Disclaimer: Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.
Rated M: Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.
At some point during her comings and goings into unconsciousness, a knock sounds at the door that she petulantly chooses to ignore in favor of turning her cheek further into the goose down pillow cradling her face. Having successfully returned to the gray noise before sleep, some small part of her brain still tuned into her physical surroundings notes that the knocking has started up again, and just as she makes a grab for the spare pillow to cuddle against her chest, the soft click of a door opening has Sakura fully awake and practically feral at the intrusion.
WHO THE HELL IS BARGING INTO MY ROOM – Oh. Shit.
She's not in her room. This isn't her mismatched T-shirt and flannel pajama pants combo nor are these her lackluster, cotton-sheeted pillows…She may just have to make these mysteriously disappear along with herself…
Clutching the pillow with stiff fingers, a half snarl marring her tired expression, she twists around to face the unannounced presence approaching her sleeping quarters as wave upon wave of realization crashes down on her head.
She's in the Akatsuki's hands now.
"Uh…Hi!"
Sakura's expression falls from her face along with her mouth and the pillow that unceremoniously drops to her lap as she struggles to sit up.
Who the hell is this guy?
Perplexed, Sakura can manage little more than a bug-eyed glare as a man dressed in a fitted, turtleneck sweater and baggy dress pants nervously edges up to the corner end of the mattress. But it's not the all black attire or even the fact that he just let himself in that has Sakura's tongue struggling to loosen from its knot – no – the honor of that feat goes entirely to the bizarre, bright orange mask this lunatic has deemed appropriate to don while breaking and entering into strangers' hotel rooms.
At Sakura's lack of response (she's still a bit preoccupied at visually tracing the grooves patterning the swirly mask that leads to one, just one, eye hole), the man shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
"Tobi brought a card for secure access?" he states unsurely, cocking his head to the side and it is at this shift in position that Sakura breaks away from her unintentional staring contest and registers the gleaming plastic rectangle being proffered to her.
Hesitantly and with great slowness, the long sleeve of her robe bunches and falls back to her elbow as she reaches out to accept the stylish, sleekly designed card. The minimalist scarlet outline of a cloud is all the color present on the otherwise onyx background. Meekly, she flips it over, not knowing what she expects to find, but all that the card reveals is a plain backside with the coded bar across the top that will grant her entrance into her personal dwellings.
"Tobi, was it?" she asks, glancing back up at the man who has seemingly anchored himself at the end of the bed in an obliviously out of place kind of way.
"Tobi is Tobi!" he chirps, jabbing his chest with a thumb to ensure there is no confusion over the matter.
"Right," Sakura drawls, looking back down at the plastic in her hand, "Do you have the time?"
"Time for what?"
Again with the head tilt.
Her eyebrows nearly shoot into her hairline.
Is this guy for real? He's like a child.
Clearing her dry throat to regain some poise, she tries again, "The time. As in do you have a watch on you or something?"
"Oh!" he triumphantly claps a fisted hand into the open palm of the other and Sakura feels the corners of her mouth quirking into a small smile at finally getting somewhere.
"No, Tobi doesn't," he chirps happily while bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.
Sakura muffles the growl of frustration rising in her throat by masking it with a second throat clearing, fighting to keep her expression amicable enough while in the company of such a wild card as whoever this Tobi person is.
"Well, thanks anyway," she says, her gaze unnervingly being dragged back to that single eye hole, "And for the card. Thank you."
She hopes he gets the clear message that this little meet and greet is over and she'd very much like for him to show himself out the door. He pauses for a moment, glancing around the room before setting his sights (though really she can only assume this due to the awful mask) back on the girl surrounded in a nest of sheets and pillows, her hair in disarray from nuzzling the softness of the goose down pillows. Tobi knows about the pillows. He makes forts out of all the spares when he gets bored of his normal assignments and decides to take an unannounced break.
"Tobi will be going. Tobi has important work to do!"
Sakura bobs her head in affirmation, an awkward "See ya," leaving her lips as the man waves much too enthusiastically in such close proximity before sharply turning on his heel and taking his leave. She doesn't release the breath she's been holding until she hears the close of the door, and even then she springs lightly from the bed to peak around the corner to ensure he hasn't merely feigned his departure. Heaving a tired sigh, she tosses her arms over her head and arches her back, stalling as she stretches out the tension and cracks in her worn body.
What to do now?
She's still exhausted; whether she got in two minutes or two hours of sleep before Tobi's interruption, there's no way anything less than eight more hours of sleep will be adequate to rejuvenate her.
Still, she hasn't a clue as to how soon breakfast will be ready. Stumbling on sleep-filled legs, the uncomfortable sensation of thousands of ants scurrying through her flesh, she makes her way over to the window to pull back the light blocking curtains and finds that the rain has ceased. Though still painted with a heavy layer of gray, a few weak rays of sunlight manage to pierce the sky and its dense cloud coverage.
