Fandom Redemption [Closed] [Graverobber141/arbus]

[Graverobber141]

The combination of Sakura's initial reaction, Ari's scurrying to guard his food, Pakkun's disappearance, their growing, shared conspiracy, and finally, her suggestion of how to handle their sensei made him burst out in rich, warm laughter. He hadn't laughed like this since the world became complicated, and he was leaning against her midway into his fit, head pressed into the crook of her neck, struggling to stop so he could speak once more, though he managed, at one point, to choke out, "Pretty sure that would land me on a wanted list, Sakura."

Once he ran out of air, thankfully, which forced him to at least bring the chuckling to a halt long enough to suck in air, refilling his lungs as his chest heaved in effort, he squeezed her hand, before sliding his palm down her arm, gently raising the limb to encourage her to hook it around his neck. "But I have an idea." Arm dropping to wrap tightly around her waist, he stood from his chair, pulling her with him, before pressing her against his chest.

His dark gaze shifted into the mismatched, duel colors of red and purple, the later spinning lazily in his iris, visible only for a moment, as he was closing his eyes, concentrating. Usually this only worked with items in his line of vision, but he took his time to remember the place he was planning to transport them to, even if he had only spent a few minutes inside, mulling about the house for sell with all the interest of a person who had spent the last year of his life practically living in caves. He painted the space within his mind, saw the small cat statue that had made him grimace, left on the kitchen island to make the empty space seem more welcoming he supposed, and summoning up his chakra, teleported them there.

And in the spot they had been, in a house that reeked of dog, was left that ceramic cat, staring up at the abandoned kitchen table.

For a moment, he was afraid to open his eyes, a bit terrified that he had transported them into another dimension, but the air wasn't starkly cold or burning hot, the building kept to a comfortable temperature, and so he opened his gaze to look around the unfurnished, barren home. At first, considering he didn't need that much space, he had been leaning toward an apartment, but his natural dislike of people led him to reconsider; besides, it would be nice to have a backyard.

"I've been looking for a more permanent living situation," he explained, "since I'm selling the old Uchiha compound. Out of what I've seen, this is my favorite." Pausing, feeling a faint blush once more spread upon his cheeks, because he realized this gesture could be taken as him suggesting something, when they had only confirmed their relationship a few hours ago, he added, "I just want you to know that I'm staying, Sakura." He smiled warmly, the expression tinting with humor at his next comment, "And since Naruto is an idiot, who would recommend that I build a tunnel connecting our houses, I could use your opinion."

 

[arbus]

So. The day had hardly started, and yet Sakura found herself shifting her feet to find her footing on the polished hardwood floor of a room smelling faintly of fresh paint and scented candle, listening to Sasuke's words without actually, really taking them in. This was all -- well, what was the word -- fantastic. It was a dream come true. It was, with ninety-nine percent certainty, a genjutsu.

"We are sure that we've actually foiled that crazy Eye of the Moon plan, yes?" Her voice had taken a rather foreign note of dry humor, but a girl had to resort to whatever in the face of ... of this. She turned around slowly, taking in the vast space, with a spacious counter connecting a modern kitchen and a bright living area. The high windows were letting in the diffuse, watery light. In the yard, the snow piled high and it still hadn't stopped snowing yet. It was snug, to stand next to his warm presence in his wool socks inside a suitably warm house.

But his unhindered laughter still filled her ears, and she still felt his face against her neck, her finger ghosting over the back of his head. The fondness rising in her chest, much like laughter would, a feeling so warm and tender and beautiful she could hardly breath through it. She had told him that she was sure their sensei purposefully used that fact against them, and that he probably deserved ending up somewhere in the backwaters of Grass Country.

Then there was the way her whole body had been pressed up against him. Just a minute ago. With nothing on her but his yukata. She mulled over that particular sensory overload as she crossed the room, taking in the high ceilings and the empty kitchen counter. "You know, if you keep doing that, I'll get used to that way of transportation." She raised the back of her hands to her cheeks to cool the adamantly lingering heat. Keeping her back to him, she took in the view out of the kitchen window into the back garden. She had seen the brochures on his desk, but had been to shy to ask, and then there had been no opportunity. Well, she knew the answer now.

She wanted to say: I can't believe that this is really happening. She wanted to tell him: I think I'm in shock. I want to take this all in, I really do, but there is no room for anything more beyond the bliss and anxiety and the fact that you shape pancakes into shuriken.

She didn't say anything, however, but swirled around, with a big grin on her face.

"I think a tunnel is a brilliant idea", she announced, her feet carrying her lightly across the floorboards, "I'll make sure to tell Naruto. Don't worry, I'll say it was your idea." And with a grin like a dare she turned, taking the corner out of the kitchen, skidding along the hallway, then up a narrow flight of stairs.

 

[Graverobber141]

For a heartbeat Sasuke stood still, watching Sakura with slightly wide eyes, because the fear that she possibly wasn't joking was very much real in that moment. If she put that idea in Naruto's head, the idiot would actually do it, and he would either destroy both their houses in the process, or, if he was successful, he would have unlimited, unhindered, twenty-four access to Sasuke--Oh Kami, he would prefer living in the woods as a hobo for the rest of his life instead. She had to be joking. She better be joking. "Sakura? You're kidding, right? Sakura!"

His footsteps followed the path she had taken, and he was climbing up the stairs after her, stepping into the second floor hallway; it stretched into a sitting room with high windows and a balcony that overlooked the garden, then flowed into a series of bedrooms, a bathroom, and what could be used as a study. His hand reached out to grasp hers, fingers intertwining, as he walked with her throughout the rest of the house, smiling softly, finding he couldn't take her eyes off her, even as the cascading snow painted the forest outside in a picture perfect landscape.

He admitted, it did feel like a genjutsu: a deep, peaceful dream created to keep him docilely caged, and if that were the case, it was working quite well, to the point he didn't even care. But he knew that was false, even in this haze of, or perhaps because of, the radiant, warm, pure emotion that flooded through him like a dam had broke, releasing everything he had kept locked within himself, repressed for so many years. No, this was real. He could feel it, deep inside his very being, and he embraced it as his reality.

