Before The Dawn Chapter 10: Complications, a naruto fanfic

As always, thank you so much to everybody who was absolutely fantastic enough to review. As of last chapter, this fic became not only my longest to date – but also the one with the most reviews. Thank you so, so much to everybody who has ever taken the time to leave feedback; it means a lot to me. :)

This is really, really important. In a review that I recieved for chapter five – where there was a flashback to Itachi's childhood, featuring Shisui and Sasuke – one reviewer mentioned that, according to the latest Naruto Unofficial Handbook that she had read at Barnes & Noble, Shisui Uchiha is actually a girl. Shisui, as in Itachi's rival and the best friend that he supposedly had to kill in order to obtain the Mangekyou Sharingan. I don't know for sure if this is legitimate or whatever; I haven't actually seen the page in question with my own eyes, but…now that I know this new piece of information, I'm choosing to go with it. Even if it turns out that it isn't true, I will still assume it to be, within the canon of this story – it is an AU, after all. Please don't flame or hate me for the modification. D:

Chapter Ten: Complications

For the second time in as many days, Sakura's heart actually ceases beating, before starting up again at what feels like an impossibly fast rate. In one wild moment, she thinks that this might be some particularly troublesome delusion brought on by a mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder, but this train of thought is abruptly derailed, because no delusion could feel so real.

Sakura has frozen in place from the shock of the sudden contact, standing stiffly half-against the wall and half in Itachi's arms. Determined to get some sort of reaction, he presses even closer, until both of them fall against the wall, and at first, Sakura doesn't even realize that she has stretched up, interlocking her fingers behind his neck, even as part of her desperately asks what the hell she's doing – because nothing about this is right. Still, she is vaguely conscious of Itachi's arms snaking around her waist in response, one hand lightly tracing up the length of her spine, making her whimper a little; that entire area of her body is still sore from yesterday – and his touch is also making her shiver for different reasons entirely. Then his fingers thread into the loose locks of her hair, and Sakura tenses almost imperceptibly. The gesture reminds her too much of what had happened yesterday, but Itachi's touch is carefully gentle as he uses his fingers' purchase in her hair to tilt her head back a little, before slowly, effortlessly deepening the kiss.

Her knees actually give out underneath her, and this time, it isn't an act. Itachi's fingers brush against the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, in approval of her involuntary reaction. Somewhat dizzily, Sakura observes that this is wrong and bad in every way, because Itachi is clearly out of his mind and she should be pushing him away as hard as she can, and maybe even punching him for good measure, just to see if it jolts him out of whatever fit of temporary insanity that he is currently experiencing, but Sakura just closes her eyes, feeling her heart slam against her ribcage. She is fairly sure that this is as much of an assault as she had experienced last night, except now, instead of her being forced into anything, Itachi is meticulously, painstakingly coaxing her into responding, with every lingering caress of his hands against her hair and back, not to mention the slow, langurous nature of his kisses—

And, against her better judgment, that is exactly what Sakura does; standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms tighter around his shoulders, angling her head in a way that deliberately allows him more access to her, because kami, she will be lying to herself if she attempts even denying that part of her, however small, is strongly attracted to him – on a purely physical basis, of course.

Sakura closes her eyes, then, half-marveling at how this feels, because they are so very close and she can feel and taste him against her with every tentative movement of their lips and tongues, and this is such a blatantly human set of sensations that she is almost surprised that he is even capable of them. But then Itachi begins to run his hands down the sides of her body, carefully tracing the contours of her figure from the base of her neck down. His firm, calloused palms brush against her more sensitive curves, all the while never allowing the burning intensity of their kiss to subside, and the breath leaves her body in a harsh gasp as she arches into him almost involuntarily. Sakura grips his shoulders hard, and for a moment, she twists against him a little, suddenly feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer suddenness and intimacy of what they are doing, because she likes him, yes, but she's not quite sure if she's ready for this, yet.

His hands are at her hips, now, firmly but not roughly holding her in place, and then Itachi pulls back a fraction of an inch, looking mildly confused by her sudden change in demeanor. Sakura meets his gaze more than a little desperately, all too aware that she's still gasping for breath, because of the mere memory of what he had felt like, pressed against her, holding her like that, and the fact that his hands are still on her hips…

"Itachi," she breathes, feeling somewhat disoriented, and more than a little confused. "Why are you—"

Itachi's eyes darken into an even stormier shade of gray, and before Sakura can even continue, he lifts a hand, gently drawing the slightly rough pad of his right thumb against the sensitive skin of her strawberry-glossed lips. The unconscious sensuality of the gesture causes her to fall silent once more, just staring up at him with wondering eyes, and then he kisses her again, even deeper than before.

Sakura doesn't know why she lets him. It shouldn't be possible that even though he is making her feel all tangled up inside in a way that she hates, and that she will regret this the moment he lets go of her again, part of her still wants to press every inch of herself against him; feel his heartbeat against her own, inhale the scent that is slowly, alarmingly, becoming so familiar to her, and trace the play of his lean muscles underneath her hands.

As if he is thinking along the same lines, Itachi pulls her as close as he can, and then starts to rub his thumbs in achingly slow circles against her hipbones. The heat from his skin feels as if it is danger of burning through the material of her thin t-shirt, and Sakura catches her breath, her head tilting back even further. And just like that, he pulls away and straightens slightly, giving her room to breathe. At first, she curls her hands in the material of his Akatsuki cloak in order to regain her balance, but then it becomes for another reason entirely, as he lightly brushes his lips across the shell of the top of her ear, before slowly working his way downward. This is something new, and Sakura abruptly stills as a defense mechanism, trying to figure out whether she likes it or not.

Then his teeth nip her earlobe ever so slightly, and all the breath leaves her body in a long, dizzying sigh as she leans forward, resting her forehead against the crook of Itachi's neck. Despite Tsunade-shishou's habit and the general consensus that she has inherited all of her mentor's skills, Sakura has never been drunk before – but she thinks that this is what it must feel like. And despite her better judgment – if she shoves all rational thought and reasoning out of her head – she is finding that she rather likes it.

Itachi continues to move down the side of her neck, not quite kissing, but more like exploring the sensitive skin there with tentative movements of his lips and teeth. Distantly, he hears her give a soft sigh of contentment as she tightens her arms around his shoulders, and he angles his head against the corner of her throat again, holding her close, and simply breathing her sweet fresh-strawberry scent in—

And he freezes, somewhat returning to himself.

It's not right.

She is supposed to smell darker and more elusive, a little bit more like him. Like a mixture of the forest after a particularly strong rainstorm, and the rushing, torrential rapids of the Nakano River. The scent of fire and smoke should linger on her clothes and skin, the hallmark of her Katon, which was never quite as strong as his and which, despite everything, she had never quite been able to forgive him for.