Humming indecisively to herself, Sakura tromps back across the room and into the bathroom to take stock of her ghastly reflection with its too pale skin and tangled hair. And the robe. She needs real, substantial clothes. Already, the dull pain of another headache begins to make its presence known, or perhaps the last vestiges of the one from earlier never truly receded away. It's just one more thing to blame the Akatsuki for.
With mild aggravation, she attacks her hair, running her fingers under the sink's faucet to wet and then rake them through the hideous knots resisting her maintenance work. A part of self-deprecating nature asks why she's even bothering to tidy herself up while making herself at home amongst the Akatsuki. She has no need or obligation to make herself more appealing to them, no need to impress any one of those man slaughtering psychopaths. But another part of her, the prideful, vain, if not sometimes insecure part of her, notes that she is within her rights to make herself as comfortable as possible in such an impossible, inconvenient situation. If that means brushing out the rat's nest that is her hair and covering up the dark smudges under her eyes, then so be it.
Of course, a small part of that latter sentiment may also have some roots in the fact that her captor managed to look absolutely gorgeous even when dressed in prison garb and hacking his lungs out and she doesn't want to look like such a ragamuffin in the face of all that natural grace and beauty.
Damn Uchiha.
She renews her efforts with a spiteful vengeance. She's not going to look like cat vomit in front of that man.
She wants to look strong. Calm. Collected. All the things she isn't feeling, but so desperately wants to when some unknown power is out to silence her.
And silence me on what? What do they think I know?
Using the small dryer attached to the wall, Sakura blow dries her damp tresses into light, airy waves that she knows will eventually settle back into a sheet of stick-straight hair. Regarding her face in the vanity mirror, she washes the sleep from her eyes and dejectedly mourns her lack of a purse or, basically, any of her personal effects. Rummaging through the pockets of her jeans from last night, her hand latches onto a candy wrapper sans caramel candy and a tube of cherry chapstick, the only cosmetic she currently has at her disposal. Delightedly, having forgotten she'd slipped it into her back pocket while creeping into her bedroom to catch the burglar-who-was-actually-Itachi in the act of pilfering her underwear drawer, Sakura's fingers clench around the smooth rectangle of her cellphone, its weight a small comfort in the palm of her hand.
Aaaaaannnd it's dead.
The sparkle in her eyes is extinguished immediately as her despairing reflection is cast back at her in the darkened screen. Huffing, she sets the phone next to the sink. Maybe she could acquire a charger later; Itachi had, after all, mentioned something about picking up supplies later today. Swiftly assembling a list of necessities in her head from toothbrushes and deodorant to a sensible pair of shoes, Sakura scrunches her nose in displeasure about some of the more personal items she'd need for an unplanned stint away from the comforts of home.
Swiping the chapstick methodically across her lips, her mind drifts to thoughts of Konoha. For today, nothing would seem amiss to those closest to her. Her friends and parents weren't always privy to her days off as they tended to shift around on a weekly basis, but she had just spent some quality time with Ino the night before and made a phone call to her parents two days ago. For today, no one would bat an eye if Sakura Haruno went off the grid. But tomorrow will be a different story when she doesn't turn up for her hospital shift. When she doesn't answer the door for her police escort…
"Bleh!" Sakura's tongue swipes at the offending glob of chapstick she had smooshed too forcefully against her lips. Thoughts of the police force charged with her protection fills her with a mixture of conflicting emotions. Guilt for escaping with the man they had been tasked to defend her from. Fear that she had made the worst mistake in her life for listening to him. Anxiety that he may just be right about someone weaseling into such a position of trust in order to monitor her snooping into Shisui Uchiha's murder. Rage that Sai, someone she had known and attempted to befriend long before any of this came about, might just be that wolf in sheep's clothing.
The very idea makes her head spin with anger and betrayal, even paranoia that she can no longer trust those she had always been conditioned to go to if ever there was a serious problem and she needed help or protection. Instead of her hometown police, she had merrily skipped off hand-in-hand with the members of a terrorist organization.
Am I insane?
She caps the tube of chapstick, slapping it down on the granite tabletop of the vanity with an air of finality.
No. I'm trying to play this smartly. I'm going to come out of this alive and well and when I do, I will wash my hands of the Akatsuki. The thought of them will never cross my mind again.
She knows it's a lofty goal.
With stiff shoulders, she shrugs out of her robe to dress herself in the undergarments she had thrown over the towel rack to dry from last night's misadventures in Wonderland. While their absence from her body is something she is not willing to tolerate, a sniff test of her clothing and the eclectic assortment of cigarette smoke, booze, and night air seemingly woven into the very fibers of their design has the young doctor covering herself once more in the terry cloth robe, cinching it snugly at the waist to ensure her modesty.
