Chapter 33: To you, I will be God

Sakura stormed down the halls of the academy with little patience for the angry shouts of the young pre-genin being shoved aside. Thankfully, they seemed to wise up as she went on; perhaps warned by the cries of their brethren, the crowds of little bodies began to part in front of her, wide eyes tracking her passage with mixed affront and fear.

As she swung the door open to Iruka's classroom, a boy scuttled out beneath her arm. Her head turned instinctively to follow it. Hyuuga eyes, atypically mischievous, met hers above a smug mouth as he sprinted away.

"Great," she heard Iruka sigh. "Care to tell me why you've become party to Ryoichi's regular escape attempts this time, Sakura?"

"I need to talk to Itachi," she said, still staring after the escaped student.

Iruka's eyebrow raised sharply. "Itachi-?"

"Itachi-san." Her eyes darted to the man in question, mouth tight. "It's important."

Itachi held her gaze evenly. "A moment, Iruka-san, if you do not mind."

"Oh. Of course not," Iruka said after a pause, looking nonplussed. "Take your time."

Itachi bowed without expression to the class. She left without another glance, but heard him follow her. They walked out on to the training ground the academy maintained alongside its playground. Sakura spun around to face him as soon as they were out of hearing of the small class enjoying their recess.

"Shisui paid me a visit," she said.

Itachi nodded, unfazed.

"Apparently in the time the council has been taking deciding what the fuck to do about Danzo," Sakura said urgently, "Danzo decided to strategically exit Konoha last night."

"Does this surprise you?" Itachi asked, still calm. "Danzo wasn't the only one who thought the Uchihas were too dangerous to control. Many council members, I wager, are uncertain punishing him is even the appropriate course of action."

These words were delivered detachedly. For someone like Sakura, whose default condition was, constantly, one of malcontent and indignation, it was unthinkable.

She crossed her arms, lowering her voice as a round-faced girl darted past them. "Did you know that he's been collecting sharingans like Naruto hoards ramen coupons?" she hissed.

He reacted, now, subtly. "I had strong suspicions that Shisui—my cousin's—hadn't been all he was after," he said shortly.

She had enough sense to wince slightly at this. Itachi had, of course, been commanded to massacre his clan, making every other sharingan (other than his and Sasuke's) ripe for the picking.

"Obviously, something needs to be done," she said.

A strange look crossed Itachi's face. "You don't trust the hokage?"

Her mouth flattened. "I think that, for all of Tsunade's strengths, managing the council is not one of them."

Sakura sighed, dropping her crossed arms. "You know the crow," she muttered. "When given the chance, it chooses to be as ambiguous and unclear as possible. It seemed, though, that whatever Danzo's exit from Konoha was—it wasn't a decision fueled by desperation. He was prepared for it."

"That very well may be the case. But what is your aim," he said stoically, "coming here to the academy today and telling me this?"

She stared at him, blinking rapidly. She rocked backward onto her heels and then back forward. "We have no idea how many sharingans Danzo has. Still, it seems like the only people who have a fighting chance of bringing him in are strong genjutsu users—ones with sharingans as well. Don't you think?"

"As you know, I am unfit for combat for at least the next year," Itachi said slowly.

"Right," Sakura agreed, frowning.

"And who else, exactly, do you imagine taking part in this operation? Sasuke can be convinced with time, perhaps. He has seemed more…receptive to my presence recently. But Danzo will have Root behind him. And if Danzo was prepared to leave Konoha last night, then he won't be taking more than a year to retaliate."

As unreadable as Itachi was, Sakura saw a subtle sort of strain—one that had not been there in the classroom—pass over his features at the mention of returning to combat. It made him look slightly ill.

She directed her gaze towards the swing sets. "There's someone else in Konoha who has a sharingan."

"You think the copy-nin will step out of line for our noble cause?" Itachi said with cool skepticism.

Sakura tilted her head, looking back at him. "My sense was that the common impression of him was not one of a stringent rule follower."

"At surface level, perhaps," Itachi allowed, expression blank. "Despite appearances, however, Hatake-san has proven through the years to take his loyalty to the village very seriously. I watched him when he was my ANBU captain. If he doesn't gain any personal satisfaction from it, I see no reason to assume he will exercise any effort to go against orders."

She evaluated him silently, eyebrows raised.

"Does my impression offend you?" he asked.

"No. Surprises me."

Itachi arched an eyebrow in turn. "Why?"

"Because you're wrong," Sakura said curtly. She was already turning away.

Give it to him, the ghost of Shisui whispered, the words like lingering fingers in the corners of her brain.

A boy sprinted forward in front of them, right into a girl nearly half a foot taller than him. They both stumbled back, before the girl socked him across the face. And Sakura reached rigidly into her satchel and pulled out two sticks of dango.

She didn't make eye contact with him, glaring instead at the tussling pair. "As promised."

"How," he said, voice almost soundless.

