Forbidden Chapter 29, a naruto fanfic

You'll all be happy to know that the next chapter is already under way, so I hope to have that out sooner rather than later. THANK YOU to Zelico who so graciously lent her time and effort to edit this chapter and who also let me bounce some ideas off her. THANK YOU to everybody who has been reading and reviewing - I try to PM all of you to respond, but sometimes it falls by the wayside, so thank you for your continued support.

A well. A pit. Sorrow and anger that knew neither boundaries or depths. It was not tangible, it could not be heard, but it could perhaps be seen in the ways she moved. In the ways she spoke. In the company she kept - that of the comfort of isolation, of solitude, of mourning these past months had been her only solace. What might have been, what had, and what would be were no longer certainties to her. Whatever fleeting and glorious moment of control she had held just a short time ago was gone now. Perhaps if she had been quicker to act. Perhaps if she had not been afraid. Perhaps if she had not let his own fears and trepidations get the better of her. Perhaps things would be different.

But it had been his choice - her father had said that quite clearly.

Maybe he was mistaken, though. Maybe Sasuke had not meant to break her heart. Maybe this was all a dream and she would wake soon, nestled against her love in the safety of her bedroom.

Yet, there, before her very eyes, she found herself staring at the man who had crossed - well, not an ocean, but certainly many lands, to meet her.

He was a poised and handsome man to be sure, and though she had yet to see any of the humor on which her father had remarked, she supposed she would have a lifetime to discover such things and more about him.

As well as a lifetime to learn how to love him.

But as the great hall of courtiers observed them in quiet admiration - this sacred meeting of two that would become one - she felt the words lodging in her throat. She felt the profound rebuke born from her own stubbornness. She felt the final protestation of her battered soul.

TWO MONTHS AGO

The moon hung over Sakura's quarters, but she would not have known with how tightly she had drawn the curtains closed. Her private room was nearly pitch black, not even a dying ember to alight the dreary space around her. After spending all afternoon in the infirmary, a dozen nurses poking and prodding and preaching, she was grateful for the colossal silence that surrounded her. A fainting spell, a touch too much heat, dehydration, fatigue - they were all passable excuses that justified her behavior.

At least to other people.

Sakura drew her legs up onto the bed and rested her cheek against the tops of her knees.

He could be dead.

He could be alone.

He could be laying on the ground with a sword through his back.

Sakura swiped at another tear as it slipped down her ruddy cheeks.

Within the cage of her fear for his safety and for his life, there was a visceral rage locked away. A rage born from not only his abandonment, his desertion, his betrayal, but also from her foolishness, her naivety, her ignorance.

Not for the first time since she had known him, she desired to hate him. It would be so much easier that way, to not feel the pain it was to love him, to long for him, to grieve. . .

He could be dead.

Or he could still be alive.

She hoped he was. She hoped he was still alive so that when the war was over he would return to the palace to find her and she could scream and cry and scold him for leaving her without so much as a word.

Why had he not said anything? How could he not warn her of his departure?

She had trusted him. . .

She had loved him - she did love him. And he loved her. Sakura was sure of that at least. There had been no mistaking that look he had given her. She believed that he loved her, she believed every word he had gifted to her that night - every touch, every kiss, every feeling, everything.

Sakura shut her eyes as she clutched her trembling fingers.

But he had been saying goodbye.

He had had no intentions of returning to her, not after that night, maybe not after the war, maybe not ever. . .

She had trusted him and, regardless of his love, he had broken that trust.

There was no fixing that now, even if he did come back.

But, she supposed, that did not matter.

Because he could be alive.

Or he could be dead.

The patter of rain surrounded Hinata as she traversed the outer corridors towards Sakura's rooms. Since taking ill, there had been little activity within her quarters and Hinata had kept her distance, lest she overwhelm Sakura with too much, too fast. But as her absence continued, Hinata's concern grew until she was compelled to finally visit with her, if only to assure herself that Sakura was still among the living.

The guards stationed in front of her sitting room parted the doors for Hinata and she strode inside quickly, out of the rain. The area was dark, but for the dim ray of light peeking in from between the curtains covering the window. Although, with the heavy clouds and unfavorable weather, it did little to illuminate Sakura's sallow visage and the barely touched plate in front of her. She turned her head at the sound of the doors closing and managed a courteous, half-smile for Hinata.

"Sakura-chan, how are you feeling?"

"Better each day," her voice quavered and she laughed tritely, "Though I can not say the same for my appetite."

"Well," Hinata humored her with a giggle and reached into the pocket of her coat, "Perhaps this will help."

She pulled out a small, dampened piece of linen and uncovered a handful of lychee fruit. A small, but genuine smile broke out across Sakura's face at the sight.

"You are too thoughtful," she said softly and beckoned Hinata forward, "Come sit with me."

"Of course. May I?" Hinata gestured to the drapes and Sakura nodded. She parted the curtains and tied them back, revealing even more of Sakura's haggard form. Hinata took residence in the chair opposite and laid the fruit between them before shucking off her wet coat. Though she wished to, she did not comment on Sakura's disheveled attire, nor the unruly nest of her hair or the disarray of her silks. Instead, she regarded her friend with no less dignity and respect than she ever had, "It is a far cry from the pleasant weather that graced us at our luncheon not long ago."

