#ombree:theuchihaswife

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary:  She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring.  He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a  world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and  love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States  Period.

Chapter 22 The Hate

Only the dead have seen the end of war.

Injured and broken down. Bandaged and scarred. He’s all of these things but his heart still beats, and his lungs still manage to fill themselves with air. They’ve urged him to rest, and they’ve urged him to let his body heal. Those blacks and those purple liter his skin. They linger upon his knuckles. They are painted across his being that tries to hide beneath the gauze.

He has no desire to leave from where he sits. He has no want to go forth and give command.

Yes—he just wants to stay right here.

Summers heat has bathed the earth. It’s brought with it fresh earthly scents unlike the copper that lingers within his nose. He’s been washed clean, and soaked within so many things. Yet, that smell stays with him no matter which room he enters.

His arm lays in a sling. They could have healed it. They could have done more for him, but he pushed and he fought because it wasn’t him he wanted their attention on. Healing him had been the last of his concerns. There had been so much priority for him and so much less upon her.

His body still remembers the weight—it remembers every harsh movement and every misstep she took. The weight of her conviction to keep going as she walked within a world she was never meant to stand upon clings to his muscles, and it holds the loss of her as she fell forward tumbling from him with no desire to let it release.

They had found him—his men had found them.

They had come rushing and letting out the loudest of yells. Their footsteps could be felt beneath him as he collided with the earth not moments after she had. None of it had mattered because as he laid there she was all he could take in. His vision had come and gone as it pleased but it didn’t lessen the way he begged his hand to reach out for hers even when he knew it couldn’t.

She was hurt—she had been so hurt.

And he could do nothing about it but sit there doing his damnedest to focus his vision upon her.

No amount of heart was going to make his body move. And no amount of heart was going to help her even if he could.

The events which should have led to him returning home is unknown. He just remembers the startle and the disquietude. No weapon within his grasp and the lack of understanding of where he was and how he had gotten there. The familiar paintings upon the wall or that vanity his wife seemed to adore brought forth no reassurance.

All of these things brought no comfort—no thought that he was home. None of it had eased him—it had sent him through the wildest of panics.

She didn’t lay beside him, and he questioned it all.

The way his body tumbled over and the way he had curled within a ball. Gasping out and shutting his eyes deep within the pain. Those footsteps upon such once known floors thudding and making him desperate. They had come clamoring in and even under the gaze of such familiar faces it hadn’t eased him in the slightest. It had sent him spiraling and seeking to escape. His back pressed against the paper doors that lead to the engawa and his fingers desperate to reach underneath the robes to his side.

All of it had been so overwhelming—it suffocated him, and sent him desperate to escape, and then all at once he’s stilled because there’s a hand reaching out and taking a hold of him.

That voice had been stern and those eyes had glowed as if to assert themselves as dominate.

Sasuke-sama. You must calm down.

That heartbeat within his ears and that swallow painfully slow down his throat. Heat upon his skin, and then the waves of pain right behind it. They were upon him just moments later. Wild and without remorse he pushed them off, and then she had grabbed his attention again all at once.

You have to calm down—what would she think seeing you like this.

The world had gone black just as he had spilled his insides upon the floor only to come back to the ceiling he should have known above. Numb. Everything feels numb as his fingers reflexively move and then linger across the sheets to feel upon his face. His vision isn’t normal—neither is that gauze upon his eye.

It’s tired and worn. Heavy and clouded.

The firmest of presses had been against his shoulder and then upon his back as his body rose. The pain had still been there but lighter than the last. The panic is hidden beneath so many questions as his mind feels even hazier than his vision. There’s the longest of sounds ringing in his ears and that slow turn of his head doesn’t make it any easier.

There had so much discomfort.

Lips had moved and he couldn’t hear the sound he knew should have been there. He knows this woman. He’s known her for a long time now. She had given up so much with the war, and yet here she is still going and being where she doesn’t even need to be. He would never ask more from her nor her family.

And if he’s breathing that means he, too, has so much more to see of it.

He had been overwhelmed before this battle, overwhelmed within the battle, and now, more than ever, he is overwhelmed as the expectations rise, and new responsibilities sit upon his doorstep.

