks may have been her enemies, but when it came down to it, she just could not bring herself to think of Itachi like that. Not considering the way he looked at her and the millions of things about him that were just so innately good and kind and gentle, and for the millionth time, Sakura hoped that his decision to leave Konoha and his allegiance with this…Akatsuki…was born out of reasons beyond 'criminal behavior'. "Good night, Itachi," she whispered, drained. "Thank you."
She was asleep within minutes, and Itachi had always found it easier for himself to fall asleep when Sakura was near him, but tonight, he was unable to let himself be lulled by the fragrance of her hair and the feeling of her heart beating against his; her body rising and falling slightly with every breath. She had cured his illness, yes, but he felt the old, familiar heavy, immovable weight and pressure creeping back, deep within his chest. As recently as a couple of weeks ago, he had been sure that this would never happen…but now it was painfully clear that his earlier suspicions, when he had come across Sakura reading that book about the history of the world's shinobi villages, had been justified. Her memories were slowly but surely returning, as evidenced by the subject matter of the nightmares she was having, and the thought filled Itachi with so much helpless apprehension that he could do nothing more but lie in bed, his exhaustion forgotten, as he stared at the ceiling blankly, at a complete and utter loss as to where to go from here.
It was the little things, after that. A slow, gradual unraveling that played out before Itachi's very eyes, simultaneously transfixing and horrifying, because he couldn't look away, even though he wanted so very badly to pretend that it wasn't happening; that everything wasn't falling apart right in front of him. The first instance occurred during one afternoon, when he and Sakura were walking through the main street of a crowded border town, her fingers intertwined with his. She was talking to him about a movie she had seen advertised at the local theater that she thought Kisame would like, before she caught sight of two teenage boys walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the street. They were just civilians obviously returning from school; both carried textbooks in their arms. One had short blonde hair and wore an orange t-shirt, and the other had dark hair and a shirt in a deep shade of navy blue.
It happened in a matter of seconds. One instant, Sakura was earnestly discussing how she thought Kisame would secretly enjoy the film's romantic subplot, and next, she had caught the eye of the dark-haired boy for a split second. He nodded politely, and then she stopped dead, staring, as if lost, after the two boys as they disappeared into the crowd. Without further ado, Sakura abruptly released his fingers and turned to follow them, as if – as if she was suddenly, entirely, completely sure that they were the ones that she belonged with; that she was supposed to be walking at their side. The decisive suddenness of the action had taken Itachi for surprise, and Sakura made it several feet before stopping suddenly, as if coming back to herself, and allowing Itachi to catch up with her. The dazed expression on her face as she stared after them had actually scared him (he realized who the objects of her attention had resembled, a second too late, after she had already fled), and he put his arm around her shoulders. When he asked if she was all right, she leaned into him, putting one hand to her forehead. "Sorry," she mumbled softly, sounding unfocused. "I don't know what I was doing…"
Another time, all three of them had been watching the television – the local news, unusually enough – in the living room of the base, when an older, red-haired, green-eyed man had appeared on the screen. He wore an obviously expensive dark, tailored suit, and the title under his name proclaimed him an esteemed financial analyst. The instant he came on, Sakura, who had been reclining on the sofa, her head resting on Itachi's shoulder, stiffened up as if she found herself suddenly under attack. She slowly sat up straight, keeping her eyes trained on the screen.
"I never thought you were so interested in the state of the economy, kid," Kisame chuckled, amused by her change in demeanor. "There's no need to worry. When you're in our line of work, you don't have to worry about job security…"
He lifted the remote, obviously intending to change the channel, and Sakura wordlessly reached out, taking his hand and pressing it back down to the sofa, still staring at the screen as if mesmerized. She was blind to the look that Itachi and Kisame exchanged behind her back; to the cautious way that Kisame finally pointed to his eye, directed a quick glance between the screen and the back of Sakura's head, and silently mouthed Dad? to Itachi.
