Disclaimer: Needless to say, I am just borrowing Masashi Kishimoto's world and the characters therein. It has no monetary value whatsoever. I swear.
Warning: There's a part that's technically a lemon but it's all very, er, figurative.
Thirty-One (and other milestones)
For the Church of Lemon Drive 2009 - February 19
It was, pardon the cliched observation, a beautiful March night. The signs of spring have been encroaching his wintery estate for weeks now; today they finally bloomed. He could see the outline of the dainty flowers that cause the air in his room to be so balmy, faint pink in daylight, but a blazing white against the silvery mix of moonlight and darkness. The bough upon which one lone bud rested swayed sinuously with the wind, a fluid repetitive movement that should be nowhere near as tantalizing as he felt it was. Tap, tap, tap, it went against the glass, doing no good to his sanity or his plan of getting a full eight-hour sleep for once. Absently, he wondered if he managed to drink enough that night.
He rolled out of bed even before the banging on his front door started. At any other time, he might have ignored them and slept on—an attempt long enough to salvage his dignity, at least. Even after all this time, he wouldn't easily admit to being part of their "debriefing" sessions, and so resisted their invitations long and hard. Failing that, he could always give them the warm welcome they deserved. The village tribunal never took his side in these trespassing complaints, anyway, so he was well within his rights to protect his own property through a little roughhousing.
It wasn't common knowledge, but he did expend pent-up frustrations in aggressive horseplay, like any other healthy man his age. People tend to disbelieve such a notion, not because he was thought too sensible for it. Everyone assumed he just beat the crap out of drunken colleagues out of sheer sadistic enjoyment. Admittedly (and ironically), this low entertainment value was contributory to its continued high incidence. It was like indulging in those sappy soap operas housewives and househusbands like to follow. See, active duty ninja have a different view on what constituted light, harmless fun.
"Sasuke!" came the chorus as soon as he appeared at the already open door. "We're out of work tomorrow. Let's get wasted!"
Not a bad idea, all things considered.
"By the way, we already got kicked out of the regular spot," one of them said. "Somebody was getting rowdy."
"And we're not even buzzed yet!" chimed the other in disappointment. "This peace thing is getting annoying."
"Just because you broke it, dipshit."
"Weren't you the moron who got into a fight?" snapped the third. "Fine example, you are."
"It was a domestic dispute, okay?"
"Domestic, my ass. And shouldn't you have some sort of immunity? Imagine someone like you being thrown out of a tavern."
"I'm in disguise, stupid!"
"Come on, Uchiha, you're the only one who owns an entire ghost street and not likely to get us arrested by the MP's for disturbing sleeping people with assignments tomorrow. I'm like inches away from court-martial, you know?"
Uchiha Sasuke, with his usual brevity, declined with choice words.
"And don't forget you owe me money."
"Fine," the exhausted-looking jounin snapped. "Fine! But I set house rules."
"Aww," crowed three full-grown shinobi. "You're the best, Sasu-chan!"
Sadly, their rendition of love-struck pubescent girls was not taken in kind.
--
"Dammit, what the hell—!"
'I said, don't misunderstand me!"
He glared at her.
She glared right back. "You're getting paranoid by this universal-seeming jump into matrimony. Geeze..."
"A woman has only a number of reproductive years," he retorted. "You tell me that every chance you get."
"Oh, hush," she said distractedly. "I'm not going to marry you. You know that. But I do love you, stupid. And you love me back—don't you deny it!"
--
"How many mednins does it take to tell a thirty-year old jounin that he should not spar, especially with three other equally drunk jounin, while under the influence of alcohol?" thundered the piercing white light. "None! Absolutely none. It will do absolutely no good, because thirty-year-old jounin are too high and mighty to listen to sensible advice from their betters, particularly female ones."
Ah, no. It was not the voice of God coming to redress him for his grievous sins. He has been becoming superstitious in his dotage, but his version of the Alpha and Omega wouldn't be talking about drunken revelries on the day of reckoning. He'd have a list of more serious offenses to tackle, ad infinitum.
