Opening Lyrics: Hate Me (Sometimes) by Stand Atlantic
XII.
I set fires so deliberately,
'Til I taste the smoke on every part of me
.
.
.
The truth trickles out in low whispers sometime between the dismal twilight and impending sunrise. Hushed in the room, dark sans a dazzling strip of urban light beaming from a gap in the curtains, slivering the bed between them.
The city fails to sleep, and so do they.
Sakura listens, mostly, eyes meandering over his tousled hair and the lines of his beautiful chest. Wrinkles form in the center of her forehead as Sasuke relays what she assumes is the important ninety percent, holding back the personal and difficult remainder whatever it may be.
The urge to take him into her arms, press her lips to the deep dark shadows under his eyes.
"An adoptee," she repeats. "For a family like yours it seems . . . unusual."
As always, she susses out and articulates unvoiced things so easily.
"But if your — great-grandfather, you said? — was aiming to shift your family's power dynamic, he had a protégé to do it with. Of course, that means others end up on the outs. Your parents."
Sasuke nods; her voice sharpens, winnowing as the edge of a blade. He watches her eyes and the way she touches her lips with an absentmindedness, and he's reminded of Shikamaru, who adopts a similar mien when lost in thought. Gears turning, pieces moving in some seminal slow game of discovery.
She emerges from her reverie, realizing he's staring. With a soft expression, she threads her fingers through his hair and says, "Quite a long, long game to be playing."
"He said they asked him to do it. 'Better my hands than those that were coming for them.'"
Sakura drinks him in, sympathetic but still redolent, edacious. If she didn't already believe she's a woman cursed, there has to be a punishment for violating a sacrosanct aspect of pillow talk in which you didn't ogle a man as they discussed their dead parents.
"He said the plan to marry you was a mistake." Sasuke's tone floats to Sakura's ears buoyed by skepticism.
"Maybe it was." Sakura shrugs. "I was a nobody; it could have been any precocious young girl. Any desperate one, or one who crossed their path at the right time and filled a need."
"It's sick," Sasuke hisses.
"From their perspective," she sighs, trailing the gentle pads of fingers over his ear, "it's practical. Who would believe it, really? A middle schooler, some prodigy among commons? And even if someone did, she's not of age — can she be blamed? If she disappears, it's just another little girl from a little town."
"You speak about it as if it's not you."
"It often feels like someone else. Another lifetime."
What he says next sends her heartbeat spiraling.
"He wants to speak with you."
She knows it was coming, feels it in her bones. Love and lunacy are leading with strings of fate weaving tapestries as the backdrop to the rest. It doesn't matter if the entanglement in one another's lives is a goddess's errant whim or carefully plotted chess.
But can he walk through fire? Men turn to ash in her wake, and she slips away to ease them through the spell and dependence, aching for a person they aren't sure existed.
"Then I guess we'll have a conversation."
"He's leveraging you to manage information, to get to me."
"Yes," she agrees, shrugging. "That's what powerful men do." And you will too, when you need to. "Seems like it has to be done."
"Can you—"
"Don't ask me if I can handle it."
What can he see in her eyes that entrances him; the sense of starving, fear? As if her curse is laid bare and he's trailed her highlight reel, all the mistakes and shifting identities in small towns, the odd jobs in even odder places, thin and flimsy promises made to men and women under names she's discarded until she's nothing but a breeze.
It always finds her.
"I'll be there," Sasuke says sharply. "He's in chains. Nothing will happen to you, and you leave when you want."
"I'll play his game, Sasuke." She realizes she adores him in all ways but especially like this, fierce and watchful and ultimately managing to keep up with her, in all her tides, all the phases of the moon. "You can't give up knowing the truth just to spare my emotions."
Her skin burns underneath the gaze of his ink eyes, simmering as temple torches with the weight of endless decades. As if he's known her for dynasties, not days.
"What are you thinking, when you look at me like that?" she asks.
This facet of their family's men, dark eyes always dancing on the razor's edge of danger. Intensity, obscurity. What soothes her from the rattle and shake in her own bones is the reassuring knowledge that he still has a difficult time deciphering her. For now, anyway, she muses.
