The smell was the first thing she noticed. Blood, fresh and old. The rot setting in from infection. Medicinal remedies. There were others, but those were always most prominent. The smell of home . Disgusting as it seemed, it was familiar. Comforting in the way only a healer would appreciate.
The subtle incense of sandalwood mingled with them, dampening the worst aromas. That was new.
The white noise filtered in next. A blending of murmurs, coughs, and groans, interrupted by the occasional shout or yelp. Audible, but not as loud as she was used to hearing.
Her own groan joined them as she rolled onto her back. Every muscle lightning up in complaint as she moved. All stiff and unyielding, like the mat she was laying on. She must have been curled in the same position for an unusual length of time.
Blurry eyes blinked and strained against the sunlight beaming through an open window above. It wasn't terribly bright, but it was as if all her senses were heightened to a painful degree. Objecting angrily to the slightest of offenses.
She could see well enough for the alarm bells to start ringing. Nothing around her was recognizable. The small bed stretched over the tatami mat with a plain, dark blanket. The thin shoji screens encasing her in the cramped, humble room.
This wasn't her medical tent. This was something with more structure. Something meant to stand permanently. Foreign.
A hand wavered, pushing down the blanket as she scooted with embarrassing effort backwards. Trying to inch herself out of the cocoon. Her limbs moved with the ease of grinding stone.
The stink of war wafted up with an abhorrent sharpness. Drawing her eyes down to the dark green robe clinging tattered and disheveled over her body. The skin showing through the tears and ripped sleeves was covered in bruises, small scabs and abrasion. She was filthy.
But now she remembered…
This wasn't home. Home was gone.
The screen swiped to the side in front of her, redirecting her attention before her mind could kick into overdrive. A man she'd never seen before stared down at her with a hardened expression that she instantly knew witnessed all manner of gruesome and tragic events, and had long since numbed himself to their influence.
Discerning black eyes with pale crows feet wrinkled mildly at their corners. Skin that experienced less sun than most from working long hours indoors. Short salt and pepper hair–a trophy earned for surviving well past the average lifespan of their time. A long, dark blue robe with sleeves held back by a red and white tasuki, cinched around the waist with a utility belt lined with pouches and instruments.
He frowned as the girl before him scrambled backwards at the sight of him. Shifting awkwardly and in obvious pain, like a crab scuttling in vain from danger it couldn't outrun. He didn't chase her.
"This is a hospital." It was a reprimanding statement, as if her reaction was a personal insult.
"If we wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be here."
Sakura stilled, the small pillow bunched under her knees as she managed to scoot only a couple feet backwards. She swallowed before trying to speak, finding a throat made of fiery sandpaper that jarred her into a coughing fit. Rattling her sore ribs and back.
A name she couldn't make out was called down the hall, demanding something she also missed while her airway constricted and spasmed. The sounds of a dying seal roused the interest and irritation of the entire building. Fortunately, the flimsy screens offered some anonymity in place of the insulation they sorely lacked.
She didn't catch him moving for her until his height towered right next to her, causing her to jump. The dark eyes watched her, but there was no scathing remark. The water held out in front of her said enough.
The cup scraped against her mouth when she took it, but it wasn't the clay that was rough. Her lips were chapped and beginning to crack in thin slivers. More evidence of severe dehydration. It didn't phase her. Once the first drop hit her tongue, the cup was emptied in long, greedy gulps. Quelling the cough.
Nothing had ever felt so refreshing. It could have been murky river water, and she wouldn't have cared.
She leaned back on her elbows, eyes closed in momentary bliss. Feeling like a desiccated sponge soaking itself back to life.
"Stand up." The man ordered in a tone that was used to being obeyed without question. Not hostile, but it certainly wasn't a request.
The girl below him hesitated. Brief enough to be attributed to the sorry state she was in. There were no critical injuries. He already checked her over while she was asleep, and worked on the most concerning points. Mending them just enough with his own chakra to prevent them from leading to complications later. But he imagined she felt like she'd tumbled down a mountainside.
In truth, it had nothing to do with pain. She almost refused him out of spite, but thought better of making any waves just yet.
Fighting through weakness and aching joints, she climbed to her feet and side-stepped out of the small bed. The dried blood and sweat made her itch something fierce, but she kept her hands at her sides. In the back of her mind, she wondered why no one had cleaned her up while she was unconscious. It was something she had done for her own men countless times before. An expectation, really. On the other hand, she wondered if she would have been more disturbed to wake up fully clean and in a set of someone else's clothing. Neither option was comforting, in the end.
