x.x.x

Chapter 14
The Days

Days turned into weeks.

There's only the briefest of moments to recognize his time away from her. He has taken back territory, and he has come to the aid of those who needed it most within their clan. They are forever moving forward. They are there to help swing the the tides of battle, and help those exhausted and wounded. Any wounds gained in their efforts are easily handled with the aid of the vibrant redhead within his group.

He feels the pressure upon his shoulders with every altercation.

He has to make sure he avoids harm.

The road traveled is far from home, and he can only allow fleeting thoughts upon her in these moments as they head for the next battle. He only dares to look back for a few seconds knowing his focus is needed on those seeking relief.

Their anniversary had come and gone. He had been deep within the throes of battle ripping his blade through those that desired to slaughter his clansmen in the name of war. It was only after the fighting had died down, and only after he had received treatment that he had realized it had even come.

There would be time for that. He would make time for it.

He would make it up to her when he returned to her side—he does not know how but he can only hope there will be an answer once she is within his grasp.

The sky that shows forth the stars is all that lights the earth as they run to their next destination.

The idle chatter of the loudest member is only overpowered by the yells of their female teammate. Feelings of irritation cannot be found as he drowns them out, and there is no desire to break up their bickering. It's the last thing he's concerned with. There's so many other—so many more pressing—matters that have his attention.

The smell of blood is thick within his nose and impossible to miss. It's a mixture of his, and a mixture of those who dared to challenge him. The blade that had come across his arm, and the hand that had dug into his flesh—they leave another scar having been mended by the makeshift medic on their team.

It's not the cleanest job, but it'll do. It's just another mark upon him to add to the list.

Legs burn within their overuse, and yet it does not make him allow the breaks requested by his team. He only sought to continue forward—he only sought to do whatever necessary to bring victory to his clan.

Sleep had always been far from his mind. It's a secondary thought. He is not plagued with the haunting thoughts of slayed medics. He is not harmed inside that unconscious realm that sought to render him defenseless. There is only endless black within his dreams. It doesn't lessen his exhaustion but it's a welcomed change of pace, and one he finds himself silently thankful for.

The flutter of his lids comes with the sound of the earth shaking below him. How long had he slept, and when had the battle found its way to them? He's groggy and he's soaked within the remnants of sleep. The call of his name is the last thing from his mind as he scrapes his head against the earth rolling back and onto his feet. He's barely got enough time to step back before the jutsu coming for him has hit the earth with the same force that had awoken him. These movements he's done to remove himself from this danger has dislocated his thumb—it aches and it throbs but it is just one more thing pushed aside and ignored.

The sword that comes through the air slices the smallest of ebony strands as it soars through the air. Suigetsu never hesitates seeking to strike back unwilling to let his leader have this round. The smell of copper comes and then the dying of clothes soaked in blood. Another scream of his name and his ebony have vanished. Deep rich red are glowing as he's moving forward fingers grabbing the face of the next shinobi's audacious attack.

He is not kind.
He is ruthless.

Electric lights from his fingers and the deafening shout that fills the air is only silenced by the blood that chokes and spills from the Senju's mouth. Little care is shown to the body allowing it to drop as Jugo rushes forward decorated with manic wide eyes, and widening lips. They hold no fear even when woken with such tactics. Karin's not far behind calculating and calling out the number of those that surround them—this is why he put this team together.

His team has defeated and killed far more than this. Every one of them has their use and every one of them performed their roll with ease.

They did not question.
They simply reacted.

The thrust of his blade lodges itself underneath the final shinobi's jaw. A sharp tug is all he has to give to have it split through the child's face ending this small surprise attack upon them. There is no missing the fact that he has slain a child with equally as little care as the older male he had dropped to the ground right before.

He had no care for age—they were all the same.

Deep rich red turn and there is a shared look between them all. They need to moving forward—they were always moving forward. It does not matter how far the road goes. They will continue, and they will conquer. They will fight, and they will show no mercy for those in their way. Humor that falls from lips that hide the sharpest of teeth. His remark is not missed—Sasuke sees no reason to entertain him.

Their destroyed camp isn't a concern. No. It's being found sleeping at all that poses the concern. If there were enemies seeking to bury them within the earth while they slept then there was more to come.

His legs are rested but they still hold that ache. They're still pulsing, and their still twitching. Karin's voice is what breaks through muddled thoughts of what comes next. Brows pinch in hearing what she has to say, and how many lay just up ahead. His brothers-in-arms are up ahead, and yet the number of Senju far out numbers them. Lips press firm and the swallow that follows tightens his jaw. There's less urgency and more caution as they go forward.

