The Valentine from Cloud Eight Point Nine
Prologue
The butterfly effects the bee by their unity.
"Hana!"
Green eyes dart up at the sound, her fingers wavering over the ryō she had been counting. It was not her true moniker, but her employer was adamant that 'Sakura' was just one too many syllables for visitors to possibly string together. With a sullen sigh, she pushes herself off the wall and shoves the money back into the cups of her outworn bra, pausing briefly to gaze outside. The bruising sky was a kind reminder that her shift was coming to an end. A ghost of a smile graces her lips at this, and her small, tapered fingers thumb the sleeve of her kimono before it drags across her sweltering temple. She does not waste another moment and lifts her skirts to trail after the voice that cut through the bustling tea house.
Yugakure was a beautiful place, there was no doubt about it. Her fridge back home was littered with many postcards of Naruto's infamous travels to the hot springs, but now being here herself, she found that the pictures didn't give the ex-hidden village justice. The mineral-rich hot waters that pooled along the mountains and coastlines were a sight to behold for many, both civilian and shinobi alike would travel from all corners of the world just to spectate the bleeding sunsets that set the horizon aflame every evening. It was almost a shame that she would be leaving soon.
Almost.
The deposit for her passage back to Konoha had already been settled the week prior thanks to a small but steady paycheque. Working in a tea house was a humbling experience and had its unusual benefits – especially with the variety of people that would pour through the unassuming doors. She was delighted to find that even amid Yugakure's pacifism, the streets were still lined with crooks, criminals and corrupt ninja—all of whom had the banal habit of drinking tea on their days off. It took her no time at all to find a regular patron that would fulfil her sensitive request.
"Hana!" The voice calls again, causing a curse to tumble from her lips. She marches hurriedly against the pine decks and rounds a corner to come face to face with an elderly woman who was leaning expectantly against a doorway. Her trained ears could pick up the faint sounds of loose tea leaves grinding into the palm of the woman's frail hands, and as Sakura passes through the humid kitchen, wobbly legs follow vigilantly behind.
"You called?" Sakura huffs out, pawing at the yellow material that became loose from her kimono. The elder is silent for a moment and drops the crushed leaves into a stray bowl, in the meantime, Sakura's eyes flicker to the badge that decorated the sunken chest of the woman that that was openly frowning at her. Miya, it gleams.
"Arms up," Miya instructs.
Sakura raised her arms with little fuss.
"Teeth," Miya prompts further.
Sakura did what she was told and gave the brightest smile she could muster, in return, the elder's frown deepened, "for goodness sake," she mutters, grabbing a cloth to wipe at the lipstick that was stubbornly stuck to her pearly whites.
Sakura didn't feel the need to apologise, but she did so anyway.
Seemingly satisfied with her appearance, Miya motions for her to turn around. "The chashitsu by the koi pond needs clearing, our guests are finished with their supper and are ready to make payment," she pauses briefly to retighten Sakura's obi. "Do you need a bigger size girl? Your breasts are close to offering a service we don't offer here."
Sakura flushes pink before turning back to face the older women, her arms crossing defensively. "No, I just didn't tie it properly this morning, I was rushing because, um – I woke up late."
Miya raised a thin brow. "Why did you wake up late?"
"I went to bed late." She replies quickly.
"And why did you go to bed late?" The elder prods.
"Well…" now an answer was hard to come by, she couldn't freely admit that she spent majority of the evening becoming well acquainted with the toilet bowl, Miya would have never let her work if that were the case and that would not do.
She decided not to answer and instead gave a non-committal shrug, hopeful that it was enough to drop the subject.
It was not.
"Boys are an extra-curricular activity. They're not a necessity for you to –" she clears her throat and makes a vaguely vulgar hand signal, "do well here. You're a good enough worker with a good enough head on your shoulders, the sooner you drop the fool you're entangled with the better. It's only a matter of time before he robs you blind or worse, puts a baby in you,"
Sakura ignores the seedy implication and points out dryly, "You have four children,"
Miya waves dismissively. "Besides the point – babies will rob you consistently for eighteen years and smile while they do it too, they're spiteful little creatures."
"It does sound like you're –"
"Speaking from experience? That's because I am girl, I'm still paying off my youngest spawn's tuition and he graduated fifteen years ago! I love the kid to death, but if I had a second chance at this damned life, you'd best believe that I'd be the first one to swallow," she croons out, smacking her lips saucily.
"Miya, If I ever wanted an image to be burned from my consciousness, this would be it."
The old lady shrugs.
"Well if it helps you sleep better at night, I can assure you that I'm not entangled with anyone, I've just been restless these days." Sakura offers.
The older woman sighs unhappily and hands the pink haired girl an empty tray. "It's never been about me getting a good night's sleep," she pauses to pick up the bowl she abandoned earlier, "I've kept you long enough – go now Hana, let's not keep our guests waiting. I will be placing an order on a better fitting uniform for you whether you like it or not and we can catch up later okay?"