"Indeed," Sakura's eyes flickered to the water that slid down the glass beside her, "Do you like the rain?"

"I can find joy in it," she said, "It is a cleansing thing. It feels as though it washes away everything that came before it," a blush spread over her cheeks and she ducked her head, "N-Naruto - Never mind."

"Tell me," Sakura bade her, grateful for any distraction, even if she felt a twinge of jealousy at Hinata's ability to speak so freely.

"Well, before he left, h-he would tell me to close my eyes and imagine that each raindrop that touched me was - was a kiss from his lips."

Sakura turned her gaze on Hinata, a sudden revelation striking her; was this how Hinata felt all the time? Was she constantly plagued by the same thoughts and anxieties that hung over Sakura now? Was she always afraid, perpetually, for Naruto's life? She stared intently at her friend's blushing face.

"I would not have considered him to be such a romantic," Sakura remarked lightly and Hinata giggled.

"He has been known to make me blush with just his words on more than one occasion," she admitted, though that itself had caused a flush to creep onto her cheeks. Sakura held a smile for barely a breath before it faltered.

"Hinata-chan," she said meekly, "How is it you have coped for so long without him?"

Hinata sobered quickly with a small shake of her head.

"I-I do not know," her voice was quiet, crestfallen, "It is not a conscious choice, so I am afraid I can not offer you an answer."

Sakura nodded, an understanding and empathy evident in the action and it caused Hinata to pause. She tried to bite her tongue, but the further the silence stretched, the heavier the question became.

"Forgive me, Sakura-chan, I do not wish to make presumptions - m-most especially when I have only listened to these things secondhand - but Ino-chan overheard some of the handmaidens speaking," she chewed her lip, forcing her wavering eyes to meet Sakura's, "Is - Is it true?"

Sakura swallowed roughly, tears pricking her eyes as she struggled to speak.

"Yes," she cursed the tremor of her words and tried to hide the shaking of her fingers, "It is true."

"I am so sorry," Hinata blurted out before she could stop herself. Hastily, she clasped a hand over her mouth, but Sakura's features scrunched in confusion.

"What ever for?"

"I-I did not mean," she stammered, "Sakura-chan, forgive me. It is a joyous thing, I d-did not mean to i-insult you so."

"You have paid me no insult," Sakura shook her head and urged Hinata, "What did you mean by that?"

"I - Well - That is to say, you are in love with Hibiki-san, are you not?" She furrowed her brows as she spoke, "But now you are to be married to another man - to Gaara-san."

"Oh, I see," despite the turmoil within her, Sakura giggled gleefully at the absurdity of the notion. It took her a moment to quiet herself, a moment in which Hinata found herself to be most perplexed, "No. I am not in love with Hibiki-san."

"Oh," Hinata breathed out a relieved, albeit embarrassed laugh, "Forgive me for misunderstanding. I - I should not have assumed such a thing."

"Why Hibiki-san?" Sakura asked curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Why was it him that you supposed I would be in love with?"

"I have seldom seen you interact with many of the courtiers here - and he has doted on you most ostensibly," Hinata's cheeks burned bright red, "Forgive me, I should have listened to you when you told me so before."

"It is quite all right," Sakura said, bemused, "I. . ."

She trailed off suddenly and bowed her head. She could not speak another word. She should not.

"Thank you for bringing these," Sakura gestured to the fruit and smiled gratefully, "And for the company."

"O-Of course," Hinata took the hint and stood quickly. She bowed her head and started for the door, "Please call on me if you need anything."

For the first time in over a year, Sakura had resumed her lessons; lectures of articulation and diction, afternoons of dancing and conversation, followed by evenings of reading and writing. Her medical journals were shelved and replaced with tomes of poems and prose. Her exhausted mind and beaten heart made her poor company in the small moments of freedom she managed to achieve. Rather than spend them with her ladies or enjoying the last days of summer before fall, she simply retreated to her quarters to hide within her sorrow. She would not come from her bedroom for many days. Most nights she awoke from disturbed dreams, reaching for someone she knew was not there. The ghost of his caress haunted her, the gnawing desire in her heart and between her legs growing to an imperceptible agony. She wept for him each morning, starkly reminded that he was not safe and perhaps could already be lost to her forever.

"Sit up straight."

Sit up straight.

"Smile."

Smile! He could be dead. He could be alone.

"Have you practiced your koto?"

"Yes."

She had played barely a note last night before collapsing into a weeping heap atop her bed.

"Good," her tutor commended her, "And your poetry?"

"Yes."

"Recite it for me."

Sakura hesitated, her eyes flitting about the large sitting room despite the fact that its only inhabitants were her and her longtime teacher, Aniko.

"You will be expected to entertain far larger crowds than only I," the lines carved around her mouth that normally brightened her smile now only served to deepen Aniko's frown.

"Yes, of course," Sakura nodded earnestly and took a deep breath.

"Mind your posture."

Sakura straightened herself.

"The valley beyond, within and withou - ,"

"You must articulate better," Aniko strode to the back of the room, "So that I may hear you from all the way over here."

"Without my mind - ,"

"Start from the beginning. Louder."

Sakura tightened her hands into a fist.

