Annual Alliance Gala in Sunagakure, One Year Ago
Sweat, perfume, and the scent of champagne muddled together over the staccato of heels blended with the dampened flat of patent leather dress shoes. Alcohol sploshed from the other side of the room and appropriate apologies were given in Shizune's high-pitched, anxious voice.
Alcohol still fizzled in Sakura's nose and churned her stomach. She closed her eyes with a death grip on the bar counter to let the feeling wash over her. One more drink would fix the feeling of being at sea in the middle of the desert.
Her stomach roiled again and the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Someone was watching, judging, maybe. 'Oh look at the Hokage's poor apprentice. She can't handle her liquor,' they might be thinking. Well, one more drink would cure that feeling too.
She opened her eyes again and stared at the diamond pattern stretching from wall to wall, interspersed with lapis corner tiles. Allowing her eyes to trace the glossy mosaic in the center of the room hidden by the dancing feet of Suna and Konoha shinobi, she finally landed on a familiar pair of shoes—basic men's dress shoes in a soft matte black that she'd helped pick out at the store last month. The silly crow socks she bought as a joke were hidden beneath his dress pants. Over her objections, Shisui had said he would treasure them forever and wear them to every important occasion.
Raising her hand to the bartender, she held out her champagne glass for more. Tacky, perhaps, when the toast was only five minutes ago, but it helped cure the boredom of the evening. The bartender was professional enough not to judge, or at least not to let judgment show on her face.
"Anything else, ma'am?"
"Actually, can I get a whisky on the rocks for that man over there?"
The bartender nodded and pulled out a glass from under the bar.
"Oh! And sake, warm, please."
And there it was, the first sign of judgment in the wrinkle between the bartender's brow. Sakura opened her purse and then slid over a small pile of money when the whisky was handed to the waiter.
"It will be a minute on the sake," the bartender said before moving to the next patron.
Not that it mattered at the moment as Sakura rotated the stem of her champagne glass. The champagne bubbles tickled her nose as she subtly watched Shisui speak with a Suna official at the other end of the room. An odd thing, perhaps, but she liked watching him. She liked that he stood with the confidence of a man who had every right to be there, without a hint of self-doubt. The confidence broadened his shoulders a bit even as he leaned back against the wall casually with a tipsy swagger.
She liked watching his hands flex before he slipped his thumbs into his belt loops, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he laughed at something the man had said to him. His smile. God, she loved that. The champagne glass was warm on her bottom lip as she hid her smile in the glass. She adored his smile—too much sometimes.
He had a small dimple barely hidden in the corner of his right cheek that vanished entirely when he was truly happy. When he smiled, really smiled, at her, her belly warmed. She wondered if the trees felt like she did when the sun filtered through their branches. She could live on his smile so much like sun and rain, rooted in his warm touch, nurtured by the soft words he spoke in the dark of the night against her head. If she only had that, she wouldn't need anything else.
"Sakura-chan?" Naruto placed his hand on her bare shoulder, startling her out of voyeurism. His eyebrows knitted together and he glanced in the direction she had been staring at.
Sakura moved in front of him in an attempt to hide Shisui. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I called your name five times already. Come on, Gaara wanted to talk about something in the back."
"I'm fine here. I was getting another drink." Slipping down onto a barstool, she raised her hand to the bartender. She could see Shisui from the corner of her eye again and propped her chin on her palm. The thin strap of her dress fell down her shoulder when Shisui met her gaze. She winked at Shisui, enjoying the slight pink that rose to his cheeks before he concealed it.
Naruto lifted the sake cup the bartender had sat down in front of her and took a sip, wrinkling his nose in response. "How many of these have you had?"
"Of these? Tonight? Three maybe. No. Wait. Five? Then the champagne from the toast. And something fruity Itachi said I would like that he didn't. Why?"
"You're drunk." He gingerly fixed the fallen strap and removed his haori, placing it on her shoulders. The metallic Uzumaki crest caught the light on the back with its silver and ruby embroidery. No doubt Sasuke's mother had commissioned it for him as a jounin present. In fact, his entire outfit looked suspiciously like something Sasuke would wear.
