C/W: Autopsy between "Sakura turned on" and "entirely other reasons" Nothing super squick but it's ~3 paragraphs and safe to skip.


Chapter Thirteen: Luminal Tear

When Sakura's thigh grazed the miserable ache between his legs a third time, Sasuke resigned himself to fate.

He held himself in iron-clad check before. Kept his eyes to himself and her at arms-length as much as she'd allow. Now she slept, face inches away, and the forbidden details — lashes, a few shades darker than her hair; the dusting of freckles on her upturned nose; her lip dotted with bite marks— held him paralyzed.

She wanted him.

Another oblivious shift of her hips sent a fresh wave of need rattling down his spine, and all he could think about was how her nipple tasted as it pebbled between his lips. The tension in her shoulders had long since melted away, and he was definitely starting to sweat. He should go. As though she could sense his torment, Sakura's ankle hooked over his leg, mashing their hips together—

Sasuke leapt out of bed.

Asleep, his ass.

He shoved the duvet back, and all his lust was extinguished by the sight in the mirror. A livid bruise wider than his hand blackened the back of her shoulder, and welts crossed her elbows.

The wind and rustling leaves fell silent to a thunderous pound in his ears. Sakura's back shimmered, as though submerged in oil, and focus returned so razor-sharp he could trace the blood oozing under her skin, pooling between the torn fibers of her muscles.

—kill him kill him kill him he dared to touch her rip him apart—

The wood cracked in his hand.

With a start, Sasuke released the bedpost.

Again.

He closed his burning eyes, willing the aimless bloodlust to cool.

How ironic that he'd once mocked Danzo for feeble mastery of his stolen sharingan, when his own tenuous control reduced him to wrecking furniture.

It was fine for years, whispered a piece of his mind. Fine until her.

If she had left her injuries in that state, she must have been drained to the bone. He leaned onto the vanity table, and in the mirror, his face looked more like his father's than he cared to admit.

You are weak because you lack discipline, Sasuke. Itachi could do this when he was four.

Where Sasuke was impulsive, Itachi approached life like a game of Shogi— each word, each decision calculated four steps in advance. He inherited their mother's temper, unflappable in the most dire of situations, and it earned him the title of ANBU captain at eight.

If Itachi were captain of this mission…

No. His brother would have never requested this in the first place. He would have sent Sai and his ink birds to Aizu and Sakura to prepare for Higa in Kuzu. Nor would he have missed her injuries because he was busy tearing her clothes off.

His feet led him to the head of the bed. Sakura had flipped to her stomach, jutting a bare leg across the duvet. Her hair was a nest, and the pillow smothered her deep breathing, even as a metronome.

He closed his eyes.

The stinging subsided. The world shimmered, and he was standing in an ordinary bedroom once more.

He hoisted himself into the window frame, and a blast of frigid air plastered his shirt to his skin. Sasuke resolved to ruthlessness and discipline. No one would hurt her again.

Sakura shivered in the draft. The duvet was still half off… But she would be warm once he closed the window. Once he left.

He should go.


The market street teemed with wagons and ox-drawn carts. Although her vibrant hair was tucked under a cap, Sasuke spotted her easily in the crowd.

"It's our lucky day. He's busy until six," she chirped. Her brows rose. "Someone's looking very grumpy this morning."

Sasuke nestled into his scarf. Evidently, his idea of ruthlessness and discipline last night was to pace the room a few times, slide the godforsaken window shut, and crawl back into bed with her.

He woke to his arm clamped around her waist, and his erection digging into her spine. Dawdled ten minutes staring at their entwined legs and another ten musing on how she fit under his chin perfectly. By the time he peeled himself off, it was dawn.

"I was nervous my first time too. Almost fainted actually," she guessed. "It helps to have a stool nearby. And you can hold my hand if you get scared."

"I'll keep that in mind."

She had the audacity to stifle a yawn. "Hard to believe we'll be home in two days. I'll miss some of this place."

He glanced around. It was a regular street— bakeries, produce stalls, and butcher-shops. The snow-capped mountains were a nice sight, he supposed. The sights of his previous missions blended into one another, and the faces of the men he'd killed on them were long faded.

"What do you have next?" he asked.

"Back to the hospital for me."

Relief spread in his chest.