"The valley beyond, within and without my mind, where I was - ,"

"Sit up straight."

Sakura exhaled sharply through her nose and adjusted herself in the rigid wooden chair she occupied.

"Where I was - ,"

"From the beginning," Aniko chastised her, "You must learn how to manage all these tasks together - to enunciate, to project, to remain poised and graceful, to captivate your audience. You will be expected to entertain many guests once you are married, just as your mother once did before our borders were closed."

"Of course," Sakura nodded, straightened her back, addressed Aniko squarely, and parted her lips, "The valley beyond, within and without my mind. . ."

"How is she?"

"Despondent," Hinata said glumly as she and Lee stood beneath the overhang of the open walkway, sheltered from the rain, "She hardly spoke to me. She is not herself."

"And she did not give you reason?" Lee questioned earnestly.

"I did not inquire," she shook her head, "It is not my place."

"But there must be - ,"

"What did h-happen between you two?" Hinata asked quietly, her words rushed, "If I may ask?"

"N-Nothing," he said adamantly, balking at her question, "Nothing. . . Why? Has she mentioned something?"

"Not direc - p-put it out of your mind. I - I am sure I am mistaken."

"Tell me," he implored her, "What did she say?"

"Nothing," Hinata affirmed, "It is my own imagination, I suppose."

"Telling you what?"

She was contemplative as she stood before him, turning over the thoughts that occupied her mind. She did not want to presume anything, most especially not after such an embarrassment earlier, but she had to know.

"She has been promised to Gaara-san," Hinata's hands flew up in haste as Lee sucked in a stunned breath, "You must not utter a word of this! It has not yet been announced!"

"Why? What is the cause? What could - ," Lee huffed a frustrated grumble and spun in a confined circle, "Why now?"

"Are you upset by this news?" Hinata furrowed her brows as she took in the less than subtle reaction he had just exhibited before her.

"Of course I am! I - ," he tightened his fist and raised it in defiance, before lowering it in defeat, "I love her."

"And she loves - ,"

"No," he shook his head forlornly, "Not me."

"But you know wh - ,"

"No."

Lee remained tightlipped. It had not been his secret to find out, nor his to share, and while he had threatened its disclosure, his intentions had only been to divulge the information to Sakura's father, never to expose it to the whole of the court. His intentions had only been to keep the Uzumaki as far away from Sakura as possible. His intentions had only been to protect her.

"Oh," Hinata bowed her head slightly, "T-Then I am sorry. I did not mean to - to cause you any - ,"

"I - It is all right. I am - I will be. . ."

Hinata held his gaze even as he appeared to no longer be looking at her. She placed a timid hand on his shoulder and said softly,

"I am so sorry."

Sakura knelt before the koto, her tsume donned and her jūnihitoe fanning out around her. That morning the room was empty yet again, but for her and Aniko, filled only by the sound of the strings as Sakura plucked each one. She could carry the tune of a melody she had not played since her childhood without so much as a tremor in her fingers, but inside, she felt herself unraveling. How much longer could she go on in such a way, stumbling through each day, listless and hopeless?

"Very good," Aniko commended her, "Your mother and father will be very pleased to know you are coming along so well."

"Thank you," Sakura bowed her head and folded her hands in her lap.

"We will resume here tomorrow," Aniko smiled and bowed to her before proceeding to the doors of Sakura's sitting room, "You will make him an ideal wife."

The appreciation lodged in Sakura's throat, unable to affirm the words she'd just heard and grateful when Aniko finally departed so that she did not have to. She got to her feet wearily, abandoning the koto and retreating to her private quarters as she began to sob. As she seated herself on her bed, she reached into the drawer beside her and retrieved the jeweled necklace.

She petted the surface of the emeralds encased in the woven gold chain. The handmaidens had come and gone, taking every gift, every note, every declaration in every form, until her room had been nearly gutted. They had taken it all, but one.

She twirled the necklace between her fingers, admiring not the grandeur of such craftsmanship, but rather the memory it stirred within her. A part of her felt guilty that she had hid it, that she had kept it even as Hibiki had departed to return to his estate; there had been no other reason for his continued stay at the palace. Being the head of his own household now, his sole duty would be to find a wife and secure an heir, something that Sakura could no longer be of use to him for. So he had absconded with his lavish gifts before she could even offer a farewell - or an apology.

It was selfish of her, she knew, but she could not bear to be separated from such a precious thing. Though everything around her reminded her of Sasuke, there was little she had of the physical proof that he had once occupied some part of her life. And for no other reason than the man she loved had paid her a simple compliment when she wore it, she had stolen it from its rightful owner. For no other reason than she had worn it the very night they had bound themselves together, it remained in her bedside drawer. For no other reason than the fact that Sasuke had touched her as it hung around her neck, she had lied about its very existence.

When the raw and pustulant wound that had cleaved her heart in two flared with pain and sorrow and anger, she could look on the sparkling gems and intricate gold, remembering a time when he was scarcely a foot from her, rather than the miles apart she now found them.

As the length of his absence stretched on, the world around her persisted without mercy. Not even a night in the forest with her brother's sword could change that. Not even the memory of his hands upon her.

Not even a pretty necklace.

