A/N: Hey guys. Sorry I took longer than expected, but I wasn't feeling like writing after my finals, and I don't want this story to feel like a responsibility. I should only write for enjoyment, uk. But I'm back! And this chapter has many important segments, so pay attention. I'm not too happy with the chapter, but I don't want to drag everything for too long when I have so many things to come.
Enjoy and review pls :)
The Samurai is the first to suffer anxiety for human society, and he is the last to seek personal pleasure.
– Morihei Ueshiba (1883-1969).
Shikamaru lets the words out with confidence, though careful from many first-hand experiences with his superior's unpredictable behaviour; a type of quiet, boiling wrath under many thick layers of skin that only needs a small snap to burst forth. Shikamaru speaks, but he shuts his mouth as soon as the sentence is finished so that the man behind the desk can process the words correctly, slowly, and with time.
"We believe that your brother may be alive after all, my lord."
Sasuke's behavior can be unstable and rocky at times, but his habits are very easy to read. After all, he has been standing by the younger man's side for years. And as predicted, Sasuke quiets down, puts his ink down on the desk, and spends at least five seconds thinking his words through.
Shikamaru, his closest and most trustworthy advisor and part of the prestigious council of Fire, would not say these words lightly in his presence if they were not holding some sort of truth to them. He always takes what the man says seriously, and it should be no different this time. It is all it takes to make him understand the weight of his words all the more.
Sasuke stands from the zabuton slowly, and his confidante only looks up at him from across the low table that separates them—only if he says so, he can stand too. Shino, seated next to him, can only do the same.
Sasuke stands and stares them both down the bridge of his straight nose, dark brows furrowed and hands in fists under the few layers of formal, fine silk he wears.
"Explain yourself."
Shikamaru wastes no time, gaze moving away from the angry black and toward the open window past his imposing form, almost feeling like a child on the verge of getting reprimanded.
"Word from your men past the walls has reached my ears in the last weeks, and I only come here today because of its consistency. The same message has been mentioned many, many times over to be more than a small coincidence."
His men, his spies, placed around the village ever since his brother's fall was questioned, have just proved themselves to be useful. It's not that he had wanted to hire men for the job, really, but the peace around the country has left many a Samurai adrift, and working undercover while receiving a small allowance is better than nothing.
Sasuke purses his lips and waits, his suspicions having been confirmed. Shikamaru had waited weeks to tell him, until he knew this wasn't just some unimportant, bland rumour.
"There have been descriptions of a man much like your brother outside of town, a few towns over. It will only be so long before your people in the higher ranks get the news."
"Where?"
It comes out more as a demand than a question, but Shikamaru has known the man for quite some time now, and this behaviour is nothing short of the norm.
"We are trying to locate the possible sources as of now. What am I to do?"
For one, he could put his men to work day and night until they find the source of all the talk by the outskirts of the village. It could just be an ill-mannered rumour or a trap, but the word has been spreading for weeks and there are very, very few men that resemble his older brother. Sasuke has always known that Itachi shares—shared—the Uchiha genes like no other, taking after his father; unlike Sasuke, who has been the splitting image of his mother from a young age, sporting softer angles and less pronounced stress lines.
So, unless the descriptions of his brother are not befitting the older man like Sasuke knew him, the rumours may as well be true. And if they are true, Sasuke shouldn't waste any more time in trying to find him.
"What is it they say?" He asks, teeth grinding together in a mix of anticipation and anger and possibly, just possibly, fear of the truth. "What depictions are they painting of my brother?"
Shikamaru sighs as if the task of talking any more than he already has could spark a stroke in his chest. It's a good thing Sasuke has known him for years; such behaviour should not be tolerated with any lesser man.
Shino, noticing the tired behaviour in his friend, clears his throat and speaks through the mask that covers the lower-half of his face.
"They talk of a tall man with lean built. He was doning a cloak, and two men mentioned seeing a long, tied ponytail at one point."
Sasuke shifts his eyes toward the other man, one his other advisors; Shino, a man that is leader to a group of forest and wildlife experts around Fire country, one who has arrived at Konoha recently, just after an undercover expedition to the neighboring country for supplies. Sasuke's knowledge of this fact doesn't deter his ever-growing anger.
