Pompeii
Chapter 28
jaylene

The papers on her desk scattered then settled as the door to the clinic flew open. Sakura looked up, worried for but a moment before a smile lit up her face. "Zetsu!" she exclaimed. "It's been too long!"

He looked down at her, abashed as he saw what she was doing. "Sorry. I'll go."

Sakura scrambled up from her desk, waving her hands hurriedly. "No, no, it's fine! I'm glad you stopped by!"

It was true. Shizune was out today and it'd been a slow, somewhat monotonous day. The book was still miffed at her over the comment she'd made earlier, something about rebinding that smart mouth of its. It left Sakura to her thoughts, loud and crowding her head, demanding to be heard. Introspection had never suited her well.

"How may I be of assistance?" she inquired, locking all the confidential files away and putting on a winsome smile.

Zetsu looked momentarily dumbstruck before he shook himself free of his thoughts. "I...it's moronic -usually I do it myself but I don't have the fucking reach-!" He cut himself off, flushing. Clinically, Sakura found it quite fascinating, the way his blush played out across both sides of his face, adding a liveliness to him that she'd yet to see.

"Whatever it is, I know it isn't foolish," Sakura said, voice gentled by years of practice. She stood and placed her hand gently over one of his, grip loose so he could easily tug away. He didn't. "Why don't we go to the back and discuss it there? Have you been by the clinic before? I haven't found a file…"

"...We burned it," was his short response as Sakura guided him to one of the side rooms in the clinic.

Sakura took it in stride, fetching a pre-prepared clipboard and readying a pen. "What seems to be the problem?"

His flush creeped up his face to his ears and down his chest beneath his shirt. Zetsu sighed angrily and yanked his shirt over his head. Sakura was impressed with his fit of dexterity as he maneuvered it skillfully over his Venus flytrap. She blinked as she was suddenly confronted by his expansive chest. Her eyes darted over his toned features, marvelling at the way the Venus flytrap faded into skin just below his chest.

Thankfully, she was quickly distracted by green offshoots that were scattered wildly across the flytrap and his skin. Sakura leaned in close, surprised to find small bulbs at the end of the stringy offshoots, some in mid-bloom. They were pretty little white flowers that certainly did not fit with the off putting mein Zetsu wore as armor.

"What are they?" Sakura asked, looking up into Zetsu's face.

"They're the problem," he said, scratching at one irritably. "They're called scapes; I always get them this time of year."

"Do they hurt?" Sakura said, watching the skin redden where he scratched.

"Not really," he replied. "Itchy as hell though. They tend to tire us out; it expends energy that could be used by the flytrap."

"How do you usually treat it?" Sakura asked.

"Trimming," Zetsu replied, face grim and resolute. "I normally would do so myself but this year's batch is much more plentiful than years past. It is also a bit difficult to do such precise work on myself with the flytrap obscuring my view."

Sakura hummed empathetically, seeing the way the scapes trailed up and over his back. "This happens every year?"

"For millennia," he sighed, slouching back on his hands. "Will you be able to help?"

"Of course," Sakura said, pulling on her gloves. "How painful has this process been for you in the past?"

"Excruciating." He paused and examined the stalks, most of which were three to four inches in length. Zetsu slumped. "Normally I would have taken care of this earlier-if you hadn't been such a wuss about coming-but circumstances prevented it. Mito has agreed to cover the costs."

Sakura nodded, straightening her shoulders. She could do this. "How do you usually go about this? Shears? Knife?"

"Usually we just rip it out," Zetsu said with a shrug.

"No wonder it hurts!" Sakura exclaimed, clutching his arm and looking over his skin. Sure enough, there were areas of faint pockmarks, countless indents of careless self-flagellation. She looked up at him, queasy. "I won't be using that same method. I can't ."

Zetsu shrugged, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Sakura quickly released him, worried that she was invading his space. "That's fine," Zetsu replied, frowning slightly, bereft. "You'll have to dig slightly to get them out. They're rooted in."

Sakura nodded, rummaged through her kit, and pulled out a package containing a thin scalpel. She removed the scalpel from the wrapping, catching the way Zetsu's gold eyes alighted nervously upon the instrument. She placed it down within his line of sight. "Would you like a regional anesthetic? It may numb the pain."