He raised their intertwined fingers, dark gaze seeking out her own, as he molded her hand into half of the sign of the ram, before finishing the other portion with his own. "So you think we're trapped under the Eye of the Moon?" He studied her, pulling their connected fingers against his chest, before leaning his forehead against hers. A moment later, his chakra was surging into her body, a mixture of wild lightning and fire, rushing out to meet, bond with her stabilizing natures of water and earth. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he was keenly aware of her physically, the proximity of her body against his, her scent that was distinctly her own, entangled with sweat and the lingering freshness of snow from their earlier battle, and spiritually, how their chakras molded and formed together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

The jutsu he had cast, strong with their combination, might not have been enough to break the might of the Infinite Tsukuyomi, but that was hardly the point. Pressing his lips against the line of her jaw, trailing a line of kisses inward toward her mouth, he muttered, "Satisfied?"

 

[arbus]

Sakura sighed, if from the force of his chakra overwhelming her or his tender ministrations, she couldn't tell. In her mind's eye, water pushed to the shore of a long beach, foaming over white-washed stones, heated from the flames kindling in its core that was the impossible, invisible heart of an ocean, and the tendrils of roots spread in cool earth that was black in the moonlight, and her skin hummed with the electricity she now knew was produced by their corresponding chakra natures. Tilting her chin to connect their lips, the kiss they shared was neither as tame nor as chaste as the ones before. She shuddered at the slide of their tongues, her heart like frantic wings swiping the confines of her chest.

Her hands against his sides, sliding down his torso as she toned down the kiss until their lips where hardly touching. She took a step back and looked at her socks with a secret smile.

Faintly, she thought she could still hear the sound of the sea, calm in a midnight's breeze. His hand as she took it once more was cool to the touch, her own lips warm from their kiss as she pressed her mouth into the middle of his palm. She raised her eyes to find his gaze. "Yes."

She didn't know how he did it, time and again, to find what she needed and give it to her, to root her and sooth her with a well-placed glance, and assertive word, a gesture to remind her what, through all her insecurity and anxiousness, connected them. She was grateful, and allowed the feeling to overwhelm her, blending out everything but the knowledge that whatever lay before them, his chakra was a thing of intimate familiarity to her, instantly recognizable and so indescribably precious.

"Honestly, though", she said into the heat between them, "I think Naruto would be thrilled to know you were thinking about building that tunnel. Just think about how much fun the two of you could have. Slumber parties. Midnight snacks. He might use that tunnel as a used diaper storage. Are you sure you don't want me to tell him?"

 

[Graverobber141]

Heat spread through him like fire burning through his veins: a rush that made his heart pound, his mind slip from complex, higher-level thinking, allowing him to only be in this exact moment, and the only thing he could even start to compare it to was the thrill of battle, but instead of fight thrumming in his subconscious, it was desire. Gazing into her bright eyes, his dark meeting with her light, his fingers curved to cup her cheek at the feeling of her lips pressed into his palm, and he tenderly caressed her skin.

It took a heartbeat or two for him to register what she had said, yet when his consciousness finally caught up, it was evident in the way his facial features molded into an expression that was a mixture of desperation and exasperation. Part of him had hoped that she would forget about the subject, and he wouldn't have to worry about it any longer, but as it seemed like that wasn't the case, he leaned his face into the crook of her neck in an almost comical gesture of submission.

"You're not going to give this up are you?" He asked, voice just short of being a hopeless groan. "I stayed with him last time I was in the village, and he woke me up at three in the morning because he had a dream that his favorite type of ramen had changed, and then tried to convince me to help him break into the ramen stand just so he could see if the dream was true or not. The man is a monster."

Then, his voice practically a plea, he mumbled, "Please don't."

 

[arbus]

It did not cease to amaze her, this easiness with which he gave himself over to her. Her hand found the back of his neck once more, like it did back in the mansion's kitchen. She understood it as an intimacy they would share often, as she recognized in his movements the need to shut out the world. I like this, she thought, scraping her nails over the back of his long neck and then over his scalp. His hair was still damp but silky, and so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it. She knew it had started as a joke, but holding him like that felt like the right thing to do, something she had longed for too many years to count.

With his breath fanning over her skin, she started to run her fingers through his hair in rhythmical, soothing motions. He had been on the road for so long, gone so long; the thought alone made her tired. She could only imagine how exhausted he must feel.

"I won't", she whispered back, because of course she wouldn't. She liked to tease him, though, liked how he responded to it, this playful side she had never seen on him before. It suited him, as strange as it was. Her lips brushed over his ear. She traced the shell with her lower lip, and a moment she hesitated to utter the words, but they were so true, so close to her heart that eventually, she whispered: "Welcome home, Sasuke."

I've been looking for a more permanent living situation. I'm selling the old Uchiha compound. I would live for you.

When she finally disengaged, she did it reluctantly, although she knew it was necessary. She had hardly any idea how much time had gone by; she wasn't feeling it yet, but she knew she needed to catch up on sleep. She also needed a bath to scrub the sweat and dirt from the road finally off her body. Most of all, she needed time to let it all sink in.

"Think it's safe to retrieve my clothes?", she asked with an apologetic smile.

 

[Graverobber141]

Welcome home, Sasuke.

Those words stirred something in him, an intertwining feeling of joy and sorrow: a memory of everything he had once lost, had lost in himself because of that pain, then the long, arduous war he had raged--physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually--on the jagged, never ending, serpent-like path that had been all-consuming, destructive, bitter, and yet...finally he had ended up here, at the end of the battlefield, scarred, broken, but whole and very much so alive. Home. A word too simple to describe this flooding feeling of relief, happiness, warmth, connection. It was as if he hadn't slept in a lifetime, and was finally being given a chance to close his eyes, simply rest.

