Forest Fire – Epilogue
(The end of August)
Mikoto and Fugaku stepped away to let Sakura have a moment of privacy with Sasuke. Around them travellers rushed to the security checkpoints and boarding gates, and Sasuke's carry-on sat at his feet.
"Sorry your vacation was cut short with your family," he said, holding her hands.
"Sasuke," Sakura breathed, sounding mildly exasperated. "You idiot." She smiled at him in a way that always reminded him he was the only man she truly saw when she entered a room. "You saved our lives. I think we moved on to forgiveness pretty quickly."
No, Itachi saved you—if Madara had even intended to kill you in the first place. But Sasuke didn't want to bring up Itachi's concerns in public.
"E-mail me when you get there, okay? I know most of your place is already set up, but it'll make me feel better."
"Hn."
The security check-point attendant motioned to Sasuke, and he nodded in reply.
But there was one more thing he had to do. The question they had been skirting for weeks, months now.
"Sakura?"
"Yes?"
"I love you. I always have. I always will."
"Oh Sasuke," she said, rubbing at her eye, leaning in to kiss him. "You know I love you, too."
'Too'… but does that also mean 'also'? He wondered, quiet a moment, before steeling himself and making his decision.
"You love him, too, don't you?"
Her brow furrowing, Sakura reached for him. "Who? No, Sasuke, whoever it is, it's no. I love you."
His heart in his stomach, Sasuke stepped away from Sakura, towards the security check.
"Anyone but him, Sakura," he said softly, struggling not to let his anger, anxiety, and sense of inferiority corrupt him, overwhelm him.
"Sasuke, I don't—"
"I love you, Sakura, but I won't share you. When you decide, I'll be here. But until then, I think it's best that we… consider other people."
Sakura paled, her hands shaking. "No, Sasuke, I—"
He turned away. "Goodbye, Sakura."
"Sasuke?" Sakura reached for him, and he heard anger in her voice.
"Did I make it in time?" The deep, familiar voice sounded out of breath behind Sakura as it addressed Mikoto and Fugaku Uchiha.
"If you hurry, you can catch sight of him at the gate," urged Mikoto.
"Sasuke!" he called, his strange tri-hop step rushing forward, stopping near Sakura.
Clearing the security check, Sasuke turned at the sound of his brother's voice.
For a second, Sasuke looked at his brother—then his eyes shifted to Sakura, whose mouth was open and whose shoulders were slumped, until she looked over at Itachi, too, then back at Sasuke. As recognition set in, he saw her head snap between the two of them again, faster, and she started shaking her head at Sasuke. She reached for him, trying to touch him one last time.
"Sasuke! Do your best, little brother." Itachi lifted his hand, the one not leaning on his cane, to wave to his brother.
But Sasuke only had eyes for Sakura, and her emerald eyes were flaring with hurt and anger at his implications.
She withdrew her hand, now tightened into a fist.
"Sasuke, you jerk," Sakura said, her voice barely above a whisper. Sasuke wasn't sure he'd heard her words so much as he'd read them on her quivering lips. A tear of frustration ran down her cheek. Startled and standing beside her, Itachi had heard her and turned to her. And then Sasuke saw his brother reach for her, tentatively offering her a handkerchief, and he felt himself flush hot and cold inside. Itachi's gesture was almost tender.
"Sakura," murmured Itachi, but his voice carried just far enough to reach Sasuke's ears. "Please forgive him, he's upset he's losing you. You're always welcome in our family, please don't feel you need to stop visiting."
Something vital in Sasuke, something he'd treasured all his life, snapped.
"You're not my brother," spat Sasuke, turning away from them all. His stomach clenched hard enough that he thought he'd been punched but he forced his back straight and tall as he strode off in the direction of his departure gate. So determined to ignore them was he that he missed the shock and pain that flashed through Itachi and rooted him to the spot, Sakura gaping.
Through all the noises and announcements and yelling in the terminal, though, Sasuke couldn't miss Sakura's and Itachi's muffled consolations. His heart cracked straight down the middle and all the way to its depths, and he sped up.
When Sasuke reached his gate he found the most secluded seat still available and folded his arms across his knees. Ignoring the other passengers, he stared at his phone's screen, his oft-hated sat-phone, desperate to reach out to Sakura one last time, as she had for him even in her anger. He did not. He had to cut her out of his life, he knew that, at least until he was completely sure about where her heart lay. And yet every fibre in his being demanded he go set things right. Or contact her. Connect with her.
Mate with her and make her yours, a sick part of him, deep inside, rumbled. Make her Uchiha. Continue the Clan.
He ignored it. He refused to acknowledge it, or talk about that part of him. It reminded him of Madara.
He was not Madara.
He would never be like Madara.
So he ignored the whispers that had tormented him since his first and only coupling with Sakura.