"There's such a thing? What witchery is this?"

"Well, it's medicine," Sakura said. "Some of what Chiyo makes down at the pharmacy is magically based, but this is all science, human-made. Any known allergies?" He shook his head, still looking surprised. "I can administer the anesthetic, but I must let you know that it causes drowsiness. You'll be sedated and probably in a state near sleep. Are you still alright with taking the anesthetic?"

"... I, we, trust you," he replied, refusing to look at her.

Sakura felt something warm lodge high in her chest and she had to fight to control her emotions as she went about prepping everything. It was good to know that she was trusted as a professional, especially by someone like Zetsu, who didn't seem to trust often. She was a doctor and it was vindicating to be accepted as such.

She returned to the room and found that Zetsu was settled into the chair, head tilted at an awkward position to accommodate the flytrap. He smiled nervously as she came in and said, "Let's do this then, shall we?"

"Let me know at any point if you feel uncomfortable and want me to stop," Sakura said. "Hold out your non-dominant arm please." He bared his left arm to her, watching as she began to swab the skin. "This will sting a little and you'll begin to feel drowsy in just a few moments." She looked up at him and caught his gaze. "Are you ready?"

He swallowed, remembering the aching numbness and blistering darkness when he last trusted someone millennia ago. "I am."

Sakura waited until his eyes fell below half mast before beginning. It was gruesome work; even through the plastic gloves Sakura could feel the texture of the little plants as she tirelessly worked her scalpel beneath them and pulled them away, trying to cause as little damage as possible. Zetsu didn't seem to notice, smiling dazedly instead, but Sakura saw the trickles of what appeared to be chlorophyll leaking from the areas that once housed the scapes.

"How are you feeling?" Sakura asked as she pressed a ball of cotton to a wound on his shoulder.

His smile grew dreamy and Sakura tensed as he swiped clumsily at her hair. "I'm great. You're great. You look like a flower. Delicious . Warm. Wonderful."

Sakura suppressed a snort as she continued on. If only Naruto could see him like this, he'd know that Zetsu wasn't the big threat he was made out to be. Certainly, he was intimidating, but seeing him like this, the hairs on his Venus flytrap fluttering as it fell open and snapped shut at seemingly random intervals as he continued to heap rambling praise upon her, well, it took the wind right out of any sense of fear. He just wasn't scary.

Truthfully, he was rather adorable.

Sakura made quick time, plucking out more than forty of the scapes before all was said and done. She left them in a pile on her cart as she placed down the scalpel and scrutinized Zetsu. He was still reeling beneath the effects of the anesthetic and, aside from the small blood (chlorophyll?) loss, he seemed fine.

Sakura puttered around the room, tidying up as she waited for the anesthesia to wear off. She watched Zetsu and saw that he was teetering on the verge of sleep. She couldn't resist a smile as she turned off the overhead light and made for the door. He'd mentioned that the scapes expended his energy, no doubt having them removed had tuckered him out.

Her hand was on the door handle when he called, "Wait!" his voice desperate and loud.

Sakura turned, startled.

Zetsu leaned heavily against the reclined chair, hand out in entreating dismay. "Don't go," he said and Sakura saw his eyes were wild and hazy from the drugs still in his system. Then she noticed the way his abrupt movements disrupted his wounds, green liquid streaking his pants and splattering across the tiles. "Not again."

Sakura rushed to his side, bracing him as she assisted him in taking his seat. "I'm not leaving," she said as she fussed over the wounds, staunching their flow. "Lay back down Zetsu, all is well."

Still he watched her and, in the dark room, his eyes glowed. "Don't leave," he said, breath hitching. "I can't-" Zetsu cut himself off, screwing his eyes shut.

Sakura began to hum a lullaby half-remembered from her childhood. Memories of being safely ensconced between her parents filled her head and her breath caught. Thankfully, Zetsu was asleep, hand relaxing its grip on her own.

Zetsu woke to the scritch of pen on paper. A glance outside told him it was late in the day and he found himself awake and aware in a way he hadn't been in quite some time. He rubbed at his chest, frowning thoughtfully at the lightly wrapped bandages there. Then it all came back to him.

