and the scarry skies above

housecalls

The first time she invites him back to her apartment is not at all how he imagined it, and yet undeniably her.

"Follow me, quick," she orders, striding through Konoha's main gate down the road. He follows in a blind daze, and where usually he would have no trouble keeping up with her shorter step, right now he gets the distinct feeling that she is slowing down for him. "I have an antidote at home."

Itachi's not surprised. She's a medic through and through. She's also paranoid and likes to be over-prepared.

As he struggles to stay alert, to drive the foggy feeling from his mind, he doesn't notice the streets they pass through. He knows them, intimately so, but there is no time just now to take note of the shop fronts they pass, or how they turn into quaint little houses once they turn off the main road only a few yards from the gate. He doesn't notice the benches and trees and flowerpots lining these alleys, or the civilians milling about. All he sees is her back, deceptively slim and seemingly slipping further and further away from him. Determined to keep up, he steps out, murmuring a slurred "Sorry" whenever he bumps into someone. But his eyes remain fixed on the back of her head, and his strides, uncoordinated as they are, are fuelled by the irrational fear of losing her, and soon the smudge of pink fills his entire vision and there is no room for anything else.

"Careful," she murmurs when he runs into her, not realising she stopped walking. Catching him by the shoulders, she easily steadies his swaying frame, and, looking up at him, frowns. "You're far worse than you should be after a dose like that," she says, and it sounds accusing despite the obvious concern on her face. "You've been skipping meals again, haven't you?"

The words are there, swirling around in his head: that reconnaissance missions always take their toll on him, that he always forgets to look out for himself while at the same time making sure his team is cared for, that leadership always eats away at him and that he feels sick and faint under the pressure to succeed despite his unfailing confidence that he will. That he misses her, every moment they spend apart, and it turns him morose and taciturn.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his tongue is heavy and no words come out. "You'd better sit down." She leads him through a short front yard, a sophisticated door, into the gloomy interior of a wood panelled foyer. The cool air is a relief on his burning skin, and up, up, up the winding staircase he follows, trusting the small hand grasping his to lead the way. He has no idea how long they climb, but eventually they stop on a landing and she lets go of him to open a door. He sways forward, catches himself on the doorframe, almost keels over by the time she wraps an arm around his middle and all but hauls him over the threshold. The last few steps she half-carries, half-drags him down the hallway.
Folded over her shoulders and clinging to her frame weakly, she fills his mind entirely. Her hair tickles the side of his face. The smell of her skin lures him in, tempts him to close his eyes and simply surrender. Only the pressure of her fingers wrapped around his forearms keeps him awake. "Sensei…" he murmurs.

And then he's lowered down into soft cushions, and with a quiet "Wait here," she's gone and he's alone. Exhausted, he lets his eyes droop shut. Opens them again when a sharp sting registers on his thigh. Too tired to flinch, he only stares when her face appears above his and cool fingers curl over his cheeks.

"You'll be alright in a moment, okay? Just keep looking at me. Don't go to sleep just yet."

One of her hands settles on his chest and it's not long before a green glow flits along the lower edge of his vision. A weird tingling feeling seeps through him, very unlike the soothing way her healing chakra usually feels, and the longer he looks into her eyes, the clearer they seem to become. They sharpen and slide into focus, and by the time he can accurately pinpoint her expression as fond annoyance, the fog clouding his mind is gone entirely.

"I –" he begins, stops, licks his dry lips. "I'm sorry." She seems surprised. Laying a hand against his forehead, she frowns, checks his eyes, places her hands on either side of his head to run a quick scan. Then she sits back with a snort. "You don't have a fever, and you're not concussed. Why on earth are you apologising?"

"For …" For not taking better care of myself. For getting injured. For making you worry. For everything else. "For troubling you." Sakura blinks at him, then rolls her eyes. "Yes, of course. Because you're just so much trouble. Seriously, Itachi. I wish you would trouble me more." She runs a gentle hand over the top of his head. "Sometimes I feel you're neglecting your own health. Now, how are you feeling? Any better?"

"Much," he replies honestly, and moves to sit up. Her hand falls away. "Was I poisoned?"

"Not poisoned per se," she replies. "From what I gathered you were hit with a tranquilliser, combined with a mild allergic reaction, hence the fever. I gave you a shot for it and sped up your adrenaline production to burn everything off. You're good to go. I told your team to go ahead, they're probably waiting for you at the academy. You're lucky I ran into you at the gates, saved you a lot of hassle." Itachi hesitates. He doesn't want to leave.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he hedges timidly. She looks at him and something about the slope of her shoulders softens. "Would you like to stay for coffee?" she offers. His mouth is already opened to accept, despite the fact that he doesn't even like coffee, when he stops. Sighs. "I would love to, but I am needed elsewhere. There is the mission debrief to be handled, the team to be dismissed, the report to be written up, …."

Sakura nods, and he can tell she's not surprised. "You can skip the customary medical check-up. I already scanned your entire system and besides some minor muscle strain you're fine." She glares at him sharply. "This is a one-time only thing, Itachi. I'll handle the paperwork for you. Use the extra time to recuperate." He's ready to protest, a thousand things he needs to do already tumbling through his mind, but in a stern voice she adds, "That's an order."

He can't help but smile at this. "You know you don't outrank me anymore, right?" he teases and easily evades her fingers when she reaches out to flick his forehead. "You know I'm your overseeing medic and could have you taken off the roaster for weeks on end? Besides, I can still punt your sorry butt across the training field without breaking a sweat." Something stirs low in his abdomen as memories of their last training session flit through his mind.

"Perhaps," he murmurs, holding her gaze. "I'm up for a rematch any time you feel like it."

"I'm up for a rematch any time you're free," she snorts. "Seriously, you should make some time for your old sensei every once in a while. The other brats stop by at least once a week." He frowns at the unexpected sting of jealousy, wants to answer, but Sakura has already risen from the couch and crossed to the door of the living room. "You don't have to apologise, Itachi," she says gently over her shoulder. "I know you're very busy."

There is nothing left to say, taking in her apartment as he follows her to the front door. It feels weird, he thinks. Lived-in while at the same time … empty, for lack of a better word. Everything is where it should be, not a speck of dust in sight, and yet. The furniture is neatly arrayed, the chairs pushed in, dishes done. The books that line the walls are sorted by topic – general human anatomy, hereditary diseases, poisons, field medicine, and a thousand more. Nothing is out of place. Still there is no love lost in this place, he thinks. It is simply a space to lie your head down.

With a weird feeling of childish indignation, he decides that this style of living doesn't suit her.

"Now," she quips once they reach the door, and ushers him through. "Get lost. We both have things to do."

He looks at her, her green eyes that glimmer with fondness, and suddenly feels shy.

"You said the others stop by often…" he begins, then hesitates. Somehow, what he is about to say next feels like the most daunting mission he's ever undertaken, and when he speaks next the words tumble out in a breathless rush. "Perhaps I could take you up on that coffee some other time?"

Sakura smiles, stands on her tiptoes, flicks his nose. He lets her.

"Of course, Itachi. Whenever you like. My door is always open for you."

And then she disappears into the depths of her soulless apartment, and he rushes down four flights of spiralling staircase, all but flies over the roofs of Konoha until he touches down in front of the academy, and if his team notice a slight bounce in his step on their way to the hokage, they do not comment on it.

They have too much sense for that.

A/N: Here's a longer chapter, to make up for all the short ones before. Thanks so much for your reviews! You all seem to have enjoyed the last one; I'm glad. It was the one I got the most feedback on, so far.

I hope you'll like this one as well!

Lots of love,

planless