The Awakening

By stones

Day Two

On the second day she was nervous and maybe a little scared.

She awoke only a few hours later, but it was already time to start another day. Unfortunately, she had not been blessed with any sort of psychic powers or abilities to see into the near future and was blissfully unaware of the surprising changes that would take of hold of her life and twist it in way she had never imagined before. No, she did not possess those, but what she did have was instinct and something in the back of her head itched. Terribly. She was still wrapped in her blankets, a thin sheet of sweat lining her forehead. The night proved to be very humid and now after looking out the window, she could tell that it had not ceased. After stretching her arms over her head, she prepared for the day. Anyone would have said that the sun was annoyingly bright as it invaded the eyes. But for her, it was anything but annoying. It was hope. It was faith.

Sometimes she pretended he was there, sitting on her bed. He would watch her as she shuffled through her clothing, asking her to come back to bed. She would pretend not to notice his glare on her back, but would not push away the smile and tingle that it would bring. It was the feeling of happiness, she would guess. His attention would be focused solely on her. This was something she had always wanted and she would beam at the thought. It would be early. They would be tired. She would be reluctant. He would be stubborn.

"Come back to bed," he would say, tugging on her elbow in a playful way although his voice would be anything but. It would be clear, low, demanding. She would turn and smile softly and he would stare back in his usual way. She would walk forward and brush his unruly hair from his forehead. He would wrap his arms around her.

"I can't," she would whisper into his hair as she would lean into him. He would snuggle closer and rub his face into her supple chest, biting mischievously at the soft skin. He would lower his hands to the very small of her back, daringly dipping lower to her rear every now and then. Then those innocent touches would become so much more. She would dip her head and kiss him. He would push her on the bed and even though she would try to reach out to him, he would restrain her arms above her head. She would giggle because this would be so like him.

And then they would make love. He would tell her that was wrong and she would ask him what they were doing if not making love. He would call it fucking and she would blush at the harsh word, but in the end would have it no other way because he would be who he was. Blunt and stubborn. She wouldn't want that to ever change. She would kiss, suck, and lick every part of him until there was nothing that wasn't explored. He would return the favor and enjoy her soft cries. He would watch her with a sense of masculine pride when she would close her eyes and get swept away in a feeling of pure ecstasy. He would thrust harder and harder until he was there, right next to her in heaven. He would kiss her forehead and whisper sweet words.

He would. But he didn't because he wasn't there.

But after he would hold her. Hold her so very close that she could hear their hearts thumping and swear that they were beating as one. They would close the curtains and pretend as if there was no other world outside the window, outside the apartment, outside their castle. It was then that she realized that this certain castle was made on pillars of sand- tiny little grains of false dreams and foolish fantasies. Sand that washed with the crashing of the waves and in the distance she could see the passing storm. The storm that had already destroyed her—no their--kingdom.

"You will never understand," he said to her years ago. She stared long and hard at his dark hair, swirling eyes, and proud stance. The way his chest puffed with confidence and maybe a little arrogance. The way his veins bulged from his strong arms. The way his eyes bore into her own, but at the same time looked right through her.

"Then help me understand," she insisted whilst ignoring the tears streaming down her face.

He didn't say anything but she already knew what was passing through his mind- his beautiful and wondrous mind.

You're annoying.

Yes, it was foolish to think of such things. But in the end, she was nothing more than a fool. Love struck and out of luck.

"I'm here," she said, but was greeted by nothing but silence and anticipation. It was nerve-racking, entering the Hokage's office without her in here even though they had grown so close over the years. She saw the woman as motherly figure but seconded guessed that. No, she was more of a sister. An older sister. Stern yet understanding.

She took the time to really study the office. It was something she had never done before. It was always in and out, in and out. There was no time to explore. As she neared her designated seat in front of the Hokage's desk, she glanced about at everything and anything she could: maps that were on the walls and some that lied lazily about on a nearby table, file cabinets with defying locks, windows with drawn shades. Everything about the room was ordinary, but at the same time unique.

