Samsara
Summary: Sakura’s words die in her throat as the man’s eyes shoot open, and the coldest red irises she has ever seen meet hers. She is hit by a wave of terrifying certainty about two things right then – that she knows these eyes better than any other and that, if he wanted to, this man could stop her heart with just a look. [SasuSaku Festival 2017 – Day 7 – Prompt: “The Past”]
Disclaimer: This story utilizes characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz Media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelizations, comics or short stories is intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All fiction, plot and Original Characters with the exception of those introduced in the books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn and using them without permission is considered rude, in bad-taste and will reflect seriously on your credibility as a writer. You will be squished by a Susanoo wielding demi god if you are found plagiarizing.
Warning:Spoilersfor pretty much everything up to NarutoGaiden.
Canon-Compliance: Takes place during the Blank Period.
Fanon-Compliance: Takes place several years before An Inch ofGold and Unplanned.
AN: Better late than never! You guys can decide for yourselves how much if this short series is something that could have happened, and how much of is my personal head canon. Also, I kind of went to town with the SasuSaku bits here, because I firmly believe that they have a loving and active married life.
As a medic, Sakura is probably more prepared for the various symptoms of pregnancy than the average woman. She has studied the theory, administered prenatal and postnatal care, and has even delivered a few babies. At first it was only under the watchful eye of her mentor, but since she and Sasuke have been travelling to more remote villages, it’s an occupational hazard.
Her first trimester is about what she expects – it’s actually easier.
Morning sickness isn’t as bad as she worried it would be – in fact it’s not so much morning sickness as random-moments-in-the-day-sickness. Even then, it’s more gentle queasiness than anything else. There are only two mornings she spends with her face buried in a nearby bush, while Sasuke holds back her hair.
There are a few of her favorite foods that she can’t even think about without feeling nauseous. Still others cause her bizarre, desperate cravings she never experienced before. (Tomatoes! She can’t get enough tomatoes!) And she has to pee a lot more often, which Sasuke is equal parts amused and irritated by depending on how much it delays their travel plans.
And good gods, she thought she was done getting pimples!
But what she wasn’t expecting were the dreams.
From her studies and conversations with other expectant mothers, she’s come to anticipate the nonsensical, the silly or even highly sexual. What she ends up experiencing within days of confirming her condition is bleak, eerie and a little depressing.
In the beginning, her dreams have a reoccurring theme.
Whenever she closes her eyes, she finds herself walking along a beach. The tide is always out, leaving a vast and barren expanse of sand and shallow pools of water. The sky is always grey and foreboding, bracketed by cliffs in the distance. The detail in this place is staggering, despite the fact she’s never spent much time on this seashore.
Or any seashore, really.
Konoha is landlocked, and even her experiences during the war didn’t give her much time to enjoy the coastline. Travelling with Sasuke, they have occasionally been to places like Kumo where beaches are more common, but never with express recreational purpose.
If there had been, she would never choose such a grey and dismal one as the one that plagues her unconscious.
Despite this, the barren shore of her dreams feels as familiar and beloved to her as the forests and valleys of Konoha. For whatever reason, she experiences a sense of utter safety during her dreamlike wanderings, which leaves her disconcerted and confused upon waking.
The pattern continues over several nights without change, until their return journey from Tsuki. That night, they have no choice but to bed down in a forest cave to avoid an incoming storm.
Since she told Sasuke of her pregnancy, he isn’t as keen on sleeping outside as much. Sakura has assured him that at this point it really doesn’t matter where they sleep, but he’s been adamant. It’s only when there is absolutely no other option that they sleep outside.
(She’s trying not to find his overprotectiveness endearing, but she’d be lying if she didn’t say she’s been waiting her entire life for this.)
In spite of their protective wards, Sasuke insists on taking the first watch – which they both know means he doesn’t actually intend to sleep that night – and Sakura is too tired to argue.
