The Clone Gambit

by viridianeye

Sakura manages to stab Obito's Rinnegan when asked, sending the war into chaos anew that prevents Madara from casting the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Everyone's fate depends upon Sakura's game of cat-and-mouse with Madara. With the damaged eye her curse and key, Sakura's forced to push herself and her unexpected allies past their limits. Can she stop it all from ending in Madara's favor?

12. Chapter 12

12

The telescope creaked with protest as the man wrenched its scope to the side, pressing his face hard enough against it that there was a red ring around his eye. Yes: he had caught sight of her for sure. There was no mistaking that pink hair, and she wasn't trying to hide either as she strode down the street, something in hand that he was trying to spot through the zoom lens.

As he kept the telescope's eye trained upon Sakura where she walked far down below in the street, the photographer scrambled to grab the camera from its trusty perch on the table next to him, thumbing it to life without having to look at the buttons. Its chiming sound burnt a thrill through his throat like the hot drinks he spotted her carrying: he was going to make good money off of these shots.

The news had finally caught up with the gossip, the late-night stories told over sake that had spread between the villages. Konoha's most-read news had paid handsomely for the two pictures he had sold them. Now that he knew they'd be willing to pay for more, the photographer was more than happy to spend time up here, in his high-level little flat, following the now famous Sakura with the eye of his lens wherever he might spot her in Konoha.

Other sets of photos long-rejected hung posted on his walls: images of hooded Union members, blurred shots of Kage faces, and several copies of one photo that had sold well of the Edo-Tensei Lord Second Hokage, his pale skin cracking across his face as he glowered out at the villagescape.

It had been a particularly lucky day to spot him while the photographer had his camera in hand. He'd thought at this point that the rumours of all the Kages having been brought back as Edo-Tensei reanimations were perhaps just colourful rumours, but to spot the Second Hokage himself briefly where he'd emerged from the top of the Hokage tower was a rare treat indeed.

He hadn't looked well, as well as an undead could look. He was flaking away, his blue Edo-era armour looking as fragile as his strange reanimated facade. He had looked incredibly cross, as if he was annoyed at his own deteriorating state. Perhaps that was why he and the other reanimated Kages were being kept out of sight… working from the shadows.

No matter. If he couldn't photo them, it wasn't his business. The photographer returned his attention to his new main source of income where she strode below with not one, but two to-go drinks in hand, today's newspaper tucked under her arm.

Two? She must be off to meet someone, by how it looked. The photographer and his telescope carefully panned several degrees as he followed her path through the streets from his apartment flat's high ground. Was it someone else famous she was seeking out?

Most likely. He grinned, his grip tightening enough on his telescope that its well-worn hinges squeaked in protest. Double the money.

The photographer bounced lightly in his seat like an excited child: all the photos on the corkboards along the walls that he had gotten in the previous months of Sakura and some of her interactions with Madara were going to fetch him so much ryo that he wouldn't know what to do with it all. Patience. He couldn't sell it too quickly to the news publications or they'd get suspicious he'd doctored the shots.

The photographer watched with avid interest as Sakura glanced down at her copy of the newspaper, beaming at it like one might gaze upon a particularly adorable child.

The man smirked to himself as Sakura unknowingly smiled upon his work. Those twinned photos on the newest edition of the papers were from the very camera resting in his palm. He didn't need to be able to read the tiny text of the distant newspaper to know what it said.

That front page proudly proclaimed The Opposing Faces of the War. Sakura's own face featured in one of two photos, a particularly nice shot of her smiling. The other photo was not his best, blurred and cropped as he'd taken it from quite the distance, though it had still brought a high price: Madara, the other Face of the War, scowling as usual.

The photographer shifted upon his stool, still pleased with himself. The strung-up photos from clotheslines and corkboard around him rippled in the breeze as he cranked open the window, the sunlight and cool air breezing in.

He withdrew to sip his tea, humming. Today, he would get even more prized photos, and then he'd buy himself even better camera equipment, celebrating his blooming career.

He peered back through the telescope, checking on Sakura — but she'd gone, the street empty once more. He gave a curse, the telescope giving another plaintive creak as he pushed and pulled it around, trying to catch her in his lens once more.

There. Twenty minutes of cranking and peering and he'd thankfully caught a new glimpse of telltale pink around the corner of a side-street. He zoomed in further upon where he'd seen her, several cameras within close reach and one at the ready.

Patience; patience. The photographer steadied the lens, adjusting its focus. Clearer… sharper…

What? No. He laughed, sitting back from his telescope and shaking his head. Rubbing at his eyes, the photographer sipped his tea, took a deep breath, and told himself to calm down a little. It was concerning if his excitement over his upcoming fortune was giving him hallucinations.

Okay. Time to try again, now with a clearer head. Cracking his knuckles, the photographer carefully set his eye against the telescope again, refocusing it upon what he'd just seen with the self-assurance of one who had done this many times.

No… the image remained the same, just a little clearer, a little crisper, and the photographer's hands were immediately sweaty as he sat perfectly still upon his stool, his breath unconsciously halted in his lungs.

Sakura reading the paper within the cool shadow of an alley, looking both animated and happily content as she gestured with her free hand, undoubtedly talking about the news… the man she leaned into unsubtly like she belonged against his side, her pink locks a splash along his shoulder as Uchiha Madara himself towered over beside her. His amused, mismatched eyes were slightly aglow in the dark of the leaf-littered alleyway.

Even in his shock and at the distance he was from them the photographer could feel the utter lack of animosity or even hostile tension between the two of them. The way Madara was regarding her was a dangerous sort of affectionate, a gloved hand tracing along the slender curve of her side — and how Sakura didn't mind at all, seeming to glow within his dark presence like an exposed live wire given an electric current.

All kinds of flabbergasted, the question hung in the photographer's mind: if not enemies, what were they?

Not friends. He had seen all kinds of couples in his years of being something of a paparazzi, and thought perhaps these two were predator and prey by the hungry way Madara watched her, but it was Sakura circling him like he was her doomed quarry instead, her smile almost as bright as her glittering stare. She was a starcrossed moon caught in orbit, the strange force between them like that of magnets, perfect opposites in every way drawn into powerful attraction.

Yet still the photographer could see that they were not lovers, either. There remained a visible, measured distance between them that they shifted and slid around, as if their power gap was tangible. Within that dynamic was the curious dissonance of how it was not one-sided. He was quietly observant of her every movement, shifting subtly as if she was the one deciding their changing tides; her every move seemed rooted in his own, in turn.

A dance, a perfect push-and-pull, and fascinating to watch, even with the context of how dangerous it was to catch them like this. The photographer found himself still guessing at possible labels, both for himself, and in question of what the newspapers would come up with once he'd sold them their image as a pair in glossy photo-print.

He grinned to himself, pulse high and tight in his neck as he focused carefully on keeping the scope perfectly centered. This image would show it all: they were not fighting like they should as enemies in a war. These two weren't even pretending to hate the other; shameless, comfortable, content, the newly publicly-proclaimed Opposing Faces were very much in union, and doing something so utterly domestic as reading the paper together over tea in their assumedly unseen little corner of the world.

The photographer slouched back again, though he didn't dare shift his telescope away from its spot. He locked it into position so it wouldn't drift from its focus, and he asked himself first if he'd gone crazy.

Had he lost it? Or was he looking at a scam? Were they people in costume, going for some kind of shock value? He peeked again, only to find that each Sakura and Madara looked very much like themselves to the point that sweat pearled upon the photographer's neck and back. There was a reason it was difficult to photo them, and that the shots brought high value… they were elusive, they were observant, and though Sakura was scary enough like her Hokage, Madara was easily the most dangerous man alive. Being high up here several miles from their location and well out of their sightline brought the photographer little comfort.

He could be brave. Think of the ryo. The sheer amount of money this picture alone would bring… even just one, and the photographer hunched forward once more, breathing a little harder.

With scrabbling, sweaty fingers he took out his best camera, refocusing the telescope and making sure of Sakura and Madara's position before carefully adjusting his angle. Zooming in with the lens long enough to rival the telescope, he caught a perfect frame of the shocking pair as they read the paper and discussed their rise to fame that had now spread thoroughly throughout the nations.

Ah, and how that fame was about to change its tone, as soon as everyone found out about this. The photographer was sweating with excitement, nervous fingers adjusting the settings on his camera: what money this incredibly controversial image would fetch him, and right after the public announcement of Sakura's apparent successes against the feared Madara so far. The two pictures he had already sold had brought him good money, but this would be worth a veritable fortune. He didn't need to stage lighting, adjust angle, or try to pretty it up; the truth of it was raw for any viewer to understand, even if he himself couldn't decide on any single label yet. The fact that these two were definitively not enemies was more than enough evidence in itself.

This would be Sakura's downfall, no doubt, but that wasn't the photographer's problem.

Steady; aim… with a pounding heart, he started taking shot after shot, capturing the soon to be publicised couple on camera. He didn't notice as his sweaty thumb grazed over the flash button.

Click-flash.

Two heads in pink and wild white slowly turned in unison. The photographer's heart stopped in his chest as two sets of burning eyes slid directly up across the breadth of the village to him, visible through the open window, his telescope and camera in hand.

---

Sakura kicked open the shut double-doors as Madara strode through, seizing the terrified, fleeing photographer by the collar.

Sun fell in a golden puddle Sakura tracked through, glancing around thoughtfully with a knot between her brows while the photographer gasped his apologies. His gawping expression was accentuated by bugged-out eyes over the gloved hand choking him, holding him still in taut, merciless control. Even in his spotty, dizzy vision he dared not meet Madara's eyes as he loomed over him, feeling the lethal burn of his glare.

"Hmph." Sakura sidled up beside Madara to join him in towering over the half-slumped photographer; she regarded him without pity, her narrowed eyes just as lethal as the mismatched set beside her.

The photographer made a hissing yelp as she yanked the camera from around his neck free, its ribboned lanyard snapping from the force of her pull. He struggled again in Madara's grip, making piteous sounds while she removed the camera's SD cards; she regarded the expensive lens in her hand before crushing it with a satisfied look that had the photographer withering.

Slipping the cards into her pocket, Sakura glanced around again, making a face. "He's a fan of yours. And of me. Of us?"

The both of them were noticing the many photos of their faces hanging from walls and pinned to corkboards, as well as several more cameras and lenses left across counters and tables that were cluttered with plants and empty mugs of tea. The photographer could barely hear them talk over the terrified pounding of his heart, Madara's merciless grip around his neck only just restrained enough to prevent him from passing out just yet.

Sakura strode up to a nearby board, removing a photo with a half a smile. "Hey, this one is from that time I put on like twelve outfits to see if I could fool you from seeing I was just another clone." Madara slid her a smug side-glance as she slipped the photo into her pack. "You had certainly made a spectacle of yourself."

"Well?" she said conversationally, sliding two more shots from that particular day into her bag, "You never did tell me if my theory worked."

"It did, to a very minimal extent."

Sakura was smiling to herself as she started removing every photo that was of herself or Madara, stacking them neatly and stowing them into her bag. "So you do need to see some amount of skin to know for sure? Hah. Well, thanks for finally confirming that, months later." She cleared her throat, slightly flushed. "It was worth testing the theory either way."