As if on autopilot, Itachi's hands leave her hips as he slowly eases himself back to his full height. This time, he feels the tension contained in her slender frame as his hands brush against the curves of her body – something that has never happened before. The hair that falls a little past her shoulders, tumbling just over her collarbone, is sleek and silky against his fingers, well-maintained and showing no marks of the wind's roughness, or the ash that often lingers there.

Too late, Itachi realizes his mistake, as he meets her – Sakura, Sakura; how could he have been so stupid? – gaze. She is nibbling her lower lip (just as he had been doing for her, a few minutes ago), looking as shocked as he feels, and before his eyes, the henge dispells – probably due to emotional duress. Her wide-eyed gaze is as green as spring apples, her hair that bright, vivid incomparable shade of pink, but nothing else changes, and Sakura still looks exactly like her. Their facial features are absolutely identical in a way that makes him marvel at the fact that he hasn't noticed it before, and the way that she fits against him so perfectly indicates that they would have been within an inch of each other in height, and mirror each other exactly in body structure. If not for the differences in hair and eye color, they could be twins – and kami, now that Itachi realizes it, part of him doesn't want to take his eyes off her. He isn't fully conscious of bringing his hand up again, stroking down the length of her delicate cheekbone with the back of his knuckles in a touch so light that it barely grazes her skin; wanting, needing to convince himself that this is real, because—

Sakura flinches away from his touch, looking down at the carpet sharply.

In the next second, Itachi is a few feet away from her again, apparently having regained some of his icy self-control, and she can't read the incredibly strained expression in his eyes; honestly, Sakura isn't sure if she wants to, anyway. Before she can even begin to sort out her tangled thoughts and her racing heart and the sudden, overwhelming impulse to hit him as hard as she can for starting this; for ruining everything between them – surprisingly enough, Itachi is the one to break the tense silence. "Sakura—"

Perhaps it is an unreasonable response, but she has never been the most emotionally stable, and at this precise moment, Sakura is unsure whom she hates more – him for kissing her, or herself for responding to him like that.

"I can't do this right now," she says flatly, truthfully, and before the words have finished echoing around the small room, Sakura has been replaced by a whirl of flower petals. Before Itachi's gaze, they flutter to the ground disconsolately, crushed pale pink against a sea of the bleakest white.

"Damn it, Itachi, I don't even know if you understand this, but they're my…everything.

Itachi looks at his hands.

It has been so long since they've touched like that. Five years, almost six. Not since that fateful evening on the banks of the river that ran through the Uchiha compound.

They are shaking, at the memory. Not overtly, but subtly; small tremors that run through the course of his fingers as he remembers. He tries not to, but like the other horrors of his fifteenth year, this – she – is something that he will never be able to forget.

Their lips, pressed together – a little awkwardly, yes, but that had always been all right. Her hands tangling in his hair, left long even then, and his, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. At the same time, the soft soil at the banks of the river that ran through the Uchiha compound, damp beneath their knees. The map of pressure points that neither of them needed, but that she had brought along, just in case.

The sound of her favorite green-inked pen, scratching out the letters that will form her final note, as Itachi watches next to her, his eyes crimson with the light of their bloodline limit. Her script is too calm and unshaking for being a fifteen, almost sixteen-year-old who is, in essence, planning her own suicide, and Itachi looks too detached for being a fifteen, almost sixteen-year-old who is watching his cousinrivalbestfriendgirlfriend (everything), getting ready to end her life – and, by doing so, plunging both of them and the rest into a clan into a downward spiral that will eventually culminate in the bloodiest night in the history of the village.

But Shisui writes with one hand, and Itachi holds the paper in place with one hand, and their fingers are intertwined under the table, both of them holding on tight to the last few weeks, days, hours, that they have left.

The Katon is one of Itachi's best, but it does not even singe her hair.

Shisui turns in place and flickers out of sight a fraction of a second before the fireball would have incinerated her – her parents have chided her for her 'arrogance' for years upon years now; not like that's ever had any impact on her – and then, before he can do so much as spin around, Itachi feels the tip of her kunai brush the back of his neck teasingly. "I don't care what they said at the ANBU entrance exams – you're still so slow," she sighs exaggeratedly.

He strikes, with speed so fast that the eye can barely follow it, and even then, his knuckles only graze the side of Shisui's ribs as she vanishes again, to some more remote location in the forest. Her high-spirited, slightly mocking laughter is the only indication of her former presence, and Itachi rakes his gloved fingers back through his hair, allowing himself the luxury of a small sigh. He has known her for his entire life – seen her every day of the past fourteen years and six months, almost exactly; she is a week older than he is – but sometimes, Shisui just makes him want to—

Itachi stops for a fraction of a second, frowns. Want to what, exactly?

Shisui leads him throughout the course of the great forest that spans the Uchiha compound, reveling in her speed and the fact that he is always slower than her by the sparsest of moments. When Itachi finally catches up to her, though, they are both too tired to do much more than collapse on the rough grass in the meadow that borders the forest, panting slightly into the cool night air. The moon has just risen, silver against a sky that is almost dark purple.

"You should just admit that you'll never be able to catch me," Shisui says playfully, if not a little smugly, as she tries futilely to rub the grass stains off the hem of her short, sand-colored skirt.

Itachi makes a somewhat disparaging sound in the back of his throat. "Perhaps on the day that you freely admit that my Katon is far superior to yours."

At this, Shisui wastes no time in ripping out a handful of dried grass and flinging the withered stalks at him in retaliation, even though she subsequently bursts out giggling at the expression on Itachi's face.

They are the oldest of their generation, and sometimes they are watched as they spar in the middle of the courtyard. Once a year, to judge their progress, they are evaluated by the elders, and both of them do not care for what they hear, in their own separate ways.

"Admirable," Tekka observes sedately, watching Shisui spin in place and vanish out of the path of Itachi's fire technique – which is arguably the fastest and most powerful out of any clan member's, including that of his own father. "She is nothing compared to him, of course, but when judged on her own merit, Shisui shows great promise."

Teyaki snorts a little, drawing her crocheted blanket closer around herself. "If only she were born male. As it is, the only greatness she is destined for is as his wife – although it is not like being the future lady of the clan isn't as much as anybody could ever want."

Even in the midst of their fight, Itachi can see Shisui's eyes narrow into thin slits of silvery-gray as she matches his Katon with one of her own. Before he can counter the move, she vanishes into thin air.

He does not see her for the next three days.

He tries to tell himself that it doesn't matter.