And because he lacked the words to tell her what was going through his head, he settled for gently caressing her cheek, before pressing a light kiss against her forehead. "Knowing Kakashi, probably not." His lips twitched into a small, amused smile. "But I believe we can take him."

He was about to wrap his arm around her waist, prepare for another use of the rinnegan, when a very familiar caw interrupted them, and there was a peck against the nearest window. A downfall of summoning creatures: they had an uncanny ability to always track down their masters. Mouth twitching downward in annoyance, he offered her an apologetic look, before moving away to let the hawk in, due to the fact it was carrying a scroll on its back, and the message could be pressing.

Unstrapping the scroll, which was oddly unmarked, Sasuke activated his sharingan as he unraveled it, paying no heed to the hawk who was quick to retreat onto Sakura's shoulder, as if to seek protection from any possible retribution for its actions against its master earlier in the morning. There was a faint amount of chakra against the parchment, the seal of a summoning jutsu, but the amount was too insignificant to host any real threat. Humming a only mildly interested hm, Sasuke released the seal, throwing out his hand to catch the object that float for a moment in the air.

He knew the katana as soon as his fingers grasped around its sheath; he had left it outside Suigetsu's hideout, its blade fractured and therefore useless, but now it was whole. To confirm this fact in entirety, he placed the sheath between his teeth, before drawing the sword, making a piece of paper slip onto the ground. The blade had been reforged, and as if someone had wanted to remember its cracks, the metal had been etched into to outline the former battle scars, and a faint coat of gold had been poured inside the shallow crevices; just engravings, as practicing the actual art form would render the weapon useless, but the meaning of kintsugi was clearly conveyed.

Bending down to lay the katana on the ground and retrieve the note he had dropped, he let go a slightly irritated scoff, glanced up at Sakura, and read out-loud: "Try not to kill anyone else with it." He could almost hear the smugness, see that satisfied smirk. Of course the narcissist couldn't do anything nice without a backhanded, sarcastic comment.

"A gift from the swordsman," he explained, as he slid the blade back into the sheath. "Kakashi sent me to return him to Wind Country, under orders to test him by undoing his restraints before we crossed the border. He didn't attack me, which is progress, I guess, but I was also hoping never to have to hear from him again."

 

[arbus]

Delighted to find the hawk choosing her for shelter from Sasuke's impending -- but probably none-to-threatening -- retribution, Sakura brushed the back of her finger over its delicate head. She reveled in the feeling of the lustrous plumage. Her immediate reaction to the scroll was to take herself back, to wait as she suspected Sasuke had many contacts, all over the shinobi world, bearing potentially important messages for him, or maybe even Konoha.

When the katana materialized from the summoning jutsu, familiar even to her eye as she had seen Sasuke carry it for so long, she frowned in confusion. The blade, when unsheathed, struck as as mesmerizing. Beautiful in a peculiar, unusual way, with those streaks of gold edged into the blade. But when Sasuke read the words -- A gift from the ... what? -- gave the explanation, her brows drew together in irritation, an emotion only a hair's breadth away from anger.

That last sentence, that 'explanation', came on the tail-end of one of the longest mornings in her life. Oh, what a roller coaster ride it was. To make things worse, his delivery was so blasé, as if nothing was of any particular interest to her, as if he was talking about the damn weather. As if there wasn't a ton of information to unpack in those few words alone, and --

"What do you mean, Kakashi-sensei sent you to return him to Wind Country?", she asked, but did not leave him any chance to respond as she repeated: "Undoing his restraints to ... test him?" She realized she was staring at him, suddenly just short of fuming, and she turned away with a huff. How nice of him to tell her, that inner version of her, uncensored and untamed by any social restrictions, raged. How nice that she learned of that now, after he had gambled with his life once again. She had taken a pause, as if to gather herself, but her next words sounded sarcastic more than anything else nonetheless. "Well, if he didn't attack you, I suppose it's alright."

There was no use in crying over spilled milk, she was well aware, and yet --

That familiar feeling of helplessness crept up on her, regardless of its futility.

She blinked against the sudden dryness of her eyes. When she realized she had clenched her fists, she consciously relaxed her hands."I can't believe Kakashi-sensei send you of all people. To release him. And if he'd decided to attack you?" She raised her head and locked her gaze with him. The air was suddenly thick, sizzling. "Then what?"

But she didn't wait for an answer, because she knew. They had talked about this already, hadn't they, back in Suigetsu's hideout?

I would live for you.

"You know what? I don't care. It's done, isn't it?" She was talking herself into a rage, frenzied by the sudden revelation of Satoru's release, of the risk Sasuke had been exposed to, as if Kakashi didn't know better, didn't care -- "Good for him. And how nice to send you a thank you note. Very thoughtful." She huffed, again, jerking in an aborted motion to leave. Aborted because she realized she didn't have any shoes. "For kami's sake!"

 

[Graverobber141]

Sasuke remained crouched and still, dark gaze watching Sakura, listening to her vent, and waiting patiently for a chance to speak, even if he didn't know exactly what he should say. In hindsight, he knew he should have told her before they had started this, but he had been so distracted by his own change in perspective, it had been so new and strong and raw, he hadn't been able to see past it. And all this was so very new to him, painstakingly so, that he still found it rather difficult to navigate. But everything he felt, everything he had told her: it was real and true, and he just wanted to have her realize that.

In the silence that followed her outburst, he sought out her gaze with an expression of exhaustion, one that made him look so much older than he actually was, and the admittance that fell from his mouth was quiet, left a bad taste in his mouth: "Then I would have killed him." And something would have broken inside him, because it would have been like proving a point.

"Kokoro Satoru is an arrogant, narcissistic ass who hurt you, used you, and for that I can never forgive him, but I..." His voice trailed off. Once again, words failed him, as they always did, because how could he explain this fact evident to anyone with a conscience who had ever landed a mortal blow? Who had felt their own humanity dull as a consequence? "...I didn't want to take his life, Sakura." Or anyone's. Never again. "But I would have, and with my strength back, it wouldn't have been a fight." His hand lifted to cover part of his face, fingers pushing back his hair, as he inhaled deeply.