Madara's amused huff made her little smile deepen. Crossing the small flat once more, Sakura found a desk overflowing with blank photo paper and a small photo printer. She shuffled through a stack of letters and recent correspondences with the company that had published the newspaper she'd just read over with Madara. His sharp eyes caught the flashes of pages she flicked through, catching the text without needing lingering glances to read, something she enabled and acknowledged in the way she made sure each was turned in his direction for a second before she shuffled them into her pack.

"He made good money for those shots he got," Sakura commented as the photographer blubbered increasingly incoherently to Madara, who hummed in response. "For pixelated photos," he agreed in a flat, irritated tone. His sliding glance back down to the photographer was acidic enough to nearly melt him down to the floor, gloved fingers holding him up by the throat to prevent him from doing just that.

"Enough to finance a house. I don't get it… medicine pays less than this and requires so much more skill." Sakura scowled, gathering up whatever other relevant photos she could find and stacking them, shoving them into her pack. "I feel grossed out being in here. Do you think he ever cleans?"

Madara sniffed, making a face. "Unlikely." The photographer let out an apologetic whimper, and gloved fingers dug harder into his neck in response.

Sakura was sure to remove the SD-card from the camera by the window. She left the telescope alone after a thought, though the rest of her searching was less gracious, rifling through everything she could to dig up the considerable amount of dirt on others that the photographer had collected. There were folders full of faces she knew, mostly in distant shots catching them doing things both innocuous and scandalous, some with notes mentioning estimated values for the shots. They dated back years… some Sakura recognised from the newspapers, and some she'd never seen, including a blurred shot of Tsunade and Jiraiya. She blinked at them without surprise and with a subtle upturn about her lips.

Those photos and folders went into her pack as well, flattened tightly together. Madara's mismatched eyes tracked Sakura as she crossed from wall to wall in the tiny studio apartment, gathering more photos and notes. Her pack was soon full, the walls emptied. Drawers were searched; easily-found secret stashes were plundered, even the photos of the Second Hokage taken, and Sakura paused before where several cameras rested. "Hm."

She lifted her fist, hearing the man let out a piteous, choked squawk as she prepared to crush the rest of his photography equipment.

Sakura didn't look away from her carefully positioned pile of cameras, raising her combined fists in the air. "Madara… don't kill him, please."

"You would spare him?" Madara scowled. The expensive cameras made satisfying crunching sounds as Sakura ground them under her fist. Leaving the mess of black plastic bits and crushed glass behind, she drifted over, a hand trailing along Madara's arm over his sleeve. "You know I don't like unnecessary violence or killing."

"You know that he will expose everything if we spare his life," Madara countered her as the photographer quivered in his iron grip. "Unless you want us to become public…?"

Sakura's gaze was distant for a moment as she looked out at the sunny day beyond the open windows. There was a brief shadow behind the green of her irises before she blinked, bringing her attention back to Madara and the problem struggling within his constrictive grip.

He had caught the distance in her stare, and he watched her with drawn brows, a subtle frown indenting his lips.

"You have a point," Sakura sighed. "Well, then…"

The photographer's blubbering grew louder. He thrashed, and it took a slicing glance from Madara to silence him again, shivering into a living puddle.

Any dark within her stare gone, Sakura eased back into Madara's space, a hand dancing up along his flared sleeve to his face. She cupped his cheek with a winning smile. "Let's meet in the middle," she persuaded him lightly, "can you perform a memory-altering genjutsu on him? Just enough to make him forget that any of this happened. I don't want his whole life ruined for this."

Madara eyed her as her thumb swept along his jaw. With a twitch about his mouth, he released the photographer in favour of snatching the hand Sakura had drawn along his face, leaning over her with a murmur. "Of course I can, but why should I? I do not consider this wealth-obsessed welp deserving of such gracious mercy. It is his chosen career path to ruin the lives of others, and in the most cowardly way. Sweeten the deal… demanding one."

Sakura grinned back up at Madara. Neither noticed nor cared that the photographer had slumped to the floor, watching them with wide eyes in a numb expression of fear. "I'll let you call it a favour," Sakura replied, her hand breaking free of his and dancing along Madara's toned shoulder over his robe. "Is that good enough for you?"

Madara's answering smile was positively nasty. "What I want, when I choose."

"Within reason, Madara," Sakura mumbled, having to look away from him and his glinting eyes as bright red scorched across her features.

Satisfied, Madara trailed a teasing finger along the colour flushing her cheekbones before humming with a smirk. "I very much look forward to it. Now…"

They both turned. Their eyes slid down to the photographer, who nearly disintegrated beneath the combined weight of their stares. "Please, no. Please. Mercy," he wailed.

"We just agreed to be merciful," Sakura informed him.

"Are you certain you took care of all the evidence?" Madara questioned her, and she nodded, patting her heavy pack. He hummed, gloved hands flexing. "Very well, then."

The genjutsu struck the photographer in a dizzying rush. As he slumped to the floor, headache throbbing, he watched the pair leave together in confusion. A dying thought declared his label for them before fading with his lost memories of the past year.

Neither looked back as they exchanged glances. Walking together as the shinobi world's most unlikely team, Sakura disappeared with Madara into the light of day, the sliding doors thundering shut behind them both.

---

Her eyes had begun to dry at last with the spinning of her mind, and Sakura hunched over the counter with taut shoulders, pinching her cup. With an unsteady breath she tilted her head back, downing the rest of its contents before hanging her head once more, pink locks trailing along the polished wood of the sake bar.

More of the dizziness, the warm pit in her stomach growing stronger with each shot of pure intoxication. She wanted to drown her thoughts until she had none but the pleasant spinning of being drunk.

"Another?"

She nodded. The bartender refilled her cup, disappearing once more behind taps and illuminated racks of bottles; he'd quickly learned she had no interest in small talk, which Sakura was grateful he'd recognised. It would be a blessing to be left alone… to persist in her decision to cut down any thoughts that formed with hazy drunkenness, for any thoughts that came to mind were bound up in images from today, yanking at her heartstrings and spilling loose more tears she had tired of shedding.

Sakura drew an unsteady breath, closing her eyes, shutting out the din of the busy bar around her. A few more drinks; a little deeper into this unfortunate vice she'd allowed herself to partake in. Perhaps then, she could forget today, at least for the evening. Perhaps once she did, she would feel less like a total failure, and she could go home to her bed to sleep a dreamless sleep.

Drunk as she was becoming, Sakura still sensed the whispers through the din of the bar, and she knew they were about her. It was difficult to ignore the unwelcome attention, even haunted as she felt. Damn it all; she should have hidden her unusual hair colour, the easy flag that identified her even to these unfamiliar civilians in this dive bar at the heart of the civilian district. She had come here hoping not to see anyone she knew, to cry into her drink secluded and unbothered.

Damn her recent fame. Damn it all.

Sakura covered her face with a hand, focusing on the spinny warmth her sake was bringing. She knew better from years of observing Tsunade drink away her sorrows, but she hoped the sake might help her through her turmoiling emotions anyway.

She sensed a leering smile to her right; a man had plunked down into the seat beside her. "I've heard about you. The face of the war, huh? Let me buy you a drink."

Sakura didn't respond, staring down at the counter. She subtly slid her sake cup safely within her view.

The stranger scowled as she continued to say nothing. "What, too good to talk to me now that you're famous? Don't kid yourself. We all know you were just another civilian before you made it big."

She sensed several more figures surrounding her. Another person, sidling in at her other side, sitting much too close. "Hey, pink girl."

More unwarranted nicknames that Sakura ignored, and she let out a shuddering sigh. She lifted her sake cup, taking a sip, asking the gods for the patience she needed as impatient voices clashed around her.

A poke at her arm, and she caught the offending hand in a flash. Shadowed green eyes met the flat gray of one of the strangers as she looked over through falls of pale hair, glittering in the dark. "Do not touch me."

"Oh, the lady has a voice!" Mockery came from nearly all directions; the other bargoers were watching. The bartender pretended not to notice where he polished a glass a safe distance away.

"Thinks she's better than everyone here, I bet," a woman's voice sneered. Sakura released the hand that had poked her, staring down once more into her sake glass.

None of their words mattered. She had endured enough in her life that she could brush it off; she had endured enough in the course of today that she could ignore them once more, and Sakura decided to pay the surrounding irate civilians no attention, downing another sip of her cheap sake with a soft exhale. They could call her whatever they wanted. None of them meant anything to her, and so their words held no weight against her heart.

Her brows twitched as she heard more voices murmuring and mocking. "Tch. The Hokage's snobby, stuck-up little pet. I bet she slept her way up to the top to gain favour."

"How else would someone as weak as her get the nickname 'Face of the War'? More like Butt of the War!" Laughter; clinking glasses. "Is that how she's kept Uchiha Madara on the chase, you think?"

Sakura lifted her head as each stranger continued to swap mockery. "Old man's so senile he can't take down a chūnin, even with a massive cult supporting him."
"He's hardly human anymore, is he? Like a demon. Have you heard about what he looks like?"

"Demon or not, he's just a sore loser since the First Hokage beat him into submission years ago."

"I can't wait to see it when the real powers in this war kill him. That'll be a great battle…" Murmurs of assent, names swapped between loud mouths as they went on. "The bastard deserves the suffering for all he's done."

Cheers. More clinking glasses, and a few murmurs from those discussing lives lost in the battles that had already taken place in the course of this war as well as previous. There had been many Konoha shinobi among the Fourth Division that Madara had decimated, leaving their family and friends behind.

Sakura's fist slammed into the bar so hard it splintered. A deep crack split through the polished wood all the way down to the other end. Bits of sawdust and dislodged splinters speckled the air and ground as she turned, her dangerous eyes sweeping over the paling faces of those around her. "I could give a damn what you make up about me, you ungrateful bastards," she thundered, her words subtly slurred, "but do not talk about Madara."

Her growl rang out across the busy bar through the ripple of silence that followed her words.

Incredulous expressions twisted around her. "You're defending him? You? You're supposed to be what's keeping him from putting us all into that big tree jutsu or whatever it is." Another hand prodding at her shoulder, and Sakura held still, shutting her eyes. "Touch me again, and I will break your arm."

Laughter. The hand remained, poking painfully, and Sakura caught the arm it was attached to.

The crack of their bones beneath her gripping hand resounded throughout the bar just as her warning had, and the stranger cried out, stumbling backwards as she released them with a tired sigh. Gasps, as others rushed to help him, a wide circle of seats near Sakura quickly vacating, the terrified civilians retreating from her reach.

Irritation wafted from Sakura like a dark aura. She didn't so much as glance over as the stranger she'd warned writhed on the ground, making piteous cries as he clutched at his arm. Whispers and gasps throughout the bar continued to rise through the humid air, and Sakura inclined her head, returning to her drink. Fool… she had given him ample warning.

"Another," she growled, sliding her empty cup forward. Her voice resounded through the bar, Sakura not fully aware of the way her presence was dark, rippling a cold kind of terrified respect between surrounding strangers. She had proven to them that even in her pink, seemingly weak appearance and even in her unusual sorrow, she was not one to be trifled with — they were all repeatedly reminded of this with every pitiful noise the injured provoker made.