Slipping her arms into the warm sleeves, she glanced back in Shisui's direction. Shisui took a sip of the whiskey in his hand and held it up to her in a toast. She returned the gesture with the cup of sake, though it spilled slightly onto the counter. The corners of Shisui's eyes tightened as he stared behind her at Naruto before whatever it was was carefully concealed again.
As much as she hadn't wanted to admit it to herself, the backless silk gown was cold, and Naruto's brocade haori was a welcome relief. She hadn't thought about the cool desert nights when she bought the dress—only about Shisui's darkened eyes and parted lips when she had modeled it for him. A lot of good it had done her. He was on the other side of the room and had been speaking with several Suna officials all night. Clan relations, she supposed.
"Come on," Naruto urged, placing his hand on her waist over the jacket. He smelled like ramen, though where he had found that at a wedding, she didn't know. He picked up her glass of sake and the serving bottle in one hand as he helped her down off the stool.
"I'd rather stay."
Naruto tsked, a sound so much like Sasuke's that a giggle slipped past Sakura's lips. He lifted his chin to someone in the crowd, Sakura took the lapse of his attention to give Shisui one last glance.
Sakura hummed to herself as Naruto forced her to move through the crowd with one arm around her waist. Her feet dragged behind her when Sasuke joined and half-lifted her off of the ground. She threw her arms around their shoulders. The hum grew louder, and she bobbed her head along to a tune that echoed the beat of the Suna steel drum band.
"We can't take her anywhere like this," Sasuke said. "Especially not to Gaara's office, we don't know who else he's entertaining."
"We can't leave her back there, dattebayo."
Sasuke tsked and glared down at her.
Sakura mimicked them and shook her head. "I'm fine. I don't need baby sisters."
The hallway was quieter, dimmer, than the wedding reception in the hall. Sasuke and Naruto were doing that thing again where they would trade looks that amounted to an entire conversation. The exclusion was annoying, the feeling only slightly lessened by the alcohol.
Sakura unwound her arm from Sasuke's shoulder, and he tightened his grip around her waist. "No, I wanna take off my shoes. They're pitching my toes."
"For fucks sake," Sasuke groused. "Here, just give her to me."
Sakura petulantly frowned at him. "No. Nodda doll." She belched then giggled at Sasuke's sour face and wrinkled nose.
"Yeah, here." Naruto took her arm off the back of his neck, helping Sasuke to lift her up. "Better you than me."
Sasuke grunted under her weight; she rather thought he was neglecting the training basics. At least he smelled nicer than Naruto, though. He must have borrowed his brother's cologne. When she had started spending so much time with Itachi to recognize the scent, she wasn't sure. Missions, perhaps? Sakura closed her eyes and laid her cheek against Sasuke's shoulder. She opened them briefly when she felt the breeze from Gaara's open office door.
The incense Gaara burned drowned out the familiarity of Sasuke's borrowed cologne and the ramen. It faded into leather. There was a warm blanket, a soft pillow, and lights that were further dimmed on the other side of her closed eyes. Soft conversation between the three men comfortably filled the space until she felt like she was floating on it.
Hours passed until the barest pink crossed the horizon against the windows in Gaara's office. Sakura groaned quietly against the hangover that pounded in her head and her dry mouth.
"There is water on the table," Gaara said from behind the desk on the other side of the office. He shuffled a stack of paper then placed it into an organizer to his right.
Sakura finished the glass in one swallow. Hangovers were an easy fix; the dry mouth and throat, however, were trickier. "What time is it?"
"Four in the morning."
She nodded then laid back down on the throw pillow. "I probably should leave."
Gaara briefly looked up from his work then looked back down in silence.
"Alright, I get the message."
He gave her a slight nod.
"Where'd my teammates go?"
"Back to their rooms."
"Alright, alright. I'm leaving."
"I'll escort you," Gaara said. He stood up from the desk, brokering no further argument.
Sakura sighed as she buckled her heels back on. She wondered who had taken them off. Naruto, probably, Sasuke didn't care overly much about her comfort, only her safety.