They cannot change the tide of battle here, but that does not mean they would not survey the damage received. They were too late, and there is no missing the Uchiha who have surrendered. Their hands are held behind their heads showing they have accepted defeat, and it only serves to make his fists curl and shake. His throat tightens, and then there is the turn of red to flicker towards his own—they're not the eyes of an Uchiha.

This is a man who needs no introduction.
Who didn't know this man?

Tobirama Senju was well known for his belief that the Uchiha needed wiped from this earth.

The tilt of that mouth can be seen even from this distance as if challenging him to come forward and resume the barely held battle. The male with strands of white is proud in his stance as his arms cross upon his chest adorned in the colors of Senju.

The control needed to not take his bait is great, and the control needed to turn and return from the direction they've come is even greater. Accepting this loss is something he has not come to terms with—he's stubborn when it comes to accepting a loss. The chase would soon begin and their speed quickens. They cannot take on this army even with the four of them. They are powerful, and they together could bring down a camp—an army is an entirely different story.

Retreat is something that only seeks to make his body flush with indignation.

Tobirama would not send all of them after them—he would only send what he thought was necessary. The terror that comes with the idea of being struck down in such a shameful manner—in retreating—is what makes him ignore the branch that cuts across his cheek. He could not let his pride get in the way of logic. He could not let himself take the chance. He couldn't allow himself to become injured or dead from foolish pride.

She was waiting.
She was always waiting.

She is the flower that bloomed in this time of difficulty.
She is what lights the way home, and she is what will mend him from this shameful act.

The hiss that falls from his mouth brings their eyes to him. They know he'll produce an order. They don't need to ask. The humor once within the air is trapped within Suigetsu's throat. The manic decoration has washed itself from Jugo's features. Karin's calls have quelled within whispers of how many linger behind them.

The could stop their retreat, and take care of the five the seek to close in upon them. They could crush their skulls, and rip their hearts from their chest. They could stain the earth with their blood, and bathe within victory.

They won't—because others would be right behind them. There is more than five. It does not take a tracker to know they are being baited, and asked to stay and fight.

To do so meant death.
His people needed him alive.
She needed him to come home to her.

He would not abandon them in the name of pride, and he would not abandon her even as this pique settles itself deep within.

That welcomed dreamless sleep would disappear with this loss. They would drag him from what little peace he had found, and plunge him deep within his own fears. There is no denying what he cannot stop. The small reprieve is gone and the vivid red that reeked of copper would coat it all.

"Juugo—Send out to see where the closest ally is."

It's the agitation laced within his whisper that has Juugo hesitating, and then the stop of his feet upon the next branch. No, he would not fight but he would give them distance until they could meet with others. He's quick with his hand seals, and the intake of oxygen within his lungs puffs his chest.

He will set the forest ablaze.

He will burn it down to the ground if he has to. The fire that comes forward is strong and lights up the forest before them. He's not stopping at one though. He intends to release another. The harsher the flame the more devastating the burns. It's at the inhale of the second and the release that he flashes just beyond the hell he's release from his lungs.

The taunt across this Senju's lips, and the widening smirk is just another thing to snap at his resolve. It calls for him wish to lunge within the fiery embrace he's given the forest. He had long since removed the Senju from his mind, and now it's with that look that he's resurfaced.

This man has continued forward and continues to bring his personal feelings to the battlefield. It lingers within the proud look across his features, and the curl of his fingers upon his arms as they come to cross over his chest. Fingers curl into a fist and his ebony widen as urgency to remove such a proud look upon his features digs at what little remaining resolve he can maintain.

The lips of his enemy moves, and it only seeks to light the fire of battle more vividly than even that of his flames.

He would show this man—no, he would show this child—that you did not come to him with such a look. He would tear it from his features, and he would dig his fingers deep within that mouth and remove the tongue that dared to mock him.

Coward.
He had called him a coward.

The grit of his teeth comes and then the fingers of another wrap upon his shoulder. The whip of his head shows the startle that had shaken his heart at someone so close to him. He has lost sight of everything so easily before this Senju that sought to obtain her. The lavender that hold him are stern with no sense of humor present.

The tightening of Suigetsu's fingers come, "We've have to go."

He's breathing in deep—an attempt to settle the irritation resting upon his chest. The lavender keep his steady, and then the silent agreement mixed with reluctance follows. There is no need to tell him twice, and they are moving again no longer allowing the flames to glow upon their skin that burn the trees down with no remorse.

They're heading south east, and heading for safety. Shisui's father would assist, and provide them with enough men to hold their ground for any who would make their way through the flames. It's only a moment—seconds really—before he's giving commands.

"We'll use a kill and run tactic." his voice is gruff—just another sign of his reluctance and spite for their retreat, "Create distance, strike, and then keep moving—one at a time."

It's a basic tactic but one that works. Speed was not equal among men, and never would be. Someone's always faster—someone is always bound to separate themselves from the herd.