"How are you sure this source is credible? How can you be sure of this new information?"
"Sir, we have been looking all year for any and all hints. I think nothing should be ruled out."
Sasuke clicks his tongue and takes a step forward, hands up in the air, palms up. Something flashes across his features; something that resembles an emotion so strong on a usually-stoic face; something that makes Shikamaru and Shino suppress a flinch against their better judgement.
"And all this from what, exactly? Seeing him pass through a small town a few days from here? The forest? Across the border of Fire? Where?"
Shino stays silent only because the source has not exactly been located, and Sasuke only looks away when he understands there is no more information than what has already been given. He looks between the two men, and gives up.
With a sigh, he sits back down on the soft cushion on the floor, and passes a hand down his face slowly, massaging his temples with great patience. The anger he had felt at the mention of such rumours—the mere mention of his brother being alive and not six feet under like he has thought for years—is something he would prefer over the waves of defeat that wash over him now. All the fight leaves him in a heartbeat, and he only opens his eyes once more, drops his hand to his lap, and looks across the table toward Shikamaru when the man speaks in a tentative, low voice.
"Shall we pursue this?"
Sasuke stares at him; stares through him as he thinks. But there is not much to think about. If there is the slightest chance that his brother is alive, no matter how slim or unlikely, he will take it without a second thought.
"Have the Inuzuka clan trace the area for my brother, effective immediately. I want every guard on duty at the castle to report to me in the morning," he tells Shino, and looks back toward Shikamaru with no semblance of peace in his dark, bottomless eyes. "Let us devise a plan. I'm taking a trip."
"Right away."
.
.
.
Sasuke leaves for a small village in the South side of Fire two days later. The whispers of Itachi's possible reappearance all trail back to a village hidden in Lava, the city with the highest temperatures and largest, dormant volcanoes in all the country.
Sasuke leaves Shikamaru at the castle and takes Inuzuka Kiba, Aburame Shino, and a small group of Samurai with him instead. It's a two day trip, but he'd rather trek it with experts at smells and forests and a few backup guards for protection than with a strategies expert. Unless it is a long-lasting battle or a war, he usually lets Shikamaru rest after he discusses the details of the small mission before leaving. It ensures the idea that, were anything to happen to them while away, Shikamaru would know every single thing that could have gone wrong. He has the permission to give direct orders for a rescue mission, then.
Throughout the trip, Sasuke spends a total of eight hours of the forty-eight sleeping, only enough so he can keep moving with eyes rested well-enough and a back relatively straight. Lava is a somewhat prosperous society of commoners, though not very famous because of its high temperatures all year 'round—and not very populated either.
It doesn't help when the village is also shielded by a range of inactive volcanoes that take an entire, arduous and extenuating five hours to climb over.
The sun beats on his back as soon as he steps through the gates, no questions asked and no missed respectful vows when the two bored, tan guards notice exactly who he is.
They take two days to get there, sweaty and exhausted, yet Sasuke moves forward, keeps his eyes alert for any and all signs of someone he used to know very well, and feels his skin crawl every time he thinks he spots him.
But he doesn't. He talks to the Daimyō of Lava, talks to some villagers, walks down the streets and around the perimeter, but he never finds his brother. He shows Akamaru a few small items of clothing from his brother's wardrobe so that his dog can smell them and track the odour—and it makes it even harder to accept this was for nothing when he remembers how long it had taken him to enter his brother's old, dusty and forgotten room—but all they lead to are dead ends.
It almost seems silly to him, thinking that his fallen, dead brother could be freely walking around streets that do not even belong to his home, with Sasuke. It seems silly to him, thinking that Itachi, if there was even a small chance of him being alive after the war by some strange miracle, wouldn't want to come back home with him and take the title of Shogun once more.
They don't find Itachi, and it suddenly feels silly that he tried to find him altogether in this remote village of Fire on the way back. The entire trip, toward the village and away, takes a week.
.
.
.
Sakura only realises he's gone when she's walking to the dining hall on the day after his departure and hears a maid mention it in passing; gone on a mission with some of his men and a small army of Samurai for something she can only guess is related to his brother.