Well, this is just terrific.
With her mood souring over her lack of proper clothing and the sense of vulnerability it gives her, Sakura collapses face first back onto the bed, refusing to accept that this is her reality now. As the minutes drag by, her limbs lose their rigidness, her spine unclenches, and she sinks into the mattress beneath her. Sakura's eyes are closed for no more than ten minutes when the light rap at the door has her eyelids snapping open, her nostrils exhaling an irritated, muffled breath of air into the sheets.
Answering the door, her hardened emerald eyes lock onto those of her visitor.
"Itachi," her voice is flat, unwelcoming, but she swings the door open to its fullest extent and steps back a few feet to allow him entrance.
"Breakfast will be served in ten minutes. I thought you might want a change of clothes."
Something in Sakura's expression softens at this gesture as she takes in the small bundle of clothing folded neatly and tucked against Itachi's side. The skin around Sakura's eyes loses some of its pinched tightness and her frown recedes as the bundle changes possession and her fingers smooth over the scarlet shirt on top of the stack.
"This will probably swallow me," she comments, not to sound too pleased, "But thank you."
"I did my best to find your approximate size. I'll be waiting in the hallway."
And just like that, the blank-faced Uchiha turns to leave her for the sake of her own privacy and Sakura is a bit miffed at his display of chivalry.
But she isn't put off so much that she doesn't gladly accept the rummaged clothing, quickly freeing herself of the robe and tugging the long-sleeved, cotton T-shirt over her head. It's a bit long and she has to cinch the waistband of the dark gray sweatpants as tight as she can to keep them from slipping past her hips, but altogether she at least looks presentable if a tad tomboyish.
I look like I'm ready to hit the gym.
Shaking her head at herself as she takes one final glance in the mirror, she pockets her room key and rolls up the sleeves of her shirt to the elbows after her fingers continue to get lost in the cuffs.
Opening the door, she finds Itachi parked just to the right of it, leaning his back into the wall, one foot leisurely crossed over the ankle of the other. Sakura lightly smirks at the sight of him. With his arms loosely crossed and his neck hanging downward, she can tell he's nearly asleep on his feet, but he manages to easily transition into a wakeful state before Sakura can even open her mouth to rouse him. She realizes that even just catching him off guard like this must be a rarity.
The dining room is exactly what Sakura expected it would be after getting a feel for the very hotel-esque vibe of the building. A large open room with a wall of windows, a buffet, an open kitchen, and a grid of tables, chairs, and booths form the substance of the room. Red table cloths are draped across the dining surfaces, a pristine white plate and roll of silverware at each setting with a white linen napkin artfully folded into a crane and resting atop each plate.
It all seems a bit over-the-top and unnecessary in light of the few guests deigning the room with their presence.
At the longest table closest to the buffet is where the criminals she has made acquaintances with in the last day have chosen to seat themselves. Trays of pastries and fresh fruit, a heap of French toast, and a potluck-sized container of scrambled eggs are among the spread that has Sakura's eyes lighting up and her mouth salivating with desire. She watches as Deidara expertly selects a few choice pieces of bacon with the snap of a pair of tongs, threatening to whack Tobi across the back of his hand for simply using his fingers. Kisame is already seated and busily shoveling forkfuls of hash browns and eggs into his sharp-toothed mouth. Several used plates are already in a neat stack beside him.
Sasori is seated demurely a few places down from the one-man garbage disposal, with little more than some toast and half a grapefruit taking up space on his plate. Instead, he sips from a steaming mug and boredly scans through the pages of a newspaper, but as Sakura approaches with Itachi, his large, sleepy eyes settle on her figure and a spark of recognition flashes through his eyes.
"I thought someone had been in my room earlier," he states, eyeing Sakura and treating her to an accusatory once over before his eyes dart to the silent Uchiha as he drops one of the folded napkins on the table and claims a plate for himself.
"My apologies, Sasori. Sakura was in need of clean clothes," Itachi intones simply, moving to the buffet.
Sasori sniffs derisively, casting one last look at Sakura before resuming his reading, "Just don't make a habit of going through my things."
Ugh, great. Why'd it have to be him of all people?
Sasori was the one to so readily point a gun at her after surmising she wasn't the entertainment he and Deidara had first assumed her to be when she crashed their private party. Though looking at him, she supposes he is the closest to her size. Damn Itachi and his rationality. Resigned to the awkwardness of it all, Sakura soundlessly sighs as she picks up her own plate to join the congregation around the food.