The bartender was still staring at her in fear and indecision as the front door swung open. She would normally have paid such a detail no attention, but seeing the fear tighten and shadow the bartender's face even deeper as his flat eyes widened upon the newcomer interested Sakura. She chose not to turn, holding her empty cup expectantly.

The bartender's expression of uncertain fear was contagious. It spread visibly from face to mismatched civilian face until Sakura was inclining her head with the first smile she'd had all day. She lifted a hand, her pale skin illuminated in the low light of the paper lanterns above the bar.

"Make that two."

Silent civilians made way as a looming shadow cut through them, sliding into one of the many recently-emptied stools beside Sakura. "Good work," he commented as the wailing injured stranger was dragged out into the night by other civilians.

Sakura smiled down at her empty cup before releasing it, lifting her head and glancing warmly at Madara. He had probably seen and heard everything, and he'd not intervened: he had known she could handle herself.

She found that his eyes were obsidian instead of Rinnegan and Sharingan, the black hair drifting around his face in his usual henge. Ignoring the heated knot in her throat that rose as her gaze touched along Madara's features, Sakura accepted the pair of cups the bartender slid towards her without looking away, offering Madara one while holding his dark stare. "Sake?"

He accepted the cup; Sakura leaned back next to him. It further amused her that not even Madara's true appearance had been what frightened all the nearby civilians. His henge was enough to mask who he really was to them, since the image that was famously known of him at the moment was his Six-Paths self, an opposite image in whites and ghostly pale tones rather than the shadowy dark vision that he was now.

Sakura passed a hand over her forehead, annoyed at the dizzying pull she felt for either version of him. Ah; but it couldn't be helped. She set her drink aside for the moment, noting that her attraction to Madara was dangerous enough without the addition of alcohol releasing her already crumbling inhibitions in his presence.

Sakura huffed to herself; if the civilians around them had recognised him for who he truly was, they'd have all fled by now. He didn't need his identity to be known to scare others into submission.

She had come here to be alone, without the attention of comrades or family; she'd wanted to avoid Madara as well, knowing she couldn't trust herself not to cross the final few lines between them without alcohol.

There was an unexpected relief in his presence anyway, and Sakura swallowed hard, pushing her drink a little further away, glad he'd come but nervous for the drunken state he'd found her in. She'd just have to trust herself for now, and she tentatively did, even beneath the weight of Madara's sharp stare that flicked observantly along her hunched figure. She knew he could sense her weariness, her frustrations; her sadness, her sorrow.

All the heavy emotions from before were more of a poison to her than the sake warming her belly, and Sakura hung her head once more with a deflating sigh.

Madara's questioning frown had her shaking her head with her answer. "I had the worst day."

"Drinking does not solve that." He tasted his sake and made a face before setting it back on the bar, his wild black hair drifting around his scowl. Sakura's brows twitched as Madara ordered another, this time something top-shelf, and her smile was quickly gone as her day continued to ghost her mind.

"I know," she answered Madara, "but it distracts me." She watched the sake glimmer in her cup; they both pretended not to notice as a terrified group of people shoved their way out of the bar, too frightened to linger in either of their presences.

Sakura swallowed, her throat tight. "I lost a patient today."

"Is that not a regular occurence?"

"A child." She sighed miserably. "A little boy. Barely six…" Her hands slid up over her face as she spoke in short, strained syllables, like she was afraid to let just how much she felt fully show. "I did everything I could. But his injuries — they were so deep, and I tried everything. Things got complicated, he had a reaction that made things worse because it turns out he was allergic to the right medicines, and I just… I just…" Her entire frame shook where she hunched over the bar, her tears dripping into her sake. "I failed that boy and his parents. My very best effort was not enough."

Madara was silent as Sakura held back a sob. She bit down on her pain, forcing herself to be calm.

Deep breaths. She drew herself up, reminding herself to be strong: especially in front of Madara. She couldn't afford to let him see her this weak; she needed to maintain however much respect she'd earned from him, rather than let it all crumble in an embarrassing bar encounter.

His steel calm was Sakura's unconscious foundation to her struggling, allowing her to find a grip on her emotions again. She shook her head with a steady inhale as she regained control, her pink locks shadowing her haggard expression. "I understand that this kind of thing is inevitable, sometimes." Her breaths grew more even, though her words continued to flow, let loose by the sake on her tongue and the ache between her heartbeats. "As a doctor, I witness deaths frequently; almost every day. But when it's just a kid…" She glanced to the side with shame, her shoulders tightly drawn and fists clenching with her frustration. "What if it had been my child? What if I had failed my own family? I could never forgive myself. I could never forget."

"You want children?"

Sakura sat back on her stool, her haunted eyes following the flickering lights of the paper lanterns hung above the bar. "Of course I do, someday."

"It can be quite difficult for shinobi to be parents." She glanced over at Madara as he sipped his expensive sake, his gaze straying over the crowded bar as its somewhat hushed but lively din resumed.

Sakura eyed him, throwing out her brief reservations and taking a generous swig of her own drink. "How would you know? You never had kids."

He blinked, his dark stare gravitating back to her as she paused. "Did you?"

"No," Madara scoffed.

A pleasant drunk spinning circled Sakura's thoughts, the haze removing her self-awareness as she brought her gaze slowly over his tall dark-robed frame where he leaned beside her. Her unabashedly interested attention lingered upon each part of him before she dragged her stare back up to connect with his.

Her voice was soft, her question blunt. "How?"

Madara's dark pupils widened briefly before he chuckled, leaning over the bar beside Sakura with his smile half-hidden in falls of obsidian hair. "And you called me bold."

"What?" Sakura huffed, just sober enough to belatedly recognise her mistake, a flush creeping up her neck – though he didn't seem to mind. Their shoulders brushed as she looked back down at her drink, realising it was almost empty again.

"I had not the time nor the interest in any particular woman," Madara explained with a gradual exhale. His frown deepened, his dark stare dipping thoughtfully into his sake. "I understand your stress over the child who died. I myself had to witness even younger children die brutal deaths in my time. It is not something one forgets nor forgives."

Memories of the little boy's peaceful expression as he died flashed across Sakura's vision once more, and she tensed, wiping the tears from her eyes. It took so little to bring all the awful feelings of grief and failure back, and she tried to focus upon Madara instead, desperate to escape the dark that chased her heart. "I see," she managed through a constricted throat, "Your other brothers died so young? Izuna passed when you were in your twenties, right?"

His gaze flickered briefly with surprise as Sakura recalled Izuna's name so easily, even in her inebriated state. "Yes… only Izuna made it to adulthood before Tobirama took his life."

With a long, despondent sigh, Sakura hung her head, shutting her eyes. Her hand crept over and settled along Madara's knee as she spoke. "You lost multiple members of your family right in front of you, and here I am wallowing over the loss of a kid I barely even knew."

"Do not take my words as a rebuke." Madara tilted his head on a hand, sipping his drink idly. "I am merely expressing… that I understand your sorrow."

Downing her drink, Sakura drew in a shaky breath before slumping with grief, curling into herself as her heart ached with pain. Thoughts had blurred too much with sake, leaving the raw emotions beneath.

Sorrow; regret, failure… but even in her inebriation Sakura was not blind to the source of who unexpectedly soothed her pain even just by sitting with her while she drowned in her personal darkness. Her resulting gratefulness was an uninhibited bloom of deeply-seeded affection in a tide that had her turning, leaning into his side, causing him to stiffen as she pressed her face into his robes against his shoulder with an unsteady breath.

Gratefulness; comfort, relief. Sakura's mind spun, and she cared for nothing anymore but Madara's familiar warmth and her need to evade the heavy weight of her own emotions.

He was as rigid as if he was carved from stone, dark eyes shaded from the amber lantern-lights as Madara blinked down at the woman burrowed into his shoulder.

His brows twitched with indecision. Gloved fingers flexed, his stare upon her intense enough to make her skin prickle while she resettled her face along his shoulder. Sakura breathed him in, her exhausted expression becoming briefly peaceful before she exhaled his smoky pine-hinted scents once more. Half-turned upon her stool where she leaned into Madara's side, she was simultaneously haggard and beautiful, the stress tightening her features unable to diminish both the strength in her aura and the allure of her appearance. Even in the state she was in — the worst condition he'd ever seen her, worse even than when he'd mortally wounded her months ago — Sakura was frustratingly lovely.

However, that was not why he was here. It wasn't why he remained, nor why he adjusted his arm with a quiet hm, lifting it behind her back and allowing Sakura's head to fall further along his shoulder in a cascade of pale cherry-blossom pink. She hiccuped softly, her arm sliding across his lap while his raised arm snaked around her slim shoulders. Fully and gladly captured, she was burrowed into Madara's side, her stool making a scraping sound against the floor as she surrendered herself completely into his grip.

It was not for her allure… but he found that he was not entirely certain why he was letting her this close, no matter his confidence both that he was generally invulnerable and that she would not attempt an attack. It was her vulnerability he was here for. This was the perfect opportunity to finally pull all the information he needed from her and end this godsforsaken war at long, long last.

With a happy little sigh, Sakura turned her face against Madara's chest. He slid a hand through her pink tresses with a soft exhale.

The movement had been automatic, and he almost took his hand back, staring at his fingers in her silken locks like they had betrayed him. He glanced down at Sakura, then at the drink in his hand, frowning. What was he doing?

Setting the drink aside, Madara's frown deepened into a scowl. He was not accustomed to offering comfort; in fact, he could not remember the last time he had ever done so.

This unfortunate newest allowance of affection was unnecessary for securing his bond with Sakura. It had already been secured. He need not show her this support for it to continue, for her to feel it deepen and thus extend her trust of him further. She had inebriated herself thoroughly enough that she might not even remember, should he extract information about the war from her; she'd probably tell him anything in this moment, sparing any emotional fragility.

Madara's grip across Sakura's shoulders tightened. He was annoyed to the point of anger with himself as he continually did not make use of the logical urge to exploit her vulnerability for information. He should have done so already, weeks, even months ago; he should have delved through her pretty head and taken what he needed rather than entertained this long-con dance with her, inviting her to step deeper and deeper into the flames.

It pleased him that Sakura burned for him, perhaps beyond even her own knowledge, but now that very burning prevented Madara from tilting her head back and plundering her mind for his own purposes. In the violent, colourful tango of their bonding over these summer months, he hadn't acknowledged the consequential warmth beyond the heat extending to engulf him until now, when it had become an obvious problem. Now, where the need to take the information he required was halted by the searing instinct inexplicably demanding that he neither harm nor betray this vulnerable once-enemy so trustingly secured within his grip.

So trusting… dangerously so. Sakura tilted her face along his neck, her eyes still closed, her breaths having become slow and peaceful. He might wonder if she had fallen asleep were it not for the thoughtful trailing of her fingers up along his leg, rippling over the folds of his disguised dark robes and resting across his chest. It had taken time, but she had become so comfortable with Madara's long-familiar company that she'd let herself fully immerse in his arms without doubt nor fear, her trust achingly apparent.