"You make him uncomfortable." Lacking that couching tone, that tact; he never does compare her eyes to stars or compose metered poems. She suspects there's something that draws him in, but there's never been a man or woman she could ask, and how would that sound? Narcissistic at best, demented at worst: Are you seeing your demise or hearing siren songs? What's the orchestra playing to the backdrop of this love?
Love. She purses her lips at her mind's easy usage. It slips as silk, without resistance.
"Nobody bothers Itachi, and no one makes him stumble. It's why he was probably chosen aside from being the eldest. He was born for the role he was put into. Words like 'destined' come to mind, even though that's proven by absolutely nothing at all." And here Sasuke's face is a little more shadowed, a twitch passing from one side to the other. "Except for you. You've both said, insisted, actually, that none of this has anything to do with him loving you, nor you him. That, I believe."
He pauses, eyes glittering. In the odd cold gleam, unsettling like nuclear detonation searing the daylight, the thread of his gaze suspends adoration and loathing in a frozen moment. A photo capturing time — a trapped bee preserved in amber.
She holds her breath.
"He said he was following orders, but what made them choose you in the first place? You obviously were not what they expected, naïve but not so compliant." A trace note of something that might be pride, amusement. "He said he admired you, but it's almost as if he hated the thought. Confusing behavior for someone who was following what he felt was his role, his burden."
"Sasuke—"
"How is it that we're here, Sakura? First him, then me, all of us intertwined?" His limbs tense, rigid, an animal in wait.
She chooses her next words gingerly, stepping around unseen landmines. "This starts with the selected heir, the adoptee. Maybe this is something I can ask Itachi tomorrow, get his name. I assume, as so much of this business seems to be done in this family, orders weren't discussed blithely over tea."
"What am I missing?"
"What do you want me to say?" She feels weak in front of him, naked, so different from the way he's seen her already. There's skin and then there's soul. "Ino told you, I'm sure — I'm cursed in this life, I always run. People get entangled and then I leave them behind."
"Curses aren't real," he says. Harsh, but even as it leaves his lips her bright eyes lock on him.
She scoffs, watching him closely. "I don't think you believe that."
She's right, of course, knows she's hit the mark for them both. Two long and winding strings of separate fates now braided and knit, the curse of his family name and her burden even without one to claim.
Gentle nails trailing on his bare chest. "I'm a stranger to you."
"Can you really still say that, Sakura?"
"I mean it, I'm dangerous. It — this — follows me. Calamity. It sounds stupid, I know, but you have to believe me."
"Isn't science your wheelhouse? Biochemicals and psychology, not mythology and drama?" The gentle upturn of the corner of his lips brings her into his orbit all over again. Lately it's so indulgent, so smooth.
It startles her, the way he taps her forehead and presses her, sinking, into memories. Another time with another brother, some strange manner in which they convey affection. In her mind's eye it's handed down in sanctified ritual with the reverence of a blessed object.
Hard to suppress the thought that the Uchiha are simply fucking weird.
Ino thrusts a ribbon at her and nods sharply, indicating the hair hiding her forehead.
"Here, tie it back. If you don't, the other girls will make fun of you, and the teachers will think you're dim."
He brings her back with his question. "As for this life, it's the only one you're sure of, right?"
"And what if I don't want to be saved?"
"I want you," he growls, "in any form that takes."
'you are no god; you are something stronger than a god if that can be'
As if he hears the recitation in her thoughts, he gently takes her chin to direct her gaze. Holding her fast.
Sasuke says it against her lips:
"Choosing you was a mistake."
She's unsure what he means, but he's kissing her like a man desperate and she's returning it in ardent madness.
She laughs softly and smiles into his lips at the notion of choices.
I love
and I leave
and I love.
.
.
.
They depart on the heels of a cold and quiet dawn, the whispers to the valet for the car, coffee, and paper lost in the rustle and handover of each.
Sunglasses hide tired eyes, a contrite disguise. Too lost in thought and one another, and perhaps if they'd read the paper, they'd have noticed the dead girl on the third page.
Deciding to present a united front together seems like the most reasonable idea at first, until of course Uchiha Itachi walks in, beautiful in a way that's disassociating and fragile.