When she met his gaze, she found that his sharingans had activated. But he did not look angry—he looked, rather, like someone had grabbed ahold of that vital organ in his chest and twisted it. Had Itachi's face always been capable of this kind of expressiveness?

Sakura swallowed, throat dry. How to explain that some cheap, bastardized echo of Shisui existed inside her?

"The crow says," she said haltingly, "that Shisui's sharingan contains an imprint of who he was. His memories, his motives, his aims—"

"Which you received when you used his sharingan," he deftly pieced together. The shadows beneath his eyes seems to darken.

"Yes."

"It is an advanced technique, to use the sharingan as a means of…preservation. Few Uchiha were capable of it. Remarkable, still, that you have withstood using his sharingan. Not many survive."

"Yes, few can—" she said, before his words registered. She spun toward him. "Excuse me?"

"The sharingan doesn't always take," Itachi explained sedately. "Even within our clan not every Uchiha was able to awaken it. Implanting one into a non-Uchiha has proven historically to be, almost exclusively, a death sentence. Examples of the contrary have been rare."

She exhaled slowly. She was killing that thing. The crow. At first opportunity.

"Good to know," she said tightly. She shoved the dango into his hand. "Enjoy."

Team Seven practice was cancelled. That's how Sakura figured out that Kakashi had likely left for a mission rather than due to having a sudden crisis of conscience after using the last of her eggs.

Eggs, she remembered, that she would need to replace at some point. Bastard.

Sai spotted her first, dark eyes examining her with far too much interest. Sakura slid past him into a seat beside Sasuke.

It had become a practice of theirs to meet here on days that training was cancelled. Sakura couldn't quite remember who had started it, but she was confident that it was Naruto. Her gaze flicked to Sai, whose largely blank expression relayed a mild impression of satisfaction. Possibly with Sai's approval, she edited.

"What are you ordering?" Naruto asked distractedly, perusing the menu as he always did (why was beyond her, because he always ordered the same item).

Sakura cracked her neck, lifting her menu. Sasuke didn't respond. He ordered the same item every time too; unlike Naruto, he didn't bother with the ceremony of menu-viewing.

"You look, pardon the colloquial phrasing, well-fucked," Sai said suddenly.

Naruto coughed violently. She lifted her head from the menu slowly. "I'll have a Pork Chashu ramen, Teuchi-san. Thanks."

"Ramen with boiled eggs and menma," Sasuke added in a monotone.

Sai flashed a polite smile. "Miso ramen, please."

"The usual," Naruto choked out, sliding over his menu.

Sasuke rolled his eyes.

"Saw your brother this morning," Sakura said conversationally.

The Uchiha's constant conveyance of effortless disinterest shattered suddenly.

"Um," she said, shifting back in her seat.

"You—" he said with such vitriol, that he seemed unable to even finish the words.

The pieces snapped into place in her brain. Her face screwed up in disgust. "No."

"I always suspected it," Sasuke said, voice thick with disgust. "The sudden interest in Itachi, risking your life to save his, constantly asking about him. You're like a dog in heat."

"It isn't your brother," Sai interjected placidly.

"If you want to be a prude, Sasuke," she seethed, "you might consider changing certain aspects of your current lifestyle. And, as Sai stated—" and now, her stomach did turn, because of what Shisui felt (would have felt?) at the prospect—"No."

Some of her own feelings of illness must have translated to her face, because this seemed to give him pause.

"Who, then?"

"None of your business."

"I swear if you—"

"I've finally chosen a design for my tattoo," Naruto announced loudly, in seeming effort to distract them.

And somehow, this was shocking enough to divert all of their attentions.

"This was something you were deciding?" Sai asked after a long pause.

"Yeah."

Sasuke made a dismissive noise. Slowly, the color was easing back into his face.

"What?" Naruto growled back.

"You couldn't pull it off."

"Well, Sakura has one! So why wouldn't I?"

Sasuke's gaze returned to her. He seemed vaguely tired of having to look at her. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Sai answered for her, "and it's a beautiful piece. I didn't realized that you wanted one too, Naruto."

"I do," Naruto said, looking more invested now, beyond merely distracting them. "I said it before."

"Yes, well, I don't think either of us took you seriously," Sakura muttered. Naruto said a lot of things.

"It will be exceptionally painful," Sai stated serenely.

"I can handle pain!"

"Can you?" Sai wondered.

Naruto growled wordlessly.

"If you are determined, I do have some of my own suggestions," Sai said smoothly. "A large, turgid dick perhaps? To make up for your lack of."

"Why not a flaccid one?" Sasuke asked, mouth curving derisively.

"Shut up," Naruto hissed. "I've chosen something important."

"Oh," Sai said, mouth rounding. "Not a large, red dragon, then?"

"No," the blonde said curtly. Sasuke looked like he wanted to say something else, but Sakura kicked him under the table, mostly because she still felt vindictive.

