A/N okay, so you know, this time. I don't have to say sorry, because I wasn't lazy. Not really. I worked dilligently, and I got it out in a respectable time.

Oh yeah, just a heads up, the format of the chapter names are a hint to what Zetsu's doing. His whole evil plan you know.

But anyway, here it is, and it's too early for me to think of anything else to say other than:

enjoy.

Disclaimer: (fill in applicable praddle)

He often heard people whispering when they thought he couldn't hear them, about what a sweet little child he had been, back before the massacre. Before he had become an avenger. And in retrospect, he knew they were right.

He was peering into a window, at a curious vantage point, but he couldn't move himself to check from where. It was like a dream, real enough for it to affect him, but not enough to question the strangeness of it. Warm light flooded out of the glass panes, making the window shine like a beacon of kindness. He drifted closer, peering in. Be he didn't feel like an outsider. He felt like he belonged.

"Sasuke-kun, don't you want to open your presents," asked a soft featured woman as she cleaned away some of the dishes from a large dining room. A small boy sat in the high backed chair at the table; his little legs too short to reach the ground. None the less though, they swung proudly as he shook his head and shoveled more food into his mouth. He had flecks of juice and stuffing decorating his face.

"Not yet," he said. "I have to finish first." Mikoto smiled indulgently, cleaning the plates lying in front of her husband and eldest son. The two males gave her nods of thanks, then resumed amusedly watching the youngest of the family, who, as of tonight, was one year less young. With a quick few more bites and a near choking experience, little Sasuke polished his plate clean. He sat eagerly on the wood, so excited it looked as though he were vibrating. "Okay, I'm ready now."

"I don't know, are you sure," Mikoto asked, her voice falsely dubious. Neither Fugaku nor Itachi engaged in the banter, but both observed fondly. "Maybe we should just put it off for another day..." The horrified look on the birthday boy's face was only half faked.

"No! I'm ready now, really!" He hopped off the too tall chair and hurried over to the sink, washing off his dirty face. He turned around with clean cheeks and water soaking through his collar. Mikoto observed him, hands on her hips, with teasing skepticism.

"Well…" Sasuke's eyes got big and shiny, his bottom lip jutting out just barely. "Alright." There was a whoop of juvenile joy. "Itachi-kun, go get your brother's presents out of our hiding place." The boy, young but with eyes older than any man's, got up and disappeared into the expanses of the large house. Sasuke bounced on the balls of his feet.

Outside, trapped within his mind, Sasuke thought he looked much like little Chihiro.

Finally, Itachi returned with an arm load of presents, somehow still managing to look dignified. For Sasuke, all thoughts of looking mature disappeared as the presents were dropped on the table. He sorted them quickly. One from his mother, clothes probably; his father, most likely a book on field tactics or some sort; his fan girls, definitely sweets and other candies, embarrassing but tasty; and finally, one from his older brother. The very first he had ever received from Itachi.

He ripped them all open quickly, not bothering to try to preserve the wrapping paper, and found all his guesses to be spot on. Eventually, all that was left was that one precious package from his much admired older brother. He took his time with this one; removing all the tape before unfolding the wrapping at its creases. Slowly, he revealed a fine collection. One he would cherish for a very long time, until it would be taken away by the same person who had given it to him.

"Six kunai knives," Itachi explained in his soft, clipped voice. "To represent how old you are now." And he had thought his brother didn't love him. Sasuke forced himself not to cry right then. He could do that later, when he was alone. Now, he just walked over, and embraced his older brother, who returned the hug a little awkwardly.

"No!" Modern Sasuke's anguished cry reverberated in his ears, but no further. The sparrow nesting on a branch beside his ear didn't even twitch. He didn't want to see this. He remembered it so clearly, as though it were yesterday. Was that not enough? Did he now have to watch it in agonizing clarity? The happiest day of his life, undoubtedly. His sixth birthday, it had been perfect.

Now, his happiest moment was his worst nightmare. Remembering how life had been, how perfect. It hurt so badly. It ate at him, that feeling of… loss.