"And how many mednins does it take to screw a light bulb in place?" the invective continued. "One, Sasuke, just one. One, royally pissed, Haruno Sakura will screw a light bulb up your ass in hopes of detecting some kind of electrical activity before I declare you brain dead, because your hollow skull is abysmally lacking any sign of being operational."
"There was a time I thought you pure and innocent," he said dryly, squinting at the penlight she was shining in his eyes.
"Correction: you thought me dumb, clingy, and annoying. My brain didn't start denaturing when I turned thirty."
"Eleven months and three weeks ago. Stop referring to it every other sentence."
"It's a milestone. Particularly since I seem to be the only one acting my age around here."
"They trespassed into my property at two in the morning."
"And I suppose drinking till you pass out qualifies as defending one's turf. Kiba, the Hokage, and that seedy chuunin guy–"
"Miho."
"Him–is one thing. But you guys went out of your way to rope in Lee-san. Lee-san! How many times do I have to stress that Lee-san and alcohol cannot mix without resulting in fatalities?"
"There wasn't one." Although, for a moment, he did have his doubts.
"If you don't stop squirming around while I examine you, you will be one."
He stilled, in hopes of shutting her up. "Where's that bastard dobe?" he asked, automatically going through the motions of the physical exam without her prompting.
"That bastard dobe, who happens to be necessary in the daily function of our government, is a few steps away from delirium tremens." Her voice was irritated, but it was in a more reasonable volume now. "How can you goad him into a drinking contest, Sasuke? You know he has a tendency to take things too far when it comes to you."
"Like some other people."
Sakura ignored that. "Hinata wants an appointment with you, by the way, something about carving you up a new GI tract. Neji meanwhile wants to kiss you, for what he imagines to be the timely demise of his new kinsman."
"Passing on the latter. Former sounds tempting. Evisceration is a good way to go."
"Uh-uh. She plans on keeping you alive as long as possible. We have one unhappy bride in our hands here, even without your antics. Naruto hasn't exactly been staying put the past year, and I wouldn't blame her if she starts to feel a little unattended."
"Why? They didn't break her fingers when she got married."
"Oho! So you really do have a death wish. Even the Hokage's wife isn't safe from your tasteless, off-color humor. A nice young man like you should really stop hanging out with Kiba and those Body Cleaners. They're generally considered disreputable company."
"I'm an ex-missing nin, accused of indiscriminate molrowing and faking death."
"Oh, yeah, and you nearly bankrupted Konoha with all those life insurance claims."
"Of which I've yet to see a single penny."
"Don't hold your breath. I think they've used it up rebuilding the village twelve years ago."
They drifted into silence. Sakura finished her examination and didn't speak again until he was fully dressed once more.
"On a more serious note," she said, now eerily calm. This, he noted, was the pedantic tone she used when discussing terminal conditions with her apprentices. "You should be more. . . prudent, in phrasing your criticism of your team mates, your leaders, Konoha, and the world in general. I realize we all indulge in a little–"
"Bitching and moaning?"
"Verbalizing, once in a while, but your remarks are passive death-wishes. Depression among the ranks is unavoidable, but having someone who could go in a suicidal rampage any day, and take out half the village, with the elite of Konoha is unacceptable."
"Are you telling me this for my genetic predisposition to suicidal rampages, or did you get another memo from the old farts?"
"Sasuke, this is case in point." She ran a hand along her temple, dislodging a chunk of pink hair from the precarious knot she had tied on her crown. It fell across her face, over the hard crease in between her eyebrows. "The Rokudaime can get away with calling the elders old farts. You haven't the fraction of immunity he has. As much as it pains me to call your attention to this matter, it would be better if you hear it from me."
"Noted. I'll throw in a smile the next time I grovel to a customer."
"Sasuke—"
"I thought you stepped off your soapbox when you started your Uchiha-are-notorious-blights-to-Leaf jokes."
"We're worried about you."
"I don't detect an ounce of pain in your diagnosis, so forgive my skepticism."