She expects this to lead to utterly dreamless sleep, and yet with almost no transition, she is back on the dream beach.
Only there is something different this time.
眠り
A dark form lingers on the sand dunes of the horizon. She can’t make out exactly what the shape is, but as she gets closer, she realises it’s a human being.
“Hey!” she calls. “Are you alright?”
She begins to run, struggling through the unstable and damp sand, automatically reaching for her medical kit – only to discover it’s not there. She doesn’t let this deter her, however, and after what seems like forever she skids to a stop in front of the person.
It’s a man, she realises, based on the dimensions of the body, and he’s badly injured.
He is face-down and judging from the lack of movement, not breathing; when she reaches out to touch clammy, swollen skin and checks his pulse, she doesn’t find one. The parts of his epidermis not covered by a waterlogged white robe are a mass of second and third degree burns, crisscrossing themselves like the angry red roots of a tree. She’s seen this before, in electrocution victims, except from what she can perceive, there are no exit or entrance wounds on his body.
As if it was just passing across the surface of his skin.
Or…or channelled through his chakra points.
A pit forms in her stomach at this, and she intends to reach out and channel her own chakra into the poor man, hoping to boost his heart and lungs back to working order.
But that doesn’t happen.
Her hands keep probing the man for signs of life, and when she concentrates, she can’t feel any of her chakra.
Nothing.
What the…?
She considers her hands in confusion, and belatedly realises that they don’t look like hers. These are paler and more delicate, with none of her scars from training.
And no telltale glow of healing energy.
No…!
The horror at being stripped of the ability to save this man hits her like a punch to the gut, but rather than dwell on it, she shoves it out of her mind. She might still have a chance to save him, even if she can’t do it the faster way!
Her body seems to be cooperating with this, at least. Firmly but gently, she turns him around, intending to start compressions to his heart –
Only to recoil in shock.
Beneath the swollen, vein-scarred skin, is Sasuke.
夢
Sakura wakes suddenly, her entire body jerking her into consciousness. Sweat drips from her forehead, and she feels as if she has been running.
“Are you alright?”
Her husband is a featureless shadow in the dark.
“You were on a beach,” she whispers without preamble, her voice shaking. “You were unconscious, and I couldn't…I wanted to heal you, but I couldn’t do it, and then I turned you around and I think you were dead, but there was no…I couldn't…”
“It was a dream,” Sasuke assures her. When her body remains stiff and agitated, though, he reaches out and cups her face in his hand, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.
Sakura sighs, leaning into his touch, and the rigidity of her spine eases somewhat. “I know it was. It was just…very real.”
“Your senses are heightened right now,” he informs her quietly. “Your mind is likely drawing much more on sense-memory.”
“I know that,” she protests, smirking slightly at the fact Sasuke is quoting information he’s read from a pregnancy book she picked up in the last semi-inhabited village. She never saw him read it, but she remembers that exact sentence.
Not interested in baby-books my ass, you big goofball!
“And you also know that I’m fine,” Sasuke continues, and she can hear the frown in his voice. She suspects he has noticed her expression. “As are you.”
“Other than being married to a know-it-all, I’m wonderful,” she mumbles, curling up in front of him.
“Hm.”
She feels his fingers in her hair, moving back and forth in a comforting rhythm. Sleep creeps up on her, heralded by the calming sensation of fingertips brushing against her skull –
Sakura jerks back to full consciousness.
“Wait!”
He freezes. “What?”
“I have to pee,” she tells him, navigating away from him.
“Of course you do,” he sighs, letting go of her.
When she finally gets back, Sasuke has fallen asleep. She suspects he just meant to close his eyes for a second, but then he’s been going without sleep more often these days. She worries he intends to keep up the trend until they are safely back in Konoha. For this reason alone she chooses not to wake him.
The wards will be enough…
She reclaims her spot beside him, burrowing in close and shifting so that her back is fitted against his chest. In his sleep, he drapes his arm across her waist, holding her close, and Sakura smiles into the darkness.