Zetsu watched the young man closely, as he appeared to have some sort of mental breakdown. He was obviously much more fragile than Zetsu had realized, and that thought thrilled him. At first, he had been somewhat disappointed by his lack of ammunition he had to throw at the boy. Fortunately though, the affect it seemed to be having on the youngest Uchiha was profound.

Sasuke stood stock still on the lumpy garbage in the middle of the dumpster, in a dark alley, while in the middle of the night. He gazed up at Zetsu, his eyes unseeing, his dilated pupils focused on something else. The cat squirmed in his arms, but seemed reluctant to leave the safety of them. Were someone to walk in on the happening, they would have turned around and walked away, muttering about how the demon should have never brought him back in the first place.

When the viewing was complete, and the man finally snapped himself out of it, Zetsu withdrew away up into the rafters to watch the fruits of his labors. Sasuke gasped and fell against the metal side of the dumpster, shaken. That was the only significant burst of emotion that showed through before his eyes hardened. With the confidence and grace he usually embodied, Sasuke swung out onto the street, clutching the cat Shisui to his chest. The Akatsuki member followed.

With years of observing people under his belt, Zetsu knew what was running through his victim's assaulted mind. He was smart enough to know that he had been attacked, and that there was a dangerous criminal on the loose, or at least someone who wanted to harm him. Zetsu wasn't concerned though. Suspicion was high enough on Sasuke that his claims wouldn't be taken seriously, and could maybe even be used against him.

After all, he hadn't returned willingly.

He should also be in a lot of pain. Zetsu had devised his plan to target the feelings of loss he knew Sasuke felt deep down inside. All he had had to do was bring them to the surface, which was relatively easy. He watched Sasuke trudge up the stairs to his apartment. Silently, his face a deathly pallor, he took Shisui to the bathroom and began washing the oil out of his fur.

"What a broken little bastard," he suddenly muttered, his sympathetic tone of voice at odds with his harsh words. The once shining star of Konoha was barely a shell, a shadow. The way he moved, the way he regarded the world, even before Zetsu had stepped in, it was as though he were merely plodding through life. Even Zetsu, the wretched creature that he was enjoyed living. "I almost feel a little bad—"

"We did good," he cut in proudly, straightening his back. "We executed the plan perfectly. Were anyone around to witness it, we would have been rewarded handsomely." Then he turned and bounded off over the buildings, and even while he took one last pitying look at the dark haired youth, he could only agree with himself.

The apartment was quiet. Much, much too quiet. They found us out. ANBU took her away for interrogation. Curious, that the first thought Zetsu had was almost worry for his pretty hostess. But it was dispelled almost as soon as it occurred. If they had found them out, someone, or a group of them would be waiting for him, and there was no one.

He shut the window silently behind him and stepped into the center of the room. So where was she? He stood still, covered up to the nose in his thick Akatsuki cloak. His face did not betray it, but a simmering anger was rising within him. Slowly, he turned and padded down the hallway. The girl's bedroom door was open, the lock obviously picked. He stared at it for a moment. His hands clenched.

Then, without warning, a black fist flew out in a flurry of movement and hit it, slamming the door shut. A crack echoed in the apartment, and a fissure appeared straight down the center.

"She defied us," he murmured in the aftershock. That simmering anger he had hidden so completely before began rapidly bubbling to the spun away from the door, sweeping down the hallway. With a guttural growl he raged through the apartment, his fury only worsened by his frustration at having to keep quiet. The restrictions put on him by being trapped in this village had never seemed so oppressive. He paced for awhile, bickering meaninglessly with himself, before finally retreating to a shadowy corner with a good view of the door.

She would have to come back eventually, and when she did, he would be waiting. It didn't occur to him that she could have gone off to report him. He was confident that for one reason or another, she would not rat him out. Whether because she didn't want him gone, or because she was afraid of the consequences, either suited him just fine.

Zetsu didn't know for how long he had stood there, unmoving. Time didn't matter to him. His thoughts were consumed by the wily blonde, though they weren't coherent. She was just an emotion-rising presence in his mind. The sun had risen, that warm light creeping across the wooden floor and kitchen tile, before he heard her soft footsteps climbing the stairs towards him. The knob turned and the door swung open.