Itachi could do nothing more but incline his head slowly, uncomfortably aware of how dry his throat was. The memory came to him unbidden, that in better times, there had been a civilian accountant who did the taxes for his entire clan. His father had deemed him the only one in the village competent enough to handle the task. There had been a few times that he had left for missions in the morning and passed through the kitchen to see the accountant sitting with his mother and father. He had been a thoughtful-looking, middle-aged man with red hair, always impeccably dressed in a dark suit and clutching a briefcase…and Itachi's fingers tightened into a white-knuckled fist when he remembered that the man had eyes the same shade of bright green as Sakura's, as well as a similarly slight build.
It could have been coincidence, but somehow, instinct told him otherwise. Without knowing the man's name, though, he had never made the connection before, between the kunoichi who sat at his side and the almost-forgotten accountant. The thought was almost physically painful, like a knife to the ribs, as Itachi tried not to stare at Sakura, who was staring raptly at the screen. Over the course of the months they had spent together, he had effectively memorized every single one of her unique physical characteristics and little idiosyncrasies, but now he found himself seeing her in a different light. At her small hands, clasped together tightly and pressed between her knees; the way her thick, bright pink hair caught the light and tumbled down over her shoulders; the angle of her cheekbones. As asinine as it sounded, he had never fully comprehended the fact – not until now – that this girl was somebody's daughter. That the accountant and his wife would have spent countless days and nights weeping over the fact that their child was missing in action, presumed dead, and grieving that they would never again feel her embrace, kiss her on the cheek, or tenderly tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear as she smiled at them. The anguish that they must have felt was incomprehensible.
He had to look away then, unprepared for the nearly overwhelming guilt and remorse that swept over him. For her part, Sakura didn't even seem to blink until the segment was over and the program cut to commercial, after which she slowly began to relax.
It was this incident of a few days ago – there had been nothing since then, thankfully – that lingered heavily on Itachi's mind as he washed the dishes as if on autopilot, too preoccupied to pay much attention to Kisame's absentminded humming as he sat at the kitchen table, re-bandaging the worn restraints on the massive shark-skin Samehada. As it was mostly unsheathed, Itachi could feel the sword's pull on his chakra, and he turned back and raised an eyebrow at Kisame wordlessly.
"What can I say?" Kisame retorted defensively, reading his expression correctly. "It's hungry. It's been way too long since I've used it in combat…although that's going to be rectified soon."
Sakura walked into the kitchen then, wearing her pajamas and wringing out her damp hair on the kitchen floor. She flinched at the feeling of the sword reaching for her chakra as well, before giving Kisame quizzical look as she headed for the refrigerator, pouring herself a cold glass of water. "What was that?"
Itachi shot Kisame a significant look, and his partner cleared his throat gruffly. "I was just saying that it's been a while since we took down the last target. We should have a new mission and a new target to go after soon."
Sakura rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter next to Itachi and sipping from her water. "How wonderful," she replied sarcastically.
"Hey, if you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen, kid. Although…" Kisame eyed the distending scales of the sword as it strained toward the two other chakra sources in the room. "This might be easier if I do it somewhere else."
He stood up, lifting the sword to its customary sheath across his back in a casual display of his customary speed and strength. Although Itachi hardly batted an eyelid, beside him, Sakura suddenly flinched away as if preparing for a blow, her fingers tightening around the glass so hard that a tiny crack emerged in it, and as close to her as he was, Itachi heard her startled intake of breath. Kisame blinked, surprised by her vehement reaction, and on his way out, he patted her on the shoulder, obviously trying to be reassuring. "Don't worry, I've never lost control of it. Even if I did, it would probably go for Itachi's chakra, not yours. No offense."
Sakura smiled weakly and watched him go, but Itachi could still see the minute tremors that raced through her body as she put the glass down. "I'm just going to go back upstairs," she told him, at last, before standing on the tips of her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "My door's unlocked."
He squeezed her hand silently and watched her go, unable to respond to her kiss or her smile or think of anything beyond the leaden feeling in his stomach, and the look on her face and the sudden tension and fear in her body language as Kisame had wielded the sword. Itachi knew all too well that Sakura had seen Kisame tending to Samehada a hundred times before; that she had even trained with him in the backyard while he swung it around without abandon, and during those times, she had never showed a trace of anxiety or fear. The silence in the kitchen was becoming oppressive, and in that instant, Itachi knew that he couldn't be alone with his thoughts; he couldn't keep this to himself; any longer.
