A/N Thank you for the review Briyitt, I'm so glad to hear you've been enjoying the many aspects of the story - especially the plot. I was starting to wonder if I should even post on this platform / the ship for this ship had sailed :) Thank you for your encouragement 3

Forgive the weird formatting - ff . net doesn't really support a way to do texting

March

part 2

"Please tell me you did not fuck my uncle."

"Excuse me?" She immediately regrets leaving her weightlifting and opening the door to Sasuke on what should have been a nice Sunday afternoon. She hasn't had this much energy in a while, and it had felt good like a breath of air and a firm grip on shore after almost drowning.

But of course it doesn't last. The good feeling could have continued had Sasuke started with hello how are you Sakura? You are looking a bit chipper, finally got some sleep I see. Instead she gets:

"I came home from the soiree at one am, and my uncle's car was in your driveway and your whole, turn in early thing, not a thing because your lights were on. He didn't even leave until six pm Saturday. Please, please tell me the two of you did not fuck."

"No," her hand drops from the door, her teeth bite into her cheek and she makes space for Sasuke to come inside. Already she knows this will be bad. "I did not fuck your uncle."

He takes a step in, and almost as if he hadn't heard her the first time he repeats the question.

It requires repeated reassurances that she did not have sex with Sasuke's uncle. But she can't stop the guilt or flush of embarrassment at what had truly happened, nor the fact she'd been waiting last night till twelve am for a buzz on her phone for him to give her his number. Or that this morning, while watching a show, she'd closed her eyes and breathed deeply to the scent still lingering on the pillow. It wasn't really that creepy, it wasn't like she'd held the pillow to her face, she'd been laying on the pillow to watch the are little things, but each adding weight after weight.

She can barely meet Sasuke's gaze but she does. She tries to hold it. She opens her mouth to confess to it all, to having danced drunk with him in the kitchen, to curling upon him the entire night, flirting with him in the morning and allowing him to use her lap as a pillow, that her hands could still feel his pulse, and at the end… She'd wanted him to follow through with the unspoken desire she'd fooled herself into believing existed in his eyes.

She ends up looking at the corner of the room instead.

Her heart feels more like a dagger in her rib cage and her tongue solidifies into the roof of her mouth. She can't speak a word of it to Sasuke. Guilt stabs and stabs. This wasn't just Sasuke's uncle; this was his favorite uncle. The fun uncle. The one he'd relay stories of sneaking out at night to ride dirt bikes with as a middle schooler. The one that wouldn't tell his mom how much ice cream he really had. If Sasuke hadn't had Itachi, Madara would have been his role model. She's crossed a line at least a mile back.

More than that, she'd promised herself to not do this, not again. Madara had given her a few seconds of attention, they'd both had a bit of innocent fun. Nothing really had happened. It had just been teasing, she'd probably been the only one reading tension in the situation. And yet she's done nothing but replay it in her head all morning until she shoved on her workout clothes and hit her at-home gym to let out her extra energy.

In fact, she should be glad nothing had happened. She should be relieved that he still loved Mui and hadn't contacted her. She couldn't believe she'd teased him about taking him up on the offer of calling him for a sleepover. The right answer was nothing should be between them. They should keep their distance. She doesn't need anybody, the ache in her gut is just a reminder.

"You talked, watched a movie, and drank?" Sasuke looks ill even at the truth she has told, like he's about to upheave everything he's ever eaten.

"Yes, that's it. Some people like to talk, Sasuke. We're both talkers."

He pales further. "Yeah, you both are that… talkers," he says it like he's trying to convince himself it's true. He takes a deep breath, "You'd let me know right, if you—"

Had sex? She nods as quickly as she can.

He breathes out. "Ok." Another deep breath, "Ok." He leans against her wall as if the world is crushing him. He looks up to scan her face before cracking a strange smile she's never seen before, it's as if he's really grimacing inside. "Can we forget this conversation?"

She nods just as quickly.

"Good." He turns his attention to the door then back to her. "I'm going to," he motions with his thumb towards the way out. "Have a good Sunday."

"You, too."

She sighs in relief when Sasuke has shut the door and she can hear his boots crunch the snow away from her house. It reminds her that she still needs to shovel though. With another sigh, and tapping her forehead on the wall a few times for good measure, she goes to get her snow gear.

The shoveling goes better than it had on Friday.

When she crashes on her couch with a piping hot cup of cocoa and picks up her phone, she sees a text from an unknown number.

They don't introduce themselves.

'Up for Casio's this Saturday?'

It can be no one but Madara.

The typed words of 'Saturday sounds great' are on her phone before she can even think. Her finger hovers over the send. The temptation, that's what it is, is almost too great. She deletes the words. Nothing like making a mistake in the heat of the moment.

Nothing should have happened yesterday evening, yet she draped across him, had traced her hands across him in a way that was far too inappropriate given their status. She'd openly flirted with him. She couldn't. She couldn't do this to Sasuke. She couldn't do this to herself. And she couldn't do this to Madara. Sure, he may still love his ex-wife, but he's looking for company. And the touches, the signals, it was there, wasn't it? Yes, she isn't insane and the text proves it. He's lonely. She's not the kind of person to unlonely with.

She leaves the phone on the coffee table.

She curls up to her knees on the couch. She doesn't bother turning on the tv, she's too focused on text. Madara's words echo in her head, round and round.

