Chapter 34

Sakura's confession makes sends a rush of memories through is consciousness.

He remembers watching the amazing jutsu Fugaku would teach Itachi over their family pond, hidden away in their large backyard. His eavesdropping picked up the unfamiliar hand signs: Horse, Tiger, Serpent, Ram, Monkey, Boar, Horse, Tiger. Sasuke can still feel the anxiety of his impatience.

"Dad's going to show me that, too. I just have to wait."

Sasuke and his father weren't very close. Not in the way he and Itachi were. Time went on as it does, and months passed between them as they do. The water in the pond dipped from evaporation as Itachi's fire became too hot—too powerful, and Sasuke knew it would be his turn to learn soon enough.

It had to be.

Mikoto would practice with Sasuke across from her son and husband. She was a Jōnin, and was especially skilled in shurikenjutsu. They would rebound kunai off of each other as she taught him her hidden techniques. The sound of blazing fire mingled in with metal-on-metal—a typical Uchiha evening.

"Hey, mama,"

Mikoto had a calm smile and eyes that made you feel like you were the only person that mattered to her. She targeted her son, grinning as he lazily countered her weapon, and spoke to him in her motherly tone. "Yes, darling?"

"If I had a younger sibling, would papa pay attention to me?"

She listens intently, and thinks of the proper thing to say.

Mikoto was a strong woman, who cared and loved all three of her boys. She understood them on different levels. Still, Mikoto was closer to their youngest, like her husband was closer to their eldest. The love was equal, but the bond was different.

Her second pregnancy was a difficult one, and her wings spread just a bit farther over Sasuke. Fugaku's did too, but his compassion was harder to recognize. Sasuke did not truly want another brother or sister. Mikoto understood this. He simply wanted to know why the bond was different. His question only confirmed her train of thought.

"Why does he love Itachi more, anyways?"

Mikoto balances her kunai on the tip of her finger. Her son clenches his hands and looks towards the pond with envy.

"You father loves you both equally, Sasuke. He's not good at expressing his emotions." He turns to her as she continues. "Itachi is the eldest; he has more of a burden to carry. No amount of children I have could change that…even if I could have more."

The last sentence intrigued the young child. He wasn't as smart as Shikamaru, or the pink-haired girl that always sat at the back of the class and hid behind her bangs. But, Sasuke was intelligent in his own right, in his own way. He could read underneath the underneath.

Having children was what Uchiha's were meant to do. He'd heard it all of his life. Be fruitful, build the clan. It was all of the old men talked about, when his grandfather watched after him on rare occasion.

Sasuke had seen more babies than anyone could imagine. He held the screaming things and smiled in photos until his cheeks burned and his eyes watered. Diaper changes, baths in the sink, playing in the park…children were so important to his people.

When he was a man, it would be his duty to make them. Wasn't that her duty, as a woman?

"You're useless to father now?" He asks, scrunching up his nose as he remembered his grandpa's words. "That's what Pa says. You're useless if you can't have babies."

Sasuke's words, as innocent as they may be, shock Mikoto. Her head spins as she tries to find her voice. They were surrounded by traditional people—people who only thought of women as homemakers, and producers, and walking wombs.

Mikoto was nothing of the sort.

She made top marks in her classes, and completed all of her missions. She beat every opponent, big and small. People called her a prodigy, a genius. Her prowess had caught the attention of a certain square-jawed, brown-haired Fugaku in her youth.

It wasn't a surprise. Admirers fawned from every corner.

Mikoto would never forget the face her husband—then admirer— made when she pinned him to the ground beneath her, looming over his neck with her sharpened blade. He had a bad habit of underestimating adversaries, and was a bit on the cocky side. This made it hard for him to trust in Mikoto's abilities without testing them out for himself.

Fugaku would cut off his tongue before he admitted defeat to another shinobi. That is, until his wife came along.

From that moment on, he was smitten. Their history was set in stone, finalized in secret with an Uchiha decree from the clan elder and sealed with the sweetest of kisses. She did not wear white, or hide behind a veil. Instead, they wed in civilian clothing and dirty boots. She wouldn't have had it any other way.