He made his way to the living room, to where Kisame sat with the sword, carefully bandaging it. His partner glanced up, upon catching sight of his expression, the casual greeting died on his lips. "What's wrong?" he asked cautiously.
Itachi sunk down on the sofa – the same one on which he had shared his first kiss with Sakura – and all the breath left his body in a long, weary sigh. In that moment, the cumulative stress and despair of the past several months seemed to weigh on him so heavily that the only possible answer to Kisame's query seemed to be "everything", and he closed his eyes as a means of brief respite from the pounding ache in his head. "I believe that Sakura's memory is returning," he replied quietly.
Kisame stared and went very still, before setting the sword down. "I know she hasn't been completely her usual self recently, but…"
"Since we returned from Rain," Itachi completed flatly.
Kisame leaned back and frowned at the ceiling, thinking back. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I think it was around that time that she started seeming a little…off."
"When we returned from the sealing, I found her reading a book about the history of the world's shinobi villages."
Kisame took a deep breath, looking startled, and Itachi took the opportunity to fill him in on everything that had happened since that time as concisely and impassively as he could. First, the recurring nightmares, which clearly showed that Sakura was beginning to remember her confrontation with Deidara and Sasori – and the fact that she had pieced together the truth about the Akatsuki to a great extent. The way she had spontaneously remembered Sasuke, her childhood teammate's, name after she had seen his younger self in the photograph. Later, the incident when she had abandoned him in the middle of the village market in order to rush to the side of two boys who obviously and powerfully reminded her of Naruto and Sasuke. Then the episode with the financial analyst on the news who had resembled her father, and now, finally…the fact that Sakura seemed to be coming to fear Kisame. Or, if not Kisame himself, the weapon that he favored; the one that was infamous among Konoha shinobi. The commonly held belief was that facing Samehada in battle was a death sentence. Sakura would have heard that a hundred times from the village's older, more seasoned shinobi.
Itachi's voice became lower and lower as he talked, and the building tension in his frame was echoed by the expression on Kisame's face. "I didn't think this would happen," his partner mumbled, directing a cautious look at the staircase. He looked as disturbed as Itachi felt. "It's been so long…"
Itachi stared out the dark window for several moments, lost in thought. That freezing winter night when he and Kisame had made it into the base, holding a critically injured and unconscious Sakura, seemed like a lifetime ago. She had been an enemy kunoichi; a hostile force. They had sat right here and discussed what they would do when she woke up, and agreed that they would lead her to believe that she had been saved for the sole purpose of being imprisoned and forced to heal his eyes. After a week or so, they would let her go. It had been an almost laughably simple plan. But then, three days later, when she had woken up with no memory of anything except her name, everything had changed so drastically. At the beginning, Kisame had been so reluctant to aid her. Even he personally had known nothing of Sakura save for the fact that she was Sasuke's former teammate and Tsunade's apprentice. But now…
The despair he felt now was the kind of deep, desperate intensity of feeling usually reserved for memories of Sasuke as an innocent, happy child, and Itachi closed his eyes. When was it all going to piece together? What would trigger total recall in Sakura's mind? She had already briefly associated fear with Kisame, although she had always gotten along wonderfully with him. When would she look at him or Kisame and then scream or stagger back in fright and horror and shock as she finally realized the truth of it all? It could be in one hour, or the next morning, or in two days. It could happen at any moment now, theoretically. Itachi sighed again, his head continuing to pound mercilessly. It felt like every little bit of stress and worry and emotional conflict was piling up at once – the impending confrontation with Sasuke, Sakura regaining her memory faster and sooner than he had anticipated – and it made him so miserable that he felt ill.
His most recent plan had been, when the time came, to tell Sakura that he was going to Rain because his mother or Shisui was terribly ill. He would leave to search for Sasuke. After two days, Kisame would worry about his whereabouts and come searching for him (in actuality, fulfilling his role in the plan) – after which he would return to the base, afterward, and convey to Sakura the news that he had been killed by a team of hunter-nin. A lie, of course, but a necessary one. Then he was going to take her to Rain and make some inquiries with Konan, who would establish her as a doctor in one of the city's civilian hospitals. But that plan seemed to be falling apart, now. Sakura was regaining her memories, and so it would never work. He would have to act on the alternate course now; the contingency plan that he and Kisame had devised months ago, and – Itachi found his trail of thought derailing, and he gritted his teeth, feeling an unusual rush of mingled frustration and pain and anger. And why – why the hell did it even matter, because either way, either way, whichever way it would play out, he would lose her. He would lose her, and until now, Itachi had never comprehended the entire devastating impact of this realization with such clarity.