He turned and found Sakura seated at the desk facing away from him. Something warm lodged in his chest.

She hadn't left him.

As he stood, far more clumsily than he cared for, she turned, smiling. "You're awake! I ordered a salve from Chiyo while you were asleep," she said. "It is laced lightly with the restorative properties of unicorn breath so it should heal your wounds. I used a bit on the bandages you're currently wearing."

Zetsu nodded; it explained the strange absence of pain. "Thank you," he said, imbuing the words with as much reverence as he could. "I...Spring is never easy for me. This is the best Spring I've had in centuries, perhaps even in my lifetime."

He caught the way that put color in her cheeks. "I'm happy to be of assistance," she said shyly. Her voice took on more power as she said, "Make sure to apply the salve twice daily; once when you wake up and once before you go to sleep. Change the bandages just as often. This should be enough for two days but if the wounds persist or get infected please come see me."

"I will," he said, hesitating before bowing low to her. He could hardly remember the last time he'd shown anyone such deference, but countless empires had risen and crumbled in the time since. Zetsu respected so very few. She was the last yet living. Zetsu sighed and stood once more, accepting the jar of purple paste from her. "I cannot begin to thank you."

Sakura patted his hand and regarded him solemnly. "Truly, Zetsu, it is my pleasure. Let me walk you out."

"Are we on speaking terms again?" Sakura called as she shut her front door. "Please don't deprive me of your stellar wit!"

She glanced around, smiling as the book flopped open on her coffee table, pages ruffling. Sakura walked over to it and read in gilded letters: Don't patronize me .

Sakura snorted and ran a hand along the binding. "I'm not," she said. "Truly, I enjoy your company." She paused, biting her lip for a moment. "And I also need your help with a recipe."

...what did you have in mind?

"Well, remember when we binge-watched Chopped ?" Sakura asked. She still wasn't sure how exactly a book managed to watch television but it was quite fond of the Food Network.

The book thumped its cover shut twice affirmatively. Though truly, I enjoy Cutthroat Kitchen far more.

"So…" Sakura said as she picked it up and carried it into the kitchen with her. "I have milk, eggs, and some strawberries that are about to go out of date."

The book flipped to a different page, embellished in fancy script in…

"French? I can't speak French," Sakura said. The words on the page shifted, blended together, and then… "Crepes? You're so fancy, my friend."

Of course .

Sakura settled into making crepes. As always, the art of cooking soothed her after a long day. There was something nice about measuring out the ingredients and combining them together in such a way that something delicious emerged. It took her mind off her worries for at least a moment, her thoughts centered around flipping the crepe rather than Orochimaru and curses and strange things among the trees.

Smells a little crisp.

"Hush," Sakura said. "I'm the one who'll be eating these, unless…"

I don't eat.

Sakura hummed, putting everything together on a plate and, in a display of dexterity, balancing both the book and plate as she went back into the living room and pulled up her Netflix queue.

Put on Cutthroat !

"Okay, okay," Sakura said, biting into the crepe. Her nose wrinkled slightly. The book was right. It was too crisp.

They settled in for the night, watching as Alton Brown tortured the contestants. Sakura brushed the sugar from her fingers and began to rifle through the book. It was a nice pastime and usually it gave her a few memes for her troubles.

This time, however, there were words scrawled across multiple pages. Sakura paused and perused it more closely. It was written with a precise, concise hand.

CE 474, Week 42

It isn't working.

Why isn't it working?

We were so close this time. This war has taken its toll. Countless dead on both sides and for what? A fear of the unknown? A choice to misunderstand, to malign, to murder ?

The handwriting shook and trailed off, water stains on the page, before picking up a few lines down.

It was a child this time. Lucille. A witch raised among humans only to be tested, tried, and tortured when she started a small fire.

She was four.

Four .

They're trying, gods above and below, they're trying but I can see it wearing on them. We keep trying these experiments and for what? A vampire who can eat garlic but still cannot go out in sunlight. Werewolves immune to the silver, but brains forever trapped in their most primal state.

I fear we will be exterminated long before we find a cure, a way to walk among the mortals.

At least...I will be gone.