Naruto's fingers tapped on the wooden countertop, eyes lowered.

"A, uh, tree. I've got it here—" he dug into one of his many pockets and searched for a few seconds, pulling out numerous miscellaneous objects before, finally, a folded photograph, "This one. Had Konohamaru take a picture of it."

They leaned forward to look at it.

Sasuke's eyes narrowed. "That's from the academy."

"Yeah," Naruto responded, rubbing at his neck. "Where I met Iruka. And, you know."

He stared at her and Sasuke with blue, clear eyes for a long moment. His lips quirked a little. With that odd smile, he turned to Sai.

"I didn't meet you there," the blonde boy said slowly, "but I'd like for you to do it."

Sai blinked. "But I can't. That is, I can't do the transfer jutsu using a photograph—or I can, but it won't look right. You'll need to get someone to convey it into line strokes and—"

"I want you to draw it, Sai," Naruto said, the skin creasing under his eyes as he smiled.

"Oh," Sai said, looking like he had been dealt an unexpected blow. "Oh."

"Well?"

Sai cleared his throat, blinking rapidly. "I suppose I could manage that."

Naruto grabbed him by the shoulders, giddy pleasure flooding his features like he was a child. "Yes! Can we do it now?" he demanded, impatiently.

"What? Here?" Sai said softly, still looking disarmed. "We can't. I haven't prepared anything. I haven't outlined it on canvas yet or—"

"Can't you just do it directly?"

"You want me to freehand it?" Sai asked, sounding disbelieving.

"Sure," Naruto shrugged excitedly, "Why not?"

Sai's head ducked down, lashes shadowing his eyes. "What if I…mess up?"

Naruto stared at him, nonplussed, before giving a loud laugh. "Why are you worried about that? It's just a tree, you know." It wasn't. He did stiffen a second later, though. "But no hidden dicks. Or I will murder you."

Sai straightened, these words restoring him to some semblance of normalcy. "We'll see," he said with his usual, infuriating plastic smile. "Where do you want it?"

"But," Sakura sighed. "We just ordered food."

"I want it on my upper arm."

They didn't seem to hear.

Naruto shrugged off his shirt in front of all of Ichiraku's clientele. Teuchi and Ayame delivered their bowls with raised eyebrows but made no comment. It was a testament to how bizarre Naruto was on a daily basis that none of the others blinked twice.

As Sai worked, Sakura consumed the contents of not only her bowl of ramen but also Sai's. Sasuke, in turn, ate Naruto's as well. She didn't know what caused Naruto more pain—the actual tattoo being branded on his skin or the sight of someone else devouring his precious ramen. (It was probably why Sasuke did it.)

When Sai did finish—nearly an hour later—he wiped a stray bead of sweat off his forehead and finally allowed Naruto to look.

The blonde stood immediately, eyes snapping to his bicep. "It's perfect." His loud joy matured into something softer. "Thank you."

Sai nodded, looking oddly fragile. He hid it swiftly, averting his face.

Sakura stared at it, eyes wide. Sai had used sparse, but bold strokes to realize that characteristic knotted, winding trunk of the academy tree; he had reserved, however, the full-force of his complex artistry for the canopy of leaves that creeped its way up Naruto's shoulder. The tattoo was entirely in black, as seemed to be Sai's preferred style, but lacked nothing in either character or impressiveness. If anything, the simple, stark contrast between the tattoo and Naruto's tanned skin made it all the more stunning.

Naruto marveled at his tattoo, tilting his arm to observe from different angles. His head darted up a second later, face smug. "You next, Sasuke?"

"Fuck off," Sasuke said lazily.

"Nah, don't worry, I get it," Naruto said, nodding sagely. "The pain can be very daunting. Totally understandable."

The Uchiha's shoulders stiffened.

"How bad would you say it is, Sai?" Naruto called out.

"About as bad as getting punched in the groin for thirty minutes straight, I would say."

"Yeah," the blonde said, shaking his head sympathetically. "Not everyone has the stuff to handle that. Totally understandable. No judgement, bastard. Really."

Sasuke's hands flattened on the table.

Sakura and Sai shared a glance. Honestly, it was pathetic. Sasuke was as stoic as they came—until Naruto entered the room.

The black-haired boy pulled off his shirt in one seamless motion. An old lady with a pearl necklace began giggling uncontrollably, beads rattling against her collarbone. A bunch of teens their age, civilians, conspicuously exchanged tables. Closer to them.

Sakura gagged out loud.

"Fine," Sasuke said, expression studiously blank. "Write what I say down on my forearm."

He settled into the seat that Naruto had occupied. Sai shifted closer, poised to begin.

"Uchiha Mikoto." Sakura's sneer dropped.

Sai glanced up at him, briefly, before lowering his head again to inscribe her name. When he nodded, Sasuke stoically relayed his father's. After, it was Shisui's. Then, she guessed, another cousin's.