Taking a seat across from her kidnapper with her plate piled as high as she could manage and a cinnamon roll clenched between her front teeth, Sakura ignores the nonplussed look thrown her way from across the table and tucks into her meal with fervor. If there's one good thing that can be said about the Akatsuki, they know how to do breakfast right. To her chagrin, Deidara takes a seat next to her with Tobi on his other side and something prods at Sakura's curiosity to let her eyes wander down the table to the masked man as he settles the napkin in his lap.
"Don't even bother, yeah," Deidara whispers under his breath as he lathers a slice of toast with butter, "You'll never get a peek at his face."
Not one to be thrown off by words of discouragement, Sakura settles about her own tasks of chewing and refilling her glass of orange juice, all the time glancing around at her surroundings from the landscape paintings framed on the walls to the stands of potted plants and even to the peculiar man managing to angle his mask just so and turn his face away ever so slightly as he devours his bacon and eggs. She doesn't even catch a glimpse of skin or the corner of his mouth. Nothing.
Mentally shaking her head at the weirdness, she catches Deidara giving her a knowing look as she quickly glances away at having been caught in her failure.
These people need to be in a mental institute.
Whoever would have guessed the Akatsuki would assemble to have breakfast like some kind of forced together, dysfunctional family?
Wait a minute…
"You liar!" Sakura's face snaps up from the remnants of food smeared on her plate as she glares at the Uchiha taking his time while delicately nibbling on a chunk of pineapple. Deidara's butter knife clatters to his plate in surprise at the loud outburst.
Sakura's fingers claw at the napkin bunched in her lap, "You told me that the Akatsuki doesn't have a headquarters for meetings! I asked you that when you were still in Suna."
Resentment colors her cheeks as her eyebrows converge in a scowl. But it is not the man whom she has directed her ire at that answers her outraged allegation.
Deidara scoffs, "What did you expect? The truth, yeah? You're either really naïve or really stupid if you thought Itachi wasn't going to lie to you. That's what he does, yeah," Deidara gives a half careless shrug, picking up his utensils again to finish cutting his French toast into neat, bite-sized pieces.
And something alarming rings true in Deidara's statement, something that could mean very bad news for Sakura. Maybe she really is too stupid and naïve and, yes, maybe Itachi is a liar. But her whole safety in being here is banking on the fact that he wouldn't lie to her. The fact that he already has, and quite easily, doesn't bode well for her.
Trepidation trickles down Sakura's spine as she suddenly feels too full for comfort and pushes back away from the table, at a loss as to what she can do to save herself.
I think I'm going to be sick.
Deidara edges a little further away from her in his seat, recognizing the signs of nausea leaking into the pink-haired girl's worrisome expression.
"Sakura."
The voice is calm yet demanding, brooking no room for protest as he claims her attention. Meekly, Sakura raises her gaze to the dark eyes watching her carefully from across the table while silently demanding her stomach to comply with her wishes to settle down.
"I did lie about that, but you can understand my reasoning. I was merely protecting the organization I intended to return to. That is all," he breaks eye contact with her, reaching for the sugar packets nestled in a small dish upon the table. Sakura wordlessly stares, entranced at the sight of a murderer casually stirring in some extra sugar to his cup of tea to satisfy his sweet tooth. Every time Sakura thinks she's gotten a handle on the total surrealness of her situation, she is thrown for a loop and completely shaken over how she ended up in this murderer's company.
"There's a lot I need you to answer for me," Sakura at last breaks the tense silence. Even Kisame has taken a breather from his biscuits and gravy to tune into the heated conversation.
"We will have a chance to discuss your questions later. For now – "
"No," Sakura cuts him off flatly, not caring about niceties or manners, "Not later. Now," she replies emphatically, "You can't expect me to just let you lead me around blindly without knowing exactly what I'm up against. I still don't even know why I'm trusting you," she eyes him suspiciously, crossing her arms.
Itachi regards her in silence for a moment and Sakura has to muster every ounce of stubbornness in her body in order to not be intimidated into looking away. At last, he clasps his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the table.
"What is it you would like to know?"
Sakura inhales deeply, not having expected he would relent so easily, "I want to know about the man who's after me. I want to know about Shisui's murder," she looks directly into the bottomless depths of Itachi's eyes, prepared to face a nightmare.
But the abrupt commotion of Tobi rising from his seat has everyone's attention as the masked man wordlessly stalks out of the dining hall through one of the side exits, his napkin hastily thrown down on his plate in a twisted heap.
"What's with him, yeah?" Deidara mumbles with mild annoyance.
But his departure has Itachi pinching the skin between his eyes and Sakura takes stock of the dark circles gathering beneath those dark pits she had just been fiercely staring into.
But I can't back down now. Show no sympathy.
"Come with me. We will have this discussion elsewhere," Itachi replies as he stands from the table, turning to leave back from the way the two had come.
