"What are you doing here?"
"I'm working, of course." She replied, as if there was nothing the matter with it, trying desperately to pretend that it truly was the case. Oh, how she wished that there were nothing the matter with her being at work today, how she wished that it would not catch Tsunade's attention, how she wished that he could fool herself into believing that nothing had happened. She scribbled notes on her clipboard, intentionally avoiding the gaze of her mentor, who stood in front of her with an expression that Sakura was determined not to take a peek at.
"I thought I told you to take some time off of work." She was angry. Of course she was angry, her demands had been deliberately disobeyed. But there was something else in her tone, an unmasked fear fearfulness and concern, that when Sakura finally relented to meet the eyes of the Hokage, reflected in her eyes. A lump formed in her throat. A heavy, aching lump that threatened to turn into something else. Tears. Screams.
Why couldn't they know to leave her alone? Sakura was going to deal with it in her own way, the least painful way. She was going to bury the fact under piles of self induced ignorance, and blissfully disregard it. Why couldn't they let her keep her peace? Why must they insist on pushing her into the horrible reality, the agony that she had been trying to avoid? She wasn't ready yet. She wanted to immerse herself in the truth slowly, gently. Peel away the band aid intermittently. And in order to do so, she needed a temporary distraction – something to indulge in that could keep her wandering mind away from the facts. Work was the perfect diversion.
"These patients aren't going to heal themselves. They need me here. The hospital is already short on workers, with the number of medical nins that have been dispatched to supply their skill on missions." She replied casually, and it surprised her how easily and fluidly that the words came to her tongue, and how collectively she could speak. On the inside, her heart was pounding. Her stomach churned. She prayed silently, leave me alone. Leave me to cope on my own.
Her former mentor stood and gaped in silence, before her expression softened into one of worry, and she reached out to put a tender hand to Sakura's shoulder. She brushed it away briskly, but not coldly. "Sakura..." Tsunade spoke, her voice quiet and precarious, careful not to provoke the misery that she both knew Sakura should have been feeling, for her own mental health. She needed to grieve. Grieve, and be done with it. "You look like you haven't slept since we brought you back. You need some time to let it sit. I'm worried about you."
"Don't be. I'm fine." She lied, although with the way she said it, and how she felt at the time – it really didn't feel like lying. For a moment, she could honestly and genuinely believe that she was fine. "I knew that there was a risk of having comrades die when I graduated from the academy and decided to become a ninja. I knew that this would eventually happen. You don't need to worry about me, because I'm fine."
But Sasuke was different, Tsunade wanted to say. She knew perfectly well that neither he, or Naruto, were merely comrades to Sakura. They had formed bonds much more deep and sacred, and she loved them both unconditionally. But Sasuke, what she felt towards Sasuke, it had been a different kind of love. Tsunade had watched it grow from affection and devotion to hopeless obsession. He was her sun, what her life revolved around. And after losing such an important piece of herself, Sakura was most certainly not fine.
"Do you even care to know how he died?" Tsunade asked, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. Sakura ignored her, and she ignored the sharp jab in her chest, like a spear through the heart. She just continued to flip through papers, her eyes flickering across the page but not really reading, not really seeing. "Are you even aware that he's dead, Sakura?"
"Of course I'm aware. I saw him, didn't I? I was right there, wasn't I?" Leave me alone. She begged inside of her head, an insistent, powerful plea. One that she would not voice out loud, for the sake of maintaining her facade. Please, just leave me alone. Are you trying to be intentionally cruel? Pour salt on my wounds? I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready for this yet. Leave me alone.
"No, I don't think you are." She had implanted a deadly seed inside of herself. She kept the the truth locked up inside, where it would rot and turn into dormant suffering, festering within her and winding its way through her body. And then when she finally decided to let it free, it would consume her. It would destroy her. She had to let it run its course now before it ruined her life. She could not avoid his death forever, and when she couldn't any longer, it would hurt more fiercely. "Look me in the eye, Sakura, and tell me he's dead. Say: 'Sasuke is dead.'"