"Actually, there is a project I've been mulling over. You know that empty suite in the new hospital? No one's claimed it yet. I think it'd be a great space for a child psychiatry clinic."

He didn't know anything about children or psychiatry. "What does Shizune think?"

"I haven't asked her. You're the first person I've told."

His chest puffed. "Do it."

"The issue is funding. We don't have anyone qualified on staff. We'll have to hire someone full-time from Suna, and that's expensive. The council sponsors a jonin project each December, but they like training and defense proposals. And the winners are always big names, really talented and well-respected."

"Sounds like you."

Color rose in her cheeks. She turned a shy smile to him, and he nearly shouldered a lamppost. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Sasuke-kun."

The street narrowed to a cobblestone path, lined with bars. The few pedestrians paid them no attention. Sasuke caught sight of their reflection in a glass shopfront: an ordinary young couple in matching scarves. He stood a little closer.

They passed an advertisement for amazake, Sakura grimaced. "That stuff is dangerous. Way stronger than it tastes."

He'd heard plenty about her tolerance from Naruto. "What'd you have? A whole glass?"

"I had three, thank you very much."

"Cheap date."

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

He caught the yes before it flew off his tongue. "Do you remember anything?"

"Last night? Uh… bits and pieces. Why do you ask? Did I say something weird?" Her face was a picture of innocence.

Of course she'd forgotten her mumbled words that were now seared so deeply into the forefront of his memory, they hadn't stopped intruding all morning. She short-circuited part of his brain. One minute, he was ordering her to bed. The next, he was in bed over her.

Despite his dogged efforts to avoid details of her personal life before this mission, inter-jonin gossip traveled quickly. Sasuke never involved himself. It wasn't as though she were beholden to him. She could date who she liked, if it made her happy. Sure, her words made him feel a little better about his "unsportsmanlike" tackle at last year's summer sports festival that "nearly broke Hyuuga's jaw", but he blamed that on the man's shit reflexes.

"Why do you look incredibly smug?"

"How's your shoulder?"

"Don't change the subject."

He couldn't help himself. "I'll tell you if you promise to show me."

"Show you? Show you what?" At his silence, she stared. "I'm not going to make you a blind promise."

He shrugged. "Alright."

"Show you what?"

They made their way to the cafe between two salons. His expression in the glass was appallingly blithe as he pulled open the door.

"I don't like this side of you," Sakura hissed, walking under his arm.

The only other patrons were an old couple at the far end of the bar. Soft jazz crackled from a stereo radio on the counter. The shopkeeper was pot-bellied with a bulbous nose and violaceous cheeks, but he held the bread knife with the unspoken grace of forty years of shinobi service.

"Back again?"

"As promised," Sakura said.

The veteran's eyes darted between the two of them, and his smile faded to disapproval.

A nagging thought occurred. What would Sakura's parents think of him? S-rank ex-felons were not who people envision for their daughters. Not ones who were out of the village eleven months out of the year. He wouldn't have time to see her, much less be her boyfriend.

The word sounded so ridiculous, Sasuke stepped away.

Sakura seized his hand, and the shopkeeper's brows flew into his hairline. "Do you have any private seating downstairs?" she asked sweetly.

He cleared his throat. "Table or booth?"

"Booth. As soundproof as possible, please. It's our anniversary." She leaned her head against his arm.

With an air of scandal, the shopkeeper unlocked a small door behind the counter. The long flight of stairs descended into darkness, and Sasuke glided down each one like air.

When they passed, the veteran grumbled something like more trouble than he's worth.

Sakura was unfazed. "Trouble is half the fun."


Sakura heaved the cadaver onto the steel work table with a clang that set Sasuke's teeth on edge. The ends of its hair slithered off.

"Not bad," Sai commended.

The sizable restaurant kitchen had been re-outfitted Konoha's only outpost in this part of Stone. The unplugged refrigerators contained bedrolls, the walk-in pantry medical supplies, and the wire racks supply crates.

At a worktable, Sakura's clone laid out equipment: drapes, scissors, basins and a headlamp. All that was visible of her was her eyes.

"If you like what you're wearing, you should put those on." She pointed at a crate of gowning kits on the ground. The gown scratched his throat, and the elbow-length gloves were so compressive his fingers went numb.