Hinata took it upon herself as a personal crusade to visit with Sakura regularly. She had found her friend to have a similar temperament once before and it had taken weeks then until Sakura was back to her old self again. While she supposed the other ladies did not harbor the same tendencies, she knew that she and Sakura were alike in this respect, that when they felt things, they felt them deeply. She supposed that was why she had such an obligation to her, and, also, why it came so naturally to her.

"It does not seem as though it will end, does it?" Hinata remarked, satisfied with the apparent fact that the rain seemed to hold most or all of Sakura's attention.

"I am not sorry to see this summer end," she said bitterly.

"No?"

"There are many things that I would like to forget, but I fear not even the passage of time could help me."

Hinata knew her well enough by now to guess that any blunt manner of questioning would only be met with reticence and refusal. So she tried a different tactic.

"I thought you quite enjoyed the days we spent in the garden in the summer. You seemed to be out there so often."

"Yes," Sakura nodded absently, recalling the hours spent in the sweltering heat just for a glimpse of Sasuke. Before she could stop it, an errant tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly, but Hinata had already seen it. Sakura ducked her head, embarrassed.

"Sakura-chan, would you like to - ,"

"Has Naruto written to you recently?" She asked suddenly, avoiding Hinata's gaze, "Have you heard anything from the front?"

"N-No."

"How can you stand it?" Sakura shook her head slightly, stupefied, "How can you bring yourself to face each day when you know he is in such danger?"

Hinata seemed at a loss; she still did not have an answer for her.

"I do not know," her eyes flitted between Sakura and the window, "It is not that I do know worry about him every waking moment - or-or even the moments I am asleep - but I suppose I am simply a-accustomed to it now. There is nothing I can do to - to abate my fears or quell my anxieties. I can not change these circumstances. I can only dream of the day that he returns, when this war is over."

Sakura considered Hinata carefully, pulling her gaze from the dreary weather. She could not imagine shouldering this pain, this regret, this burdenous love for another day, let alone for all the years that Hinata had been forced to do it. And by herself no less.

"Will you tell me more?" Sakura's voice was quiet, subdued as she gazed at her friend with nothing but unrestrained admiration, "More about you and Naruto?"

"Oh," Hinata looked up, surprised, "I-If you wish to," she huffed a small laugh, caught off guard by Sakura's odd request, "It is nothing so exciting as the stories that Ino-chan o-or Karin-chan tell."

Sakura tutted with a shake of her head.

"That is all they are," she said pointedly, clearing her throat, "Stories. When I wish to delight in their musings of fancy, then I shall go to them for that indulgence. For now, I want to know more about you and Naruto - if you would be so kind as to humor me."

"Yes," Hinata blushed profusely and nodded, "What is it you would like to hear?"

"What is it you would like to tell me?"

Hinata quieted and pondered for a moment. She did not think there could be anything so remarkable to Sakura that it was enough to impart it upon her. The things that seemed so profound to Hinata - the first time he smiled at her, the way that he said her name when he was happy or sad or angry, or really any moment that they had spent together. They all seemed to hold some measure of significance, but whether or not it was enough to fascinate Sakura, she did not know.

"There is not much to tell," Hinata stammered as she met Sakura's probing gaze, "I-I can only say that I am most fortunate to have his love - just as I am for your friendship or - or your mother's guidance."

"When did you know he loved you?"

"W-Well, he told me," she said as a slow smile spread across her lips, "But I suppose I knew it before then - He began to - Oh, it is so embarrassing," Hinata shook her head, her cheeks as red as the shells of the lychees from the other day.

"Tell me," Sakura implored her, a studiousness befalling her.

"One day, I c-caught him staring at me," she paused in reverence of the memory and Sakura could see the moment she had lost herself to it, "And the next day he did it again. I would catch him staring at me in such a way, every day. Then, he pulled me aside one night and said the words to me and - Sakura-chan, it was the same look he had given me before. I-I simply knew it, not by his words, but by that look."

Sakura nodded thoughtfully, a sincerity conceived by her own permutation had taken hold of her. What lay beneath Hinata's timidity, her geniality, and her nonchalance, was in fact a far deeper understanding of the world and the people around her. She was not a gossip like many of the courtiers that inhabited the palace, and perhaps she had only been questioning Sakura so fervently because she truly did care for her wellbeing.

Sakura could not give her trust so freely, but she supposed if she were to give it to anyone, it would be to Hinata.

"It is not difficult to see why he would be so besotted with you," the edges of Sakura's lips turned up ever so slightly, not quite a smile, but more than a passive observance. Remarkably, Hinata seemed to take the compliment in stride and responded earnestly.

"As with you, Sakura-chan, f-for whoever the fortunate man might be," Hinata watched her stiffen and proceeded gently, "When the time comes, of course."

Sakura settled back in her chair, passive.

Hinata could not bring herself to press the matter further, for it was plain to see how dreadfully uncomfortable Sakura already was from the conversation. But her reaction had affirmed it. It might not be Hibiki, or Lee, but there was someone at the root of Sakura's distress. Hinata resolved that she might never know - it would be in Sakura's best interests that it remain hidden forever, particularly in light of her impending betrothal - but that did not quash her desire to find out. However, she would never do so at the expense of Sakura's friendship and so she was quick to recover herself, brushing off the blatant reaction as though she had not noticed it.

