At best, Orochimaru thinks of me as Sasuke's Kabuto. At worst, Orochimaru thinks of me as Sasuke's pet. It doesn't matter what Orochimaru's opinion of me is – as long as Sasuke keeps vouching for me, and I keep proving myself with my medical ninjutsu, Orochimaru will keep me around.
Eventually, Kabuto teaches me about Orochimaru's jutsu, how he manages to replace his body every few years, achieving the eternal youth that Tsunade so desperately clings to through her own jutsu. Orochimaru's jutsu is sick, requiring sacrifice upon sacrifice to achieve. Kabuto calls it a miracle.
I learn about Kabuto's potions and medicines and become proficient enough that Orochimaru has me make him his nightly tea. Kabuto teaches me about defensive and offensive medical ninjutsu, and I use it in spars with Sasuke. Sasuke stays true to his word and fills my room with more lights that mimic the sun. I don't fall asleep in the training room anymore.
I wake with a gasp one night, my hands flying to my face to hide myself from an already fading dream. Or maybe it was a memory – me, laying in the grass beneath the sun, the soft Konoha breeze brushing against my skin, every part of me warm. Me, turning onto my side and seeing Shikamaru beside me. I wipe my cheeks, wicking tears away.
I train with Sasuke in the morning in Orochimaru's equally dismal training room. We're not monitored today, and with no one to impress, Sasuke lets his guard down for a moment. I manage to disarm him, disable him with chakra scalpels, and disrupt the signals from his brain to his muscles with tiny electric shocks I convert from my chakra. With a decisive kick, I knock him flat on his back. On any other day, I would yield, offer him a hand up.
Today, I charge my hand with my chakra and run toward him. He pushes himself up on his elbows, wincing, and I reel my arm back, ruthless, merciless, wrathful. I think of my dream, the sun, the warmth – of turning around and seeing the one person who held me together.
Sasuke looks up, and all I see is him, darkness surrounding.
My fist stops a centimeter away from his nose, my chakra brimming and making his hair flutter. If my attack had landed, I would have crushed his skull and splattered his brain over the training room floor. But, as always, the bond stops me. It shudders to think what I could have done.
Sasuke doesn't move. He stares at me, unblinking, unafraid. Understanding. He pushes my fist away, but I turn my hand around and grab his forearm. I pull him to his feet.
"You chose this," Sasuke says.
"I know. I'm sorry," I say, breathless, and I mean it. "I'm – I'm trying, I promise. It's just—"
"You would break the bond if you had the chance," he finishes.
"Sasuke," I start. "I'm trying."
I haven't let go of him, my fingers squeezing tightly as though my grip alone with help him realize how serious I am. Please, trust me, I beg. You are all that I have.
Sasuke pries my hand off of him. He grimaces, lowering himself back to the ground, and I kneel beside him. I heal the injuries that I've caused. They're small injuries, but all together they are effective. Small cuts turn into big wounds after all.
When Sasuke is healed, he gets to his feet. "Let me show you something," he says and leads me through the tunnels. Since I only go between my room and central training areas, I don't know the tunnels very well. I stay close on Sasuke's heels as he walks. The ground starts to incline – only slightly, but enough for me to get a sense of where we're going.
"Sasuke," I say, "I'm not allowed to go to the surface."
Sasuke shrugs. "Orochimaru wants me too much to argue with me," he says. "Come on."
When we break the surface, I flinch at the sunlight, so bright that it blinds me. After being in the cool underground for so long, the heat feels blistering. Despite this, I walk forward, step after step, until I feel grass brush my toes.
I slip my sandals off and let my soles touch the earth. I kneel on the ground. I press my face to the grass. I take a deep breath.
"I come here sometimes," Sasuke says, sitting down beside me.
I push myself to sitting. "Why?" I ask, surprised. When does he have time? Wouldn't the bond tell me if Sasuke breeched the surface? Then again, the bond only reveals what Sasuke wants it to reveal.
Sasuke closes his eyes and presses his face to the breeze that sweeps through.
I watch him, watch the way the sun sits against his cheeks, the way his chest lifts with each breath. I watch Sasuke and tell myself: this has to be it. I have to reframe, refocus, refill my thoughts with only Sasuke. If I let myself be distracted with anything – anyone – else, I will lose my mind with everything I have lost instead of being full up of what I have.
I can't keep punishing myself like this. I can't keep thinking about everything I could have had in Konoha. Every day that I dream of what I left behind, I injure myself – small, microscopic cuts, that will eventually grow larger and larger until it becomes fatal.
So, in the field with Sasuke, I file away my memories of Konoha, of Team 7. Of ramen shops and sunlight, of trees shushing in the wind and deer parks and deer, and the last words I wish I had gone back and said. I file away the feelings, letting the bond wrap them up in a bow for the me in another life, if she ever comes back to it.
I press my face to the sun with my eyes closed. The wind sweeps through my hair.