Sakura could only nod, her pastel locks falling defeatedly to shield her red cheeks.
With the tray tucked firmly under her arm she wanders towards the chashitsu. It had been six weeks since she washed up on the calm shores of Yugakure with nothing but a concussion that could rival Naruto's to her name. Her mission had been simple: Travel to the land of Whirlpool and provide medicinal aid to struggling archaeologists. A seemingly straightforward b-rank mission had turned into a six-week excursion, and although these situations were not unheard of in the shinobi world, it was never something that Sakura had to deal with on her own. With her capabilities, getting back to Konoha should not have been a problem, but it was only when Sakura failed to summon chakra into her limbs on the fifth day of being stranded in the land of hot water that she despaired and sought to write home.
Dear Rokudaime,
I have given medical aid to the historians in the Land of Whirlpool as requested. After my task was completed my position became compromised. I'm unsure of what transpired, but I was rendered unconscious and later discovered on the south coast of the Land of Hot Water. I'm currently not in the best condition but will manage to make my own arrangements to get back to Konoha safely, please send back up if I'm not back by the time you receive this. You'll find me at Sa-an tea house Yugakure.
- Sakura
After five drawn-out weeks she had heard nothing back, which unfortunately did not come as a surprise. She mulled over the evidence that the card currently decorating her fridge had arrived two months after Naruto's return from his honeymoon and if she were to apply a similar timeframe, her report would not be with them for at least another three weeks.
The downside to civilian villages…three weeks is way too late.
Absentmindedly she outlines the cool metal of the tray underneath her arm, relishing the feeling beneath her fingers. She steps outside to observe the sun that had just set but grimaces at the heat that still lingers on her skin. She takes a long breath and sets off into the throng of boisterous customers, weaving between warm and sticky bodies, being careful not to bark at the handful that refused to give her space to move.
It's sad, she thinks sourly, without the ability to manipulate chakra she was about as dangerous as Pakkun raiding her biscuit tin.
The slight tremble of her lips betrays fond recollections of Kakashi's miserable companion that shared the same taste of off-brand shampoo as her. She bites the inside of her cheek and squashes thoughts of charmingly ugly dogs and home and other things as she digs her heels into the winding path. She climbs the small steps of the secluded tearoom and clutches the tray before her hand grazes the panels of the shoji door. "Come in," a voice calls out. Sakura silently slips off her sandals and enters quietly; her head bowed.
"Hello —" she looks up and stumbles back, her mouth falls open.
Impossible.
Three armed men engrossed in a conversation that fell on her deafened ears were huddled around a cramp, short-legged table. The map of fire country was spread over its smooth surface and the empty dishes she intended to collect were used to anchor the thick paper to deter it from curling in on itself. They were leaf shinobi, clearly, and skilled ones at that but what made her breath seize and her stomach coil dreadfully were the blazing uchiwa fans that stood proudly on their uniforms.
Her knuckles turned white.
"Are you going to just stand there? You look like you've seen a ghost." The man asks.
She's hallucinating, she thinks, she must be. Her eyes close because there's no other reason for her to be in room full of dead men.
"Well?" The man asks again.
She opens her eyes, but they remain, steady, waiting. A choked noise bubbles from her throat and remembers she has a job to do.
"S-sorry," she approaches the table, the men, unaware of her inner turmoil simply carry on with their muted conversations and only shift to make room for her. She ignores the tremble of her hands and stiffly begins to collect the cups and bowls, placing it on the tray that was settled in her lap.
"The Godaime has left the summit, it should be a few days before he's back in Konoha. We'll provide back-up in case he is being tailed."
Startled at the voice, Sakura jerks her head to the right to see a familiar red head stalking into the room, shaking water from pale, bit ridden hands. She slides the glasses from her nose and pauses to observe the girl that was clearing the table, her brows furrow before sliding them off completely to clean them with the sleeve of her cropped top.
Sakura opens her mouth—
"Do I know you?" The red head drawls.
And promptly closes it.
Sakura shakes her head dumbly, her tongue too heavy to speak. With the remaining dregs of her concentration, she grabs the last cup and stands on wobbly legs, step by step she all but sprints towards the exit.
Ruby eyes follow her, only to shift to the abandoned ryō that was left on the short-legged table.
She frowns.
Miya nearly jumps out of her skin at the loud noise of cups and plates crashing into the sink. A curse slips past her thin lips and begins to berate the pink haired girl for being so clumsy, the girl grips her ankle painfully before steadying herself on the counter. She seems to take the scolding in her stride and simply lifts the faucet up as high as it could go, the loud eruption of water splashing against the dishes fill the room.
The girl turns briskly to face the older woman.
"Who is the Roku…no, Godaime Hokage?" She asks.
