The Smell of Orange

By: Black DragonDiva

Publishing Date: 1/21/06

Spoilers: up to Valley of the End

Summery: Sasuke is rendered powerless by a fierce jutsu, one that confuses his mind and inhibits his rationale. When Naruto finds him at the mercy of the Akatsuki will the blonde have the strength to help him through his sorry state, or will he die alone, weeping in the name of mercy?

Disclaimer: standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter Two: The Taste of Apples

There was so much pain. He could taste it on his tongue; bitter and dark, laced with white-hot. Every limb was numb, the bone itself infused with a steady, sharp pain. He felt his throat constrict, as though to make a sound, but too swollen, dusty and dry to push air over his tongue. He tried to breathe, struggling to force his lungs to continue working. His belly hummed with a groan as the soft wall that was beneath his stomach shifted and he met with grass in a gentle float. In earnest, he pushed against the soft, restricting cloth that bound his shoulders to immobility. He gradually moved through the ocean of softness with his left hand. Gods it hurt so much.

Pain raced up his arm, settling in a pool at his shoulder. He ignored it in favor of caressing the cool, firm earth beneath him. His hands could not flex still, but he felt the grass beneath exposed fingertips and the stiffness of the stalks through the glove on his palm. He sighed. It had been so long since he had felt the grass.

A fresh, clean breeze hovered over him, cool but comfortable. He took a deep breath and sighed. Distantly, he realized that the orange smell was close.

His mind was still sharp, yet filled with wool and the flesh of rotting sheep. But he did feel better, but for the gritty texture of his skin and hair, thanks to the air and the thought that he was out of his prison. However, that also meant he was further from his prize, but he would never be able to obtain it in his current state, if he ever did.

The place was not frightening as story-tellers gave dungeons to be, but uncomfortable and unbearably maddening. He was so close to Itachi, and it made his heart and spirit sink when he realized he would die before even seeing his brother again, much less kill him. He was so fucking close, yet so damn helpless. He couldn't do anything as he waited for his brother to return from the mission his buddies had told him he was carrying out and hopefully just kill his little brother, save him from the shame. But he had waited and waited. Nothing.

Gods damn that Orochimaru. If only Sasuke had been wearier, if only he hadn't taken up that lead that Itachi was somewhere near Rock Country, he wouldn't have gotten his ass handed to him by that strange nin. He was proud to say he had given as good as he took and the fucker was now very dead.

Just dragging himself back to Sound was self-inflicted murder. He was hoping to have merely amused Orochimaru with his escapade; the bastard was perverted like that, twisting things for his entertainment. But he didn't. Actually, that wasn't true, he had been amused, but thought the amusement wasn't worth what it had cost him, which was his position and the endangerment of all his cursed-seal lackeys. So he had abandoned Sasuke. Abandoned an Uchiha, left the Sharingan, to rot at the doorstep of the Akatsuki.

Idiot.

Fucking Snake.

Fucking Itachi.

Fucking pride.

Something sweet and wet trickled between his dry lips. His eyes fluttered open, refusing to focus before closing once more and letting him concentrate on the water gently dribbling into his mouth.

He drank deeply, disappointed when the container was pulled away from his lips. In a vain attempt to acquire more his tongue darted to his lips in search of stray droplets.

"Save some for the fish," came a dark grumble. Did he really hear that? No, he was deaf; he shouldn't be able to hear anything. His eyes strained to open, blinking gently against the dark backdrop that was the sky. Moonlight bit into his shifting irises, but he was too tired to give in to the urge to wince. Instead, he implored them to focus on the white and red face that was weaving in his vision, sometimes in and sometimes out. A second later it was gone, replaced with the darkness and silver speckles of the sky and shadowy tree branches overhead. It looked like a frog. Frog-people huh? Must be from Hidden Waterfall; those people were freaks.

In the distance he heard a quiet voice, nothing distinct, but smooth and deep and oddly comforting. He wasn't alone here. There was a rustle and he heard feet moving, on the other side of him the hiss of a kunai being slipped into a holster. He could only assume they were in a small clearing. There were at least two dozen people he could faintly sense, even in his degraded state, and since he could sense them at all declared that they were well-developed shinobi. He faintly smelled blood on some and perhaps a few dead bodies as well.

His back stiffened, pain nipping at him, as he realized he was surrounded by enemy nin and in no way capable of fighting one off, much less all, should he need to escape.

An exhausted sliver of anger at his helplessness gripped his gut, warming the cool water that had settled there in a blissful state of peace. But he let it dissolve a moment later, however; anger would get him nowhere. Besides, he was ready to die however long ago that was, and he certainly was in no way able to be choosy. Death there or death here or death in a public execution, who cares? Death was death, whether it is now or later.

Thus, the Uchiha lie there, struggling to focus his ninja senses, even though he couldn't in his befuddled state of mind. Fever ravaged his body, working in time with a jutsu he couldn't fight (placed on him specifically for that purpose), much less dispel. Instead he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the sensations of just being outside and semi-free again wash over him, his sudden super-sensitivity much appreciated. It didn't matter. At this rate he could never live up to Itachi's prowess; his brother would die of old age first. That was alright, he didn't care. All that mattered was this pain, and how much longer until it would be gone. All that mattered were these sensations, and how long he would be allowed to feel them.