His absence from the village would explain his absence in their bedroom last night. It still doesn't make her mood any less sour, knowing she had to hear, yet again, the news from someone other than the man himself—none other than her husband, someone who is supposed to confide in her so long as they keep breathing.
She still sits at the table alone the rest of the week like any other normal, uneventful day. She should feel surprised, but she doesn't.
Instead, she feels something she hasn't felt in years: genuine, unrepressed, shameless anger. It boils inside of her until she feels she has gone mad, and expertly hides beneath her skin for the first three days of his absence. Even her silver-haired master, though he doesn't voice it out loud, notices her shift in emotions.
She doesn't care she's stomping on the ground instead of walking, or that she's cutting the leaves off plants with more force than necessary. It's anger toward Sasuke, toward his actions and toward his contradictory moves. It's his acceptance of her and his denial, the way he pushes her away only to pull once more, never letting go but never holding close enough. This rings in her head for hours on end, scratching the surface of her worries and reaching deep inside.
Not only had he tried to make things right for the past few weeks, but he had actually taken steps forward—helping her ride a horse, staying in bed until she wakes, offering simple glances during lunch and dinner, trying to keep her occupied so she doesn't spend her days solely by Kabuto's side.
Yet, at the end of it all, he still couldn't bother to let her know of his leave. He couldn't bother to say goodbye. She had to hear from someone else, as usual, just like at the start of their complicated marriage. At the end of it all, when all is quiet and peaceful and without him to occupy her mind, he had still told her the crude truth about ever having children that fateful day so many months ago.
On the fourth day of his absence, she takes a walk around the forest where he usually trains, where she had asked about attending her mother's wedding, and where she had seen him train countless of times. This time, he's not here and, alone and slightly before the sunrise, she lets herself think. She thinks of her mother, someone she probably will not see again. She thinks of her father, his boisterous laughter and his crude jokes, and the time he taught her how to hold a sword for the first time. She thinks of Ino, her best friend, whom she hasn't seen or spoken to since the wedding. She thinks of herself, and of her position, and of her duties and responsibilities.
She's the Shogun's wife and, whether she likes it or not, she will always be Uchiha Sakura, not Haruno anymore.
She thinks of Sasuke and how he seems to be trying, even if it's slowly and with many flaws. Sakura thinks, as she looks at the sun rising from the treetops, that if he needs more time to make things better between them, then she could give him that. Time is all they had, after all, and being angry has made her tired. It's not in her to feel this way toward him or toward anyone, simply because this is what the cards have dealt for her, and there is nothing that can change the fate that has already been written in the stars. She must take it, and adapt.
And when the man she's bound to love finally walks through the front door of their home, it's after a week. She has the decency—the detail—to wait for him at the entrance. Doning a small, blue and white Kimono, she folds her hands in front of her and waits.
Sasuke lands his eyes on her the moment he slides the door open, and she locks her own in his surprised, maybe even startled, face. She offers a small smile as he approaches her slowly, and she doesn't fail to recognise the blue air to his step. Whatever little mission he took, she knows he has failed.
So, if a smile is what she can give him at the moment, it's what he gets.
.
.
.
It's a new year and the village below the hill she's upon rejoices at the maintained, newfound peace since the war's closure. It's been an entire year without civil war ensuing once more; there are very few things that should require more celebration than this fact. In a way, she has her husband to thank for accomplishing what Itachi couldn't: ending the war. In a way, the new year is celebrated in his name.
Sakura can only watch the colourful fireworks from the castle's backyard, sitting on one of the stone benches with a cup of gone-cold tea in hand.
They burst into colours in front of her eyes, and the defeaning sound is what hides the laughter and talk down the streets of Konoha. As a new year approaches, she wraps her coat tighter around herself and drinks from the cup, faraway eyes taking in the show in the usually dark sky above her. Her light hair is free of any restraints this evening, and she feels the tips tickle her waist as she looks up.
Kabuto sits next to her until the show of colours ends well into the night.
.
.
.
She feels nostalgic, for a moment, remembering she used to light small fireworks with her father many years ago. It's bittersweet, thinking how much life has changed for her ever since he passed away in the war. This is all she thinks of when she gets the knife and makes him sit on a stool so they can be at the same level.
