October

She jogs through the neighborhood, lets the crisp morning air fill her lungs. She can't go fast enough. The more she pushes the more she feels pulled down by the weight of a mortal body. Eventually, her pants come out in gasping huffs like smoke billows before they disappear in front her eyes. She turns the corner, fully intent on going in and taking a shower, when the sight of an unusual car in her driveway makes her steps slow.

The jet black paint feels ominous.

Her eyes follow the path from her driveway to the front door, but she sees no one from her point of view. She turns her eyes back to the car, wondering if her visitor is still inside. Cautiously walking to the driver door reveals there was no one in there. Her eyes then look up to her door again, and now from her position she can see the man sitting on her steps, real smoke coming from his mouth and the white cigarette in his hand.

The messy black hair is unmistakable although it looks ragged and more unbrushed than she's ever seen it. He is staring straight ahead, not having seen her, at the only thing in her bare yard, a red maple tree. She gulps and alarm bells go off in her head, something isn't quite right.

Why is he here? He looks bedraggled and depressed. Had something happened to Sasuke? She gives her head a shake, dislodging the fearsome thought. He probably can't get ahold of his nephew. She hadn't seen anything wrong at Sasuke's house, but she knows he's gone for the weekend to visit his girlfriend.

She takes a steady breath, begins walking towards him, and then speaks. "Good morning Mr. Uchiha." It is likely that he is looking for his nephew; after all, she is no one to him. She is no one to anyone.

His eyes turn to her then, the black eyes stare almost through her. He blinks and his eyes focus. He runs his empty hand through his hair and gives a shaking laugh, which dies off in the frozen air. That's when her gaze focuses on the gun lying beside him.

For a second her heart stops, and she wonders whether he is going to shoot her. But he doesn't make a move to grab the gun. He lets it sit beside him, as if it were a beverage he was drinking from. He doesn't say anything until he breathes out a stream of smoke. His eyes go back to her, and for a moment she sees a flicker of emotion in the emptiness. She doesn't know if it is anger though.

"I need help, Miss Haruno," he holds her gaze, not letting it drop or avoid him.

She doesn't know what possesses her to do it, perhaps it is because she is too empathetic towards others, but she takes the steps between them and drops to one knee. She hugs him tightly. Her heart breaks at seeing the state of the man.

"Ok," she says into his ear, "ok." She takes a breath and he smells like smoke, oak, and citrus candy. He doesn't move at first, until finally a hand touches her shoulder. She knows she's probably overstayed in this position so she pulls back, leaving one hand on his shoulder and moving the other one to the gun. "Come, let's get out of the cold," only then does she let out a shiver, realizing also the state she is in. "I'm sorry for covering you in sweat."

He tilts his head slightly, and shakes his head. They both awkwardly stand. She holds the gun away from them and makes her away around him as she goes to her door. He drops the cigarette on the cement and grinds it with his foot, and then he turns and follows her in.

She extends her hand to the living room, to get him to sit. "Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"Tea would be nice," He doesn't move to the chairs or couch, instead he stops and focuses on the largest piece of art adorning her walls. It's an inked landscape depicting an abandoned barn behind a decrepit fence; Sai had gifted it to her long ago.

Her hands shake slightly, not because of the actual object in her hand but what it entailed. Had he come to kill her and realize that she had nothing to do with it, or that she isn't worth the charge of murder. Or had he debated killing himself on her front porch, to show her what a mistake she had made with his life.

She puts the gun in the bread drawer and quietly closes it. Then she puts on a tea kettle and returns to the front room.

She doesn't know what to say to him to right her wrong. She doesn't know what might set him over the edge. She does know that the situation she'd found herself in is bad. She should not have let him in her house, not while she was alone. With Sasuke gone and her other friends living fifteen minutes away, if something were to happen…

"I'm sorry," she tells him, deciding to be as frank as possible.

He turns to her then, his head tilting slightly. "For what?" The words are crisp, sharp like a blade. The soft and demure tone he'd always spoken in is gone. The person before her is a stranger. His eyes are not quite so empty, and the grim line tilts more into a frown than some emotionless mask.

"Not getting you to that counselor sooner. I was never trained for marriage counseling; I should have immediately turned down the offer and gotten you real help."

The air he lets out is more like a snort, and the black eyes narrow.