Strike them down, and then continue to make the herd separate in an effort to catch up. No sooner after the words have left him do lavender light with amusement as he shifts to turn back to who dared to catch up so quick. He's lifting the sword as long and large as himself sliding it over the young child's head who had pushed through the flames and allowed the fire to play across him. He's had to put little effort in securing it around his throat before the yank of his hand comes effectively bring wide eyes and silencing any possible sound that could come. There's no remorse, and there's no time taken to see where the severed head falls as he sets to resume his steps at their leader's side.

Rotation, and succession come with this tactic. Not once does the Senju who sought his spring wife make an appearance. There's the sinking of his heart within his stomach in realizing that they had already battled. He had allowed this man to quake his being, and fallen in a battle of mental wills.

Coward he had called them—no, he had come to taunt him, and him alone.

He had allowed himself to almost take the bait. He would have taken the bait. He would have pushed forward within animalistic rage. He would have put them in a dangerous state, and jeopardized all their efforts in the name of pride.

He had mocked, and he had held judgment against this man who sought his wife. He had saw him as a child for bringing his personal feelings onto the battlefield, and yet he had almost done the same. He had almost lunged forward, and he had almost cross the fire he had created to give them time. It's the grind of his teeth and the silence that comes as Karin tells them no others seek to follow. They did not seek to fall upon the forest floor lifeless and without a soul.

The bickering of this team that had become common place with this team never comes. They do not fall into place as the restrained vexation washes off him in waves. He's trapped within his mind, and trapped within his loss. They have suffered a loss greater than just those who gave up willingly to the Senju.

They have defected—they have abandoned their brothers, their sisters, their wives, and their children.

They have tossed away their family thinking this to be the answer. They are tired of war, and they are tired of fighting. They are tired of Madara's rule, and they seek out a peace brought by Senju hands.

They are willing to let the Senju dictate what comes next.

The power within his stride is set to relieve him from this submerge of bitter feelings. He needs to be clear of mind, and he needs to move forward passed these losses. His muscles resume their ache although dull, and almost numb. This would be just one of the many battles he's lost. It would add to the list.

The battle may have been lost—but this war was far from over.

Deep within the setting sun they have made their way in. They have come upon Kagami's camp. The distance had been further than expected, but they had made it. They are not expected, but they are welcomed. Ebony cannot stop themselves from running across those injured and wrapped within bandages. The exhaustion deep and set within their faces is unmissable. He is sure it's upon his own features as well. The throbbing of his thumb is felt but still the furthest thing from his mind as he looks upon this camp. Kagami's voice is what comes to break his eyes from these men who show relief with his presence.

"I thought it might be you making your way here." he's light in tone running his fingers within his dulling ebony.

It's a shared look of ebony to ebony, and then the firm press of lips. The steps that follow are to give them privacy. They cannot afford to plunge their morale deeper with news of defection. This is all too familiar within the recent months, and only now does it seek to be problem. The number of those defecting is high and the number just continues to increase.

Where was their pride?
Where was their hope for a better life with their loved ones?
With their friends?

Had war truly weakened their pride?
Had war truly become too much? Had these endless years of battle finally taken their toll?

"There's nothing we can do but look to the next battle." the breath deep with discontent follows his words, "I'll report the loss to Madara-sama."

His face decorates in mild discomfort at the older Uchiha's words as he comes to stand beside the table in the tent, "Where would you have us move to in the morning?"

The male fingers linger over the map before tapping it, "Head north. There's a medic camp—your wife is there. I suggest getting decent first aid. You're as good as ever at holding your own for long periods of time, but there's no missing the exhaustion."

"We're in too deep for rest. We need to keep pushing forward."

"I would never tell you how to run your missions, but I'm also not willing to sit by and watch you, of all people, possibly fall thanks to lack of care. Karin-san is decent, there's no doubt, but you need proper healing, and rest. I couldn't face your father if I turned a blind eye—No. I won't face your father like that."

Lids flutter closed and there's no strength left to fight the feeling of fatigue that's within every muscle, and every bone. This man would not take his stubbornness, and it's with the older Uchiha's voice that his lids are lifting to take him in once more, "How many have you taken down?"

"We have aided the capture of two territories, and destroyed three of their camps." his voice is even and yet he too can hear just how worn out his tone is.

"Madara-sama will be please." his features paint itself with the smallest of smiles before fingers come to rub the back of his neck.

"I'll have them get you situated. . .They're relieved that it was you who came upon us while we await our own medics. Going off everyone's reaction seeing you helped with their morale."

Silently he stands there taking in the older Uchiha's words. It's a subtle look his way—this man has been at war for longer than he's been alive. They're both experienced but he's definitely wiser. This man fought beside his father and this man has done everything he can for his clan. He's loyal, and he cares for his men. There's a bitterness lingering in those last few words.