He used to do this when they were kids, too, though back then he would rather swallow kunai than admit to it.
Sometimes on away missions, their genin squd would have to sleep outside, too. Kakashi would take first watch – like Sasuke does now, having no intention of waking any of them to take the second – and the three of them would end up huddled together like puppies. They were all usually so exhausted that no one had the energy to complain about sleeping arrangements. Sakura would end up sandwiched between the two boys to minimize any bloodshed, with Naruto muttering in his sleep on one side, while Sasuke curled protectively into himself on the other.
But sometimes, very rarely, he would end up bracketed against her, arm slung over her hips and breathing against the back of her neck.
She never slept well those nights, too shocked and too pleased to do anything but marvel at being so close to him. He’d wake before everyone else, and she’d feel him recoil as if burned, and then his warmth would be gone.
She never mentioned it in waking hours either, because she expected him to be embarrassed. He never said anything either, even though he would have known she was awake. And Kakashi would look knowing beneath his mask, but act like he hadn’t noticed any of it at all.
Now, though, she has no trouble falling back to sleep within Sasuke’s embrace, and thankfully, there are no more dreams that night. And when the first rays of sunshine peek into their shelter the next morning, instead of pretending he hasn’t spent the night wrapped around her, Sasuke hides his face in her shoulder and determinedly ignores her attempts to coax him to get up.
Until she cheats a little, ducking under their covers and using lips and tongue in her most convincing argument. The sound of his strangled cries and panted curses echoing off the damp walls of the cave are completely worth the attempted reproachful look he gives her afterward.
“We’re not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves,” he reminds her.
“Then you should learn to be quieter,” she retorts, wiping her mouth. When he growls and snatches at her, trying to pull her down beneath him, she dances out of his way and singsongs, “Come on, we’re going to be la-a-te.”
The rest of the morning progresses in the usual fashion, with them trekking through the forest to their next destination. It’s quiet, which is the norm – she and Sasuke don’t always talk while they travel, existing in silence more out of a perfect dynamic of companionship than over need to avoid possible threats. It’s a time for reflection, or just being together.
When she was younger, the silence would have driven her crazy, but now she is more comfortable in it.
Although today, her usually peaceful thoughts are clouded by analysing that dream she had. It’s bothering at her, hanging on where most would retreat to her subconscious immediately. She supposes it’s because she was reminded of her helplessness, a state she has actively avoided since she was a teenager.
If Sasuke notices her preoccupation, he says nothing. Until she volunteers the information he won’t pry, and she doesn’t want to say something because it sounds ridiculous in her head, let alone out loud.
They just make it to the overnight ferry, which it turns out is not helpful to her queasy stomach. She spends most of the voyage heaving over the side of the boat, or curled in a foetal position in their cabin. Only as their nearing their destination does her exhaustion finally allow her to give in to sleep.
眠り
She finds herself back on the beach, kneeling in front of an unconscious Sasuke.
Only it’s not Sasuke, she realises in relief. His hair is lighter, despite being so thoroughly soaked, and much longer. And his features are more delicate, sort of like how she remembers his brother’s being, just without such defined cheekbones.
Her healer’s instincts have already prompted her hands to reach forward and check for signs of life. He isn’t breathing and she can’t detect a heartbeat. Judging from the burns and bruises, she’d say he’s suffered both electrocution and massive trauma, as if thousands of fists careened into him.
For a split second she goes to heal him before remembering that here – wherever here is – she has no such ability. Swearing, she rearranges his body so that he is supine on his back, and prepares to restart his heart manually.
At least…she thinks she’s the one decides to do that. The body she inhabits in this dream world seems to have a mind of its own.
Pressing the heel of her hand on the centre of his chest, she begins to count out loud, watching his chest with each compression. After a minute or so, she leans down to check his airway, tilting his head back and lifting his chin.