They all wait for him outside. They await his next move, and his word of what is to come next. They had won the battle over Otogakure but for so much more than it had been worth. Victory had been what it was called but it had truly been a loss. They had stood their ground and the cost had been so much more then they should have paid.

Fickle. That had been the truth behind this victory.

His uncle lay in wait to be buried. His wife lay within their room without wake.

This emptiness inside him is feeding his soul. He has to stay grounded beside her, but he finds himself locked with the walls of his home unable to find the will. That feeling that had consumed him couldn’t drag him back. If he did there would be no guarantee he could reign supreme over it once again—not with her like she is.

The gauze is wrapped so thick upon her skin. She has color once again but even that’s not enough to comfort him. Those pale rose colored strands aren’t the vibrancy of spring, and those viridian haven’t looked his way in so many days.

Had this victory, in name only, been worth this? Had it been worth the lives of his people, and the lives of his men? Had all of it been worth it?

No. None of this had been worth it.

He had told them before they had marched out—before they had made their way to Otogakure—to remember their worth. He had wanted them to remember why it is that they continued to leave their loved ones, and why it is that they continue to never see the end of the war.

Do you think we are condemned to hell? Looking for hope. I know it can be hard to see.

All of them had been looking for hope. They had looked forward believing their leader would bring them to the days of peace. It had been hard to see them then and now, more than ever, even he questions if they exist. After all that they had been through, after this last battle, could he truly call upon them again? Would they trust a leader who had marched them to their graves after reminding them that they truly were worth more than the dust they had been born from?

Destined to die from the moment of our birth—do not forget everything you are worth.

Sometimes they all need reminders of what they are worth.

Yet, as he sits here staring down at his wife who has yet to awaken he cannot find his own. He cannot see why it is they should follow him after this last battle, and why all of his birthright is meant to lay within his hands. This new will Madara had demanded had been their downfall.

It had weakened their hearts, and weakened their spirits. It had taken more than it had given, and it had all been in selfishness. He knows selfishness because that was the only thing that had kept him alive in this last stand off with death. How could he have dared to put their lives before the underworld for such a thing?

No more dreams are lost in time. No more lives will be lost in stride. The cruelest of irony lays upon those words.

Half lidded eyes and the smallest curve of his lips washes across his face. It’s bitter, and churlish at its best. Slowly shifting his leg out from under him he feels the pain biting upon such movements. The way his chest moves summons forth the urge to cough out. He’s shown enough weakness in his home he cannot show them even more.

Hadn’t he had enough of this?

Kiestuma Senju—he had looked down upon that man in the moment of his victory. He had mocked that man as he reigned supreme, and claimed that such a man was not worthy of his wife. There was no denying how much he had truly felt that in that moment.

Yet, who was he to look down upon someone who had given it all? Worth—the level in which a person or thing deserves to be valued.

Sasuke Uchiha had deemed himself so worthy of her. How could he be worthy when he couldn’t even keep her safe?

That promise had been made with every intent, and yet he had failed her regardless. So much feeling and heart lingered upon such promises. Just like he had put forth so much feeling to make sure his men knew of their own place. All of that heart he had put forward had been for nothing.

—because he wasn’t worth anything at all.

Hadn’t he had enough yet?

“She would be so displeased to see you sitting beside her like this.”

The turn of his head subtle but quick in holding the eyes of the woman upon the door. The inhale she takes makes it clear she’s disappointed but it doesn’t lessen the smallest of smiles upon her face. Why Hikaku’s wife continued to give to this war when it had only brought her harm he couldn’t fathom.

Her steps are soft as she takes her place across from him, “I promised you she would be fine didn’t I?” she’s not looking at him—no she’s looking so adoringly at his wife.

The words are upon the tip of his tongue. He wants to tell her he can’t believe that until she finally opens those wide doe eyes. He can’t trust that she’s not lost to him as well.

In more then one way, and it had been entirely by his own hand.

“I would never lie to you. By the time you woke up she was out of danger.” his eyes follow the way she brushes his wife’s hair from her forehead, “I’m surprised she had lasted as long as she had with such little chakra—but she’s regained color, and it looks like the fevers finally gone. All good signs.”