His lips twitched into a deformed smile, a mixture of relief and sardonicism. "But we played shogi instead. He asked me when the pain stops, and I told him it doesn't, but eventually you stumble across people who make it bearable, who remind you what is worth fighting for."

A pause, his hand dropped, his eyes softened along with the expression spread across his mouth. He looked at her then, for a good, long moment, taking her in, before he held his palm up in her direction, as if in offering. "On the way home, I realized this is what I want, Sakura. I meant everything I said. I would live for you, and if that weren't true, we wouldn't be in a house I was about to buy; I would be across the border by now."

 

[arbus]

When her fist connected with the wall it was like an exclamation mark to his confession.

Then I would have killed him.

The cracks spread slowly from the center, where her fist was partly embedded in the concrete. Crumbs and dust trickled to the floor. Her extended arm shivered from the impact. Hidden underneath the wide sleeve of his yukata, her bicep twitched. Other than that, she stood utterly still, her stance hardly widened, the set of her shoulders rigid. A shinobi sensitive to chakra outlet would feel the impact of her chakra radiating off her in waves. The tide, domesticated.

"That's not at all what this is about." She lowered her hand, splayed her fingers. Her knuckles cracked. She held his gaze, her own fierce with an emotion she did not usually allow to rise to the surface like that. A low-toned anger, no, drive, thrumming like her own kind of electricity against nerve endings. "Because you probably wouldn't have. And that's okay."

She realized now that in her anger she had chosen her words too carelessly.

"However much I resent the idea, I understand why you wouldn't have killed him. Not even to save your own life. Not even for me."

Her anger hadn't ceased, but it was more pointed now, sharpened like a kunai and brought into focus by his foolishness.

"I am angry", she continued, her feet shifting so she took a more relaxed pose, contrary to the intensity of her tone, "because you always do this. Go on and do things without any warning." Without me. "But I also realize", the corners of her mouth twitched, pulled downwards, her shoulders slumped, "that you did not owe me an explanation. You still don't. But it was different, I was away on a mission." A pause. "I need to get through this, Sasuke, because even though it's dumb and probably unfair to feel that way I just do."

She moved her hand, and the knuckles of her fist brushed against his open palm. Her lips had grazed that same spot mere minutes ago. The gesture was not any less tender.

"Let me just be angry at you for once", she said and it was close to a plea. "Because I am. I'm so angry. For the way you always turned your back on me. And usually, I'm just angry at myself." So weak, not to be able to help him. So useless, not to be able to bring him back. So stupid, for thinking she could kill him. So traitorous, for not fighting harder for his sake. "I'm so angry at myself all the time. I want to be angry at you, too." She knew she did not sound angry any more. Her muscles had grown limb. Felt like pudding, for it was such a vulnerable thing to say. "I know you're hurting, I know you've changed. But I'm still angry." She took a deep breath, a step back, and folded her hands before her, pressing them against her mouth. "I can't help it."

 

[Graverobber141]

Another stretch of silence. Left not knowing what to say, Sasuke's dark eyes drifted from her, to the crack in the wall--he supposed he was buying this house now, no second guesses--down to his palm, where her knuckles had just rested, curling his fingers inward, and finally back to her. They were different, he realized, because to him, anger was like a drug, a gateway into darkness, and with that former addiction of his he had misunderstood; but that was one of the reasons he loved her, because she was so unlike him. Though her words stabbed like sharp blades, she was right, and if they wanted to move forward, they would have to face it.

"Then be angry," he stated, finally rising to his feet, hand dropping to his side, gaze searching out for her own. "You don't need my permission, and it's not dumb or unfair." He wanted to say more, an odd occurrence, he but set his jaw to keep the words back, because they were nothing more than worthless apologies, and he understood her need for this. "Be angry. Yell at me, hit me, even, vent--do whatever you need to do to get through this. Eventually we should talk, but for now: just be angry at me, Sakura."

A pause. The quiet room was filled with a terrified, meek caw from his hawk, who had retreated back to the windowsill, obviously thoroughly frightened by Sakura's display, and too weary to return to Sasuke.

"I can take you home, if you want, give you space for how ever long you need it." He raised his hand to run a few fingers through his hair. "Just tell me what you want to do."

 

[arbus]

It had started with her irritation at Satoru’s release, the childish notion of having been left out of a procedure she felt to have every right to partake in after everything that had happend between the three of them; after having been used as his pawn. Anger that most certainly was directed as much at the deceitful swordsman as it was at Kakashi and Sasuke. And yet, it only seemed to have been the spark to kindle another process entirely, a hurt buried deep beneath sea-level, underneath worry and remorse and, to a much larger extent than any of those ugly, negative feelings combined, love.

It was there nonetheless; all too real were the slight tremors running up and down her spine, threatening to turn into full body shivers if not kept tightly under control. That particular kind of pain, human and raw in its intensity, was —

„You abandoned me“, she accused, voice hoarse as she ignored his words in favor of launching at him. First, verbally, but in a swift motion she had pushed her hands against his chest, shoving him backwards. There was no real threat in her gesture, no ill intent as it was far weaker in strength than she could muster, than he could take. „I don‘t care why, you abandoned me again and again and again, no matter how much I pleaded for you to stop. I begged you.“

The problem about rejection: it was a feeling not easily forgotten, in itself its own kind of trauma edged deep into the brain naturally wired for connection. His constant need to cut those connections had left her vulnerable, the abandonment gnawing away at her self-esteem.

Her instinct for self-preservation hadn‘t been strong enough to sever the strained bond to him completely. At the same time, she hadn‘t had the endurance, the strength to do what was necessary to help him. She had left it to Naruto, and out of a guilty conscience had rationalized all the anger and hurt she felt towards Sasuke before herself and everyone else, inevitably feeding her own sense of inadequacy and helplessness in the process.

She was aware enough to know that none of that was really his fault, or hers. That it was, in fact, just a shitty situation, but one that molded them, shaped into all the good and the bad that was now between them.