"Listen, I'd love to play word games with you all day, but I can't. The same way I can't sit with you for hours trying to figure out why . . . " She dropped off and smoothed her features into a benign expression. He didn't miss the resentment that lanced across her eyes before she succeeded.
"Infuriating, isn't it?" he offered. The snarl was a little over the top, but he didn't manage to bite it back completely. "All these years, you haven't figured out a formula to predict my behavior."
It was an old accusation, one he hasn't made in a long time. There was a time he entertained the notion she merely kept close to keep an eye on him for the higher ups. He didn't believe it then, he didn't believe it now, but it served well as a weapon when he wanted a barb that stung badly enough stun her into silence.
"What's the prognosis, doctor?" he prompted.
"Don't you dare mock me, Sasuke. You know that I know there is something wrong, so don't even try fucking with my head." The celadon of her stare burned as she grounded out her next words. "I know, you have bad days sometimes, as do everybody. You, you periodically descend into these dark moods for weeks at a time, but this has gone on for too long! And what about that last mission? I can't imagine what you were thinking, if you were at all."
"Three of the warlords the village tribunal had been salivating for were within a horse-ride from each other. I took the initiative to rid the world of them."
"By yourself! You only had resources for one assassination at that time, not to mention their retinue of ronin warriors are already famous for their successful defense against a number of ninja operations."
"This isn't about the assassinations."
"You're right, it's not. High-risk behavior, Sasuke! Do you know how closely you're being watched right now? They're afraid of defection."
"This isn't about defection."
"Right again. This is passive suicide. I think you'll end up dead, one way or another."
"Oho, will you be tying me up now? Kinky, but not to my taste."
"You bas–"
He caught her fist as it flew to his face. The force threw both of them back against a bookcase, smashing the sturdy hardwood and scattering scrolls all over. This seemed to bring her back to a more reasonable frame of mind, for she pulled back her arm, the clinical detachment totally gone from her face. He didn't loose her.
"I never knew friendship connoted some perverse ownership," he told her.
"What?" She seemed genuinely puzzled.
"How to speak, how to think, how to feel . . . How about telling me how to shit, while you're at it?"
"You are missing the point!" she exploded. "The point is–"
"The point is," he interrupted coolly. "You've already relinquished all rights to interfering with my life."
She froze, as she realized what this, ultimately, was really all about.
"Stay out of it," he said, almost gentle. He released her wrist, pushed her back a little, zipped up his flak jacket, and picked his way through the fallen documents.
"W-wait, Sasuke-kun," she said. "Is this about that time? That day you—"
"So I'm Sasuke-kun again, huh?" he asked ironically. "No, not that day." Not solely, anyway. He'll be damned for admitting that much.
"That night then. A couple of nights after Naruto got married." She stared after him wide-eyed. "That night we talked about closure. About you and your unwillingness to be happy. About you growing hemorrhoids and the world losing a perfect asshole."
"Aa. I'm working on getting the title back. Preparation H hasn't been doing the job."
"Sasuke, wait. Please . . . Let's talk about this."
"I've imposed long enough, doctor. You haven't the time to play word games all day with me, let alone try to figure out what's going on up here."
He tapped his forehead to punctuate the dismissal and left before she could utter another comeback.
See? He still won them sometimes.
---
"It was Naruto who inspired Hinata to transcend herself, to not only be better, but to be. He was her guiding light, her endmost goal, her star...
"He was . . . my you.
"You remember that night, Sasuke-kun? When I tried to stop you from joining Orochimaru? That was... That was the beginning of an epiphany. When Naruto came home without you, lightning struck.
"So without you, Sasuke-kun, I would have never become who I am now. Without you, I wouldn't have studied under Tsunade-sama, never would have become a mednin—yes, every wound I've stanched, every life I gave back, there was a you behind it—never would have become a piece in legend.
"I would never have become me."
---
It wasn't like it wasn't her fault.