Still he gives no response as he watches her go about changing the gauze, “We would of liked to give her more attention but with so many of you injured we had to be sparring.” it’s a whisper as she continues replacing the gauze and dabbing the wounds with a cloth.

The shift of his eyes comes at the widow saying such a thing—he had done this to all of them. This is what marked him as being unfit to lead and unworthy of being their heir.

It’s a moment of silence from her as she finishes looking over his wife, and then a momentary lack of movement that has him bringing his eyes back to her and it’s in that moment he feels himself unsure of what she’s doing. Obsidian gaze so firmly upon his lone obsidian. The shift of his jaw comes at such a look. She’s searching him but he doesn’t know for what. The flare of her nose comes with a deep inhale, and it leaves him questioning if she’s found what she was looking for.

“Do you think this is okay? Do you think this is right?” it’s the barest of whispers as if speaking any louder would disturb his wife.

The flutter of his lid comes as the confusion decorates him in pinched brows and the deep set of his mouth.

“You think it’s okay for you to sit here like this? Sitting here wallowing in self pity, and self loathing? You think that is what you should be doing?”

Feeding and shaping. Feeding, and reaping.

It takes a lot to take the beating.

Once it’s done he’ll be deaf from all the internal screaming.

Had he truly had enough yet?

“I don’t know what happened, nor do I care, but how dare you.” her voice is tight within a hiss.

All this emptiness feeding upon his soul.

He knows this all to well because it happened when his mother passed.

“My husband and I put all of our faith in you—I continued to put my faith in you along with my children. How dare you do this to him, to me, and to my children—” his eyes are widening as her eyes begin to glass over, “but more importantly how dare you do this to her.”

Has he had enough?

“How dare you take her love and turn it into something like this.” the twist of her fingers within her kimono makes her frustration all the more real, “How dare you use her to make excuses so you can hide in this room and ignore your responsibilities.”

“She is my wife—what am I to do but stay by her side!?” the words finally find their way off the tip of his tongue hot and sharp, “Would you not stay by Hikaku’s side?”

Wide doe eyes grace him and then the tear falls and with it comes the smallest shake of her head “I would never use my husband like this. I would never lower him down so far.” her words are just as sharp and make it clear she cares little for his title of heir in this moment.

All this emptiness is devouring his soul. Just like when his father had passed.

It’ll never leave if you let it win.

Has he had enough of this?

“Get out!”

“No. I am forever in debt to your wife for being there when I needed someone most—when Hikaku could not comfort me from his grave.” her voice has finally begun to rise with each word she speaks, “I will not allow you to take your love for her and turn it into hate!”

His words are caught deep within the base of his throat. He could choke upon them as this woman rises before him with her hands twisted within fists and her gaze down upon him.

Feeding. Shaping.

“I knew you were better than this! He knew you were better than this! She knows you’re better than this! She would never allow you to sit in here like this. It would crush her! She would blame herself for you being like this! She would—she would—she would absolutely hate to see you in such a state!” her form shakes as she lets her voice out louder as if he is too far away to hear her, “She would do everything possible to try and take your pain onto herself just so you wouldn’t sit in here with such loathing!”

Reaping. Emptiness.

Just like when his brother had betrayed him and took up sides with the Senju.

“Wake up! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop wasting how much we cherish you like this!”

Had he? He had. He has. He truly has had enough of this.

“I came here to check on her one last time, and make sure for myself that she would be alright. I hoped she would be awake by now—but she isn’t and instead I get to see you like this. Be a man and a proper husband to her.” the tightening of her voice has returned and makes it all the more clear she’s barely containing her lividity.

He feels as if he’s been hit. It’s as if she’s struck him down, and thrown him deep within the river just beyond the village, and all that comes with it is panic, fear, trepidation, and consternation. He’s quick to move and get to his feet even as his body cries out with waves of pain at moving so fast, “What do you mean one last time?” his mouth is going dry—what has he done?

“We are leaving. I had hoped to tell her myself. I am moving in with my mother so I can have help with the children. Sakura-sama has been so good to me—I hate to leave her, and you. I hate to leave this village. This is home, but I need to protect my children first and foremost. I will not allow them to become warriors in their father’s place.”