Quickly, Sakura scrambles to her feet, noting with mild guilt gnawing at her thoughts that Itachi is leaving behind a plate of half-eaten fruit and a scoop of eggs he has yet to touch. She needs to speak to him about his treatment as well. This talk can't be put off any longer.
Jogging to catch up to his quick strides, Sakura restrains the question fighting to bubble forth and ask why they can't stay and finish breakfast with the others. Surely Itachi is someone who knows how to multitask. But prudently she keeps her lips sealed as he leads her out to the front lobby and up the central staircase to a row of elevators that necessitate card access. Sakura bites her lip as he presses a rapid series of digits into the keypad and the elevator shuttles them skyward to the twenty-fifth floor that spits them out into a hallway unremarkably like her own. But Itachi silently leads her past door after door until they turn the corner at the end that leads them down a bland, carpeted stretch to a single, unassuming door at the very end. She'd raise her eyebrows at Itachi's odd insistence for distancing himself from the rest of his supposed comrades to have this talk with her, but the stoic man doesn't let up in his relentless pace, not even to ensure she's still following briskly on his heels.
When he pushes the door inward, the interior of the room reveals perhaps one of the most unexpected sights Sakura had not prepared herself for: a library. Heavy volumes of complete encyclopedia collections are shelved among numerous history and geographical texts. Maps, both local and global, decorate the hardwood paneled walls while a collection of sofas and tables dot the open room for leisure reading. With the thick curtains drawn apart, enough natural light filters in through the windows that Sakura can read the titles with ease from the spines of the nearest books. Medical journals, economic theories, military stratagems, and, oddly enough, a small quantity on botany are just a few of the books within arm's reach. She would assume there is little rhyme or reason to the organization of the Akatsuki's sizeable literature collection, but Itachi leads her past a computer kiosk at the end of one of the shelves.
Incredible.
But Itachi passes by the stacks of books with little interest, opting for a bank of cabinets along the far wall of the library. Despite the heavy, rich woodwork of the library, the filing cabinets are simple and modern, rather disappointing in comparison to the leather reclining chairs and self-serving wine cabinet with its sparkling glassware. But this is where Itachi leads her, automatically pulling out one of the filing drawers near the bottom from the cabinet second from the right. Sakura's eyes watch hungrily as his pale fingers pluck forth a folder and a rather large, three-ringed binder from the back recesses of the drawer. Straightening up, he beckons her to follow him to the nearest couch where he takes a seat, silently waiting for Sakura to do so as well.
Suddenly nervous, Sakura swallows as delicately as she can, her full attention on the documents resting innocently in Itachi's lap as she takes a seat beside him, mindful that she doesn't sit too close nor too far away.
"What I'm about to show you, you'd be better off not knowing. Truly, I say this for your own safety. Perhaps even more for your own peace of mind," Itachi begins quietly, bringing the binder to rest on top of the borrowed items; Sakura's eyes are too slow to catch the letters on the small label plastered across the spine.
Sakura frowns lightly, meeting Itachi's equally stern gaze, "I'm not the type to pride myself on my ignorance."
This seems to ease some of the strain from Itachi's features, if only marginally as a light, thin-lipped smile peaks into existence.
"I know," he pauses, "But I also know that should I fail in protecting you, should you fall into the wrong hands, what I share with you will most certainly be discovered," his eyebrows scrunch ever so lightly in thought, "And your fate will almost certainly be sealed. These people will not negotiate with you."
An inkling of regret flitters across Sakura's thoughts, a chilly finger dragged down her spine. She eyes the binder warily, but it is nothing more than a fleeting instant of weakness as she straightens her back under Itachi's scrutiny, her mind made up.
"Show me."
Itachi's index finger traces the edge of the binder as his gaze drops to his lap in a moment of hesitation.
At such close proximity, Sakura can smell the sweet tang of pineapple still lingering on his breath, and even in the dim sunlight the tear troughs lining his face are clearly pronounced, throwing her perception of him into conflict over how he can appear so young yet so aged. Life has not cast Itachi Uchiha a favorable hand…Though her thoughts are quick to amend that that assertion may not be accurate. From just about anyone's perspective, Itachi had been reasonably blessed with a good family, a comfortable home, various talents…yet, he had thrown everything away. He had thrown the dice back in life's face.
Surely there has to be a reason for such an action. Such a blatant "screw you" to the world.
"Danzo Shimura," Itachi begins, his voice regaining its quiet timbre that settles easily upon her ears, "He is the man behind the threats and attacks against you. He is the founder and leader of the underground organization known as ROOT," he pauses, flicking open the binder cover to the first page of the record on which a colored picture of the man in question is shown up close and blank-faced, indifferent to the photographer, "And he is the one responsible for my cousin's death."