When they next meet in the forest – by accident; they favor the same training grounds – the resulting fight is more vicious than anything that they have ever done before. As Itachi extracts one of Shisui's shuriken from where it had lodged in his arm without so much as a wince, he cannot help but wonder what has happened to them. He has no memories of it, but pictures and his mother assure him that they had shared toys as babies; spent almost every waking hour for the next thirteen years in the company of one another. She had been his closest – his only – friend until the summer that they had turned thirteen; when he became a jounin and Shisui was overlooked for the exams – and, as a result, all but forgotten by the rest of the clan.

Itachi makes the mistake of detachedly stating this observation, immediately after he manages to punch her in the throat. He feels a small measure of remorse almost the second afterward; not because of the way Shisui gasps and massages her neck (because even by this age, both of them have experienced pain a thousand times worse), but because of the tears that so abruptly start to her eyes. This unsettling and unprecedented emotion, however, is replaced in the next moment by the abrupt re-surfacing of his self-preservation instinct – triggered by the way Shisui forms her few hand seals with vision-blurring speed and exhales the largest Katon that he has ever seen from her.

This would be a great deal more impressive if it were not aimed squarely in his direction, and Itachi counters it with a massive water dragon technique at the last possible second. When the veritable wall of steam finally clears into the pink-and-purple sunset sky, he finds Shisui wiping the tears away from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "You wouldn't know how frustrating it is, to have every skill that I've ever spent hours practicing called nothing in comparison to someone else's," she bites out, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Anybody else outside of this damned excuse for a family would say that I might even be one of the best kunoichi in the village," – she punctuates her words by whirling around and throwing a kunai at the nearest tree with such force that it buries itself hilt-deep in the bark – "but that doesn't matter; in this clan, nobody sees me as anything more than your future wife."

The words hang in the still autumn air between them, heavy with long-suppressed resentment and bitterness. For a moment, Itachi is not quite sure what to say – but even though of late they have not been as close, he remembers that he still does know Shisui almost as well as he knows himself.

She stiffens as he crosses the distance between them in a few steps and wraps his arms around her waist, though, holding her in a simple embrace. Despite their close relationship in more ways than one, they have not done this since they were much, much younger, and didn't know any better. As it is, Itachi finds the physical contact somewhat awkward but not unpleasant, and after a few moments, he is surprised to feel Shisui reaching up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. This feels different than his vague memories of such things, although that is probably to be expected. Her head fits neatly underneath his chin, and he feels his cheek press against the warm ash that lingers in her hair.

"I see you as more than that."

It is Itachi, and therefore, the statement isn't sentimental or intended to convey any deeeper meaning in the least. It is nothing more and nothing less than the absolute truth, and she smiles against his neck.

Later that night, in solitude, he will wonder why the embrace lasted so long, why neither of them made any attempt to move. But for now, Shisui just re-adjusts the placement of her hands, interlocking her fingers behind his neck, and Itachi merely notices the way her cheek curves as she looks up, giving him a small smile.

"What do you see me as?" Shisui asks, and for once, her tone isn't overwhelmingly high-spirited or sarcastic or teasing in any way – it is yet another reason that the elders of the clan favor Itachi so much over her; she shows a range of unbridled emotion nearly unheard of for any Uchiha.

It is just a simple question, and he has forgotten how soft and genuinely curious her voice can get. More disturbing, though, is the way that Itachi is not quite sure how to answer. She is his second cousin, his rival, his best friend, and they have been so very close for so long that sometimes it feels like the lines between where he ends and she begins get blurred – and not only because they look so much alike, either.

For a moment, Itachi's arms tighten around her, drawing her closer. "I don't know," he replies at last. It is an inconclusive statement, which he generally finds utterly unacceptable and despises hearing from others, but in these circumstances, it is nothing but the truth.

Shisui says nothing in response for a long time, but finally, she pulls away from his arms, although she still holds both of his hands in her own – and, for once, she looks completely serious. "Think about it?"

In all honesty, Itachi is not fully sure what he is agreeing to, but then, before he can consider the issue further, Shisui steps closer, stretching up on the tips of her toes and pressing a soft, quick kiss to his cheek. It lasts less than a fraction of a second; the moment her lips brush against his skin seems to be the same moment she disappears into nothing, leaving Itachi standing in the midst of the clearing, staring at the sun as it slips beneath the horizon.

Once he is completely sure that he is alone, he closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds, and touches his cheek.

Between missions and the familial duties of the clan, they see each other quite often, but the only time that they are truly together is for two hours, once every week – sparring in the forest and ending the night in the meadow, as always.

It is on one of these nights that Itachi realizes just how utterly maddening Shisui is. Her distinctive set of skills and impressive intellect aside – her intelligence is rivaled only by his own – she is simply blatantly unfit to be a member of the Uchiha clan.

Because, for the kami's sake; what kind of self-respecting shinobi uses their inhuman speed as an excuse to rapidly flit back and forth out of the line of sight, thereby avoiding a real, honorable fight in favor of…throwing pinecones?

After half an hour spent in the irritatingly futile pursuit of attempting to incapacitate Shisui during the nanosecond that she is actually visible in one set location, while simultaneously deflecting so many pinecones that his knuckles are actually scraped and bleeding, Itachi's eyes narrow and finally bleed crimson. His observation of her pays off; he waits three seconds exactly after activating his Sharingan, and there is the slightest shimmer in the air ten feet to his left.

The very moment that Shisui fully materializes is the same second she finds herself with her back pressed to a tree that is at least twenty feet from where she had initially attempted to land. She is disoriented, at first, and after she blinks a few times and her vision clears, she is startled to find Itachi with his arms around her waist, locking her in place – and, incidentally enough, looking just as confused about what has just happened as she does. Their harsh breath mingles in the cold air, and for some reason, Shisui doesn't attempt to fight him off; she just allows herself to lean forward, catching herself against his chest – he is still wearing his full ANBU regalia; the metal guards are cold against her body – and curling her fingers around his upper arms as she stares up at him, completely astounded. "You caught me," she breathes, tilting her head to the side and looking somewhat injured. "Nobody's ever…"

Shisui doesn't quite notice where she trails off. Somewhere between noticing the way Itachi's midnight-black and metal ANBU gear shines too silver in the moonlight. And that he's wearing the sleek, too-long red scarf that she had bought for him last winter – it is wrapped around his neck only once, and the extra length flutters about ever so slightly in the moonlight. His long ponytail (his hair is much longer than hers, Shisui observes with an inner frown; hers falls just to her shoulders, while his easily touches the middle of his back) is slightly disheveled, a few long locks falling out to frame his face.

…And, of course, she realizes way too late that they're still holding on to each other, completely unnecessarily. And that Itachi happens to be staring down at her with the same kind of unreadable intensity that she had been observing him with a few moments ago, except his gaze is made all the more piercing by the crimson light of the Sharingan.

