compromises
017. hope
Wars, Sakura realized, were terrible things.
The last ninja war that had ended when she was about six months old. She had no memories of it—and since then, there hadn't been another one. Akatsuki, however, changed that.
At the age of twenty-four, after the organization's all-out attack on Konoha, it had triggered the attack of the other hidden villages. They all immediately headed towards Konoha, where Akatsuki was, not giving them a chance to escape. And although the organization was demolished, there was still a member or two living in refuge.
And Konoha? Konoha was destroyed.
She couldn't count the number of losses. The number of friends whose bodies they never found—the number of lives she couldn't save. She didn't even want to count anymore.
Naruto was missing.
She wanted to think he was missing—because if he wasn't missing, then he was dead. And that was much worse.
Most Leaf-nin took refuge in Suna. Some were determined to rebuild Konoha. Others were convinced that it couldn't be possible. And with a history that contained so many lies and bloodshed, it might've just been for the better.
Sakura took to wandering. She needed time before she faced people again—she needed to gather herself. Society had enough broken people as it was.
She would take random missions from wealthy clans—most of them being dirtier than most. But it earned her money, and it helped her get by—and that was enough. She travelled from village to village—some oblivious to the entire concept of shinobi.
That was where she met him. His Sharingan was turned off, and he no longer had his cloak—his hitai-ate was gone as well—it made him almost unrecognizable at a glance. But how could she not recognize him? This man, who she'd never even spoken to once, had altered her life so much. Made Sasuke leave Konoha. Made everyone suffer. How could one person affect so many people?
"Uchiha." She cleared her throat. He stopped walking, but didn't look back at her. "I would've assumed you dead."
"Such kind words at a first meeting," he replied lightly, "Haruno." It surprised her just a little that he knew her name—but then again, why should it? Uchiha Itachi always had surprises up his sleeve.
She walked away after that—but paid her innkeeper for another night's rent.
She stayed, when she planned to go.
And the next day, she saw him again. Again, they stopped in the middle of the street, not looking at each other. Again, they spoke. Again, she wished she could just kill this man.
But how could she kill the first sign of familiarity that she'd seen in years? How could she kill the only thing she recognized anymore? She was so tired of everything. So tired of death and despair and just life.
"My eyesight"—his voice was like silk to her ears—"is rapidly deteriorating."
She contemplated his words. "I am still one of the best medics in all five nations."
There was a pause. "I am not stocked up on money."
"I don't want money," she said, perhaps a little too quickly. It was then that he turned his head to look at her for the first time. His eyes were almost as empty as Sasuke's. It frightened her.
"What is it that you want?"
She swallowed. "Company. Comfort. Reassurance." Maybe something to believe in. Although he wasn't really the person to ask—there was no one else.
His words were full of slow contemplation. "I can offer that."
Something told Sakura that she should've regretted it. It didn't surprise her that it didn't.
It started out as weekly meetings. She had to move to a cheaper inn to sustain herself.
"It was a smart idea for you to turn off your Sharingan," she murmured, exploring his eyes with her chakra, mapping it out in her mind with what she found. "Please switch back and forth from your Mangekyo to your normal eye."
She'd need to take the occasional mission to keep her finances stable. Some of them landed her big money, but she'd need days to recover.
He came knocking at her door one of those times.
"Sorry," she muttered, crawling out of bed. "Just let me wash my face, and we can begin…"
"We need a more efficient plan than this." He helped her make her bed while she was in the bathroom. She watched him warily in the reflection of the mirror, but her guard around him was slowly slipping. It was just so tiring to be tense and ready to fight for hours at a time.
"We both have sporadic schedules," she replied. "It can't be much more efficient than this."
Once the bed was made, he pulled a chair over to its side, and laid on the bed, as they had done numerous times before. "Medic," he said slowly. "In our first session, you said it was impossible for you to completely heal my eyes. Would it be considered worth it that I still returned weekly just for this?"
"Better to halt the damage than to let it continue." The tap turned off. That, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, she didn't want to be alone again.
He seemed to understand this. "I see."
Hours later, when his hand was on her doorknob, ready to leave, he said one thing: "Perhaps it would be easier for us to live in closer proximity to each other."
After two weeks of contemplation, she moved in with him. But for the majority of those two weeks, she had already decided yes.
She became very well-known in the village. Hands of magic, they described her. They can heal injuries in impossible ways. Like the hands of God.
A small clinic was set up for her to work. She didn't have to take as many missions anymore.
It reminded her of Konoha, in a bittersweet way. More bitter than it was sweet.
And Itachi became her companion. A sidekick, if you will. To the people of the village, they were friends, siblings, lovers. Something. No one would've guessed that just a year ago, they were on complete opposite ends of the spectrum.
"Do you ever think of Sasuke?" she asked one day, gaze lingering on the tomatoes in the market a tad too long.
He took one of said tomatoes and tossed a coin to the man behind the stand. "Do you?"