Maybe Kisame had seen a little bit of his emotions reflected in his eyes, because a strange expression crossed his face. He hesitated visibly for several moments, visibly torn and seeming as though he was struggling with whether to get involved or not, but when he finally spoke, there was an unusual intensity and urgency to his tone. Yes, this was unlike him, and he couldn't believe he had even considered this, but it was something he felt like he had to say. Maybe it was foolish, but he cared for his partner and regarded him as a friend, after all. He didn't want to see Itachi allow the only thing that had brought him happiness since the deaths of his family, to slip through his fingers. "Itachi. Listen. You have a choice. I – I wouldn't suggest it, if it was anybody else, but…"
Itachi paused, surprised by the fact that Kisame was offering his personal opinion like this, and Kisame trailed off, before resuming again, staring at Itachi intently. "You can use the Sharingan to erase whatever memories of Konoha are re-emerging in Sakura's head. You can do that and take her and leave and be happy. She's always talked about how she wants to see the coast, and you know, if you keep traveling in lesser known areas of the countries, both of you will be safe from your brother, from Madara, even from teams of Konoha shinobi who might recognize Sakura. There are a lot of options – and there are remote places you could eventually settle down where your brother and even Madara could never find you—"
Kisame read the expression on Itachi's face correctly and narrowed his eyes, interrupting him before he could even begin. "It's not your problem what Madara does to Konoha, anyway," he said harshly. "And you did a big thing by sparing Sasuke's life in the first place. You know that it would have been comparatively easier for you if you had made it a clean break and killed him too. Let Sasuke chase you until he gets tired of it, so that the kid can go live his own life instead. You've done enough for him. One day he'll grow up and realize killing you won't bring them back. You've spent your whole life sacrificing for other people. Do yourself a favor for once."
He stopped, looking at Itachi searchingly. Taking it as a good sign that his partner hadn't spoken yet, and was continuing to stare at him, an unreadable expression on his face, Kisame continued, trying to sound as persuasive as he could. "Itachi. Listen to me. There's no need for you to carry through with your plan. If you play this right, you can have everything. Your precious little brother's life is spared, and one day, he gets tired of chasing you in vain, and settles down to have a normal life, just like you always wanted. Even he isn't obsessed enough to spend another ten years hunting you down – we can even plant false intelligence and a few fake trails about your death, too, to throw him off sooner. Sakura's already fixed up your illness, so theoretically, you could live a long, healthy life. And you…well, the two of you could be together, without the rest of the…complications."
He fell silent abruptly, watching his partner with a slightly wary expression on his face, but Itachi hardly noticed. When Kisame had first started speaking, all he had felt was shock, that Kisame of all people would suggest something like this, and immediately afterward, he wanted to interrupt him and coldly say that it could not be done; he could never just abandon his duty to Sasuke and Konoha in that manner, and it would be cowardly to run away, and unfair to Sasuke, and too dishonest to Sakura, and then—
And then the picture that Kisame painted, of an altogether different future entirely, sunk in. Of he and Sakura traveling the world together, living in peace and contentment with one another. The deceit would be over; the entire horrible pretense of the past seven years. He would be absolved of the crushing sense of responsibility he felt to Sasuke and Konoha. For the first time, he could live his own life – with the girl he had come to love – and indulge in all the freedoms and million little everyday gifts that so many other people took for granted. He would get what he had secretly longed for throughout the past several weeks: to live. The mere thought was almost incomprehensible to him. And most importantly, throughout it all, Sakura would be at his side, and he would never again have to worry about losing her to her returning memories of her home…
It was a tempting, intoxicating prospect. It killed Itachi to admit it, even within the privacy of his own mind. The depths of his own dark, secret selfishness shocked and revolted him, and kami help him, but it was so tempting. The images that Kisame's words evoked were almost enough to take his breath away. It would be happiness beyond anything he had ever dreamed of or imagined for himself. And it would be so beautifully easy. He had erased memories with his bloodline limit before. It was a simple matter; easy and painless. Sakura would never even realize that anything had happened.