The second thing she thinks of is the reason why the man right in front of her hadn't been present the night of the fireworks—or, at least, not around her. So when she's with the knife in her hand and a towel in the other, she thinks it's the perfect time to ask. She stands in between his legs when she starts moving the metal on his chin.
"Were you in the castle for the fireworks?"
"No."
She shouldn't really have to ask. Beside the fact that she had to look around almost every corner of their giant palace for him, a small request for his advisor, Shikamaru, was all she'd needed to know of his absence. What she doesn't know is why he wasn't there.
"How come, dear?" She asks, her voice sounding innocent enough.
She cleans the razor-sharp metal on a white cloth by the basin, and he follows the movement with attentive eyes.
"Something came up," he answers, adjusting himself on the stool of their spacious bathroom.
"Something important, I suppose."
He grunts in response, watching as she comes closer to his seated form and slightly bends down to get a closer look. And with utmost care, she grabs his chin and tilts it upwards. Soon enough, he feels the edge of the razor moving methodically against his neck.
It's not that there aren't available workers at the castle to do the job. It's that she had offered to do it herself after seeing his ever-growing facial hair, and he hadn't had the chance to decline; not with those big, wide eyes of hers boring into his own, knowing quite well he's just going to deny her as he does with everything else.
Now, as she's holding a knife to his neck while she tries to spark a casual conversation with him, he starts to wonder if he should have just denied her request on the first try.
"I happened to watch the fireworks from the backyard," she continues as if nothing, voice small and non-consequential. "They were quite lovely, I may say."
He opens his eyes to look at her, but he can only stare at the ceiling as she still has his chin up by her dainty, small fingers. Whatever point she's trying to get across, he can only wait for.
Sakura knows fate is unavoidable, and she has come to terms with her dull and fruitless marriage. However, knowing that she has come to terms with his unexplainable absences doesn't mean she can't let him see the problem. Knowing that she has come to terms with his behaviour doesn't mean she can't discuss it with him.
At this point in their relationship, it might just be what he needs.
"Though I wish I had spent the night with you instead," she says, moving the razor up the side of his neck, signaling she's almost done with her work. "Yakushi is not my husband, after all."
At this, he moves his head down without a second thought. In the quick and unexpected movement, she has only enough time to remove the razor from his neck, but she doesn't have time to sigh in relief at the realisation she hadn't cut him. Because, all of a sudden, she meets his eyes and her breath leaves her lungs in one second, gone like the words stuck in her throat and the plan she'd had in mind.
He grabs the razor still in her frozen hand and tosses it aside, nevermind if he still has one or two hairs in his face that won't be shaved anymore.
"Enough of this," he says, moving his eyes to her green, green gaze once again; rare, and so hauntingly beautiful. "Do you wish to provoke me? I already said I could not attend."
When his wife only stares at him like a lost puppy, he has the urge to stand and leave her be to her own devices. But he won't, because this isn't the first time in their marriage where she tries to instigate something, and he'll be damned if he runs away this time without a proper explanation.
"Tell me, why let him keep you company?" He asks, accusatory tone edging into his voice, his face moving closer to her own in a show of defiance. "I was informed you were only interested in the art of healing."
At this, Sakura can only frown and hold his impenetrable gaze. "I am."
"Is it possible something else has caught your attention?"
If she wasn't directly facing him, she would have disregarded his question as a bit of playful teasing, bantering. But she sees the way his jaw locks, the way his eyes shine a black venom, and the protruding vein at the sides of his head. She knows he's not playing around, and she knows what he's suggesting, but it's exactly what she had hoped to achieve from the very start of the conversation, and it puts her back on track.
"He is not my husband. You are."
In that moment, Sasuke physically moves away, back straight against the outside of the bathtub and face set in stone. She gets the idea that he's going to get up and leave as per usual, which is the only reason why she moves closer to him, bending forward until there are mere inches between their faces, and speaks to get her point across the small space in between them.
"I mention him only because he is here when you are not," she watches his lips as they open, ready to interrupt her with some crude remark, but she shakes her head once and watches as he closes them again; purses them until she can't see them in his anger anymore. "I know we have had our disagreements along the years, but..."
And as quickly as her confidence had found her, it leaves her in a heartbeat after the words leave her mouth. Despite everything, she has accepted this is who she is and has been for some years now. She wants nothing more than to spend time with her husband, yes, but she also wants nothing more than to hide in some corner and never come out again.