Shisui really isn't sure which one of them starts it, or whether this is Itachi's way of answering the question she had asked him a week ago. If this is even really happening, because last time she had checked, they were the closest of friends and the bitterest of rivals (at least on her part, anyway), and nothing more.

It is too cold in the forest. It's a little awkward, because neither of them have ever done this before. But the wind ghosts through the trees and Shisui presses herself closer to Itachi, their fingers figuring out how to tangle and intertwine as they kiss in a manner that seems equal parts curiosity and passion, and despite the fact that on most days, they seem to be nothing but differences, Shisui doesn't think that, before this, either of them have ever felt anything so very right.

Shisui absolutely hates sounding cliché like this, but she also prides herself on being the only non-emotionally constipated member of the Uchiha Clan – which is why, as she and Itachi kneel in front of each other, at the banks of the river that cuts through their forest (the entire clan's training grounds, technically, but she cannot help but refer to it as their forest), six months after their first kiss, she abruptly breaks the comfortable silence that has settled over them by stating that the past half year has been the best of her life.

Itachi had been staring into the depths of the river, watching the rapids gushing white and silver over the jagged rocks at the bottom, but now, he looks at Shisui again, his eyes lingering on her. "Mine as well," he states simply, but the words ring somewhat hollow.

She is quiet for a few moments, her fingers absently tracing patterns over Itachi's hand. "What's wrong?" she asks softly, because even now, when he is at his most removed and detached, she can still read his moods as well as she can her own. Of late, the stress lines underneath his eyes have become deeper, and he seems older and more withdrawn, in more ways than one—

Itachi is silent for so long that she wonders if he had even heard her. It goes without saying that he had been explicitly forbidden to breathe or even hint a word of any of this to a member of the clan, but he has kept silent about this for so, so long that he does not think that he can take it any longer; the weight of this secret feels as if it will choke the life out of him with slow, creeping tendrils if he continues to let it remain hidden. "…The rumors are true," he says at long last, without glancing away from the river, its troubled depths reflecting in his equally conflicted eyes.

Shisui tenses visibly, drawing her hands back on instinct as she remembers whispers of what her father and mother talk about when they think she isn't listening. "You mean—" she begins, hating the way her voice gets higher-pitched on the last word.

By contrast, Itachi seems as calm as usual as he nods, although Shisui catches sight of the barely repressed tension in the set of his shoulders. "The elders have ordered me to report the plans and activities of the clan directly to them," he replies, and his voice is so very quiet that she has to strain to hear it.

"And after they hear the truth?" Shisui asks, a little more sharply than she had intended. But she is just as intelligent as he is, and she puts the pieces together in less than a second, and then, everything around her seems to fade away as her heartbeat slows to a near stop, before starting up again, twice as fast as usual. "Oh, kami," she says faintly. "They wouldn't. They wouldn't order something like that – they wouldn't make you—"

In the next second, she feels one of his fingers pressing against her lips, gently silencing her (but not denying it; this horrible concept that seems to have come out of somewhere beyond even her worst nightmares), and because Shisui has never given a damn about stoicity, she falls into Itachi's arms, already shaking out of a mixture of shock and disbelief. "When?" she manages to ask.

Itachi's grip around her is trying to be soothing, like he has enough strength for both of them, but she can hear the hoarseness in his voice. "The twelfth of October."

Today is the thirteenth of May.

The next thing Shisui knows, her head is spinning and Itachi is gently holding her hair back as she becomes suddenly, violently ill into the raging depths of the river, while her fingernails rake into the damp soil so much that it hurts.

After it is over, Itachi leans against a tree and lets her curl into his arms, and Shisui is vaguely conscious that she is still trembling hard, and even Itachi, the prodigy of the Uchiha clan and the strongest of them all, is shivering slightly, as the two of them look up into the dark, moonless sky.

Despite his new duty, Itachi and Shisui meet at the banks of the Nakano River every night, now. They do not always talk, but he holds her tightly enough that she always finds bruises on her ribs the next morning. With every day that passes (with every time he looks into his mother's eyes and feels the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder and pokes little Sasuke on the forehead), he thinks that he is falling apart a little bit more, losing a little bit more of himself.

Every night, he has nightmares about what it will be like. He has not slept for more than a week.

"Itachi," Shisui murmurs one night; as summer advances, it is getting warmer, and the air is balmy and heavy with the weight of their secrets. Her voice sounds faraway, distant. "I don't want to see the day—"

Itachi thinks he gives a soft reply of some sort, but then Shisui takes his hand and squeezes it tight, looking at him with a kind of quiet desperation that he has never seen before. "You don't understand," she says, and the light breeze stirs her hair as she attempts a smile that looks all wrong. "I don't intend to live to see October twelfth."

It takes him a moment to comprehend her meaning, and in the next second, he pulls his hand away from hers. "You don't mean—"

It is an instinctive reaction, one of the only things that he has ever said that is born out of pure emotion and nothing else – because how else is one supposed to react, when their everything tells them that they fully intend ceasing to exist?

But Shisui's eyes glimmer with a sudden anger, nevertheless. "What am I supposed to do, Itachi?" she half yells, her voice cracking underneath the strain. "Do you think that on – that night, I'm just going to let you cut me down? Lie in my room with my back to the door and pretend that I don't hear you killing my parents downstairs, all while counting the minutes that it takes you to walk up to where I am? Do you want me to take some pills beforehand, so that you'll only have to stab me when I'm sleeping, or would you prefer that I kiss you goodbye first and then put your katana to my throat?"

Her voice is low and venomous, now, and for the first time since everything has begun, Itachi feels his throat tighten and close over, and he hates it. "Stop," he says, his voice rougher than it has ever been with her. "I won't—"

"You won't kill me?" Shisui asks quietly, bitterly. "You don't want to kill me. Just like you don't want to kill your mother or father or Sasuke or anybody, but…you can only save Sasuke, Itachi. You're going to save him and feed him a lie, and he will grow up believing it, and it's going to wreck him. It will destroy him from the inside out. The rest of us will be luckier."

Itachi wants to tell her not to say that. He wants to tell her that they can find a way to fake her death, and they can leave this place together, try to outrun the nightmare that these past months have been and that the future will become.

He can't.

Shisui watches him break a little, and she blinks the tears away from her eyes and puts her arms around his shoulders again. "I love you," she breathes, the truth of the past fifteen years finally realizing itself in the soft words, muted against the harsh metal of his ANBU uniform. "Please help me do it."

Itachi refuses. That night, and every one after it.

"You'll need the Mangekyou, anyway," Shisui points out, plucking the petals off a flower and dropping them into the river, one by one, where they are swept off, blood-red against the dark water. She is more removed, more detached than she has ever been before; more like the kunoichi that the clan has always expected her to be. "The elders did order you to…change your behavior, yes? Create suspicion, so that things will be a little more…" – she looks away, blinking hard – "…plausible, when they happen? And what could do more to cast a shadow on you than…this?"