Sakura's eyes widen at the admission as she glances down at the dispassionate face of the elderly man in his business suit. Something important itches at the back of Sakura's brain as she silently repeats his name again and again.
That's right!
Danzo Shimura is the most senior member of Konoha's Council and has his name on practically every major facility in the city, from hospitals to libraries to schools. Any politician he gives his public support of is all but guaranteed to win their election. He's an old man accustomed to getting his way through any means of manipulation necessary; her mentor, Tsunade, has not so kindly made remarks behind closed doors about the numerous occasions the old geezer had thrown his weight (and his money) around during Council meetings to push his projects and ambitions to the forefront of Konoha's agenda.
Truly, he is one of the most influential people of Konoha, from budgeting to taxing, from hiring and replacing civil employees, he holds a lot of sway over the average citizen's life whether the public is aware of it or not. As for ROOT, Sakura has heard little more than whispers of its existence and certainly nothing all too positive, but never had anyone claimed there was a connection between it and Danzo. Her perception of them had always been a cross between a secret police force and a highly efficient gang.
Itachi passes the binder into Sakura's lap, permitting her to peruse it at her own pace. It settles against her thighs with a noticeable weight and Sakura stares in astonishment at the amount of paperwork the Akatsuki have managed to procure on the old man.
Her thumb rifles through the corner of the stack, glimpsing photos of the councilman and his various associates at nearly every angle imaginable. From a high-scale awards banquet to what looks like a private, quiet moment lounging in his garden, the many facets of Danzo Shimura's life are documented with meticulous detail. Eventually, the glossy photo scans turn to crisp pages under her fingertips and blocks of dense, typed print greet her eyes. At the top she notes the dates each report was written, some in the beginning going as far back as ten years ago, and the name of each Akatsuki member tasked with writing the report is listed under the date. A few are written by a man named Kakuzu and just skimming quickly through his files, most of his focus appears to be on Danzo's financial records. Resources, properties, and sums larger than Sakura will ever amass in her entire life glare back at her in no-nonsense type. Eventually, the dates draw closer to the present, bringing her through names of Konan and Kisame and then Sasori. Their entries mark different occasions during which Danzo gained public recognition during his political campaigns as well as some under the table bribes and well-placed threats to those who stood in his way. Deidara's provide some of the most colorful commentary on his subject matter as her eyes are hooked by words like "ancient" and "needs to kick the bucket already," but she deduces that he is largely responsible for the massive collection of photographs as he references several of the numbered images.
By and by, Sakura's eyes dart back and forth with increasing speed, visually gobbling up the words as fast as her mind can process their meaning. She supposes it should come as little surprise that the vast bulk of the reports come from the man seated patiently beside her, his hands gingerly clasping onto a considerably leaner file folder, its edges dulled and fuzzed with wear, its color a faded brown.
"I never knew he was behind all these things," Sakura mutters as she flips from a page on the foreclosure of nearly two blocks of residences in order to develop the land for a new business venture Danzo had a substantial amount of stock in. Her frown deepens as she reads over the account made by Sasori some three years prior concerning the untimely death of a rival candidate for Danzo's current seat on the Council. The man had been considerably younger with a wife and daughter, yet he had died unexpectedly a month before the election due to what the newspapers deemed natural causes. The final say on the matter had never sat right with Sakura, but like most things revolving around politics, she had dismissed her troubled thoughts as the demands of her own life took precedence. But Sasori had dug deeper, acquiring an initial, unpublished report from the autopsy that had gone "missing" with the help of a little hush money. The man had been infected by a rare, exotic parasite that must have somehow been ingested. Yet, the parasite is known from only one small territory in the world, a foreign country that neither the man nor his family had ever visited.
Similar accounts of foul play for varying reasons spot the councilman's record like blood. But even as she nears the end of the binder, paying careful attention to the reports listed under Itachi's name, she has yet to come across a single mention of Shisui.
"Itachi," Sakura speaks softly, "Where's Shisui in all of this?"
Of course, as fewer pages remain to be searched in the binder, Sakura has the suspicion that Itachi is holding back the information relating to his cousin in the file lying across his knees. Not once does he open it, but Sakura gets the distinct impression that his cousin is waiting to be revealed behind the face of that brown, nondescript folder.
The truth.
"It took a long time to gather all the information in this file. My cousin wasn't someone with a high profile, he was just a kid after all," he says, a great sadness weighing heavy in his tone as he passes the folder into Sakura's hands though she declines to open it just yet. It feels wrong without first getting his go-ahead.
"ROOT is a shadow organization; their operations are highly secretive, their intentions little known, but they report to Danzo, that much is clear. Likely, they are merely the hired hands to carry out his dirty work with the utmost confidentiality. Tracking down the man who," Itachi's right hand, once resting limply atop his knee, curls into a white-knuckled fist, "Executed Shisui took years. Even just to learn his face and name."