Sakura turned to her, expression blank. "Sasuke is--"
And then there came nothing. She could not say that word, she could not finish that sentence. To say it, even if it were only to put an end to Tsunade's persistence, would be admitting it. And she just wasn't ready. The words would not come, even if she bid them to.
"Hemotoxin." Tsunade said. "Snake venom. He was bitten."
... She might have stood in a stunned and solemn silence, her mind full to the brim with disbelief and her heart aching with utter dismay. She might have mourned for him, dying so young, with so much unaccomplished, of something so unprecedented. But she did not, she would not, not yet. A time would come for that later, after her gradual acceptance, and when it did, it would not be agonizing or disdainful. She would look back on his memory fondly and respectfully.
"I've got work to do." She said in an undisturbed monotone. "If you'd excuse me." And she turned and walked down the hallway, not daring to look back and face the disappointed, empathetic eyes of Tsunade. Tsunade watched her, and felt a pit form in her stomach. One that warned of imminent disaster, and urged her to act. But there was nothing she could do to sway the heart of the young, stubborn medical nin who would undoubtedly be her eventual successor. And besides, she did not wish that sort of pain on anyone. So she could do little else besides hope and wait, that in the end, Sakura would understand.
Work came easily and fluently for Sakura after that, the hours of her shift ran together, packed with countless patients and so much writing that she was giving herself wrist cramps. The people she worked with regarded her cautiously, like she was something fragile and on the edge of breaking. They avoided her for the most part, only consulting her when was necessary, and carefully dodged around anything that might lead to that topic. Sakura was content to be left alone and pretend that she saw nothing amiss and neither did they, engrossing herself with her work, letting it consume her until she was numb.
Work was the only thing that mattered, now.
--
Perhaps, the thing that tortured him most, tied in with the now unattainable goal of clan rebuilding, was the fact that he was still a virgin. How awful. Doomed to an eternity never knowing what it felt like to be truly accomplished.
"He's spending an awful lot of time looking down there," Uchiha Mikoto said, looking up at her son, who lay a little ways off, flat on his stomach, watching Konoha wistfully through the transparent ground beneath him. He was propped up on his elbows, the heels of his palms pressed against his cheekbones, lips pulled downwards in a miserable frown. It tugged ferociously at her heart strings. "It's not healthy."
"If you're concerned," her husband replied, not lifting his eyes as he turned the page of the book he was reading. (Well, they had to find SOME way of entertaining themselves, after all. To be bored for the rest of eternity would be hell, and seeing as they most certainly weren't in hell, well, you get the idea.) "Go talk to him." He finished.
It had taken him a while for him to settle, but he still did quite easier with the comforting presence of his mother than he would have otherwise. It took a while to be used to the feel of being weightless, of looking downwards into a bird's eye view of the world and not expecting to fall, of never being hungry, never being tired, never feeling pain. Not the physical sorts, at least. Inside he ached with all of his being to be alive again, to have the opportunities that had been stripped from him reinstated, to be a part of what happened beneath his feet. And knowing that he couldn't, and he would never be able to have what he desired above all, caused him to overflow with frustration.
After being dragged around to greet every figure of his distant past, his mother had intervened, putting a hand to Yondaime's shoulder as she spoke. "I think that's enough for right now." She had said gently, giving Sasuke a sympathetic smile. "We have nothing but time on our hands, and he needs a while to... adjust." So at his mother's request, they had left him in piece to adapt to his knew, unfamiliar surroundings. And he had been staring at them, but more specifically at her – ever since.
He would not deny that a major factor was how he had reacted to seeing her again. He might not have been impacted so strongly if he had not had the image of her twelve-year-old self engraved in his mind, and foolishly, for some reason unbeknown to him, expected her to be the same way. But when he saw her for the first time again, he might not have recognized her, if it weren't so undeniable that it was, in fact, his former teammate. If it had not been for the pink hair, and the green eyes, and the similar attire – he would not have known he was looking at Sakura. She had changed. No, changed was not a strong enough word. She had transformed. From a mindlessly doting girl into a strong, beautiful, and independent woman. Emphasis on STRONG.