It was the best opportunity he'd get. Now was the time to harvest what he had sown. One genjutsu; quick, painless, likely to yield her original's location and any other things he might want to know. He might even succeed by simply asking in her current state.

Madara glared at Sakura, then at his own hands that favoured her over him, keeping her snared yet unwilling to prod her into the prone position he needed to invade her mind.

No. His body's answer was clear, his instincts unflappable, no matter the whispers in his head to exploit, to damn any thought of the bond he'd made and take what he had earned.

No. The resounding answer of his combined instincts was powerful enough that Madara nearly pried himself free to go and perform a thorough self-check, half-concerned he must be under some kind of subtle, influential jutsu; but he knew better, and his eyes narrowed as he reconsidered Sakura, finding that now was not going to be the time that he took advantage of this opportunity. She had grown on him far more than he'd thought she ever could. That she'd turned his own instincts against him; to make him feel almost protective, as if she'd become exactly what he had originally assumed she could never be—

He had not felt protective of anyone but himself in many decades. Madara scoffed, toying with his half-drained cup of sake while Sakura hummed a soft note into his shoulder. This was a problem for sure: he could already feel Black Zetsu's rage wherever he was hiding, and a righteous rage it was. He didn't have a good enough reason not to pry open Sakura's mind right now.

But perhaps he hadn't lingered on the why of his unwillingness to continue enough, and Madara felt the reasons coming more easily to him now, floating through his mind in sharpening clarity. It wasn't guaranteed this clone would even know her original's location. Sakura's original had been moving from hideout to hideout frequently enough that plundering this clone's mind would likely end up as a waste; and should she ever find out he had taken advantage of her vulnerable state, he would permanently lose her affection, her trust, and the salvaged, affirmed bond the two of them had built.

Madara exhaled wearily. The trickery of navigating a close relationship… he had forgotten how tiring it could be, no matter the nature of it, platonic or otherwise. It had been easier to be alone.

Easier, but perhaps not better. He scowled once more, still annoyed with himself; but regardless of his doubts, his instincts had never led him astray, instead winning countless battles and leading him closer towards the victory of his dream. If they demanded he spare her intoxicated mind for now, he'd do just that, leaving the rest of his irate self-reflection for a future date.

For this moment was not the time to have the other conversation he'd been meaning to have with her. It wasn't the time to make what was obvious, defined; nor to tease her with the ways he'd mused upon for claiming the favour she owed him. It wasn't time to force her to draw new lines, no matter where those might end up being.

Now was no marked moment or new milestone but to allow her to fall apart within his grip, as she needed. He'd call it additional foundation for deepening Sakura's trust in him, a clever way to pull her deeper into his treacherous and fathomless waters for the needs of his future plans, and Madara filed away the rest of his thoughts, dismissing his passing ire and inner frustrations with a gradual exhale. It was no matter; a non-issue. They had plenty of time.

Finishing off his sake with his free hand, Madara returned his attention to the present moment just in time to hear Sakura's drunken murmur against his shoulder.

He grew very still.

With a hiccup, Sakura sat up within Madara's arms, his hand along her back falling to catch her waist. Verdant eyes glimmered like the traces of sake along the curve of her lips as she brought her hand up over his heart. Lost in the warm beat, she paid no mind to his suspended state, her words burning in slow motion behind his wide eyes.

With the quickening rhythm beneath her palm over his chest, her smile widened. Sakura's delighted gaze shifted over to where his neck was exposed above his robe lapels, and she shifted ever-closer, her slim figure sliding within his grip.

Madara inhaled a little unsteadily as Sakura brought her lips to his shoulder in a slow, tasting teasing. She mirrored the way he had sampled along her neck not long ago in that shadowed alleyway, drawing her parted mouth against his skin that warmed with increasing heat in response. Her breath was warm and scented with sake, the feel of her lips dragging along his collarbone unexpectedly electric, like she was a living storm and he was the sole focus of her seductive, slow-motion attention.

Were she sober, she might have made a quip about inspecting his once-injured shoulder, but Sakura was silent in her intense focus. Her nose brushed his jaw as she lifted her head, her lips sliding open across his throat to pause over his heightened pulse. After a savouring moment, she slid higher, leaving a kiss that grazed along the defined edge of his jaw. One small, gentle hand brushed away an errant fall of unruly black hair so she had better access the further she went, her slightly smiling mouth savoring in her thoughtful, fascinated wandering.

Madara was still unmoving, now unwilling to shift in the chance that Sakura might suddenly awaken from her trancelike state.

His grip upon her had tightened, however, his urge to snap that trace free and pull her violently into his own ideas of where this should go increasingly difficult to withhold. The tracing of her lips along the side of Madara's ear had his fingers digging into the creamy skin of her thigh, and the soft, hot release of her exhale against his cheek increased his tension that had wrought him stiff from head to toe in effort not to throw her against the bar in front of all these civilians.

Patience. He had been patient for all this time. He could withstand another moment's worth without losing control, no matter what Sakura did to persuade him otherwise.

While Sakura slid tasting, reverent lips along his cheekbone, Madara cut his glare across the breadth of the bar, effectively frightening away curious stares. He dragged a possessive hand down the small of her back, appreciating again her curves, feeling painfully aware of how she'd nearly slung herself along his lap now with her bent knee dangerously close to hooking across the other side of his leg. She fit perfectly within his grip, melded neatly along his body, a living, breathing temptation as she rippled under Madara's seizing grip.

Gods. He had not braced himself properly for this level of sabotage from Sakura. Did she want him to lose control out here, in a public place? Was it her petty revenge for times he had teased her? He'd gladly punish her for this in all the ways she wanted — but she was not clear of mind, her shameless and nearly irresistible attempt at seduction driven from sheer and utter want without regard for the place or situation.

It was delightful. Madara would so gladly decimate the region for such an occasion if he didn't have to contend with the thousand reasons that was a bad idea. Never had he needed to exercise such restraint.

His brows drew together, his arms as hard as iron as he stopped himself again from caving in to violent, carnal instincts Sakura was pulling out of him with such smug, heated ease. Confident and uninhibited as well as slightly imbalanced in the way she slid her face along the side of his, Sakura was enjoying being his seductress, and they both knew it.

Madara's fingers slid down, settling around her hips; he wasn't sure anymore how much more of this he could take before passing the point of no return. Her teasing had been frustrating before, but this was a new level of testing frustration that was both delicious and tormenting, a mix of intensely irritating and pleasurable at once. He actively fought the desire to punish Sakura's silky, sudden seduction, especially knowing that she understood at least some of what she was doing to him.

His grip slid lower, seizing her supple backside cheeks and squeezing hard, a rumbling growl in the back of his throat his wordless warning. Her lips quirked in a victorious little smile in the sultry kiss she pressed along the side of Madara's face, her long intake of breath savouring and slow as she made her way closer.

With her every teasing movement, Madara was less gentle in return, and he wrenched Sakura deeper into his gravity with a shaky inhale as her teeth lightly scraped the defined line of his jaw in a brief, glancing brush of her parted lips. His hot exhale made the hair around Sakura's flushed face flicker, and now her thighs were sliding along the outside of his, their laps pressed so closely that there was no doubt she could feel exactly what Madara was straining to withhold from her. She radiated her own heat, in turn, eliciting explicit images from his memories, sharply invoking powerful urges to seize her and throw her down just as she was inviting him to do.

No more. This was not the time or place to give her what she sought, and just as Madara cleared his throat to growl his rejection, Sakura turned his face with gentle fingers, meeting his eyes.

He paused once more, though his dark eyes narrowed. He was at his very limit with her unapologetic and far too daring advances.

"Sakura…"

Her green eyes fluttered open wider at the sound of his roughened voice surrounding her, deep and warm, penetrating the haze that had taken her over.

Her eyelids drew half-closed again as Madara's gloved hand stroked down the fine edge of her face, his thumb pausing beside her victorious little smile. His pupils traced along her glistening mouth before he met Sakura's stare once more with a deadly-serious expression. He made sure she was listening before he finally gave her his answer, her earlier mumbled words continuing to circle within his mind.

"I will consider it."

Sakura's eyes widened at Madara's silken answer. She withdrew somewhat, seeming to realise herself in the wake of his unexpected response even through her intoxicated haze. Her hands flexed — one was buried in his wild hair, the other high along his inner thigh, gripping near dangerous territory. She was settled in his lap upon the stool, her arms around his shoulders, their limbs tangling.

Sakura's gaze flicked back to his mouth in time to see his lips quirk smugly before Madara disappeared beneath her, leaving her to tumble to the floor in a yelping mess of limbs and mussed pink hair, grabbing at the empty heated air she'd been immersed in moments before.

---

Sakura shoved through the stainless-steel doors into the lab. As she laid eyes on the center of everyone's attention she let out a low hiss. "How dare you!"

Several heads lifted as she stormed forward, launching into her tirade without hesitation. "Why do you have this! Why didn't you tell me you'd stolen it? What's wrong with all of you?"

Dressed in their lab coats and with notes in hand, each of Sakura's surrogate teammates were poised around an illuminated tank. It was not dissimilar to the one she carried, but elongated, affixed to the center of the small side-lab. Bubbling sounds accompanied the low hum of machines and glowing screens that surrounded the tank in a symmetrical ring.

Within the gently swirling liquid of the tank was Madara's lost arm, floating in the heart of the dull white-blue lights. Glass shards still pushed out of most of the arm's exposed skin; what formerly were his pale fingers were loosely clasped, the lifeless limb perfectly preserved in the tank.

Its image reflected sharply in Sakura's glare as she stood with clenched fists. "You bastards."

Jugo, Karin and Suigetsu exchanged glances while Orochimaru turned in his chair. He regarded Sakura with a slow blink while the others muted their surprise behind tight expressions.

Silence stretched out throughout the lab but for the gentle bubbling around Madara's stolen arm. Sakura's fists clenched and unclenched as she resisted the mindless urge to destroy it all, glaring them all down instead in her anger and disbelief. She had destroyed this arm, having set it aflame and shutting it into one of the incinerators in the morgue before going on with her day — which apparently had not been effort enough.

She should have stayed and watched it burn into ashes completely before leaving it behind. That, she now knew; but it was too late. Now Sakura was faced with the sight of Madara's severed arm mostly-intact and now a possession of Orochimaru and his subordinates, the newest subject of their studies, the direct consequence of her failure to fully destroy the arm.

Sakura bit down on her teeth, a tight shame squeezing her chest. She had committed a betrayal of his trust by accidentally allowing this to happen, even if Madara did not know of this. His leaving the arm behind with her was an implicit expectation and trust that she would remove it and other evidence, which she'd failed to do.

Orochimaru set his clipboard aside with a quiet exhale, rising to his feet. "Your rage doesn't make sense to me," he commented while Karin reached over and picked up his research, "considering our contracted deal."

Sakura blinked rapidly at him as he stood before her, as calm as ever and with narrowed golden eyes cooly unreadable.