That bitterness isn't directed to Sasuke. It's a bitterness he holds for himself—he wants to be the one providing hope when his men have almost run out.

Lungs fill with air before he gives a nod of his head signaling his departure from the tent. The sky once colored by the setting sun now holds the depths of night. Wood burns giving those in the camp heat and light as they go another day away from home.

His team has resumed their flow within the camp, but there's no missing the bruising, and the injuries they've sustained. These people sought to assist him, and sought to assist his clan. They did not agree with the Senju's beliefs.

The world had been cruel to each of them throughout their lives, and they had persevered and made their way to this moment in time. They each held their own reasons. They each held their own ambition. They each walked beside him willingly with no thought to step from his side.

Peace brought by love can come in many forms.

The wind that blows through is strong, and the petals carried with it seem so out of place. They are light in color but unmistakable. Ebony look out to find the source, and it's now he finds the tree that's petals have fallen. This tree is old and it's branches hang low. It's trunk is twisted and turned, and it's bloom had started to fall to the earth below well before now.

Subconsciously his jaw shifts and his mouth parts. This feeling isn't one he's sure of—he had felt it strongly as a child but it's been such a long time since then. Slow and fluid his hand raises up to capture these petals that fall far too quickly to the ground. His skin is stained with the blood of his enemies—like an old bitter wine—and the sharp pain that comes with the movement of his thumb finally gains his attention.

The swelling is large upon the pad of his hand, and the twist of skin is almost enough to make him question if he's actually broken it. The cool wind washes over him showing how heated his flesh had become.

One petal slides upon his hand sending an almost ticklish sensation through him. What should be such an easy action is strained as he tries to close his fingers upon this lone petal. The pain is sharp, and spikes up his arm as if a warning. Quelling the pain comes with a deep inhale as his heavy lids fall. Even breathing picks up the subtle floral scent in the air— it's easily overpowered by the copper that lingers upon them all.

This was longing.

It's stronger than before—it's as if he was that child waiting on his father's return.

He longed for his spring nymph of a wife who was tucked away within a medic camp north of them. Sasuke can only wonder if this is what she felt when she awaited his return, and if this is what moved her to support him.

Sakura had found her way back to even after all of his cruelty had broken her down. She had asked for all of him in return.

He would give her all of him—he doesn't know how or when, but he will.
One day.

She was an otherworldly being bewitching him with the tree he adored. There's comfort in the fact that she'll take care of him, and that she'll look upon him with those glowing viridian soon enough.

Thunder cracks within the air bringing his ebony to fall upon this tree so out of place among the green that had already come to life. Rain intends to fall from the sky and yet it does not move him from this spot. Fingers come around his hand and vibrant red are what hold his.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she's scolding and her brows are pinched with concern—they're not pale pink, and her voice is not as high.

Her actions make the petal fall from his palm as she seeks to relocate his thumb. It's a quick fluid motion, and another sharp pain that shoots throughout his arm and the twist of his skin is gone. The swelling remains.

The terror of his dreams will be there tonight, but the petals that seek to vanquish the coppery scent of blood upon them will linger, and provide comfort in the morning. They've suffered loss, but he will bring more success. They've been defeated, and he had been cowardly for not standing his ground in fear of death.

He will fight again tomorrow, and he will fight again within the days that come. He will bring pride back to those tired and exhausted in this camp—and to those back home.

He will give them hope. He will never stop moving forward.

The earth below is no longer damp and soaked from the thunderstorm that had struck the sky just days before. It's rain had finally ceased as if it no longer had tears to shed. Fingers seek to shield her eyes as she dares a glance at the sun that has risen to bring warmth to everything the spring showers have touched. It's rays are tender, and its heat is coaxing.

That fresh earth scent clings to all it touches. The wind that comes through is not harsh nor is it one laced in winter chill. It's soothing against the skin seeking to immerse her within the trees—it's a reminder that there were still surfaces untouched, and unplagued with war. Floral beds lay in wait for their turn to bloom, but have taken their places. Those that pull through have already come to life—they've come to remind them all of warmer days ahead.

Her tongue flicks across her top lip and then the sound of the grass crushed beneath her shoes enters her ears. She won't leave the camps side for long. She needs a moment of peace, and a moment not filled with the injured. She needs a moment to bask within the spring. Deeper down these wooded plains she heads always keeping track of where she has been and where she needs to go.

Rising above the foliage she can't help but count the petals. Eight to twelve petals a piece with no leaves in sight. White like the snow but so different from the snowdrops that hang low in the north.

It's poisonous—like the petulant flower that had held so much control over her heart when she had sought to let another be her husband's anchor to the world.