He endured the flight under his own sense of auto-pilot, staring out the window. The flight staff gently left him to his own devices, apart from his curt stares and terse answers when asked if he would like any refreshment.
Upon arrival at the terminal in Oto, Sasuke felt hollow and robotic, and he wanted nothing more than to find his new apartment and close his eyes.
"Uchiha Sasssuke?"
The fates had other plans for him. Sasuke glanced around at the pale man who'd lisped his name. He was likely in his fifties or sixties, Sasuke estimated, though he appeared younger, and he held out a long-fingered, manicured hand for Sasuke to shake.
"Welcome to Oto. I trussst your flight was comfortable?"
"Mr Orochimaru," said Sasuke, automatically offering his hand. He shook off his stupor. "Yes. It's an honour, sir." He certainly hadn't been expecting the president to meet him. Just behind his new superior he noted a group of dark-suited professionals, all turned towards them.
"The pleasure'sss all mine, pleassse," murmured Orochimaru, his reptilian eyes never leaving Sasuke.
(Second week of September, Konoha U)
More students filed in to the Friday afternoon class, Communications for Professionals 101, filling in the seats around Sakura, some smiling at her, others eyeing her up. She smiled at the kind ones and ignored the others, unsure why they kept looking at her. The news story was over a month old now; didn't they have anything else to gossip about?
Resting on her notepad, her phone beeped subtly, the screen aglow.
Heading out to Shinobi tonight with some new friends, you in?
Sakura sighed at Ino's text, and glanced at her calendar. She had ample room and didn't work until the following afternoon.
Busy. Next time? She replied.
Sakura immediately turned the sound off on her phone; it buzzed stubbornly at her a split-second later, as she'd expected. Ino again.
"Class starts in a few seconds, what is it?" answered Sakura softly, spotting the time on the clock at the back of the classroom. It was her third class with this professor, and she wanted to remain on the professor's good side. Catching flack for chatting during class time would annihilate that effort beautifully.
"Just a few minutes? It's not to hook up, I swear," insisted Ino. "I know you're not over him, you don't have to be. I just want you to come out and relax for a bit and be social. Shinobi's just off campus, and really laid back. It's more pub than club."
"Ino, not now, okay?" Sakura spotted the door to the professor's entrance opening. "I'll text you after class, okay? Mine's starting." She looked down into her bag and grabbed her pen, shifting the bag so it settled beneath her seat, out of the way.
Ino was earnest when she called, "Love you, Sak!"
Sakura's tense shoulders slumped. Not 'Screw you, Forehead' or 'Suck it, Bitch'. Love you, Sak.
Ino was so worried about her. Sakura sighed, feeling guilty she was worrying her best friend so much.
"Love you, too. 'Later."
The classroom quieted as the professor moved to the podium and turned down the lights, lowering the projection screen behind her with a small remote.
"How are you all today? Did you survive your first Thursday night post-Frosh Week?" asked the professor, her gentle smile teasing. "Let's turn these lights down for those of you who might still need it."
There was good-natured laughter from the students, some even calling out a heartfelt "Thank you!", as many agreed, but Sakura rolled her eyes. They were there, paying for the privilege, to study and learn. She was a bit disgusted by some of her peers. Internally, she also snorted; not a single one of them could even hold their drink yet. Not the way she could.
Which reminded her, that upper-classman football player, the fourth-year, owed her a good $50.00 after she drank him under the table last week.
The professor at the dais darkened the rest of the lights and finished signing into her laptop, which was plugged into a digital projector.
"Now some of you are seated at the back, and this is important, which is why we're using the projector today. I want to introduce you to one of my teaching assistants. He is actually on loan to me from another department, but remains one of the top students it has ever been my pleasure to teach. He will be available for questions, office hours, and occasionally he will assist me with marking—and will always report directly to me. If I'm not available, you are welcome to contact him. Here is his contact information," she said, bringing it up on the screen, and Sakura's pen chose that moment to roll off her desk and onto the floor.
Swallowing a huff, Sakura looked at the floor and reached down, just as the professor introduced her assistant. The tips of her fingers touched the pen—then it rolled further out of sight. Sakura groaned under her breath and bent sideways until she was half-out of her seat, scrambling for her pen. With next to no light, she was left blind, tapping her hand on the dirty lecture hall floor.
Hand sanitizer, prepare to be abused, she thought to herself with a cringe as she found another wad of gum. Ugh.
At the front of the classroom, the professor continued. "On this next screen, you'll see his qualifications." Sakura heard the collective intake of breath, and some gasps and murmured awe, and her hand fumbled on her pen, her anxiety mounting. Damnit, she was getting behind.
Finally, her fingers grasped the barrel and she sat up quickly, eyes darting to the screen just as the professor continued.
"I'd like you to introduce you all to the TA for this term, PhD candidate Uchiha Itachi."