Itachi has been trying to ignore her for the past half hour, but at this, he is forced to incline his head a fraction of an inch. "Yes."

Shisui takes her hand in his, twining their fingers together, and for the briefest of seconds, a specter of her usual humor returns. "So you'll be killing two birds with one stone."

Itachi pulls away from her.

"Are the clan elders really supposed to believe that I would kill you, of all people?" he snaps – actually snaps, in a way that he has done only once before – at Shisui, the next day. "Your logic is pathetic—"

Shisui gives him a quelling glare, settling her knees under her in a way that could almost be called demure. "At the meeting earlier today, they told me to keep an eye on you, you know? Which means that your little changes in behavior aren't going unnoticed. And," – she smirks a little – "they know that despite that, we're still friends."

Itachi blinks, startled at the sudden change in topic, and Shisui leans against him. "You're the prodigy," she says quietly. "The prodigy who, rumor has it, is slowly becoming unstable. Who shuns the company of all others besides his beloved immediate family…and his dear cousin Shisui."

He knows where she is going with this, and he tenses almost imperceptibly, but she continues talking nevertheless. "Imagine your reaction if you came to know that your one closest and most trusted friend was selling your secrets to the clan elders," Shisui's voice is even softer now, sounding much further away. "You would probably snap. Kill her in retaliation…supposedly." She pauses, letting her bare foot dangle over the banks into the swiftly rushing Nakano River. "Maybe it could be a drowning. It could even be passed off as suicide." A small, ironic smirk, this time. "…Your culpability would never be proved, of course. Either way, you would gain the Mangekyou, which says enough. Of course it's noticeable. It would set the rest of the clan whispering. And…set the perfect stage for the role you're about to play."

Itachi closes his eyes. Shisui talks about committing suicide, but sometimes he feels that he is the one who wants to stop. Stop breathing, stop his heart from beating, stop existing—

"Your logic is pathetic," he reiterates in a tone as flat as he can make it, but Shisui's fingers tighten around his, because her logic is perfect, and both of them know it.

In a matter of a few months, they have gone from talking about things almost frivolous while holding hands and sharing innocent (and not-so-innocent) kisses in the meadow, to kneeling on the banks of the Nakano River and planning Shisui's premature demise as if it is nothing more than a plot device in a horrifyingly grotesque sort of play, and Itachi absolutely hates it.

"This will be my note," she informs him one particular evening, holding it out to him. The letters are written in green on paper that is faded so much it is nearly transleucent, and despite the millions of atrocities he has seen and committed, Itachi nearly flinches back from this one. "I mean – use your Sharingan to copy my handwriting and draft the real one…it's what they will come to suspect, anyway."

Shisui smiles a smile that doesn't reach her eyes as she places the folded sheet of paper beside him, and for the first time in a long time, Itachi is the one to reach out and take her hand.

Surprisingly enough, Itachi is the one to bring it up, once it becomes far too clear that this is not just another of Shisui's fleeting, mercurial ideas.

"How will you do it?" he asks, and he cannot bring himself to look at her as he says it. October twelfth is creeping closer and closer; it is the first week of September, and Itachi is already, involuntarily withdrawing into himself, focusing on holding every single moment with his mother and father and little Sasuke, and, of course, Shisui, close – while he still can. Because that will not be possible, none of it, after she…because he knows with startling clarity that his family will stand by him, but they will never be able to shake those elusive vestiges of suspicion. Nothing will ever be the same, ever again.

She is silent for a few long moments. "I don't know," she finally admits. "I was thinking about it last night. Pressure points, maybe. Or a single pulse of chakra to the heart should work."

Shisui pulls out a weathered diagram of human pressure points from her pocket. Neither of them need it, but they spread it on the soil beneath them and stare down at it nevertheless. Itachi looks at the red-inked man painstakingly drawn on the paper, each lethal point outlined in black pen, and he cannot imagine her in place of it. Striking the base of her neck or her solar plexus too hard, pressing down on her temples, putting a hand to her chest and sending one single, cold pulse of chakra straight from his palm into her heart—

They have exactly one week.

And he pulls her into his arms, suddenly and unceremoniously, so that she screeches and crushes the map beneath her knees. It is probably the most uncharacteristic thing that Itachi has ever done with her, and Shisui looks up at him, confused, but he only bends his head a little, so that she feels his nose brush her cheek, the long strands of his hair tickling her ear. "Let's not talk about it," he suggests, his voice rougher than usual.

It is as close to a plea as he can and will ever get, and Shisui stretches up in silent acquiescence, pressing her lips against his.

They haven't talked about it for the past week.

The soil is damp beneath their knees. The air smells of leaves turning from green to gold. The sun has just set. The river is raging beside them, as usual. Everything has been planned and arranged. Shisui is wearing her customary outfit of a plain black t-shirt and a short, sand-colored skirt and Itachi is wearing his ANBU uniform and the red scarf she had bought him so long ago, and they kneel across from one another, holding hands, as if this is some kind of twisted marriage ceremony.

Both of them are trying to pretend that they aren't drinking each other in with their eyes, knowing that this is the last time, the last night, and finally, Shisui inclines her head slightly, so that her hair falls over her eyes. "Ready?" she asks softly.

"No," Itachi murmurs in response.

And for a few moments, both of them are unsure of what to do. But then, displaying the speed that she is still legendary for, Shisui leans forward and rakes her fingers through his hair, and then they are kissing hard and more than a little desperately, even though this hadn't been part of the initial plan. Itachi's hands are shaking slightly as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her as close against him as he can, and they stay like this for a long time, until the moment that Shisui pulls back, smiling very tremulously. "The timing's off," she says, resting her forehead against his neck and kissing his pulse point to mask her sudden nervousness – irrational, considering what she had really been here to do. "But – I still want to…"

Shisui trails off, her voice breaking somewhat, and Itachi pulls her back up to him, and then, they are quiet.

The world has slowed to the two of them. Dressed once again, with Itachi's hands bracing themselves on Shisui's back as she inhales and exhales, trying her best to calm down. He closes his eyes for a moment, savors the feeling of her heart beating against his, as one. Both of their hearts are racing, for entirely different reasons. "Can you do it?" Itachi finds himself asking, after a few minutes have passed, and depite her carefully-laid plans and flawless logic, he is hoping beyond all hope that she has lost her nerve, after what they have just done, that she won't be able to do it—

Shisui takes a few more deep, steadying breaths, before straightening her back, so that the two of them are eye-to-eye. "I can. Just…hold on to me?"

He does so.