She froze at first, surprised to see him and unnerved by his stillness and stare. It was just a second, though, and she quickly got a hold of herself. She walked over to the counter, setting down some flowers, pretty but flawed, and there for unsellable. He saw her lick her lips, betraying her discomfort. "Morning," she still managed cheerfully. "I just stepped out—"

"We know," he cut her off. She turned from filling a vase with water to eye him warily. She stood up straighter flowers forgotten, and lifted her chin challengingly. Her own eyes narrowed.

"And where the hell did you think you were going?"

"I went to go see Sakura. She just got back from her mission and I wanted to see how it was," she spat, glaring at him. Who the hell did he think he was; demanding of and questioning her? He was across the counter from her now. She could feel his anger sparking in the air, and it rose her own. She met his gaze indignantly and daringly, then broke it.

She cracked under the pressure. He was too fierce, too powerful. Was her mental freedom worth the risk? She didn't know. Her eyes fixed on his collarbone instead.

"Don't you ever do it again," he snarled, moving around the counter and crossing the distance between them before Ino could lunge for a knife. She took a desperate step backwards and felt the unforgiving counter top press into her lower back. She could feel his heated breath blow across her face. Hair rose on the back of her neck and she swallowed. How long since a man had been this close to her? His anger, it was an emotion, more than usually got out of him. Her body craved this.

"Or what?" She pushed all shaky uncertainty out of her voice. He took a step closer to her and she gasped. His chest pressed up against hers and she could feel his muscles flexing as he breathed. He leaned forward, bending her backwards over the counter top. This position, it spoke of other things. Titillating fire roared up Ino's spine, and she arched her back. But she fought it galiantly. This wasn't what they were doing. No, no, this was more dangerous than that.

His eyes glowed from the depths of the shadows cast by his fly trap.

"I'm sure you can imagine." The growled words came deep from his throat, roughening the normally smooth voice. Ino's eyes flicked down suddenly in surprise as the cold bite of metal touched her neck. The iciness of it broke her heated lust and her mind cleared. When had he drawn that kunai? Cleared enough to realize the danger she was in. Shocked and scared, she finally moved her eyes up to his, and what she saw there was scarier than the weapon at her throat. They held a wild, irrational gleam, at odds with his usual infuriating calm.

This man could kill her, would kill her, easily. With no struggle, physical or moral. His intelligence and use of logic had always assured her survival before. It would be too risky on his part to leave a trail of dead bodies. But those were obsolete now. Now, she was not so confident. She winced suddenly as she felt him grab her upper arm roughly. His eyes blazed at her and instinct took over.

"Get away from me!" She threw out a desperate arm, shoving him away from her. Large lungfuls of air flooded down her throat. It was only now that she realized how suffocating he had been. When her breath was caught, she swiveled her head around rapidly in search for some sort of defense. Her eyes stopped on the kitchen knives. Not as good as shuriken or—a kunai stuck suddenly in the wall between her and her goal, quivering warningly. Slowly, she slid her eyes back up to him.

"You will cooperate." He gestured forcefully with a black hand. "I own you." Ino could only stare at him, her skin going cold. Goosebumps marred her usually smooth flesh. This man. She could understand his strange mood swings, his threats, his violent tendencies. She could be like that, if she lived the life he did. She could be like that if caught during the wrong time of the month. His mind, or minds, though, she could not understand. The way he thought, and perceived things was completely foreign to her.

"What the hell in that supposed to mean?" Her appalled hiss seemed to have little effect on him as he just ever so slowly and ever so slightly leaned towards her.