Before she could quite make it to ANBU, she'd gotten pregnant with their first child. It was wonderful, amazing news, because the diagnostics had been grim—pregnancy was a harder road for her than it was for most women. Something had worked though; be it prayer or the experiments of Konoha's best doctors.

On the ninth of June, Itachi was born. Pale skin, dark tufts of black hair, and shining obsidian eyes that held so much love she couldn't even comprehend it. He was a tough, resilient baby that grew too quickly for his own good.

In a lot of ways she was thankful for his independence. He learned to self-soothe quickly, which allowed Mikoto to rest and recover from the difficult birth. The boy was advanced in everything he did—Itachi walked soon, preferred to feed himself, and shied away from excessive attention. He was sweet, and kind, and respectful.

Now, imagine the Uchiha's surprise when Sasuke was announced, and he paralleled Itachi in every way. He was not a tough baby. He was small when he was born, sensitive to the air around him. Sasuke hated being left alone, whether she went to the restroom or did her daily chores. Sasuke needed affections—touch, contact— and thrived on acknowledgment.

Fugaku noticed the differences in his sons immediately. Itachi was too kind to be the harsh dictator the Uchiha needed. But Sasuke was too easily swayed, too impulsive to make correct decisions.

So, the man decided that he would train Itachi in warfare and battle, because Itachi was not reactive in the way Sasuke was. This meant that Sasuke would deal in harsh policy and brutal law—taking over the Konoha Police Force while his brother worked for the safety village.

There would be—could be—harmony among them, if the Uchiha would stop battling for power and planning their civil war against Konoha.

Sasuke and Itachi would bring that peace, and Mikoto understood this was what Fugaku wanted originally. But she noticed the change in him. He was giving in to his clansmen, growing cold and dark.

Mikoto shakes jaded thoughts out of her head and looks at her son now. His confused, genuine expression sends anger throughout her soul. It's anger than she can only direct towards herself, because it's her clan and their teachings that have misconstrued him.

Fugaku was falling victim, too. She could not lose her husband and her sons. She refused. Squatting low, the black-eyed woman beckons to Sasuke. When he's close enough, Mikoto grabs his chin and forces him to look her in the eye.

"Women are not wombs, or tools, or objects."

His eyebrows raise and his lip starts to tremble, because she's never used such a serious tone with him before. Mikoto had an easy-going personality. Her gentleness normally conveyed her passions properly.

This, however, was not a gentle subject.

Mikoto did not know what would happen to the Uchiha. Sasuke was destined to be strong and formidable, and maybe even a bit devious. But she wanted him to be compassionate. She did not want him to follow the same path that Fugaku and Itachi were falling into.

Mikoto must think ahead. He would become a man in a few years' time, after all. He would fall in love, and have children of his own, and teach them the things he grew up hearing…the mere thought boiled her blood.

Sasuke did not need to search for a flower, simply to spread his seed. Regardless of what his sexist, idiotic grandfathers and elders led him to believe. There was more to life than lineage and sharingan.

If Sasuke chose to be with a woman, Mikoto didn't want it to be done out of necessity or duty. She was losing her husband to "necessity" and "duty", and it would be the death of her.

She just knew it.

Women were not prizes or things. If there was anything her eight-year-old son deserved, it was happiness and peace. He was too young to understand the battle between the Uchiha and the Village Hidden Amongst the Leaves, and it was a conversation she hoped to never have with him.

But, he was not too young to understand how to be a decent human being.

"Look at me," She says, ignoring his jutting lower lip. Her grip is hard and her eyes are severe. "When you find a partner, you look for an equal. You need someone that you trust with all of your heart, and someone that loves you for you."

Feeling emotional, Mikoto embraced her son. He was always a warm, glowing with the fire of the Uchiha that was not yet tainted. Both he and Itachi were her little miracles, her dreams recreated into living beings.

No other woman should feel the way she felt as a new wife.

She remembers the slit, disgusted eyes of Fugaku's father when they told him childbearing was an improbability after they confessed their shotgun wedding. Through it all—the stacks upon stacks of adoption papers and unsuccessful tests and experiments to help them conceive, Fugaku had accepted Mikoto without paying heed to offspring. Because he loved her, and she loved him, anything was possible…even if a baby wasn't.