She missed his gaze scrutinizing her posture, but she could hear him shift around her in a half-circle from behind.
"Walk into the hall and back."
The steps were awkward, like a fawn learning how to use its gangly legs for the first time. Nerves, sore muscles, or malnutrition–possibly a combination of them all. She immediately wanted to lay back down, but grit her teeth and pressed on. Making it through the doorway and into the sunlit hall. When she turned to come back, she was met with more dark eyes.
A couple men stood several paces away, wrapped in some bandages but otherwise appearing healthy. Wearing the same blue robes as the medic. Too similar to the uniforms that haunted her the previous day–or that morning? She wasn't sure how much time had passed. Their conversation ceased the moment they saw her, and they watched her retrace her steps back into the room she came from with a sharpness that was born from more than simple curiosity.
It was enough to stir panic. Not so acute that she couldn't wrestle it down into something manageable, but it posed an unignorable threat. Like a line of dominos that gradually increased in size as they ticked down, and would smash through her composure if she didn't stop them.
She trained her gaze on the man's chest as she wobbled towards him. Purposefully avoiding his eyes while she focused on taking slow, controlled breaths. If she didn't think about anything but the present moment, she could get through it.
His interest was in analyzing her gait, but whatever he made of it, he gave no clue on his stern face.
The lump in the blankets at the end of the bed was enough to disrupt her balance, and she teetered to the side. A hand steadied her, gripping her elbow in a flash of movement before she had the opportunity to catch herself. It startled her more than the thought of falling did, somehow expecting the man to be much slower to act.
"I've been told you're a medic." He stated, keeping hold on her arm while waiting for her confirmation.
"I am…" She spoke for the first time. Voice a little hoarse, but she was happy the coughing fit didn't return.
"Good. You will heal the rest yourself. I have enough work to do, and I don't need you taking up unnecessary space." It sounded rather cold on the surface, but she was unaffected. Anyone who could still walk didn't need to be there, when there were more bodies than beds. She held a similar sentiment when she was working, but with a more diplomatic delivery.
Who's to say her own attitude wouldn't have changed if there was an Uchiha occupying one of her beds instead? Yet with that in mind, it did beg the question…
"Why am I here?"
The hand on her arm was guiding her carefully back into the hall. Not the place she wanted to go, but there was no alternative.
"That is not for me to answer." He spoke evenly. If he harbored any malice at her presence, considering where she came from, he didn't spell it out.
The men were still there when the sunlight bathed her a second time, pouring in from a wide open entrance at the front of the building. The medic glanced their way, and they turned almost immediately to wander into a room.
"Izumi," He called, raising his voice only slightly. It was deep and clear enough to carry far without much effort.
On cue, a young woman popped her head into the hall from another open doorway. Looking to be just a little older than her. Long, dark brown hair fanned past her shoulder as she leaned.
"Yes!"
"If your offer still stands, she is ready to leave."
Wide eyes scanned Sakura from head to toe in blatant skepticism. Her haggard appearance was concerning, to say the least. She was lucky to be alive at all, but the fact was she looked as if she log-rolled from one end of a ravaged battlefield to the other, and had been stepped on more than once.
It wasn't far from the truth.
"Oh… So soon?"
The prolonged silence was more than enough to send her scurrying out of the room she was in and into the hall before them, carelessly flinging a cleaning rag in the process. Swishing in robes not unlike the others, though hers had a purplish tint to the blue. She bowed in greeting to Sakura.
"Of course! I would be happy to take her."
Ignoring the wary look, Izumi gave her a cautious smile.
"Then you may go. I will manage without you for the rest of the day."
A second bow directed to the medic at her side, and then she straightened.
"Yes, sir… Sakura, come with me please."
The hand released her elbow, and she heard him turn and walk down the hall behind her. Likely going to dispatch the loitering men who clearly didn't need to be there any longer, as well.
With tentative steps, she followed the hallway to its end, where it opened into a vast room with even smaller cubicles. Beds sectioned by collapsible shoji panels provided rest to more shinobi. Ones that required less privacy, for one reason or another.