"It means you will go nowhere without telling us," he said, his voice rising in volume and demanding attention. She felt somewhat like she had when she was twelve, with her parents having a talk with her. They had done it all because they loved her, even though she had resented them for it. The impractical girl in her, that one that was far bigger and more powerful than she should be, liked the thought that perhaps he was, too. "We will know where you are at all times, who you are with, what you are doing." Subconsciously, she registered his advancement. Closing, steadily, the distance she had forcefully put between them. "How long you will be gone—"

"Everything." With a shocked yelp, Ino recoiled from the hard, black, hand that suddenly gripped her chin. The calloused pads of his fingertips felt as though they were searing her skin as they forced her to stare into his face. But she pinned her gaze onto his jaw, refusing to dare to look anywhere else. "And if you don't…" Ino didn't want him to continue that threat. He had made an impression, proved his point. Somehow though, she knew that he would not leave it hanging. "We'll go after that Hyuuga bitch first. She seems weak enough. Plenty of ways to mess with her head. Your teammate next, the fat one. And as for you—" Her vision suddenly flashed dark as he slammed the back of her head into the corner of the cabinets. She let out a whimper, too scared and hurt to worry about her dignity. His burning fingers closed around her throat. Even in her hazy state of mind, she could feel the strength in that hand. Enough strength to crush her windpipe. "You know what we can do to you." The fingers tightened.

Panic can make a person do stupid things. Things that aren't fully planned out before execution. Usually, one looks back and wishes they had done something different. Or they just snort and shake their heads, surprised and relieved that it had miraculously worked. Directly after the deeds are done, though, there's almost always that sinking, dreadful feeling one gets when they know: they've completely screwed themselves over.

Ino panicked.

All of a sudden, she swung her hand out desperately and a loud crack exploded in the air. Her hand hurt from the force of her slap, but she could only hope that Zetsu's cheek hurt more. He withdrew and Ino dropped to her knees as the dizzying loss of his oppressive presence took hold.

The side of his face stung where she had struck him. Slapped him. Not a blow, not even a punch, just a pitiful, womanly slip. He made no move to alleviate the slight hurt; he welcomed it, in face. The clarity it brought him, the better to see the appalling nature of what he had just done with.

He looked down at the girl at his feet. She was still on her knees, breathing heavily; her heart beat, quick and light, fluttering the soft skin of her neck. She didn't move her gaze from the tile for a long time, until she finally lifted her eyes to meet his.

He knew what he saw there, and it made him feel something. He wasn't sure what, and he didn't particularly care to know, but it was something. He saw fear in her blue orbs, that much was understandable. It was a sort of fleeting fear though, not pure and untainted. There was hate, too. But not passionate burning hatred. It was a bred hatred, bred from growing and maturing in Konoha; it was tired and bitter.

Those emotions weren't what interested him though. They were expected. It was the ones farther down that caught his attention; the ones that made her eyes shine forlornly. They were hurt, and betrayal. His outburst, his threats, his willingness to cause her pain had cut her. More than kunai could.

"Ino," he began quietly, emotionlessly. He wasn't sure what he was going to say after that. His white half didn't want to say anything, it wanted to walk away and leave the girl to ponder his words. His darker side though felt as though he couldn't leave until he had done something about the consequences his actions had reaped. Maybe he had meant to apologize, even though he wasn't sure he was sorry. He never got the chance in any case.

"Don't talk to me," she shrieked suddenly. He mentally recoiled, shocked to hear so clearly the hate he had apparently underestimated. But he made no outward movement. His face remained impassive. She scrambled to her feet gracelessly, paying her disheveled clothes and already revealing, slipping top no heed. Before he could have stopped her even if he had wanted to, she grabbed the largest knife in the kitchen, holding it in front of her defensively. He had to admit that the image was formidable. She was, after all, a trained shinobi. "Just stay away from me."

"Ino," he said again. The name seemed to warm his tongue this time around. It filled his mouth and rolled out easily in a curious sort of way. He knew though, that her name from his lips sounded anything but warm to her. He took a step towards her, not in a threatening way, not purposefully.

"No," she yelled, slashing her knife radically. He stopped. "Just leave me alone, damn it. Just get away, you freak."

The word hang in the air, heavy between them. There was a moment of silence.

He hated that word. More than anything in the world, he hated that word. How many times had it been used against him? Thrown and spat in his face, the malice mixed with revulsion and fear, back before he had learned to relish it. His enemies, his victims, his comrades, his family; all of them apparently of the same opinion. He hated, hated, and feared that word. To hear it from this girl, who had avoided it for so long, froze him in his tracks.