Flanked again by guards showing a particular familiarity with their precious cargo, Sakura's still unable to prepare fully for the encounter despite him avoiding her eyes directly. It's almost certainly on purpose. Sasuke's sneer surfaces, an involuntary reaction, animals circling around coveted territory.
How loud the chains sound in her ears, clattering and singing as the murderer's ankles are bolted into the floor. Itachi glancing between the two and managing, not once, to truly look them in the eyes.
An uncomfortable moment reels with the poignancy of a crafted film scene: The gentle scraping and pitch of metal chains as prisoners shift at their tables while a handsome criminal threads his fingers together and sets them on the cold table between them. Guards shuffling, clearing their throats. Crying, from someone, but in deference no one turns to seek the source.
Sakura doesn't realize she's holding her breath until Itachi breaks the silence.
"I'd like to speak with her alone."
She wonders if the politeness is for her benefit, lulling her into a sense of security. Always how she remembers him, a thin layer of arrogance as glass to keep others from even leaving fingerprints.
"You think I'm going to leave her here alone with a—"
"It's all right," Sakura hears herself saying. "There's nothing he can do, in chains, with guards." Something possesses her to touch Sasuke's hand under the table in a gesture intended to demur.
Does she imagine the flicker in Itachi's eyes?
Sasuke's jaw rolls and tightens, but her logic wins out. He leaves in a haughty huff, though not without trailing his hand across the small of her back in a lingering way that leaves the heat of his anger.
It's another discomfiting 30 seconds before it finally begins.
"You look the same, really," Itachi says. "Young, clever eyes. Sweet."
Sakura doesn't answer, embodying water, channeling placid pond surfaces. Uchihas speak with eyes, and if he won't deign to play, neither will she.
"Well, perhaps not. I see a shadow in them too. Left by us."
Sakura makes a blithe noise, acting disinterested. Her eyes are on his fingers: Heavy rings, nails painted black.
"I'm sure you have things to say. Questions for me as well."
"Seems that you're having an interesting time in prison," she says tartly, now eyeing his long hair.
"You know something about becoming another person. Quite a lot, actually. Though you also know that it always manages to catch up with you."
"Prison, for most," she interjects, "isn't some journey to reinvent yourself."
"Contrary, it's necessary if you want to survive, Sakura."
There it is, the way her name from his lips tumbles down each bone in her spine. Freefall.
Unlacing his fingers, he holds his hands up to show her his palms. It invokes prophesy and her mother's neurosis.
There's nothing less hilarious when he says, "And funny, I feel freer than I ever did."
"Why do you want to speak with me?"
"Ah," is all he says. Lacing his fingers together again, the whites of his knuckles seem almost grey. She wonders if this is what prison does, bleeds the color from the soul. If fading is the only way to make it through.
His gaze lingers somewhere on her collarbone, never wanting to look her in the eyes. You make him uncomfortable.
"Why do you never look at me?"
"My brother's in love with you, but I'm sure you know."
"Stop sidestepping me," she hisses.
She hears a stronger voice threading within hers, cutting, deific. By the way Itachi shifts in his seat, she knows in that moment he hears it too.
Her, but not. An inner layer, occupying the space among atoms and skin. In grounding her life in science, she's never managed to shake the feeling that things exist beyond daily understanding.
"But we both know that you don't like to stay. This isn't to criticize you — I'm not interested in your pledge or plan. You'll do what you do."
"Why don't you ever look at me?" Her voice breaks. "What monster do you see in me, Itachi?"
He recoils at the sound of his name.
"Is that why I was chosen, because you look at me and see weakness? Or because there's some evil in me to use?"
"What are you—"
"The adoptee," she interrupts. "You were following orders, and your family wasn't in charge by then. A clan full of power struggles and business coups. You watched your father try to change the family and fail, and then it was left to you. But you didn't end up doing what you were destined to."
"Or maybe I did."
"He said to pick me, specifically? Or to use a little girl? Not that it matters now."
"Choosing you . . . was a mistake."
She goes rigid, stomach clenching.
"It was perceived to be for the greater good, a girl who likely would have ended up in a ditch, that we could dispose of without much trouble, could be used for our ends. For the head of the family, it wasn't much different than the trauma and illegality going on under his nose that he let fester."