Sasuke, however, had enough pride left to keep him from breaking down in a hissy fit and throwing the responsibility at her feet. Responsibility for what, he asked himself. It wasn't like there was anything wrong, whatever she thought, not fundamentally, not with him. She just caused a minor setback was all . . . all due to his own miscalculation, misinterpretation. He would recover in time, plot a new plan, build a new ambition. If he was sometimes getting carried away in missions, it was simply due to his competitive nature, not some melodramatic plea for death.
Thirty years was indeed a milestone, one many people, himself included, didn't expect him to reach. His adolescence, to say the least, was pricklier than most, but he survived. For the longest while, he merely subsisted from mission to mission, because it was easier to deal with life when compartmentalized in little packages that had an assigned rank, a list of objectives, and a price tag. Eventually, he came to appreciate living life for the moment —was surprised when it came from his own mouth: he lived—without having to obsesses about a long-term goal, to gauge himself against an ideal that wasn't quite the ideal he thought, and even slowly let the meddlesome people around him in for an occasional tea ceremony or lunch out in his vegetable garden. Due to his attuned ability to detach from his emotions (practice makes perfect) and a lot of free time in his hands, he had developed a philosophical outlook. The black and often crude humor was an unfortunate side-effect of his profession (probably, more so of the people he worked with), but it augmented his otherwise flat personality and convinced people he wasn't planning a one-man Armageddon each time he was sighted brooding.
Which was. . . often, he supposed. At any rate, he categorized himself as happy, as happy as anyone like himself, anyone with as much baggage, could be. He was not wanting in any basic need: food, clothing, shelter, people to fight. He maintained normal hobbies like reading, gardening, and hawking. He endured social responsibilities like attending gatherings and town meetings, substituting for a sick teacher in the Ninja Academy one in a while, or growing the prize tomato three years in a row. He had friends and people to get drunk with, not necessarily mutually exclusive.
Where did the discontent start?
To be precise, the discontent has always been there; for the most part, it had been something he could live with. But then, one night, almost a year ago, while they were making fun of their newlywed Hokage, she planted a notion in his mind.
She summarized neatly how integral they each were to each other's lives and reminded him of the other ambition his twelve-year-old self had set. Raising a family would be a nice, solid challenge, he acquiesced to her reasoning. It would be more interactive than raising a vegetable garden, for one thing, and she was a smart, capable woman who could be his able partner. They've built a certain rapport over the years. Their missions almost always reached excellent outcomes. And she was a more than tolerable companion . . .
The more he mused the notion over in his mind, the more it simply fit.
He wasn't delusional enough to think she offered to be his partner in such a project, but he thought her at least open to the idea. So when a few months ago, he dressed in his most formal robes, called on the Haruno home with a best friend and a mentor in tow, and asked for her hand from her family, he wasn't expecting her to burst out laughing with such tickled hilarity, even if she was slightly tipsy from the warmed sake. Needless to say, she thought the whole thing was their Trojan horse in their mission to crash the yearly Haruno drinking bash, and merely hugged him, kissed him on a cheek, and patted his back.
"I love you, man," she giggled. " No word in existence is sufficient to quantify just how much. That really was a good one, Sasuke."
It didn't help, of course, that "I love you," has become a perverse sort of teasing she whipped out at the worst of times, because it never failed to make him blanche and break out in cold sweat. That December day, he turned paper white for an entirely different reason, but of course, she didn't realize that till much later. Being the responsible woman that she was, she confronted him, apologized, and offered a respectful, "No." He was gracious about it, and dismissed it as cleanly as any failed business transaction.
And they all thought that was the end of it.
It wasn't, of course, not for him. He wasn't going to make an issue of it, because his pride remained intact, even if his dignity didn't. In retrospect, he was grateful when she called his behavior to his attention last week. He was determined to address the matter. It was one of the reasons why, despite being bone-tired from three days of S-class assignments, he managed to reach Konohagakure no Sato during the last few minutes of the 28th.
"Sasuke-kun," she said when she opened the door.
"Happy Birthday," he said.
"Thank you. How was your mission tonight?"
"Satisfactory. This Fire daimyo will last the season, at least."
"That's good to hear."
