Chapter 1:

Sakura limped away from her crash site, down a concrete ramp and out onto the evening street. Lucky me, she thought sarcastically. Always so lucky. Lucky enough to still be alive, at least, if only barely. Her entire body felt like it had been crushed. And pulled, and twisted – especially twisted – and contorted into unnatural shapes… she shuddered.

Not so lucky on the contents of her wallet. Konoha's industrial sector was not a pleasant place to be, and Sakura bemoaned the thought of not being able to pay for a cab all the way back to the city center. She winced and limped into the empty street, surveying her surroundings. Nothing, nothing, and very little. She sighed and made her way towards the "very little" end of the street.

She was sooo lucky, she mused sarcastically. Never before had her flexibility been tested at such a high-stakes level. Her muscles had twisted and cramped with the harsh movements of small-space parkour she put them through to evade her attacker. Her arms felt like jelly, and her legs… well, at least she hadn't rolled any ankles. That was a small miracle. She could not, however, put much weight at all on her right leg. Both knees throbbed. She'd wedged herself into an alcove not much taller or wider than her torso, and had to hold her head to her chest to keep in shadow for an hour while whoever-he-was paced around, trying to sniff her out. The dedication that guy held to his scummy orders was enough to make her want to vomit. She would have prayed, if she were the praying type, for the thick brick building to completely cave in and stop totally blocking the use of her cell phone.

Cell phone, she thought with a groan. If only she had zipped the pocket that held her cell phone! Then it wouldn't have slipped out as she hung sideways and dropped like a stone three stories down a shaft. Sakura groaned, remembering. She imagined flipping through her contacts, frowning at this and that, deciding who best to bother at the early dinner hour and, more importantly, who would pick her up in the most timely fashion. Instead she gingerly reached back and rubbed her neck. Moving her head hurt too much to think about.

She definitely had knots in places she never dreamed there could be knots.

Her body hurt, dammit. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep, preferably forever.

Nearing a few shockingly well-kept storefronts, she spied her options, intending to beg the use of a phone. Despite her lack of contacts, there was one person who's number she had memorized. It was a rusty memory, leftover from months of sneaking shy glances and falling over herself to impress that one special boy. When they passed out their recruit's contact list, she had treated the paper like it was made of gold, had scanned the list for Uchiha Sasuke and burned his number into her memory. Six years later, feelings had faded, but hard-worked memory had not.

Sakura briefly eyed an inviting sign that read 'UDON' before resting her gaze on a narrower shop advertising a masseuse. She gripped her mostly empty wallet and sighed. She wanted to eat. But she had food at home, and even if she was too lazy to make herself dinner, it's not like she would starve before the morning.

But if she fell asleep without stretching, her body would be totally unusable tomorrow. And knowing herself very well thank you very much, she would tumble into bed without a second thought as soon as she got home. She wouldn't put herself through the pain of limbering her tight muscles, pushing out the knots – she shuddered just thinking about the stress of it - but if she paid someone to do it for her… Seedy little places were cheap, right? She chewed her lip, thinking on her indecision.

The bells of the massage parlor tinkled merrily as she stepped through the doorway. The shop was empty – totally, weirdly, empty. She walked up to the well-dressed man behind the counter. He was writing in a large appointment book, hands moving quickly across the page. He looked up as she approached and froze, the pen hovering.

Sakura fumbled ahead with a "hi, uh, I'm wondering what you charge?" before she swept her eyes up to his face. She quickly took in his black hair, black eyes, and stoic features and paled as recognition washed over her. Uchiha Itachi. She'd never seen the man in person before, but there was a striking resemblance to the picture hanging in the station's wanted board.

A quiet gasp of "what the fuck" was surprised out of her. Why did she have to run into this man now of all times?

Neither person moved. The breath left her body and she trembled with the panic of fight-or-flight. She felt his eyes tracing into her pink hair, over her face, down to where her hands clutched her wallet, eyeing her obvious injuries with interest. Did he know her, she thought with a panic? Did he know of her affiliations? She remembered how her Konoha Defense issue forehead protector was currently tied around her waist, on full display, and inwardly cursed.

He would surely kill her right then and there. They were utterly alone, and she did not doubt that he kept the appropriate instruments on his person. She felt cold all over. It was still too early for the street to be darker than the shop, so they wouldn't be seen clearly from the outside. She was far too tired to properly defend herself, which he must have instantly noticed.

He had stopped writing in his appointment book and still held the delicate pen poised. Sakura could feel her face burning and her head reeling. Their eyes locked and the moment stretched out. She wondered what she should do, what was causing his physical delay. His lips parted and she tried to smoothly reach down into her holster behind her back. His eyes flicked down and his hand moved.

She was sure this was it. He would kill her with that pen as she stood there dumbfounded. He would chop up her body and put the pieces in trash bags and weight the trash bags down with rocks and dump them in the river. She twitched, but he only put the pen down and said "good evening, ma'am. Please, follow me," quite amicably.

She blinked at him. "Ah-ah-I…" she stammered out.