“I would never ask that from you.” his voice shakes weak and desperate.

“The future is forever unclear. You say this now—but what of their own free will? If I take them from here they will not be surrounded by this—this need to take up arms.” she’s turning and then there’s a pause at the door as he tries to make his way to stop her, “Please tell her I will write to her. Please tell her thank you from the bottom of my heart—and thank you for doing all you can and will continue to do for my family even as I selfishly run. I lost Hikaku, but I cannot lose them too.” the tightening of her fingers upon the wood make it clear she cannot look at him as she says these things.

Just as he thinks she will leave his home and the will to stop her has left she turns to him with that smile she had come with upon her face, “My husband cherished you so much, and I, just as he did do as well. Please take care of her, Sasuke-sama.”

Shifting his weight does nothing to ease the waves of pain that come upon his body with so much movement, “I—I will. Please write her—and know you will forever be welcome home.”

His wife had created a home for this woman. This widow had come not just out of obligation for her clan but out of the love she had for his wife. She had come here knowing she was leaving, and that she needed to say goodbye. He cannot stop her with such determination, and such honesty.

She doesn’t do this for any other reason than out of the love she has for her children.

The Uchiha love deeply, and he expects nothing less.

Turning his head he can’t help but take in the ethereal woman that is his wife. Even with such acts occurring around her she sleeps so deeply. Even hurt, and held together with gauze she is still the spring nymph he has locked within his mind. It makes him all the more uneasy—he’ll have to leave her to rest. He needs to bury his uncle without her, and he needs to take control of his clan here and now.

Sometimes he needed a reminder of what he was worth.

Sakura Uchiha is the life, and the love of his people. Taking her love—no, not hers this isn’t just a one-sided feeling—to take his love for her and turn it into such loathing would truly crush her.

He had built her up as such and to lower her would be shameful. He would no longer shame her in such an unsightly way. He needed to go forth and give his people their right to mourn. He needed to ease their hearts filled with unease, and uncertainty.

Footsteps slow he makes his way back to her side. His skin brushes against her hand. It lays so still and without movement upon the sheets as the other lay tucked and in a sling matching his own. The curl of his fingers upon two of her own is firm. It’s a gentle squeeze as his thumb brushes against her bruised knuckles.

The inhale is deep as he takes this moment before he’ll leave her side. He may be battered and bruised. He may be injured and still in need of healing—but the world stopped for no man.

Yes. He had, had enough. So rise up from the ground because no more dreams will be lost in time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Slowly the ceiling comes into view and there’s a dryness to her throat. Her muscles ache and she can’t be certain if it’s from injury or from lack of use. Turning her head she can’t help but hope he’s laying beside her—and yet he isn’t.

The nuzzle of her pillow makes her fingers twitch before she starts to push herself up. Their home is quiet and she can’t help but take in the sound of the birds singing their praises of the sun. Clearing her throat her lungs feel full making her muscles twitch at such a harsh movement.

Her mind feels as though its in the clouds and as she forces herself upon her feet shaky and reaching for the engawa only floods her with a sense of calm. There’s no explanation for such a thing when she couldn’t be of help to her husband—and yet there’s this feeling within her chest that there’s no need to worry.

Her fingers struggle for only a moment to slide the door open, and just like as her husband does she seeks to remain calm within the presence of his garden. This place is something he found so much silent joy within and she too longs now to look upon it.

Easing herself down is rough and lopsided. It’s not elegant in the slightest but she manages and she sits with her legs dangling over the edge. She’s still feels fatigue, but she has far more chakra than she had that day—how many had passed as she slept away?

That summer sun is warm and so inviting. It has her rolling her head back and taking all of its rays in. Her skin feels dirty but that breeze keeps that summer heat from being too overwhelming. She’ll need to get back on her feet soon. There’s no doubt her husband is already doing whatever he can for his clan.

There’s only the smallest bit of hope he’s not back upon the battlefield so soon.

The swing of her legs makes it clear how tight her muscles are. The discomfort isn’t enough to stop that slow sway, though. A hum raspy and rough upon her throat falls. She can’t remember her final moments upon the battlefield clearly but there is one thing she can remember.