The list seemed endless. It could have been a hundred names in total. She didn't count. All she knew was that it took less time than Naruto's, but somehow felt so much longer. In the end, the names covered his entire forearm, wrapping around the pale expanse without pause. The print was so small and packed that it was hard for the unenhanced eye to see the gaps of un-inked skin between characters.

Sai's hand trembled now that his work was done, cramping from the continuous delicate work he had accomplished. Naruto grabbed his hand and rolled over the fine tendons and muscles.

Sasuke seemed to be in a daze as his eyes passed over the names inked onto his arm.

"Are you sure," Naruto started, not looking at him. He cleared his throat. "Are you sure you want that on you?"

"A little too late to regret pushing now, isn't it," Sasuke said, smiling humorlessly.

The other boy's expression crumpled, instantly regretful. "No. I didn't mean—"

Sasuke shook his head abruptly, looking rattled. "This had nothing to do with you," he said lowly. "Nothing."

They watched him silently, sensing—perhaps for the first time—that Sasuke was going to tell them the truth because he wanted to and not because they had pressured it from him.

"These names aren't Itachi's burden alone. They aren't just his to claim."

And Sakura—

Sakura wasn't certain this was either right or healthy—but, in truth, she had little authority on either matter.

"I can't ever forget," Sasuke said, and in this, confessed more to them than he had since he had returned.

Again, Sakura reflected as she walked back home, she had meant to bring up Danzo. She had entered Ichiraku fully intending to. Somehow, though, the words hadn't come out.

It would have been easy, in the long silence after Sasuke's words. Perhaps, it was some near-dead remnant of sensitivity, still struggling to live inside her, that stopped her.

She scowled. Whatever it was—it wouldn't last much longer. Her patience was on its last legs.

A bird, not Shisui (she noted with gratitude), swooped down from above, its beady gaze focused sharply on her. Sakura raised her arm, and it settled there with a slight ruffle of it feathers. She rotated her wrist to release the scroll it was carrying from its small body.

Mission at 14:00. Report to Headquarters.

The bird took off, relieved of its burden; as she watched it, she slid the scroll into her satchel and ducked into an empty alleyway to put on her mask.

Emerging again, she leisurely made her way down the winding roads of the village to the headquarters. It was still early in the afternoon; as a result, most of the stores on her way were experiencing their peak hours. Navigating these crowds made her pace slower than it might have been, but it seemed overkill to go by rooftop now when she was so close.

She might have made it inside in time, though, all things considered, if she hadn't caught sight of a certain individual exiting the headquarters just as she came up to the entrance.

Sakura stopped dead in her tracks.

An utterly foreign entity emerged from the building in front of her, utterly unbothered by the ANBU eyeing him as he walked, flanked by two bespectacled accountant-like figures. They talked quietly to him, but with urgency. He listened noncommittally, eyes affixed straight ahead.

When he caught sight of her too, he paused. His eyebrow arched.

"Sir?" one of the accountants asked him.

"A moment," he said, smiling genially at the woman who had spoken to him. He bowed his head—but not all that low—before stepping away.

He approached Sakura, charismatic smile displayed flawlessly for anyone viewing. As the distance between then lessened, she found herself wishing that she had been more determined about hiding her identity this time around too. Where had her arrogance come from? Why had she thought this was a—well, not good, but not-bad—idea?

Granted, she never could have expected their paths intersecting quite like this.

He stopped a foot in front of her. He possessed none of the skill a shinobi had, but that didn't mean that her father didn't bear watching. Her eyes narrowed.

"I'm not going to bother asking you your name," her father said, surveying her calmly. "You'll say no, and I won't believe it. It won't change that I know exactly who you are, and that you know exactly who I am."

Sakura sighed behind her mask.

"Evidently, you've been…modest with regard to discussing your career progression."

"And I'm wondering what business a merchant and accountants would have in ANBU headquarters," she drawled, looking somewhere past him.

The seemingly ever-present curve on his mouth grew more pronounced. "My portfolio is diverse. I have investments here—ones that generate considerable profits. Every now and then, however, they need personal tending to." His attention shifted again to her. "Now, I won't ever claim that I am proficient in shinobi matters, but last I knew, chunin could not enter the black ops."

She crossed her arms, head cocking to the side. Evidently, he wasn't going to be buying any lies. "Chunin can't," she said nonchalantly.

His gaze flickered. "I see."

Did he?

His eyes paused on her conspicuous hair. "And is this your means of making a name for yourself?"

"This," Sakura said, "is because people knowing my name won't make any difference."

He smiled again. "So you're arrogant. Or—you don't mind if your missions lead to acts of vengeance against those associated with you."

"Arrogant, probably," she said, unblinking. They both didn't mention the fact that he had more than enough resources to access adequate protection.

She stepped back, arms falling to her sides—body shifting now to the headquarters.

"I'll ask you again," he said, voice kind. She paused.

"Yes?"

"Are you certain that this is the path you want?"