"I think he might have been as embarrassed as I," Hinata laughed lightly and her blush deepened as she continued, "But he overcame it much more swiftly. In fact, he seemed quite proud and I - hm - I think he delighted in my. . ."

She trailed off, the word lost to her.

"In your unease?" Sakura supplied.

"Yes," Hinata nodded and met her gaze, "I suppose that is how I would describe it. Not unpleasant, though, and he does not do it to be cruel," she added hastily, "It is - well - I - I do not know."

"I understand," Sakura turned her eyes to the window, every unnerved or flustered look she had caused to cross Sasuke's face coming to the front of her mind. How many times had she antagonized him for her own amusement? Teased him just so that she could see the exasperation in his eyes when he looked at her? The perplexity that she had caused him? There was a certain satisfaction to it, a triumph in undoing his so carefully crafted demeanor and a pleasure in the knowledge that she was the only one who could, "I understand well."

"No, I do not think these will suit you," Mebuki scrutinized the fabrics held up beside Sakura by a trio of handmaidens, "I understand you always lose some of your color in the winter, but, darling, you are pale as a ghost these days and we have not even seen our first snowfall. We must find a more striking silk, something that does not contend for their attentions."

As she spoke, Mebuki searched through the large chest of fabrics and patterns that had been recovered from the depths of her closet. It had been many months since she had commissioned new gowns for either her or Sakura, but even longer since she had acquired new materials for such an undertaking.

In these brief moments of respite, when the war was not constantly knocking at the threshold of her mind, something so seemingly insignificant, such as the convenience of an unimpeded trade route, was there to remind her. With the state of the world, she could not even send for a procurement of new silks for her own daughter and the arrival of such a dignitary would certainly warrant it.

Under many circumstances, Sakura might not protest to the refreshment of her wardrobe, but on that morning, she was being fitted for the jūnihitoe that she would wear for her introduction to Gaara and all she could think was how desperately she wished Sasuke would be there to see her in it.

"This one," Mebuki retrieved a roll of rich navy and a wrapped thread of shimmering silver as she emerged from the abyss of the trunk. The handmaidens rushed to relieve her of the materials and pulled out the silk to drape it across Sakura's middle. Another unwound the spool of silver and laid it over the fabric. Mebuki nodded fervently, "Yes, I think this for the coat and the embroidery will come down the center here to the border."

She moved her hands in the air as she spoke, the handmaidens watching attentively, but Sakura was long gone, locked deep within the memory of the night Sasuke came to save her.

She could still feel the blood dampening her skirt with every second she had knelt upon her sitting room floor. She could feel it touching her skin, tainting her soul. She could hear the man's voice, frantic and angry in her ear. She could hear the chaos caused by the Akatsuki, far off, away from her; the explosion, the shouting. Frozen, a blade to her throat, she finally realized nobody was coming for her.

But then she saw him - Sasuke - she could see him, standing in the doorway, the only thing standing between her life and her death. She could see the panic in his eyes, the sheer terror at the sight of her, infecting every inch of him until there was no room left for anything else. And then he acted so quickly, so fearlessly, without a moment of hesitation.

She could see it now more clearly than she could that night. It was so obvious. How could she have not known then? When Sasuke had taken her in his arms and ushered her out of the room, how could she not have known? When he had cradled her so intimately against him in sheer relief, how could she not have known? When he had swore that he would kill that man again if given the chance, how could she. . .

They had wasted so much time. . . Was it possible he had been unaware of how much they had left together? And if he had known, why had he not told her?

She trusted him. . . She had trusted him.

And she loved him. . . Still.

"Not this one," Sakura pushed the fabric away as though she might wretch from the sight of it.

"Come now," Mebuki chided her.

"Please, Mother," she shook her head, but could say no more on the matter, lest she lose the control to compose herself. She pointed to the trunk, "What about the crimson?"

"Well, I suppose so," Mebuki's shoulders drooped, "We should use gold instead, then."

"Yes," Sakura's breath came in a short, near silent gasp.

"Opals for your hair, don't you think, darling?" Mebuki beamed as Sakura lifted her eyes, unable to look at her reflection any longer.

"Yes, the opals," she agreed quietly, managing a smile for her mother, "May I return to my rooms now? I must practice before my lessons."

"Of course, dear," Mebuki clasped their hands together tightly, grinning proudly from ear to ear, but when she let her daughter go, it took everything within Sakura to carry herself out of the room. She pulled herself taut like the thread that had once connected her to Sasuke and stepped out into the rain. A guard shot forward to shield her from the downpour, but she brushed him away. As he slunk back to his post at the doors, she stood in the barrage of water falling all around her. Tendrils of hair came loose from her bun and slid down her neck. Each layer of her gown became drenched and heavy, rooting her to the spot. And every drop that fell upon her cheeks mingled with the tears that now flowed freely. Faced away from the guards, she stared out into the open and empty gardens, looking at the world through bleary eyes.

"Sakura-chan?"

She turned at the sound of her name and saw Hinata scurrying forward, a thick cloak tied around her.

"Hinata," Sakura's voice broke as they reached for each other. She took her hand urgently and led Sakura along the muddy path at a harried pace towards her quarters.