With her shove, she had inevitably stepped into his personal space, and her fists clenched into the fabric of his shirt, loosened, only to take hold again, this time of strands of his hair in the back of his neck. She stared at him like that, her eyes glistening with angry, unshed tears, for a long moment, in a deafening silence that stretched out seemingly endlessly between them, before, with a jerk, she pulled him in to press their mouths togehter in a searing kiss, angry and desperate enough to leave her breathless.

„I want to fight you“, she breathed, her nails scraping over his skin. She was done being demure and saying thank you for bullshit she was no longer willing to take. Every last fibre of her body ached for him, ached for them to work out, but that meant she could no longer hide behind an averted gaze and a bitten back comment.

 

[Graverobber141]

Words that cut deeply like the jagged edges of a mirror, broken in a thousand pieces, stranded in a sea of shattered images reflecting back whoever looked down. It hurt. More than any magician's trick like Satoru's ever could, who just poked and prodded until he got a reaction, then stabbed. This was precise, powerful, real, raw.

Feet pushing back only to steady himself as he stumbled, only to keep himself from falling, he looked at her, stared at her, dark eyes unable to move away, and they were filled with so many complicated emotions, so much he tried not to feel for so many years. In part to save him from this exact feeling that scorched like fire, but it had always been there, like a poison, a plague slowly killing him, driving him insane. And this was like the cure, for her, for him; the painful, wretched medicine that could give them hope, even if it was bitter and hard to swallow.

The Uchihas were the apex of visual prowess; it was a dangerous, powerful thing to look into their eyes, like lighting matches near gasoline. Her fingers clenched around his neck, that emerald gaze boring into the darkness of his own like metal striking against flint, it was so forceful to the point of almost being divine, and he thought that this locked stare of hers was even more potent than his inherited legacy.

Then came her kiss, which burned and raged, made adrenaline slip into his bloodstream, and it was over way too quickly.

'I want to fight you.'

A heartbeat of silence. Then he was pressing his hand against her back, guiding her into his chest, mumbling a single confirmation against her ear, "All right."

Inhaling, he closed his eyes, hiding the way the color of his gaze changed, and once again focused. This time it was more difficult; reconstructing from a memory, but he was still able to recall the abandoned hideout almost perfectly. For the second time that morning, he took them through reality itself, leaving a single tile left in their wake in the empty house, as they materialized in a barren, underground training room, dimly lit by overhead lights on their last legs, a fading Uchiha symbol painted on the far concrete wall.

His right foot landed softly in the newly created, small hole in the floor, and once they had settled, his arm dropped, before he began creating distance between them in anticipation.

 

[arbus]

Sakura’s eyes darted to take in her their surroundings. Her heart was a tight thrum against his chest; his a steadier throb against hers. They separated. With his hold on her gone, she retreated, one, two, three, four careful steps on woollen socks moving over cracked tiles.

Her eyes locked onto him. “Don’t you dare go easy on me.”

Carefully, her foot shifted, still a communicated motion as she used the hair tie she kept around her left wrist to pull back her hair into a tight ponytail. Then the bend, chin still raised, her face a pale mask in the dimness and her eyes two glistening emeralds. She pulled off the socks, threw them away to the side. Rolled up the sleeves of the yukata and fastened them onto her shoulders, so that her arms were bare and unrestricted by the cloth.

In an all-out fight, she would lose. There was no question about it, any inkling of hope would be delusion. But this kind of fight was a special one; this was to level their playing field; to finally, finally go eye to eye. She had no intention to spare him.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

She was slower than him. She lacked his proficiency in jutsu. She had neither the sharingan nor the rinnegan. Every ninja on the face of the earth knew that going up against a dojutsu meant near certain defeat.

But. He had not seen her fight yet. Had not seen her since the war. What she had given Satoru had been nothing.

So. She moved.

Her feet, naked, pad pad pad over tiles and she knew he saw because of the sharingan but she didn’t go for quick. She went for bold, coming in hard and strong with a controlled surge of her chakra bringing her body to working temperature in the blink of an eye. She thrust her right fist into his face, used the momentum to fall, whirled around with her leg outstretched to sweep him from his feet and darted, back, gone.

 

[Graverobber141]

In the darkness, a red eye shined out from beneath dark bangs; the sharingan a bloodied promise with nothing but damning history and pain, but his legacy, whether he wanted it or not, and staring at her with the three spinning tomoes, feet spreading apart as he waited, he gave her a silent oath to meet her blow-for-blow, to not pull punches. To respect her by giving her this fight.

Two shinobi of high enough skill can read each others' minds just by trading blows.

He saw her coming, the chakra flowing into her fist, and automatically he dunked out of the way, in consequence getting caught off guard by her leg. His hand jerked out to press against the floor as he fell, recovered by shifting his body weight, planting his feet against the tile, and he pushed his palm off the flooring to propel him forward.

He was pursuing her, and in a flash he was behind her--a stolen technique: Dancing Leaf Shadow--

A memory, a shadow, one of the demons between them: he had been wearing a backpack, standing behind her underneath the moon, his forehead free of the headband that declared his loyalty to Konoha, and he had muttered 'thank you'.

It hurt, tinged with regret.

--Falling back on his palm, he twisted in a whirl to send a kick into her side.

The only definition of love he knew then was pain and sacrifice, the ashes left over from a fire that had destroyed everything, and later, he would taste those ashes, mixed with blood, on his tongue, feel two fingers pressed against his forehead, and mistake it for love.

 

[arbus]

The kick connected, his shin driving into the cage of her ribs, drawing a pained moan out of her. Too easy to have been anything but a calculated risk, her hand snapped forward, downward, to clutch his ankle with an iron grip even as the force of his blow propelled her across the room.

She spun, midair, dragging Sasuke with her like a puppet and letting him fly at the top of her momentum.

She crashed into the far wall with a grunt and a crack, smooth concrete fracturing with the impact. Pebbles fell to the floor.

A beat, a short stretch of silence.