Sakura exhaled.

"Why do you keep asking that?" she asked, lips thin. "What's your deal, hm? Are you that worried about the family business? Is this belated parental concern?"

"Could it be?" he asked. "I wonder."

This stole the wind out of her sails. She stared in disbelief.

He turned to look at the headquarters. "Shinobi make ill-use of their intellect. It would seem that horror lacerates the mind, rather than sharpens it. A shame, isn't it?"

He turned back to look at her, lips turned up at the corner.

"I have told you that I never wanted a child. That's still true. But I cannot deny, lately, our similarities. It seems a shame to see you misuse so grievously whatever you have inherited from me."

It was a perplexing sort of egotism that she could almost admire.

Sakura found her voice. "I can count the number of conversations we have had in the last five years on one hand. You think you know me?"

"I'm good at judging people," he said. He tilted his head a second later. "Although, I might not give enough credit to how they might change."

Her gaze moved to the building's entrance. She walked toward it without another word. She was undoubtedly late now.

"You still have options," her father observed. "You need only take advantage of them."

Sakura's eyes narrowed. Then she pushed through the doors and went to meet her ANBU team.

It was a quick, uncomplicated mission, in Sakura's opinion. They were gone and back in under four hours. Her uniform might even be useful after five washes, she considered.

Others felt differently.

"That was disgusting," Deer reflected, eyes still scrunched with revulsion as she emerged from the showers. Grimacing, she reached into her locker to withdraw her towel.

Robin and Fox, who had managed to locate open showers earlier, were now well into the process of drying their hair. Sakura had opted to use a jutsu. Unfortunately, the blast of wind had left her hair in comedic disarray, which she now tried impatiently to comb through.

"You think this was?" Robin scoffed. "One time, I saw this ANBU reach into a man's chest—just her hand, mind you, no weapon—and pull his heart out. Right in front of me."

Sakura dropped her comb.

"That sounds pretty gross," Deer acknowledged.

Fox was looking at her strangely, she noticed. Blinking, she bent down to pick up the comb. As she did, he came near her.

"They seem to be getting along," Fox noted, leaning back into the locker.

"Post-mission high." She paused, comb poised in her hand. Her father passed briefly through her thoughts—as he had throughout their quick albeit messy mission—and she forcefully turned her full attention to the figure across from her in response. "You look like you have something on your mind."

"You told me you were open to suggestions," he said.

Sakura watched him for a moment. "I did. Go on."

He shrugged. "The Shush-ya has started doing happy hours for black ops members on Friday evenings. It's become a popular spot for teams to go after missions."

"Hm," she grunted, giving up on the comb entirely. She pulled her hair back from her face and tied it together.

"A lot of captains don't recognize the value of camaraderie," Fox said, watching her calmly. "In my opinion, it helps to know the people on your team. You would be surprised by what can inform a quick judgment call."

"Is that what I should tell them?" Sakura considered wryly. "Or should I just say free drinks?"

"Possibly, the latter."

She turned toward the other two, who seemed to have gotten into a one-up battle of past experiences. Sakura took a moment to roll her eyes before she spoke. If they had spent even a month on Kakashi's team…

"Hey, you two. Shush-ya has happy hours apparently," Sakura interjected without apology. "First round on me?"

"Yes," Deer said immediately.

Robin was a little more cool. "Supposing no better plans come up."

"Well, we're certainly not beating the crowd, so get a move on," she drawled.

Robin brushed roughly past her, heading to the door. Sakura's temper spiked instantly. Her fingers rapped against the locker rapidly.

"Bit prickly, isn't he?" Deer observed.

With effort, she stilled her hand. Captain, she reminded herself.

The walk to the Shush-ya was, thankfully, uneventful. Fox distracted Robin with inane conversation, saving him from any potential lapses in Sakura's control if the red-haired ANBU attempted to further test it, and Deer seemed content to walk in silence.

As she had predicted, the bar was overflowing when they reached. They muscled their way through the crowd until they found an abandoned table in the back. There were drinks and napkins strewn all along the surface, but Fox calmly shifted the items onto a neighboring table with occupants too drunk to notice. They claimed the bare one now without remorse.

A harried looking waiter swooped down on them. He tapped his foot impatiently as they conveyed their orders.

"It's on me," she said glumly, dropping a weighty amount of coins into his hand. He pocketed the money and left swiftly.

When their drinks arrived, they grabbed them instantly—all, that is, except for Fox, who seemed content to swirl his first in his hand. Sakura downed her drink in one go.

"Thank you, taichou," Deer said politely, hands wrapped around her own cup.

"Don't," Sakura shrugged. "This was Fox's idea."

"He should have been captain," Robin muttered under his breath. He raised his cup to his lips, bristling.

Fox sent the younger man a quelling look. Sakura tilted the cup in her hand and examined it. What could she say to that? She didn't exactly disagree.