Stage one was cleared. Now, he needed to survive the remainder of the party. He would simply blend in with the few remaining guests, answer a few polite inquiries on his health and career, then file out with the rest of them once its time to go home. The challenge came after: getting his regular five-hour sleep.
Sasuke's plans failed to come to fruition, probably because he wasn't able to resist the tall glass of punch that was offered to him by one of the other guests. He should have known better not to accept suspiciously-hued drinks from one Yamanaka Ino, but the regretful thought became increasingly vaguer as he reached the bottom of his third glass. As it was, he did make a noble attempt to shuffle out with the rest of them, once the goodbyes and thanks-you's started. The world evidently was conspiring against him, and he managed to end up at the tail end of the exodus.
"I didn't think you'd come," Sakura said, after he politely greeted her once again.
"Why miss the chance to get drunk on free booze?" he answered with aplomb.
She smiled, Sasuke thought, because he and honesty rarely hooked up together.
"Where's the bastard dobe?"
"The bastard dobe went home early with Hinata-chan."
He nodded his approval. His bowels would remain intact another day.
"You're not leaving are you? You came so late, as it is."
"I have a mission tomorrow."
"Look, I fell for that last time–"
"Since honesty's becoming a nasty habit," he interrupted. "I might as well say it: yes, I'm avoiding you. Good night."
"Thank you," she said, surprisingly level. "That gives me reason to do this then!"
Sasuke felt the world move. Then he was lying on his back. Haruno Sakura's ceiling was peeling. She had been saving money to try to get it repainted. The last time he saw it, though, it wasn't spinning nearly as much. His hands weren't restrained over his head either, caught in her pincer grip.
"You are such a jerk, you know." It sounded suspiciously like a wail. "You won't even let me apologize."
"Apology accepted," he grunted, attempting to dislodge her from his diaphragm. She seemed to take the hint and slid down lower, right onto his stomach. The mixture of alcohol and bile seared his throat. "If you're trying to help me die–"
"I thought you were joking."
He tried a more blunt approach. "I can't breathe."
She sidled down lower, away from his stomach, too far away. He wasn't sure if that helped at all, for now he was nauseated for an entirely different reason. "Why now, Sasuke?" she asked plaintively. "Fifteen years of pining after you. . ."
"I can't think."
It took her a few moments to realize why. When she did, a faint blush bloomed across her cheeks. It did no good whatsoever to his already splinted dignity, but at least it got them off the floor. They were sitting on her sofa now, with a reasonable distance between them.
"I'm sorry I made fun of you when you proposed," Sakura began. "I didn't realize . . . I mean, I couldn't even wrap my mind around why you would want me in such a role."
". . ."
"I mean, we're talking about the future Uchiha matriarch here. Anybody would expect her to be prodigious and beyond reproach and with an impressive bloodline. Both my parents are civilians. My old man whips up a mean yakisoba, but he's not really what you'd label genius."
"You–"
"Plus, there's nothing remarkable about me. I'm smart and average, discounting the width of my forehead. I really can't imagine how anybody would want me for a wife, since I can't cook. Well, aside from rice balls and salads. And yakitori and—"
"Sakura, shut up."
"I'm trying to," she retorted.
"Fifteen years, you said." He ignored her glare. "What made you stop."
The question had obviously given direction to her thoughts, for her expression calmed into thoughtful and serious. Analysis, after all, was one of Sakura's forte.
"I don't know," she finally answered. "It simply ceased to be an issue, having you exclusively, I mean. Isn't that what pining away is all about? Isn't it a need to establish a claim on a person? I guess, I grew up. We were friends and we got along. It fitted well. Why break a beautiful, functional thing?"
He nodded. "It's not a closed issue then."
"Huh?"
"You don't find the idea completely repugnant."
"Not really." Her brow wrinkled as she turned the idea in her head. "A little weird when you think about it."
"But not incongruous to your system."
"I–I suppose not. Not to the point of nausea, anyway."
"So asking the same question again, at some point, won't be in vain."
". . . no."
"Good."