As for Sasuke…wasn't Kisame right, to some extent? Sasuke was alive and healthy, and perhaps he had done his younger brother a disservice in the first place, for pushing him to develop such a fixation for revenge. Over the past two years, Itachi had worried, many times, as to the unforeseen effect that his actions had on Sasuke's fragile psyche. Instead of pushing him to become stronger as he had anticipated, in some ways, it had broken him. Perhaps it would be best for him to essentially disappear. Sasuke could not chase him forever, and robbed of the chance to kill him – Kisame's idea of planting false intelligence about his own death had considerable merits – perhaps he would come to a place in his life where he would be able to do some serious introspection. It was true; Sasuke should realize that killing him would have never brought their family back, and even the act of 'avenging their deaths' would not have brought him inner peace. Maybe this would be the only way that Sasuke would be able to let go of the wounds of the past and find peace and a sense of closure for himself.
Itachi closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he struggled with his own confused, tangled thoughts for several long minutes. It made him ashamed, because it went against everything that he was, and everything that he had always been, but it was the truth. It shouldn't have been a difficult decision for him to come to, but it was.
"…I can't," Itachi admitted, finally, knowing with a heavy certainty that he was doing the right thing – no regrets – as he met his partner's gaze, trying to explain. "It would be…too dishonest," he managed, at last. "To Sakura. What happened at first was an accident that we had no control over, and I admit that I took advantage of the situation. Deliberately erasing her memories to serve my own purposes, however, would be even more unethical and deceitful than what I have been doing with her over the past several months, and this…" He stopped, his eyes darkening slightly out of sheer guilt. "My behavior has been reprehensible enough."
Kisame watched him for several moments, before finally, respectfully inclining his head in understanding. "What are you going to do, then?" he asked, a subtle trace of sympathy in his voice.
Itachi averted his gaze, feeling his chest constrict somewhat from of the force of emotion he felt. "I have to take her back to Konoha," he replied softly, the words threatening to stick in his throat. "It is the only thing that we can do at this point."
Kisame sat up straight, looking aghast. "What? I thought that you didn't want to do that because you didn't want to risk capture in the Fire Country! Not so close to…you know."
"We have no choice," Itachi said tersely. "We do not want Sakura regaining her memories here. That will only worsen this already tenuous situation." He stopped; swallowed over his dry throat, forcing himself to remain as flawlessly composed as always, and thought back to his former home. "In addition, at least in Konoha, she will get the help that she needs. She will be in a safe, familiar environment when total recall happens."
Kisame nodded grimly, unable to argue with his logic. "Fine, then. When do you want to do it?"
Itachi had been dreading this question. Never. He wanted to hold on to her tightly for as long as possible, and now, even so close to the end that he always knew was coming, as foolish as it made him, he still could not imagine saying goodbye. "…Tonight," he responded, his voice barely audible, sounding unimaginably detached and professional to his own ears. "Total recall may happen at any moment. We do not want to risk anything. In addition…" he hesitated, a new thought having occurred to him. "It is best that Sakura be safely occupied elsewhere by the time I proceed to meet Sasuke, just in case. I would not put it past her to attempt following me to 'Rain', and who knows what havoc she could wreak on my plans."
Kisame inclined his head a fraction of an inch, looking a little pale, before he sighed. He unclenched his palms, looking ruefully down at the half-circles his nails had gouged into the skin. "I feel like a fool for letting this affect me so much," he admitted, in a rare moment of candor, and Itachi had the feeling that the disclosure took both of them for surprise. "Forming such an attachment…it's not like me. A Konoha kunoichi, for the kami's sake, and her in particular. It's just that…" he shook his head. "She really grew on you."
Itachi just nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and he felt Kisame looking at him seriously. "I'm sorry, kid," he said, a little awkwardly. "I really am."