There is still no indication of breathing, and she pinches his nose closed, covering his mouth with hers and breathing in to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his chest rise and feels her hopes rise. That’s good, at least, no punctures or obstructions.
But when she pulls away, he doesn’t continue on his own.
Swearing, she restarts the compressions.
“Don't…you…die…” she orders him with each downward press.
You're…not…him…but…I…won't…let… you! Sha…na…ro!
The cycle of compressions and breathing for him continues almost without end. It goes far past the point she would have stopped for anyone else, but she can’t take the chance. If this person is anything like Sasuke, he will live. He has to live.
As she pulls away from his lips once more, preparing to push down on his chest, the stranger’s body seizes and his mouth opens in a gasp.
“Oh, thank goodness!” she cries, sitting back on her thighs to give him room. “You’re alright…take it easy, just try to breath, okay? You had me scared for a –”
Sakura’s words die in her throat as the man’s eyes shoot open, and the coldest red irises she has ever seen meet hers. She is hit by a wave of terrifying certainty about two things right then – that she knows these eyes better than any other and that, if he wanted to, this man could stop her heart with just a look.
夢
She jolts awake with a cry of surprise.
“What? What’s wrong?!”
Sasuke is kneeling beside her, his hand on her arm and staring down at her with an expression of thunderous concern.
“It was you,” she gasps, thoughts colliding too quickly in her brain to make sense. Her words are coming out jumbled. “It was you, but it wasn’t you, but it was your eyes. And you were unconscious, but I saved you, I think, but it was…it was like that day, and I though you…I thought he was going to…”
“Slow down,” Sasuke instructs her. “Start from the beginning.”
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, coaching herself to remain calm, and carefully relays everything. She tells him about the strange dreams she’s been having, how they were recurring at first but now somehow seem…
“Continuous?” he supplies.
She nods, because there’s no other way to put it. “I don’t know what this means.”
Sasuke frowns.
“I want you to tell me if this happens again,” he tells her finally.
“How would that help?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “But I would feel better knowing what you know.”
She knows her husband doesn’t like the idea of an obstacle or opponent that he can’t fight. Perhaps he thinks the more information he can get from her dreams, the more likely he’ll be to help her. She also knows that he is compulsive about these things, and will fixate over it until there is some kind of resolution – which there may not be.
She offers him a bright smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just two dreams, I’m getting ahead of myself. Making something of nothing, the way I sometimes do. I’ll be fine.”
Sasuke frowns like he doesn’t completely believe her, but nods stiffly.
And it seems that she’s right, anyhow. The next few nights, her dreams are once again no more than fleeting impressions. She experiences imprints of faces, moments in time, but no startling interactions with the man whose Sharingan is the exact copy of her husband’s.
It seems her subconscious has backed off a little, and she’s set to shrug it off as strange pregnancy related dreams after all.
But then it starts happening again.
眠り
The man with Sasuke’s face – But different. It’s different! – is unable to move or speak, despite his horrible eyes. In fact, they fade into a dull black almost the moment she is conscious of being back in her dream, suggesting he is far to weakened to do anything.
Still, he watches her distrustfully, as if expecting her to reach out and smother him or something.
“I’m here to help you,” she tells him quietly, hating the warble in her voice. Or the fact her voice is somehow softer than it should be. “You don’t have to worry, alright? I’m here for you.”
If possible, he eyes her with more distrust.
If you think glaring at me is going to scare me off, you’ve got another thing coming to you, I’ve seen much worse.
Oddly enough, the picture that immediately comes to mind is not her husband’s chilling stare, but a stranger’s face twisted into a snarl. The face is utterly nondescript, but the ugly rage there makes her body shiver reflexively.
There’s no time to contemplate what that means, not with a patient to help.
Her eyes rove over his body, taking in the strange – but familiar! – high-collared white robe, checking symptoms and making a diagnosis in her head.