She opened her mouth, but found she had no defense she could reasonably argue, and the longer it all sank in the more a panic zig-zagged within her ribcage, twisting embarrassment through her gut. "I… I—"

Sakura's eyes broke away from Orochimaru, skittering to the floating arm and between the curious faces of her new teammates before she half-turned to leave, her voice much quieter than before. " —I'm sorry for my outburst." She exhaled through her teeth, deeply ashamed. "Excuse me."

The steel doors shut hard behind her as Sakura strode towards her quarters, fighting the tightness in her throat as she went.

---

It was her who had been in the wrong. She should have realised this before jeopardising her deal with Orochimaru and shouting at him and the others for doing something that was only beneficial to the deal itself. Shoving her hand through her hair with sweat pearling across the back of her neck, Sakura tried to calm herself, but the awful feelings only continued to constrict her thoughts: she was a fool. She had sunk so deeply into her complicated dance with Madara that she had grown blind to what was truly right and wrong in was best for the war.

It was right that they claim and study the arm for future efforts against him; it was wrong to be angry with them for it, wrong to feel so strongly in Madara's defense. She'd nearly just thrown out this hard-won deal and the good relationship she'd built with this team over the shock and anger that had been her instinctual reaction to the sight of Madara's stolen arm. Her heart had ached with the knowledge that he'd see this as her failure, as a breach of trust.

But Madara was not someone she should worry about protecting, in the end. He was supposed to be her enemy, and she was nothing but a fool.

Sakura clasped her hands together, scowling at the empty chair before her.

A few quick signs, a bit of chakra… done. Sakura's newest clone sat in the chair before her, blinking at her with a look of mild disorientation. Sakura folded her arms, her fingers tapping impatiently: perhaps she was a fool, or, it was her clones instead.

"Now hold still," Sakura snapped. Her clone glared at her as she circled her slowly, narrowed eyes sweeping over her. Pokes and prods; she peered into her ears, she checked her pulse, and the clone cleared her throat uncomfortably. "What in the world…?"

"Shut up and hold still." Sakura sat back in the chair before her clone, leaning forward and continuing her careful scrutiny. "Answer everything honestly," she prefaced, grabbing her nearby clipboard and glancing down at the questions she'd prepared. Her clone continued to glower back at her, but gave no protest as Sakura began her interview.

---

She dismissed the fifth one, tossing the filled-out clipboard full of cluttered pages aside and hiding her face in her hands.

Sakura only hunched deeper as the door behind her slid open. Her shoulders prickled with tension, and Orochimaru stood at a polite distance, arms folded and curious eyes hidden beneath silky falls of black hair.

"Why are you interrogating yourself?"

Sakura debated for a lengthy pause before shutting her eyes and exhaling slowly; Orochimaru spoke again, his voice smooth and neutral as ever. "I did not see an issue with claiming the arm you attempted to destroy. It was far more useful for research than as ash." His fingers tapped along his white sleeves, just as pale as his lab coat. "In fact… the research we've already garnered will allow me to make significant progress with the little side project you requested."

Sakura lifted her head; pink locks fell away from her pale features that were nearly as bleached-white as Orochimaru's, the sun long-leeched from her skin. Her gaze was hollow as she spoke. "I'm sure it did." She exhaled slowly, a little unsteadily. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Hmm?" Golden eyes flashed curiously as Sakura turned her head, meeting Orochimaru's interested stare with a sickened expression on her face. "Do you have any idea what is wrong with my clones?"

Slitted pupils dilated briefly before he inclined his head slightly, leaning back against the wall. "A curious question, but the answer is easy." A knot knitted Sakura's brows as she turned back to him; he shrugged with a slight smile. "There is nothing wrong with them at all."

Sakura's eyes were wide and searching as she stared down at her own hands, fingers flexing anxiously. "What in the world is wrong with me, though? Did I start casting my clone jutsu incorrectly? Are they somehow getting corrupted as they make it to the surface? Is he corrupting them?"

"I think you're looking for easy excuses." Orochimaru watched Sakura as she sighed, shaking her head. After a pause, he hummed. "You've learned how to dismiss clones selectively, rather than all at once, as typical shadow clone users do."

Sakura huffed, cracking the smallest of smiles. "It took practice, but yeah." Hoisting the Rinnegan tank from the ground beside her chair into her arms, she was quick to speak before he could say anything further, glancing at him quickly on her way out of the room. "Please inform me if there's a next time so I don't get unpleasantly surprised like with the arm again."

"I can't promise anything." Orochimaru tilted his head slightly. "However; you can find the current state of our Rinnegan research in the local machines of the arm's containment lab, updated with new information. I think you will be pleased."

"Thank you, I will." Sakura hurried to leave, trying not to worry any more about her clones while knowing that would only last as long as until the next set of memories came to haunt her.

---

Sakura wiped the tea from her lips with a laugh as they walked out through a pair of propped-open double doors; many others in similar semi-formal clothing and with Union pamphlets in hand brushed past in a sea of colours. "And when he tried to sing! Oh— if only I could give my memory an antiseptic scrub." The bright late-morning light sparkled across her long henge-assisted cherry-blossom locks that fell around her face, her painted nails gleaming where she held on to her tall disguised company that walked at her side.

Madara adjusted the wide-brimmed traditional wicker hat that shadowed his face; his dark eyes held Sakura's sunny image as he hummed a note of agreement, the long papered falls around the hat's brims casting striped shadows along his smirk. "You were singing along as well. Doing so under your breath does not mean I cannot hear it."

Sakura rolled her eyes, tugging the Tsukuyomi Union pin off of her qipao collar. "Don't make fun of me. Some of the choral ones are kind of pretty." She tossed her empty paper cup into a nearby trash can; Madara snorted as she stole the one in his gloved grip. Devious green eyes met his as she took a generous sip of his coffee before giving it back.

"Look," she said as he raised a dark brow, "It's your fault. You got me hooked on it. Oh — hey!" Sakura waved back at several fellow Union members who had been waving at her, her smile sunnier than the airy, cloudless morning.

Their faces were now familiar with months of gradual acquaintance, and she considered them to be almost like friends. Several ladies beamed back at her, their faces fresh and hair carefully done over neat clothes pinned with the Union symbol.

They were careful not to stare at Sakura's dark companion as they trickled past the pair, and they didn't make an effort to invite her with them while he was there, knowing better than to try. With the ladies' chatter easing with their swift exit, the flow of the crowd had begun to thin, leaving Sakura alone with Madara in the shadow of a sculpted eave.

He grinned down at her with a mean spark in his eyes. "I consider that a debt, now."

"I'm already concerned about how you'll claim my other debt," Sakura huffed, her smile unwavering. She held Madara's inky gaze, fully distracted, and she nearly tripped as a small group of people passed them closely by. Madara pulled her out of the way in time, her shoulder brushing between his and theirs. "But… I'd be glad to buy you another drink," Sakura amended, her sunny gaze drifting out over the busy streets as she spoke. She didn't bother specifying which kind of drink, her lips quirking happily. "Maybe we can enjoy a photo-free next edition of the news soon."

"What did you do with all those pictures?"

She flushed, a hand scratching up the back of her head in an unconscious mirror of her teammates' habits. "Oh, they're secured. I won't let anyone else look at them." Feeling light within the warm air between them, Sakura's green eyes darted playfully back to Madara's face, her smile becoming sly. "I'll turn them into a scrapbook for you to enjoy. Reminders of how long I've kept you chasing me around… and how fun it's been."

Madara's brows twitched together, Sakura enjoying his skin-deep irritation. "I hardly need reminders."

"I don't know. At your age—"

Sakura danced out of Madara's reach in time, giggling as the two of them began to make their way down the sunlit street. He caught up with her easily, and she hummed in approval as his gloved hand slid down to linger at the small of her back. The two of them strode side-by-side, her own hand sliding over his arm in a reaction as natural as breathing. "So," Sakura changed the subject, not wanting Madara to point out her own age, "the big Union event has finally come." She briefly recalled the invitations she'd dug out of Saito's office months previously, the details flashing across her crisp memory and aligning with today's date. Her heartbeat picked up, nervous, excited. "You're going, right?"

In the pause following her question, a familiar shout sounded a stone's throw across the tangle of streets. Ducking closer into the shadow of Madara's side, she peered around him, clutching his sleeve with blood rushing through her ears in time to see Might Guy barrelling down the road in the opposite direction from where she stood. Rock Lee was at his side, and their excited shouts echoed through the busy streets. Crowds made weary way as they raced each other on legs moving so quickly they were a blur, their yelled challenges bolstered with flowery encouragements and long-winded extolling of their joy. Clouds of dust rose from dirt roads, and soon they were out of sight again, though their voices could undoubtedly be heard throughout all of Konoha.

She and Madara watched them quietly for a moment, Sakura subtly relaxing, a deep unfolding of her own joy warming her from head to toe. She shut her eyes briefly, immersed in the feeling. "That idiot," she said softly, "he's not supposed to be running on his new leg just yet."

"He seems battle-ready." Madara was smirking as Sakura shot him a glare. "Don't you dare…"

They resumed their path forward, feet moving in time, the sunny morning around them a picturesque definition of a beautiful late-summer day. Birdsong rose high above tangled rooftops, the clattering din of streetside food stands and vendors a pleasant white noise to their ears. Insects hummed in their zig-zagging through the sky, and the wind in the trees echoed notes of the autumn season well on its way, a few early-fallen leaves adrift that waltzed across street corners and soared through the cloudless expanse above.

"I cannot accompany you, this time. I am otherwise occupied this evening," Madara finally answered Sakura's question, his thoughtful gaze returning to her in a side-glance as they walked. Black hair drifted around his unsmiling face, and he observed the pinch of disappointment in her brow that she quickly masked with her previous good humour, her fingers tightening once more along his sleeve.

"That's all right." She sighed, her sunny mood lessening. "I was about to tell you I can't go with you either, anyway."

They had arrived beside a fruit stand, and they paused in tandem as he took an orange, eyeing it. Sakura tossed the vendor the appropriate ryo without second thought, offering the old man a polite nod before slipping her arm back into Madara's and resuming their walk, keeping her voice quiet and even. "What has you busy?"

"Answer me the same, first." Madara held her eyes while slowly peeling the orange, flicking away its outer layer with a thumb as he stripped it clean. Sakura bit her lip and looked away, not noticing the old man behind the fruit stand as he stood back so quickly he almost fell over, the money she'd given him shivering from his shaking hands and clattering to the street.

Sakura sidled closer to Madara to avoid another couple passing by, stepping with him further ahead on the sidewalk. He tossed her an orange slice that she caught and popped into her mouth with a hum. Sun caught on the tips of his long black mane that shifted down his tall back; his unoccupied hand returned to glance along Sakura's smaller figure in her red fitted cheongsam, lingering familiarly along her hip. She leaned into his side, stealing another orange slice from his palm with the soft return of her smile beneath glossy locks of cherry-blossom hair still long past her shoulders from her henge-disguise.

Behind them, the old man had nearly collapsed. Upheld by the arms of a kid with a cross expression, he stared blankly at Madara, blinking hard a few times as sweat dripped down through his wrinkled face in uneven rivulets.

"What's wrong, grandfather?" the kid asked, picking up the dropped coins after pushing the old man onto a nearby stool.