Sakura snapped around so quickly her hair whipped her face.
There, a few rows ahead of her, stood Itachi. He must have entered while she was ducked down. Even from this distance she could see he still leaned a bit to one side, favouring the injury he'd suffered that night in the woods. His compensation wouldn't be obvious to someone who didn't know him, however; someone like her who'd recognize that he always stood straight and tall, not listing to the side. Amidst her peers' approving comments, Sakura looked him over unconsciously searching for any other signs of physical distress. If there were others, he hid them well.
From around her, Sakura heard a few of the girls boldly cat-call him—which he ignored—before a few hands shot up in the air.
"Do you provide tutoring?"
Itachi glanced at the professor, who was trying to hide her smirk, without success.
"Yes," he replied in his low voice. The classroom as a whole sighed at his first words. "During my office hours." He glanced at the professor again, who made a 'keep going' gesture. "With the door open."
Another hand waved in the air. "Do you need our names, telephone numbers, e-mail addresses, and schedules to arrange tutoring?"
Sakura was sure she heard the professor snort behind her hand, but that couldn't be right. That would be unprofessional.
"No. My office hours and contact information were listed on the previous screen. You can reach me for assistance at those times."
The professor took pity on her students—or perhaps she wanted to tease Itachi—because she raised her voice again and asked, "Do you need to see the first screen again, to ensure you copied this information down correctly?"
"Oh yeah!" chanted the female majority in the class.
Oh for gods' sakes, scoffed Sakura, rolling her eyes. But she was secretly grateful that she could write down the information she'd missed from the first slide.
"Itachi will occasionally teach this class, in part or in whole, over the course of this semester if I am unavailable. I expect you to treat him as respectfully as you would me," the professor continued, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Yes ma'am!"
Sakura was reminded of her first kindergarten class when she was five years old, when her primary teacher had promised them treats if they were good.
"Thank you for joining us, Itachi. You're welcome to remain for the rest of the class, or return to your own work."
"I am happy to stay," he said, and found a seat at the front, ensuring the rest of the class's attention would be riveted in his direction for the remaining fifty minutes. He gave a small wave to the class—which gave a collective sigh in response—before nodding to them all. Then he let his eyes roam the seats, until they came to rest on Sakura.
"I look forward to meeting you," he said, his soft voice carrying to her ears.
(Several months earlier, in June)
She smelled more strongly of the young perfume, that day. A fresh, lightly floral fragrance.
It didn't suit her. It would suit a woman half her age.
Ideas had been forming in Madara's head, and he watched her, as he always did.
"And it was a lovely graduation ceremony. The kids are just about ready to start their own lives now. We weren't able to get any pictures for you, but it was very nice weather. We got lucky."
"Tobi is sorry he missed it. Tobi would have liked to have seen the pretty flowers. Is that why you smell like pretty flowers?"
There, out of the corner of his eye; he saw Fugaku lightly touch Mikoto's arm. A warning, be cautious.
"Oh, it must be the gardens. We had a walk in the gardens before we arrived," Mikoto said, smiling.
A lie.
"Would you like us to bring you a picture book about gardens, next time?"
"No thank you. Tobi prefers walking outside in gardens, digging up worms!"
Mikoto's expression softened. "Are there any gardens you really like?"
"Mmhmm! Tobi loves cemetery gardens. They're very quiet. That's where all Tobi's enemies sleep dead under the grass, and Tobi can jump over their graves!"
Mikoto blinked.
"Tobi will live forever," Madara whispered conspiratorially.
"Well, it will be time for your supper soon, so it is best if we get on our way. We'll come visit again tomorrow," said Fugaku, rising and signalling to Kabuto they were ready go to. He gently took Mikoto's trembling elbow. "Come along, darling."
"Oh, Tobi is so sad you have to go," he whined, twining his fingers together pitifully. "Could Tobi have a hug?"
"Absolutely not."
"Fugaku," admonished Mikoto softly. "Madara—Tobi—we talked about this. We're not supposed to touch each other, remember?"
"But no one hugs Tobi," he said quietly, his head tilted down. Through his wild, overgrown bangs he watched them, waiting.
Mikoto and Fugaku looked at each other, a silent conversation ensuing.
"I'm sorry, but we're really not allowed to, Madara. Tobi," said Mikoto, folding her hands together as she stood.
Madara stood, too, and Fugaku immediately stepped between him and his wife. "Stay there."
"Tobi only wanted a hug, and to smell the flowers again. Tobi doesn't get to see or smell flowers, here in his special room."
He dug his slippered toe into the linoleum floor.
"If you promise to stay where you are," began Mikoto.
"No!" said Fugaku.
"—then I will come close enough to you to smell the flowers. But no touching, okay?"
"Mikoto—"
"Tobi promises!"
"No moving now, okay? I'm going to take three steps closer. You'll be able to smell the flowers more clearly."