He gave her a simple smile and swept his hand in the air. "Please, do not let my appearance put you off." Appearance? There was nothing wrong with his appearance.

Somehow, Sakura found her voice. "Yes, that is what I- well I did come here for- a massage…" she trailed off. What else could she do? Running would pique his suspicions, and it's not like she would get very far. On a good day she might be able to outrun him, but this was not a good day. With every nerve in her body on full alert, she rounded the counter and followed him through a doorway with a red beaded curtain. Cliché.

In the main room, there were two rows of identical low mats with long red blankets laid out on each. This room was dimly lit and there was soft music playing. Numbly she followed Itachi – Itachi, she inwardly screamed – to the second mat on the left, where she was directed to remove her shoes, socks, metal, and bulky clothing. While she did this he disappeared into a back room.

Was he going to get a more effective weapon? She should run, right now. Unsure of herself, Sakura folded her outerwear neatly beside the mat and piled her shoes, socks, wallet, forehead protector and, regrettably, her weapons holsters beside them. She had hardly a chance to think about her predicament when Itachi came back carrying a wide, steaming tray, which he placed at her feet.

She followed his lead as he gently lifted her feet by the heels and eased them into the hot water. She moved herself so she could more comfortably hang over the front of the mat, wincing at the added pressure on the back of her legs. The water was so hot it stung and gave her that pins-and-needles feeling of warming her extremities too fast.

Wordlessly, he placed a hand on her shoulder and another on her lower back and eased her down to lay on her back, lower legs still hanging into the hot water. For all his gentleness, Sakura tensed with the contact. With her eyes wide open, she stared at the ceiling, daring not to move. If he was going to hurt her, he would have done so already, she reasoned.

Itachi had no interest in hurting her. He did recognize her – there was only one pink-haired young woman on the Konoha Defense Corp, after all. Haruno Sakura. Itachi made sure to know about the people in his brother's squad.

When he pulled over a short stool and took hold of her right wrist, Sakura willed her body to focus on deciphering the design on the ceiling. It was red and white stylized clouds printed on black. She traced the curvy white outlines with her eyes, keeping her head stock still.

Her hand twitched involuntarily with the jolts of pain caused by his stretching and straightening out her fingers. He must have put some kind of soft oil on his hands, because they glided over her skin smoothly despite her prominent calluses.

Her muscles relaxed involuntarily as his thumbs gently kneaded the pads of her hand and trailed down her forearm. His touch sent her a tingle of bliss. She slid her eyes over to him, feeling her cheeks warm with a light blush. It felt good. Of course it does, it's a massage, she chided herself. He was bent over her hand, concentrating with the gentlest look on his actually very attractive face.

Not much to do now but let it happen, her traitorous mind reasoned.

He worked movement back into first one hand, then the other, before having her roll onto her front. This was a clothes-on type of establishment, but that didn't stop her from feeling the heat of his fingers pressing into the soft parts of her back.

When his hands grazed the sides of her neck, she tensed again. She swore that was a soft chuckle behind her. A flat palm braced against her shoulder so the other side could smoothe along her neck, feeling for tension. She exhaled softly when he found that one spot at the junction of neck and shoulder that was making her stiff. Oh, that was good.

His moving hands provided the realignment her sore muscles desperately needed. His intimate knowledge of violence, pain, and the limits of the human body no doubt enabled him to regognize the exact places she needed the most working over. Sakura, in extreme gratitude, could not find it in her to be mad about who he was, given the relief he was giving to her. Her muscles slowly melted into bliss, lulling her into a rhythmic dream state. She closed her eyes and thought of nothing but red and white clouds in a black sky. And then it was over.

She gathered her things in a dazed sort of muteness that sometimes comes after really good sex.

"How- how much?" she stuttered, standing again at the front of the shop and clutching her belongings to her chest. That was not something that came after sex, normally… ugh, Inner Sakura facepalmed.

He ignored her question, waving a hand in a negative gesture. "A hot bath will help with the aftereffects," he told her quietly, "you will want to, trust me."

Trust and wanted poster did not go hand in hand. "Um.." she gripped her wallet. Should she ask again? She hovered.

"Do not worry about the bill, Haruno-san," he said. "Perhaps next time, you may settle your tab."

She parted her lips in surprise. Surprise at still being alive, surprise that he casually let on that he knew who she was, surprise that he was being so nice? If he was really letting her go… she darted a glance at his eyes, which were watching her. There was a peculiar look on his face that was something like amusement and guardedness. Sakura practically fled out of there with a tiny "meep."

She quickly crossed the now dark street and ducked into the udon shop to beg for their phone, still feeling a little flushed.

Calling Sasuke was now absolutely out of the question - Sakura felt like she didn't have enough luck to warrant asking for more problems this evening. Instead, she dialed the non-emergency Defense Corp number. Pick up, pick up, please pick up.

"Konoha Defense, this is Shizune speaking."

Well, perhaps her luck had not yet run out.

A/N: Itachi would give a great massage.
This work should be short - about 6 chapters. Thanks for reading! :)