If the night air had been cold, the slight dew in the predawn hours was frigid. She shuddered beneath Naruto's haori. The hair on the back of her neck lifted as they passed the shadows cast in the alleyway from the sparse light. She accidentally tightened her hand in the crook of Gaara's arm. If he noticed, he didn't mention it or let it show on his face.
"So…nice night."
"It's the morning, but yes."
"True. True."
"I'd like to extend an offer of employment, if I may."
Sakura's steps stuttered, he slowed his pace to accommodate her misstep in the dark.
"We lost many of our senior medics in the war and have yet to recoup the loss. Suna will double your current salary if you agree to train our junior medics and stay on as the hospital director for a minimum of two years. You may have time to think it over if you wish."
Sakura let the words hang in the air for a moment as they continued to meander through the streets.
Gaara's voice had a comfortable rasp to it, it was one of the things she liked about him—his comfortable silence. He was a good man overall, and she had come to enjoy his friendship over the years. Sometimes he reminded her of Itachi, though he was warmer, odd enough to say. Maybe it was sad in a small way that he never had someone like Shisui in his younger years. So much lost time devoured by hate it all seemed to have transformed into love. As they walked, she wondered how Itachi would have turned out without Shisui.
"Gaara? I'm sorry, but I have too many personal obligations in Konoha right now. Too many people who need me."
He inclined his head and placed his hand on top of hers in the crook of his arm. "I understand."
The buildings began to rise higher as they reached the small tourism district on the edge of the village. Still, the further away they moved from the Kazekage's tower, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
"We're here." Gaara opened the door to the adobe hotel. The creak from the hinges resounded in the silence.
"Thanks." Sakura hugged him from the side and entered. He gave her a slight nod before closing the door. It wasn't long before her feet found their way down the dirty hotel carpet to Shisui's room. She knocked quietly, hoping not to disturb him if he had actually gone to sleep.
Before Shisui could open the door all the way, Sakura's lips were on his, pushing him back in the room. Groggy and half asleep, he felt good against her—warm and strong. She lifted her inner leg against his hip and closed the door with her spare hand.
Leaving bruising kisses down the side of her neck, he threaded his fingers through her hair and fought the few bobby pins that remained. The dress slipped down her arms and pooled on the floor. He lifted her from the floor and wrapped her legs around his waist to carry her to the bed. The sheets smelled like him when he laid her down on the bed. It was too comforting, even in this foreign village. Being surrounded by him made her eyelids grow heavy as though she hadn't walked for a mile in the brisk morning air.
Shisui kissed her again, hovering over her on his forearms for a moment. She had to admit to herself, she liked the view from here in the dim light.
"Come on, you lush. I want you, but we need to sleep," he whispered while reaching down and unbuckling her shoes, letting his fingers linger on her ankles.
She didn't remember cuddling against him, could only remember the warmth of him against her. He smelled so good, just like home.
Two Days before the Alliance Gala in Suna
Freshly turned dirt. Yes, that was the smell. Freshly turned earth deep below the sand. Chakra pulsed in his chest, he could feel the power coursing through living tissue. Living? Was he living? Half-living, a remnant, he supposed as a breeze pushed from the bottom of a wooden door lashed together with rope. Memories forced their way into his brain, fragments of the past that had him collapsing against the wall in pain.
A small boy with curly hair, begging his cousin for one more ride. Rocks. Rocks. Crushing, biting, burying. Sobs and blood. No. It was wrong; these weren't his. Chakra pulsed once more gnawing through the tissues in his arms and eyes. Pain. He couldn't stop the pain. Retreating into the stranger's memories, he could see the curly-haired boy from afar, grown now. Commanding even. Pride.
Sobs wracked their way through his chest from this stranger's emotions. Anger burned through him at the weakness. Weakness like…he failed to remember her name…what was her name? Chiyo? The wind shifted from outside the window, blowing open the curtains to reveal the clear night sky. Stars burned brightly overhead as they only did in the desert. So clear, so bright, too bright, he realized, even through the pain that throbbed in this body's eyes.