"Yay!"
Fugaku kept himself between the two of them, and Mikoto moved no more than the three feet she agreed to.
Madara took a long, deep inhale, and smiled at Mikoto.
"So pretty!"
Mikoto returned his smile. "It is a nice scent, isn't it?"
"I wish my room always smelled like these nice flowers," said Madara, in his childish, high voice.
"Mikoto," warned Fugaku, putting an arm out to keep Mikoto back.
"We'll see if we can have some nice smells on us next time," promised Mikoto, straightening again and backing away towards the door, where Kabuto now waited for them.
"Or, you could just not leave, Matriarch of the Uchiha," said Madara, his voice low and dangerous.
His eyes snapped up and he caught Mikoto's gaze.
She gasped and turned to run, but Madara had already leapt on her, his hands grabbing for her throat.
"Kabuto!" hollered Fugaku, slamming his fist into the emergency help button on the wall. He then grabbed Madara, and with complete disregard for hospital protocol, proceeded to break the man's arms, wrists, and hands, one after another, in an attempt to weaken Madara's grip on his wife.
"If you don't let go of her, I will kill you with my bare hands, Madara," breathed Fugaku into Madara's ear, finally yanking the other man up by his long, wild hair.
"I am the Progenitor! All Uchiha heirs spring from my line! You are Blood Traitors! Fake Uchihas! You merely hold my place until I am free, free to continue the True Uchiha line! I will continue our clan legacy, you'll see!" He cackled madly, screaming and laughing and shaking, his head thrown back and madness clear in his bloodshot eyes.
"I will find her, I will find her, I will find her and make her mine!" Madara shouted as Kabuto dragged him away from a vengeful Fugaku and an unmoving Mikoto.
Kabuto indicated the door with his head, and motioned them out. "Security's coming to assist; get her out of here while I sedate him."
"Thank you, Kabuto."
"I know! I know! I'm going to make her birth the next Uchiha heir! Then, then I will control the world!" Madara continued, thrashing in Kabuto's arms.
Rosie hurried the medical personnel through to help Mikoto and Fugaku, seeing to them as a secondary unit of medical help arrived to help see to Madara.
Inside his cell, Madara wailed and screamed and cursed, fighting against them all.
But he had it.
He'd seen it, clinging unnoticed to Mikoto's sweater. No one had noticed him take it from her, either.
The long, straight single pink hair.
Obviously, Mikoto's midlife crisis had driven her to take a younger, female lover. He smelled it, later that night. Yes, definitely younger. The shampoo and fine condition of the hair were of a young woman, possibly her late teens or early twenties, no children. It was still too fresh and flexible.
No! He corrected himself, shaking his head.
Not Mikoto.
One of the boys.
His grin spread. Finally!
The door to his room slid open and Kabuto entered.
"They're gone."
"Took them long enough," said Madara, still entranced by the pink hair. "Anything interesting?"
"Pictures on Mikoto's cellphone show her hugging Sasuke on one side, and then a pink-haired girl, then Itachi on the other."
"Any pictures of the girl with only one of the boys?"
"Pictures of her with each of them."
"Hn." So she could be girlfriend to either. Ah well. Either way, they would have impeccable taste in women; Uchiha tended to. They had saved him a great deal of time, finding him a mate.
"Pictures, Kabuto?"
"Here, sir." Kabuto handed over his own cell phone, which he'd transferred the pictures to while the Uchihas were visiting Madara.
Perusing the photos, Madara smelled the strand of unbroken hair again, turning it over in his bound fingers, wrapping it around the stiff digits.
So.
Was this Itachi's girlfriend, or Sasuke's?
He looked at his fingers and the casts on his arms.
And smiled again.
He would find out, soon, as soon as he was healed.
"Do you have any vacation plans this summer, Kabuto?"
Kabuto smiled. "I'm at your service, sir."
Madara grinned madly, twisting the hair around and around his fingers. He couldn't wait to touch her.
"What is her name, Kabuto?"
"Sakura. Haruno Sakura. Top of her class, tied with Sasuke. Intends to study medicine."
"She's intelligent? Attractive?"
"Both, very much so, sir."
"Ahhhhh, young love. I can't wait to capture it again," sighed Madara. Six to eight weeks, they'd said, until the casts were removed.
"Until then, darling," he sang to the screen, tracing the young woman's smile.
The End.
AN: Yes, everyone was OOC by the end—erm, artistic license? And where did this plot come from? (I don't know, it kind of took me by storm, too.)
I hope you've enjoyed this little bit of AU fun. Comments, conjecture and criticism are welcome. This got a bit darker than I intended. I may need to post the sequel (if/when it happens) to a different site, as it is more mature-themed.
Thank you to everyone who read and especially those who commented – I love reading your messages! All the best to you, and happy NaNoWriMo!
-mm