The dust settled, and with a push of her hands she freed herself from the shallow crater. Landing on her feet, she brushed dust from her shoulders, her lips pulling into a satisfied smile as the low green hum of the rhumbus seal on her forehead bathed her face in an unearthly light, rendering the lines slowly crawling across her cheeks sharp in contrast to her white skin.

Her body thrummed with energy, pulled taut as if by an invisible wire, shoulders straight and chin raised in defiance. She radiated strength, intent; with the yukata hanging loose from her tight-drawn body, now covered to the tips of her fingers and toes in the black lines of the Strength of a Hundred Seal, she made for a formidable sight. But it was her eyes that burned, relentless.

A push of chakra into the soles of her feet and she was off, leaping into another frontal attack. Fists raised over her head, she exposed her chest and torso and throat to a potential counterattack, offering her vital spots like a taunt, with the confidence of invulnerability backing her up as she brought her joint fists down, aiming for his neck in what would, if successful, be a fatal blow.

 

[Graverobber141]

Pain spread through his body like a thunderstorm, his back slamming into the concrete with a loud crack, creating a sizable crater, whose spreading fissures fractured the red and white fan above him. The adrenaline locked down that pain, singing his nerves, and sliding down onto the floor, his palm pressed against the cool tile. Mismatched eyes shooting up, his knees were bending because she was charging again.

He made a split decision. Automatic. Heart racing to the rhythm of a wardrum, lightning chirped in his palm. Pulling his arm back, leaving a trailing hollow in the chidori's wake, he rushed out to meet her.

A flash of lightning against her turned back, her figure standing over the red-haired body, the wild look in his eyes of a crazed animal with the intent to kill; his palm raised, struck forward, was misdirected.

His hand jutted out as they met, that distinct chirp deafening in his ears. Yet she was closing in. Changing course, dunking down, his lightning infused palm cut against her side, a glancing blow, as her fists collided with his left shoulder. There was a snap. Sharp, spiking pain like the bone had been shattered, and the shards were now flying through muscle.

Another split decision.

Flying toward the concrete, he activated his rinnegan before he could be smashed against the floor; in his stead was left one of the ceiling lights, destroyed in an instant, and he was clinging to the top of the building upside down, chakra flooding through his feet.

More pain, precise, burrowing. His eye felt like it was burning--he had used it too much, too recently, that power--and a line of blood streaked down his face from the purple iris, but he did not relent.

He pulled a scroll from his weapons pouch, released a summoning jutsu; the windmill shuriken spun in his palm, infused with lightning after he formed a form few, quick hand signs against it, and a moment later it was flying through the air in her direction, a second spinning out of its shadow midway.

 

[arbus]

The pain was debilitating.

The chidori sliced through her skin, cracked her ribs, microfissured her liver. The smell of cauterized flesh was instantanuous, strangely familiar, conjuring up pictures of surgery and gloved hands pressed against charred skin. The pain was agonizing, enough to throw her off balance, and in a stumble she landed on her toes, toppled over, smashing chin first into the ground and slid on her stomach over the uneven tiles.

She did not have the benefit of the rinnegan, but with honed reflexes she rolled onto her back, while the curative properties of her body washed in soothing waves through her system, knitting torn flesh and mending fractured bones until nothing was left from the injury but a faint, pleasant tingle. She came to her feet the moment the lamp crashed to the floor, its glass case exploding into a thousand pieces. Her head jerked up, eyes fixing on the shadow that was Sasuke, his lean frame hanging from the ceiling like an overgrown bat.

She squinted, taking in a movement, hazy at first. When she realized it was a shuriken, the weapon was already heading her way, and she knew the technique well enough to expect its twin. Sure enough, it emerged in that particular backhanded jutsu, but she had made her decision.

She was a close-range fighter. She had her ways of drawing him from his vantage point.

The lighting crackled and hummed, its force growing bigger by the second but she stood her ground, feet planted firmly on the floor. She drew back her right arm, her fist clenched so tightly her knuckles grew white with the strain. A moment of utter calm overcame her, then, the split-second of her all-or-nothing approach. A beat of sweat rolled off her cheek and dropped onto a tile. Adrenaline and a racing heart a heady mixture, her vision clear her focus sharp her mind working precise like clockwork as her fist connected and the earth broke. A crevice opened up beneath her knuckles her feet, swallowing the broken lamp the tiles. It spread and spread, sprawling across the room reaching the wall splitting the wall shaking the ground in tremors and quakes.

The room shook, the ceiling creaked, short of caving in.

A cloud of dust rose and obstructed the vision, as a moment later both shuriken connected in a sharp metallic clank.

With her hands and feet planted against the jagged surface deep in the newly formed chasm, she had evaded the attack by a hair's breath. Her back tingled from flesh mending from a cut in her back. She panted, drawing in gasping breaths, filling her lungs with fine particles of dirt and earth. Her heart was in her throat, beating frantically, her head pounding in the same rhythm. Her fingers slid over the earth, and she reinforced her chakra into her trembling fingers. Crawling out of the abyss, she was covered in sweat, her hair sticking to her face. The yukata was torn, clinging to her body in shreds, her naked skin caked with debris.

Her eyes searched the collapsing room, even as she swayed as she pulled herself to her feet, gathering the rest of her chakra for that one last punch she was determined to deal out, her teeth gritted through the ache of worn chakra pathways.

 

[Graverobber141]

It was becoming hard to breathe, each intake of air laborious, producing the sharp sensation of a kunai digging underneath his ribs as his lungs tried to fill. His chakra was nearing its limit, and he could feel the consequences of its depletion seeping into his muscles, making it harder to move. With the building beginning to collapse around them, pieces of the ceiling crashing down--bits of earth crumbling underneath the roof, fissuring further to let rays of sun peek through, a suggestion they were far from the snowy weather of Konoha--this had to end, one way or another.

All or nothing.