"What?"
"The Hokage, who is it?"
"Lower the tap I can't hear you girl…"
"A little lower."
"Little lower."
"Okay one more time."
"Who is the Godaime Hokage?" Sakura hisses out.
This time Miya cackles, "You're telling me you don't know who lead the biggest coup in history?" she wheezes out, "You really are living in your own little world aren't you? Uchiha Fugaku is Hokage child!"
Something in the room shifts as the faucet comes to an abrupt stop, the girl's eyes glaze over and her body stills. Sensing that she read the room wrong, Miya tentatively reaches for the sleeve of her subordinate which seems to snap her out of her brief stupor.
"Are you okay?" She asks.
The girl smiles. "I'm fine."
Sakura's not fine.
Sakura suddenly needs to go.
Miya calls after her, but it's too late, her legs are limping hurriedly on their own accord and the voice in her head is unusually quiet.
She rounds a corner and slams into a man that she did not realise she was looking for, his shaved head was large but his stomach was larger and the tattoo's that covered his bulging arms were depictions of what she could only assume were his children. A lit cigarette falls between his lips as he cocks his head to eyeball the erratic girl in front of him.
"Sid!" Ignoring the nosy onlookers, Sakura pulls him towards the living quarters, her voice desperate. "I need to leave now, I can't be seen in Konoha, I need to go to the Land of Whirlpool."
Sid took another puff of his cigarette; a hacking cough racked his body before he responded.
"Well that's gonna cost extra lass,"
"But Whirlpool is closer than Konoha," she points out.
Sid shrugs.
"It will literally take you half the time!" She insists.
He shrugs again, but this time offers a gappy smile.
"Unbelievable," she mutters as she shoves a hand into the cup of her bra, the other hand grabs the cigarette that was hanging limply off Sid's chubby fingers and throws it unceremoniously to the ground, his protests are cut short as his empty fingers were filled with the rustling of paper bills.
Her smile was anything but pleasant. "I'm sure that will cover it."
Sid, with a slight red tinge to his cheeks, duly counts the money before pocketing it. "S'alright lass, meet me at the stables in a bit and we'll get going."
By the time he finished his sentence she was already pushing through the heavy entryway of her dorm.
She closes the door with a firm click and limps towards her bed. Her hand worms itself underneath her mattress and brings out a rucksack with the garments she washed up in and quickly dumps it over her thin, scratchy blanket.
Not caring who could potentially walk in on her, she throws her kimono off and begins to put on clothes that were familiar to her. She steps into her black shorts, slipping them over the curve of her hips and calmly ignored the fact that it was fitting more snuggly than before. Next, her fingers brush over the fabric of her red qipao dress and decides to forgo it, instead she grabs her black sleeveless undershirt and throws it over her head, cursing at the coiled bun that got caught in the movement. She shoves the damning red garment back into her bag before her fingers move up to her hair.
Sakura knew she should have refused the mission, it had been a Sunday after all, her day of rest. She was supposed to catch up with Ino and Sai, blissfully avoid her problems and if she were feeling hospitable, she would have gone to the store to pick up those cat-shaped biscuits Pakkun loved. But the moment she stood in the Hokage's office and her teacher lazily blinked up at her to say, "I'm happy to keep you full time at the hospital, but I'll have to take you off active Jōnin duties if you don't accept this mission – it's been too long since you've been on the field and I can't play favourites Sakura," her dreams of a quiet Sunday had shattered into unsalvageable pieces.
With a growl she grips the pin that kept her bun together and pulls intently. Long, pink tresses fall heavy against her back, her nose wrinkling at the strands that clung stubbornly to the back of her neck. She throws her head forward to gather her hair into a ponytail and comes up to grab a long tan cloak that lay on the adjacent bed to hers.
She does not look back as she shoulders her bag and makes her way to the exit.
She can do this.
Sid's large form was hard to miss. He was leaning boldly against a chestnut coloured mare that was happily chewing hay in its cubicle, an unlit cigarette was tucked firmly behind his ear as he stroked the long ginger mane. Sakura shuffled carefully towards him and unconsciously touched the hood that covered her bright hair before she joined in to pet the serene creature.
"What's her name?" She coos.
"Horse." He says.
"…Oh."
The large man turns to her, "s'that all you're bringing?"
Straight to business she nods sheepishly, "I didn't have a lot to begin with."
"Alright lass, give it 'ere and I'll load it up."
Sakura shimmies out of the bag with little effort and edges forward, she grasps the strap and goes to hand it over, however the moisture resting on the tips of her digits causes the band to slip through her tapered fingers. "Shit, sorry," she mumbles as she bends over to pick up the contents.
The whizz of a rogue kunai is heard before warm liquid dusts the hood of her tan cloak. She looks up and could only watch in shock as Sid fails to remove the metal that pierced through his arm, blood begins to seep through his short, stubby fingers and he curses loudly.