"If you are attending, your benefactor must have deep pockets," Madara commented. Sakura kept her eyes on her next slice of orange as the two of them crossed the street, deftly avoiding a pair of running children and side-stepping a crowd of unobservant genin. They walked out of the vendor's sight into the cool dark of a side-street just as he was gesturing wildly at them, the kid slipping the coins into a hidden box beside the fruit stand. "I swear on my life," the old man was wheezing, "that's Uchiha Madara!"

"I don't need anyone's deep pockets," Sakura replied primly as she paused with him again. She remained alert as she lingered near the mouth of the side-street, listening for how the rest of the people in the street might react to the old man's declaration. She knew Madara had heard him too, and her hand on his arm was subtly tightening in silent request that he not intervene just yet. Clearing her throat as she held his dark eyes, she tried not to betray the nervousness she felt, upholding a casual, smiling demeanour instead. "After all… I'm a trusted member now. I don't have to pay to attend. I have a personal invitation they mailed me with allowance for a plus-one."

Madara's eyes narrowed upon her, and she dared glance backwards, peeking just enough to see that the old man was leaning against his display of oranges, staring with wide eyes at the alleyway she and Madara had disappeared into. "I swear it," he was repeating to his grandchild, "I don't know how it's possible, but that man was him. He looks just as he did back when I was your age…"

"Are you concerned?" came Madara's question, his deep voice wrenching Sakura's attention back to him. She swallowed, her brows furrowing. "No," she said carefully, holding his gaze with a look both trusting and stern at once.

They could hear the old man still talking. "Just like when he walked the streets with the First Hokage. I'll never forget the sight, young as I was. I swear to my bones…"

"It's cool you're that old, grandpa," the kid replied politely. Strangers passing them in the streets no longer paid them any mind as the vendor slumped in his stool, accepting the fan his grandchild offered him and waving it at his face to cool down. "I don't know how it's possible, but you have to believe me… that was the feared Madara himself, looking young and alive as the old days. I'm not imagining it. I know that face…"

The kid nodded, holding up a cup towards the old man. "You're right he's alive again. It's in the papers. But he doesn't look like that anymore, grandpa." He sighed. "Now please, drink some water. It'll help." Accepting the cup, the vendor's knobbled hands trembled as he drank. "Grim Reaper, they called him, with the scythe he carried and the many lives he's taken," he was saying, his voice trailing off and softening as the kid at his side resumed waving at strangers in the street with calls to buy oranges. "The Ghost of the Uchiha…"

Sakura let her anxiousness ease, though an echo of it remained as she slid deeper into the dark of the alley, her gaze straying back to Madara. He had awaited her in silence, the orange and empty cup long-gone. For a moment, she studied his image, searching his shadowed features.

Madara was a man of multiple faces, his past heavy with so many years of darkness. Knowing what she did now from weeks of their quiet conversations through countless meetings — exchanges about his life, and mentions of hers, when she had been willing to talk about her own experiences that felt plebeian in comparison to his — Sakura found herself wondering if he had a new appreciation for the touch of the sun, or if he was numb to the sensations of a beautiful day after living as long as he had. How different was Madara's perspective of the world than hers in terms of his everyday observations? Questions rose to her tongue that she held back, and she swallowed them as she breathed him in, her own expression having settled into a pensive one. She had time to ask; she had time to take it slow, in this comfortable space now binding between them. She looked forward to learning more of this complicated soul she'd come to accompany so often, whose presence she preferred over his absence, no matter the time or day.

Her throat unexpectedly tightening with this thought, Sakura looked away, suddenly shy under the quiet weight of Madara's attention.

"He must be as ancient as Ōnoki," he said casually, breaking her free of her sinking realisations. "The chances of anyone recognising me from those days were minimal."

"And everyone assumes he's senile, though he's right," Sakura replied, offering Madara a grateful look as the two of them turned to walk through the side-street once more. She lifted her head, watching a bird land in her nest along a pipe nailed to the upper eave of an adjacent building. "Is it strange for you to walk the streets like this again after so many years?"

He followed her gaze, his expression thoughtful. "It might have been, were things still the same. Most of what I was familiar with is long gone."

Sakura looked down at their feet. Her mutter was as dark as the side-street around them, untouched by the sun. "Only by a couple of years."

Madara blinked at her from the side as her fingers dug tightly into his sleeve, the tension shivering across her frame as she glared forward. "I can never forget Konoha's destruction. I'll never feel forgiveness for that Nagato person. I don't know how Naruto managed."

"You will need to tell me more of this," Madara hummed. He observed Sakura as she shut her eyes, easing her own anger with a slow, deep breath; she seemed to take solace in his infinite calm as his deep tone smoothed out the stress in her face. "As of yet I know little of those specific events."

Sakura startled somewhat. They had reached the end of the side-street, standing at the precipice of residential streets. The din of the main roads had lessened, leaving the two of them in a quiet bubble, and her voice was soft as she looked up at him with wide eyes. "I suppose you don't." She swallowed hard, searching Madara's hale features. He looked so impossibly young for how old she knew he really was; older than her, than the old man in the street, than the whole village itself. "You… you were dead, at the time."

Silence unfolded through the alleyway but for her heartbeats in her ears, her words lingering in the air. Sakura had unconsciously drawn a hand up over her own heart, her pulse in her throat as she held Madara's calm, dark-eyed gaze.

"It is like a dreamless sleep," he answered her unspoken question after a pause, a slight upturn at the corner of his lips. "Deeper, and somewhat restful." He tilted his head slightly, his black hair falling in thick black locks around his subtle smile. "I very much prefer to be awake."

Dreams, the mention of the word like a trigger to remind her of their reality, and though Sakura glanced away as she spoke, he'd seen the way her gaze hardened at the edges. "As do we all."

Madara scowled, emerging with her into the sunny light of the peaceful residential street. Sakura pulled him with her, moving on from the tension that had drawn between them, her fingers more gentle where she held on to his arm; she glanced back at him with a warmth having returned to her expression. "The Tsukuyomi Union event will be boring without you, no matter how extravagant they say it will be."

"Hm." His dark eyes glittered. "How sweet."

Sakura shoved her shoulder into his side as he returned to walk beside her. The two of them swayed slightly as they strode down the sidewalk deeper into the tangle of neighbourhoods.

She brushed her head along Madara's shoulder with a sigh. "It's not funny. If I had to sit through all these Union meetings alone this summer, I'd have lost it. The more I listen to Saito talk, the more brain cells I lose."

His deep laugh carried throughout the street, and Sakura nearly startled out of her skin as yellow eyes opened within Madara's shadow that cut across the sidewalk in an unnaturally dark shade. A dramatically sloped scowl curved beneath his flat stare as Black Zetsu spoke up. "You may as well give this little date of yours some value and tell us more. Who are you attending with? Your investor? Will it be your original attending?"

Sakura's slow glance backwards was acidic and simmering with hatred. Madara eyed her with amusement as she started arguing with his shadow. "Be quiet, Black Zetsu. I hate it when you talk. I hate that you exist."

"Come now," Madara hummed, "Black Zetsu is simply the embodiment of my will, nothing more. He is only trying to move things along. Our 'chase' has gone on quite a while, as it is."

Sakura continued to glare back at Black Zetsu suspiciously. "More like the embodiment of evil," she growled, causing Black Zetsu to scowl further as she went on. "I don't trust him at all, and he doesn't feel similar to you in any way. What is he, exactly?"

"I just told you," Madara answered dismissively. Black Zetsu's frown deepened in a subtly uncomfortable look as Sakura's glare sizzled upon him. Her head remained turned at a sharp angle to keep an eye on Black Zetsu as she and Madara continued down the road, trusting him to guide her way forward while she kept her eye on his shadow.

Her grip upon Madara was simultaneously protective and defensive at once. "You don't need Zetsu around," she countered him anxiously, squeezing his arm. "He gives me a bad feeling, like he doesn't actually have your true interests in mind; like he's something… unnatural. Are you absolutely certain he's related to you or your chakra in any way?"

Madara adjusted his arm over Sakura's back so she had to look back over to him. Her hesitant expression softened somewhat as he brought gloved fingers up through her hair, cupping the back of her head. Her gaze fluttered halfway closed with something akin to a purr as he brought a thumb thoughtfully along her cheek, tracing down the soft skin of her throat. "Your concern is endearing and unwarranted. Do not worry about me; and do not mind Black Zetsu."

He slid a warning glance backwards at Black Zetsu before returning his attention to the path ahead, Sakura leaning back into his shoulder with a sigh. Some of her previous glow returned as they walked in companionable silence.

He exhaled, long black mane shifting as he glanced down at her; she slid a warm look his way, holding his matching inky stare for a moment before halting in her tracks. "Oh! We're here."

Madara released Sakura as she turned, head craning back to look up at the distant front door of a ground-floor apartment. She sighed, her hands on her hips. "I'm a little late, but no matter." She passed a smile to Madara, the sun setting her tan features aglow and burning green in her gaze. "Thanks for walking me here. I'll see you later."

"You still attend to Obito?" Madara replied, eyes narrowing, and Sakura shrugged. "He's part of my team now. I check in on all of them from time to time; they're family to me." She bit into her smile, folding her arms. "I'd invite you in, but I don't want him to have a heart attack from the shock. Nor do I want this neighbourhood to be levelled in the fight you guys would have."

"More like the region." Madara's fingers tapped over his arms, his scowl shadowed beneath his brimmed hat.

Sakura danced forward several steps; she stretched up against his chest, tipping his wide hat out of her way, and just as she grazed her mouth over Madara's cheek, she spotted again the yellow eyes glaring at her from his shadow. Exhaling against Madara's softened scowl, she let out a grumble. "Speaking of fights… if I have to keep dealing with Black Zetsu each time I'm around you, I swear I'm going to—"

She inhaled sharply as she was suddenly bent back over the sidewalk, suspended above the ground by the gloved fingers gripping her waist, the curve of Madara's grin glancing along her cheek. He slid a kiss against her ear, slow and teasing, sending a bright flush of red across Sakura's face and bringing her heated reminders of their not-so-long ago bar encounter.

"How long do you intend to flirt with me before you get to the point?" Madara rumbled, his growling voice sending a tingling shiver down her frame.

Sakura melted, breathing a little harder as he brought her back up into the light. He released her, and she stood back, smiling slightly, her hands catching on his sleeves; but her quip died on her tongue from the deadly look in his eyes. Her mouth opened and then shut; she paled a little, searching Madara's face. She could see it in his intense, warning stare, as inky dark as the witching hour.

Madara was long finished with her teasing, and he would not tolerate another incident like what happened at the sake bar again. At least… not without the kind of resolution they both had long wanted. Sakura reddened, remembering how very bold she had become without her inhibitions, her unspoken determination to push him to lose control one that had him frustrated enough to abandon her in the heat of the moment rather than cave in to her efforts in an explosion of released tension.

It could have been bad. Sakura glanced away, feeling embarrassed with herself again. Had he not left her there — had he given in to her intoxicated attempt at seduction instead, the whole situation could have blown up into something terrible. Madara had done her a favour, even though it hadn't felt like it at the time, especially with the amount left on her bill from his top-shelf sake.