She could find the symbol of the Uchiha displayed proudly in almost every direction she looked. On armor, clothing, decor, screens… Not dissimilar to what the Senju did, but she never noticed its prevalence until now. When one symbol she took for granted was replaced by another that filled her with dread.
Row after row of men, and occasionally a woman, passed by in her periphery. Some standing, others sitting or laying. Every pair of open eyes found her, and stared without shame as she made her torturous jouney.
Poise held together by the most delicate silk threads, it was a small relief not a single one of them spoke to her.
"How did you know my…my name?" She asked the woman trailing patiently next to her. Standing close, as if she were her personal guard. The question highlighted the return of scratchy parchment to her throat, and she had to fight the urge to cough again.
"The man who brought you here mentioned it. He must have overheard…" Izumi answered softly, watching her more than those around them. Sakura looked ready to collapse at any second, but she wouldn't intervene unless necessary.
"Did he have black hair in a short ponytail, and tired eyes?"
Izumi considered the description. It could reference more than one of them, if more details weren't provided, but he did fit the mold.
"Ah, yes… His name is Itachi."
Sakura heard the smile in her voice, though her gaze was locked to the entrance. Refusing to return the eye contact of any Uchiha surrounding them.
"He's…kind, but hard to get to know. If I had to be rescued by someone though, I would probably choose him."
They had almost reached their destination when the walking corpse next to Izumi stilled. She glanced curiously at Sakura, noting the light trembling of her arms. The stained strands of hair, caked in dirt, ash, and blood, shook in a concealing curtain down her cheeks
"I…was not… rescued ." The whisper hissed through her teeth, correcting the Uchiha next to her with restrained venom. She didn't mean for it to sound so contentious, but there was no stopping it.
The dawn of realization crept visibly over her face. Eyes widened in regret at her poor choice of words.
"I barely survived my own death…twice…and it was not the kindness of an Uchiha –"
"You're right. I'm sorry…" Izumi snatched her hand, holding it tightly between her own. Her voice was hushed.
Sakura stared down at the hands touching her. A thousand acts of violence flashing through her mind uninvited, yet her hand remained a closed fist trapped inside the warm shell covering it. Even if she were in any state to fight, it would be wasted on the woman. She was not the murderer that needed to be punished.
"But this…isn't a conversation we should have here." Izumi implored, barely above a whisper. Dozens of eyes lingered heavily on them, and would continue to do so until they disappeared from the hospital. It didn't matter how true her words were. It didn't matter what undeserving hell she had been dragged through against her will. The shinobi in their midst would be the last to sympathize, and the first to meet the fire she stoked with their own.
Finally, Sakura looked into her eyes. Hues of crushed jade encircled by pink bloodshot were striking in their appearance. Izumi released her hand quickly, as if the enmity coursed in a tangible current through her and into her own hands.
The emotions were left to rage unseen. Sakura turned her head away in resignation, and gave a single nod.
"Where are we going?" She asked with forced calm, resuming her slow walk.
"To my home, where you will be staying for…however long it takes. I'll make some food while you get cleaned up."
"However long what takes?"
"Well… I don't imagine you will live with me forever." Izumi gave a short, soft laugh, "But you are welcome to stay as long as you need to."
Sakura didn't respond. The question wasn't answered to her liking, but she wasn't mentally prepared to tackle the nagging concerns that were piling in the back of her mind. At the very least, she was desperate for a bath, food, and a bed, in that order. The rest would have to wait. It's not like she was capable of doing anything else.
The rest of their walk was made in silence. Nothing changed once they were outside. The same stares followed her. Conversations paused, or changed to secretive whispers, but no one approached, and no one said a word to her.
Glances were stolen around them at the houses, small shops and stalls. The largest building she could see appeared to be a dojo. Unlike the last camp she was set up in, everything here was established. It didn't take much of an assessment to conclude that this was the clan's homebase.
She had no idea they'd been stationed so close. How else could she have arrived so soon? Perhaps that was why they were ambushed in such an underhanded way.
Animals were the most dangerous when they were cornered.
It didn't matter. She wouldn't forgive them for what they'd done.
The quick pattering of feet behind her ignited panic once more. Jerking forward, presumably out of reach of whomever was about to attack, she spun to face her foe. Muscles and joints complained angrily at the sudden movement.
Two small boys skid to a stop, watching her with intense curiosity. Regarding her with the same wariness she did them. The top of their heads didn't even reach her waist.
