A/n: this chapter is the answer to all your questions, dear readers. That's what you've been waiting for
Chapter Seventeen Summary: Sakura overcomes confusion and strikes a death blow
Chapter XVII
Thus began Sasuke's strange, contorted, yet somehow almost happy life. He got the post of police captain, then he got married, by this starting to revive the Uchihas. His daily routine together with his work remained in the background though, since they were insignificant, being no more than responsibilities, while the main thing... the main thing made him feel like a cripple because he couldn't live without it. Without Itachi.
The sinful, perverse love for him had seized his entire being, and every day was now meaningful, and every night was filled with excruciating longing. Not that he seemed particularly interested in women, referring to them in time of need, the need a young man experiences every now and then. Therefore, even though unnoticed by himself, Sasuke had acquired an oddity, a streak a stranger may find surprising.
He hated brunettes with long hair. Especially if they had dark eyes, and especially, if they were tall and fair-skinned. Sometimes, not really knowing why, he thanked god that his wife had such defiantly pink hair and bright green eyes.
During the past few days Sakura almost lived at Itachi's place. No sooner did she finish work at hospital then she surged to the alley near the Ichiraku, dropping at the grocery store on the way. The only purpose she returned home was sleep. The kunoichi has become somewhat obsessed, intoxicated as she helped Itachi to do the chores, she cooked, washed the dishes, did the laundry - as if overwhelmed by a feverish delight, wanting to do and feel as much as possible, captured by a mysterious, unknown to her freedom. Needless to wait, needless to hide. She could just... be. In his turn, the man accepted her care with a sort of benevolent indulgence: on the one hand, he liked the order and the family comfort around the house, whilst on the other, he was curious.
Sasuke was no longer a subject of their talks. As for the girl, farther and farther slipped her thoughts about the unhealthy interest of her husband, until at last, to her amazement, she grew totally indifferent. She was not angry at him, not a bit. Neither offended nor cursing, she has put up with the reality, she has perceived him in some measure.
Pity, that was all she felt for Sasuke.
One cannot hate somebody he pities, yet it made their relationship not in the least easier.
No wonder, she was enjoying her present life. Still, an obscure haunting fear was always there, noted by constant pounding in her temples. Sakura had no idea what she should do next. Finding herself between the elder and the younger brother made her pine for Sasuke and long for Itachi, and, not knowing how to understand her feelings for either of them, the girl strived to figure out the situation. Confusion was what she felt. Yet, a decision had to be made sooner or later.
It was one of those nights when they sat in the kitchen, drinking tea. Outside, where it was dark, contrasted with the room's light and a pleasant smell of jasmine. Empty dishes in the sink, put there after the dinner cooked by Sakura; against the yellow lamp, a belated butterfly flopping its wings, movements casing a little dancing shadow on the surface of the table. She twisted the cup in her hands, and cloudlets of steam rose and dissolved in the air.
- Itachi, - she said slowly. - I... don't want to give birth to his children
Carefully, he took a sip from his mug,
- Why so?
She sighed softly, then shivered as though shrinking on the inside,
- I just... don't want to
- I thought you loved him
- I do, - she agreed, eyes glued to the cup. - But I don't want... I can't... be a thing. Because all he does is use me. It hurts... a lot. When... he makes love to me I almost forget that I love him too. The feeling is one-sided, it's all about simply reviving the clan
There hung a pause. Shouldn't tears well into her eyes? Shouldn't there be a lump in her throat? There was nothing like that. Nothing save a dull pain in her heart and a cold statement of facts. A short whine followed, after which she added bitterly,
- I swear, he should've married an incubator!
The corners of his mouth curved in a barely perceptible smile,
- Be it so, I don' think you'd be happy
A sigh and then a joyless laugh, then she put down her tea,
- Guess so
Why, why does it have to be this way? Why can't she simply love him? Damn it, she's got in a pretty mess. She still loved him, but could she reconcile to living like this? The funniest part was that she was currently sitting in the company of the man who had stolen her husband, overtaken by neither anger nor jealousy - nothing but a hushed yearning inside.
The rest of the evening, wordless as it was, ended when the clock struck 12.
- Oh! I think I've stayed for too long. I'm sorry, - the kunoichi got up, setting aside her empty cup
Itachi's gesture let her know it was alright, afterwards he collected the plates, adding them to those in the sink, turned to her and said,
- It's late. You can stay here for the night. If you like. Besides, - he went on. - It's your day off tomorrow. No need to hurry
She blushed in embarrassment, recalling her hasty escape earlier that morning,
- I don't mind. Thank you
Everything seemed plain... commonplace. He led her upstairs and into the bedroom. Once there, he opened the door and began to look for some clothes in the locker room without switching on the light, before putting the selected items in the chair. All the while she was watching him from the bed, silent, her green eyes sparkling with mixed, puzzling emotions. When the man was going to leave, she grasped his arm, a little abruptly and as if imploringly,
- Itachi... - said she just above a whisper. – Stay
Her voice trembled, her hand squeezed his wrist gently,
- Please, - in a yet-audible tone stressed Sakura
The Uchiha hesitated for a moment, then sat down near her. Responding, she emitted a muffled sigh, the painful desire growing stronger until it started to take over, just then she raised her hand, and timidly, half-believing she was actually doing it, touched his cheek. The soft, soothing coolness of it seemed so close and real. Not a dream. Reality. And now she's plucked up courage enough, stretching out farther, brushing aside errand strands of his hair to see his face. With just one path of light, crawling from behind the door, it was hard to disperse the murk enveloping the space, yet it gave her a chance to see him better. And so she does, straight into the black lifeless orbs, which blindness scares her no more. And so she does, intently, neatly, engraving into her memory every single detail, when finally the idea shapes out in her head, clear and outright, so that there're no delusions left.
He is not Sasuke.
Inner Sakura, uttering incoherently, says something which eventually becomes a violent stream of question marks as she wants to ask all at once, all that can't possibly be transcribed via words, all the whirlwind of feelings and emotions she's been suppressing. She swept them away – there will be time to think about it. But not now.
Delicately, her fingertips trailed along his eyelashes, brushed his eyelids and closed them. She then tilted her head and kissed them, before pulling back slightly to look at Itachi while an unknown clear, light, fragile flutter never stopped quivering in her chest. She reached out for him – all but unconsciously – suddenly feeling his lips on hers. A startle, and she tensed, if only for a second to give in to a delicious weightlessness that followed. It happened every time she let him kiss her, and she responded, ardently, fervently, with the passion of a young woman deprived of caress.
- Itachi… - Sakura said quietly, his hands dropped to her waist whereas hers wound round his neck, then she forgot of everything
No callousness nor cold in his actions, he is attentive and tender, but with each her move forward when she arched her back and moaned his name, with each his soft sigh when his body shuddered, she felt that distance between them. Always afar, forever not there. Yet she took it as one takes oddities and habits of a beloved person. Gasping, shivering beneath him, she realized he had never belonged to this world, and never would. Strangely enough, the girl didn't regret as she contented herself with what little love he could offer.
He was not Sasuke. But Sakura didn't have to love him like she loved her husband.
The bed, too narrow for two, held them close to each other, her fingers tangled in his loosened hair. The kunoichi was dozing off. The last thing that slipped in her tired consciousness was a wonderful, almost stunning realization of contentment.