"What are stars, nii-san?" the small boy asked as they lay in the grandmother's spare room.
He had shrugged. "Souls of heroes is what grandpa used to say. Or aliens. Maybe you're an alien." The boy giggled when he had tickled him, giving away their awake state.
"Stop it," he whispered to himself. "Stop it now!"
Hours passed, a clock ticked in the corner of the room until the sun washed away the clean of the night in blood red. He let it bathe him too and wash away the nostalgia, the disgusting feeling of something he could not name or the names he could no longer reach. With every passing minute, he let the sun's blood consume him until all he could feel was hate.
Standing up from the wall, he threw on a robe hanging from a hook on the back of the door and placed the hood over his head. No one would look twice at him here; his instincts were sure of it.
"Home," something whispered from the recesses of his mind as he opened the door into the heat of the day. Sand and dirt picked up in small plumes carried to the alleyways. A child laughed from the end of the block. He imagined breaking their skull with his hands, cracking them open like eggs in a skillet.
The eggshells bubbled to the top of the uncooked egg whites along with the curly-haired boy's unsure laughter. "Uh, nii-san?"
He laughed. "You're not supposed to cook the whole egg, dummy. Just the insides." The outer border of the egg popped and sizzled as he dumped the contents into the sink. "Try again. Maybe we use a bowl this time?"
Walking helped. One foot in front of the other, allowing the mud and straw buildings to pass by him like something from a distant dream. The road began to change from dirt to brown clay tile as it led to the village square. The fountain was new; his body hadn't anticipated it. He sat down at the ledge and listened to the water.
A pink-haired woman stifled a laugh from the corner of his eye. "You're so ridiculous," she said to the man she was with.
"Hmm, but you like my ridiculousness," the man said with a kiss on her cheek.
He recognized the man's voice.
"Nii-san?" The man's broken voice didn't match the torn commander's vest on his back. "Nii-san, why? Why didn't you come home?!"
No. This wasn't his. This wasn't his memory. Anger flared through him. He could feel it coursing through this body.
The man at the other end of the square placed a hand on the woman's waist and moved her behind him, obscuring her from his view. He raised an eyebrow at him, and the remnant adjusted the hood over his head.
"Come on, sweetheart, let's get back to the hotel."
The woman placed a hand on the man's forearm and raised an eyebrow toward him. Her expression was almost comical for how it mirrored the other. "What's wrong?"
The man was quiet for a moment, carefully surveying the area before a smirk grew on his face. "I want to enjoy another preview of that dress."
She giggled at that, nodding her head then walking off with him.
What was that? He wondered. What were these memories of this man? He didn't like the way they looked together. There was an unequal power balance that he could feel between the two. It made the hate fester and grow within him.
Hate. Yes. That was the emotion. Hate. He could understand that. He followed them at a distance, instinct kept his chakra tightly concealed around himself until he was at a rooftop across from the hotel they were staying at.
Chakra blazed through his eyes as he watched through the window in the shadows of the sunset. The tenderness the man displayed as he caressed the woman's arm did not match the memory of a fierce shinobi facing down a tailed beast. Where were the stress lines he normally carried? The remnant decided it was wrong. It wasn't possible for a human to be so different, was it?
"Shisui, my cousin, Shisui," that small annoying voice whispered again.
"Disgusting name," he replied aloud. "Yet interesting prey."
Prey? Yes. They would be his prey, bending and praying for his mercy. Shisui should be punished over and over for forcing his way into his mind. Pain. He would be the one to inflict the pain this time. Not this man. Not the memory of him. Nor the memory of the boy. Pain—it would be great, exquisite, pure, and beautiful. A true form of art. A lesson of survival that would quell the urge to protect, to teach, to guide. For what better a teacher than reality?
The woman lifted the shirt over Shisui's head, and he moved his neck to the side to grant her access. A fool's prerogative to be so vulnerable with another. Shisui glanced at the window, kissed his apparent paramour, then closed the open curtain.
"Foolish prey," the hunter amended as he settled into the spot on the adjacent rooftop.