"Good?" she echoed. She looked up at him, her questioning eyes a darker hue from the low light of the table lamp. At this point, the 'reasonable space' between them had all but vanished.
"Aa," he breathed.
"You're not drunk, are you, Sasuke-kun?" she asked. "You aren't going back to avoiding me tomorrow, are you?"
"Moot question. Were you drinking?"
He didn't wait around for her answer, though, and decided to find out himself. He tasted traces of mango and passion fruit on her lips, and decided Ino had gorged her best friend with the same drink. Sakura didn't exactly respond in kind to his overture, but she didn't do so violently either. His spine, he noted, was intact, and he took this as a favorable sign.
"Are you seducing me?" she asked when she pulled away. The question was surprisingly non-threatening.
"Should I stop?" he returned.
"No," came the prim answer. "You don't have to."
What brought about her suddenly docile demeanor mystified him, but he decided not to pursue that line of thinking. Further advances seemed welcome, and that occupied his interest at the moment, which was getting increasingly fluid and foggy and hard to grip. Full speed ahead seemed perfectly reasonable. He was received enthusiastically enough, so he made himself comfortable, draping his aching body over hers on the sofa.
"Were you victimized too by Ino-chan?" she asked in between breaths when they briefly parted.
He resumed the broken kiss, deeper now, so she could find out for herself. The question of Ino and victim seemed to evaporate from her mind, for she stopped her inquiry and instead relaxed into his lazy movements, twining her arms around his neck and shifting to sink further into her rickety, secondhand sofa.
"This isn't the place to do this," she said, speaking against his mouth. Her wry observation dissolved into giggles, once she realized how counterproductive that was.
She pushed him away then, and once she caught her breath, resumed her speech. "Being that we are conducting an experiment here–"
"Is that what this is?" he said ungraciously.
"Hush." She continued. "We should keep extraneous variables at a minimum. Just you, and me, and hormones, and applied biology."
"You talk too much."
"I'm nervous."
Perhaps, if he set the example, she'd shut up. Wordlessly, he swept her up in his arms, ignoring her indignant yelp. He carried her as gently as he could, though he felt his fingers digging into her thigh deeply. She would bruise tomorrow, but it was better than dropping her while he made his way up the narrow flight of stairs. Besides, it wasn't the only mark he was going to leave on her body.
He knew her room enough to know where her bed was in relation to the door, even in the darkness. It took them both a while to adjust to the faint light of the gibbous moon. They weren't hurried, kept with the deliberate pace they began with, but they fumbled with each others clothing, the simple buckles and buttons becoming puzzles that challenged their fingers and teeth.
He could see enough of her supple body for his breath to further quicken, for his lips to plot their wayfaring, across her collarbone, down her breastbone, and the pert mounds that were puckered in her cool room. He suckled on one, then gave due attention to the other, before nipping down her belly. His tongue then dipped into her navel; in congruence, a slim finger made tentative exploration of down lower. It was followed by a second, a third, and by then she danced to the deft manipulation of his hands and mouth, sang to the dictations of his flesh.
Their joining was slow, careful, threatened to tear his sanity to shreds. His most vivid imaginings gave it no justice, the mind-numbing pleasure of her heat invaginating his, their bodies melding, a well-approximated wound closing. For two people to occupy one space, one fraction of time was an impossibility; when his whole shaft was finally sheathed inside of her, it felt damningly, infinitely close. He gave no quarter and tensed against her tension, pulled against her push. It drew them into a standstill, a teetering pause.
"This fits well, too, doesn't it?" he murmured to her, taking advantage of the stalling time.
Her affirmation was clarion, though her voice quivered with emotions they dared not speak of.
This was enough for him, for now.
Willingly, he lost himself in the cadence of their duel, lost himself till the rush of sensations crested into a blinding, stifling explosion. 'Self' did not exist, remained indistinct and indivisible, roiling with the oceans as the earth shifted and flowed, spinning with the stars as the universe stretched and hurtled. He was not, naught, till the rush had whittled away into a slow and dreamy denouement, naught till each gasp, gulp of air knifed him back into consciousness. But no matter how far flung the oblivion, with him always remained the awareness of her being present, of her being with him, of their being them.