Sakura turns this over, letting it sink in. Another clench and shiver in her stomach, enough to bring her forward to hunch over the table. Visions dance in her head of trafficked girls and indebted fathers shot in alleys, drugs, guns, refineries blown to bits.
"Madness." It comes out as a whisper, barely voiced. "And so your solution was to marry me, to spare me a passing obituary in a newspaper. Hiding in plain sight. So generous of you." She glares at him, has the urge to yank him by his lovely hair and force him to look into her eyes. "You're an idiot."
That same ripple of silent resistance and rebuke — men who aren't used to being spoken to this way.
He parries again. "Do you love him? My little brother?"
"What does this have to do with anything?"
"I'm asking genuinely, as the only family he has left." Indeed, his eyes soften around the edges, fleeting and gone.
Sakura bites her lip. "I don't like to feel those things too deeply. Because of you, all of this, it's too dangerous." She places a hand on the table, palm facing down on the frigid table, not too far from where his tight-laced knuckles rest. "I've made friends and had to break them, over and over. I'm cursed now, damaged."
"The curse is ours — you were a casualty." But of course, he doesn't apologize.
"How can that be, really?" Sakura sounds like she's on the edge of a laugh, though a sad one, bitter. "When you look at me the way you do, like you're scared? It's not just guilt."
He pauses before responding, a held breath. "I know only in hindsight that this was a mistake. We had started a fight with something bigger than you and I. Whatever grace has settled onto your shoulders, whatever protects you . . ."
He trails off, not sure of how to finish a sentence like that.
"Sasuke can, you know. Even though I think I scare him, make him shy, twist him into knots." She raises her eyes to Itachi's, willing him to look one last time.
"He looks into my eyes, never flinching, and sees me."
The lines of Itachi's face twitch, and she sees something settle in his expression. It's not a smile or serenity, but it's there.
She continues, quiet. "Did you ever care for me, even a little bit?"
How can he tell her that he'd believed in her divinity, thought it was a salve to repair all of their souls? Especially his? That deep down he'd believed that it could be simple, acts and words are good or evil and intent was all that mattered; that in striving to be one he became the other and donned the cloak in sacrifice?
"It's as you said, Sakura. How do you let yourself feel too deeply for things you're bound to lose? Things, by way of fate, strung so far out of your reach?"
What he says is too close, the only crumb she'll ever receive. Unclear, detached, and so very him.
"I have a few more questions," she says thickly, as if she's struck by a sudden cold.
Raising his elbows, he rests his chin on his laced knuckles. He nods.
"As long as we leave him time." Itachi sounds almost amused, and tilts his head surreptitiously to the side to indicate Sasuke glowering through the glass, pacing like a prowling, wounded feline. "He's sensitive."
Sakura doesn't belabor the fact that she thinks it's just a hallmark Uchiha trait, love and loathing only an atom removed.
"Can you promise me my parents weren't killed by your family?"
It's so abrupt that Itachi clears his throat. He catches a glimpse of her eyes, sharp and cutting. Don't look too closely; he now knows lesser mortals are devoured, of which he's one.
"A condition I pressed for early on was that no one would touch your family. Not my father, not our great-grandfather or his people. No one."
Purses her lips, though she seems satisfied with the answer.
"What about Naruto's? What happened to them?"
This is where he tenses, eyes flickering to the glass, to his little brother.
"I assume you know who Sasuke's best friend is? The Uzumakis?"
"Ah, we knew their family for a long time."
"Ah," she repeats.
"Why would you want to know about this?"
Sakura's eyes flash at him. "He's my friend too."
Itachi simply doesn't answer, the silence conveying more than any words can. He tries them anyway. "There's an official police report."
Green gaze on the deep, tired lines under his eyes, she lets it lie.
"One last thing," she says, the tone drawing his attention. Folding her arms across her chest, her fingernails dig into her own skin.
Itachi watches closely.
"Who is the adoptee, who was given power by your great-grandfather? What's his name?"
So she knows. He must assume at this point that she knows anything Sasuke's been told, and their closeness is intriguing, confirms his suspicions.
"More knowledge can be a liability," he says slowly. "Safer for both of you if it's a missing detail."