Sakura stood on her toes and daubed peppermint oil on his mask. "Trust me, you'll need this."

They set to work doffing Scorpion's armor. When he pulled off the breastplate, a smell redolent of the worst-kept of Orochimaru's laboratories wafted through his nose. Only the peppermint kept him from gagging.

"He was committed," Sai said, setting a codpiece to the floor.

The last to go was his metal mask, the fabric ties matted into his hair with clotted blood. Sasuke hacked at them with shears until the mask clattered to the ground, unveiling the Scorpion's face.

It was an ordinary face, albiet swollen. Sasuke ripped through his ragged tunic— the final layer. If only he could kill him twice.

Under the yellow hiss of the fluorescent lights, the naked body was pallid and scarred. Near a hundred pounds of metal laid at their feet.

Sakura turned on her headlamp, scalpel in hand. Without preamble, she opened the belly. The smell intensified, and light perspiration beaded his neck. Sasuke trained his eyes on her face, off her hands.

Sakura used to faint easily. During the Chunin Exams, the mere mention of Aburame Shino was enough to make her bristle. Now, she collected her spoils with unflinching focus. Her movements were sharp and deliberate, and there was a savage grace to each pass of her rib shears.

As though she sensed his attention, her green eyes lifted to his. Sasuke shifted on his feet, warm for entirely different reasons.

"This doesn't make any sense," her clone groused from the back table. "I sealed him right after." She muttered nonsense, her wet glove staining the chicken-scratch on her notepad as she flipped through.

"Fibrinous what?" Sai asked.

Sakura dispersed her clone and stepped off the stool. "What does it smell like in here?"

Sasuke didn't need a breath to answer. "Decay."

She nodded slowly, as though she'd hoped for another answer. "His internal organs are necrotic. At least two weeks of decomposition. This man died before we came to Stone."

Silence rang as her words sunk in.

"The others," Sasuke said.

The three of them unsealed the dozen assailants from Higa's gala that Sai had collected. But they were all ordinary, frozen into death and smelling of nothing but smoke and sweat.

"You're certain this is the man you fought?" Sai asked sharply.

"I mean, he smells like it," she said. "But that's impossible. He was moving the whip without touching it. With jiton." Sakura recounted her fight again, in far greater detail than last night.

The longer she spoke, the greater the pit of cold fury in his stomach grew. A stray thought cut through the haze. "Did you see anyone else near the rope bridge?"

"Just some birds," she said. "I wasn't really looking. Why? You think someone was moving it for him?"

He nodded. "The real Scorpion."

Corpse puppeteering and tissue preservation were two of Orochimaru's specific research interests. Used in combination, they allowed the wielder to access an endless supply of undead weapons. To create immortal vessels, he'd amassed the largest known collection of texts on reanimation of the dead.

After banishing Orochimaru, the council declared the techniques to be unnatural interests in violation of the sanctity of life. The penalty in Konoha for studying a single of those forbidden scroll was life imprisonment.

Before reviving the Sannin from the grave, Sasuke had read every one. How would he lie away this piece of knowledge? "Scorpion's Bingo Book entry is ten years old, but there's no photo. No physical description." Sasuke said. "He's swapping bodies."

His team turned skeptical gazes to him.

"Like he's possessing them?" Sakura asked. Her gaze darted to where the Cursed Seal once was on his neck.

"No. Not if they're decayed," Sasuke said. "What did Gaara use jiton for?"

"Not controlling corpses, if that's what you're asking," she said. "He used it to contain a shrapnel explosive. He shot all the scrap metal..." she trailed off, eyes on the pile of discarded armor on the ground. "Okay, but he could talk. Vocal cords aren't metal."

"What did he sound like?" Sai asked. "Could it have been a microphone? An implant?"

"Now that you mention it, he sounded terrible." Sakura whirled to the corpse, as though to check.

Her brows rose. "The other possibility here, and I mean, far-fetched, because the quantity is tiny compared to that—" she gestured at the armor "—is that he can move the corpses themselves. It's on the order of grams, but there are trace metals in all human tissue. It would take incredible chakra control."

"Why would he cover the corpse in armor? It's extra weight if there's nothing alive to protect," Sai asked.

Sasuke agreed. The rate of decomposition was proportional to the user's skill. Orochimaru's vessels lasted three years. By the smell, Scorpion was leagues in skill below the Sannin.