The woven basket touches the ground soon to be much heavier. The muddy cloak of cream brushes against her skin as she bends and seeks to get to work on uprooting this desired plant.

She could not trust another to grab her what she has sought. A skin irritant to the unknown, and the red that flowed through its stem, but another reason to give care. The sickness that flowed through her camp had begun. This was but another thing she sought to keep herself free from. Every part of her being is needed. She could not allow sickness to keep her from aiding them all.

Digging deep and giving care is easy. She's been trained for this.

Others had been trained for war.
She had been trained to keep them all going.
To keep them all fighting.

It's cruel irony when she allows her mind to wander.

She's diligent and completely focused. The brush of her wrist upon her forehead comes wiping the pale rose-colored strands from her sight as she continues to take what she thinks necessary. Every part of this plant is needed to ease the sick's throats, fever, and aches.

Her gloves have become stained, but that is the least of her worries. Devising how she'll use it is all she can think of until the shadow of another comes over her. Viridian widen and then the slow turn of her head comes to follow. Her voice is caught within her throat.

His figure is looming, and his presence is lethal.

He's not here to hurt her—but he's the last one she expected to check upon her.

"Sasuke-kun?" she's unsure if she's spoken loud enough, but the tilt of his head as he looks upon her makes it clear he's heard her. He's coming beside her and there's no missing his eyes set with exhaustion, and the blood that's clung to him. Viridian glow in seeing his thumb wrapped tightly and held in place. Every stain upon his skin is unmissed-it's dried and no longer that deep rich red. Sasuke's eyes have chosen to focus on what she's uprooting for the wooded soil.

How many weeks had it been since she had wished to see him?
Even covered in blood she'll take him like this.

All of this is enough as long as his chest continues to move, and that heart continues to beat to a rhythm only it knows as normal. Unthinking she's reaching out to take his hand and then it's just before she touches she freezes. She'll dye his skin with the red that thrives within the bloodroot—she'll irritate the skin with it's oil upon her gloves.

Her hand recedes and fingers work to tug the gloves from her hands, "Don't touch it. It's poisonous when handled incorrectly." she's explaining as he holds his eyes to her.

A hum low and showing understanding comes, and then they're looking and holding an eye contact that only they know. They're making no movement to touch or brush. They're simply taking in the others presence.

Enchantment seems to dance within her viridian before she's pushing up from her knees to stand. Fingers dance upon the baskets handle, but it's grip never comes as he takes it with ease using the hand that had been harmed nonetheless. Thoughts are wandering to treatment and ease of pain and stiffness. It's obvious there has been previous treatment, but she seeks to make sure there is nothing that remains.

This is why she had been given to him. This is what she is meant to do.
She would make sure she provided more than just that in her support.

Silence sits comfortably between them as she takes him within her designated medical tent. Slender fingers dip within the bowl of water meant for cleansing, and she's calling for another with a whisper. Her fingers are delicate with each turn of the bandage that hugs his skin, and then there's the swelling that greets her. His features never change even with the tightening of his jaw as she seeks to see it's ability to move.

His pale skin has turned bluish. Viridian are calculating the possible time in which previous treatment has occurred and almost as if dazed her voice whisper a single question, "How many days?"

His only response is but a deep inhale, and a tilt of his head as he looks from her.

He looks as if he's filled with shame.
He looks as if he has done something worthy of guilt.
He looks as if he has done her wrong.

A swallow follows and that's all she needs to know there's lingering discomfort. It's an easily treated injury. There's no need for concern. The rest of him is an entirely different matter. It's hard to disconcert what is his own blood and what is not. There's no missing how warm his skin feels against her fingertips, and the cloth she uses to clean him. Sweat, dirt, and so much blood stains that pale skin of his.

Her hums have made their way into the tent. Bruising is found beneath his clothes. They're light and just another thing she can mark down as nothing to be concerned with. Something holds his attention, and she knows it's not her—she can only assume it's what his next move will be.

Her fingers are out before him coaxing and seeking for him to take them. The question she had held still hung in the air. She hadn't been only asking about the injuries.

How many days had he gone without sleep?
How many days had he gone with his mind clouded by what was to come next?
How many days had he become restless, and uncertain?
How many days had it been since they stood next to each other?

It's night within the camp and it's unlike any time before as he lays beside her inside of the tent as if they are inside the walls of their home. This is something she had never been given before. They had never truly crossed paths outside their home in the midst of the war torn lands. They had never lingered, and they had never stood beside each other inside a camp.

His blade swung through the air piercing the flesh far from where they held her.
Her fingers glowed to signal the way to health, and home in protected camps.

