Day 8:

Ino is rambling about colors and oceans again. It's a conversation that she starts and restarts halfway through, like she's forgotten that she began it in the first place. There's an ocean, she insists, above their heads, something bigger than any individual person, a beautiful tide of human emotion, suspended in time and space…

She's sitting against the wall, in and out of lucidity, her legs kicked out in front of her, arms limp at her sides. At some point, she stops talking about spheres and tides and the color blue.

"Hey," she breathes. "Hey, Forehead…"

"Yes?"

"You should try this sometime."

Sakura snorts skeptically. "No, thanks. I've seen enough to know better than that already."

"Whatever you say…"

Sakura returns to her task once she's positive that Ino is finished. She's not sure why she bothers to take notes on her behavior anymore, since it's been fairly consistent since the first day, but she's always been prudent about scientific study. It's a hard-earned habit that she's not in a hurry to break.

Euphoria, she checks the list. Expanded awareness, heightened empathy…

She already knows all that though. The various drug tests scattered around her as she sits cross-legged on the floor are of more interest, but even those tell her very little. With two exceptions, most of the substances are inert. There's some opiate residue on the underside of the patch, along with the remnants of a tranquilizer often used to sedate hospital patients, both of which are in Ino's blood, but neither of those cause half of the dozen effects she's catalogued. Not to mention, the amount she finds doesn't account for the potency.

"I'm going to do a chakra scan," she announces, hauling herself from the floor.

Ino sighs dramatically. "Another one?"

"Pig. It's been since yesterday, you know."

"…Really?" Her eyes follow Sakura's approaching form. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Ino relents. She slides sideways until she's on the grungy floorboards, face up, to allow Sakura access to her body, but just before the hands reach her torso, she blurts,

"Wait. Wait. Just give me a second."

Her voice is shaking slightly. Sakura freezes with her arms outstretched and does as she's told.

It's a symptom of the drug, she knows, but it's still somehow incredibly embarrassing, if the redness of her cheeks isn't telling enough. She's not sure if it's better or worse for the fact that it's Ino. If it'd been a stranger, maybe she could've at least pretended to be nonchalant about the whole thing, but Ino knows her too well for that. Not that they talk about it. That would be far too awkward.

Besides, at the end of the day, neither has a choice in the matter. They'll endure the minor pains and embarrassments as they arise.

There are many, though. Ino's jaw is perceptibly flexing with her self-restraint. Her eyes are glued to Sakura's hands, an inch from the bare skin of her midriff, like there's a million dollars there that she could just grab, if only she were quick enough. Her mind is completely caught up in maintaining control over the situation, and Sakura is sure that Ino will succeed even though it must be incredibly difficult, judging from the look on her face, but part of her envies Ino for the distraction. At least she doesn't have to think about what, exactly, is happening right now.

The seconds tick by with painful slowness. Sakura waits without a word. The first day, Ino struggled through it with witty banter and insults. Sakura hardly noticed. The next few days went similarly. The fifth day, Ino told her to hold on, and Sakura hadn't, thinking she'd merely hit another weird jump in the train tracks of her thoughts, and then. Well.

That noise she'd made… Ino had warned her, Sakura supposes.

"Okay," Ino says simply, voice empty of intonation. Her face is carefully blank.

Sakura lightly presses her hands to Ino's stomach and pretends not to notice the immediate flex of her abs. The scan takes thirty minutes.

Ino's chakra is utterly haywire. It flails inside her body like it has a life of its own, seemingly unconnected to its normal pathways, and Sakura spends the first fifteen minutes of her examination trying to sort through the chaos as she had the first seven days. The next fifteen minutes is simply how long it takes her to admit to herself that she still has no idea what the hell is going on. What chemical could possibly…?

It doesn't make a lick of sense. She hasn't made any progress at all in the last week, and she can only hope that Tsunade has received her message by now and has more ideas than she does. Which is to say, more than zero.

Frowning, Sakura withdraws her hands, only to fall on her ass when Ino's own hand reaches out to grab her wrist and narrowly misses.

"Pig! What the hell?"

Ino blinks twice in slow motion, and then her arm drops from where it'd been suspended in the air.

"Sorry," she mutters. She sits up and goes to her travel bag in search of a change of clothes, though she's repeatedly distracted by the textures of the fabrics. Sakura watches amusedly as her friend fondles the soft cotton of a tank top.

If Ino were in her right mind, Sakura would probably make fun of her for it – all of it, really. She'd probably be teasing and gloating in their usual way, citing her irresistible charms with all the false bravado she picked up from Ino over the years, but as it stands, Ino is not in her right mind. It would hardly be fair. (She'll make fun of her for it later though.)

Ino finds a suitable outfit at last. She unabashedly strips off her old one until she's completely nude – lowered inhibitions, Sakura remembers – and yanks on the clean clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"Time to go."

Sakura frowns. "This early? The last dose hasn't even worn off."

