A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed. Here's a shift in the mood…

…

She does not remember moving her head. Did he move his? It can't be, but he's not pulling away, lips warm and so soft it's impossible. How can anything about him be soft? This can't be happening, they can't be kissing in this careful, chaste way, touching and holding back as though any sudden movement would shatter the illusion. He can't be caressing her this gently with his mouth even as his hands harshly bruise her wrists.

He pushes so she pushes back and, before she can process it, the same tongue that has hurt her so many times is exploring her mouth. She sighs, kisses back, lets herself feel that he is solid, real, and here. In actual existence, and not just her untouchable thoughts. It really is happening and she grows confident in her perusal of him now that it's clear he is tangible, that he won't just evaporate into thin air.

She feels… angry. At him for going away, for coming back, for still exercising that power over her and because she likes it. She could kill him for doing this now and not when she threw herself at his mercy, begging him to stay or to take her with him. The years… those damned years of waiting and hoping, regretting, growing stronger and harder, moving on but not quite letting go.

And here they are now, eighteen, desperate, sighing. He's still beautiful and cold, but now he's warm too. His mouth is urgent, and her wrists are black and blue, and he's just… clinging to her. She tastes salt and only then notices the tears; how long has she been crying?

She jerks away and he allows it, doesn't pursue her, but still won't ease his grip. Glaring, inches away from his face, Sakura thinks of her tears for him and great lakes of the world. There has to be at least an equivalency there.

She's aware that she is shaking, meeting his eyes again, most honestly because this kiss she's been waiting for has affected her that much. But she tells herself that her anger is responsible because she'd rather not give him any more power.

He looks back at her seriously, and even though he hardly shows it she can tell he's upset.

"Why did you do that?" her voice comes out accusing and snappish because she's concentrating on how much she hates him without actually hating him at all.

No, she just hates the side effects and loves the drug. Still loves the idiot, after everything. Even now. Especially now. She thinks… she really should just kill him. A woman scorned this much is entitled and the fury is still there. But all she can do is glare and tremble, and try to recover. If she was overly-stimulated before, now she's about to crash. The only parts of her body she can't feel acutely are her wrists, numb from his grip. The rest of her is singing; she's all adrenaline.

Sasuke speaks finally, completely avoiding the question, "Itachi is dead."

Or maybe that's his answer.

"Oh," she softens, "When?"

"Three years ago," he finally releases her.

She rubs her sore wrists, and watches his hands warily as they move towards her again. One of them lands on her cheek, and he collects her tears with all the ceremony of mopping a floor. He performs the action without tenderness or affection, but she lets herself be comforted by it anyway. It's reminiscent of all the times he used to casually look after her without making a big deal of it, as if it was simply business as usual.

Yeah, he really had been her friend, hadn't he?

"I didn't kill him," he says, wiping wet fingertips on his pants.

She studies him and feels herself crying all over again, or maybe she hasn't even stopped. She's only certain now that it was all a stupid waste. What he gave up and left behind for a life goal he will never achieve. He's lost everything now. He has nothing.

He has her. Not that it was ever enough for him before, or now, or if it means anything at all. But she knows, in her heart, she will always belong to him. Which is frightening.

"You're still angry," she observes, "and you can't come home."

"It's too late," his tone is so very close to emotionless, but this time he can't quite make it.

She's glad for it, takes any evidence of his humanity that she can possibly get from him. She has to draw it out, hold onto it, keep it safe. She has to help him, even if he's beyond it. She has to try.

"I think…" she purses her lips, "I think I should ask you what you've been doing all these years, but I won't. I just -,"

She sighs, heavily. Her feelings have slowly filtered their way into thoughts that were supposed to be entirely rational. It's no use fighting anymore, not when it comes to him, and not when there's nothing else to be said. She can't be afraid, because what more can he do to hurt her? Her heart has been broken for years, why worry about spreading the damage?

"I told you I loved you when you left the first time, and it couldn't stop you." She smiles through her tears, maybe a little bitterly, but still as sweetly as she inherently is, "Now that there's nothing to stop you from doing that I can determine, I still do. You probably already know that, maybe you don't care, but it is what it is and I can't change it."

He looks away again, resting his chin on folded hands as he sighs with what sounds a lot like frustration, "You're such an idiot, Sakura."

"Yeah well," she manages to smirk in spite of everything, "you too."

"I can't go back, you know," he glares at her.

"I don't want you to be alone anymore," she replies, ignoring him.

"After everything I've done-,"

"I still love you."

"Because you're a fool."

He stands up suddenly, strides past her seated form to jerk the door open, and tilts his head slightly to indicate that she should leave.

"Goodbye."

She doesn't move, "No."

He scowls and she can see the wheels turning in his head. Probably he's seriously contemplating forcibly removing her, which in spite of marked improvement in her skills and strength, Sakura is sure he could do easily.