"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Robin continued sourly, warming quickly to the subject. "Do you know the kinds of teams I've been on? The kinds of captains that I've had—"

"Deer?" someone said from behind them. Robin blinked comically, head raising from Sakura to someone behind her.

The girl in question abruptly grew stiff.

"It is you," the same voice said, voice thick with satisfaction.

Sakura turned around to see three ANBU. Two were men, both of average height—the one who had spoken wore a crane mask, the other a spider mask. The third person, a woman, stood a little behind them, wearing a mask Sakura couldn't quite identify. Some sort of fish, she thought.

"This is your new team?" Spider asked, jerking his chin as he voiced the question.

The man who had first spoken, Crane, laughed a little too loudly. He leaned forward, and Sakura could smell the alcohol on him. His grey eyes were uncomfortably intent. "You shouldn't have left so soon," he murmured. "I've missed you."

Deer jerked her head away. Robin, unexpectedly, shifted forward, blocking Crane's line of sight. He looked a little bewildered as he did it.

Crane's gaze was venomous. "Have you been giving them side-service too?"

"Shut up," Deer snapped viciously.

"Showing them the benefits of having a seduction-nin on the team, hm?"

"What happened between you and me—it meant nothing," Deer said coldly, "You have no right to come up to me now, in front of my new team, and—"

"What did you expect?" the woman muttered. "Shouldn't have dropped your pants in the first place."

Deer launched to her feet, hands tightened into fists at her sides. Sakura's hand snapped out instantly, holding her wrist.

"Taichou," Deer said, strained.

"Sit down," Sakura answered.

Deer sat, trembling. In turn, Sakura stood slowly, sliding her chair back with the heel of her foot. Crane and Spider dismissed her entirely, moving to take one of the bottles on their table with a mocking nod to Fox and Robin. (Robin, of course, stiffened immediately at the slight). The woman with them, however, was focused now determinedly on something other than what was going on, telegraphing that she wanted no part in what was to come.

Crane nudged his mask up and began guzzling their alcohol, straight from the bottle.

In many ways, this was the last straw. Sakura had paid for that.

She shoved the base of her hand into Crane's solar plexus. Spider's eyes widened as his teammate went flying back into a neighboring table. The ANBU seated there shouted in annoyance as their table skidded several meters, right into the opposite wall, Crane with it. His head hit the wall, knocking him unconscious.

Spider edged away from her, sober enough to be wary now.

"HEY!" the owner of the Shush-ya shouted, coming out from behind the bar counter. He evaluated the displaced table, steadily reddening. He pointed his finger at Sakura. "None of that here! You hear me? Cool down or get out!"

Sakura raised her hands lazily. She walked backward to her chair, still smirking—and then the hairs prickled on the back of her neck.

He was identifiable to her the moment her head snapped to the door, even among a swarm of newcomers—ANBU mask covering his face, hair darkened by what Sakura knew was blood. He moved among them like a youkai, silent and with an undeniable power of repulsion, and they reacted to him accordingly, giving him wide berth.

Kakashi went straight to the counter. The bartender immediately placed a cup in front of him, filled to the brim. As he lifted it with a bloodied hand, he eliminated any assumption that her presence may have gone unnoticed.

His hooded gaze cut straight to her.

She turned her head abruptly back to her new team.

"I apologize," Deer said stiffly. "That shouldn't have happened."

"That's really not necessary," Robin grunted, uncharacteristically discomfited.

She stared at them, eyes hard. "Well, I've been asked to apologize endlessly ever since it fucking happened."

"Well, don't," Sakura said shortly, sitting down. "I don't care if you fucked all of them in an orgy and promised to marry each one of them after."

"I think what Salamander is trying to say is," Fox said wryly, clearing his throat, "what any of us did on our previous teams is our own business."

"That's very nice in principle and all," Robin interjected glumly, "And yet, you've looked through our stats and profiles, and we know nothing about you."

"That's not true. You know now that I excel at bar brawls," Sakura said shortly.

She lifted her own refilled cup to her lips as Robin exhaled incredulously. She drank slowly this time, savoring. She let the sake rest on her tongue for a moment before swallowing. The sweetness overpowered the acidity in the aftertaste.

"I'm going to dance for a little," Deer said firmly; she appeared determined to put earlier events out of mind as swiftly as possible. Sakura could understand that.

"Spotted a couple of friends," Robin grunted, sending Sakura a glower. He left too.

She followed their backs for a moment, before glancing at the remaining occupant of the table. Fox continued to sip calmly, still working on his first cup.

Sakura leaned back into her chair, head tilting to the side. "So how am I doing, Fox? How would you rate me?"

"I'm sure that isn't my place."

"I insist."

He didn't pause. "Rough around the edges and a bit clumsy—but you have the right instincts."

Sakura's eyebrows raised.

He misunderstood her expression, stiffening slightly. "Apologies if that was unduly harsh."