"What happened to you ?" The taller of them barked with the tactless honesty only a child would have. Their dark pants and long shirts were smudged with dust and decorated with bits of dried leaves and twigs, as if they'd been tusseling. Shaggy brown hair hung in both their eyes.
Before Sakura could answer, the quieter of the two made a jab at the other with his fist. He grunted in frustration when he failed to make contact as his friend–or brother–hopped out of the way and laughed. They took flight again, chasing each other around the two women in a wide, uncoordinated circle.
She was quiet. Izumi snorted hotly through her nose.
"That's enough, you two. This isn't the place for sparring."
"We're not sparring! He'd have to know how to fight for this to be sparring !" The one leading the chase cackled, taunting the boy behind him and continuing to evade his reach.
As her heart rate slowed, Sakura watched them with the hint of a frown. Not one of disapproval, but of recognition. They couldn't have been older than five. Old enough to start learning how to fight, but still young enough not to discriminate on their own. They didn't know who she was, and didn't seem to care beyond wondering why she looked the way she did.
In a few years, everything would change. They would be no different than the rest of them.
"Hey… You want some anpan?" Izumi called, just as the shorter boy finally managed to tackle the other in a plume of dust.
Their loud squabbling ended, and they snapped their heads in her direction. Giving their undivided attention with pretzeled, dirty limbs.
Izumi smirked.
"I need my tub filled. Whoever brings the most buckets of water, gets the most anpan."
The tiny wheels in their brain began turning instantly. Their eyes glanced to the front door of what Sakura realized must have been her home, and then back to her. Then, in an explosion of flailing arms and legs, they scrambled up and raced to the porch, colliding into each other as they both tried to be the first inside.
"Works every time." She snickered under her breath, and Sakura looked at her.
"Are they yours?"
Izumi blinked in surprise.
"Oh, no I don't have any children… They're orphans. I give them small jobs sometimes. It keeps them busy. They'll do almost anything for sweets."
Sakura watched the boys sail back out of the small home without responding. Each held a bucket they found inside.
One made a frog-leap over the other and landed in the middle of the path. A bucket soared through the air behind him, smacking him in the back of the head and face-planting him into the dirt. He yelped in shock, then snatched up the free bucket and raced off with one in each hand. Triumphant laughter echoed.
"No! That's cheating!" The second chased after him, yelling for the bucket he just used as a weapon. They disappeared through an alley that led into the woods.
"Do you…live alone?" She asked hesitantly, eyes trailing up to the open door as she stepped onto the porch. There were no sounds coming from inside, but that didn't guarantee anything.
"Yes, it's just me now. Both of my parents are gone."
Sakura followed her, but lingered close to the open door. It was a large enough space for a single family to live comfortably. Modest, but well taken care of and clean. The short entryway split into three directions. One leading to a room with a sunken hearth that had an iron pot hanging from the ceiling, and other amenities for cooking.
"And you thought nothing of taking a stranger into your home? One from an enemy clan?"
Slipping her shoes off and tucking them beneath a short ledge, Izumi paused and glanced back at her. Brown eyes unreadable. If she felt in any way offended, Sakura found it difficult to care.
Maybe she should… So far, the woman had been unusually polite and considerate, but none of it made sense to her. That was the problem. She felt like she stepped into a parallel universe that showed no understanding of what she had experienced only a day ago.
"I can defend myself," She said at last. When Sakura looked up at her after cautiously removing her own shoes, she found the sharingan watching her, "I'm just hoping I won't need to."
The sight made her freeze, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Red faded back into shades of damp earth, and Izumi gave a slight, saddened smile.
Sakura was mute, remaining fixed near the door. Her eyes never left the Uchiha. Not until she yielded to the unwanted standoff and disappeared around the corner.
"Please come in… This is your home now, too."
The raucous of the two boys stormed past her, returning with buckets full of water. They disappeared after the Izumi, and she heard the first two splashes emptied into a tub somewhere. They darted back out seconds later, consumed in their own race. The thought of removing their shoes never entered their competitive minds.
"My father was an outsider." Her voice carried from the other end of the house after a long pause.
Sakura poked her head around the corner, peering into a small room with a low table surrounded by four cushions on the floor. She passed through it and wove her way to the doorway of a bedroom. Izumi rummaged inside, picking out clothing and draping them across a desk.