It was then that her gaze was brought to the desk and upon it sat a crème folder. It was calling out to her. Open me. Open me. It was tempting her. Read me. Read me. It was coaxing her. Just a peek.

She leaned forward but in the end, just stood up from her seat. It felt wrong to commit such a dishonest act in such a comfortable position. She was snooping, sneaking, and maybe it was a stretch, but she also called it backstabbing. Something that immoral did not deserve to be comfortable in the slightest bit. The folder was clean and crisp, which was a contrast to everything in the room—curled, twisted, humble. Opening it was the hardest part but at the same time, she did it with such ease. Inside was something that made her eyes widen. The words she read clearly with her eyes. His picture stared right back at her. It had been taken when he was an ANBU. It was dignified and meant to be respected.

She stared longer at the picture. He looked young and she tried to imagine him now. No doubt the long years had taken a toll on his handsome face and perhaps it had just made him even more attractive. His eyes were impassive, but she had to admit, they had a certain life to them. They were flaring and dangerous. He was dangerous.

A few words settled in her brain and they repeated over and over in her head. ANBU. MASSACRE. MISSING-NIN. AKATSUKI.

Uchiha Itachi's file.

The words rang in her head and she suddenly realized just she was doing. With hurried movements, she stuffed all his papers back into the folder and placed it back on the desk with extreme softness and care, almost as if she was repenting for her actions. What she would have done to get her dirty paws back on that folder. What she would have done to stare at his face and imagine another's. What she would have done to hold that folder and imagine the connections—the bonds—tie themselves to her. She would have acted on foolish impulse if she had been anyone else. But she was Haruno Sakura and she was anything but unprofessional.

"I kept you waiting," a voice said right when she had retreated to her chair and took a seat once more. Sakura shifted, the roughness of the wooden chair rubbing into her irritatingly.

"It doesn't matter," Sakura answered back, saving her mentor from an unnecessary apology.

"Yesterday was tough," was what Tsunade had chosen to say. She plopped onto her chair with a loud and heavy sigh. The girl in front of her nodded, but said nothing more. She didn't ask how many were lost and how many were saved. How many would go home and how many would never feel the rain beat down on them again. She didn't ask because she simply didn't want to know. "We did all we could."

Inner Sakura chimed, "We didn't do enough."

"We did our best."

When you try your best but you don't succeed.

"There's nothing more that anyone could ask of us."

Inner Sakura sighed. "The daughter who had lost her father. The father who had lost his son. The wife who had lost her husband. I bet they have something to ask. Why will my father never see me walk down the aisle? How will I go on when everything I have lived for has suddenly died? What will I tell my son when his father does not come home?"

Inner Sakura continued to blabber, but the room was left in silence.

It seemed like there was nothing else to say. All the words had been spoken. All the lies had been whispered. Sakura nodded once more as if it would make the words she hadn't spoken louder. She waited. Waited for Tsunade gave her the okay to go home and sleep. Sleep was the only thing she desired at the moment—sleep and the beautiful dreams that came along with it. She just wanted to be swept away. It was pure luxury to be in a state of pure happiness. She would dabble in it, trying to forget the morning that would come and snatch away those dreams, that perfect world.

"But I have one more thing to ask of you," her mentor's voice cut through the air. It was thick with caution and laced with anxiety. Sakura tensed. She did not like the sound nor the feel of what was about to come.

"And that is?"

"Your curiosity," Tsunade said swiftly. "It will not be satisfied. But I assure you, you will be closer than ever before."

"What does that mean?"

"Uchiha Itachi. Heal him."

When you get what you want but not what you need.

She wished Tsunade would have let her sleep. At least in her dreams she wouldn't be scared. Unless of course it was a nightmare. But if that was the case, she figured she was already living in one.

Stuck in reverse.

When she was a little girl, Haruna Sakura had recurring dreams. Some said that they were signs—red lights that flashed oh so brightly. It meant something was going to happen and the complex mind was trying to warn you. But Sakura doubted that. Her recurring dreams meant nothing to her. They would scare her, terrify her, and wake her only to realize she was in her bed, tears streaming down her young, tender face. But, they weren't descriptive and she couldn't even call them logical. In these recurring dreams, she was dying. Dying brought upon many images. Stabbing, blood, choking, suffocating, and burning. But her dreams weren't what one would call really dying. Not in the regular sense at least.