Sakura shut her eyes, her rehearsed apology rising to her tongue. She was lucky he had seemed to forgive the incident and move on from it rather than call her out on it the next time they'd reunited. "Hey," she started, swallowing hard and forcing herself to meet Madara's deadly dark eyes again. "I've meant to bring that up. That other night at the bar."

He blinked, saying nothing, impassive and unsmiling where he loomed over her.

"Listen, I…" Sakura sighed, running a hand through her pink locks and belatedly letting her henge hair-extensions retreat, her dark lashes fluttering as she had to look away from him again. "I had way too much to drink, and I was kind of an embarrassment. I was inappropriate and totally out of line." She hung her head for a moment, ears hot with shame. "You didn't just tolerate me, which you didn't have to do…" Her gaze trailed away from Madara's glaring shadow, her heartbeat high and tight with a renewed sense of gratefulness constricting her throat. "...you were there for me."

Sakura caught his hand, looking down at their palms and tracing her fingers along the seams of his gloves. Hers were so much smaller than his, her fingers slender and pale, his long digits calloused even through the fabric. "Maybe the lines between us aren't as clear anymore, but I'm sorry I acted that way. Thank you for not just putting up with me, but listening to my rambling, too. I wasn't in a good state of mind." Sakura shut her eyes, sliding her hand over his completely and sighing softly. "Another favour, perhaps several. Efforts I didn't know or expect you were even willing to give… and I'll never forget it."

"Hmm." She shut her eyes with relief as Madara's captured fingers curled around hers in a single flex, his words blunt but his tone forgiving. "You were indeed out of line."

"I'm just glad I didn't mess up whatever this is we have," Sakura amended with a newly embarrassed huff through her nose. She lifted her head, and she was disarmed by the warmth she found behind Madara's sharp stare. Breathing in slowly, she absorbed his words with an increasingly frantic pulse. "Your actions would not have been as inappropriate," Madara continued, his dark eyes narrowed upon hers, "if said lines were properly defined."

Sakura seized up with familiar internal panic over such a subject, searching his face rapidly, her breaths uneven and quick. She hesitated, her thoughts racing with her heartbeat. He had expressed that he wanted this defined before, and he was giving her less and less wiggle room, coming down on her with harsher expectations the longer she played their dynamic out with labels removed rather than added.

She swallowed hard. Just like their teasing was at an end, so was his patience for her evasion of this subject, but Sakura found that she wasn't ready. Not here, not now, and she looked back down at their hands, sensing Madara's disappointment and sighing in empathy. "Well, before we talk about that…" Sakura's brows twitched, and she shifted uncomfortably where she stood, nervous fingers worrying along Madara's palm. "There was something else about that night."

He paused as Sakura withdrew, releasing his hand and clearing her throat. She lifted her head, a serious look marking her features as she held his gaze with a knot between her brows. "I asked you a question. I've done everything I can to recall it, but it's persistently slipping my mind, thanks to how drunk I was at the time." Sakura scowled at herself briefly. She wasn't accustomed to forgetting much with how sharp her memory generally was.

She put her hands on her hips as she went on in questioning Madara. "You told me you'd consider what it was that I asked of you. I remember that clearly, at least… and I think—" Sakura paused, holding Madara's dark eyes, "I know that you meant it."

His face went blank, his pupils subtly wide. Even Black Zetsu's frown had lessened in his flat look of surprise where he remained melded in Madara's jagged shadow.

Sakura gestured frustratedly. "But what was the question? Please help me remember, it's driving me crazy not to know. What did I ask you?" Was it related to wanting him to give up on the Infinite Tsukuyomi? Or worse, related to desires? She hoped it was innocuous with all the hope she had, but she knew better, the dread sinking through her stomach. Gods willing it wasn't worse than that. She could perhaps forgive herself for drunkenly asking for one of those first two things, but the fact that he'd told her in all sober seriousness that he would consider it had Sakura thinking about it non-stop since that night had passed. Her only comfort was that it couldn't be too ridiculous; he hadn't laughed at her, in the very least.

Madara broke into rich, rumbling laughter, his lean frame shaking where he stood, his hands pressed over his obi, and even Black Zetsu joined in with a gravelly chuckle, his unnatural frown curving up into a mocking smile. Heads turned where nearby residents looked over curiously, and Sakura flushed bright red, clapping her hands over her face in mortification.

"You didn't ask; you demanded," Black Zetsu was saying with a grin.

"What! You were there?!" Sakura gasped, and she wanted to melt into the ground as Madara stood over her, drawing a hand down the side of her face with a grin of his own. "It's true… the 'question' you speak of was more of an… authoritative request."

She was a scorching red like she'd been standing in the sun for days, and Madara's stare was a strange intensity upon her. There were slight crinkles about the corners of his eyes as his grin became a knowing, almost secretive smile, tracing along the flushed colour in her cheeks. "It amuses me that you forget your own fervent demand. Be careful, now… I may yet grant it to you." His expression was maliciously smug. "I will allow you to continue to try and remember your own words, yourself."

"Or I could just try and punch it out of you instead," Sakura mumbled back, rubbing at her hot cheeks. Sighing shakily, she shot Black Zetsu one more hateful glance for good measure before stepping back. "I do hope it wasn't too embarrassing. I — should go. I'll see you sometime soon, since you won't be there at the event tonight."

Sakura tossed Madara a casual look as she took another step back. Would he confirm that he wasn't going? What was he plotting? For the sake of everything… she found that she really should know.

Madara's lips indented: he had no intention of telling her any details of his plans, just as she was keeping quiet about her own machinations.

Madara's expression was solidly unreadable, then amused, as Sakura nearly tripped against Obito's front steps. She swerved, straightening herself, flushing redder at Madara's quiet chuckle. She hurried up towards the front door. Well, whatever: she supposed she'd just have to find out, though she hoped fervently that it would all go smoothly. But a nagging feeling persisted; she didn't like that he was being vague, as if he was committing a slight against her in restraining from open honesty.

Why did she feel that way? Was he so far from being her enemy? What had he even become, and how would she ever define that safely? Sakura stared down at the doorhandle for a moment, troubled by everything in a cascading pause of realisations, a self-awareness within the situation that left a sinking, nervous feeling swimming deep through her gut. She worried for tonight; she worried for him, and she worried for herself.

Striding over his glaring shadow, Madara fondly recalled Sakura's previous drunken demand, walking with a hand passing over his smile. Inclining his head with long black hair swishing down his back, Madara disappeared into the morning, warmth sinking through his ribcage deeper than the touch of the sun could reach.

---

Sakura stood before the door a long few minutes, letting her face cool, before knocking. "Hello, Obito, open up."

Music was playing, she realised. She frowned. Music? She didn't remember him even owning a stereo. With a shrug, she pushed through, finding the door unlocked.

Her bag was on the counter, she immediately noticed, and Sakura swerved in time to see Ino leaping off of Obito where he was sunk deep into couch cushions, his face just as red as Sakura's.

"Ino! What in the hell!" Sakura gripped her fists. Ino was shoving at her ruffled clothes and crimson cheeks, fixing her hair. "I swear, it's just…"

"What's going on?!" Sakura gestured angrily at Ino, who had her hands over her face. Obito sat up with a slow inhale, blinking a few times as if to clear himself from a daze before glancing sharply at Ino. "Sakura wasn't aware that you were her substitute medic for me?"

Sakura paused, remembering her medic bag on the counter. She noticed now her own clipboard left on the couch end table, as well as her stethoscope and a few other instruments. She slowly brought her gaze to Ino, understanding how sly she had been.

Ino shot Sakura a beseeching look before turning back to Obito, waving her hands placatingly. "No no, she knows. She's just confused. I was absolutely assigned as your substitute caretaker."

"Caretaker," Sakura hummed to herself. Hm. Ino was covering both Obito's medical appointments and probably dinners, too, and she found herself more grateful than upset now that she realised what was going on; she turned back over to Obito, her hands on her hips. "Has she been harassing you?"

"Er… no," he replied, shoving a hand through his choppy black hair; red tinted his cheeks once more, and Sakura was smiling then as she turned with a sigh. "Well, then Ino can remain as your personal medic. I'll be glad to pass the torch to her if she's willing to take you on as a… consistent patient. As long as she can convince you to eat something other than dango, I'm fine with it." Sakura caught Ino's eye with a side-glance, seeing the grateful look flit across her flushed features and smirking in response.

"I was under the impression you were already fine with it," Obito was grumbling, adjusting his robes as Ino beamed at him and Sakura.

Sakura shrugged, clearing her throat and passing a hand over the ghost of where Madara's lips had been against her ear, her skin still burning. Perhaps she could still catch up to him. "Well, have fun, you two. I'll see you at the agreed time for today's mission, Obito."

"I should probably get going," Ino said quickly, "Sakura, I'll come with you." She started gathering scattered items between end tables and on the floor; Obito watched her as she went, blinking oddly.

"No need. I'm pretty busy today," Sakura answered her, waving a casual hand with her thoughts on her favoured dark-haired company where he was most likely not too far away to catch up with yet.

Once Ino was in the kitchen and out of earshot, Sakura lowered her voice. "Look, just tell me if she's being too much. I can ask her to tone it down, or I can switch back out with her. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Ino can be a bit… forward."

Obito scowled at Sakura. "I'm not a victim here. If I hated her presence, I'd tell her myself. She's a fine enough medic, and you never offered to cook for me."

"Hn. There's a reason for that, you know." Sakura smirked. "All right then. Be good to Ino," her expression darkened in a murderous, warning look, "or I'll kill you."

She left Obito with a slack look of surprise on his face before making her swift exit from his flat, the swing back in her hips, her hand passing again over her tingling ear.

---

Sakura hurried back down the steps, looking out towards the end of the street. Perhaps if she was fast enough, she could catch back up with him.

Her glimpse of black hair she'd seen rounding a distant corner had her at a brisk jog, pink hair bouncing in the sunlight. She had already forgotten the debacle with Obito, her thoughts cast back out like fishing line to hook upon Madara where he'd strode off somewhere.

This made her day even better: she could steal a little more time with him, perhaps garnering a little more information from him about tonight; then pick up her dress, gather a few more things, part ways again, and later join up with her teammates to go off and start the big mission. Sakura ticked off individual timings in her head as she planned her rearranged day. Her mood was somewhere back up in the clouds, her pulse as quick and upbeat as her pace the closer she got to where she'd last seen Madara somewhere up ahead.

Maybe she would try to punch the truth of her drunken words out of him. A spar with Madara would be a thrilling experience, and Sakura found herself arranging a space for that in her day — she doubted he'd deny her a good fight when they both knew how much he'd enjoy it. It was a good idea for a future date.

She spat that word back out of her head as she jogged: not a date. Right? Doubt stirred in her gut, though it didn't diminish her excitement.

A flash of yellow dashed those new plans the moment he appeared in front of her.

Sakura halted, and the lack of a sunny greeting as well as the utterly serious look in Naruto's eyes had her seizing up and paling with instinctive nervousness.

"Hey, Sakura." Naruto offered Sakura a small wave and a tentative smile, but his stare was dim and sad.