Her children were proof of that, his father be damned.

Now, her husband was losing his grip on reality and kindness. A dark cloud was spreading over the Uchiha clan as the whispers of rebellion turned into screams of war. If Sasuke remembered anything of his mother, Mikoto hoped it would be how to be a respectable young man. She hoped that he would think of her words when he chose a lover and wife. She hoped that he would be a better man than his predecessors.

"See no weakness, no fault, and no imperfection in the people you love." She finally says. See your lover like your father used to see me. Not how your grandfather does.

When it all went down in flames, and the Uchiha dissented, Sasuke would be the one to rise from the ashes like the phoenix he was.

"Please, Sasuke, remember my words."

And he did. Sasuke didn't understand what it all meant at that age, but he's grateful for the memory now.

In many ways, Sasuke was like Fugaku—off-putting, arrogant, serious. But, Mikoto's virtues also impacted his adulthood. Because of her, Sasuke did not want to be a ruthless, brutal person. He was respectful of women, open-minded, and looked underneath the underneath, because everything wasn't always at it seemed.

Her words resonate deeply with him now. Sasuke finally understood the sudden change in Mikoto's attitude. For so long, the Uchiha had thought of love as a curse, and had been cursed by it. Children were conceived out of obligation and this bred hate and animosity. That's the very reason he didn't want a child, because he told himself that he'd never be a good father anyways. Sasuke didn't want a baby simply because he was the last—simply to fill a void.

But, it was time for a new start, a new generation.

Sasuke decides that he's not pollution. He's not black ink or deadly sin or toxic waste or anything else of the sort. He just…a young man with the world at his fingertips—with his world beneath him, trembling and crying because she's so afraid that he'll see her as inadequate as his grandfathers would have.

A sob falls from her lips. She's finally confessed and he hasn't said a word. She thinks all sorts of awful thoughts— how it will all end with her naked and alone in her bed after making love for the first time in her life. It's not ideal, but she knew it was a probability. Sakura understands. Sasuke had too many heavy burdens to carry.

Biting her lip, Sakura speaks her mind, working her mouth around the unpleasant words. "I'm not much use to you now. I'm so sorry, Sasuke. I'm so sorry."

Sasuke's fingers shake as he holds Sakura's chin, just as his mother held his. He fights off his fury and rage and steadies her face, watching tracks of tears pour from glittering jade jewels. His grip becomes desperate, like any wrong move will forever crush her and all that will be left is the light pink stain of the cherry blossom he'd fallen in love with. He takes a deep, agonizing breath.

"You're perfect."

Sasuke found a partner—an equal. He trusted Sakura with all of his heart—his mind, his body, his gut and his soul. She's strong and courageous—beautiful and intelligent.

He repeats his mother's chant. "You're not weak. You have no fault. You're perfect. "

He takes her mouth before she even has a chance to respond. His kiss obliterated every disheartening thought that threatened to pry past Inner Sakura'sstronghold. His lips vaporized Sakura's worries as if he was using a katon on her heart, melting her into a puddle of mixed emotion and utter confusion.

She fell into him like she always did…

...like she would always do.

Forever.

His walls caved around them, shattering into fragile pieces. He's no longer a wounded man. He's no longer upset and resentful and full of hatred and remorse. Sakura loved him, and Sakura forgave him, and Sasuke knew that he belonged to her in every sense of the word: as a devotee, as a partner, and now as the Clan elder decrees, as a husband.

Into the night he devours her flesh, like man and woman should. Sasuke gives himself fully unto her, and they bruise their skin and split their souls until there's nothing left but pure, unadulterated love between them.

And after, he consumes her again.

And again.

And when the sun rises with the promise of a new day, Sasuke finally lays his head on her chest. Together they fall asleep to the scent of their sex. They're in love, nothing could stop them now—not missions to foreign lands or the inability to produce, or the thoughts and opinions of the others around them.