"Fuck," he hisses, sliding to the floor.
She yanks the weapon from Sid's wound, earning another profanity from him, and grips the cool metal. Her legs fall into a defensive stance and cringes at her ankle.
"Keep pressure on the wound!" She calls to her withering companion.
The assailant comes into view.
"I'd stop if I were you." The face says.
Her breath leaves her as the knot in her lungs tighten, suffocating, the slick heat that's trapped between her cloak and epidermis sweeps tortuously up her arms and legs, and yet it's the flush that creeps up her pale throat that concerns her the most.
She knows this face, she has history with this face, she has touched this face. She has seen this face a thousand times, but the face that stares idly back at her is a complete stranger. His hair too short, his posture too relaxed, his eyes too similar—
He's not real.
"I'd stop if I were you." She mirrors as she grips the weapon tighter.
He takes another step and with expert precision she lobs the blood coated blade at the direction of his head. He deflects the metal with his own and continues to step forward.
Her fingers curl into her palm. "You're lucky I'm better with my fists."
"You're injured." He says.
"And you're dead if you come any closer."
He takes another step.
"Get back,"
Another step.
"Are you deaf? I-I said get back! I'm serious!"
His hand reaches out as if to grasp her trembling arms but withdraws quickly before his fingertips could touch her bare skin. He squares his shoulders and moves his hand further up to ghost over her thin hood, with little consideration he tugs the soft material and lets it pool around her neck, his fingers curling into the fabric at her nape. Green, glossy eyes blink curiously at him and the finger stiffens.
She drops her hands
He leans back to gaze at her, matching pools of onyx studying her features carefully. She bites the inside of her cheek, unable to recollect the last time she saw him in this state and peers at the peculiar arm that holds her steady. The taut muscle flexes at her scrutiny and, in an instant, is removed from her person and disappears behind his back, only to reappear with a black book. She watches him flick precariously through the pages before he lands on what he's looking for, his eyes flicker to her pink strands, and then frowns at the marking on her forehead and before she could question what he was doing, the book snaps shut and returns to the depths of his back pocket.
His eyes linger on her a little longer than necessary before the crackle of his radio breaks the strange silence. He angles himself away to grab the device that is perched on the breast of his uniform.
"Missing Haruno Sakura obtained, ID: 607851, detainee unarmed."
"Okay bring her in."
The swing comes a lot quicker than he anticipates. Usually the people who were stupid enough to engage combat with him made of the mistake of trying to land a punch on him. But on this occasion when he brings up his hand to where he expects the blow to land, she nimbly reads the movement and swings with a left hook, the force sending him careening into a block of hay. She stands above him panting, her fingers coiling into a tight fist.
"I'm not going anywhere with you!"
And in an instant, he disappears.
Before she can bolt, a hand shoots out and encircles her wrists in an iron grip. A wince tumbles from her lips as both arms are wrenched upwards and pinned painfully above her head, her small frame slams against a large beam with enough force to feel the wood splintering the thin material of her top, tearing the skin on her back. He frustratingly dwarfs her, too close and too tall for her to crane her neck to fully meet the muted contempt in his eyes, all she can do is glare at the reddening jaw clench tightly.
"Let me go!" She grounds out as a familiar burn touches her eyes. She would not cry. She would not.
"Stop resisting."
His grip only tightens when she continues to struggle, her chest hammering against his as panic settles beneath her ribcage. He doesn't understand – she needs to go, she needs Naruto, she needs the last Uchiha, she can't do this on her own.
She can't.
"Sakura."
She also needs to throw up.
He holds her still, but his grip loosens enough for her mouth to suck in much needed oxygen.
Hot tears are blinked back as she tries to swallow her despair. "Sasuke-kun, please," she relents in a last-ditch effort. "Let me go, I'm not who you think I am."
A feminine voice cuts through her like a knife.
"Be careful with her Sasuke," Karin chides as she crouches down to check the pulse of the very large and very unconscious companion, "she's pregnant."
The only sign that he had heard her was the brow that drew inwards. He slowly peels away from the body that was burning hot against his own and lets his eyes bleed crimson, his gaze falls down to a covered stomach, then travels upwards to betrayed eyes and then drops slightly to pink lips that were parted in shock. Ever so slowly the black commas of his Sharingan begin to spin, coaxing her into calm dormancy.
And when she falls, she doesn't remember landing. She only remembers the sweet loll of her head swinging over the warm shoulder of the not-so-last Uchiha with fingers in her hair, trapped in a universe she has no right to be trapped in.
"Annoying." He grumbles.
She could not help but agree.
A/N: I was asked to upload this to ffnet as not everyone is on AO3 :) so here it is
This was inspired by 'Ghost' by twilightdazzle - definitely check it out if you haven't done so! Let me know what you think :)