"Fine," he muttered through a dry mouth, his expression blank. His white side now took over where his black one could no longer continue. He turned his back on her convicting gaze, addressing her over his shoulder. "Go to the hospital. Do whatever it is you need to do there. Anything else and I will know." Somehow, he could not speak for his sulking counterpart.

Then he swept away, leaving the girl in such a way that he felt more as though he were fleeing.

It was five days later, soon to be six, that Ino stood in the shower. Cold water, she had decided that paying for the heat just wasn't worth the money. Sometimes, like now, she regretted that decision. She stood still, unmoving, face upturned. She knew she was wasting water, but at the moment, she just couldn't bring herself to care. She had a long day ahead of her tomorrow. The whole hospital did.

There was some sort of civil war in a far off village, an ally of Konoha's. Tsunade had sent a large amount of shinobi to try to tip the balance in her favor, and the results had been disastrous. The enemy had discovered the plot and invaded Konoha's then 'neutral' encampment, slaughtering and wreaking havoc in general. They were all being brought back to Konoha for treatment at full speed now. They should arrive early tomorrow morning and everyone had been ordered to go home and rest, ready to work the next day.

She had told Zetsu just twenty minutes ago, in quiet tones as she fixed dinner. He stood at the counter silently, nodding his approval as he helpfully sliced vegetables. She hadn't quite made up her mind about their fight almost a week ago. She'd actually tried not to think about it, writing it off as a lapse of judgment on both their parts. She had a few general things clear and she had no desire to dig deeper.

One, that she didn't mind letting him in on every aspect of her life. It made her feel important, to have his attention so fully. She ignored the warning lights flashing in her head for that feeling of being needed.

Two, she was still mad at him for the way he had treated her. And she hated that she was mad at him for it. As though she had any right to believe he would act differently. Hurting her was his prerogative as a criminal. She was dumb to have expected anything else. But that still did not mean he had her forgiveness for his actions.

But three, and most importantly, she wished more than anything else that she could take back what she had called him. A freak. Not a very effective insult when applied to a relatively normal person. But to him, with whom it held so much weight, it seemed the lowest of the low. She regretted it painfully, to the point where it sometimes hurt to look at him. She had opened her mouth on a number of occasions to apologize, but she'd always bit the words back, for the sake of avoiding awkwardness.

She turned off the water, standing under the dripping shower until no more drops fell. The atmosphere of the house was tense, as though all the furniture was holding its breath, waiting for something to snap, or drain away. She stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel, drying herself off gently. She wondered absently when Zetsu took his showers. Never once had she seen him leave to take one, or coming out of the bathroom afterwards. And everything was exactly how she had left it when she came back after long periods of time. But he didn't stink, and his clothes were always clean. Curious.

She tightened the knot on the towel and stepped out into the hallway, making her way down into the living room to grab clean pajamas from the unfolded laundry basket sitting next to the couch. Zetsu was sitting on the other side, apparently deep in thought. There was a slight furrow on his brow, somewhat cute actually, and his mouth moved rapidly, if silently, as he debated with himself.

He broke off and spared her a brief glance, as she strode into the living room, with nothing but a towel on. Just a brief glance, and not an embarrassed one, just a disinterested one. She tested him like this almost whenever she could, and yet was still almost always confused by his reaction. Or lack thereof. He obviously was not a lusty man; he was too dignified for that. But still, a man was a man and she had never once seen him give her so much as a once over.

She leaned over to dig through the laundry, letting the top of her towel droop. Perhaps it was a testament to her boredom that she found testing Zetsu's sexuality so amusing. Maybe it was the sense that she was playing with fire. Granted, it was also a bit frustrating. She hadn't had a man's attentions in over half a month. Then here was a man, living with her, and he didn't even bat an eyelash.

One day, she would flounce out here naked, just to get a rise out of him.

She grabbed her clothes with a small sigh and made her way back to the hallway. He was still off in his own mind when she glanced back at him. Sometimes she wondered what he thought about, those times when he was so concentrated. Sometimes, she was too afraid to.