She leaned forward to rest her head on her forearms (and maybe she was a little more inebriated than she had thought), peering up at him. "The opposite, actually. That's glowing praise compared to what I was expecting—"

A pale, scarred arm crossed her vision. As Sakura watched, stunned, Kakashi slid into the abandoned seat between her and Fox.

"Oh," Fox said, blinking. "Did you want this table?"—his gaze carefully left the infamous copy-nin to look at Sakura now—"Perhaps we should shift to another one."

Kakashi brought the rim of her cup beneath his mask and tossed his head back to taste its contents—slow, deliberate. Fox's eyes widened, and Sakura twitched.

Glaring at him, she said slowly, "This is my second, Fox."

"I was not aware that you were acquainted," Fox muttered to her.

Sakura crossed her arms. "Why are you here?"

"Is my presence undesired?" Kakashi said uncaringly, but his eyes flicked to her with unexpected intensity.

She inhaled. "You stole my eggs."

"I felt that I had earned them."

She gaped at him, jaw dropping. Their conversation was dangerously stretching the limits of ambiguity. She stood hastily.

"It's about time I headed home," she explained brusquely. "Give Deer and Robin my regards, though I doubt the latter will bother to ask."

"Of course," Fox said, eyes widening imperceptibly. He carried his shock well.

She left immediately. As she expected, Kakashi fell into step beside her a block down the road—though she hadn't heard him follow. Sakura examined him in her peripheral—shoulders slouched, hands in his pockets, feral gaze roving their surroundings with effortless paranoia.

Sakura made hand signs to burn through the alcohol in her body. He watched her make them.

His gaze seemed to darken, in fact, the more he looked at her. "Take off your mask."

"No," she said immediately. "Why?"

"I can't see your face."

"Now you know what the rest of us feel like," she sneered.

He pressed her back suddenly into one of the trees, until they were shadowed by the foliage of the grove, and lifted her mask up. His lips sank down onto hers, savage and lustful, and the trickle of the water that rushed beneath the bridge filled her ears.

She pulled back. His mask was bunched at his throat, just beneath the sharp cut of his jaw.

She stared at it. "You told me you killed your best friend," she found herself saying.

Odd. She hadn't planned on saying that. Unsurprisingly, the air around them seemed to lose oxygen.

"Don't you want me to fuck you instead?" he murmured after a deliberate pause. His voice was suddenly unnaturally smooth as he dragged his lips along the skin behind her ear. Even as her body tightened, she felt unnerved.

Somehow, she angled her head to catch sight of his expression. She found a cold mechanic quality to his exposed face.

"Is that what this is?" she wondered. Her eyes narrowed.

"What else could it be?" he said. His thigh slid between hers.

"I've fucked around a lot," she observed slowly. "I know what it usually feels like."

He reacted as swiftly as a viper, face contorting in pure, animalistic warning . It should have been unattractive. It might have been, if hadn't reflected the same unsavory things he made her feel as well.

"You have too," she said coolly. She tilted her head back, resting it against the tree.

Kakashi's expression was swiftly unreadable once more. "Then you know what I am good for."

"You told me you killed your best friend," she repeated.

He was evaluating her, she could tell, intelligent eyes hidden by the shadows, calculating the best course of action on his part now.

"His name was Uchiha Obito," he told her, unblinking. He lifted her hand to the scarred skin below his sharingan. "I took this from him."

"You took it," she echoed.

"As he was dying," Kakashi said.

"Did you kill him?"

"Yes."

"Don't," she snapped, suddenly vicious, hand grasping his chin, "lie."

He leaned into her, eyes livid. "Might as well have," he said silkily.

"So you didn't kill him," Sakura recounted. "And you took it, but did you steal it?"

He was paler than she had ever seen him. "Might as well have," he said again.

"But you didn't," Sakura concluded. "I'm beginning to think that you didn't kill the 'woman he loved' either."

His sharingan spun.

"Her," he said, cold. "Her, I stuck my hand through. She was innocent. That's the incontrovertible truth."

She kept all expression off her face. "Why?"

"I lost control."

And Sakura might have taken him at face value, now, if not for the look in his eyes—because it was the same exact look he had worn when he killed Kino and Kaido and Haku.

"It frustrates me that people don't hold you nearly as accountable as you should be held," she said coldly.

He began to draw back from her, having sensed seeming victory.

"And that, also—frustratingly—you're nowhere near the monster you see yourself as."

He stilled again at this. The wind blew, rustling the willows around them.

"I have grasped," she said, remaining exactly where she was, not inching one step closer to him, "for every single reason to resent you. I have. You have no idea. If you were that monster—just as much of the monster that I had wished you were, that you think you are—I wouldn't have lost."

Don't, the Voice warned.

"You think you've lost control?" she asked, with sharp revulsion. "You have no idea what I've done."

Kakashi's head turned slowly back to her.

"There are people I've killed that I can't even remember killing."

Don't TELL him, it screamed.