"Some Uchiha never fully accepted him, because he didn't have the sharingan…but my mother did."
"Your clan takes in outsiders often?" The question was skeptical. She always imagined Uchiha would be especially prejudiced against anyone not of their own clan. Though in truth, that was an assumption based on her own prejudice.
"No, not that often. If we do, it's usually displaced children who show promise in some way. Our clan leaders have always been…selective."
Displaced children. She knew what that meant. She'd been one of them, once…and now here she was again.
There were three outfits assembled on the desk now. All long, layered robes in dark colors. Mostly in shades of blue, black and white.
"How many Senju have you taken in?"
"None…" Izumi spared her a quick glance, folding the clothing over her arm. Behind them, the rich wooden floors thundered with more feet dumping buckets of water into a separate room.
There was no elaboration. Questions and speculations lingered unspoken between them, weighing down the silence. An unnamed shadow fell over the Uchiha's features.
Sakura simply felt…hollow. She looked down at the floor, eyelids stinging like they did the night before. The was a hiss of shifting fabric as Izumi fidgeted uncomfortably.
"These are yours…" The arm piled in fabric gestured to her, "We'll get you some more, but in the meantime I think they will fit you."
The distant gaze never lifted.
"If…you want to sit, you can. I will let you know when the bath is ready. It's not very big, but…I didn't think you would want to visit the public bath right now."
Sakura turned and shuffled away, lost in thought and numb to the clamoring feet that darted in and out of the house. Adding a little more to the trail of dirt and pebbles with each lap they made back and forth.
She found one of the square pillows in the next room. Gingerly squatting down with her legs folded in front of her, she kept her back to the table so she could face the doorway.
Outside the window next to her, the sounds of more kids playing in the street and the dull chattering of voices faded in and out. Families going about their daily lives in the only way they knew how. There were more women than men wandering around, and very few elderly. She knew the reasons why.
If she closed her eyes, she could easily imagine herself being home. It sounded identical in every way.
Could…
Her mind had other ideas. When she closed her eyes, memories of things she never wanted to relive flashed in stark cruelty instead. Images of gore, death, and destruction stabbing in and out of the dark. People she once considered acquaintances, if not friends, falling around her.
The memory of Ino sprinting into the shadows. Possibly the last memory of her she would ever have.
She didn't know how long she sat there, fighting in vain to stifle the torrent of flashbacks. Facing them as if they were something to be conquered…if only so she could reclaim a space for some peace.
The sounds in the house had long died away, smothered by her torment and concentration.
Until a whispering caught her ear, stirring her from her haunted meditation.
Sakura peeked her eyes open, head lifting to see the two boys poised in the doorway across from her. Each holding two small pastries filled with red bean paste in place of buckets. They were a little sweaty, but no worse for the wear.
The shorter leaned hastily away from the taller when he saw her watching him. Caught red-handed, but in what, she didn't know nor care. The taller boy was considering her with a scrunched nose and eyes narrowed in doubt. Looking somewhere above her brow.
Then he looked back down, and seeing his moment of opportunity, proudly announced, "He says he likes your hair."
The shorter boy gasped loudly at the treachery, and shoved the other with both hands before taking off through the house. The one left behind laughed and chased after him.
Izumi replaced them in the doorway, watching them flee with her hands on her hips. They ran out the door a final time, and resumed their scuffling outside.
"It's ready. I left a change of clothes in there, too. Take as long as you like. I'm going to start dinner." This time, she knew better than to wait for a response, and disappeared down the hall.
The washroom was easy to find. Water was splattered all over the woven mat next to it, but most of it made it into the round, compact wooden tub. It was elevated a couple inches off the floor and nestled into the corner of the room. The platform was warmed steadily by an unseen heat source radiating from behind the wall next to it, and the water steamed ribbons up into the air. On the floor sat the two buckets full of extra water, a wide empty basin, and a scrub brush.
A clean, burgundy robe was folded neatly on a dresser, topped with one of the fluffy round pastries. Pale gold and crowned with decorative black sesame seeds.
Sakura stared long and hard at the anpan. Reluctant to reach for it yet, knowing how filthy her hands were. She meant to smile, knowing full well no one could see her…but maybe that was why it felt okay. Instead, her mouth betrayed her and twisted into a sharp frown, and a flood of tears spilled down her cheeks without warning. Like the final breaking of a dam whose existence she'd been trying to deny.