And the tears come streaming down your face

In these dreams, she was awake and lying in her bed. Suddenly, green would flow through the cracks in the ceiling, the bottom of her door, the hole in the wall. It would flow around her and suddenly she could see the green light in her. She imagined it was her life source because as it was sucked out, she was left weak and alone. She was dying. And just when it was all gone, she would bolt upright and realize it was just a dream. A bad, bad dream.

When you lose something you can't replace

She felt the same feeling that day he pushed her away. He might as well have just killed her there. Pushed his hand into her chest, grabbed her slowly dying hard, and crushed it in his rough, calloused hands. She was sad, yes, but she was also scared. He was different. Different in every sense but the same as he had always been. He had changed. He was cruel, unforgiving, and dare she say it, evil. But one thing would remain the same. Her foolish loyalty and ridiculous love.

When you love someone but it goes to waste

Never again did she think she would feel such fear, such uneasiness, for the rest of her days. She knew she had a long life ahead of her unless something tragic should happen. She knew there were many days, many hours, many minutes down the winding road ahead. But this feeling had been so strong, so powerful, that she doubted it could be duplicated once more.

And as always, she was wrong.

She was nearly shaking as she stood in front of the door. It seemed so big next to her—so…so haunting. Inside was fear. All around her was fear. Even the guards who had just searched her person and checked her belongings felt it. It radiated from the floor, the ceiling, the walls. And she was sure, that if she dug in it a little longer, she would also find pain. It was almost as if the grim reaper himself was standing on the other side. The devil from hell had made a special trip just to see her. The monster from under her bed had traveled through her childhood just to rendezvous. He was behind this door. And he was scary.

"Miss," she heard a deep voice say. She turned to see a man, leaning over only a few centimeters to show that he was talking to her. Shaking her fear from her, she nodded for him to continue. "There's nothing he can do to hurt you."

Inner Sakura snorted. "Bullshit."

Could it be worse?

She stood in the room and the door silently closed behind her. The click of the lock turning echoed in the room. A simple click. As if that could hold him back. She then forgot the many doors and rooms, bars and barriers that she had to pass just to make it into this one.

At first they just stared. Not necessarily at the other, maybe just the warmth of the other body in the room. A few minutes later she scanned him up and down and he did the same. She took in his hair, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chin. She noticed his size, his built, his body. She thought of his younger brother. And for a moment, she thought he suspected it. They had never met fully. She doubted he even knew who she was. Both brothers were notorious in Konoha. It was only instinct to think of the other as one sat before you. He watched as she opened her mouth then closed it. She was trying to find the words to say, but it was useless. No words in the human language could describe what she was feeling.

More minutes passed, she was the first to say something. "I hate you."

At first, these words hung in the air. They hung above their heads and swirled about, trashing into the walls and banging on the floor. Suddenly the room became tense. Very tense. He shifted and the chains dangled. She realized he was heavily chained against the wall, his hands restrained in a way that he could not perform any hand seals with two or one hand. His eyes were still red and she was reminded not to look at them before she entered.

But as usual, she didn't listen. Luckily for her, he did not take advantage of that.

She looked at him once more. He was badly injured from the battle. There was a deep gash in his abdomen and she could already tell that his arm was dislocated, nearly on the edge of falling off. Cuts adorned his bruised face. His breathing was shallow and came out rigid. For some reason, hers was coming out just the same. It was a miracle he survived the night.

"I'm here to heal you," she informed, opening her arms a little to reveal a small first aid kit and clipboard. He stared at her and she cursed all Uchihas for that damned look. In the end, to her that meant only two men. Thanks to the monster sitting before her. She waited for an acknowledgement. For movement. For an eyebrow twitch. For anything.

"Aa."

"We have a conversationalist," Inner Sakura laughed.