"Not, to be clear, that I've killed so many people that I simply can't remember all of them," she said, dogged. "I'm telling you that there are times that I have killed that I have no recollection of. Absolutely none."

The Voice screeched, wordless.

"I…dissociated, I think. You could call it that. In those moments, I think that I could have killed anyone."

A calloused hand pressed into her cheek, rough. It was then, as she felt a sudden sensation of dampness in the press of skin against skin, that she realized she had been— Her eyes were wet.

"That's bad, isn't it?" she said, furious and empty. "It's really, really bad, isn't it. I'm try— I'm trying to be better, but I don't know. No one ever told me how."

He had come closer, at some point.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, voice strangled.

"Tell me it's okay," she said without intending to at all. She hated herself for it, the moment it left her mouth. How pathetic. How weak. How miserably unprofessional.

For a moment, he did nothing. For a moment, the wind blew, the willows swayed, the water rushed by in the stream, and she thought he would do nothing.

Then, like an open wound, he said: "It's okay."

The words were too rough. It sounded awkward on his lips. Everything about it was wrong and stilted and inept.

Her hand rose up, and her fingers entangled fiercely in the uneven hair at the nape of his neck. She pressed his face into her shoulder.

"It's okay," she told him back, voice rough.

Later, she ate his eggs.

She shoved forkful after forkful of egg into her mouth, even when she was already stuffed (she was determined to empty his carton too). And he watched her do it. He stood in his own kitchen with all the appearance of a guest, as though he were the foreign presence and not she—as though he hadn't just watched her uncaringly dismantle his lock and break into his place, right in front of him.

Sakura pulled back and stared at him for some time, after. "I'm petty," she said eventually, voice cool. "Is that what you like?"

His gaze cut to her, hard and restless.

"Ah. Still determined to keep it to just fucking, I see," she murmured. "Is that why you came to my table? How noble of you. But how long do you think you'll manage, when you're so laughably jealous? When I am too."

His eyes flicked away, jaw tightening.

"Oh, come on," she said, smiling viciously. "You told me before that it wasn't exceptional good looks. So what is it? Was it because I cried?"

His nostrils flared.

"Some men like women more when they cry. So I've heard."

Kakashi crossed the table so suddenly, that her reaction was pure instinct. The air settled around them a second later, and he was leaning over her, hands bracketing her.

She dangled his kunai loosely near his throat.

He seemed angry, she noted.

She dragged his head down onto hers. A second later, she tore her face away, breath ragged.

"If this isn't what you want, say it now," she said, eyes cutting to the curtains. "I don't care who the fuck you are, I'm not chasing after you."

"You already have been," he said, voice cold. His words vibrated in the air.

She knew what he was trying to do. She tightened her fingers in his hair. "And this is the end of it," she promised him.

Kakashi's voice dropped, scathing. "You don't know what you want. You think you know me?"

"I know enough," Sakura hissed back, "to want to scrape you raw."

He stilled, teeth clenched.

She curled her hands around the sides of his head, pulled his forehead into hers, and glared at him, right into his eyes.

"What are you scared of?"

He strained against her, eyes wide, resentful and terrible. "You."

It didn't surprise her—to hear that she could be feared. She could see that he wasn't lying.

"You should be too. Of what I could do to you," he finished with malice, like it was a threat.

She exhaled sharply, a sudden burst of air. She bared her teeth. "You're astonishingly arrogant. You think you shouldn't be equally concerned for yourself?"

"Sakura."

She shut her eyes at the sound of her name.

And then the words spilled out of her mouth with an ugly smile. "You know what I want? I want to own you. I want to own you even though it's impossible and unconscionable to own another human being. I mean that if I could, if there were a single person I could, I would possess your lies and your guilt and your orgasms and your egotism and your loyalty— I would possess all of it. I would leave nothing behind. I would consume you whole, if it were possible."

She opened her eyes again.

Blatant, unabashed craving roared in his gaze—as powerful as possessive, hungering fingers parting her—and it strangled any following words in her throat.

His mouth thinned as he realized what she saw. He turned abruptly to the window, back to her.

"You think that's love?" His tone was concertedly cruel, mocking.

"Of course not," Sakura returned to his back. She added—and this was gallows humor, now—"Or is it, not yet?"

He might have responded, had he not been cut off by the popping sound of a shunshin—distinctively outside the apartment door. Gaze narrowing, Sakura launched herself over the kitchen table to the wall where she had rested her katana. Kakashi pulled his mask up, eyes flared and sharingan spinning.

It occurred to her, as the door was torn clean off its hinges, that he hadn't invested in some of the most basic security measures that most shinobi adopted: booby traps, sealing jutsu, and the like. It occurred to her, perhaps, that Kakashi considered nothing in his home to be precious. It occurred to her, also, that he might consider himself to be his own—and possibly the best available—security system.

Of course, then Sakura saw who it was, and all thoughts of security systems fled from her mind.