She hides it but this is killing her too. The both of us will fade before long and where does that leave him? Alone in the world, roaming in the throes of immortality?

I fear he will end his life if it comes to that.

There are potential solutions, of course. I have heard the whispers. Those magics though, they bear heavy consequences. However, soon enough my hand shall be forced.

Could I do it? Could I-

The rest of the page was blank. "What the hell!" Sakura exclaimed, glaring down at the book.

It snapped shut and Sakura could feel its disdain. Show's over .

"How could I even read that writing? Was it really from the 5th century?"

Of course. It is quite simple for me to translate the words and paraphrase it into a lingo for you to actually understand.

"So that was?"

...a cautionary tale. Or the beginning of one at least. Blind ambition is the cesspool that courts folly. Desperate ambition? Far worse.

"But-"

Go to sleep Sakura. Some tales aren't made for the telling. Not in full at least.

Sakura, sensing the book's odd pensive mood, set him on her nightstand and began her nightly ablutions.

She crawled into bed, unsatisfied and apprehensive.

Sakura didn't get much sleep that night.

"Are you sure this is appropriate attire?" Sakura asked, smoothing down her black dress. She hadn't worn it in years . "This feels much more suited to a funeral than to a festival celebrating spring."

"We call it the Spring Celebration sure," Ino said as she rummaged through her closet. "It honestly does give off a funeral vibe though." She crowed triumphantly, drawing out a dark dress with intricate beading. She caught Sakura's puzzled expression. "Look, it's tradition. Spring is the season of birth and renewal, certainly, of both the good and the bad. Everything comes back to life. There's a balance, blah, blah, blah." Ino pulled a face, the one she did whenever the elder town denizens carried on about tradition, which, unfortunately, was often. "Basically we all show up, the puppet presents us with a sculpture of some sort that we then set on fire."

"You set Sasori's work on fire?" Sakura asked, horrified. "It's all so beautiful though!"

"He doesn't care," Ino said as she started to change. "The fat check town hall writes him undoubtedly cushions the blow. Sakura, really, we do this every year. It isn't as barbaric as it all seems to you. Didn't you do something similar around this time of year back in New York?"

Sakura laughed. "We had Spring cleaning, which we often didn't get around to until June. Oh, and there's this fun tradition with Peeps." When met with Ino's blank stare, she elaborated, "They're these colorful sugar-coated marshmallows that are shaped like chicks or rabbits. Ami and I'd stick toothpicks in them and put `em in the microwave. They'd blow up and have a swordfight. Zaku was always so pissed at us about it!"

"And you think this tradition is brutal," Ino said with an exasperated shake of her head. "We've done this for centuries . If we stopped, I'm pretty sure Danzo would have a stroke on the spot."

"Good thing I'll be there, then," Sakura said, nose in the air. "You ready?"

"How do I look?"

Sakura looked her friend over, taking in the elegant twist to her hair and the dress that looked as if it'd been draped for her. "Gorgeous," Sakura said, ducking her head.

Ino grinned and ensconced Sakura's hand into her own. "My favorite part of the Spring Celebration is what comes after the so-called celebration."

"And what is that?" Sakura asked.

"Getting shitfaced with friends at the lesser Hyuga compound," Ino said.

"Lesser-"

"Looking hot, ladies," Tayuya said, sidling up alongside them and fitting herself against Sakura's free side. She wore a dark suit and vest, hair pulled away from her striking face. "Ready to get drunk off your asses?"

"I really think you are missing the spirit of this thing," Sakura said, before getting distracted.

They were on Main Street, near the doorway tree, but everything looked different, somehow muted. Candles hung, suspended in the air and cast meager light across the sea of faces swathed in black. It was dusk and the sunlight was fading fast.

Hashirama and Tobirama stood on a raised platform that seemed to be made of a living tree as it shifted ever so slightly beneath them at odd intervals. They seemed restless, as did the rest of the crowd.

"What's wrong?" Sakura whispered, glancing around.

"Sasori's late," Ino replied. "I mean, we are late, through no fault of my own may I add, but Sasori's late. He's always on time. Deidara complains about it constantly. Calls him a slave driver."

Sakura frowned, something clenching in her gut.

Something was wrong.