"I love you," she said, as they started falling.
One day, she'll mean it the way he wanted her to mean it.
---
"And what would you have me do now?"
"Accept my thanks?"
"I thought you're going to volunteer to help me repopulate my clan."
"Fat chance. But you know, you are thirty— "
"You're thirty."
"Yes, I am. And soon you'll be thirty, too. I may not have been supportive of the avenging part, but this ambition I'm all for."
---
He sat on Sakura's bed the night before his thirty-first birthday. She in turn was nestled in among his limbs, her back leaning against his chest. She was deep in thought, but didn't seem to mind him nuzzling her neck.
"The start is a little unorthodox," she suddenly announced. "But I think we could now call it official."
"Hm." He was, quite frankly, more intrigued by how she managed to keep her voice level than what she really meant to announce as official.
"Oh, please. You won't be the one subjected to the censure of the world and all that."
She twisted around to look at him. He hoped his expression didn't betray the extent of his bemusement.
"Do you remember the photograph you gave me?" she asked. "That one with the funny expression on your face."
"No."
"Here." She reached over to her bedside table and placed the framed picture along his eye level. "Remember now?"
He looked at it in hopes it would satisfy her enough to keep her from moving too far out of range. He was in his formal kimono, midnight blue, amidst the chaos of the old Team 7, wreaking havoc during the reception of Naruto's wedding last summer. It wasn't a bad picture of her. The colors of her kimono were resplendent, balancing her girlish air of innocence with the twinkle of delicious promise in her eyes.
"Remember how I said I'd remind you of that blissful feeling you had in the middle of all that chaos?"
". . ."
"Not following, huh?" she said after a long bit. His muzzling was doing well in prolonging her silent pauses.
"Cut to chase, Sakura," he muttered absently.
"I'm pregnant, Sasuke."
He froze, an inexplicable feeling in his chest that was like and so unlike the high of the hunt rose from his belly. He could blame it on the curry Sakura's father had force-fed him, but Sasuke has of late decided that hanging out with honesty wasn't such a bad thing after all.
"That's nice," he said. An understatement, but it was better than choking on a rush of words. That would be undignified.
"Isn't it?" she said, arching her back to encourage his ministrations.
"You have to take responsibility," he told her gravely.
"Huh? Shouldn't I be saying that to you?"
"Marry me, Sakura," came the calm command. "You can't be the Uchiha matriarch without being an Uchiha."
"I don't really have a choice, do I?" she said ruefully. "You've been bullying me into this post the past year."
Interestingly enough, she didn't sound the least bit bullied. "You brought this upon yourself," he informed her.
"You're talking about that heart-to-heart talk that couple of nights after Hokage-sama got married right?
"You might as well have volunteered back then," he agreed.
---
"You see, I wish you happiness, Sasuke-kun. It's not just learning how to crack green jokes or keeping getting-piss-drunk engagements with the boys. I mean, real happiness. You deserve it, Sasuke-kun. And I know you want reasons, you stupid, stubborn man, but there are no qualifications to deserve happiness! Allow yourself real happiness. Please."
"Real happiness, huh? I think it would be a waste of my time, if I repeat that speech I gave you back when we were thirteen: I'm not like you."
"And it would be a waste of mine to repeat the speech I gave you back when we were fifteen after I beat you to a bloody pulp: I don't give a shit."
Sasuke began to laugh. It was a dry sort of laugh, even after all these years, but it was still a laugh.
"As for the gratitude you voiced that fateful day you broke the heart of a hapless thirteen year old girl... You're welcome."
"You're annoying, you know that?"
"I know. But I like closure, Sasuke-kun."
"You got it then."
---
end.
AN: Originally, the fic was supposed to be only lightly based on an old friendship one-shot, "Closure," in the Kataga drabble depository. I was pressed for time, and I needed away to give the piece cohesion without resorting to flashbacks or a long retelling from Sasuke. So there you have it. Bits of the dialogue from the other fic.