"You must not be out here in this cold," Hinata chastised her, though with her diffident demeanor, it could have been read as a humble suggestion, "You would not want to be in ill health when Gaara-san arrives."

"Perhaps then I would not have to face him," she whispered vehemently, the words falling off her trembling lips. Hinata frowned deeply and tucked Sakura into her side as they approached the guards who flung the doors open at the sight of their unkempt states. She hid Sakura's face until they were safely alone in the sitting room, then left her to stoke the fire to life. But even after she had laid her coat out to dry and wrung the water from her hair, Sakura had not moved.

"Sakura-chan," Hinata beckoned her over, but she was not looking, her gaze cast to the window, "Come sit with me."

"I must tell you something," her bottom lip quivered as she watched the encroaching clouds through the unrelenting rain. With every breath she took, they seemed to swell and darken as they loomed just outside, "It weighs so heavily upon me that I fear if I do not speak it aloud, I - I. . ."

"Sakura-chan," Hinata said softly, "You do not need to explain anything to me. I can not imagine what distress you are under."

Sakura turned her head slightly, enough to peer at Hinata through her peripheral.

"Yes," she agreed, "I am plagued by many things, but - but, I - I must say it - I must tell somebody - If I do not, then I fear-I fear I will lose him forever - that he will be gone, truly gone from me and I," her eyes snapped to Hinata's then, "There is no one I so trust as I do you. I hope you know that."

"Sakura-chan, what are you saying?" Hinata furrowed her brows as her heart thumped wildly. She was trying to make sense of the jumble of words that had just fallen from her friend's lips, but she could scarcely hang on to any one piece of them.

"I will forever be indebted to you for your companionship," Sakura said earnestly, advancing quite suddenly then, until she knelt beside Hinata, the glow of the fire alighting the very palpable sorrow and fear etched on her face, "But by divulging this, I am afraid I must ask you for something else."

"Anything," Hinata promised without hesitation. Even still, Sakura was silent as she considered what she was about to impart upon her. She would not be able to take the words back. She would not be able to bury her secret again. She would not be able to stop what came after.

"I must ask that you keep this secret for me, that you not utter it to a soul for the consequences would be so dire that I," Sakura shook her head, "I can not sleep, I can not eat, I can not think - I will lose my very sanity if I do not speak his name again - ,"

"Who?"

A terse breath passed through Sakura's pursed lips, her shoulders tensed, her chest tightening until she felt as though she might snap in two.

"Sasuke."

The air was syphoned from the room with a single, sharp intake from Hinata.

"N-Naruto-kun's brother?"

Sakura nodded, her shoulders sagging as the weight upon them was lifted with that simple gesture.

"I miss him, Hinata," her voice bubbled and her eyes burned, "So much and I - ,"

She shook her head and Hinata surged forward, her arms outstretched. She cradled Sakura against her, a hand on her back and the other at her hair. Sakura choked as she finally broke down. Her façade fell, her walls crumbled, but her heart was free. The toll of such a secret, of such love, of such anguish had for so long become and been a part of her. Now, feeling it secede, she wondered what was left. What of her had Sasuke not touched, tainted, or destroyed? What of her had he not moulded, evolved, or reinforced?

"I am so scared for him," she admitted, her words fractured by defeated sobs, "And I am so angry. . ."

"Sakura-chan," Hinata said softly, "I do not understand. H-He - ,"

"I love him," she choked out and Hinata stiffened. Beside her, Sakura was unraveling into a trembling, blubbering mess, the words coming so fast that Hinata could barely keep up with them, "I love him. I can not marry Gaara-san. I can not marry a man that is not Sasuke. I will be damned for it, but it could not be any worse than the torment that plagues me now," her voice was torn as she whispered once more, "I love him."

Hinata sat tacitly as she held Sakura to her breast, aghast at her words. She wanted to ask how, when, what - why? Why him? Of all the men at her beck and call, why him? Why a lowly guard? Why a man that she knew she could never have a future with? Why when she appeared so ostensibly pleasant and joyous, and he so evidently miserable and subdued? For that, Hinata could not begin to make sense of it all; but for her sorrow, the pain of separation and the fear for his life - that was familiar.

They remained beside the fire for hours in rapt silence, the only sporadic sound a shuddering breath or strangled weep from Sakura's lips. It was only when she shivered in her still dampened jūnihitoe that she pushed herself away. With an alarming measure of shame, but shattered composure, she bowed her head to avoid Hinata's probing gaze.

"I am sorry," her voice wavered, "I should not have said such things, I - Forgive me, Hinata. Please - leave me be."

Hinata parted her lips to refute, but caught herself before she could. Steadily, she rose and placed a comforting hand upon Sakura's shoulder.

"I understand," she spoke quiet, but sure, "I may not - I-I am certain I do not know all that you have endured, or that you -," Hinata swallowed thickly, "I understand, Sakura-chan. I understand well."

Despite her reticence, Hinata departed swiftly and quietly, shocked, trembling fingers constraining the gasp that sat at the border of her lips.

Sakura stared vacantly at the wet puddle of cloth at her feet. She had to redress - Aniko would be expecting her soon - but she just stood there, shivering in the dark and cold of her private room. She should not have said a word to Hinata. She should not have exposed something so private. If Sasuke returned -

When. When he returned -

If he returned, Sakura had just put him in very real danger - and all because she had not been strong enough to carry the burden of their love alone.