"Sometimes." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Not as often anymore, though. It's hard to think that it's been years since—since he left."
"Since he died," he corrected her.
"Since you killed him," she countered.
They stared at each other for a long moment, before her gaze dropped to her feet. She brushed past him, continuing through the market, looking for some vegetables that'd last them the week.
He kept up with her, staying by her side the entire time.
It was one day when she was hunched over him, chakra soothing his eyes, when she was overcome with the urge to cry. She stopped her chakra flow, in fear of accidentally doing more damage than good.
"Is something the matter?" His words were guarded. Her hands clenched into fists, eyes shut tight.
"Don't you feel it sometimes?" Her voice shook. "When the world is just crushing you, and you're about to break under its weight?"
He sat up. If she bothered to look at him, she would've seen his hand hovering over her head, as if wondering if he should pat it or not. "You get used to it eventually," he said softly. "And it's not as bad when you're not alone."
She couldn't imagine how it would feel if he wasn't there.
It hit her one day, how natural all of it was for her. Taking the occasional mission, working in her clinic, treating Itachi's eyes—how it all just fell into place in a routine. Having meals together in a tranquil silence, gazing at the books in the bookstore with him by her side—
It would've been frightening, if it wasn't comforting.
"This can't continue," she said one day, chopping up the carrots with more vigor than necessary. "This isn't—this isn't right."
He was peeling the potatoes. "What is right these days?"
She had nothing to counter with, so she said nothing. This couldn't be right. She was planning to live in Suna once things had settled down—but she was settling down just fine here. Soon, rumors and talk about her "magic hands" would reach back to the hidden villages—and everyone would know that she was living in peace with Uchiha Itachi. No doubt she would be a wanted criminal then.
Maybe it was already too late to go back.
"Do you regret this?" she asked softly.
He took his time answering. "Do you?"
"Stop countering my questions with more questions." She gathered the chopped up carrots in her hands and moved beside him to toss them into the large pot. They were having stew tonight.
Wasn't this man supposed to be frightening? Didn't she want to kill him?
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth." She looked at him, jaw set. She hated how his eyes were so blank. "What you really feel."
He snorted softly. "I stopped feeling long ago."
"I don't believe that." Her hands clenched into fists. "Of course you feel. You just don't show it."
His lips turned upwards in a small smirk. "Is that so?"
"Of course," she said fiercely.
"Then prove it." There was an amused lilt to his tone—a flash of challenge in his eyes. That alone meant that he felt something.
She scowled. "How do you expect me to do that?"
His shoulders barely moved, but she'd become so accustomed to him that she knew it was a shrug. "However you expect me to feel most."
She could've said that what she did next was surprising, but it wasn't, really. Her eyes narrowed at his challenge, and without a moment's thought or hesitation, she stood on her tiptoes and crashed their mouths together. It wasn't as much of an emotional thing than it was a physical—proving that he could feel, he was feeling, and she was the one making all of it happen.
He responded instantly, lips clumsy on hers. She clutched his shoulders hard, nails almost digging into his skin.
It was purely a physical thing. She felt no emotional attachment towards this man when they stumbled clumsily into the bedroom, when he tugged off his shirt, when she ran her hands over the flat planes of his chest.
But despite that, she didn't regret a thing.
"You regret this." They were still in bed together, but were careful not to touch each other.
"No." Her fingers clenched the sheets, and she stared at the ceiling. "This was not a mistake." The sexual tension had been building between them for weeks—it was impossible for it not to be there, when they lived together, when she touched her fingers to his temples once a week. When he had a habit of only bringing his boxers into the bathroom, so he'd come out of his shower with his hair damp, only wearing the bare minimum. Sometimes, she thought he did it on purpose. Now, she was sure he did.
It was obvious he had thought this through. He wouldn't have responded so quickly otherwise.
"What is 'this', exactly?" His foot bumped hers, and she twitched. He pulled away, but she wasn't sure if she wanted that or not.
"I…don't know." But she knew one thing: there was no going back. It was exhilarating, almost—she didn't deny that he made her feel as well. She couldn't recall the last time things felt even remotely close to right—but with this man, right here—somehow, it was right.
"What do you want it to be?"
She closed her eyes. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Just…nothing." Saying it was something meant that it mattered to her. And whether it was the sex, or the way he made her feel when he groaned her name once he came, she couldn't let this get to her. This was Uchiha Itachi. He couldn't mean something to her.
But somewhere in the back of her mind, it did.
Purely physical. Purely physical. It was her new mantra.
It became a new part of their routine. When he returned from random missions—which would usually last for days—the events that followed would progress like so:
"How was it? Any major injuries?"
"Nothing fatal. And the clinic?"
"Just a couple of scraped knees and fevers. Nothing I can't handle."
And he would promptly slam her against the nearest object and cut to the chase.