If he had learned anything from his mistakes, the ghosts of his past, it was how to grit his teeth through the pain and move forward on nothing but sheer will alone. Commanding his body to obey, bearing the burning pain in his shoulder, his ribs, his eye, he went to meet that end. He propelled himself off the discarded, tumbling chunks of the roof, dashing to avoid being hit himself, and skidded across the broken tiles of the ground, before shifting his momentum to begin running toward her.

His hand outstretched once more, and if his movements haven't given him away yet, the distinct chirping sound of the concentrated lightning chakra he held in his palm certainly would.

How many times had he done this?

Another thrust of his hand outward, his red eye peering out from behind the flashing blue sparks and streaks that danced around his limb wildly, leaving scorch marks along his arm that was not yet used to wielding it.

He could smell singed flesh, mixed with rain, and snow, and sunlight; feel water underneath his feet, burnt grass on the side of a riverbank, the steady column of a bridge. How much blood had he spilt with this cursed jutsu?

The chidori was aimed for her shoulder, but it was not a continuous stream. Should contact be made, the chakra would drop from his fingers the moment he pierced skin. Enough to wound, but not enough to be fatal.

 

[arbus]

A fathomless irony, to be confronted with this choice: The moment she regained her balance, blinking through the slowly settling dust, she heard the achingly familiar chirping of a thousand birds. Saw the blue spark flare up in the distance, nearing at a fast pace; she saw his silhouette next, balancing lighting on the palm of his hand. Ethereal, almost.

And she knew she had a choice.

She could evade the attack, there was just enough time for a leap back into the crevice. She doubted he would follow, because this was not about causing hurt.

If she did, she would squander her chance to strike. And it would end with that. Because there was not much more energy left in her; she felt it dwindling even now. The telltale signs of a spreading back pain, a blurring vision, the fluttering pulse.

But. She had made her choice long before this point.

A fathomless irony indeed.

She took a deep breath, broadened her stance to welcome the blow, drew back her own arm and darted forward.

Afterwards, she would not remember what exactly happened next. It would all be a blur of pain and triumph, not over him but over her own fears that were more debilitating than any jutsu could ever be.

It happened in the blink of an eye. His blow connected as she met him midway, and she felt a sharp pain, white-hot and agonizing, even as the chidori sizzled out and the electricity faded, effectually preventing his arm to pierce her flesh. A bad burn spread across the point of impact; angry-red blisters grew, and shrunk again, in a ticklish push-pull of her body's efforts to heal itself once more.

It was a high price to pay, that pain, but oh so sweet when her white-knuckled fist drove into his handsome face, cracking his nose, the force of the blow enough to hurl him backwards if it weren't for her foot, sweeping his legs out from under him to fell him like a tree. She hooked her hand into his shirt, taking that fall with him, pinning him to the floor with her thighs a vice on either side of his torso.

Her breath hitched, came in the aborted, half-choked wheezes that told of over-exertion. Sweat streamed down her face, her back. Her hands were slick with it as she cupped his ears, leaning over him to stare at his greasy, dirt-streaked, bloody face. Met his mismatched gaze, her thumb brushing over the caked blood under his rinnegan. Her own gaze half-wild, with her hair darkened by sweat, clutching to her face. Her chest heaved, the air leaving it in wheezes. Around them, chunks of ceiling crashed into the floor. With a deafening crack, the crevice widened precariously, but she didn't care, didn't look, had no eyes for anything but him.

"Sasuke." Her voice was raw, throaty; it was a plea; a command; a revelation. She stared down at him, thunder-struck, as if she was seeing him for the first time. Her mouth hung slightly open, her fingers convulsed, as if fighting an impulse.

 

[Graverobber141]

His nose gave a sickening snap, a sprout of blood flowing down his lips as her knuckles connected, and the skin was already becoming discolored, purple bubbling over black. She hadn't faltered, and when she had pulled back her fist, he had the thought she looked like a goddess, black lines twirling across her body, yukata exposing flashes of her skin. Pinned beneath her, even with the imitate cave-in threatening to swallow them whole, he found himself gazing up into her eyes, wondering how he always seemed to fall under their weight these days, like he was caught in a genjutsu, bypassing the prowess of his sharingan.

At the sound of his name, that calling of hers, he answered, feeling something wild stir within his chest at the way she said it, at the way she looked at him; with a pained growl escaping from his throat, he pushed himself upwards with his palm--fire burning across his ribs, his shoulder, but he ignored it--before entangling his fingers into her hair, catching her lips with his own in a kiss that was as fierce as their battle had just been, his mouth and tongue moving with the intent to express every emotion raging inside him in that moment, everything he felt for her.

He pulled away suddenly with reluctance, but feeling the building's shaking become more violent, the tile beneath them cracking, the dust and a bit of debris from a piece of ceiling falling too close for comfort, it was necessary. "Hold on," he told her, arm dropping to wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her against him, as he buried his face into her neck. Setting his jaw, he hoped he had enough chakra left for this. The tomoes of his rinnegan spun beneath closed lids, and after a heartbeat of concentration, a pillow was left to be crushed underneath a slab of concrete, and they were nestled safely on top of her bed; snow was still falling gently outside, had piled upon her balcony in a white, undistributed blanket.

A pained grunt fell carelessly from his mouth, a fresh line of blood splaying out from underneath his ringed eye, which was fading back to black. His body thoroughly exhausted and bruised, he couldn't find the strength to disentangle himself from her, nor did he particularly want to, not yet. His lips still pressed against her neck, he kissed her heated, sweat-slicked skin, mumbling a fact he found as evident as his body's need for oxygen. "You're beautiful, Sakura."

 

[arbus]

Upon landing on the bed, Sakura made a sound somewhere between discomfort, pain, and a snort of amusement.

The difference in atmosphere was so jarring it was comical; one moment, the world around them ended, the very earth threatening to swallow them whole; the next they lay in the stillness of a cloudy winter‘s day, a slant of white sunlight falling on the bed and tickling her nose.

Her body was slow to catch up. Still humming with adrenaline, heart throbbing violently against her chest which was pressed against his, she once more sought his mouth with her own, and to reconfirm this connection, this particular, achingly sweet bond between them that was suddenly strong and sturdy as a nautical rope.