That world was a place her husband had ventured too many times before and during their marriage, and she had but just a taste. Those sleepless nights he had are all the more clear. This weight upon her shoulders. This is what weighed her husband down without remorse—this was but just a piece of what had made him who he was today.

At some point or another she had allowed herself to become naive. She had taken the occupation to be a medical shinobi but she had been but a mockery. Avoiding the front lines had been something she had been so good about. She had stayed within neutral villages and hospitals never truly understanding the struggle of the shinobi she had treated.

All of her morals had been childish. She now could say she understood their side. She had looked down upon them all at some point for taking lives, but how many times had she not done the same?

They hadn’t been her first kill. They hadn’t been her second. They certainly hadn’t been her third.

That realization is all too heartbreaking.

Never had she spared a single thought for those she had attacked as she made her way through Kusagakure to get to her father. Not once had she taken into consideration the lives she was altering when she had told her husband how to take Tanigakure. Not a single tear had been shed as she fought her way to get to her husband.

No—it was the minute she had beaten those men down out of fear that it had truly dawned on her that she was no better. She had at some point placed herself upon a pedestal as if what she did was so much better—as if she was a better human being.

She was no different from them.

They hadn’t killed all that had opposed them because they had wanted to. They had done it because it was their lives on the line.

She had been far worse—she had helped to conquer and she had helped to bring civilians to their knees.

She had built up excuses for herself.

There’s a bitter laugh that has her pressing her hand against her chest at the soreness within her lungs at such a reaction.

No—she needed to be more honest. She hadn’t even done that.

She had just ignored it, pretended it wasn’t a thing, and never took a moment to consider anyone but herself.

She had been self-centered.

At some point she had thought she understood her husband. Understanding hatred had only made her realize how much he had been hurt. She had understood so little. Only a piece of him had been considered and yet she had asked for him to love her. She still has so much to learn and this was but another piece of him she had finally understood.

Her husband and all of those around her carried such heavy burdens upon their shoulders, and she had subconsciously placed all of her own upon their shoulders as well.

Facing that burden, and accepting it.

Taking that weight upon her own shoulders—and sharing the burden along with her husband.

That is what those families deserved. She was not saintly. She was not pure by any means. She had decorated herself as such and yet she had been just a dirty as the rest of them. At no point should she have ever judged them—at no point should she have allowed herself to dance with naivety.

The press of her fingers upon her arm is warm, and the lower of her head comes to follow it.

How many people had come to hate her for taking their loved ones? Their friend? Their child?

She won’t let herself cry—that would be cruel to them. She won’t beg them for forgiveness. At some point she’ll have to stand before King Yan and await his judgment upon her for such cruelty.

Healing, and saving others isn’t going to help her escape her day before him. She had gone far beyond protecting herself in the face of being tortured. Her own friends, and family wouldn’t dare judge her for such things, and that’s why she has to be the one responsible for judging herself.

Her husband would simply seek to give her comfort—protect her from herself after doing such a thing.

He would never judge her. He would never hold her accountable. Holding herself accountable. Recognizing the people she had hurt.

It won’t end with those men. There will be others, and she’ll have to carry that burden within the future.

She is the one who has to do those things.

Her fingers move with the slowest of movements pulling upon the sleeping robe and exposing her arm. It’s with caution she removes the sling. She won’t heal the wound completely. She’ll leave the ache, and she’ll leave it with the dull pain. Its not enough to repent but she wants to make sure she remembers this clearly. Remembers that she too is no better than them.

That warmth that comes from the wood of the engawa sends the oddest of sensations upon her finger tips. She can’t help but take hold of her bicep as she takes in that fresh scent within the small breeze.

Those men had been so cruel playing with her—but at some point they too had to of been decent people.

They too had loved ones who would no longer be able to hold them.

The curve of her mouth is small and hinted upon the corners. Her husband had probably felt that moment so many times. Felt like he was going to die and in panic gone too far. He, too, at some point had lost himself in the fear.

That is how he’s survived up until now, and she wouldn’t dare judge him for such a thing again.