She can feel the anger now, the sorrow and the pain. Twitching face muscles tell her of the silent fury beneath. If the alarms hadn't already gone off, they were now. An angry Uchiha was not one to take lightly, she knows from experience. She resists the urge to flinch at his anger. Instead, she settles for watching and holding his eyes like she would a stray dog.

Eventually he controls himself. "You're right, you should have never taken the job."

The silence is like a blade against her throat. And her failure flung at her face.

He then continues on. "After visiting with the therapist, we decided on what we wanted." He speaks as if it was something that happened to someone else. There is no emphasis in sarcasm, or frown she would expect from someone remembering a distasteful memory.

"Then, are you mad that I gave up your case..." she says, almost wanting to phrase it as a question, but instead she comes to state it as fact.

His eyes glance to the side, and his lips twist into a dark smile. He looks back at her, directly with his piercing gaze. "No, like I said before. You shouldn't have taken the job in the first place."

She gives a sigh, "Then you came to confront me on failing you."

Her words make him look back up in surprise, but she has already turned her back to him, going into the kitchen to take the kettle off. She returns with a cup of camomile and a bowl of sugar cubes, and she places both on the small coffee table to his right.

"You don't seem quite as disturbed as someone normally would at such a notion," his black eyes are now focused on her; she can almost see his mind trying to fit together a puzzle; he's just like his nephew.

"You're not the first," she takes a seat on the couch, resting back against the cushions.

He mimics her positioning, moving to the only armchair in her living room. A good sign.

"Grant it, you're the first who's come to my house; the rest come to my office or stalk me to a lunch courtyard." She rubs her temples, thinking back to all the confrontations she's had. "Most of them are women and they don't have guns either. They take action and use whatever they have: fingernails, chairs, but mostly words."

"That normalcy would seem to suggest a problem," he tells her, his eyes are guarded and his lips are back into the firm line she has always known.

"I work mainly with adolescents and young adults with eating disorders. I set them up on dietary plans, most of the time exercise routines, even prescribe medication. The truth of it is that majority of the time none of that really matters. All it comes down to is persuading them. Persuading them by trying to find out why the problem has originated, fix the environment if need be and make them realize that they are harming themselves and that they need to change. If I can't help them see reality, to see themselves as they really are, it doesn't matter what I do; I can't be with them every second of every day. I can't stand in a bathroom stall and prevent them from throwing up; I can't force feed them or stop them from eating. The decision has to be made to help oneself; I can't help them if they don't want to be helped..." her words die off and she takes a breath.

"Yes," she agrees, "you would think that it would suggest a problem, but it is normal, especially in my field as family tensions are already high. You'd be surprised, sometimes having snarling mothers come at me is enough to make their children listen to my words," and she gives a half smile and grimace, "it also can lead to pinpointing the real problem."

She gives a sigh then, wondering if it is even necessary to tell him anything, to make excuses or explain herself.

"I'm surprised you'd keep a client after that."

She looks up at him then, not having noticed that she had been talking more into her hands than directly at him. She shrugs off his words though, "They do it out of love."

"And that makes it right?" his eyes were back to being narrowed, and his lips tilting down in displeasure.

"No, but I can't fault them or press charges for doing something I would do."

"Really? You'd go to someone's house, knock on their door with a gun," he openly scoffs.

She can't help it as her lips quirk up at both the way he talks about his actions in disgust, and that he thought she wasn't capable of something so drastic. "One, for all your bravado, you never would have shot me." He isn't that kind of man..

He raises an eyebrow.

"And two, you don't know me well enough to know what actions I would take to get back at someone."

His lips finally twitch and turn into a slightly upward slant, not a smile no but it will do, her choice of daring words paying off. "And what makes you think you know me well enough?" He opens his mouth to continue his rebuttal, but she cuts him off with a raise of her hand.

"I need a cup of coffee and food if we are going to continue this conversation. Do you have any food allergies?"

"I'm not hungry."

She tilts her head, and her smile widens. "I don't care. It's obvious you haven't eaten well in some time. Your skin has an ashen tone, which isn't even natural for an Uchiha so don't try and play it off, and also your cheeks are sunken in. You'll eat what I make while you're in my house or you leave."

His eyes dilate in surprise at her commanding tone. She can see his uncertainty at her personality shift, as he fiddles with the cup of tea. She's making him think, which is good. If she can keep him on his toes, he'll be less likely to act upon his earlier anger. He is a lot like Sasuke, and she knew if there was one thing you didn't do, it was let an Uchiha brew.