"Wait," Sakura interjects confusedly, "So Danzo didn't kill him?"
Itachi's jaw clenches; it's the most vulnerable, honest emotion she has ever witnessed from the man, "No, not directly. But he gave the orders. He might as well have."
He clears his throat delicately, looking away out the window as Sakura watches him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. But Itachi remains mute and after a prolonged silence in which neither dares search out the other's gaze, Sakura's unsteady hands carefully open the cover of the folder.
Shisui…
He was a handsome boy. The face looking back at her is the same as the one she had gazed upon with Ino all those years ago while pouring over old yearbooks. The long, unkempt tufts of hair and eyelashes that would make any girl envious, he was touched with the Uchihas' good looks.
Sakura turns the page, the sound nearly causing her to flinch in the stillness of the library. Silence weighs on her like a wet blanket; Itachi may have even stopped breathing. Just to be safe, her eyes flicker over to the statue-like man, but his posture remains unchanged, his eyes fixed on some faraway point through the windows as she glances back down at the file with a heavy heart.
Notes on Shisui's schedule from classes to sports practices to orthodontist appointments are recorded in an effort to piece together the normal routine of the boy's life. Names of close relatives and friends are either starred or crossed out; she even recognizes the names of the high school principal and several teachers.
What was he doing? Making a suspects list?
Turning through the lists of contacts and daily activities, she eventually comes across some old information: the tutoring sessions he participated in during his last few months alive. She hadn't found anything particularly noteworthy about that other than Shisui seemed to have a good head on his shoulders and an interest in community service, but someone had fixated on this particular detail of his life. As Sakura's eyes scan over the name of the young elementary student Shisui had been mentoring, an inkling of suspicion tickles at her thoughts.
Konohamaru Sarutobi.
He was only two grade levels behind Sakura but had attended a different elementary school in the city. And while the little boy himself wasn't a particularly surprising figure, his grandfather certainly was…
And from there it was like plunging down the worm hole from one conspiracy to the next until Sakura's head is spinning with the early warning pulses of a headache.
Who could possibly want to do away with Hiruzen?
The man was a well-known and beloved member of the community, involved in its government but also participating in ways that put him much closer to the people, whether it was through after school pick-up games at the park or organizing park cleaning events.
"I don't understand," she says at last, breaking Itachi from his glazed-eye reverie. Her finger holds her place as she shuts the folder closed, unwilling to look any closer at the gruesome photographs from the aftermath of Shisui's death. The brief, accidental glimpse is enough to imprint the images on her memory for the rest of her life.
They need to make some type of steel wool to scrub your mind clean.
"It's simple and it's not," Itachi replies promptly enough despite his near sleep-like appearance, "My cousin was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that's all it took. He knew little more than the kind of sensitive information you now hold, but Danzo is not one to take chances. As I said, he's not the type to negotiate for your silence. And he wasn't going to with my cousin. He was just a kid," something like scorn seeps into his tone, "Kids can make promises without understanding the far-reaching implications of giving their word. Danzo wasn't going to pay off a child's silence for the rest of his life, particularly when that child happened to be in a family such as mine."
"And he orchestrated your cousin's death for the sake of covering his plans to do away with Hiruzen. But…Why was he after him in the first place?"
"Hiruzen Sarutobi and Danzo Shimura have a long history with each other and that being said, they don't see eye-to-eye on many of the governing policies of Konoha. Danzo had petitioned on numerous occasions for Hiruzen to be removed from his seat on the Council, but it never happened as Danzo was known to be the antagonizer. No one would take his complaints seriously that his rival was impeding the system. I think he eventually reached a point that he could no longer sit by and have his voice go unheard. He took matters into his own hands with fatal results."
"And the part with your family…?" Sakura prompts, the gears of her mind turning furiously to fully comprehend Danzo's animosity toward the Uchiha.
"Old prejudices. Rivalries, perhaps. It's difficult to say with a man like him. But one of Sarutobi-san's projects was restructuring and out-fitting the Konoha Police Force with more up-to-date equipment and modern training practices. It enabled many of the members of my family a prominent place in the community as it was due to Hiruzen's nomination that my father was appointed chief of police," Itachi sighs tiredly, "It was unfortunate that Shisui was an Uchiha. If not…"
Sakura furrows her eyebrows in thought, "No, such a simple difference wouldn't have mattered," her frown deepens as her breakfast sits heavily in her stomach while those horrible images flash though her mind's eye, "Not to a man like Danzo. Not to someone willing to kill a child just to save face," Sakura spits, repulsed.
Itachi closes his eyes, inhaling so deeply that Sakura can easily see the swell of his chest.