Kisame stood up somewhat unsteadily and headed for the kitchen, then, proceeding directly for the cabinet that held the sake, and after a little while, Itachi rose to his feet and made his way up the staircase, as if on autopilot. He knew, with that very clear, removed certainty, exactly what he had to do, and that he was doing the right thing, but his heart was still beating too loudly within his chest and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this – this terrible. But then again, he had learned all too early that in life that doing the right thing was never easy.
Sakura's door had been left half open, and he found her straightening up her room, absentmindedly humming the same tune that Kisame had been earlier. Upon catching sight of him lingering at the doorway, she turned and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "What took you so long?"
Itachi wasn't an inexperienced liar. It was second nature, after so long, but it still took a moment of effort to ensure that he sounded and appeared as normal as possible. "There were many dishes. Kisame had another snack."
Sakura rolled her eyes, taking his hand in hers and tugging him over to her bed. "Oh! That reminds me, we're out of beef and chicken, and we're running low on vegetables too. I have no desire to have seafood again tomorrow, so we have to go to the market in town tomorrow. There's an early showing of some kind of play in the afternoon as well, so maybe we can see that too…"
She looked up at him expectantly, and regardless of the sharp pang of regret he felt, Itachi gave her a small smirk. "As long as it is not one of your implausible, overly melodramatic romances."
"They are not implausible or overly melodramatic!" Sakura protested indignantly, before a rather mischievous look crossed her face. Without warning, she tackled him to the bed, and then proceeded to attempt to tickle him. "And I know you secretly like the steamy romances, don't you, Uchiha! Admit it!"
"Sakura. This is most undignified. You know that I am not ticklish, and that I most definitely do not like your romance novels—"
"Then why have you finished every single one that I've asked you to try, and even occasionally stayed up all night doing so? Hmm? I'm waiting for an answer!"
"…I was critiquing the prose to myself and considering how the work would be ten times more superior if I had written it."
Sakura went still, staring down at him with her hands braced on his chest, shocked. "…You're joking."
Even as Itachi tried his hardest to push all the sorrow that threatened to encroach away, saving it for later, he had to smile. Everything between the two of them was always destined to be temporary, but it had still been one of the sweetest experiences of his life, and he could not regret that. He had to enjoy this while it lasted. And he gently pulled Sakura on top of him like a blanket then, kissing her cheek and breathing in the scent of her hair, as it fell around him. "You're right," he whispered, trailing his fingers down her arm. "I only read them to pick up tips."
Sakura laughed, sounding purely happy, even as Itachi kissed her, curling one hand softly around the back of her neck. She reciprocated wholeheartedly, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pressing even closer.
Itachi knew that he should savor this; hold on to every moment and treasure it. And he did.
But that didn't change the fact that, as he pressed nibbling kisses to the pulse point in Sakura's neck, and felt her caress the muscles of his upper arms and chest, and the way she ran her fingers through his hair and gently tugged at it as she kissed him even deeper…a small part of him still felt…dirty, somehow. Detached and cold with dread, as he had been in the days leading up to the night he had killed his family. He had eaten meals with them, talked to them, and all the while, the truth about what he would do in a few days' time weighed on his mind like iron.
Itachi held the memories at bay by closing his eyes, letting Sakura's affectionate attention push them away for the moment. And even as he let his hands play along her bare skin, watching her close her eyes and arch toward him, ("oh, Itachi,") and make that little purring sound in the back of her throat that he loved, he knew – he knew that despite all of her feelings for him now, within two days, Sakura would probably know the truth about him and Kisame and be sickened, and that it would probably be this very memory that played in her head and tortured her—
He couldn't think about that, and Itachi found himself kissing Sakura with even more passion bordering on desperation than he had before, pressing her down into the sheets, trying to counteract the way his heart had fluttered due to the moment of panic. No. She would know that everything he had initially told her about her circumstances had been a lie, but – regardless of everything else – she had to know that this wasn't. That nothing about his feelings for her had been a pretense or deceit.