"But you know," she presses. Lowers her chin, a single pink lock of hair falling into her face.
"He comes to visit, but I'd rather not speak with him. My hand was played after the crime, obviously, my parents preferring to die rather than fall in line."
Sakura thinks for a moment.
"If he comes to visit, then his name is in the computer. Though it's an old prison, people may still sign in with a visitor's book."
Itachi stares, then hisses, "No."
She reaches for him and he recoils at her touch. Holding a ringed finger of his gently with her thumb and index, she inspects the skin underneath.
The curved thick line in the outline of a cloud, a shape filled with crimson.
Letting him go, she gets to her feet and brushes long pink locks behind her shoulder, considering him with something like resolve.
"Uchiha men don't learn; always trying to tell me 'no.'"
Sasuke watches her closely as she comes through the door as though expecting a dramatic change.
"I'm fine," she preempts, hair in a curtain to hide her face. "Really. Need a bathroom."
She shrugs out of his reach, head bowed as she hurries down the hallway.
Heads turn when Sasuke stomps back to Itachi's cold table where he's still waiting, expectant. Taking Sakura's recently vacated seat, he keeps his hands out of sight as they clench into fists.
"Satisfied?"
His brother says nothing, indicates even less. It's as if he didn't hear.
"We're not staying, by the way," Sasuke continues.
"I understand."
Itachi's comment throws him off with its unexpected gentleness. It makes him feel guilty, and he hates it. It's nothing, however, compared to the follow-up.
"I'm glad I was able to face her again."
Sasuke's anger ripples, but the longer he sits across from him and the more he learns, the more frayed it becomes. Still: "Shut up."
"There is something I want to ask you."
"Didn't you get plenty of answers?"
"She wouldn't tell me about this, I'm sure. I am not you."
Sasuke feels wrong-footed, having a real discussion regarding this woman they both care about, like they're normal siblings.
"She seems unsettled."
"Conversations with a murderer, I can't imagine why."
Sasuke folds his arms, feeling irritated though also petty.
"Is there possibly someone from her past that's bothering her?"
"Yes," Sasuke says, sneering. "You."
Itachi's pensive look sparks the memory of the night Sasuke picked her up from the lounge, a telepathic exchange across a cold metal table. But how would he pick up on that, unless, unless —
"You!" Without warning Sasuke shoves the chair back and it clatters, drawing eyes and startling other visitors with its sharp sound.
"Excuse me, sir! "
Before he can process what he's doing, his fingers are in Itachi's collar and he's fighting to pull him over the surface of the smooth metal table but there's a heavy sound as his ankles strain against the restraints, reminding them both he's locked in. Shaking him and pulsing with runaway anger as Itachi struggles to keep an impassive face, free of the concern and realization that's come to him in this moment.
"Stay away from her!"
"Sasuke—"
"Stop sending your people after her!" he spits, now twisting away from the arms of two security guards who are reluctant to put their hands on him. "You hear me?"
It's useless to rebut, he knows, much less shout his innocence in this particular situation across a crowded room of criminals and the families hurt by them. Ironic. Ridiculous.
They lead him out gently, steering him rather than strong arming, but he hisses it as if it's only them, a vicious promise.
"I'll kill them." Through gritted teeth, he pledges his hate. "If they touch her, I'll take care of them myself!"
Other visitors duck their heads and avert their eyes, pretending not to be enraptured by the drama.
His little brother is not a killer, but Itachi supposes that a man can always be pushed given a perfect storm of circumstances, especially in the hurricane of madness and love — or the space somewhere in between.
Itachi's usual guard bends under the table to unlock his ankles, frowning a bit.
"Guess the next visit won't be for a while."
Several hours later, Sasuke's behind the wheel of the car again and both don sunglasses in a fruitless attempt to return to the airport unidentified. The morning's paper is under Sakura's feet, forgotten, and they've lapsed into another fragile silence.
"Almost there," she says to no one.
Driving with one hand and the other resting on the center console, Sasuke doesn't respond. She can almost hear his guilt suffocating the car.
She inhales sharply, exhales on a long string of beats.
"Before we left, I spoke with one of the wardens. I think he's familiar with Itachi and he gave me . . . well, wanted me to give you this."