She didn't know whether she should approach him. Even restrained, he looked like the devil himself. She reminded herself of her mission and realized it would be stupid to stand around any longer. With extremely slow steps, she neared him. His stare never fell. The feeling of walking on eggshells invaded her and suddenly she felt as if she was walking into some sort of web. It was shoving back at her, telling her to stop. But she pushed with all her might and stood in front of him. "Let's begin."

A snort. "Let's."

She wanted to slap him. Wanted to shake him until his head rolled lifelessly. How dare he be cheeky with her? She didn't need to heal him. Hell, she didn't want to. Here she was, being the honorable medic. And there he was. Being a pompous asshole.

"You should be more grateful," she scolded. She looked away from his stare for the fear that she would lose her words in her mouth and her brain would turn to mush. "Konoha is being generous."

"Yes," he said and she thought that was it. One word answers were all she was expecting. But people always had a way of coming around and surprising you. Biting you in the butt just when you thought you had finally chained the wild beast. "I will thank them for their hospitality later."

She set down her first aid kit loudly on the table next to them. It thudded against the metal piercingly. She shook her head and lifted her clipboard into view. Sarcasm was the last thing she needed right now. "It's crazy." She looked over his blood type, height, and weight. "You look like shit and you should be dead."

"Lucky me."

Inner Sakura raged and decided to make an appearance. He observed as her mood changed drastically, jumping from stiff and fragile to lean and annoyed. Well, that made the two of them.

"You're an asshole."

"I hear that a lot."

"I wouldn't doubt it," she replied, setting the clipboard next to her medical kit. She looked him over once more, his gaze never leaving her face. She chose to ignore it. It would be best to avoid it.

No more words were shared for the next couple of hours. Her chakra flowed through him, invading every space of his body—every crevice of his being. It was almost as if she could see inside of him. It was almost as if she could observe his very core. It alarmed him and put him on edge. If it weren't for his most unfortunate predicament, he would have lashed out. She grimaced when she hovered her fingers above his bare arm. The sleeve was ripped off. His cloak laid on the table next to her supplies. She grasped his arm and could feel the bone deeply embedded in skin and muscle. She wanted to drawl it out—cause more pain than needed. Wanted. But couldn't. Quickly, she popped the bone back into place. She expected a scowl, maybe even a huff. But there was nothing. Nothing.

"You left quite a mess," she said, not taking her eyes from her work. She could tell he was confused about what she meant by the way his arm muscles clenched although she was sure he wouldn't ask her. Was he always this tense? But then she supposed she would be too, knowing her death was just around the corner and getting ready to knock on her door. She guessed that there probably wasn't exactly a welcome matt on his porch either. "In the hospital. And I'm the one who has to pick up the pieces."

Always left picking up the pieces.

"Then don't," he said simply and she took the time to slowly move her attention to him. She gave him an incredulous look and chose to ignore what he just said.

"You think you can go around killing people," she stated more than asked. He had a feeling that this conversation meant so much more than the people he had sent to the hospital—some to their grave—yesterday. He had a hunch that this dealt with something much more. Much, much more. "You can go and do whatever you want and then I'm here, trying to fix it. I always clean up after you."

"You spoil me," he said, knowing he was just adding fuel to the increasingly dangerous fire. She was now standing before him, hands on her hips in an almost cliché kind of way. "Like the mother cleaning up the child's mess."

"Time to grow up," Sakura said, taking this simile and twisting it to better benefit her argument. "You're not a little kid who can go around acting like a spoiled, know-it-all brat. Your actions have consequences." He couldn't quite put his finger on why the medic was becoming so upset. It was widely known that he had murdered his own clan. Yes, most were appalled. But this girl took it to heart. She took it so much deeper than anyone had ever before. Well, not counting his brother of course. It was almost as if it was her family he had killed. That's how she was treating it at least.

"This I know."

"And I'd kill myself if I were your mother," she added, not missing a beat. Her eyebrows furrowed in clear anger and fury. It was then that she heard him snort, which she had analyzed, was his way of laughing. It was absurd. She saw nothing funny in any of this. Now, well now she was just ticked off.