It was much later that night when Sakura tiredly reached out, draping her arm around his chest, and resting her cheek against his shoulder, snuggling up against him. Lost in thought, Itachi simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head. They rested in comfortable silence – on her part, at least – for several moments before she rose slightly, propping herself up on her elbows, and Itachi watched her regard him seriously. Sakura finally, gently brushed a stray lock of disarrayed hair behind his ear, and inexplicably, she smiled a little. "I love you, Itachi," she said quietly, sounding utterly at peace. "A lot."
Her words momentarily rendered him incapable of speech, and Itachi felt his heart give a painful twist. Incongruously, he thought back to the morning of October twelfth eight years ago, before everything had changed so momentously. The last morning. The way his mother had hugged him so lovingly and told him not to be late for dinner, because she was making his favorite – and despite himself, he had clung onto her more tightly than he had in years. It was so hard to let go, and to murmur his assent that he wouldn't be late for dinner and was looking forward to the meal. The memory made him feel more than a little ill, but more than anything else, more than whatever he felt right now – Itachi wanted Sakura's last memories of him, before she inevitably learned the truth from the Hokage, to be happy ones. He twined his fingers in Sakura's hair and lightly tugged her closer to him, before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you too, Sakura," he murmured. "Very much." Remember that.
Sakura beamed at him, before settling down and wishing him goodnight, and Itachi wrapped an arm around her, holding her securely until she nestled her head against his neck, her eyelids drifting shut.
It took twenty-five minutes for Itachi to determine that Sakura was safely sound asleep. He just watched her quietly for another fifteen, committing her features and voice to memory. The way she would frown when she was annoyed; the way she would tilt her head and bite her lip when she was very deep in thought; the stubborn expression in her eyes and set of her chin when she was particularly determined to get something done. Her smile. Little things, but these memories would provide him with much-needed solace as he approached the end. She had given him happiness that he hadn't had since leaving Konoha; happiness that he had resigned himself, then, to never experiencing again.
He was older and more mature now than he had been during the last time. And still, there was the same small, pleading little voice in the back of his head. No, no, I don't want to, I don't want to do this…
But you must.
Itachi carefully brushed the long pink strands of hair away from Sakura's neck, exposing the pressure point that he sought. It would be painless. Unconsciousness would be instant and complete.
He hesitated for only a moment, before burying his thumb into the knot of nerves. He felt Sakura go limp, her breathing coming slower, and then, there was nothing but numbness. The removed, professional, detached feeling he remembered so well. There was no time for feeling now.
Itachi slid out of bed and dressed himself, the movements quick and mechanical, before doing the same to Sakura, zipping up her sleeveless crimson vest over her green lace bra, carefully tugging on and clasping her shorts and skirt, and then rather awkwardly maneuvering on the knee-high leather boots. Then he turned his attention to the contents of the drawers in the room, removing her summoning scroll from its resting place on the corner of her bookshelf, and her bag from where it lay against the wall. He emptied the contents of her dresser drawers carefully into the bag. Her medical textbooks and scrolls, her weapons, packs of dried fruit and protein bars, lip balm (green tea scented and flavored…it was the only time in his life that he had ever enjoyed the taste), lotion, a few cosmetic products. Itachi folded her gloves and clothes and underclothes neatly, with his typical obsessive-compulsiveness, and his touch lingered on the garments. They smelled like her strawberry-sweet soap, and briefly, he was tempted to take a small keepsake – just something that he could hold on to and remember; something that Sakura wouldn't miss, but eventually, he decided against it, and tucked everything safely into the bag, depositing the bag into the summoning scroll before he could change his mind.
Sakura lay still on the bed, and Itachi secured the summoning scroll in one of the pockets of her skirt, before gently picking her up, supporting her with one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back. He spared a moment to cast a look around the small, comfortably furnished room that she had made her own over the past several months – the room that they had spent so much time in together – and even though it was stripped of her belongings and looked somewhat forlorn and impersonal, now, her essence still seemed to linger.
Itachi closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to regain his focus. With one effortless pulse of chakra, in the blink of an eye, everything around them changed – the warm lights and familiar surroundings of the room were gone, replaced by a very dark night, a cool breeze, and the rustle of the wind through the countless trees that surrounded them. Not in the least disoriented by the nearly three-hundred mile transport, Itachi began to walk. To anybody else, this forest was nondescript enough in this pitch blackness, with only the thin sliver of crescent moonlight to guide their path, but as it always did when he was in this area of the Fire Country, Itachi felt his heart beginning to beat just a little faster. The forest that bordered Konoha…all too familiar for any shinobi who wore the village's insignia. He had trained in this area as a very young child, and patrolled and traveled through this territory as a chunin and jounin. If Sakura were to regain consciousness right now, her surroundings would likely bring back a flood of memories.