But the problem was: it had never been a burden to her, not ever before. Not when he had kissed her beneath the willow tree, not when he had worshipped her at night, and certainly not when he had finally said those words to her. Yet, she had never been faced with any of the consequences for it.

Until now.

Missing him was a consequence. The awful, restless pining that consumed her days was a consequence.

Trust was a consequence. Being at his discretion and mercy as she was, was a consequence.

And of course love - love was the worst consequence of all, because in the absence of his love, she had only succeeded in loving him harder, in loving him deeper, in loving him more.

But he had left her. Had she been a fool to think they might not end in tragedy? That they might be able to find a way through? Together?

Despite all her love, he felt almost as if he were a stranger to her now. An enigma.

A dream. One that had been so easy to live in when she knew he was only across the gardens, when she knew he was there. But now. . .

He could be alone.

He could be starved and cold.

He could be bloodied and beaten.

He could be dead. . .

Or he could simply be gone.

Another month had passed and Hinata had not returned to her. The imminence of Gaara's advent compounded in final dress fittings, accommodation preparations, and the ravenous gossip of anticipating courtiers. Despite all that, his arrival had brought little fanfare - having left his sister and brother to tend to the Sand in his stead. He had traveled only with a handful of advisors, maids, and guards in his company, all of which had been escorted swiftly to their temporary chambers. While the residents of the palace had craned for a chance to glimpse the ruler, Sakura had sequestered herself in her rooms. Even if she had wished to see him, though, it would be improper for them to meet under such informal circumstances; which is to say that they would be introduced to each other for the first time at the announcement of their betrothal.

She did not much care to make any sort of impression on him, least of all a good one, but the hours of ceaseless lessons on etiquette and dance had all led to this moment - the moment she would meet the man she would spend the rest of her life with. It was an odd thing, to her, to know such a fact when she had not even met him yet. But it was even stranger to have met Sasuke, to have known him, and only afterwards discover that she desired to spend the rest of her life with him. Aspirational as it was, a future together had seemed so attainable.

But now that he was gone. . .

"Oh, darling," Mebuki clasped her hands on her cheeks as she stared, awestruck, at her daughter. Sakura's gaze remained fixed on the reflection within the mirror. A coat of deep red, brocaded with fine gold, adorned her, its collar buttoned high upon her neck and its sleeves trailing to her feet. Behind her, the train extended like a shadow, the certitude of which she could not rid herself, "It is perfect."

A handmaiden approached Sakura from behind, draping strings of opals atop the crown of her head. They seemed to decorate each strand of her coiled hair, shimmering with every shift of her neck in the stiff collar.

"Mother, may I speak to you alone?"

"Of course, dear," Mebuki sent the room away with a wave of her hand. Almost as soon as the doors shut, Sakura turned on her mother.

"I can not go through with this," she exclaimed suddenly, the admission so rushed and so forceful that she nearly shouted it, though Mebuki stood only a few paces from her, "I must not marry him!"

"Sakura," her mother said sternly, setting her shoulders back with that familiar air of practiced regality, "I understand your worries, but - ,"

"No!" She barked, "Please, mother, listen to me!"

"Sakura," Mebuki said through gritted teeth, "Temper yourself."

"You do not understand!" She protested staunchly, but as soon as the words had left her mouth, she was silenced by the appalled look on Mebuki's face. Sakura cowered and bowed her head.

"I do not know what has possessed you to speak to me in such a manner, but it is unbefitting of your stature," though she sounded admonishing, she was not harsh; she could not be when it came to her daughter, "I do not know what has so abruptly changed your mind, but - ,"

"My mind has not changed," Sakura's voice quivered, "It has been the same these many months. It has been the same for nearly a year!"

"So there is another," Mebuki balked at her daughter, her subsequent fears now being realized. She knew she could not have stopped this, not with the world such that it was, but she knew she bore some responsibility. Her conversation with Sakura on the day of their luncheon had revealed as much, but for her better judgement she had not pressed the matter. If Sakura had insisted he was nobody - a man of nonexistence - then who was Mebuki to say otherwise? Well, perhaps it was more out of a selfish hope that she did not raise the subject again, for what mother would want to tell her child that she would be denied a love of her choosing? What mother would want to see the look on her child's face as she was denied her very nature to love?

Mebuki wanted to reach for her, to hold her as she once did when Sakura was a little girl, to comfort and soothe her as though this heartache were merely a bruise sustained from a romp in the gardens. But she restrained herself, feeling, and knowing in part, that she could offer none of that comfort. Resolutely, she requested quietly, "Tell me of this nobody."

"I can not," Sakura shook her head as her eyes began to water, "But I implore you, do not make me marry Gaara-san."

Mebuki slouched under the impossibility of what she was being asked. She exhaled deeply, exasperated.

"This is not something I can control," her voice was thickened by her own frustration and despair over this unexpected turn of events. Tonight was meant to be a joyous thing, a celebration for their family and the palace. Of course she had her own qualms. Of course she would rather Sakura have a say in her own marriage. Of course she wished she had the power to change these things. But she did not and she could not and that was the reality they lived in, "You know this. Your father and I seek only to do what is best for you, but we must also do what is best for our legacy. For your legacy."

