transcendence | by kay wiz | TWO
HER.
It takes a good thirty seconds before she notices him.
His genjutsu may be gone, but he is still concealing his presence. She knows by now that if she looks for him, really stretches out her chakra enough, she can feel a little prickle on the edges, a little extra static that proves she isn't quite alone. But it has been two weeks and she doesn't try to find him anymore; she doesn't want him on her radar much at all if she can help it.
So when she stretches again with the sigh of a saxophone, when she tilts her head back and sees his upside-down silhouette, half covered in the shadow of dusk, she realizes he isn't as invisible as he's meant to be. She lets the song drift away from her lips like a caress, lets the woman on the radio finish the song in a solo. Her eyes take their time refocusing on his porcelain mask, the litheness of his form, the tattoo on his bicep and the dark ponytail tucked away at his neck, and almost immediately she is annoyed by his presence of perfection.
"You aren't supposed to be here," she says flatly, suddenly feeling weary just by looking at him.
He either doesn't feel her discomfort, or he simply doesn't care. In any case, he corrects her as though he hasn't done anything wrong, hasn't overstepped his boundaries by coming out to play. "…I am your personal guard."
"Yet here you are, acting like a therapist," she snaps. He isn't supposed to be talking to her, and she isn't supposed to recall what he looks like, the square of his shoulders. He is supposed to be even less than a shadow, and above all, he is supposed to be mute.
She finds it offensive that Tsunade has put him up to this in the first place, has made him watch her every single hour of every single day while she has been doing just fine by herself. She is even more offended that he feels the need to stamp his presence on her mind and coax her into talking. She does not need to talk. She does not want to talk. The whole point of being here alone and hiding away from all things threatening is so she doesn't have to. Although it's possible he isn't quite aware of that.
She cannot read his expression because of the tanuki mask he wears, but she finds she cannot read his body language either, not while she is upside down. She groans and sits upright, already missing the coolness of the hardwood floors and the way the music calms her.
"I'm sorry," she mutters half-heartedly, too frustrated to even look at him, but just ashamed enough to say so. "I'm not much of a conversationalist. You understand."
He probably does, she thinks. After all, he is ANBU, and ANBU have about as many social skills as the month-old natto in her fridge.
He doesn't say or do anything to give any indication that he's heard her. He is just like a therapist after all – lurking behind her and watching watching watching until she snaps and releases a whirlwind and tells him everything she is feeling and going through and and and…
"I'm going to take a bath," she murmurs instead. Anything to escape him and his very real, very tangible self. Although as far as she knows, he's been watching her bathe for the past two weeks already…but surely he isn't going to try sneaking a peek now that his genjutsu is out of place. Tsunade wouldn't have hired anyone less than a gentleman to lurk in her apartment for an undetermined amount of time, after all.
Without waiting for a response because she does not – does not – want to call this interaction a conversation, she hurries off into the next room, shuts the door behind her, and yanks the knobs above her bathtub as briskly as possible so he hears the waterfall rush and knows she is done acknowledging him. With deep breaths, she calms herself, pretends like his sudden reveal has never happened and that he is as invisible and nonexistent as ever. It is easier to imagine this, now that he is on the other side of the wall and out of sight, out of mind.
Eventually the tub fills and she turns off the water. Sheathing her naked form in the clear, bubble-free liquid, she curls into a ball and wraps her arms around herself. A woman with a husky voice drifts through the thin plastered walls, a different woman than before, and Sakura is glad that she has forgotten to turn off the radio in her hasty escape from the living room. The voice washes over her more so than the bathwater, distracts her to the point of feeling drugged. It is as though her worries are dripping away and off her skin and into the pool around her, and everything is disappearing into the shuffled percussion, however muffled it may be. She quickly lets herself forget everything that disturbs her: her near-hikikomori lifestyle, the absence of her friends and teammates, the mysterious tanuki-man in her house and the painful, painful memories of why he is here to protect her at all—
With a sudden click, the radio is off. The woman is gone, the solace shattered, her comfort zone extinguished. The memories come rushing back and she is once again trapped in her cold reality.
And with a shiver of dread, she realizes her strange ANBU bodyguard does not make her feel safe at all – instead he is ruining everything.
HIM.