How does she even go about responding? Obviously no. No is the right answer. But that's not the right way to say it; it's a mean way. And she doesn't actually want to type no.

That realization terrifies her to her core. She shouldn't be excited. She should be angry. Madara isn't a good man. She's seen him at his worst. Vile, despicable, careless towards those he doesn't care about. Except when he did care; breakfast, dessert and drinks?

She falls over, cheek smashing against the pillow. Her gaze falls from the tv to the floor.

Her mind replays the unweaving of their tangle, his hands upon her shoulders, breath in her ear. And then Sasuke is there, his expression of disgust so evident.

"Shit." she says, pressing her face into the pillow to clear her gaze of her carpet. The scent hits her then. Mostly citrus, a hint of smoke.

She's up in her armchair a moment later. Thoughts back again on the phone resting on the table and the text.

She wants to go. Her stomach still flutters at having received the invitation, and the thought of replying sends her heart into a steady drumbeat. She's excited and she shouldn't be. She should still be angry, resentful, and avoiding the man.

She puts her head back into her hands taking deep breaths before her gaze raises to stare at her wall, and upon it, Sai's art. Piece by piece she pulls herself together. Her eyes trace the intricate lines of the old barn almost falling to pieces, the fence collapsed except for a couple standing posts and grass full of weeds.

She rises from sitting and she stands before the work, her fingers touching the frame. She feels the pull of her lip over her teeth as she snarls. Never again. Never ever again. She'd made that promise to herself.

Her mind's made up. She steels herself and heads for the laundry room, grabbing the Febreeze.

She sprays it all, like a lunatic, the floor, pillow, the gray couch, and its cushions. On the end corner that Madara had sat upon, a dvd case falls down as she pulls the cushion out. Mui's dvd. The performance he couldn't take his eyes off of.

The febreeze dangles in one hand and she picks up the DVD case with care with the other. Hadn't he thought to take this with him? Even if he lost the case, surely he would have gotten the dvd back. She walks to her player, hits the eject, expecting nothing to pop out. Instead black sharpie and a signature greets her under the words - 'With Love.'

He'll want it back. Once he realizes it's been misplaced, he'd probably be very upset.

She places the disc back with care and closes it up. There is no way she can ask Sasuke to return the disk, not since his panic attack at having Madara in her house. She can only imagine Sasuke would definitely bring it up. What if Madara told him what she really did, what they did? She dips her head in shame.

If she had been honest, she could have relied on Sasuke to hand it over.

But no, she has to handle this herself.

As she finishes cleaning, setting the couch back to rights, she thinks on how to handle the situation. She locks up her house early, and gets ready for bed. She then plugs in her phone and types.

'Can't do Saturday, sorry.
You left your dvd, I can drop it off on Wednesday at your office before or after.
Or you can pick it up after six.'

It's safe, it's a work night and they can settle things. Things can just -

His response is fast. She'd hoped she could go to bed and not have to deal with his response.

'If you're free on Wednesday, we can still do Casio's.
You can give it to me then.
Better music anyway, my cousin won't be playing.
6:15 to get a seat, music starts at 7?'

He knows she isn't busy, she just told him as much. She also just told him she's right by her phone. She groans and looks down at the dvd on the counter. Just this once, just this once will be it. Maybe it would give her a chance to get the nerve and say what needs to be said.

'Sounds good.
Work night though
I will need to bail early.'

There and an excuse to leave at any time she chose.

'See you then. Have a good night.'

Well she's alleviated the problem for the night. She's got an excuse. She breathes out. Her phone pings.

'But if something goes bump…'

Her heart flutters.

'Feel free to give me a ring.'

Her lips tingle, her hand raises to touch them when she realizes her actions.

She leans one the counter with her elbows, hands on her forehead. This is bad. But she can handle this. Tell him to stop. Tell him that Friday had been too far and that… that… all of this was too far. Her heart pangs, dropping from its float into the sea of her chest like an anchor.

She looks at her swallow expression in the mirror, willing the green eyed girl to understand.

"You're not in love." She tells the girl. She's not. It's just a fascination, a lack of security, a taste of comfort. She's so touch deprived that it's compounding in her system and firing off hormones. She's not in love. Especially with a man twice her age, who's very much still besotted with his ex-wife.

Her fingers dig, just a fraction into the soft skin of her cheek. She glares into her own green eyes, threatening disagreement. She's not making the same mistake twice. Loving someone who's devotion is elsewhere is a cruelty that still stings. What she's experiencing is some sick and twisted lust, that's it. It speaks volumes about her isolation that a man she should hate for almost ruining her professional reputation, lying to her face and using her for revenge is the one that's been consuming all of her thoughts.

"You made a choice, you made it years 're keeping it."

She's got to say something to make this stop before it goes further. She looks down at the text on her phone. She's no idea what to even type back. She turns off the screen so she doesn't have to see the words. She could figure it out tomorrow, right? Pretend she fell asleep. She gets to the doorway, no, this isn't fair to Madara either.

She returns to the counter.

She fumbles for what to say for a good ten minutes, until she gets so frustrated she hits send.

'I'll be fine, but thanks.'

It's not a good reply. It's not a, you've overstepped bounds, let's not do this. It's an uncommitted option, and she's even thanked him for the flirtation.

"Shit," she curses.