A card with an address on it, nothing more or less. She holds the heavy card stock between her fingers, finally setting it on her lap.
"He said Itachi writes to you often, and hopes you'll return his letters. Said that writing might be easier for you, might prefer it. Just like you enjoy the radio."
The stone silence makes her wonder if she's offended him, shouldn't have opened her mouth.
"He never made fun of me for liking old-fashioned things," Sasuke says quietly.
One of her knees bounces up and down with chaotic, nervous energy.
She takes his hand suddenly, weaving her fingers into his. He continues to drive, unfazed.
"Are we on a first date?"
Sakura feels prickling heat in her face, despite herself. Embarrassing. "What do you mean?"
"You're shaking like you're nervous." He would never say it's funny, but she can hear the amusement, spots his curling lip. "We've seen much more of one another than this. Holding hands is tame, no?"
"After all this today, you're teasing me?"
"I would never do that," he says solemnly, eyes still facing the road.
"Uchiha Sasuke!"
"Uchiha Sakura?"
Though it comes out as a question and he realizes his slip, she doesn't protest. Pouting, she still doesn't let go of his hand.
"Who knew you had jokes?" she says, putting her feet up on the dashboard.
"Ah."
"I'll be back to dominating you soon enough. Frightening you, even."
"I have no doubt."
The remainder of the ride to the airport passes quickly, and they find themselves wandering the terminal, rolling along their suitcases with their free hands not quite so free, still holding on to one another.
They gaze at the bright departure screens, rows and rows of other locations and other lives adorned with colorful logos, tagged with associated flight numbers. Even as the time ticks on to bring them closer to boarding, they remain stopped and staring so long a gate agent on the other side of the floor considers offering them assistance.
Sakura sighs, wistful. "There's something romantic about being in motion, chasing the sun."
Sasuke eyes her sidelong. "Is that what you're thinking about?"
"Sometimes I miss it."
A pause.
"Where do you have to be?"
She turns to him, the afternoon sun caroming across the floor, waltzing with the curved terminal glass and transforming her jade eyes into jewels. As if they weren't already.
"I guess nowhere, after all. You're the closest thing to home."
He releases her hand to dig into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a kerchief, which earns him a giggle.
"Oh, did I make you emotional?"
In response he holds it in front of her, asking for permission. She nods and he places the fabric over her eyes, knots it behind her head to blindfold her. Turns her body gently by the waist, keeping her steady.
"Okay, what am I doing?"
"You choose, and we'll go."
She waves a hand in the air and points in the opposite direction of their luggage. "I have an old check-in sticker from my bag. Can you—?"
It takes him a moment to understand. Then he tears off the artifact from their outbound flight and presses it into her hand, the remnant stickiness adhering to her skin.
She sways gently, undecided, unseeing. Placing her hands on the screen, she taps her fingernails against it to orient herself and makes a noise under breath.
"Lift me."
"Hm?"
"I need to be higher." She bounces on her feet, and he knows she's smiling.
Feeling a bit ridiculous, he wraps his arms around her hips and lifts her up as requested; she wobbles but touches the departures board with her palms.
With his head settled into the curve of her backside, though, he's not so mad about it. She can't see him smile, either. Shy, private.
She places the sticker on the screen. He lowers her to the ground and she slips a finger under the blindfold to see their anticipated destination. Feeling him behind her, his hands untying the kerchief's knot, she beams.
"Sasuke, I don't think I've packed the right clothes."
When his arm settles around her waist and his lips speak into her temple, she imagines him unraveling her day after month after year, scattershot in the way of galaxies, boundaryless, sparkling.
"That's one thing I can always fix."
I was hoping to update at least one time before the turn of the year and I was able to, sooo that makes me happy!
Thank you summerspringss for reviewing! I've been enjoying writing characters with difficulties and they're not simply "good" and "evil" but motivated or led by many different threads. Itachi can still be a murderer and still have friends, be charismatic in his way.
I'm hoping to debut a different story soonish in the next couple weeks while I have time off from work, a canon-divergent fic that involves our favorite characters and Taka as well. Idk we'll see I love to bite off way more than I can chew, as a rule
Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays / Winter Solstice!