Her body on him shifted as she curled up in the crook of his arm on his side, cheek resting on his chest to monitor his heartbeat. Her hand trailed over his torso as she took in the bruises she had caused, all the while tasting his sweat and blood and mouth on her tongue in a concoction that was as heady as the adrenaline rush, a high from which she came down slowly as she administered the healing chakra into his beaten-up body.

Not only her hand grew warm with it; the chakra seemed to radiate from her whole body, seeping warmth against, underneath his skin, her own still covered in the paling lines of the activated seal. A warmth like a balm lowered itself soothingly into his bones, into broken tissue and strained muscle. It was an excruciatingly slow cure, tingling and tickling, and her lips pressed up against his neck like his had done before, still hot from the kiss they had shared as the world fell down around them.

 

[Graverobber141]

There was a small, distant part of his mind that wanted to protest as her healing chakra began flooding into his body, that warmth washing through him like an ocean wave, easing the pain that had seared into his muscles and bones, because his injuries could mend on their own given enough time, but it was a quiet complaint that barely registered; his perception had narrowed, his attention reserved only for her, and in these precious moments, they were the only two people in the entire world: only her, him, and the rhythm of their heartbeats, echoing against one another within the confines of their chests.

A low, content sound rumbled in his chest at the feeling of her lips pressed against his throat, the knowledge drifting through a thin layer of his consciousness that he would only allow such a gesture that left him vulnerable from her, and he nuzzled against the top of her head in return, lifting his fingers to lovingly run through her pink hair, damp from sweat, before tenderly caressing her back, tracing the exposed, dark lines of her fading seal that poked through the ripped fabric of the yukata.

This. This pure emotion, heated and distinct, that ran through his body was powerful, raw, and he felt it deeply.

When his injuries were tamed, he sought out her hand, intertwining their fingers together, before he carefully shifted his weight so that she was under him, and he could lock their gazes, finding himself once more mesmerized by the way he could become so easily trapped within the endless, emerald sea of her eyes. His mouth twitched upward into a smile that was as pure and soft as snow, and then his lips parted to make a fervent and sincere declaration: "I love you."

Could it be considered a confession, if it were so very evident?

 

[arbus]

Sakura was not sure if the heat in her cheeks came from him, reversing their position, with his body a comfortably heavy weight on top of her. Or if it came from the fingers that had touched her naked skin so tenderly, so intimately, the sudden awareness of her state of undress. Or, doubtlessly, from the way those words fell from his lips, like they were the truth, like he felt them to the very last syllable, to their core. I love you, as if he meant: I am loving you. I have loved you. I am going to love you. Such a simple declaration, yet such a profound effect on her body. She wondered if he saw her pulse, fluttering hummingbird-fast against her neck.

She looked at him, looked. Took in not only his dark gaze, but the desolate state of his nose, still purple and bloodsmeared, and the grey dust of shattered concrete that gave his skin an odd hue, with streaks of sweat running through.

She didn‘t smile, not quite. Her expression was open, vulnerable in its chidlike hopefulness as her brows lifted, creased, her mind processing slowly, so very slowly.

She raised her hand to cup his cheek. She wanted to have his weight on her forever, his gaze on her forever, loving tender sceptical sharp mismatched sad angered restless — it didn‘t matter as long as he looked, as long as he did not allow himself to avert those beautiful eyes.

„I love you, Sasuke.“

It was easy because she knew this. She had known it for years. But what it must have cost him to come that far, to make it here, into this moment, with her.

A laugh tumbled from her lips.
I am loving you. I have loved you. I am going to love you. It was a promise she gave herself; she knew she could not take away from his pain, but she could love him, and fight for him. Even covered in dust, his hair was still fine as she used her fingers to brush it from his face, where she held it against his temple to expose the noble lines of his cheeks and chin and nose to her own eyes. She had never quite realised how long and thick his lashes were, almost feminine in their beauty. The curve of his mouth, usually a hard line, was now tender and innocent and made him look so young.

 

[Graverobber141]

It was exhilarating, this feeling; made his heart beat wildly in his chest, his skin flush underneath her touch, his breathing become a bit more sharper. Though exhaustion tugged at him, a weight burdening his conscious, he fought it desperately, because he wanted to soak in this moment, to share it with her, eyes trailing over the soft features of her face, beautiful and captivating, how her mouth moved as she laughed--a rich sound that made his own smile grow a tad wider. He wanted to hear it more, and though his sense of humor was severely lacking, he was willing to learn, try, if only to draw out that heartwarming laugh often.

Shifting his weight onto his elbow, he let go of one of her hands to reach for the other, after tracing his fingertips tenderly across her cheek, wiping away a streak of dust. Studying her studying him, one of his brows lifted questioningly, and with mischief turning his smile into a small grin, Uchiha Sasuke made a joke, "Really brings out the color of my eyes, doesn't it?" A joke at his own expense. He led her hand down from his hair to gently rest against the mixture of black, purple, and red on his nose, before pressing his lips against her knuckles.

This was what it was like to let someone in. To acknowledge the magnetic-like force that drew him toward her, this thing called love that had been elusive to him for so long, if only because he didn't know what it meant. It had been there all long, buried underneath everything that had left him damaged, incapable of processing it, but now that he felt it, now that it was tangible instead of ethereal, he would cherish it, her, protect it, her (though she certainly didn't need it, yet it was not about fighting her battles for her, but instead a willingness, drive, to fight alongside her), hold it, her, close.

He kissed her once more, long and lovingly, as if to confirm what they had just told each other, give a kind of physical proof to this passionate connection between them, and when he withdrew, it was with reluctance. Almost as if he didn't want to acknowledge where they were, his eyes shifted with effort to take in the door leading into her room, before landing back on her. "I should go before I get you in trouble." He didn't sound quite convinced of that fact. Contrary, he sounded vehemently opposed to the idea, as if he greatly wanted to stay, but he couldn't completely shut down the logical part of his mind reminding him that she didn't live alone.