"He didn't really try to dodge me during the fight. Almost like he was used to relying on the armor—" Sakura groaned, reality setting in.

"I really thought I killed him. I've fought chakra puppets before too. Why hadn't I just examined him on the field? So careless—"

"You were injured and depleted," Sasuke said. "Don't blame yourself." Blame me.

Sai nodded. "He would have tailed you if you ran."

"If he's using jiton and not a reanimation technique, then they're just half-rotten corpses." Sasuke said. "We'll be prepared if he attacks again."

Privately, anticipation mounted. If Scorpion attacked, Sasuke would not let him flee. His blood thrummed with a dark glee at the prospect of breaking the man's mind before burning him alive—

Discipline.

"Nara's team gets in tomorrow. We'll brief them in-person. Until then, Higa is safest from Scorpion in his compound," he said.

"Easier said than done." Sakura tore her gown off, balled it up, and shoved it in the trash. To his relief, she looked a bit perkier. "Let's run through the plan for tonight."

Her words doused him like a bucket of cold water.

Tonight. Higa.

He'd shoved her inevitable task to the back of his mind the entire mission. By the time they finished reviewing, the dread in his stomach had tightened into a knot.

"He likes his sake after dinner. I think we'll be in his chambers around ten," Sakura said. "Wait for my signal so I can unlock the window for you two."

"Good luck," Sai said.

Her eyes darted to his.

Don't, he wanted to say. Fuck the mission. But Sasuke's tongue tangled with his breath, and the doors swung shut behind her.

"Uchiha-taichou, can I have a word?"

Sasuke stalked to the bodies. "Don't call me that."

"It's your title." Sai's expression betrayed nothing of Sasuke's blunt refusal to use honorifics when their roles were reversed. "I came to report last night. You weren't in your room."

"I wasn't."

Sasuke flipped the ventilator fans on and drew fire into his lungs. The bodies ignited like hot coals, white-blue flames lapping against the steel walls of the incinerator. He scowled. Amaterasu was instant.

Sai raised his voice, unfazed. "A captain needs to be reliable to subordinates."

You lack discipline.

"Don't lecture me. What's your report?"

"A message for you from the council: next week marks five years completed of your probation. Your peer evaluations have been positive, and your ANBU performance unrivaled in recent history. In light of your service, you are eligible for early termination. Your retrial date will be set upon our return. Congratulations."

His testy delivery was at odds with the tone of the message.

"As your most recent teammates, Sakura and I will be asked to testify," Sai said. "Her testimony will reflect her favor for you. I'm afraid I will be obligated to objectivity if I'm questioned."

Ah.

"Be as honest as you need, senpai." Sasuke said. "You won't hurt my feelings."

Sai's lips compressed. "See you tonight."

He climbed up the stairs and departed first.

Alone in the empty kitchen, Sasuke rubbed his wrist. Five years felt like a lifetime ago that he'd held the ten chakra beasts in the sky, untethered in the fabric of space and time. Even the bone-crushing pain of Susanoo was a distant memory.

How would it feel to have it all back?


The Devil's Door was a natural arch of red sandstone, bridging the hundred feet or so of air between two adjacent rock ledges. Thousands of tiny oil lamps nestled into the nooks and crannies, illuminating the rock face in a ring of fire. Children danced through the smoke, brandishing paper lanterns and long skewers of glazed mountain hawthorne.

"I thought you disliked public appearances," Sakura grumbled. There was so much silk to her skirt that she could not gather it all up in her hands. Tiny, golden bells sewn into the embroidery disclosed her every step. "This feels very public."

"I can't miss my own event," Higa said, in far more combat-appropriate trousers. "And spite the Lady of Light?"

"Pious words from a pious man."

Despite her best efforts, Higa could not be swayed from this outing. As long as he doesn't make a speech.

"My contributions to the western Temple are unmatched."

Sakura sidestepped an intricate lotus on the ground, arranged from grains of dyed rice. "You're from Lightning," she pointed out.

"The tax deduction is considerable," he admitted.

Sakura would sooner believe he was a devoted temple-goer than paying dutiful fiefs to the daimyo, but she held her tongue.