There is nothing that one can say, in this situation. In the end, they both speak, and they do it at the exact same time, fittingly enough – fifteen, almost sixteen, years ago, they had spoken their first words within the same week. This isn't how they were supposed to end.

"I love you," Shisui breathes, in the same second that he says the same (the first time he has ever told her this), the words muffled by her hair.

Itachi feels her smile against his neck, and then she shifts positions slightly, so that he feels her putting her hand to her chest.

He has seen death a million times over.

He closes his eyes, still, and goes completely numb. Feels the pulse of chakra that she sends straight into her chest.

Shisui sighs. Once. Relaxes into him, in a way that is too reminiscent of the time she fell asleep in his arms a few months ago, before all of this had begun.

Involuntarily, Itachi's throat tightens, closes over as he places one shaking hand to the side of her neck. Nothing.

He hadn't thought that post-traumatic stress disorder could set in so rapidly after the traumatic experience, but clinically, he notices that he is already experiencing all the symptoms. He sets Shisui down on her back very gently (she looks so very serene; if he tilts his head a little to the right, he can almost see a ghost of a smile on her face), and Itachi almost can't bring himself to do it, but he knows that it is necessary.

He closes his hand around her throat, even though part of him is twisting up and curling into himself and begging in a childish, futile voice, wanting all of this to just please stop. He tightens his grip and hates every moment and needs to scrub this away, and he does this until he is certain that Shisui is bruising. Then he releases his grip, feeling sickened by the vague, barely-noticeable purplish blue patterns that are already starting to spread around her neck. She had left the note on her desk at home, and her parents are out on a mission. It is almost over.

Itachi hasn't cried since he had been a baby. He isn't going to start now. But his throat feels as if it is on fire, his eyes burn with just as much vehemence, and his muscles feel as if they are seizing up as he lifts her into his arms. It hurts so, so much: holding her, touching her; for the first time, every area of his skin that is in contact with hers feels like it is alive with agony, but at the same time, he doesn't want to let go.

He does. He has to. He falls to his knees at the banks of the raging river, and he lets Shisui go. Turns away, the second after, unable to watch. He is almost unable to even be in this forest, where they had shared their first everything, but Itachi finds a tree to lean against, anyway, turning his back to the river.

This is the first time he loses a part of himself.

There is just under a month until October twelfth.

Itachi closes his eyes and bitterly thinks that he should start getting used to it.

He stays away from home for three days, even though nobody will even start looking for Shisui until a week has passed – the average length of her missions. And Itachi takes a solo mission, like that's going to help anything.

Itachi comes back, and nobody has ever been able to understand him fully, but everyone can tell that there is something wrong. His mother brushes a few long locks of hair out of his face one night, stroking his temple lightly, and looks worried—

And he flinches. Violently. It burns.

Two days later, his father pats him on the shoulder for some reason. His reaction is the same.

It takes him a week to realize that whenever he touches, whenever he is touched, whenever he even sees anything like it – he thinks of Shisui. Feels her die, in his arms. Remembers curling his hands around her too-still throat and tightening his grip.

The hotel room is too still, too cold, too quiet. Too white. It is in the middle of a city, and there aren't any rivers for miles, but Itachi can still hear the rush of the raging water as it swallowed up—

He gets up; makes a cup of tea almost mechanically. Takes a sip of it, and then realizes that it is chai – her favorite. He goes into the bathroom and pours it down the sink.

It is an old wound, yes. It had happened five, almost six years ago, but he still feels the residual effects every day, lingering in his still-present anathema of touch. Shisui had been his first, his last, and until about half an hour ago – his only.

And then came Sakura.

Itachi is vaguely conscious of sighing, running his fingers through his hair. He still cannot believe that he had confused things like that, and he hates it. Such colossal mistakes have never been part of his repertoire, and he knows that Shisui is irrevocably gone, but when Sakura had just walked out like that…it had been like seeing a ghost. Through some inopportune twist of fate, she had even been wearing the same clothes, for the kami's sake, and not for the first time, he wonders why he hadn't seen the almost uncanny physical resemblance earlier – perhaps because he had never been looking for it. But subconsciously, maybe some part of him had realized it; how many times had he found himself simply looking at Sakura, taking in the expressiveness of her eyes, learning every one of the subtle nuances of her body language?

Prior to this, Itachi has steadfastly refused to admit that he finds Sakura attractive – part of it is just because he has not entertained such sentiments toward any other individual since Shisui. Besides, considering their current situation, such entanglements would be…inappropriate, and not only because she is a good five years younger than him.

Itachi frowns at the thought, before reaching toward a packet of blueberry tea and forcing himself to return to the matter at hand. The tea is sweet, but he winces almost imperceptibly as he remembers Sakura's reaction immediately after their – encounter. She had responded to him, yes, but it could have just been because of instinct, or…

Sasuke?

The thought comes unbidden, and Itachi closes his eyes. He cannot – will not – allow himself to think about that.

But the thing that frightens him most was that, after they had kissed and touched so very heatedly, after Sakura released the henge and looked up at him with those liquid green eyes, and he had felt his fingers brush against her pink hair – then, he had no illusions about who she was. Sakura, and nobody else.

And, for the most fleeting of moments, Itachi had wanted to lean closer again, to capture her lips with his, thread his fingers into Sakura's hair and for her to do the same to him, to trace and learn the contours of her slim figure with his hands, wanted for her to wrap her arms around his shoulders and breathe his name in that slightly confused and more than a little desire-filled voice—

He had stepped away then, as disturbed by the almost overwhelming impulse as by the sudden, traumatizing reminder of Shisui.

Even now, Itachi isn't certain what he had attempted to say to Sakura, but admittedly, he does not blame her for leaving. She had obviously been shocked, shaken to the core by what had just happened, and the self-loathing was clearly visible in her eyes. She will be gone for another two days, which means that they will not have an opportunity to attempt any reconciliation of some sort until then. He sighs at the knowledge that the two of them had finally settled into a comfortable partnership, and now…things have been complicated more than he even wants to imagine.

Itachi stares into the depths of his tea with unseeing eyes. Sakura. Konoha. He will not say that he is worried about her, for her – he has no right to be.

Then again, as Sakura had pointed out, he had no right to slaughter that pitiful excuse for a Root captain for her, either.

Itachi sighs again, closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall wearily. It is only afternoon, but he is completely drained, emotionally and otherwise. Prior to this, he has been unable to recognize the foreign emotion lingering at the back of his mind, but now, he can understand it as…confusion. He has not felt so unsure or conflicted in any way since he had been a teenager, immediately before he had been forced to leave Konoha – and he hates it. And of all the things to trigger this unpleasant feeling, it has to be something as trivial as…a girl. Sakura.