Ino trudged home, slowly, in the dark. She didn't bother to pay attention to where she was going; her thoughts were still filled with the day's work. Her pager had beeped her awake squarely at precisely on five AM, demanding she leap from her bed and get to the hospital as quickly as possible. As she ran through her kitchen to grab a fruit, her hair still sticking up at odd angles, she'd been so frantic that Zetsu's absence almost went unnoticed.

It was forgotten though, when she entered the hospital.

The mess that awaited her arrival was a note short of chaos. An assault on the senses. Dying and mortally wounded shinobi were rolled in by the dozen, the stink of their infections and dead pervading the air. The nurses that tended then fought the gag reflex valiantly. But one could hear the hospital even before they could smell it. Sakura and Tsunade stood atop chairs and desks, shouting orders at the top of their lungs, struggling to be heard over the screams of agony. Their beautiful eyes blazed determinedly, and Ino couldn't help but watch them enviously for a moment, before being swept up in the turmoil.

The work had been frantic and difficult, and many times, they were only rewarded with the death of their patient. Ino had lost seven people that day. The feeling of desperate despair as she watched their heart monitors flat line and their eyes roll into the backs of their heads was not easily forgotten.

She had almost lost an eighth as well, if it weren't for Sakura's intervention. And that was the memory that plagued her now, in this lonely, convicting darkness.

"Yamanaka-san!" A harried looking nurse stuck his head into the small room where Ino was downing a quick drink of water and a small soldier pill. She'd been healing for six hours straight, and the constant use of her chakra was leaving her depleted and dehydrated. None the less though, she tossed the waxy cup into the garbage can and cracked her neck. "There's another man in critical condition. He needs your attention right away." Without waiting for her response, he turned and dashed off down the hallway.

Ino hurried after, sighing as she did so. There was always someone in critical condition who needed immediate attention. As she rounded the corner into the already used, already bloody room, though, she realized that 'in need of immediate attention' didn't quite cover it. But still, she froze, staring in shock. Could she handle this? The insecure question came unbidden into her mind, denting her confidence.

"Yamanaka-san." Ino looked up sharply as the nurse called her name again. She glanced around, seeing everyone's eyes on her, waiting for her orders. "What should we do?" She needed to do something, for them and for this man, lying awkwardly on the table, a thick tree branch running straight through his chest. She swallowed and narrowed her eyes in determination.

"Move," she demanded, elbowing past some intern that was in her way. She pushed away all her squeamishness and began examining the unfortunate injury. He must have been thrown at some point, landing squarely on a broken and upturned branch. The thing had punched through his chest cavity, luckily missing a full blow on anything vital, but instead it scraped them all. A hole had been ripped through a lung, his heart was beating irregularly due to trauma, and it had severed countless small veins and arteries. In short, the damage was catastrophic and the fact that he was still alive was miraculous. But whether his prolonged life and suffering was a blessing or a curse, Ino wasn't sure.

"Should we remove the branch," asked a lower ranked medic. She was pulling in her gloves, and had already slipped the cloth mask over her mouth. But before she could grab the wood, Ino slapped her hand away.

"Wait. That's the only thing that's keeping the hole in his lung closed, and keeping him from bleeding out." Ino took a step back, her brow bunching and wrinkling as she thought. This was a delicate situation, a painfully delicate—

"Then what should we do-"

"Just hold on a God damn second," she snapped furiously. The room quieted instantly, and she turned away from them all, breathing hard. Time was of the essence, she had to act quickly. If she took the thing out, his system might not be able to handle it, and she'd just end up killing him. If it wasn't taken out, he'd die anyway. She clenched her fists. She could do this. Long hours of training to exhaustion, losing almost all of her friends; this was what it had all been for!

She turned around.

"Alright, we're taking this thing out," she declared. It must have been something in her eyes, for they all snapped to attention immediately. "You, get ready. You'll have to staunch the immediate flow of blood as soon as the obstruction is dislodged." She swung her finger from the skinny boy to point at two stronger looking men. "You two, hold him down. This is gonna hurt like hell and I don't want him moving a muscle. It'll make it worse." She gestured around to the two other nurses and herself. "On the count of three, we're going to pull, as quickly and as smoothly as possible." They nodded and Ino clapped loudly, with a note of finality. "Positions!"