Chakra depletion and acute over exhaustion. Whatever happened to him, he completely weakened himself to the point of handicap.
She has no idea how she’s supposed to help him without her healing abilities, and with hands that don’t necessarily do as she wants. It seems this girl, whoever she is, has some rudimentary healing skills – maybe something passed down from a family member – but it’s not nearly enough to heal her mystery patient now. Glancing around the beach, she doesn’t see anything that could be used as an elixir or healing balm. She’s going to have to venture beyond the shoreline, to see if there’s a forest or field nearby.
A tiny, nagging thought at the back of her mind tells her to run away. Without her abilities, she would not be able to stand against him if her assessment of his condition is wrong. Whoever this man is, he’s dangerous.
That doesn’t matter. I’m a medic, I have to help my patient…somehow.
Doing so on the shore is going to be difficult. She briefly entertains the idea of carrying him to somewhere more safe – but as she quickly discovers, she has no strength to do so. The man is tall and under normal circumstances probably heavy – as waterlogged deadweight, he’s even worse.
Besides, carrying him anywhere might attract attention, and that could be dangerous for both of them. Wherever they are now, this place is foreign to her – possibly to him as well. She needs to think of something, and soon.
Something at the back of her mind tells her it would be very bad indeed if either of them were found here.
夢
Sakura awakens the next morning, frowning at the ceiling of their temporary quarters, mind running through the calculations needed for a woman of average strength to carefully move an injured man the size and weight of her husband.
And possibly to look into lucid dreaming techniques, because the idea of being a paralysed watcher in her own mind is getting annoying.
Once she figures it out the first problem, she lingers quietly, puzzling out where she’s seen the man’s garments before. She and Sasuke have travelled so widely, and in such short time, that they’ve seen any number of strange clothing styles. Perhaps her memories supplied it?
She’s on the verge of an answer when she notices a hand snaking under the waistband of her pants.
“Oh, you think you’re being sneaky, do you?” she challenges playfully, and then giggles when long fingers ease between her legs.
All thoughts of her subconscious patient disappear as she finds something much nicer to focus on.
眠り
More dreams follow, night after night, but by now she expects them.
Sometimes she is not by her mystery patient’s side, instead crawling through a wooded area on hand hands and knees, gathering herbs and berries in her apron. Sometimes she is at a river, filling water skins and trying – unsuccessfully – to catch fish with nothing but her hands.
Other time she is with him, leaning devotedly beside him, pressing freshwater between his lips and crushing food into manageable portions. He accepts her help – not like he has a choice not to – but the whole while, he glares at her resentfully. Sometimes, when she does something he doesn’t like, he makes a noise like a growl low in his throat.
He is still unable to speak, and so she can’t ask him for his name.
Some procedures she finds herself researching during waking hours, poring through the few medical scrolls she’s brought with her or asking local healers about their traditional remedies. It takes every inch of her concentration in her dreams to effect even the slightest chance, such as picking a certain herb or retaking his blood-pressure.
In waking hours, Sasuke remains ignorant to her nightly vigil and although she isn’t exactly hiding this from him, she’s glad for it. He would worry needlessly, and though he hides it well, he’s already anxious. So when he asks her about her dreams, she tells him nothing new has happened.
Again. It’s not really a lie, it’s just…not completely true.
But she doesn’t think he’d take kindly to know she’s so worried about a figment of her imagination, especially as the sour-faced man in her beach dreamscape has started to grow on her.
“I hope you’re not attached to your hair,” she tells her invalid one day – night? – as she finally disparages of the snarled, wet ranks splayed beside him. “It’s beginning to attract bugs. And trust me, I know from experience how hard it is to get rid of them once you have them.”
His eyes narrow slightly, but she takes his lack of growls as permission, and carefully hacks off the hair at shoulder length.