Sakura could not find the words, nor the bravery, to speak against her. But as desperately as she desired to, she also knew the inefficacy of it all.

Finally, Mebuki stepped forward, placing an unsteady hand against Sakura's cheek.

"One day, we will be gone from this world and we must ensure that you and the empire are secure. Whoever he is - Surely he knows - It can not be," a bittersweet smile spread over her mother's lips, "An accomplished leader does not bend to anyone's will."

A tear slipped free, colliding with Mebuki's thumb, as Sakura nodded.

"Not even their own," she finished.

"Your lineage is a heavy burden," Mebuki brushed away the tear gently, "But one that you carry well."

"I do not feel that I do," Sakura shook her head adamantly, "I do not think I will make a good ruler."

"You will," her mother said ardently, "You will, darling. All that you feel in this moment is only a lesson for the future. One day you will tell your children of how you rose up in the face of your hardships, and conquered them with grace and fortitude."

"But this - ,"

"There is nothing to be done, other than to push forward."

The last of her dissents died in futility. There was still a chance. . .

There still had been a chance, as long as he was there.

But now he was gone and, with him, all of her hopes, too.

Sakura shook as she stood behind the large doors, her legs ready to give out beneath her. It felt as though a hammer were beating against her heart, its constant drumming ringing in her ears like a discordant anthem to her arrival. It grew to such a volume that as the entryway swung open to her, she could hear nothing else. Her line of sight shrunk to the size of a pin, isolating the man at the back of the room who was seated on a chair beside her father. She did not know what she had expected, but it had not been him.

He was a stern looking man with a foreign marking emblazoned on his forehead. His starkly red hair stuck close to his cheeks and barely brushed the hem of his rather plain collar.

Sakura did not realize she had not moved from her position until she saw Gaara rise to his feet; he was a hulking figure looming towards her. Even though the clack of his boots and the sweep of his coat indicated every step he took to close the distance between them, she could not find it in herself to approach him. She could not find it in herself to walk forward, because that was not the direction that her future lay in - at least, not the one that she so desperately wanted. The one that, until just two months ago, she had convinced herself she could have.

Gaara extended his hand out to her.

The whole room turned their adept gazes upon them as Sakura hesitated.

Would Sasuke come back from war, ravaged by battle, only to find out Sakura had moved on? He had always said it was inevitable that she would marry. Perhaps he had always been right, and she had always been naive. His absence now left a well within her. A pit. Sorrow and anger that knew neither boundaries or depths. It was not tangible, it could not be heard, but it could perhaps be seen in the ways she moved. In the ways she spoke. In the company she kept - that of the comfort of isolation, of solitude, of mourning these past months had been her only solace. What might have been, what had, and what would be were no longer certainties to her. Whatever fleeting and glorious moment of control she had held just a short time ago was gone now. Perhaps if she had been quicker to act. Perhaps if she had not been afraid. Perhaps if she had not let his own fears and trepidations get the better of her. Perhaps things would be different.

But it had been his choice - her father had said that quite clearly. Maybe he was mistaken, though. Maybe Sasuke had not meant to break her heart. Maybe this was all a dream and she would wake soon, nestled against her love in the safety of her bedroom.

Yet, there, before her very eyes, she found herself staring at the man who had crossed - well, not an ocean, but certainly many lands, to meet her.

As well as a lifetime to learn how to love him.

Suddenly, a horrified gasp broke through the silence. Hinata darted through the crowd, tearing past Sakura, who turned to see what had caused such a stir. Naruto, barely bandaged and wretchedly battered, limped with the assistance of Kakashi's shoulder. But as soon as he saw Hinata, he found the strength to rush towards her, taking her in his arms as she cried with relief.

"What is this?" Kizashi descended the dais with heavy footsteps, "What has happened?"

"An ambush," Kakashi's voice rang through the somber silence of the hall. Beside him, Naruto looked up, but would not loosen his hold on the woman in his arms. Sakura watched them bitterly, reverentially, as a chill so cold it numbed settled into her veins.

"They slaughtered us," Naruto spat with more venom than Sakura would have thought him capable, "My brother - ,"

Kakashi raised a hand to silence him. Sakura forced her eyes to the ground, pinching the heel of her hands to stall her tears.

He could be alive.

He could be alone.

He could be hurt.

"What of my army?" Kizashi's fists shook as he clenched them tightly.

"We had to evacuate with what we could to come here, to warn you," Kakashi said urgently. Kizashi and Gaara shared a look, the leader of the Sand's face tightening into an expression of worry and unease, "We were greatly outnumbered and taken by surprise. We fear they may strike here next. And in more devastating ranks."

"My brother," Naruto spoke up again, unable to abate himself. He addressed Kizashi directly, making no movement to hide the tears that bordered his eyes, "He stayed behind to save us - to give us a chance to escape - He - I fear he may be. . ."

Sakura could not hear his final word. She could not hear Hinata's devastated cry that followed. She could not hear the hushed whispers of the courtiers around her. In fact, she could not hear a thing.

Nothing.

She clutched a hand over her chest, but could not even feel it beating.