He follows her into the kitchen with his cup of tea and sits at the small bar she has and watches her go about cooking two omelets.

"How do you know I wouldn't have shot you?" He tries to pick up the conversation immediately, even though she has only started chopping onions.

"Like I said, it's obvious." She says, tilting her head up trying to prevent herself from tearing up from the chemical the white root bulb has released.

"It isn't to me," he gives her a pointed and irritated look.

"Well, at first I wasn't sure... When you talked about it though, your tone betrayed you. I'm a therapist, they do train me to pick up on things like that," she says as she finishes dicing the onions.

He opens his mouth, but before he has a chance to tell her off further she sets down a bowl, a whisk and several eggs. "Wash your hands," she points at her sink, "and start the eggs."

The look he gives her is like she has asked him to walk off a bridge.

This is her area of expertise. She could now use her self-assertion. After all this wasn't about a relationship any longer, this was about a person. She'd already figured out his personality, all she needs to do is treat him as she would another client, a real client. Most of the time people fell into one of three categories: those that needed attention, those that needed reassurance and those that needed direction. He no longer has a wife, his life must feel in shambles, and he's in complete disarray. He's in the last category.

She stares him down, until finally his lips quiver slightly as he tries to prevent a smile. He gets up and does as he's told. She relaxes then, feeling reassured in her own ability, before returning to the cutting board.

Eventually she sits at the bar with him, having no dinner table of her own. She begins leading the conversation like she would a normal day in her office as they both eat. She pinpoints his communication habits immediately, his eyes go to the side as a way to avoid conversation and when he is lying his thumb touches his ring finger, which she also notes no longer has a ring on it. She tries to direct the conversation like she would with an actual client, not bringing up his job, hobbies and family relations (as those always came out eventually) and more about his eating and exercise.

The conversation detours though, when instead of continuing on about his normal dinner plans he asks a question of his own, "You didn't like my wife, did you?"

She has to think about that one for a while, looking up at the ceiling as she pulls over the thought. The answer is obvious, but she tries to think of a polite way of saying the most instantaneous reply that comes to her head. "No," she finally tells him, "I didn't, but it doesn't matter, you love her."

He leans in, "And what would make you say that?"

It had been in his every movement, his look, his words when regarding her. Of course, saying that would be admitting to how close of attention she'd been paying to them (him in particular), and it would only make her look like a fool, a fool who knew nothing about love except other people's lives. Her words would easily betray her jealousy for such affection as well.

"You wouldn't be at my house if you didn't," which probably sounds like more proof than all her observations.

"Maybe I'm just here because I needed some entertainment." His eyes have a gleam in them, his hand didn't touch his ring finger. But there is some edge to his tone, as if daring her to call it a bluff.

She knows better than to take bait, especially when his attitude has shifted. It is best for her to avoid taking a stance on the issue, but being lukewarm could backfire just as much as telling the truth. And she was a person who wasn't known for lying. "I know that you do love her. And that you came here seeking some sort of revenge."

The gleam dims to nothing and he turns his head away. She's hit the nail on the head.

He looks back at her and opens his mouth as if to rebuke her, but the sound of knocking makes him shut his mouth.

"I'll be right back," Sakura tells him, sliding out of her barstool and going to the front room. She listens for him to shift, to search for the gun, but no sound but the tap of silverware against the plate.

When she pulls open the door, she is surprised to see Sasuke's mother and father standing in her doorway. Mikoto's black eyes are wide, worry etched upon her features. She looks past Sakura, searching for her brother.

Sakura points to the kitchen, and the woman rushes forward. Sakura stays behind with Fugaku, who doesn't seem inclined to move, giving the siblings some privacy. She can hear muted conversation, but she can not distinguish the words from her position.

Eventually no more sound comes from the kitchen and Sakura walks further into her house. Fugaku follows her. She watches as Mikoto and her brother stare at each other, finally though he looks away. He extends his hand, and then drops what was in them, a car key.

"Fugaku, please drive Madara to our place; I'll be right behind you."

Her husband gives a grunt and heads back out, Madara trailing after them.

Then it is just her and Mikoto.

For a moment neither of them speak as they watch each other. Mikoto drops her eyes eventually, dipping her head slightly so that her hair covers her face. She is ashamed of what has happened.