“There, not so bad if I do say myself. But then again, I’ve had a lot of practise. I’ve had to do it on my own a few times. ”
She’s referring to her fastidious tendency to keep her hair cut while they travel, but that’s not the image that comes to mind. Instead she has visions of a cool, dark room, trembling fingers and a mirror balanced in front of her while she tries to even out the layers.
This happens sometimes. Images and ideas coming to her as she works on him. She can never make sense of them and passes them off as quirks of her psyche.
Or going batty from the stillness.
Her patient’s constant quiet reminds her starkly of how Sasuke was when they were children. While she is now close enough to her husband that she finds their silences companionable, this person before her is a different story. The prolonged hush is driving her crazy, and she finds herself falling back on childhood habits of rambling.
Not just rambling, actually. The things that come out of her mouth make her head spin. They are the utterly confusing, nonsensical words that characterise dreams – things that make perfect sense to her now, but which she knows will mean nothing to her upon waking.
“I bet you must think I don’t have a life or something,” she tells once, adjusting the small brush fire she’s started beside them. The wood she chose doesn’t give off much smoke, but the heat is comforting to her – and it keeps his body heat constant. “I guess you’d be right. Where I’m from, I’m not much more than an afterthought. My father – well, he’s important, but my mother, she was a lesser wife –”
She frowns at this, because that’s not right at all, and yet the story falls from her tongue with the utter conviction of truth.
“ – that told everyone I was going to be a boy. When I wasn’t, my father wasn’t happy. He had her put to death and it’s only because the priests said he’s be cursed if he spilled his own blood that I wasn’t too.”
The story makes her stomach clench, her first-hand anger mingling with second-hand sadness. Something is using her mouth to speak for it, and she doesn’t like it.
“Everyone says I look just like my mother, and that’s why my father doesn’t care for me very much,” she goes on matter-of-factly. “My older sister, though, he loves her. I…I would love her too, I think, if she let me.” She ducks her head, feeling embarrassed about admitting to this. It feels like she never said this out loud before. “But she so busy, she doesn’t have time. Father has sent for so many tutors and instructors for her that she’s never around. See, she’s the one who is going to make an advantageous marriage one day and make our country strong again. So, she has to be accomplished. She says it’s a waste of time, because she’s so beautiful, and I think in this case she’s right. Men take one look at her and fall in love right away.”
She sighs wistfully, and the tiniest bit of jealousy seeps into her words.
“She has everything. I wish…I wish I could just have…” She trails off and shakes her head. “Never mind. It’s not important. And all of this must be boring you, right?”
She smiles gently down at her patient, and is surprised to find that he has been listening to her this whole time with an intent expression. In fact, unless she’s much mistaken, there is something else buried in the lines of his face.
It takes her a moment to realise that it’s empathy.
夢
“Have you ever dreamed about being another person?” Sakura asks, glancing up from the trashy romance novel she’s already read three times. It’s utterly failed in its job of keeping her mind off her dreams, especially given this latest development where she’s apparently made up an entire other life for herself.
She decides to give up on it.
It’s a rare moment of downtime, not spent travelling or scouring villages for information about local disturbances. Across the clearing, Sasuke is carefully oiling and cleaning his katana, mouth set and brows drawn together in concentration.
“Sasuke?”
“Hm?”
“I asked, have you ever dreamed of being someone else? I mean, from the perspective of someone that wasn’t you,” she clarifies.
“No.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “Never?”
“Most of my dreams are memories. And I am always myself,” he responds absently.
“Oh.”
She spares a brief second to reflect on the sad truth in that – with a life like Sasuke’s, she doubts his subconscious has ever been a retreat from reality – and tries to go back to her book.
But the text is blurring together, her already vague interest gone, and she puts it down.
“I’m bored. Can we go for a walk or something?”
“We walk everyday.”
“I know that, but it’s usually to get from Point A to Point B. I meant, let’s just go for a stroll. Enjoy nature. Autumn’s so pretty, and we won’t get to enjoy ourselves so much once winter comes. And we won’t have a lot of time alone, just the two of us, come spring.”
