To You, To Me

Month Sixteen – Week Two

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He glares, unintentionally wrinkling his nose slightly in disgust.

"Sit," she smiles, almost smugly. "You're just going to have to get used to this. I can't walk you back and forth every day."

A grumbling sound rises from his throat. It's the closest he's come to speaking yet. He nudges her in the ribcage: a clear sign of his dissent. She moves him onwards regardless. He does so again.

"I could leave you right here," she threatens. "I could put you down and open that front door. It's cold outside, Sasuke. Winter's here. Anyone could get in too. You're not exactly popular here, you know."

She doesn't quite know what he knows yet. The extent of his outward emotions has ranged from irritation with her, with himself and with anyone who comes close. He seems capable of very little. His chakra resources have been exceedingly low too. He's almost just a very ill civilian. She supposes that that might be the source of the small scratches that sometimes appear on his palms.

She turns him and he very indiscreetly steps on her toes. She winces, hissing slightly in anger. Then she lowers him none too gently into the wheelchair.

"Your legs are progressing well. I'll expect you to walk for a while each day," she warns: a hand placed sternly on her hip. "I'm still going to help you do that. Don't think you can be lazy. I'm still going to take you up the stairs. If there's anything that you need, then ring the bell… once Naruto delivers it… You can still sit in your chair if you want, but you'll be joining me in the kitchen for meals from now on."

The sound of a banging door comes from the kitchen. Wary of it being an intruder or information about the suspiciously silent council, she hurries from the hall.

On his own, Sasuke glances at the sides of his wheelchair. Slowly, he reaches out and slips his hands over the sides. The smooth rubber of the outside of the wheels feels soft against his fingers. He reaches further down and feels the spokes.

Glancing up to ensure that she hasn't yet returned he pushes against the arms of the wheelchair in a bid to rise. Pain erupts in his hands, warping around his wrists and shooting up his arms. A scuffling noise ceases his efforts. He glowers. While many facets of the past remain to be clarified (or even touched) he knows he cannot be still. He has to move. He can't stop. He has to… do something. What that is exactly evades him, much to his annoyance.

A voice rings out. Footfalls sound. He draws his pained arms slowly back down onto his lap. Every day… Every day he has done what he could. The days where the pains are unbearable, where the he can't move, those are the days he hates the most. Another is coming. He can feel it in every strained, pulled and knotted muscle.

Naruto bounds out with a wide grin. "Hey, cool wheelchair!"

"I wish he thought the same," she comments, staying in the doorway. A suspicious glint is in her eyes. "Don't worry, Naruto. He'll get used to it. Maybe he'll even share your opinion soon."

Author's Note: I was going to save this for the last chapter. Then I realised that the note would possibly be longer than the content. So I'm going to just say it. Er, write it? I got my definition for the 'attempt to push himself up' from my own fantastically failed attempts – though heightened for drama. I can't even walk up the stairs (14 steps – I have to count every time) without wheezing at the top. Just over four years of C.F.S will do that to a person. Unfortunately, my knowledge of his 'condition' goes only so far as how unfit I am. His mental state is just something that I had to guess. I like it though, so I'll keep it. Except for the constant want to move; I've woken up more than once completely paralysed with pain. It's a tad annoying but doesn't last long. My point is, it's knowledge in me. I'm generally not good a story teller.