By the time she comes out of the bathroom, he has picked up some groceries and stocked them in her otherwise bare kitchen. He is embarrassed at the state of her kitchen simply because she is not. Although she'd spent all of yesterday cleaning the entire apartment, and although the countertops are now clean and the fridge shining, it is almost ridiculous that there is next to nothing in it.
He realizes his job description does not require him to be an in-house caretaker, but it is the least he can do. He doesn't know the circumstances behind her situation, has no idea what she is going through or why, but if his deduction is correct and he is protecting her from that, he knows that simply watching her under the guise of a genjustsu is not going to be enough anymore.
When she trudges into the room, her hair is unkempt and damp and smells like lavender and peaches, a strange mix but one he does not find unpleasant. But this is the only noticeable thing about her that is gentle. She is of course feminine, delicate, fragile, but with the thin shadows under her eyes, the hardness of her neglected muscles, even the way she is dressed in tattered sleeping shorts and a baggy sweater – almost everything about her is rough around the edges.
She is glaring at him in a similar manner, the narrowing of her brow and the downturn of her mouth slight but obvious. She looks disturbed and he knows why. It was not his intention to frighten her, but he expected such a reaction. Although he is in ANBU, it is clear she does not trust him – maybe she did before, but his earlier intrusion has changed everything. He is no longer just her bodyguard; he is also now her houseguest.
"What is this?" she asks him, and he is displeased by how calmly she says it. This isn't right. Haruno Sakura is a spitfire, but this girl with the civilian clothes and blank disposition doesn't fit the description.
"You should take better care of yourself," his voice muffles through his mask. He doesn't even have to look at the cartons in the trash can or the wooden chopsticks on the counter for her to understand what he means.
"I'm not a very good cook," she admits, "and takeout is easier. And anyway, aren't you supposed to be babysitting me? It's irresponsible to leave me alone just to buy groceries I'm never even going to eat."
Itachi closes a cabinet and watches her over his shoulder. "Shadow clone," he says vaguely, and although she looks to have acknowledged this, she does not look grateful for the favor.
"I'm not hungry," she murmurs, although he knows this cannot be true. He has observed her enough to know that she always eats dinner at 7:30, give or take a few, depending on when the delivery boy knocks on her door with her meal wrapped in a plastic box. With his surprise appearance earlier, she must have forgotten to call in an order, because she also never takes baths, only showers, and only early in the morning. It appears he has thrown her off schedule, but he doubts her appetite has caught up to this change.
He tosses her an apple and she catches it easily; although he rarely sees her train, it is clear that she is still a kunoichi with kunoichi reflexes and – if her deepening frown is any indication – that infamous kunoichi stubbornness.
"I'm not interested—"
"Start with that for now," he interrupts quietly. "I'll be done shortly."
There is a pause as he begins to work, lighting the stove and searching for a knife. His skills in the kitchen are subpar compared to his mother's, but what kind of keeper would he be if he did not take care of this girl? It is his mission, after all.
A whistle of something flies toward him and he catches it soundlessly. She has thrown her apple back at him, at his head to be precise, but he can't bring himself to feel upset. Instead he turns to look at her, at her flushed face and the gleam of anger in her eyes and the way she bares her teeth at him as though she's feral.
"Just stop it," she growls. "Stop it. I don't want this. I want takoyaki from down the street, I want my radio back on, I want you out of here and gone. Or at least as close to gone as you're supposed to be. Shishou said nothing about you babying me like I'm a child—" She stops herself there, perhaps uncomfortable with her outburst. "Just get out of my house. Get out. No offense, but I don't need you here, ANBU-san. Please just…turn that thing off and leave me alone."
She turns on her heel and storms away with a soft step that doesn't quite match the tense anger in her shoulders. He thinks to himself that he should be ashamed. He has made her upset and uncomfortable in her own home, has touched her things and imposed on his host, has given her more to fear when he is supposed to be protecting her…
And yet he cannot bring himself to care. Because for the first time in many, many days, he has finally seen the true emotional angry dramatic passionate Haruno Sakura before his very eyes. And he feels there is hope for her yet.
A/N: Itachi's supposed to have a weasel mask but come on, Kishi, isn't that a little too obvious? Also my 11 year anniversary with this site is only a week away...yikes that's embarrassing.