“Hm. Fine, let me finish this.”
“I was also thinking of maybe stopping in the capital after all. They’ve got a library there, and I want to look a few things up. I know you hate big towns, but it’ll only take a few days.”
“Mm-hm.”
Sakura frowns at him, trying to discern whether he’s seriously paying attention to her or not. When he continues to wipe invisible detritus from the blade of his sword, she knows none of what they’ve just discussed has penetrated whatever thoughtful funk he’s trapped himself in.
Time for a distraction, then.
With quick movements, she stands and stretches. When he doesn’t seem to notice, she goes on to unbutton the clasps of her tunic, then her bra, and pulls them both over her head.
“I think my breasts have gotten bigger since I’ve been pregnant,” she says, pitching her voice a little louder than before. “What do you think?”
He doesn’t so much as glance up. “Maybe.”
“Excuse me if I don’t trust your assessment, you’re not even looking at me.”
Sasuke lets out an annoyed sigh and finally shoots her a brief glance, and goes back to work. “Yes, you’re bigger.”
Sakura raises an eyebrow at this, mentally counting down the seconds, and is rewarded when the rag in his hand suddenly drops and he slowly looks up again, utterly bemused.
There we go.
Still, she pretends not to notice and cranes around to examine her backside as well. “I think I’m bigger down there, too. We have a measuring tape in our kit somewhere, right? I’m going to find out, since there’s nothing else to do and you're so busy.”
She turns away, reaching toward their bags.
There’s a clatter of metal on earth and the rustle of a cloak, and then an arm seizes her around the waist from behind.
“You don’t have to resort to obvious tricks to get my attention,” he murmurs quietly in her ear, and she shivers at the feel of his breath upon the skin beneath her ear.
“Apparently I do,” she teases. “Besides, my tricks didn’t ever work when we were younger. I consider this back pay.”
“So you traffic in sexual favours now?”
“Who said anything about sexual favours?” she says innocently. “I’m just finding ways to occupy myself while you’re clearly uninterest –”
“You have always been a horrible liar,” he tells her, and proceeds to help divest her of the rest of her clothing.
眠り
Her dreams return to the murky, fleeting glimpses in the next few nights, and for a long time she barely interacts with her mysterious patient. Sometimes she still dreams of scouring the woods for things to help him, but more and more often she begins to see darker, more troubling things.
Sometimes her slumber is assaulted by the downright upsetting.
On occasion, she will find herself cold, shivering convulsively in a drafty room. She is exhausted, but doesn’t sleep, eyes focussed on the moon as she waits for morning to come. Other times – and this is even more troubling – she feels the familiar impact of fists against her face, a man’s voice demanding where she wanders off to everyday. She cowers, tears and blood streaming down her face, insisting she doesn’t go anywhere, and hoping the lie isn’t detectable.
These brief glimpses always leave Sakura annoyed upon waking, the sense of helplessness like an acrid taste at the back of her mouth. If she spends those mornings doggedly running through her taijutsu forms (Sasuke refuses to spar with her since she’s been pregnant) or crushing boulders to dust, that’s no body’s business but her own.
It seems this is to be her only outlet, too, because in her dreams she is maddeningly placid.
The next time she finds herself back with her mysterious patient, she smiles through the bruises on her face and pretends like she isn’t in pain every time she moves. She knows it’s not convincing – this man is as observant as Sasuke – but given his reticence (real or enforced by his handicap), she doubts he’ll remark on it.
Which is why she nearly has a heart attack when a dry, rasping voice breaks the usual silence.
“Where did you get those bruises?”
She actually physically jolts, looking around to see if someone has been watching them. It takes an absurdly long time to realise that her mystery patient was the one to speak.
“Did you just…?” she stares down at him in awe.