Itachi walked for a little bit more than two miles before the achingly familiar walls of Konoha's East Gate – toweringly high, and emblazoned with the village's seal at the very center – came into sight, rising above and through the trees like a specter. The wave of mingled nostalgia for better times and love for his former home that swept over him was as strong and disarming as always, but he dismissed the thoughts, unwilling to deal with the distraction. They were still quite a distance away, but he could not sense a patrol; as is it was so late, they would probably be stationed inside one of the guard towers on the far side of the walls, inside the village itself. For the first time, Itachi hesitated, looking down at Sakura. What Kisame said earlier about the dangers of this situation and the utmost necessity of avoiding detection and capture had been right; since the moment he had set foot in Fire Country territory, he had been on edge, all of his senses on hyper-alert. Solo ANBU operatives were known to return to the village at all hours. Despite the late hour, he wasn't safe here.
It took another few moments for him to come to a decision, and finally, Itachi stepped back, considering his surroundings warily. It was not a desirable situation, but it would be too risky for him to take Sakura into the village itself and determine a safe place to leave her. At this hour, the only option was the ANBU guard tower, and objectively speaking, it would not be a tactically wise decision on his part. But he had already determined that there was no potentially harmful wildlife in the remote vicinity; nothing larger than small deer, unlike the wolf packs that roamed in the area of Lightning where she had been injured. The weather was mild and would not be a threat to her either.
After a brief period of inspection, he found an area near enough the gates, the village's insignia clearly visible through the gaps in the trees, so that when Sakura woke up, she could see them from that distance and make her way over there. It would be morning by that time, and undoubtedly one of the patrols would recognize her and bring her in. Itachi lowered himself to his knees, carefully settling Sakura's motionless body down against one of the trees in as comfortable as a position as he could, precisely arranging her limbs to minimize soreness when she awoke.
Common sense told him that lingering in the area was dangerous, but Itachi found himself unable to even think about leaving just yet. He held one of Sakura's still hands in both of his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, as he struggled to cope with the emotions coursing through him. This would be the last time he saw her. He knew that. On the night that he had first found her, when Sakura had been lying so still that he feared she had passed on already, in a pool of her own blood and with her head so terribly bruised, he had never – ever – imagined what would eventually transpire between them. Everything had been so neatly planned and cut-and-dry in his mind…although his best-laid plans had gone awry, and that straightforward situation had ultimately turned out to be one of the most tumultuous times of his life.
Tumultuous, and memorable. Sakura had made him feel, as he hadn't in years. She had made him smile, and doubt, and fear, and remember exactly what it was like to love somebody with such unconditional completeness and devotion. It was a chance that he had never anticipated. So close to the end, that had been a gift worth more to him than he could ever express.
If he had to choose – if he could choose; if it was in his power to do so, he would never have chosen this ending for them. All the breath left Itachi's body in a quiet sigh as he reached out, brushing a few stray locks of hair out of her face. And yet, though it didn't have the conclusion that most expected from a romantic relationship, he never regretted getting involved with her. Perhaps it was irrational, but his hope was that even after Sakura found out the truth, she would still be able to remember him fondly.
Itachi looked over his shoulder at the familiar insignia of Konoha, and then back at Sakura, and though it was the last thing he expected, he actually felt a twinge of peace, among the selfish sorrow. At least…this was where Sakura belonged; this was where she was meant to be. He could walk to his fate with a clear conscience, knowing that she was safely home at last, surrounded by her loved ones. She would be happy, and that was what mattered.
Finally reassured, Itachi leaned forward slightly, before pressing his lips to hers, softly and lingeringly. It took an effort to pull back, and after one final, regretful glance at Sakura's still form, he disappeared in a swirl of ash.
to be continued
As always, any and all feedback would be very much appreciated. :)