He had watched her dust a boulder with her bare hands, and that was enough to make him admit, even if only to himself, that she was no longer something he could easily dismiss. Not when considering his enemies, and not when considering his friends. But, of course, the latter had always been that way. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he had broken all the bonds, he only found himself more tangled in them. He was always more attached to her than he put on to be believed, and he had thought of her as no less than a part of his indirect family. Even though she was annoying, and at times a nuisance, she had her good points, too. Sometimes, he had to turn away to hide the smirk on his face when she beat on Naruto.
Until he saw her again. And then his mind went spinning with thoughts that he had no control over. There was no denying that she was attractive, even to him, and that she was talented. And it was then, that he decided, when he returned to Konoha, she would make a suitable mother for his children.
But no, the real reason that he watched her so intently as she went about her day was because she looked like she really didn't care.He had expected her to be miserable. Some sick, twisted part of him hoped she would be. Naruto had cried more than she had. Kakashi had cried more than she had! (That hasty swipe at his visible eye hadn't gone unnoticed by his sharp vision, no, it most certainly hadn't!) She hadn't cried at all. She had not shed a single tear for his sake. And dammit, it hurt!
It hurt to think that she was completely and totally indifferent to his death, and that she no longer had room for even a fraction of him in her heart.
It was dark when she walked home, leaving the hospital and finishing a long day of work. The streets of Konoha were abandoned, desolate. She walked quickly, not allowing for distraction, towards her home. He clenched his hand. Why? He thought. She said... I thought that she...Goddammit, why doesn't she love me any more? If she loved him, she would have been upset. Why? If she cared for him at all, she would have been upset. WHY?
It was then that he noticed the presence of his mother, looming over him. "Sweetheart, what are you looking at?" She asked softly, pityingly, as she bent downwards and caught sight of Sakura entering her house, slipping off her shoes, wandering into the kitchen to prepare herself a late dinner. His mother remained still, silent, her expression unidentifiable, before it crumpled into a look of sheer agony. Not for herself, but she felt it for her son. Because she wished he could take his pain away. "Oh." She said. "Oh. You're in love with that girl, aren't you?"
"Yes." He replied bitterly, truthfully. "But what does it matter? What does it matter, huh? I'm dead."
--
She did not want to visit Naruto, but even if it seemed cruel, it would not change the fact. She did not want to see him so heartbroken again, so distraught, so mournful – because he had a tendency to be contagious, and she was still not in the mood to have her soul ripped into shreds in the most slow, agonizing way imaginable – if you can understand. But of course, someday, she would be ready for it eventually. It was onlytemporary denial, of course. But she felt obligated to see him anyway, as a friend, so she did.
She did not find him in a better condition that she had expected. From what he had heard, he spent most of his time lately crying into Hinata's chest. And when she wandered into his apartment, he was an immobile lump wrapped up beneath layers of blanket, only the tips of his sun-kissed spikes protruding from beneath the covers. She walked over to him and put a hand to his head gently, testing to see if he was awake. He stirred, rolling over and turning to face her. His eyes, normally so full of life and energy, were dull and flat. "Hey." She said. And she could not think of anything else to say.
Words did not need to be spoken to come to an understanding between them. He could tell, just by looking into her eyes, what she kept on the inside was what he kept out. He could tell that she didn't want to talk about it, and she could tell that he did. He wrestled with the blanket until he had freed his arms, and wrapped them around her, pulling her into an embrace. He finally braved to brake the silence, whispering as to not disturb it too entirely. "That bastard." He said. "He left us again."
She could feel her throat tighten and her heart ache. She tried not to much to think of the meaning of his words, not to let them settle inside her mind, to keep them air born until the time was right. He expected no response from her, and continued. "It's not fair." He said. "We've been chasing him for so long. We've been working so hard. And this time, he went somewhere where we couldn't follow after him. Was it all a waste? Was it all for nothing? Please, tell me that I did not just waste the past nine years of my life on someone who up and died on me." His voice cracked with a sob, and his grip on her tightened.
She said nothing. "It's just so fucking unfair." He continued. "That poor bastard! He wasn't ready to die yet! We weren't ready for him to die yet! Goddammit, I feel as sorry for him as I do for myself. It's not fair!"
She said nothing.