Everyone scrambled into place. One skinny boy poised with a wad of bandages. One strong man holding down the wounded shinobi's shoulders. The other on his legs. Then the three women situated themselves around the branch, finding as solid a hold as they could. "Everyone ready?" Five grunts of confirmation and Ino took a deep breath. Her heart as thundering wildly, but yet, she was filled with a sense of pride. She was taking charge; she was making a difference.

"One,

"Two—"

"Stop!"

The frantic, high pitched shriek jarred them all, freezing them in their places. Sakura pushed into the room, her face matching her hair in her rage. "What the fuck are you trying to do? Kill him?" The rosette grabbed Ino's elbow, pulling her away from the prone man. "Let me deal with this." She glared at Ino. "I should have been called in, in the first place."

Ino backed away slowly, her now resentment filled eyes never leaving the more capable medic. Sakura turned, brushing her presence off as though it were a fly's. Her small hands flitted across the man's injury, assessing it in mere seconds. She nodded every now and then. "I can handle this," she assured them all, though it was obvious from all their admiring looks that they had no doubt in that.

As Ino watched, Sakura placed one hand on the man's chest near the crater of the injury and grabbed the branch with the other hand. The man let out a low moan, but when they glanced at him, he was still unconscious. Suddenly, with such finesse and grace that she made it look easy, Sakura used her super strength to yank out the huge piece of wood, and set it down easily on the ground. Simultaneously, in one movement, she slipped her other hand into the gaping wound, beginning to heal it instantly.

Barely a half cup of blood was lost.

When the Godaime's apprentice had finished her sealing and had stabilized the man, she turned her attention back to Ino, and wiped the blood on her scrubs professionally. Ino pressed her lips together as she awaited the inevitable and deserved chastising.

"You could have killed him," Sakura hissed. She didn't reply. "You're not ready for that sort of stuff, Ino." The blonde swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, along with her pride. "Now go and find a patient that needs you."

The scenario kept running through her head, over and over again, beating her down. She was so stupid, so dumb, and so useless.

Go and find a patient that needs you

…a patient that needs you

…a patient that needs…

She choked back a frustrated sob. Why was she even in this village? Nobody needed her. She was just there. She wasn't blind enough to think that she hadn't made mistakes in her life. She'd made a lot, more than your average person. But still, why did things always fall through for her? Why couldn't she do anything right?

With a small click, she opened the door to the flower shop. Quietly, miserably, she made her way up to her apartment. Not even a shower or bed sounded good to her now. Just a deep dark hole in and a shovel. She wiped her nose with a small sniffle and dropped her bags on the ground beside the door, ignoring the obnoxious crashing sounds they made.

And that was when she smelled it.

Rich and sweet. It flowed over her like warm water, soothing and gentle, yet not over powering. She swallowed the saliva the aroma tempted from her tongue. The cup was waiting for her, round and huge, the biggest one she owned, on the counter. All by itself, just sitting there in the middle. She let out a trembling, hopeful breath.

She could tell, just by staring into its soft brown depths that it had been prepared just the way she liked it. Two lumps of sugar and plenty of milk. Sweet enough for a woman, but not yet losing its customary and signature bitter taste. Slowly, she wrapped her fingers around the warm, still steaming mug and brought it to her lips. She could have moaned. The taste was just so perfect, and at such a perfect time.

Coffee.

She took another sip, then padded silently into the living room. There he was, fast asleep on the couch, still fully clothed and without even a blanket to keep him warm. He looked, she thought, almost as if he had been waiting up for her, but had just been too tired. She glanced down at her coffee. But he had made her this, and that…was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

It didn't matter at the moment, where he had gotten the beans, or the money to get them. All that mattered was the bliss she felt at that moment, and that he was the one responsible.

