Summary: "I am not God, Sasuke"—the loss of the honorific she'd always attached to his name drilled a hole through his heart—"I cannot absolve you from your sins," she tells him. "But do you forgive me?" he asks, hopeful though he does not show it. An achingly painful smile touched her lips. "That is the question, isn't it?" she says softly, a hint of bitterness lacing her words.
Because she said,
"I'd rather wear your blood on my clothes like a trophy than see you fall deeper than you already have."
i.
Too long had been the time since the young Uchiha associated Konohagakure with the word "home". Longer even was the time he last saw the place that was his birthplace, where beautiful and terrible memories alike originated. Though not too long was the last time he ventured the same path he was currently threading towards the village, this time however, it wasn't his self-assembled team accompanying him (with the purpose to annihilate the place he once called home) but two masked members of the ANBU by his either side (to either ensure he arrives to the village safely or simply because no one trusted him anymore), both of which were personally chosen and assigned by the Hokage to escort him to answer for the crimes he committed. He wasn't restrained though; not that it was needed, of course. Besides, it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.
At that last train of thought, the young raven-haired man scowled. Obviously, the eighteen months he spent in that horrendous prison underground of the Land of Iron—sentenced by the hot-headed Raikage, was not enough.
In all honestly, though he would never admit it out loud, it wasn't the trial nor the punishment awaiting him that made him wary about his "homecoming," as the dobe had eloquently dubbed it. The apprehension he was feeling wasn't the result of the crimes he committed against the village, the nation, nor the whole world; it was the crime he committed when he was thirteen, the night he left the village, and the unforgivable actions he did when he was sixteen, on the Land of Iron, against a certain girl who her namesake always reminded him of. Don't get him started with the unspeakable action he was manipulated to do amidst the chaos of the Fourth Shinobi War.
Speaking of the Great War, he wondered how she was now. The injuries she suffered from his Chidori was fatal, and there was nothing he could do, as her blood splattered all over his clothes, soaked his hand, then collapsing in his arms.
Naruto told him, a couple of weeks into his imprisonment, that his 'beloved Sakura-chan is well and alive.' Heck, as a matter of fact, despite the life-threatening injuries she suffered, she was already out and about.
Out and about... huh? Yet, in the year and a half he spent in an underground prison, she never ever visited him.
"Sakura has more important, pressing matters to attend to," he was insolently informed by the voluptuous blonde Hokage when he demanded once of her presence.
Important pressing matters... my ass, he sourly thought. It was obvious she was avoiding him. Not that he could blame her. After all the things that went between them, her interaction with him—or lack, thereof—was tolerable enough.
Then, as the three of them approached the tall imposing gates of the Konoha, he caught a glimpse of pink, teasing his eyes.
tbc.
inspiration: we were discussing about reconciliation during my religion class when the light bulb lit up.
note(s): this is a multi-chaptered drabble fic. set post-shinobi war.
challenge-to-self: first canon fic. and point of view must be only through sasuke's eyes (hinthint!)
reviews are highly appreciated.