Sakura never knew sex to be so…exciting, to say the least. She supposed you could learn new things even at this age. And slowly, her logic slipped away—she stopped reminding herself that Itachi was dangerous, stopped wondering when she would go to Suna. She didn't want to go anymore.
Purely physical. Purely physical.
But was it?
"I found a mission," he said one evening, when they were having dinner, "that would provide us with enough money to sustain us for a month. But I can't do it alone."
She looked at him evenly. "You want me to go with you."
"Yes."
Sitting back in her chair, she cracked her knuckles, smiling wryly. "Well, I haven't gotten any actual action in a while. Sure."
Blood, Sakura decided, looked terrible on him.
"You are not dying," she said, gritting her teeth together. "God dammit, you are not leaving me alone."
"He got my stomach and liver." Itachi's voice was strained. "Even you can't fix all of that damage before it's too late."
"Uchiha," she hissed, increasing the flow of chakra from her palms, "if you die, I swear to God, I will kill you in your next life." She didn't know why she was so frantic with saving him—there was just something in the back of her mind that insisted that he couldn't die. He just couldn't.
"It's a rather delayed death, don't you think?" he said, almost wistfully. "I was supposed to die by Sasuke's hands."
"Oh, boohoo," she spat. "You survived. How sad." Why wouldn't the cells heal faster? Why couldn't his tissues close quicker? Perspiration dotted her forehead.
His smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Why are you so desperate to save me? Was the sex that good?" She was about to open her mouth to snap at him, but the words caught in her throat. It wasn't just the sex, was it? It wasn't all about the way he touched her or how he sounded under the cloak of darkness.
She knew this all along, but she just never wanted to acknowledge it.
Somehow, she had opened Itachi. She knew him. Knew him, like no one ever knew him. Maybe she didn't know about his past or his intentions for the massacre—but she knew he liked cabbage and dango, and that he liked sleeping in on Saturday mornings. She could read him like an open book, even though no one thought there was something written on his face. She knew when he was upset and needed space, she knew when he was upset and wanted the presence of another. She just knew him.
"This is no time to talk about sentiments, Itachi." Her brow furrowed, the output of her chakra increasing again. She wasn't one of the best medics in all five shinobi nations for nothing.
"I don't believe I'll be fit to talk when I'm dead."
"Shut up. You're not dying."
"You should stop wasting your energy—"
"I said shut up."
It was a little after midnight when she crept into his room, kneeling at his bedside.
"Listen." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I know you're a really light sleeper, but I hope you don't hear this—and if you're actually awake, you'd better just continue to pretend you're asleep, because I need to get this out." He didn't respond. "Good. So first off, I did save you, you asshole—did you have that little faith in me? I mean, a good part of your liver is gone, but it'll grow back eventually…and until then, I'll just help your body along with removing the toxins."
She thought she saw his lashes flutter for a moment, but chose to ignore it.
"When you said you were about to die—honestly, I was really scared. And no, the sex wasn't that good. Well, I mean, it was—but that wasn't why I was so scared, you know?" She took a deep, shaky breath. "You mean something to me, Itachi. I don't know what, I don't know how, and I don't know why—but you do. And I trust you enough not to kill me when my back is turned now—so just—so…please don't make me lose that trust." She softly pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, and tiptoed out of the room.
She didn't know why though, because she was sure he was awake.
She wasn't anywhere near bold or stupid enough to say that she loved him—but it certainly felt that way.
"I'm going to Suna." She set her jaw determinedly. This couldn't continue any longer. He was going to break her from the inside out, whether he wanted to or not.
The faintest frown tugged at his lips. "There is nothing for you there."
"And you think there's something for me here?" she countered. She knew she hit a soft spot, with the way his gaze hardened. "Itachi, let's admit it. This is wrong. No matter how honest this seems for either of us, it's wrong. This can't continue."
"Konoha is gone," he said faintly, looking at something that wasn't her.
"So?"
"And so is Akatsuki."
"What's your point?"
"My point, Sakura"—his gaze returned to her, and she felt a shiver go down her spine—"is that neither of us can possibly be blamed for being affiliated with each other. You gave no promises to Suna. What I have done to Konoha doesn't matter now, as it's destroyed."
She pursed her lips. "I can't do anything to help your eyes anymore."
"It's better to halt the damage than to let it continue," he said, quoting the same words she had spoken so long ago.
"Yeah, but I'm doing nothing but imposing on you now. I'm taking advantage of your side of the deal." She was just grappling for excuses now, and both of them knew it.
"Loving you," he said suddenly—and she froze, because the most taboo word just slipped from his lips—"has never been my intention. However"—he looked at her evenly—her breath caught in her throat, lips suddenly very dry.
"However?"
Something in his eyes flashed, and for the first time, she felt full, unbridled hope. "I'll manage."
A/N: This one is so long. It's been a while since that happened. :O
Is this considered cliché? I don't know. I thought it was a little generic, but at the same time, pretty unique. But you guys probably read more fanfiction than I do.