"It will soon. I can already feel it."

"Are you sure? What if –"

Ino rolls her eyes. "You're such a mom, Sakura. Really. I'll be fine."

"Then is there a reason you're in such a hurry?" Sakura ventures, watching as Ino tugs on her shoes with one hand already on the doorknob.

"What? I thought I was supposed to be the one with memory issues. I just told you I have to go, not that I want to."

"Yeah, but…" Sakura trails off, and when Ino makes eye contact with her, eyebrow raised, she grins. "Don't tell me you've found a hot drug lord or something?"

"Several, actually."

"God. This really is the perfect mission for you, isn't it?" Sakura laughs. "Just a constant party with loads of vulnerable men for you to pick from. Lucky you."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

Sakura snorts skeptically. "As if you're worth being jealous over, Pig."

"Don't you mean –"

She stops. They stare at each other. It takes a minute for Sakura to realize that she'd misinterpreted the statement, but by then, Ino is grinning wickedly at her.

"Oh ho ho," she mock laughs. "What's this? Aren't I supposed to be the one with the free spirit?"

"That – that's not what I meant," Sakura flushes, irritated at the misinterpretation. "You –"

"The warped sense of reality? The intensified emotions?"

"You – I – I misspoke!"

"Uh-uh," Ino tuts. "Don't tell me that all this close contact's got you confused, Forehead."

Sakura sputters for a minute before finding the words to reply. "It's – I – damnit! You're the one that's dry humping the mattress and moaning like a porn star –"

"What the hell do you expect me to do when my body basically turns into one giant penis?"

Sakura makes a face at the imagery.

"Oh? So now you find penises gross, do you?"

"You wish," she fires back instantly.

Ino's tone is clearly disbelieving. "Mhm. Sure. Whatever you say, Sakura-chan…"

She's halfway out the door when Sakura stops her. The frustration mounting in Ino's chest is probably unreasonable, she decides, although there is someone waiting for her. He's not one to accept the "fashionably late" excuse, either.

Sakura's apprehensive voice reminds her to be patient. "Ino?"

"Hm?"

"I know it's cheesy," she mutters, lowering her eyes to the floor and fiddling with an empty vial. "But I'm proud of you for – you know – being so strong about all this."

"Did you expect anything less?"

"No," she says instantly, head snapping up in alarm. "Of course not. But, when Tsunade-sama described the Rapture to me, she made it sound like the addiction is instant, and – you're doing really well, and," Ino's snarky smile is growing by the second, and Sakura snaps, flustered, "I'm just trying to give you a compliment here!"

Ino tries to school her expression into something less patronizing. It is funny, though.

"Don't underestimate me, Forehead," her smirk is challenging and comfortingly familiar. "I've got it under control, and everything will be fine. I think you've just spent too much time mother-henning Naruto."

"Maybe you're right," Sakura laughs sheepishly.

Satisfied, Ino turns to leave, her hand once again on the doorknob when Sakura stops her for a second time. Ino bites the inside of her cheek. Deep breaths. It's not that urgent, she reminds herself, even if it is a little urgent, and besides, she can hardly blame Sakura for wanting to talk to her. While Ino is out investigating and actively progressing the mission, Sakura is stuck here all day in this empty room with nothing but a few books. Her company is probably sorely missed, even if Sakura is too self-conscious to admit that weakness explicitly.

"I meant to ask you," Sakura continues, bouncing her leg and looking ten-years-old again. Some things don't change, Ino notes amusedly. "How's it going with Satoshi?"

"Good," she shrugs. "He's approached me every time so far. I think I'm becoming his favorite plaything."

Despite the nonchalance, Sakura grimaces. She can only guess what that means. "Any chance you'll be able to bring back an unused patch soon?"

"Not likely. Maybe in a few more days, but I can't exactly ask him outright."

"I know, I know, I just…"

Ino sighs theatrically and pushes herself off the doorframe. She bends down, poking Sakura in the forehead.

"You," she says firmly, "just worry about using this," she jabs it again. "And I'll worry about this," she gestures at her body, cocky smile in place. "You're better off sticking to your strengths, after all."

Sakura's eyes narrow. "I can't tell if you're calling me ugly or not…"

"I'm just saying that your brain is your best asset."

"The way you said it makes it sound like it's my only asset."

"Exactly. It's the same thing."

"But – wait a – hey!" Sakura jumps to her feet. "Get your ass back here, Pig!"

But Ino's already slipped out the door, snickering to herself as she descends the stairs.

#

The city of Fukidate is utterly dismal at all times of the year. In the disgusting July humidity, it's even worse. The streets are wet from the morning rain and smell vaguely of sewage and salinity. Meandering late night wanderers cluster just outside the periphery of street lamps, their heads down and shoulders hunched. It's not a nice neighborhood. Here, eye contact only invites hostility, so Ino follows their lead. She keeps her mouth set in a neutral line and her eyes on the sidewalk a few feet ahead of her, though her senses are primed to interpret oncoming danger.