They walked under the arch. The evening was warm for November, and half of western Stone was in attendance, families dressed in their finest red and yellow robes. Too many families.

Too many casualties.

Her earrings swung like counterweights each time her head whipped toward a sudden movement— a flickering shadow, a careening drunk. And the stone bridge overhead… If Sakura had a warlord to assassinate, that was the first place she would go. A perfect vantage point over the crowd.

"It won't crumble," Higa offered. "It's held for thousands of years."

"You don't know my luck today."

The air smelled of smoke and earth, without a whiff of rot. Sakura paused, eyes on the bustling crowd. If Scorpion could move dead tissue, what was keeping him from moving live tissue as well? A hand lit on her back, and she jumped.

"I must commend you on your performance tonight," Higa said.

"What do you mean?"

"Not a single probing question. You're convincingly skittish."

She recovered. "How's work?"

"If it's reservations about tonight, let me assure you," he murmured, "I'm not so indecent to force a woman in bed against her will. If you've had a change of heart—"

"I haven't," she said. He discussed it so plainly.

They approached the edge of a crowd, gathered around a wide platform. On top stood a sculpture— a dancing goddess constructed out of fresh blossoms and glittering gemstones with no clear scaffold. The firelight flickered, and Sakura saw that the goddess was encased in a prism of ice, shimmering with gold dust.

The stunning piece divested her of her nerves. "This must have cost a fortune."

There were no railings around the platform. Bold observers reached toward the ice, coating their fingertips in glitter.

Higa's breath skated along her neck. "I would spend a fortune to keep you."

Sakura turned. In the soft glow, Higa's eyes shown amber, and the fine needlework of his coat brought out the flaxen tones of his hair.

Irritation sparked. If Higa insisted on baldly parading through a public crowd after inspiring a blood vendetta from a homicidal necromancer, he could have at least done her the courtesy of being born conventionally hideous. As it was, his uncommon complexion and princely attire drew flitting gazes and furtive whispers from the crowd like flies to a carcass.

He's an arms dealer! Sakura wanted to shout at them.

Then, the man caught her eye.

Amidst a sea of motion in the crowd, he stood stock still at the other end of the platform. Watching them. He was alone, dressed in burgundy robes and a wide scarf.

Oh no.

Sakura whirled around and pointed to a cart at furthest edge of the square. "Buy that for me," she demanded.

Higa's gaze followed her direction to a string of paper lanterns. He cast her a dry look. "Are you mocking me?"

Sakura dragged him along, nearly jogging in her fervor to put distance between them and the sculpture. She threw a look over her shoulder— the man was gone.

At the cart, the peddler lit the pumpkin-shaped lantern and handed it to her. It was light as air, plain parchment wrapped on wire tines with a candle inside.

Sakura barely felt it in her hands as she stalked toward the carriage. Never had she thought she would long for Higa's estate, protected with seals and alarms—

There he was. Standing by the horses. He'd tailed them.

Sakura's hand shot towards her hair, grasping for senbon…

He inclined his head in a small bow.

Oh.

Of course. Higa's bodyguard.

"Aren't you going to make a wish?" Higa, oblivious, pointed at the sky. What she'd taken at first glance for bright stars were hundreds of floating lanterns, quite fantastical, but to take part, they would need to cross the square again, past two rows of vendors and about a hundred warm bodies.

"I have none except to return home," she said tightly, leading him by the hand to the carriage.

"Eager thing," he murmured.

They rode back in silence, the air between them fraught with tension. She was so distracted by Scorpion that she'd forgotten to be nervous for tonight with the warlord. The outpost supply closet contained everything she needed. If all went wrong, she still had the paralytic pills.

Through the small window, Sakura watched the lanterns drift along the horizon like a twinkling river of light. Her fingers itched to tear the rice paper of the extinguished one in her lap.

Tonight.


A/N: Sasuke's POV plot = writing challenge LOOL

1. I started writing Duplicity before Sasuke gained a Rinnegan and lost an arm. For the sake of continuity, I invite everyone to ~suspend disbelief~ and imagine that it turns off like the other sharingan forms

2. Kou will likely deviate from his canon character. I shamelessly needed a male minor character, and I like dogs too much to pick on Kiba

Thank you all for your lovely comments and support. Cheers to the holidays and vaccines and the end of 2020!