Sakura's heart stopped in her chest. Naruto's lifeless manner could mean only one thing.

"Who?"

Naruto blinked, a knot between his brows, and Sakura stepped towards him with a clenched fist over her now-thrashing heart. "Who?!"

"No one died," Naruto quickly corrected her, waving his hands placatingly and shaking his head. "I promise. But can we talk; just you and me?"

Sakura relaxed somewhat, but the look on Naruto's face continued to make her anxious. Was someone injured? Trapped? Sick? Was Sasuke okay? She never saw Naruto this serious but for during funerals and when the two of them used to discuss what to do about Sasuke.

Dread weighed down her stomach as she followed Naruto through the streets, her questions cycling through her head as they went.

---

Sakura soon stood looking around at their first training ground, her shoulders slowly relaxing. Lifting both their heads, they listened to the wind in the trees. There were leaves dancing in looping spirals around the edges of the flat dirt clearing, curling through the trunks of countless trees that surrounded the training area. The familiar posts were nearby, bringing the worn memories of their first test as a team, of she and Sasuke sharing their lunch with Naruto. For a moment, they both closed their eyes, and the many memories stirred in Sakura's heart with a welcome touch of old nostalgia.

"I knew being here would help you relax a little," Naruto hummed as he settled into the grass. Sakura knelt beside him tentatively, and some of the tension returned to her frame as she sat tall, watching him expectantly. "This has to be about Sasuke, then, since he isn't with you right now," she sighed.

Her fingers dug into her knees. "So; what did he do now? What can I do to help? Does Lady Tsunade or Kakashi already know about it?"

"I haven't talked about this with anyone yet." Naruto blinked solemnly at Sakura. He gently flicked an insect off of his arm, a worried downturn about his mouth. "But I didn't bring you here to talk about Sasuke; nothing's going on with him right now. I wanted to talk about you…" Sakura's eyes widened as Naruto went on, "...and Madara."

"What," Sakura said flatly. The colour had drained from her expression, and after a moment she looked at the sunny training ground around them, scanning the trees. Her skin prickled as she made sure no one was around for sure, and her hands were sweaty as she looked back at Naruto, her heart pounding through her ears. "What is there to talk about?" she managed.

"Come on, Sakura." Naruto shifted where he sat, regarding her with a knot between his brows. "I know there's something secret going on between you. I was kind of able to tell a couple of months ago, back at the library, but now I know it for sure." There was a flash behind his eyes, a subtle indication that he and Kurama both had observed what he was bringing up now.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Sakura sat up primly, tucking the hair behind her ears and looking around before blinking at Naruto innocently. "Madara is my enemy. We fight quite often in this game of revolving clones we're playing, so perhaps you mistake my kind of familiarity with him for something else." She picked at her fitted qipao, hiding her panic. "But that's okay! Mistakes happen, and I'd love to catch up with you about other things anyway, so how is…"

But Naruto's expression continued to be stony and serious, and Sakura swallowed hard as he leaned forward. "Look; I saw you two after he stole you from the Hokage's office. I saw enough." He fidgeted, and Sakura paled to a slightly ill shade as she recognised it in Naruto's eyes; he looked away with a frown. "I might be oblivious sometimes, but I'm not stupid. I know you, Sakura. I know that you've been a lot less interested in Sasuke for a while now, and I know what it looks like when you have feelings for someone. I know it in the way you looked at Madara, and in the way you guys became so… happy and relaxed with each other once you thought no one could see you."

Sakura shut her eyes, silent, as Naruto's troubled expression deepened. "I mean, come on, Sakura…" He sniffed, making a face, another hint of Kurama behind his slightly glowing blue eyes. "You smell like him."

She got abruptly to her feet. "I'm telling you that you saw it wrong." She straightened her clothes, her throat tight as she looked for the correct direction to flee to, to scrub the evidence from herself, to do whatever else she could to hide the truth.

Sakura was unwilling and unable to look at Naruto as she decided on the right way to run. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't spread such lies to the others. Whatever you think you know, you're just, you're just—"

Naruto stood before her again, directly in her way. He had no intention of letting her escape this conversation, his stance decided and calm. She could sense how much he'd thought about this before initiating this talk, and it made her feel even more panicked, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her tight clothes that now felt restrictive rather than attractive.

She met his eyes once more, a knot in her throat, and what kept her from trying to fight free was the visible kindness that shone within Naruto's troubled stare. "I'm not trying to attack you about this." He glanced away briefly, scanning the otherwise empty training grounds before searching Sakura's anxious gaze. "I can tell that he hasn't put a curse tag or mark on you. You're still you, and that's why I wanted to just… talk, at least for now."

The wind whipped around them both as Naruto stepped closer to her, his voice more hushed, his blue eyes piercing through her heart where she stood; troubled, kindly, and intensely searching. "Do you see good in him, Sakura? Is that why?"

The question hung between them, and she stared at him, her heart caught in her throat. She couldn't speak through it, and she let out a long, shuddering, aching sigh.

Reading several truths within Sakura's stricken expression, Naruto smiled slightly, his shadowed blue eyes layered beneath with a certain unmitigable warmth. "I think I understand." He reached out, setting a hand on Sakura's shoulder. His gaze held the sunlight now, deep with azure like an ocean horizon. "It's kind of like with Sasuke, where no one believes you, but you know it in your heart."

Sakura inhaled sharply as Naruto's unexpected understanding opened a raw part of her heart. An overwhelming gratefulness welled up within her, and she gripped herself tightly, trying not to get lost in the wave of relief of knowing that someone… anyone knew what she was going through. Naruto's eerie instincts had finally caught up to her, and she had never felt so safe, so relieved and achingly understood.

She set her palm over Naruto's hand on her shoulder, her voice soft and slightly ragged. "Yes."

"Did you lie in your report to protect Madara?"

Startled by Naruto's blunt question, Sakura stared down at their sandaled feet. Her brows twitched, her face pale again with remembered guilt that fought with the warmth warring its way through her chest. "I…"

She shut her eyes. There was no point in lying to Naruto when he could see right through her.

With a heavy sigh, Sakura wiped her sweaty palms along her sides, trying again. "Please — don't talk about this with anyone yet. Please. And know that I'm on your side, no matter what happens."

Her head down and her eyes affixed to her feet, Sakura didn't see Naruto's kindly blink before he exhaled quietly, squeezing her shoulder. He read her guarded, shadowed face for a moment.

"You're in love with him, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Naruto! I—" Sakura seized up, glancing across Naruto's saddened, knowing expression with panic for a moment before looking around like others were listening. She returned her anxious attention to him, her features tight. "No. I can't. You know that."

His reply was wistful. "We both know that's not how it works."

They watched each other for a moment as the wind spiralled and danced through the training field around them, her hair drifting in pale pink around her face. There were scents in the air of autumn, calling for cold nights to come; the cicadas had ceased their keening, and early fallen leaves were as golden-yellow as Naruto's hair adrift around his headband in the warm breeze.

Naruto frowned as he observed the stress lining Sakura's expression. "Do you think you can talk Madara out of his cause?"

Stiffening, Sakura looked down, watching the rippling of the tall grass around the wide dirt clearing. She was as taut as suspended wire as Naruto went on. "It was hard enough bringing Sasuke back, which took so many fights, so many years. I can't imagine how hard it'll be to change someone like Madara." His frown deepened as his gaze strayed to the clouds that passed over the high-noon sun. "And he's so much older, with deeper hatred… he's more stubborn than Sasuke or me." He exhaled softly, glancing back at Sakura. "I think you chose the most difficult person in the world."

His wry smile disappeared. Sakura was crying, her frame silent and still, her green stare deeply haunted. Tears streamed down her cheeks with her voice barely above a whisper. "It's probably not possible." She searched Naruto's face with wide, pain-filled eyes. "I've doomed myself, haven't I?"

She was buried in warmth without warning. Arms secured around her; support around her shivering figure, Naruto her shield against the wind as he held her up from collapsing completely in all that she felt. He was a safe harbour unmoving in a sea of rippling grass and wind.

"Don't give up."

She shut her eyes, shuddering with relief into Naruto's hug. "I believe that if anyone could do it," he went on, "it would be you."

Sakura pressed her face into his shoulder, so overwhelmed with love and gratefulness for her friend that she couldn't speak. She'd come to see Naruto as family long ago, but had never felt it more than in this moment.

"Naruto," she finally managed, her voice fluted with the tightness in her unsteady tone, "thank you."

Naruto withdrew, his hands settled upon her shoulders, and he was smiling once more. "If it helps," he offered, "even I can tell that he really likes you."

"Pfff." Sakura waved a dismissive hand, a palm passing over her little smile. "Don't say things you don't know for sure."

"Come on, it was obvious months ago. You guys got all handsy at the library—"

"We did not!"

" —the way you talk about him is just like how you used to talk about Sasuke—"

"That's not true!"
"—and you just can't help yourself with Uchihas, huh?" Naruto's grin was unapologetic, and Sakura was laughing as she shoved at him. "Shut up. And no, fine, I guess I can't."

"Obito's next, right? He's our second captain now, after all. He had better watch out."

"Don't even joke." Sakura's expression was serious again, and she tugged at Naruto's sleeve, glancing around nervously. "Honestly. Don't. Besides, I'm not so sure he's single anymore, and thank goodness if she does convince him into it. That grump needs something to do other than train and be alone."

Naruto shrugged. "So what, does this mean Madara's your boyfriend now? What exactly is your plan? It's pretty tough to date someone who's, you know, the whole reason there's a war going on at all." He eyed Sakura as she huffed, folding her arms. "I can't go into what I have in mind out here, can I? We really shouldn't be talking about this at all…" She glanced away, and all the stress had eased from her figure as she looked back to Naruto with a warm expression, her green eyes filled with light once more. "But thanks again, Naruto. I didn't know how much I needed someone to know… to understand." She swallowed hard, blinking once or twice and pressing a hand over her small smile. "It makes it a little less daunting, knowing that you at least kind of get it."

"I mean…" Naruto made a face, causing Sakura to glare at him lightheartedly. "I don't get it that much. I wouldn't date Madara. Who would? He's pretty scary." Sakura stuck her tongue out at him; Naruto made a silly face back, until they were both giggling, all the shadows in the space between them gone in the sunny light of the day.

"Just be careful," Naruto added, and Sakura nodded solemnly; he reached out, setting a hand on her arm. "I can't really help you with this one. I guess I just have to trust that you know what you're doing. But Sakura—"

She eyed Naruto nervously until his smile returned, every bit genuine and kindly at once, the picture of who he was. " —no matter what happens, I've got your back."

Sakura wiped away another tear. "Damn it, Naruto, you're making me cry again."

He beamed again, until his gaze caught on something in the distance, causing him to stand a little taller, pupils widening. Sakura stiffened, almost afraid to look behind her. Was it…?

"Sasuke," Naruto said, his face brightening, and Sakura relaxed slightly, shutting her eyes briefly. She could sense him approaching from far across the training field, having just arrived. "Right. The event tonight — we're going to want to get ready." She gripped her fists, all the determination in her gaze bolstered with excitement and new, deepened hope. "It's time for our mission."