He relaxed, letting himself sink into the ground and become comfortable. They should leave him here, these shinobi, he wouldn't mind letting the scavengers pick at his bones, eat his eyes and tongue. Especially his eyes. These damnable eyes.

Suddenly, he was aware of hands, strong cords of muscle tensing, and a powerful ripple of strength. Pain threatened to kill him, to save those hands the trouble.

Then, there was the orange scent again, but fuller than ever before, darker and less teasing, more like the naked woman in your bed rather than the flirting girl that let her hands whisper a grope over your ass. It was much better this way. His head started to pound and his moist throat complied with the pain verbally, a groan parting his pale lips. After that, everything was gentler as they hoisted him onto a back, and he knew it was the same person as it had been before that was carrying him.

It seemed forever before he felt them moving through the trees. But his sense of time and place were skewed, so he was not one to judge. Hell, he couldn't even tell which direction they were going in.

He relaxed into a steady beat of pain that pulsed with the powerful footsteps, his arms limp over strong shoulders. He was so much more graceful that this stack of tough beef.

Sometime afterward he felt rain thumping against the hood he hadn't noticed on his head, sliding down his exposed arms and legs, chilling his impossible heat and adding to the iciness in his chest. There existed warmth only at his torso, where it rested against the back of his carrier, and under his knees, where elbows hooked to keep him secured.

He noted he was thirsty again.

He rested his head against the neck before him, strangely devoid of a hood. Water dripped from soft, wet hair the scent of soft apples and dark leaves. It felt like long cat hair, warm and dry under the wetness. At the smell his stomach twisted and he struggled not to give in to the thought that it was real and that there was food before his lips. Gods, he hadn't eaten in so long.

He heard someone talk to him, something about 'stop' and 'mutter' and 'apples', but his mind was too fuzzy, too starved, and too suppressed to fully understand what was happening. Damn jutsu. Gods, he was just so hungry.

There was an indignant yelp, but he ignored it for the scent of apples and orange and green and the taste of sweet, sweet water with something salty and powerful, but also so damnably sweet.

There was a voice and the head next to his chin turned slightly to breathe on his face. Something about 'let go-!' and '…ucking teeth… urt!' But Sasuke was content somewhere in his disembodied mind. He bit down harder, confused when the apple's flesh didn't give to his teeth. Instead, something metallic and bitter, not entirely unlike small, hard apples not yet ripe, pressed against his teeth and tongue, tinted with the flavor of hot Chakra. He released his jaws and his tongue darted out, his hunger overcoming the whimpy voice that said this was weird, that apples didn't rest against the necks of enemy ninja and certainly weren't dipped in Chakra. But he didn't care. If they were pissed at him for eating their apple then they should have killed him earlier. Or at least fed him.

He was on the ground again and not too pleased at being separated from the apple he had been nibbling at for what must have been an hour. Once more, it could have been two hours, two minutes, or a week for all he knew. What he did know was that no matter how often he bit the apple didn't run out. Once the tingle of Chakra began to irritate his tongue and throat he would move to another patch and return later, and by then it would be good as new.

He groaned slightly as his back met, more harshly this time than before, with the earth. He probably deserved it for eating all their apples.

It was still raining slightly, water tickling the corner of his unopened eyes and nose. He vaguely noticed when he was pushed upright, a bottle set to his lips, which was happily welcomed. The water didn't taste as sweet as it had the first time. It didn't give him that ache in his teeth like when he sucked on too many lemon drops. He really just wanted to finish his meal, not drink.

The container was pulled away so he could breathe and he turned his head slightly to show he wasn't thirsty. Where was his dinner? The fruit would give him strength.

There was a loud voice in front of him, yelling for something that sounded like 'provisions'. He was getting cold again.

The voice turned to him, speaking in an annoyed tone about how stupid his voice sounded. He shivered in response. He was starting to be grateful for the stupid jutsu. Apparently, he was talking. Who wanted to die without having said a word in something close to three months? Gods, was it even longer? How long had he been in that place? Days, weeks? He couldn't tell, he had slept too much, been blinded by too much pain, to notice how often the sun had set through the hole far above his head, to notice how many candles had been used to give wan light.

Then, there was something under his nose. It smelled stale and unpleasant. It was pressed against his lips, the voice growling softly about how it knew he was coherent enough to bite. Did he hear laughter in the background? No, that was stupid. He turned his head a little, but it followed him. He opened his mouth reluctantly. Maybe it was poisoned? Gods, that would be a relief.

It was disgusting, like the chalky energy bars he remembered from missions. There was something bitter in the middle. Cyanide? No, it tasted like a vitamin. Yuck. He wanted to spit it out (where was his apple dammit!) but didn't. He couldn't summon the energy. He barely had the strength to swallow.

He heard the voice again, softer this time. He opened his heavy eyes, but saw nothing but a bright blur of silver-gold and darkness.

Fucking jutsu.

"What?" Oh, he heard the word that time. His eyes blurred, swaying like a ship at harsh sea, and then went black. He was too weak for this shit.

"Its okay Sasuke. I'm going to help you."

He felt the warmth come back and he slept.

A/N: I wanted to thank everyone to reviewed this story! It's really wonderful to check one's mail and find that they have a review waiting for them with such encouraging comments. Thank you so much everyone!

Notes on this chapter: I think this one is much like the first in likeability. Sasuke's POV is just so cool when he's weak and screwed over by this jutsu. Sorry, I'm terrible. Otherwise, no real comments on this chapter. Just enjoy!