She has always worn her emotions on her sleeve; has always been blunt with her feelings. Yet there is something in the way he looks at her that makes her heavy with regret. He only stares, and it's hard for her to not be the one who runs away now. However, it's too late, and she must push through.
If she's going to feel vulnerable, she's going to feel vulnerable long enough to get an answer, whether it is verbally or physically, it doesn't matter. He's not moving an inch, and she speaks again when she knows she won't step all over her words.
"Believe me when I say there is nothing more I want, than for you to find time for me."
Sasuke looks at her, then, not through her; looks at her rose-coloured cheeks, her elegant brows down with concern, her sparkling green eyes, her pretty pink lips under her teeth in worry. Sasuke looks at her, and he sees nothing more than a woman who wants to understand all that he is, all that they are, and all that they ever will be.
It has almost been four years into their marriage, and this is the first time she lets him know of her feelings. If anything, she has been patient. Sasuke blinks in contemplation, eyes roaming her face for any signs of treachery and finding none, already knowing her to be true with him in spite of all that he's done.
And if not patient, then resilient. This constant need for answers is what makes him talk, if only to settle this once and for all.
"When we married, I was only a warlord," he starts, and frowns at the way her eyes widen, as if she had never expected him to reply to her confession in the first place. "I understand if you feel like this is too much now that I am Shogun. I have not enough time."
The gentle looks she gives him, in a moment of silence, almost makes him look away.
"A few minutes of your day couldn't hurt anyone, my lord," she answers, without a doubt in her mind, and the small smile she gives him has him wishing for more air.
Her smile only grows when he finally relents and looks away to a point over her shoulder, but there is only a suffocating kind of silence for the next few seconds, and he has to look back at her when he notices she's not going to talk otherwise.
His hands are resting on his lap, and they tingle when she covers them with her own.
"I wish to know you more, Sasuke-kun," she whispers in the privacy of the spacious, wood-decorated bathroom—the same bathroom, she thinks, where she shared a bath with the man once. "If only you let me."
Sasuke stands then, and shakes his hands off the feeling of soft, small hands holding his own. He walks toward the exit of the bathroom and opens the door, finding the air he has been craving for in the last few sentences of their conversation.
He only speaks when he feels he can breathe again.
"I leave in a few hours, but I am to come back in two days. Until then, you must wait."
And with that, he steps out of the bathroom.
She can only think that this is the first time he has ever let her know of his leave.
.
.
.
She's bending forward, tending to one of the gardens with Kabuto, when the door on the back of the castle slides open. She doesn't pay much attention to the motion, mostly because her guards are entering and leaving and constantly moving about to ensure her safety, especially when her husband is gone.
"I thought plants in this family did not grow during winter. Might I know why this one is any different?"
The seconds pass and, when she receives no answer, she stands slowly and spares a glance toward the older man behind her, but he's not looking anywhere near her. Instead, his gaze is trained past her, on a point behind her shoulder, and it takes her a moment before she realises he's looking at the newcomer with a hard look on his features.
She turns and looks toward the castle. As suspected, there is someone looking at them from afar, though it's someone she hadn't expected to see ever, ever again.
A guard approaches her and bows until she has the control to look from the man at the door to the guard in front of her.
"My lady, lord Orochimaru has come to visit. He seems to be aware that my lord is not present until later today, yet he persists."
He rushes the words at her distrustful gaze, and almost scrambles away when she dismisses him and wraps her coat tighter against her body. Looking back at Kabuto, she offers an apologetic smile and watches as his transfixed, lost eyes land on her own for the first time since Orochimaru's arrival.
"I shall tend to our visitor now. Excuse me," she says, expecting a dismissive, respectful bow from the man but receiving a messy, lost smile instead. She walks toward the warlord at the door before she can think about the action.
Orochimaru's smile has a sharper, more unstable edge to his face when she reaches him, yet she returns the gesture with a soft tilt of her lips without a doubt; no matter how creepy the man may be, she has to do what is expected of her.
He offers a small bow and shines his yellow, piercing eyes at her from a safe distance.
"My, my, am I glad to see you again, lady Uchiha. May I say, your beauty only grows with time."