Be that as it may, he knows that the next two days will be spent in the pursuit of nothing less than serious contemplation.

Late That Night

Sakura hadn't realized exactly how much she had missed them until they were together again.

She is jolted out of her momentary contemplation by the sudden impact of a pillow hitting her leg, and she cracks an eye open, from where she had been leaning against Ino's windowsill, admiring the moonlit village. "Ino, what—"

Ino beams, reclaiming the pillow. "You didn't think I had fallen asleep, did you? Like I would waste precious visiting hours in order for something trivial like resting, whatever…"

Sakura rolls her eyes playfully; she had made it into Konoha, met halfway and helped by Inoichi Yamanaka, earlier in the evening – and, kami, after she and Ino had finally stopped sobbing helplessly and were forced to relinquish their respective death-grips around each other's ribs, she, Ino, Shikamaru, and Chouji had promptly spent the next six hours straight sitting in a circle around the kitchen and talking incessantly. They had all exchanged sobering news, and Sakura had been shocked to see how much older and more worn her three best friends were. Chouji looked downright somber, some of that radiant, ever-present light in Ino's cornflower-blue eyes had dulled, and Shikamaru even looked…harder, sharper, and a whole lot more jaded, and Sakura sighs quietly at the realization that the grueling past nine months have taken their toll on all of them.

But that is besides the point – she's just happy to be here. In the warm, comfortable familiarity of Ino's room, where she's spent nights and countless hours talking to her best friend, lying on the worn purple quilt thrown haphazardly on top of the too-soft bed. The room has an unique scent of flowers and nail polish; created early on in their Academy days, when Ino would try to teach her how to arrange flowers better, and afterwards, Sakura would show off her steady, precise hand by giving both of them manicures with their shared favorite shade of nail polish: a bright, electric green.

Sakura is vaguely conscious of turning away from the window, curling into herself at the foot of Ino's bed and resting her head on one of the pillows. "Kami," she breathes, as she looks at her best friend, who is hugging her knees to her chest and looking equally nostalgic. "I missed this so much."

Traitorous tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and Ino notices at once, before leaning over and rubbing Sakura's back soothingly. "It's alright," she murmurs. "We all did." Trying to lighten the mood, the blonde girl gives her one of her trademark irrepressible smiles. "So, Sakura…"

"What?" Sakura groans, her melancholy reminiscing interrupted by a rather large prick of foreboding; she's been best friends with Ino for a decade now, so she just knows what is going to come next…

Sakura isn't disappointed, and Ino smirks. "Don't give me that, Forehead Girl! You know what! I can understand you not wanting to talk about it in front of Shika and Chouji and especially my dad; you know how protective he can get…but anyway, I demand details about this mysterious partner of yours!"

Sakura gives an exaggerated sigh and buries her head into the pillow. She hadn't intended to even let the fact that she was traveling with somebody slip – she had been so mortified when, in some random anecdote about something, she had accidentally used the decidedly incriminating word 'we'. Chouji had been the first to put it together, and most certainly the least evil about it; he only gave her a big smile and said that he was happy that she had a partner to be with. Then, predictably enough, Sakura had blushed. Shikamaru merely smirked in immediate response and asked if she found her partner handsome (she's always sworn that Shikamaru has been out to get her since day one), and then Inoichi and Ino had fixed her with identical and very frightening stares.

Ino's had been frightening because at that second, Sakura just knew that she would be relentlessly pumped for information later. Inoichi's…well, irrational as such a sentiment was, Sakura had experienced a moment of fear for Itachi's well-being. Hell hath no fury like a very, very overprotective father figure.

…Not like any of them knew exactly who her partner was, of course. Because that would have gone over well: "Yeah, guys, I've just been hanging out with Itachi Uchiha – you know, Sasuke's older brother? As in, five years older? The deadliest shinobi in Fire Country history, S-class criminal and Akatsuki member, who we all thought was an insane, mass-murdering, clan-killing psychopath, but in reality, turned out to be not that bad after all? The one who, oh, as far as you're concerned, is dead? Yeah. That one."

Sakura actually giggles at the thought.

Ino gives her a dirty look. "Care to share, dear? Here," – she swings her feet up onto the wall, tapping out a rather deadly pattern with her toes – "I'll make it easy for you. Does your mystery man have a name?"

Sakura just looks at her – as much as part of her is just dying to tell Ino every little weird thing that had led to her partnership with Itachi, she knows that…well, it just wouldn't be wise.

"Fine," Ino sighs deeply, recognizing that she has been defeated. "On to more important things, then." She raises her eyebrow suggestively. "Is he hot?"

That does it. "Ino!" Sakura hisses, utterly scandalized, and involuntarily remembering Itachi and the finer points of the…incident…that had occurred between them. "I…" Normally, she would deny it. She would rather die than admit her attraction to the elder Uchiha out loud, especially as a good half of her is still in denial about said fact. But, well – one of the universally acknowledged rules of bestfriendship is full disclosure about matters like this, and Sakura gives a world-weary sigh at the memory of the way Itachi's thumbs had stroked slow circles into her hipbones as he had been kissing her like that… "Kami, Ino, you have no idea."

Ino grins wolfishly. "That good, hm? What does he look like?"

Sakura takes her time replying to this one, careful not to disclose too much information on accident. "Tall," she says finally, and in the privacy of Ino's bedroom, where millions of sacred secrets have been voiced, she allows herself to give voice to her deepest contemplations on the subject. Many of which had been enthused at great length by Inner Sakura, while Sakura desperately tried to fall asleep, knowing that the subject of such musings was currently a mere two feet away from her – which turned out to be much more difficult than she had ever imagined. "…So damned attractive that it should be illegal. Long black hair, charcoal-gray eyes, just the right amount of muscle, high cheekbones, and eyelashes I wish I could have."

Ino giggles and pretends to swoon. "Wow, Sakura – you really know how to pick them."

"Don't I?" Sakura says mock-seriously, and kind of hoping that this will be enough to satisfy her best friend's craving for information—

"How old is he?" Ino asks abruptly, brushing a few locks of hair out of her eyes. "It's kind of hard to find that degree of good looks in our age group…"

Sakura freezes, cursing Ino's sharpness. "Just a little bit older than I am," she replies evasively – after all, Kiba would testify that five years is just under one year in dog years…

"Lucky," Ino says appreciatively, before giving her friend a searching look. "So, Sakura…"

Sakura flinches away from the question that she knows is coming, but Ino continues doggedly. "Are you two, um…involved in any way?"

"No!" Sakura replies too quickly, cursing the stupid, stupid memory that makes her squirm in place. "We're just…partners…and…friends…"

She trails off weakly, and forgetting the need to keep her voice down (it is now just around one in the morning, after all), Ino screeches and hits her with a pillow again. "Lies, Sakura! Lies! Full disclosure! Now!"