Not that she isn't purposely walking straight into the biggest danger of all anyway, but still. Getting mugged sounds like a bad time.

She struggles between making it to the party faster and risk sweating, or walking slowly to avoid having her jeans rub uncomfortably against her body. She's going to be early at this rate, but there's a sense of importance that she can't quite combat. It would hardly be a good idea to keep Satoshi waiting.

The party is open to anyone interested, and she suspects the fact that he's invited her specifically can only mean he's requesting her presence personally. Progress is being made. It's a good thing. Ino the person might be cringing a little bit in expectation of what she may or may not have to do to stay in the sleazy guy's favor, but Ino the kunoichi is quite pleased with how quickly she's climbed the social ladder into the spotlight of Satoshi's wandering attention. There are plenty of women to pick from, after all, but he'd chosen Ino.

Not that she's not the obvious choice, she thinks, perhaps a bit arrogantly. Quality over quantity and all that.

The party takes place in a glorified drug den, an abandoned three-story warehouse where the only lighting comes from single bulbs strung up from the ceiling, wires exposed. The walls are bare wood, scarred and weathered. All of the dealer's efforts have evidently been spent on the sound system. Music vibrates all three floors. It's not like the people are here for the décor, anyway, Ino thinks wryly. Not a single person inside is sober, but rather patched-up by the dealers at the door before they're even allowed to enter.

It takes her only a minute to adjust to the volume. A fresh patch adorns her arm, and already, she can feel herself rising. The turning of the world feels like a slow song. The bumping, grinding bodies slide against her as she makes her way through the crowd, and the room is already full to bursting. The skin of the other revelers against her own is like a hand on her thigh after a long night of pent up sexual frustration. It's no wonder the party never really stops here.

Ino is no pushover, though, not in self-control or anything else. Pleasure is what it is: it feels good, but it's not worth basing her life around.

Even if it does feel really, really good.

At least half of the people here are completely nude, and others are coupled against the wall in conjoined, writhing masses, lost to the Rapture and the music and the party. She stops to observe one pair pressed into a corner. The look on their faces. Her skin tingles, and she wonders at the heady sensation making her body twitch and her muscles tense uncomfortably – go on, part of her mind whispers suggestively – but only briefly, and then she's navigating the crowd again.

Satoshi finds her first. He comes up behind her and wraps his arm around her middle. The feel of his hands against her skin makes her blood rush to the surface, which is good news for him. Her ninja reflexes demand that she throw him over her shoulder and kick the shit out of him, but they're slowed, dumbed down to the point of being muted almost completely, so when he presses his pelvis against her, she doesn't complain.

She knows it's him because of his cologne, which smells like herbs and conjures images in her drug-addled brain of having urgent, passionate sex in the woods, which sounds quite nice right about now, and she also knows he wants her to dance. She does. Her ass is pushed hard against him – she can feel the erection through his jeans and it feels like she's a meadow and he's a deer stepping lightly across the soft earth, like opening her arms to him would spark the world into movement again, like –

Damn drugs.

With great – fake, not real, not real – reluctance, she separates herself from him when the song ends and turns around with her best flirtatious smile. He's grinning, and she wonders if the short hairs of his goatee will feel like sand on a beach, but she doesn't touch it. When he reaches for her to pull her back, to grind their bodies together like flint and stone, she steps coyly away.

He gets the message. His hand goes for her arm instead, fingering the used patch before pulling it off.

"You seem to have a high tolerance," he whispers in her ear.

She's not sure if it's a compliment. The feel of his breath, the hands on her hips as he leans forward, is perhaps the most arousing sensation she's ever felt in her life.

But, again, Ino's no slouch. The part of her mind she's hidden away, reserved for moments like these, she calls upon now. It reminds her that Satoshi is a drug dealer. It tells her that she needs information. She wants something from him, and despite what her body is demanding, it's not his cock.

She leans her face against his. "I just find that pleasure is better," she whispers in his ear, "when it lasts longer."

Satoshi pauses with his hands halfway up her ribcage and laughs.

"That won't be a problem."

"Maybe we'll see," Ino replies flippantly, smirking at him. She takes another step back and makes her way towards the stairs. His eyes follow her the whole way.

When she gets to the top floor, Ino allows herself a moment to take a deep, steadying breath. She won't have sex with him if she doesn't have to, and besides, not doing so gives her a great amount of leverage. He's obviously intent on getting her in bed. If she plays her cards right, maybe she can get the information she needs – and the drugs – before having to stoop to that level.

Right. That's the plan, she reminds herself resolutely. Despite what she might be feeling now – her skin sensitized nearly to the point of pain, her brain demanding she fix it – she knows that no real part of her wants to sleep with this man.

It's just really fucking hard to remember that.

But she will.

It'll be fine.

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