She thinks she sees his tongue dart out to lick his lips, but only smiles brighter and looks away from him.
"Thank you. I should say I am surprised to see you once more," she offers, opening the door and stepping inside the building. "However, my husband is not here at the moment. Should you visit tomorrow, he would be more than happy to talk."
"Oh, there is no need, my dear," he mentions behind her as he also steps inside and turns to look behind him. As he takes hold of the frame, his eyes catch the silver-haired healer a few steps ahead, and something like acknowledgement passes between them before he closes the door.
Sakura stops walking and turns, repressing a gasp when the taller, pale man stares down at her with a beaming, crooked smile a few inches away from her body. Instinctively, she has to take a step back.
"No need? Sorry, but I don't understand," she offers him a small smile that does not reach her eyes. In a way, his smile does not reach his eyes either. In a way, she tries to cover up and ignore his very familiar manner of speaking toward a woman of her status.
"I am here today to talk to you, not your husband. Shall we go to his study?" He asks, motioning to the grand staircase past the main hall.
Sakura swallows and frowns as soon as she gives him her back, biting the inside of her lip when she starts walking and hears him come along.
"Follow me."
She walks up the stairs to the second floor and follows the trail toward her husband's vacant office, the door at the end of the hallway mocking her of all the instances she has been inside and how the situations had not been in her favour each time.
Glancing at the two guards stationed at each side of the door, she murmurs a quick order to make them stay on alert, opens the door, and closes it as soon as Orochimaru comes in.
She takes a deep breath.
.
.
.
Naruto looks at the board in between them on the floor with a frown—mostly from confusion. The unguarded, simple room facing his imperial backyard is bathed in silence for a few more seconds where Sasuke waits and Naruto only can do so much as stare.
"Why are we even playing this?" He finally asks, and Sasuke clicks his tongue in exhasperation.
"We always play this," he says. "You just don't want to because you always lose."
"No," the blond responds immediately, almost pointing an accusing finger at his best friend. "It's just so boring."
Sasuke shakes his head and doesn't bother to move his next piece in favour of the blond's wishes. When he opens his mouth to speak, someone sides the door open on the other side of the room, and he watches as Hinata bows to them from the entrance.
"My apologies, but-"
Naruto turns to regard her, then, and Sasuke watches as he flashes the brightest smile at his wife.
"You're here!" He exclaims, gets up as fast as lightning and almost quite literally sprints toward her petite form, enveloping her in a crushing hug before his best friend's eyes—not that either of them have ever cared for formalities, anyway.
"Naruto-kun!" Sasuke hears her muffled scream and notices the teacups in her hands almost spill over the contents inside. "You are making me spill this!"
At that, Naruto moves away enough to let her breathe, but not enough to let her go. He grabs her face in his tan hands.
"I've just missed you so much, you know, Hanabi's castle is on the other side of the damn country."
"No need to be so dramatic. I was only away for one week."
She chuckles at his antics and he dips his head forward, moving closer to her in what Sasuke can only guess is for a kiss. He looks away until he deems it appropriate to look again. By then, they're both already walking toward him.
"Sasuke, I hope you remember my wife," he says, sitting in front of him once more with his own warm cup of tea in hand.
Sasuke nods once to him, and once to Hinata, offering a small bow she immediately returns.
"I do," he says.
"So do I. It is great to see you again, lord Uchiha," she responds, taking two more steps in order to give him his own cup of tea, one which he takes gladly.
"Thank you," Naruto exclaims with enthusiasm, and the smile he gives her is enough to make her blush and scurry away. His bright, foolish smiles stays glued to his face even after she leaves the room, and it makes Sasuke question if the woman is really two years older than them, and if they have really been married for more than a decade. They sure still look like lovesick teenagers.
With a shake of his head, Sasuke drinks from his tea and steals a glance at the board in between them. Shogi has never been the blond's strongest suit, but it's exactly what makes it all the more fun when he beats him at it to begin with, again and again every time he visits. Maybe it's time to change the game.
He looks at him.
"Let's spar. Like old times," he announces, and the mere suggestion makes the blond choke on the hot liquid. "Before I became Shogun and before you became Emperor of Fire. Do you remember?"