"I'll be back in a minute," Sakura said, slipping away from them.

She wasn't sure where she was going, but she knew she had to do something. She waded through the crowd, listening to the worried murmurs that rose like waves before a hurricane. She didn't know much about this ceremony, just that it was rooted in old traditions, but there was something important about these rites.

A hand clamped down on her arm. It was familiar, wooden and solid.

Sakura turned, eyes bright with expectation. "S-Yamato," she said, the expectation dimming somewhat into concern. He seemed pale. "Are you well, Yamato?"

His eyes wouldn't meet hers, focused instead on the stage. He licked his lips. "This year's different. Look at them; they're worried."

There was a burst of chatter as, in a puff of smoke, Sasori appeared next to the stage with a flourish. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit before grasping at the cloth that covered the thing beside him.

"I apologize for my tardiness," he said, voice amplified by magic. He seemed harried, flushed even. "We were delayed in the transport."

"No matter," Tobirama said, jaw ticking in a way that said that it did, in fact, very much matter. "You're here now. May we begin, puppeteer?"

"Of course," he replied. "I present you with this year's Genesis!"

He pulled the cover away and revealed a chair. Sakura's brow furrowed as she eyed it. He'd spared no detail, creating a high-backed, winged chair carved intricately with chains of delicate flowers and insects. It was all curved lines and majesty and Sakura suddenly realized this wasn't a chair.

It was a throne.

"Wrong," Yamato muttered, voice such a low grumble Sakura doubted he meant for her to hear him. "Wrong, wrong, wrong."

"You've outdone yourself this time, Sasori!" Hashirama said, thumping the man on the back.

"We'll take it from here," Tobirama said.

Sasori inclined his head and stepped away with nary a protest. He watched them intently, perhaps even nervously as the brothers lifted the chair up onto the dais. Sakura's eyes narrowed.

Sasori was expecting something.

"We gather here on the cusp of Spring and new life," Hashirama said and suddenly his voice seemed to echo and boom like the crack of a falling tree.

"We have weathered the blight of winter," Tobirama continued and the words thrummed within Sakura's ribcage, making a home there. This was a pledge of some sort, ancient in a way Sakura doubted she'd ever comprehend. Since the world began to spin, this creed, unspoken until this point, existed.

"Now we are here for the birth of a new year, for an end to the endless night." Hashirama bowed his head and Sakura was surprised to see his antlers emerging from the crown of his head. She almost missed the way he grew little branches up and around the throne, branches that were cracked and brittle.

"Tonight we shed our former skins, our former selves. As we know, such a rebirth is painful." Tobirama's eyes were liquid gold and his antlers rose high above his head.

Sakura's hair stood on end as around her, power was released and true forms were realized. She could feel their magic, their essence, their verysouls battering up against her, jubilant in their release. Many people remained the same, but something in their eyes changed.

There was a fire there, burning brighter than the stars.

"Tonight we bind the evils that linger back to the earth where they belong." Hashirama lit a match and the flame was green.

"With the sacrifice of the Genesis tree, we remain free," Tobirama said.

"Join us in tree's heartsong," they said as Hashirama touched the flame to a branch curling around the armrest.

In the following days, Sakura still wouldn't be able to suss out the exact details of what happened. The throne caught alight quickly as, around her, people began to sing . There were no words to the song, at least, not ones that she could name. In fact, everyone seemed to sing a different song, harmonious in their discord. Sakura's voice rose to join them, setting herself adrift among the sea of others. It was beautiful and Sakura knew that it couldn't be replicated, even when they came together in the following year. This was fleeting, special.

Sakura only felt the tacky slick of tears on her face when Yamato brushed his fingers below her eyes. She glanced up.

He wasn't looking at her. Instead he traded his gaze between Hashirama and the throne, brow furrowed in contemplation. Sakura read something in his eyes, something that worried her.

Sakura jolted when she caught Hashirama looking directly at them.

Rather, looking at Yamato.

From this distance, she couldn't be sure, but she was nearly certain that, awash with the flames of the Genesis tree, Hashirama's eyes reflected exactly what was in Yamato's.

Fear.

Note: imagine my delight when I found out that venus flytraps DO actually blossom with little flowers. the more you know~~