"But why," Sakura's voice shakes with her emotion, her inner storm warring with indecision over whether to sympathize with the man at her side still obviously grieving over the loss of his family member, or if she should completely wall herself off from the entire convoluted mess. Sure, an innocent, teenage boy had been killed for a petty, despicable reason, but that didn't wipe Itachi's slate clean. She couldn't justify all his wrongdoings just because of how he had been wronged…Could she?
"Why," Sakura clears her throat, gaining strength, "Why haven't you done anything? Why haven't you revealed all this to the public? Why – ?"
She chokes off on the end of her sentence, startled by where her own line of thinking had been leading her.
Why haven't you killed Danzo?
"Because I made a promise," Itachi answers bitterly, dark flames dancing in his eyes.
'Kids can make promises without understanding the far-reaching implications of giving their word.'
"You asked how someone gets picked up by an organization like Akatsuki. You wanted to know how a teenager could get himself on the radar of a world-class terrorist group," the bitter anger turns into a grim smirk at the awful memory, "And I told you it all depends on who you know – I didn't lie about that. I made a deal, Sakura," he says, alarming her as he twists his torso to meet her straight on, a hand sinking down into the couch cushion between them.
It's pent-up anger. It's hostile. It's the Itachi she has always thought he was from all the news reports and town gossip. It makes her shoulders hunch inward, her chin tucking back into her neck for protection against his feral bite.
"I was a kid in way over my head with little more than suspicions to go on. That's when I was approached by a man who offered to help me track down my cousin's killer. But no information is free. In exchange for his help, I had to work for him."
Sakura's eyes go wide, impossibly so as she feels the strain at the outer corners of her eyelids.
"And I did because I believed Shisui would've done the same for me."
Sakura's lips part, stunned into silence before forcibly shaking her head, her brows knitting together in agitation.
"No, that's still…The things you've done, Itachi," she says his name like a plea, a plea that he'll refute every bad thing that's ever been tacked onto his name, "All of this has gone too far. If you've figured out Shisui's murder, if you have evidence of all these crimes Danzo has perpetrated, there's no reason – " Sakura splutters, grasping for a coherent strand of thought, "There's no reason, no justification, for all the assassinations! The coup d'états! Everything you've done as a member of Akatsuki!"
Sakura sucks in a breath, feeling heat creep up the back of her neck at her exertion.
"Why can't you just leave it behind you? Just leave Akatsuki!"
"Because now I'm not avenging a loved one's death, now I'm trying to prevent one," he stares at her with the dull eyes of a dead man, the hungry flames extinguished under the enormity of his obligation.
He's being forced to stay?
Gradually, the puzzle pieces fall into place. The coercion. The recruitment. The only question is what leverage does this unknown person hold over someone like Itachi…
"Who?" her voice would be inaudible if not for their close proximity.
Yet, already she knows whose name will fall from his lips, but she has to hear it. The masochist in her raves to hear the name summoned aloud, for it to be spilled forth like sacrificial blood.
"Sasuke."
Sasuke.
Somehow, everything in Sakura's life always leads back to Sasuke.
Author's Note: I'll try to answer some things brought up in reviews without revealing too much. This isn't going to be an overly romantic story, but undercurrents of romance will show up here and there. Just keep in mind that it's going to be a ways before anything remotely noteworthy on that front happens as I like to keep things relatively believable and in this, Sakura perceives Itachi to be a terrorist. The organization he seemingly abandoned his home for is world renowned for dipping its hands into revolutions and political turnovers, not to mention assassinations. So any sympathy or understanding she has for Itachi is going to take a while to build, though a tiny bit of groundwork has been laid for that. Sasuke will be in this story, and while other characters may make mention of him, there's a chance he won't make an actual appearance until around the end.
I'm going to be leaving on a trip that's going to take up a large part of my summer and possibly not allow me much time for writing or Internet access…We'll see. That being said, I'll try to post one more chapter before leaving, but no promises (that's why I made this chapter a bit longer than usual).
Yay! Some of the mystery is coming unraveled! Don't worry if you're still confused over a lot of what Itachi reveals to Sakura through the files and their conversation, I plan on expanding upon what exactly happened to Shisui as Sakura takes some quiet time to process everything (likely in the next chapter). What you can keep straight in your head at this point is that Danzo put an order out to kill Shisui for some reason relating to Konohamaru and Hiruzen. The dastardly deed was done, Itachi took it into his own hands to look into his cousin's disappearance believing foul play was afoot, a "mysterious stranger" shows up offering to help him track down his cousin's killer, but in exchange Itachi has to accept recruitment into Akatsuki. On top of that, Itachi is trapped in this arrangement because of some perceived threat to his brother.
And for any that didn't catch it, Hidan was the motorcycle rider briefly seen in chapter 10.