Despite the fact that she has easily faced much worse, Sakura cringes under the violent onslaught – and, at the same time, can't help but think ruefully that she has missed this so much, and for that fact alone, she gives in. "Shut up, Ino! We kissed, alright? I told him I was going to sneak back here, he freaked out, I told him I was leaving anyway, and just as I was saying goodbye, out of utterly nowhere, he kissed me! And he's never even given me any sign that he was interested like that…"

The opportunity to vent the frustration that has been plaguing her ever since it happened is almost as satisfying as the way Ino's jaw drops in astonishment. "Like…a little kiss? A good-bye kiss? Or—"

Sakura blushes at the recollection. "It, um, started like that."

"And it ended with?" Ino presses, looking rather fascinated.

"We kind of made out," Sakura mumbles, staring determinedly at the carpet; this entire story would be a hell of a lot easier to tell if Itachi, of all the people in the world, wasn't starring in the role opposite hers. "And…touched, and stuff. Except that I freaked out a little, after it was over, and…he tried to say something to me, but I left. Immediately."

"Wow," Ino exhales dramatically. "…After hearing this, Forehead Girl, I am forced to conclude that he wants you. Badly."

"He doesn't," Sakura retorts at once, sounding absolutely sure of herself. "Look, Ino, he's not…like the rest of us. At all. The fact that he even did that at all was absolutely shocking, because he just doesn't do that stuff." The proper way to make Ino understand the magnitude of this situation dawns on her all of a sudden. "When it comes to anything regarding emotions, he's worse than Sai had been, at his worst. I don't know why he…yeah, but—"

"Sakura," Ino sighs, exasperated. "It sounds a lot to me like he didn't want you to come because you would be risking your life. And instead of articulating this in a sweet and persuasive way, he…accurately guessed that showing you physically would be a better way to convince you of his worry or sincerity or whatever."

Sakura gives Ino a look that tells her quite clearly that she isn't convinced in the least, and Ino decides to pat her on the hand. "You seem really…confused about it," she says softly. "Maybe you two should work it out, when you get back."

For some reason, the innocent statement brings tears to Sakura's eyes again, perhaps because of the mention of getting back, and, by doing so, leaving Konoha again, and she blinks them away. "Yeah. I should."

They lie down next to each other, silent once again, and Sakura wraps her arms around herself and hates it. Hates how she's feeling about Itachi, how she remembers the almost dizzying feeling of his lips against hers, the tentative press of their tongues, his hands tracing the curves of her body and…kami, she isn't an inexperienced virgin. That hadn't been her first encounter with sexual undertones, but perversely enough, the few minutes of contact, the way he had been touching her, had already gotten her wound up enough to want to—

Sakura shoves the thoughts away, shifting against the blankets uncomfortably. She doesn't want to think about it.

After a long time, just as she is getting ready to drift off to sleep, she hears Ino's voice, sounding faraway and just as drowsy as her own. "…Sakura?"

"Mmm?" Sakura manages not-too-coherently, wrapping the quilt more securely around herself.

Ino's question takes her off guard. "All of that other stuff aside…does he make you happy?" she asks quietly. "I mean…less lonely? Because, I mean, I think about it every day – despite everything that's happened, I have Shika and Chouji, still, and I want you to have somebody, too."

This time, a few tears do soak into the pale purple material of the quilt, and Sakura takes a few moments to answer. "Yeah," she responds, barely audibly, and then wipes her face with the back of her hand, turning on her side. "He's no…no replacement for you guys, of course, but yeah. He does."

The Next Night

When Sakura returns to the hotel room, it is empty. It feels too empty, smells too sterile. It's too quiet and too white, and for a split second, she wishes that she hadn't gone – because things seem even harder to deal with now.

She and Ino had both cried, predictably enough. Even Chouji had teared up a little, and Shikamaru hugged her close for a few moments, murmuring something soft about how she needed to take care and not let anything too troublesome happen to herself. Inoichi had snuck her to the border, and when there, he had swept her off her feet in a rib-crushing embrace that had felt too much like losing her father all over again.

Sakura feels more numb and limp than anything else, right now, so much that she can't spare more than a few thoughts for Itachi, who is probably getting dinner or something. Still, she unzips her boots and crawls onto the bed, stretching out on the unfamiliar covers with her back to the door.

Itachi is distracted enough by his own thoughts not to sense her faint chakra signature before he opens the door and walks into the room quietly. Sakura is the first thing he sees, of course – lying motionlessly on her side, her back to him. She looks uninjured, and the breath leaves his body in a faint, almost inaudible sigh.

He closes the door softly and crosses the room, sitting on the opposite edge of the bed as he studies her, almost warily. The stretch of bare legs exposed by her short skirt draws his attention for a few moments, and upon realizing what he is doing, Itachi forces himself to look away, before clearing his throat sharply.

The sudden sound does its part to rouse Sakura from her light doze, and Itachi watches impassively as she twists her legs under her, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She is obviously still drowsy, as she runs a hand through her tangled hair, and then rubs her eyes. Her gaze lights on him in the next moment, and for the barest of seconds, an emotion all too familiar – one that he hasn't seen directed at him for a long time, from her – courses through it.

Wariness.

Something inside Itachi tightens, and he looks away from her, before rising and walking to the darkened window. His fingers brush the materials of the curtain, and he sees Sakura's vague reflection in the glass window. Looking slightly sleep-tousled still, and watching him intently, carefully.

"I apologize for my earlier indiscretion," Itachi says stiffly, his gaze never leaving the window. "I give you my word that it will never happen again."

Sakura blinks, startled, and for a moment, she almost gets up to join him, almost tells him that there's no need for him to promise something like that – that it'll be all right between them, if they just take things slower—

And she almost asks him why, but then she takes another look at the tension in his posture, the almost-uncertainty in his dark gray eyes, when he finally dares to look back at her; ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.

Sakura asks him no questions.

"All right," she says in a small voice, looking down at the weave of the blankets beneath her.

Itachi inclines his head a fraction of an inch, and wonders if he should regret something that has just happened.

They do not talk for the rest of the night, and finally fall asleep a careful three feet away from each other.

to be continued

Wow. This chapter was…difficult to write. I hope that you guys didn't mind the Itachi/Shisui stuff, so much – everything that happened between them, in their relationship, is what has shaped Itachi into the man that he currently is. Speaking of which, a lot of the elements of Itachi and Shisui's relationship were borrowed from the absolutely amazing Jodi Picoult novel, entitled The Pact. I strongly encourage you guys to go out and read it, if you haven't already. It's one of the best pieces of fiction that I've ever read.

As always, any and all comments would be very much appreciated, and if you have questions, feel free to ask. :)