"I suppose I did her a favor then."

That was when they looked as if they entered a ferocious staring contest, both clearly intent on winning. There were distinct emotions coming from both parties, emotions that clearly contradicted the other. On one side, there was Sakura—hands still on her hips. Anger radiated from her very being. On the other side was Itachi. His posture looked quite relaxed—if anything, bored. But his face showed something different. A small smirk placed itself on the corner of his mouth and his eyebrows were lifted only the slightest. He was amused. And even though Sakura was pissed beyond all belief, she was the first to look away—willing to put aside her anger to just finish her job.

Bandaging took the longest and she was forced to remove his clothing despite the challenges his bindings presented. She strained not to look at his body, his arms, his strong fingers. It wasn't hard, considering the large gash adorning his gut. He was very tired of counting the tiles on the ceiling over and over and almost sighed in relief when she moved away, obviously finished for the day.

"We're done for now," she declared although she really didn't need to clarify. She retrieved her clipboard and scribbled lightly. "The bone I have put back in place. It was broken, but I have fixed it. Keep it in a sling for now. There is still an incredible amount of bruising. Do not make unnecessary movements." She spoke like a robot, eyes not leaving the clipboard as she wrote. "Your stomach is severely wounded. I have started the healing process enough to prevent infection if we're lucky. The bandages should help some. I'll finish tomorrow."

Then she looked at him and their eyes connected. Once more, a warm feeling invaded every part of her. His eyes swirled and for a second she thought he was sucking in her into his twisted world. But she dared not look away. She saw determination. She saw hate. She saw sorrow. She saw it all. It was familiar. It was Sasuke. With lithe fingers, she traced his jaw line. It was strong and no doubt masculine. It clenched under her delicate touch. She tilted her fingers and soon it was only her nails that grazed his skin. He would never admit it, but he felt a chill swarm his body from the innocent touch.

"Medic," he said, snapping her from her trance. She pushed away from him and searched for her clipboard that she found discarded on the floor. When she had dropped it was beyond her. "Medic." Flushed, she pushed her hair behind her ears and her eyes scanned the room quickly once more. He was not a stupid man and her emotions that she wore so freely on her sleeve helped him come to the conclusion that she was embarrassed and nervous and maybe even a little frightened. She picked up the clipboard, muttering about butter fingers. "Medic."

She turned and looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. She shoved it off and gave him an impatient look. She lifted her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"You saw someone in me."

"No."

"Tell me."

"He isn't important."

But he was.

She gathered her things, lightly letting her hand graze the cloak. She kept her eyes on the clouds for a moment too long. They stuck out harshly against the dark color of the cloak.

"Medic," he said before she was out the door. "Get some sleep tonight."

"Sure," she said before leaving the room. She heard her heart beat loudly against her chest. She heard the guards offer her a goodnight. She heard them as they scrambled to peak into the room to see if the man who had slain his whole clan, murdered his family and many innocents, was still nestled inside. But for some reason, she had a hunch he wasn't going anywhere. At least, not for now. The inspections were now getting on her nerves. She bit her bottom lip in annoyance as the guard searched her. She felt his hands on her arms, on her legs, her hips, her waist. She thought of Sasuke.

No, she should forget about him. She walked from tall, foreboding building with brisk steps. She would think of her makeshift dinner—sitting all alone on her couch while downing some ramen. She would think of her soap opera burning on the television. And most importantly she would not think of Sasuke. She would think of the day she went to the beach and the lighthouse in the distance. She would think of angels and boats out at sea.

That night she did not shower. She skipped it. Skipped the daily ritual of cleansing. In the shower, she would rid everything down the drain—see it disappear from her vision. She would wash away the daily work until all that was left was herself. Herself and her thoughts. But today she went straight for her bed. She was exhausted. She felt alive.

That night she stared at the ceiling, blanket thrown aside. Her hair fell around her head, almost creating a throne. She thought about red eyes, dark hair, and an intense glare, but she did not think of Sasuke.

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A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!

Still not edited.

3/28/09