The sleep he falls into is dark and dragging him beneath the earth. It's etched across his face, and the dip of his brows. He's twisting those fingers tight within the sheet that covers them, and those ebony strands stick to his forehead as the sweat rolls down his skin. Whatever had gripped him within their days apart he would not utter. He would not make a sound to alert her of his troubles. Those bags that had settle beneath his eyes had set thanks to those unspoken worries. He had been plagued with something before he had left, and it had taken root deep within him. She did not need him to tell her such. Fingers find their way deep within his hair to sooth and persuade those features to ease out of their tormented state. She had not lost as much sleep as he had. She would stay up with him as he fought through his night terrors.

The muffled cry outside her tent has her raising her viridian, and she's gone only moments before it wakes her husband from his already overdue rest—terrors or not he needed whatever rest who could gain. Fingers grasp the fevered child's hand, and she's coaxing him away to provide care, and comfort—this child's fever is high, and the vomit that covers him reeks.

A hand held up high, and the shake of her head is given to those apologizing for the disturbance they think this child has caused her. This child had fought just as her husband had. He had sought comfort in her the moment he had arrived, and comfort is what she would give him as she sought to ease that hoarse throat, and burning fever.

Time ticks by so slow, and yet so fast as she goes through the motions. She's calculating and easing the muffled cries he gives. She wonders if this is what her husband had looked like sick, and fevered as a child. This child's hair sticks upon his face just as her husband's had deep within his tormented sleep—beyond her comfort.

Viridian cannot remove themselves from this child as she holds his hand, and it's only the press upon her shoulder that finally breaks the spell.

Shisui.
He had come looking for her.

He's taking her place, and suggesting rest but a shake of her head makes it clear she has no time to bask within that comfort. Pushing the flap of the tent open brings light to her eyes making her wince. The night had come and gone, and yet she knows this is a sign of something far worse. The sun may feel warm, and its rays may be what coaxes her heart forward, but the coughs and scratchy throats around her make it clear there is worse to come.

The cool morning is upon them as the newly risen sun hangs upon the sky. It's more than enough to get her heading out for more herbs.

If this continued—it would take them all.
She could not let that happen.

The rules of her master are clear. She would be the last to fall. She would not let sickness enter her and take her from the care of those who needed her before being shoved out to perform miracles upon the battlefield.

Footsteps heavy, and a mind muddled with concern has her walking farther and longer than she should have allowed herself. There's an overwhelming sensation that overtakes her as she comes before the floral bed far from the camp. The basket within her hands hits the ground, and all at once she feels the weight she's pushed upon her shoulders lift.

She is not gifted in the language of flowers like that of her blonde best friend who she knows stands upon the battlefield. She is not knowledgeable in the way that, that woman is, and yet there is no denying the comfort she feels as she looks upon this field that bloomed. There's no denying the comfort that comes from having her husband so close. There's no denying the way her heart shakes as he sits there among the lavenders that dare to cast a glow of blue upon his clothes. There's no denying the way he looks surrounded by the dwarf crested iris that have flourished and show victory in the early spring.

Those endless ebony seize control of her. This great divide that stands before them is growing smaller with each passing day even if he does not stand next to her. It grows shorter in distance and it shrinks beneath every step she takes to bring herself to him. The bags under his eyes still linger and those firm pressed lips make it clear he still will not tell her what lingers in his thoughts. She takes her place beside him pulling her knees to her chest as she bathes within the sun settled next to him.

"You weren't there." his voice is soft with lingering exhaustion.

"There's a few cases of influenza in the camp. A child had gotten worse within the night." she's breathing out as she tightens her arms around her knees, "They may hold weapons, and run head first into battle, but they are still children. They long for someone to take care of them."

Silence settles between them. None of what she has said is wrong, none of what she said is something he doesn't know, and none of what she spoke of was something he didn't understand. Her legs shift to lay upon the flowers beneath them. The horizon framed with trees holds her attention and it makes her lost in her thoughts once more.

"My mother would sleep at my bedside when I was sick." his voice is thick between them sprouting desire to see what kind of face he makes when speaking of his mother.

Sasuke had never stopped looking her way—her words had retrieved his stolen attention.

He had been looking to find an answer, and to find a response. He was looking to respond to her unlike the times before now when he'd leave her guessing. He was responding as if he knew she had wondered about the woman who she was sure still protected him in death.

"She sounds just as a mother should." her lips are curving within a smile enchanted by such a response from him.

His movements are sluggish by their lack of peace, and it's only moments later does he lean his head upon her own, "She stood proudly beside my father. She was kind, and she would lay my worries to rest—she would. . ."

His words die upon his tongue as if he's not sure how to describe this woman spoken of with a warmth he had buried behind walls for far too long. She wont press him to say more. He's said what he can, and he's making those small attempts that she knows hold hesitance. It's clear the love he has for his mother, and it's almost as if speaking so warmly has brought him peace for this small moment. His breathing is deepening and only moments later does it become clear that he has let himself fall within sleep. There's a fear at moving him as he wakes so easily. Her movements are slow and carry forth all the hesitance she can muster after a sleepless night.