Naruto's lovesick smile turns crooked—excited—and Sasuke watches as he stands and offers him a hand to do the same.
"Fight until neither of us can stand. Yeah, I remember," he says. "No weapons?"
Sasuke takes his hand, gives it a firm squeeze of reassurance before he gets up completely.
"No weapons."
.
.
.
She's, if anything, curious as to why this warlord of Fire wants to speak with her and not with her husband. Such meetings are not something she has ever heard of, or ever been taught, for that matter. The Shogun's wife holding a meeting with the Shogun's warlord, alone in her husband's office? Unheard of, and most likely inappropriate and forbidden.
She tells herself that, technically, she's not completely alone—after all, the material of the door is not that thick, and there are two guards stationed right outside the room in case she needs anything. Not that she really wants to resort to call for any help at all. In fact, she wants this talk to go smoothly and, most importantly, quickly, though the man in front of her doesn't seem in much of a hurry.
He looks the same as the last time she saw him a few years past, as if time hadn't touched his skin at all. His eyes are still that stricking amber, lined with black in a rare, wing-like shape that goes all the way to his hairline at the sides of his tar black and long, tied back hair. His skin is so pale that she has to fake the urge to check him over from up close because, could that possibly not be makeup?
She inwardly sighs and takes a seat behind her husband's desk, motioning Orochimaru to do the same across from her, legs tucked under thighs as practiced for a lifetime.
Sakura smiles.
"I apologize if the tea is not ready, but this is certainly short-notice," she says, politely taking breaks while she speaks. "If you don't mind it, I could fetch you some at this time, or tell the guards to bring some."
Orochimaru smiles pearl white teeth at her, the purple markings around his eyes wrinkling with the movement. If he notices her squirm on the cushion, he doesn't show it.
"No need, dear. I could not possibly keep you waiting any longer. You must be wondering why I am here with you."
The last three words are breathed more than spoken, hissed more than said. It makes Sakura's skin fill with little goosebumps, and the hair on the back of her neck stand.
"What is the meaning of this impromptu visit?" She asks, a smile—somehow—making its way onto her lips, stretching the corners with a little too much difficulty. Once again, if he notices her fake smile, he doesn't show it.
"There is a reason for my visit, my lady," he draws out, smiling through sinful, sparkling eyes. "Especially since I am not here for your dear husband."
He speaks slowly, and watches her with slower eyes that trace every one of her small movements. She doesn't remember being trained in any of this, so she only copies her husband and tries to keep her emotions at bay under a taciturn facade, as hard as that proves to be.
"I am here because of him, though," he says, watching her face. "And I daresay you do not know him as well as you should."
At that, she physically blinks and stares, not nearly processing the words as quickly as her brain should. And when it clicks, she blinks again and forces a smile through clenched teeth.
"Pardon?"
"Tell me, do you know anything about the Uchiha massacre?"
In that moment, time stands still, and she has to force the words out of her lips.
"Massacre?" She asks, and unconsciously wipes the smile off her lips. It seems like he has no idea she can call up the guards and order them to take him away, added to the fact that she can tell Sasuke about all of this and let him take care of it—just like he's taken care of others.
When she glances at the door past his shoulders, he smiles; licks his thin lips for added measure.
"Oh, but are you not a little curious?"
"There was no such massacre in the Uchiha clan," she responds, though she doesn't know why she feels the need to. Their eyes meet a second later. "Most members passed in a fire years ago."
"Maybe," he says, and chuckles to himself when he speaks again. "But who started the fire?"
"It was an accident."
"Was it, really? You don't know for sure."
"I was only but a toddler," she quickly answers, having the urge to tap her foot on the tatami-covered floor when the man gets ready to ask another rather inappropriate question, one she doesn't let take place. "I refuse to discuss this topic any further. Any and all matters concerning my husband are to be discussed with the man himself."
"Is that so?"
When she stands, and he's forced to do the same and bow, his smile turns somber and duller, takes on the form of something darker that dares speak into her soul.
"Then, I would like for you to let him know of my visit," he says. And just like that, he finishes bowing to her and backs away to open the doors.
"Please, my dear, let him know I hold all the answers."
She stares at his retreating form with a strange, disturbed feeling in her gut that follows her well into the night.