Unconsciousness swallows him. As he drifts he wonders how on earth Sakura been so resilient to his denials. He wonders how on earth she'd known that he loved her, even before he realized it himself. He wonders how on earth he'd gotten so fucking lucky.

It's midafternoon when Sakura wakes up. Jazmine wafts around the silky atmosphere of her bedroom, making her feel light and airy. Immediately she blinks her eyes open and finds her vanity. With soft steps, she reaches the mirror and stares at the woman in front of her.

Ino had told her once that losing your virginity wasn't as big of a deal as everyone made it out to be. The blonde swore that you'd still be the same person. Maybe she'd told her this stuff to help Sakura get over Sasuke, when he was still corrupt and damaged. Like finding another man would get rid of the love she held for her ex-teammate.

There's no way that Sakura could be the same person, though. Not after that.

She looks at her face, at her puffy lips and swollen breasts and at the welts that bloom from thigh to neck. It's as though she sees herself clearly, for the first time in her life.

Pressing her fingertips to the cold glass, Sakura murmurs, "Beautiful," and Sasuke can't help but to agree. He rises from the bed and comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her naked torso. The man props his chin on the curve of her neck.

Their eyes meet in the reflection, peering sensually into their souls as if they could get even closer than last night. She's still shy and reserved, hiding her body unsuccessfully with her arms. It was foreign to have someone follow every twist of your body so unabashedly.

Sasuke didn't want her to hide. He wanted to see all of her.

His warm hands slide down her forearms to her wrists, switching places to the small jut of her hipbones. Letting his finger roam along the sensitive, raw skin, he turns her slowly in his grip. He wants to taste her, even though he'd already memorized the flavor.

Sakura faces him, pressing tepid palms to his clothed chest. She cannot see what damage she's done to his body, because he's covered himself sometime in the early hours of the day. She knows it's so she won't heal the marks. The Uchiha pecks her nose and her chin and both eyelids before settling to the diamond of her forehead.

"Good morning," She says, and smiles up at him so brightly Sasuke can feel a lump rise in his throat. His voice breaks as he replies, and it sends a heated blush across his face. Coughing, he places his hand on the nape of his neck, mumbling out the only respectable thing on his mind.

"I need to go to the bank."

Sakura wants to join him, more than anything. But the thought of walking side-by-side on a lazy Saturday made her hair stand on end. Would people know what they've done? Would it be obvious?

She gnaws on her lip innocently, but Sasuke only sees it as a tease. In this space shared between the two, he can see the almost translucent freckles that scatter from cheekbone to cheekbone. He runs his thumb over them, and then her lips, and then he lifts her body to the counter to claim them once more. Sasuke cradles her head within his hands and pulls away briefly to speak.

"Come with me?"

It was strange. All of this was strange. Sakura had never felt so connected to Sasuke in her life. She remembers her Genin days, and how her mind automatically assumed Sasuke wasn't real or was unbelievably sick if he showed her such kindness.

They certainly weren't children anymore.

He took her again in the heat of the day on the vanity that tore down her spirits and soul so often throughout the years. Sasuke built her back up, absorbed her humanity, and made her feel like she was the only person in the world. This feeling...the love that they shared but didn't speak of...it was more than the sex between them. It was an accumulation of exchanges throughout the years; emotion, betrayal and forgiveness that had built into an intense, unbreakable chain. She calls his name breathlessly, and he whispers his sweet nothings:

"I want you."

"I need you."

And Sakura felt exactly the same way.

They cave-in on themselves in a hot, sticky mess with heaving chests and shaking limbs, weak from the release all over again. They shower separately, but dress together. Sakura throws clever grins and "accidental" brushes, taking in the still-tingling feeling of flesh upon flesh. Carefully, she fastens the button on Sasuke's pants, letting her fingertips brush against the sagittal trail of hair just below his bellybutton. He captures her, pulling a green shirt over a mess of petal-pink locks and kissing her nose as soon as it pops back into view.

Soon they were out the door, stepping carefully over the wet puddles that dotted the asphalt. They did not walk hand-in-hand, or shoulder-to-shoulder, because they needed no proof of the love between them. It was unspoken, just like everything else involving Sasuke and Sakura.

Unspoken, but very, very real.