Peaceful.
He looks peaceful as his chest moves slowly with each breath and a face no longer twisted in torment.

There's guilt in having a moment like this with her husband. She wants more of these moments when he leans upon her to provide comfort where he cannot find it on the battlefield. Many could not dance in a moment of bliss like this. Many could not sit within the flowers that had blossomed upon the earth. Many could not entertain peace as she is being given here and now.

Her husband was truly kind.

Fingers wrap upon the stem of one of the many dwarf crested irises in bloom beside her. They pull with the slightest tug breaking the stem, and it's with a kiss upon the white and orange mixed within the lavender that she presses it upon his lips. The nuzzle of her cheek against those ebony strands is all she could permit herself so far from home.

She would not allow herself the satisfaction of receiving more than this. While so many were hurt, and surrounded by pain she could not allow herself to fall deeper into bliss. She could not allow herself to feel such overwhelming comfort in this time of war. He had sought comfort, and she had been happy to give it to him. He had given her a chance to witness the warmth he held for his mother, and she could not be more thankful.

When they walk away from this field it will put them back within their roles. They will not have time for comfort. They will not have time to bask within the safety of each other. They will only give way to lingering looks, and brushes of fingers.

Three more days come and go from them after this moment. She is wrapped within her duties as a medic just as she knew she would be. He walks among those that have fought, and he is the leader she knows he has always been. There's a care in every movement he makes. There's a care for these children of war that she knows he has held long before she had ever been given the pleasure to witness it.

She will see him off, and then more days will stretch before them. They will be separated as they have grown accustomed too, and they will be without the comfort that, that floral field has allowed. He will be drenched within his own determination, and she will be drowned by her duties as a medic.

There is a horizon at the end of these travels. It's there and it's in the distance.

It's only but a simple question of when.
How many days?

There's nothing cheap about the smile that's decorated her lips as she sees him off again with his small team. The days have become lost and so has their anniversary.

She will return before him, and he will return behind her seeking peace from the field of battle.

Her fingers reach upon her neck and the clip is easily undone. The necklace hidden under her cheongsam slides from her neck and it's here that she holds it out between them.

Her steps are soft as she comes closer to him, and her fingers boldly grab upon the hilt of his sword. He's watching everything, and then a brush of his fingers come over her own as she wraps the chain securely on the hilt..

Viridian glow watching his finger upon the pendant and it's as their breath mixes between them that she speaks low and just for him, "Happy anniversary."

The way in which he holds the pendent within his hand shows more of that hesitance she expects. Viridian are prepared when his ebony make their way from the petals, and it's with a smile that shines that she speaks once again, "It was my fathers. I hope it will provide you with comfort, and will protect you in the way that my father protected me—with love."

The way his eyes widen and the way they shake with her feelings is something she knows she won't be able to witness often. She takes it all in. This look upon his face is one she adds to the list of things she hopes to remember for as long as she walks this earth. It is much like the enchantment she felt when he kneeled beside her just days before this.

It's magical. It's witchcraft. It's a level of sorcery she is sure only he possesses.
It is just one more thing she loves about him.
—because only he holds such a gift.

As if he has not bewitched her with such a look he steps forward and his forehead comes to touch upon her own. It's a fluid motion without hesitance. His fingers brush across her jaw finding their way into her pale rose. There is a warmth where his fingers are. There is a warmth of a different kind in these actions. She almost dares to thinks that his lips will press upon her own, but all that comes with their lips so close is a whisper of gratitude—just as if he had been awake to witness why she would not dare press her own lips upon his in the field of dwarf crest irises.

Thank you—Sakura.

Author Note:

I'm laaaate cause I'm a lazy asshole (this was supposed to be up last night but all my edits to the chapter didn't save properly so I had to redo them all. BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER-Jesus Christ this chapter is literally worlds apart from it's original. When I originally wrote this chapter Sasuke and Sakura never see each other. Sasuke arrives too late and Sakura and the medics of the camp were taken by the Senju. This was originally the chapter I dropped the Senju's name that took two people (theclosetpoet7 and myself) to come up with since I was determined to follow Kishi's "two things" method when it came to the Senju. That all of that was removed and I decided I had gone too far into ramping up the war content. I decided easing in would probably be best since a major battle would be following. The Influenza in the camp was also a major thing originally and now just holds a back seat. I originally made Sakura sick with influenza. This was also the chapter where her hair would have been cut and that got scrapped as well. A buddy on tumblr made a valid point that far too often authors immediately run for that iconic moment and utilize it in their fics. I agree and so long haired spring waifu is here to stay cause I'm a sucker for long haired Sakura.