Smiling slightly, she set her drink down and went to the closet to grab a blanket. It was thick and a little cumbersome, but it was warm and the night was chilly. Slowly, stealthily, she settled the blankets over the man's stretched out form. He was so vulnerable…

And yet it didn't occur to her to take advantage of that.

She sat there, drinking her coffee and watching him sleep for awhile. Then she put her cup away, but could still not bring her eyes away from that peaceful face. She had never seen him sleep before, and the change was astounding. His face was calm instead of filled with its usual churning emotions.

Without knowing exactly what she was doing, Ino reached out and laid her hand on his cheek. It was warm to the touch, and smoother than she had expected. She caressed it softly, transfixed. Her fingers stroked from his temple to his chin, until common sense snatched back the offending appendage. What was she thinking?

The answer: nothing. She turned and padded off to bed.

If one side of him had been doubting the wisdom of his investment, it was certainly not anymore. The rich, smooth taste of premium steak was enough to silence even the most skeptical of tongues. Even if he didn't get the information he wanted, this was well worth it. Zetsu sighed happily, sinking deep into the arm chair as he rolled a juicy chunk of flesh around in his mouth. Pure bliss.

"This is what I call a breakfast." And for once, he didn't disagree with him. Soon though, his peace was disturbed by the sound of the girl moving about. She'd been out late last night, he had to admit: he was surprised she was up already.

"M-morning," she mumbled around a yawn as she stumbled out of the hallway. He was halfway through a polite nod, when he saw her sleepy half lidded eyes widen dangerously. Instinctually, he tensed, as though ready for an attack.

"What is that," she demanded quietly, taking a step towards him. All vestiges of sleep were chased out of her by her suddenly hostile mood. Zetsu was sure he knew what was on her mind though, and it brought a slight smirk to his lips. He glanced lazily from her to the expensive meat in his hands.

"Steak."

"Steak?" Her voice had deteriorated from righteous anger to a certain hopelessness. She put her hand to her face and massaged the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Steak? Zetsu, I can't afford high class steak. And the coffee…" Zetsu wasn't sure what prompted him to cut his act so fast, to reassure her before she could despair too much, but yet it seemed almost natural.

"You can now." His voice was more gruff and brusque than usual, but the girl didn't seem to notice. She didn't pay attention to his tone of voice anymore. She's learned not to take things like that too personally. What she was still learning was how to read between the lines of his sometimes roundabout way of speaking.

"What do you mean," she asked, frowning slightly. She was curious, but she looked suspicious, too. As though she were waiting for him to play a trick on her. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Go look in the store safe." She narrowed her eyes, but edged towards the door anyway.

"Why—"

"Just go already." Their fight from almost a week ago was obviously still fresh in her mind, and she hurried down the stairs without wasting anymore of his time. There was a sensation, in the back of his minds. It was unfamiliar to him, but yet he thought he could place it. Guilt. Or perhaps it was just eagerness at completing the next step of his plan, and worry that if she stayed angry with him, she wouldn't help. Or maybe it wasn't.

Yet for all his 'guilt', he couldn't bring himself to regret his actions. Given the choice, he knew he'd do it again.

He could hear her now, moving about downstairs. There was the creak of the hinges as she opened the rusty old safe, and then silence. A long moment of jaw dropping silence. Suddenly, with the stealth of a genin, she was pounding up the stairs, each footfall clearly audible. She ran through the door, slamming it open as she entered. Her hair mussed, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright, Zetsu felt an unbidden smile touch his lips. There were three large bills clutched in her hands.

A few of many.

"Are these…?"

"Yours now. We make a lot of money in our line of—" Suddenly, he was cut off as she launched herself at him. In his sitting position, he couldn't have reacted in time if he tried, though he didn't. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, not even heeding his fly trap. He felt her bury her face in his shoulder.

"Oh Zetsu. Thank you. Thank you so much…" Zetsu awkwardly, yet with a small smirk, wrapped a black arm around her waist, returned the impromptu embrace.

And he knew he had been forgiven.

A/N Well there it was. I was relatively proud of this chapter, and I hope you guys liked it took. Please please please pop me a review to tell me what you guys thought. This chapter had better make me break one hundred of 'em! :D

~Yuki