The woman takes a deep breath and then suddenly comes to life from her rigid pose. Her hands tighten into fists, her nostrils flare and her eyes open in a black glare.

Sakura has never seen the woman angry before. Sasuke's mother had always been the picture of a homely, happy wife with children. In fact, she'd always been like a second mother to Sakura. It is strange and wrong to see her as she is now, it is as if Sakura has crossed some unforeseen threshold. Or perhaps a better phrase would be to have stumbled upon a skeleton in the closet.

Mikoto doesn't speak immediately, in fact it looks like she is busy inspecting the kitchen with the utmost scrutiny. But then she turns to Sakura, and those same eyes fall upon the younger woman. The shame is gone, the embarrassment too, all that is left is the pink cheeks from cold weather.

"Leave my brother alone."

The words catch Sakura off-guard both by the content and the cold detached tone they are spoken in. She blinks, her eyes widening in disbelief at what she has heard, "Wha-"

"Leave my family alone." The black eyes stare at her in animosity, and the thin pursed lips open slightly revealing white teeth. She is like a mother wolf, snarling at a foreign creature that is trying to get at her pups.

Sakura has seen it before; on the faces of family members, of those who have entered her office and thought she was doing more harm than good. But understanding Mikoto's pure instinctive action of protection does not make it any less painful. This is still the woman she cares for like family. It feels like a blade in the stomach, ripping up and into her chest. It's obvious she isn't family. She will never be.

Anger rises up in her at the injustice that has been done. She hadn't wanted to get involved; but Mikoto had begged. She hadn't wanted him as a patient and she definitely hadn't wanted him to come to her house uninvited and with a gun.

The gun.

She turns then and goes to her bread drawer and pulls it open. The black metal is still sitting, just as she left it. She picks it up and holds it away from them so as not to seem threatening. It is obvious from Mikoto's eyes that she knows exactly who the gun belongs to. But the eyes are still cold, and she doesn't even have the decency to act ashamed or take back her words.

Sakura releases the ammo case allowing it to fall into her free hand. She looks down at it, there is nothing inside. She pulls back on the slide and tilts the gun. There is nothing. No bullet. Not even a blank. She puts the ammo case back in and then pulls and then fires, nothing comes out. She extends the gun to Mikoto, who takes it without saying a word.

"If you want my opinion as a therapist, don't give it back to him," Sakura says, feeling herself almost snarl the words although it is more out of defensive anger at the pain than because she wants to be spiteful. "Please, leave my house."

And the woman does, she goes out the door and onto the driveway where she gets into Madara's car and leaves.

Sakura walks back inside after following the woman out, slamming the door behind her.

Why had there been nothing inside?

People normally had a loaded ammo case. Had he removed the ammo before she'd come up the driveway? Why then had he not hidden the gun?

She looks down at her empty hands for a moment and then closes her grip. An empty gun didn't make any sense. Was this his way to reach out for help? He didn't seem like that kind of person. But what did she know? She didn't think he was the kind of man to come to her house with a weapon, loaded or not.

As much as she has her misgivings, Sakura complies to Mikoto's first demand. She makes no move to follow up with Madara; she doesn't even speak to Sasuke about his uncle when she sees him. He doesn't speak of it either, likely because he doesn't know.

She continues her routines, pretending that nothing has happened to disturb her. She hopes that the incident would be it, but it isn't. The next weekend that Sasuke leaves, she returns from her jog to see the black car in her driveway, a man sitting on her porch. The only thing that differs this time is that there is a bag of groceries beside him instead of a weapon.

He looks better. When she greets him, he turns his attention to her and immediately apologizes. He extends his hand to the bag, telling her he hopes to make amends.

She isn't positive on what to do, but she remembers that on these same stairs he did ask for her help. And she had to stick by her word. She'd told him she'd never left a client due to family drama or being attacked. So, she has no choice, even though the safer option is to turn him away.

She gives him her hand to help him stand up, then allows him to follow her with the bag of groceries. She watches him carefully, and when black eyes meet her gaze she can't help but wonder if she fails to help him again, what will happen. Perhaps then, the gun would be loaded.

Small call out to chaosangel13's MadaSaku fic. Red Japanese Maples is truly an excellent piece and you might want to take a look if you haven't already. My own fic is not even in the same genre (so no worries!). It is a good story and peaked my interest in MadaSaku

Last Edit: 7/28/22