He is glaring at her again, ostensibly furious; if she knows that look as well she does, she gets the sense he’s angrier at himself for speaking than over the state of her face.
“Are you able to speak?” she asks him, heart rising hopefully, thinking that perhaps now some questions can be answers.
But he simply turns his head to one side. “Tch.”
She can’t help smile at that. She definitely knows this type of behaviour well.
“I guess you used up all your strength to ask me that, huh?” she muses lightly. “Well, don’t worry about it. I’m really clumsy, always walking into things. I feel down the stairs this morning.” She chuckles nervously. “There’s a reason no one wants to teach me the shamisen. I’d probably put someone’s eye out!”
But he exudes an aura of disinterest now, and she sighs.
She should have asked for his name.
Their silent dynamic continues across montages that dance across her sleeping mind. Of her gently rubbing healing ointments into his skin, bringing him clothing to replace his maddeningly familiar robes. She continues to experience the puzzling, violence-fueled scenes as well.
Someone pulling her hair, a high, mocking laugh from a beautiful, ivory skinned woman. Older Sister, her mind supplies. Huddling on the floor, clutching her ribs as someone kicks her, displeased once more by something she has done or failed to do. Father.
She screams at herself to stand up defend herself, but her body never listens. By the time she manages to raise a hand up to block a blow, it is too late and she feels her ribs break.
Time passes, and more often she finds herself lying in a barren room, people tending to her and speaking in low whispers. She gets the sense she is recovering from something – injury, most likely – but that knowledge fails to overtake the fervent sense of restlessness she feels.
If she’s injured and bedridden, who is caring for her patient?
It feels like an eternity before she dreams of the beach again, and a stark relief hits her the day she finds herself wandering on that damp sandbar again.
Until she makes to the spot on the shore where she has been tending to her mystery invalid, only to find he is not there.
Shock and disbelief fill her, competing with guilt that her injury kept him from checking on him. What if some wild animal found its way here and dragged him off? Or worse, what if someone found him here, thought he was a foreign spy, and took him away?
Or worse.
I have to find him!
She begins making a catalogue of possible places he can be, turns around to head toward the forest where she often sought medicinal herbs, and freezes.
Black eyes glare down at her, a sinister six-pointed red star in their centre, paralysing in their intensity. Her jaw drops in shock, but before she can say anything, he reaches out and grabs her by the throat.
“Nn-gh!”
She clutches feebly at his hand, nails scrabbling uselessly against his skin as he lifts her off the ground. Her feet dangle uselessly in the air and her lungs constrict in their need for air. Confusion and dismay fill her.
“W-w-why?” she chokes out, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I am not weak,” he tells her coldly, his voice no longer a rasp but still low enough to make her shiver. “I did not ask for you help, and I owe you nothing.”
She whimpers.
“Know that your death would mean very little to me,” he goes on, tightening his grasp on her. Those horrible eyes gleam, and she knows that she’s about to die.
Oddly enough, instead of fear, a sense of relief overtakes her. At least here and now, it will be swift, unlike the life she spends her days trying to escape from. If that’s the case, she knows she can be brave for a few moments longer.
She musters up a smile for him, unable to speak any longer, but hoping it conveys her understanding and even that she forgives him for this.
His hand tightens again and she prepares for the end.
Only to suddenly find herself in a heap on the floor, her airway miraculously free again.
Shaking off the dizziness that comes from breathing again, she looks up to see that he is now walking away from her. It takes a little longer for her to understand that she has been spared. She doesn’t know if she is more relieved or disappointed.
“W-wait…” she whispers, her vocal chords aching from nearly being crushed. “Why…what…who are you?”
He pauses, but does not turn around, and she thinks maybe he might kill her after all. But then,
“I am called Indra,” he tells her quietly, his voice barely audible over the din of distant waves.
And then a flash of blue lightning encompasses him, and he is gone.
つづく
To be continued in another prompt :)
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クリ