I still have the original version of this chapter in a doc titled 'questionable content' and so I'll probably drop that at some point since the game of thrones absolute brutality was real and I still don't mind showing it even if it didn't make it into the story itself. I'm not sure what I'll be titling the questionable content features here on but once I get that figured out I'll be posting it.

I think it would be pretty cool to see your responses to the stuff that was originally going to happen verses what actually happened. That's me personally though.

Guest Reviews:

Guest, who loves the way I write - Thank you, my dude! That's super sweet of you to say.
Guest, who wishes I'd update sooner - I dropped the ball completely this round due to a case of laziness. I honestly just wanted to rest and became unmotivated to open my libre office. Clerith week just happened about to weeks ago tho and so I got a bit of my motivation back. You're not wrong I'm real clingy when it comes to using certain phrases and for some reason feel like real awkward when I drop their names? I can't really explain it very well. I need to like branch out of that habit or compulsive need to stay in my safe space but only time I think is gonna help me with that.
Guest2Lazy2Login - I swear I will deliver you the goods my dude. It will happen. I did not rewrite that shit three times to not bring the good stuff. The usual update timeline for me is two weeks but I was an absolutely dick and just didn't feel like editing the chapter till now. You can actually keep up on what I'm doing and working on via tumblr at ombreecha. That way if I'm taking an excessive amount of time because I suck you can send me a message reminding me I agreed to two weeks and need to stop being lazy as hell. Thanks for asking!
777 - Guuuurl you follow my trash ass on tumblr? Legit shit there my dude #fistbump I'm glad domestic married SS was handled well and approved! I agree with you absolutely on side characters. Side characters for whatever reason seem to somehow become a life of their own and it makes me just be like "wuuuut? Senpai no don't do that my dude. It aint that deep." Ahhhh gorgeous thank you so much for the love and I hope you've been having a bomb month since we last spoke. Keep being gorgeous!
Bleach power - if I can keep you digging it dude that's the best reward. Maddy going blind was a given in and is a necessary evil for me. The looking at with Sharingan eyes is such an small but significant moment for them in my opinion because that will be a thing of importance later.
Guest(s), who loved it, loved the meeting, and those who can't wait for chapter 17 - It's there in the horizon. You will get the goods it'll just be a matter of time~ haha but na thank ya'll legit.
Guest, who said chapter 17 better be worth the wait - BRO. BRO. BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. IT BETTER FUCKIN BE YOU AINT WRONG CAUSE I WROTE THAT SHIT THREE FUCKIN TIMES SO HELP ME GOD. Thank you for digging the world I've created with this story. It means a lot and makes the research absolutely worth it.
Soriya - I'm super determined to finish this. I legit think about this shit on the way to work a lot of times, and on my way home. While I'm at work. While I watch tv. I'm always plotting and planning for this piece tbh. I'll legit sit down on lunches to jot things down so I don't lose them. I'm so glad I could immerse you into this work I've created, and glad I could provide the content. dsajkdjsalkjdasl ahhh thank you for defending me dude although this round is 100% on me for being lazy and I own that completely.
Guest, who loved my story - Thank you!
Guest, who brought up my repetition - It is no secret to myself that repetition is a very clear issue for me. I am in no way in denial about the problems I face as a writer, but appreciate you bring it up regardless. While I appreciate your criticism I suggest instead of being offended by it and then dropping shade as if you can do better please be more critical and constructive. You complained about it but didn't provide specific examples. Can I go back through and find said issues? Absolutely, but I'm not sure by which and what point it struck a nerve for you and therefore can't look specifically at the area you're having a problem with. As for the shade portion of your review-sweetheart make my goddamn day. Please if you can do better go forth and do so. I aint stopping you. Show me whatcha got bro. Please put up or shut down that shade though.

Hopefully your next attempt at criticism can be more constructive but regardless thank you for point out my security blanket. I'm not ready to let go of that as a writer but there's always time down the road as I continue to progress.
fanofyourfanfic - This round it kinda was OTL I was bad and got lazy and wouldn't edit the chapter even though I had time too. I ended up watching a lot of murderous affairs, and catching up on the latest animeeees #shot but na dude thank you so much for enjoying my work. I appreciate the love you have for the content I've created it's super sweet.
Guest, who said this was the best SS fic on FF - I appreciate you feeling that way dude jadksjadkla
Guest, who said they were cute together - jdsajdksajdsalk omg yes i want this fluffy cuteness in this angst hell thank you for thinking I did cute things with them ajdslkajdlsak
Guest, who said it was the best SS story they've read - djsakdjsakldja thank you omg you precious cinnamon roll

Thank you all for dealing with this writer shitlord. I appreciate yoru support, reading, and reviewing!