The funeral was small and private. Even though it had become common knowledge in the village that Uchiha Sasuke was dead, only a select few of those closer to him were permitted to attend, for flood control. Even though a traitor, as an Uchiha, he was still regarded with only respect. And many would wish to pay their condolences to the Hokage-to-be and the village's most promising Kunoichi.
Sakura stared at the casket, and tried her hardest not to imagine Sasuke's lifeless body within it. She only wanted to look at the beautiful outside, carved out of polished mahogany, with flowers spilling over the top. She only wanted to see the good, and tried desperately to ignore the bad. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Naruto, who stood one one side of her with Hinata at his other, and he was surprisingly dry-eyed. They held nothing but well-kept sorrow, and his lips were turned up in a slight, solemn smile. After all, he was finally putting his best friend, his brother – to rest.
She watched as they lowered the casket into the ground, and remained until after the last of the dirt had been piled over it, until after everyone else had gone. Even then she stood, still, frozen, unsure of what she should do. Go home? No, she did not want to go to that empty, forsaken place. To work? No, she was sick and tired of being looked at like someone on the verge of psychosis. To her friends? No, she did not want to wallow with them in misery.
Her feet moved without her consent. She walked, and she knew where it was she was walking to. No. She told herself, begging her legs to stop moving. No, don't. Don't do this. You're not a masochist. Stop. Not here. I never want to see this place again. The Uchiha Complex.
She had walked the path to his house so many times, she would have been able to find it blindfolded. And despite her desperately protesting mind, when she arrived at the front door, she walked right through it, pausing momentarily as if to ask permission to enter first. And she walked straight to his empty bedroom, that still carried his clean, boyish scent, that was in perfect order even though not a thing had been touch since he had left it. And she lifted the face-down picture of team seven, setting it upright, and looked into his face.
And then came the truth – impaled through her heart, drove into her mind, and swelling until it was the only thing left.
Sasuke is gone.
Sasuke is dead.
At last came the tears. Hot and throbbing, they pulsed down her cheeks as she lost herself to the uncontrollable sobs, her knees buckling under her weight as she fell to the ground on his bedroom floor. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if they were the only thing that was keeping her in one piece, and cried. And she cried to release all of the anguish that engulfed her. And she cried so she could finally say goodbye. And she cried long after it became painful, and her throat was sore and hoarse and her eyes stung and burned.
And she did not know how long she had been crying, or care, until a meek and timid call came from the doorway. "Sakura-san?" She would recognize the sound of Lee's voice anywhere. She heard his footsteps, approaching hesitantly. He knelt at her side, and she kept herself turned away from him. "Sakura-san, are you going to be alright?" He asked. What a stupid question. "We've been looking everywhere for you. Everyone was awfully worried."
She threw herself into him, clinging to his lean figure in desperate search of comfort. He held her gently, but firmly and passionately. "I'll take care of you from now on." He said. "I promise."
And as Sasuke watched the scene unfold before him, he went stiff. He hated himself for ever wishing that she would grieve for him, because seeing how she tore herself apart, if he weren't already dead, it would have killed him. Horror washed over him, as he watched her fall willingly into the arms of another man. Another man who was now free to interfere, because he could do nothing about it. Another man who quite clearly had intentions of stealing her away.
"No..." He muttered, shaking his head back and forth. "NO! SHE'S MINE, GODDAMIT! NO!" He banged his fist on the nothingness.
Uchiha Mikoto pinched her eyes shut, pursed her lips together, and turned her head away because she could not bear to watch any longer.
Pheew. This chapter was just chalk full of angst. Don't worry. I think this story was supposed to be a comedy, but it's not quite turning out that way, is it? Oh well. It would be sacrilege if Sakura walked around making jokes if Sasuke did die. I'm just trying to be a bit realistic. Comedy will come later. After the emo-angstyness part.
Um, for the love of all things holy REVIEW!!!!! Please, I'm like, down on my knees here. Those people who know me, well, you know how I get.
And I'd like to apologize for taking so long to update. Seeing as Y o h o is my primary focus, I'm sure you'll understand. Don't worry, I intend to update Jan Ken Pon sometime soon, too. (For those of you who read either of those...)