He doesn't; shrugs with one shoulder, and leaves the room himself. And she thinks, as she pushes herself off the ground to go after him that she really might just have to kill him after all.

"Stop it," she snaps, catching him in the hall, "Stop running and for once in your life, be a grown up."

Then, grabbing hold of his hand, she pulls him to her with strength that surprises him; he can't stop his eyes from widening ever so slightly. Her arms find their way around his waist and she buries her face in his shoulder, holds him against her.

"This time, I'm not going to let you get away."

He holds still for a long moment, and she can hear his jaw clenching until he folds, the fight leaving him. His face winds up buried somewhere in her hair and he says her name in a sigh of exasperation and resignation.

She moves to his side, picking up his hand again to ensure he doesn't run off and because she's unwilling to stop touching him. She leads him this time into her room, and they sit on the bed.

"I don't know where you're going Sasuke," she laces their fingers together, admiring the way her flushed pink skin looks against his alabaster. "But if you stay with me… you have somebody here who loves you and who wants to make you happy. Maybe it's impossible, but there can't be anything else out there now."

"I don't understand you," he says, irritably. "Why do you do this to yourself? You know I can't…"

He won't complete the thought, and he won't move, and she can feel how tense he is.

He can love her in spite of himself, she thinks, even though she's aware there's a very good chance she's wrong. But she's unfailingly optimistic, always has been, and even if it makes her foolish, it keeps her strong. Her father used to always say that her most natural state was joy, and when there was none to be found, she had to go looking for it.

She remembered the words at his funeral, and had made herself smile. Because he was right; happiness is in her nature, engrained in her genetic code, which made Sasuke's absence and her misery so strange and unnatural to her. She couldn't embrace despondent feelings like he so easily did. Her heart needs to believe in love, faith and happy endings. Maybe that's why he's stayed with her all this time, why she couldn't accept the finality of his decisions and betrayal.

"I do this to myself," she tells him softly, "Because if I couldn't hope, even a little, I wouldn't know how to be."

He says nothing at that, but he seems to lean into her a little more and she smiles faintly, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I don't know," he admits, "I'm sorry."

She sighs, placing her free hand on his arm, "Don't be."

"For everything," he clarifies.

"I know," she pulls away slightly to study him.

His dark, raging eyes, silent countenance, flawless white skin. Beauty in an achingly tragic way like a fallen angel in a painting, just looking at him is cathartic. She feels… so damned sad. But she can't cry again; she's done too much of that already when he was gone, she shouldn't have to while he's actually here.

"I don't care about anything anymore," she says, ashamed to hear her voice breaking, "It doesn't matter if you come home, or run to the edge of the earth. I just want to be with you, wherever you are."

It's so fucking ridiculous. She has a life, friends, people who need her, a place in this world, and she's once again willing to discard it for the person who doesn't. She knows it's pathetic, she knew it when she offered before, but as rational and clever as her mind is, it's her heart that rules her. And he rules her heart.

"Listen to me Sakura," his voice is even, eyes hard, "I am not the person to be your happiness. Don't… don't do this."

"I'm sorry," she pushes dark hair away from his face, letting her fingers rest on a faint scar at his temple that wasn't there six years ago. "But I can't help it."

"I can't let you come with me."

She places her other hand on his cheek and moves to rest her forehead against his, "Then come home."

"I can't."

"You won't," so close to his eyes, their lashes almost mesh together, "But you can and I think a part of you wants to."

"Sakura-,"

"You asked me before what I wanted from you," she interrupts him, "I want you to be happy. And if you can't do that, and if you don't think you can be my happiness, let me be yours."

"I won't take -,"

"Take it," again he's cut off, "Take everything. I have my fair share of love in my life. So many people care about me, I'm overwhelmed. You don't have to give me anything in return, if you have nothing left; my heart's big enough for the both of us."

She smiles at this. After all, her dad had told her as much.

And Sasuke? Well, he has never really been much for words, but his hands find her waist, and he sighs deeply as he stares back at her.

"You really do annoy the hell out of me."

"I know," she beams at him, "but you missed me anyway."

He doesn't respond to this, not verbally anyway; he's too busy kissing her again. She thinks… nothing. Because she's too busy feeling, and loving, and there is no room for thoughts or rationality. Because she should still be angry with him, and she should hate him, and maybe she should have killed him a long time ago.

Or maybe this is right, letting him push her down into the mattress, and helping him remove her clothes because there is no way he could figure them out himself. Because it feels right, his skin against hers, his arms around her, his lips on her neck. Even if he's more passionate than skilled, and they're more awkward than graceful, and neither of them have done this before. Even if he doesn't love her, or if he does, or whatever the hell it is he feels or doesn't feel.

It's right because in her heart it's always been him, and she loves him in spite of herself, and no matter what he says, his home will always be where she is.

TBC…

A/N: Part three, the epilogue, is in Sasuke's POV. And that bastard just hates me inside of his head, but we'll get along, I think. Heh.