She wouldn’t judge the Senju, and she wouldn’t judge the Uchiha. She wouldn’t judge Kakashi, and she wouldn’t judge Naruto. They all deserved nothing but understanding.

Her own cousin fought on the front lines—she should have learned this lesson forever ago.

“S-Sakura-sama!”

The call of her name has her turning and the drop of her mouth in curiosity. How long had she been out to raise such concern? Viridan barely have time to trail the wood or the paper doors. They immediately make their way to those obsidian she loves so much.

The lift of her cheeks and that spread of her mouth is no longer subtle upon the corners of her mouth. He’s hesitating, and there’s something that crosses his face that she wishes she could understand. She’s sure that’s another piece she’ll come to learn of one day. They have so much to discuss, but there’s something far more important she has to do right in this moment.

“Welcome home.” her voice is soft as her shoulders roll up, “Sasuke-kun.”

Her desire to welcome him home had been what had pushed her to make her way to him. It had pushed her to defend herself and kill those men. It had given her the drive she had needed.

She had meant it when she told him she would welcome him home, and she will do it every chance that comes her way. She will make sure he knows that there is a home for him to go to when the weight upon his shoulders is too much. She’s here to help hold that burden with him, and she does so gladly.

He doesn’t have to carry it by himself any longer.

She had said she would take all of his pain if she could—and this is just the start of it. She’ll take his burden and she’ll share his pain so he doesn’t have to bare it all alone ever again.

He’s so slow in making his way to her. He needs to be healed. That gauze upon his eye, and that sling that his hand rests in. She couldn’t do it before but she’ll do her best to do it now. She doesn’t have all of her chakra back but to give to him is what she does best.

“Leave.” his voice sounds so weak compared to his usual strong tone and immediately she thinks he’s speaking to her.

Heavy and large the oxygen sits in her throat. The way in which her heartaches at such words has that calm washed from her instantly. This was punishment for the cruelty she had caused him in that world she had naively walked upon. This was something she deserved for her lack of understanding.

The maids rushing from their sides does little to ease her belief that command is for her as they just stare at one another. Viridian to obsidian. Eyes holding and staying upon the other without the ability to remove themselves from the other. This man before her had seen the acts of war. This man had been molded and reshaped to adapt to the chaos she had turned a blind eye to. Hardened and sculpted by the flames that spread around him.

That shift of his weight cannot be missed, and neither can the way his throat moves as he swallows as if he is uncomfortable. This discomfort is her fault. To explain herself and to make her feelings clear is all she can do, but that does not mean he has to listen to her.

“You are free to leave. You are a prisoner of war no longer. There will be no act against you for this.” the way in which his eyes have left her as he speaks makes him look so weak and exhausted.

The panic is overflowing. It’s overflowing and it’s covering all it can touch like that of a bath left to fill for too long. He is releasing her. He is allowing her to leave his side with no punishment, and that alone is a punishment in itself. He is casting her aside because of what she has done, and once again there is no one to blame but herself. This heavyheartness is entirely done by her own actions, thoughts, and hands.

Helping the enemy is treason. Healing the other side had hurt this family she had gained through marriage.

“But understand this is the only time I will grant this. This is the only time I will allow it.” there’s a firmness to the way he says these words and the smallest of shakes to his shoulders.

That timber of his lip makes her open her mouth to respond—to desire to tell him this is not what she wants—but as he speaks again she cannot find the strength to speak such words, “Also understand—I will not give up.”

It’s those eyes finally back upon her own that makes her ache. It’s the way he looks like he has lost everything and there is nothing left for him to protect. He says all these things, and he grants her such will of her own at what price? What price is he paying to say such things?

Had they truly been so far apart that he thinks in such ways? Had she led him to this conclusion?

Had that divide between them never been crossed? It had been such a great divide.

The burn within her mouth is only second to that of her eyes. This man she had learned to love was slipping through her fingers. He was not of two sides. He was not a coin. He was so much more complex than that, and yet he is but a man.

Just an ordinary man like any other. Not a myth or a legend.

This eye contact they hold she cannot maintain it. The flutter of lashes is her enemy as the drops fall and she wishes she could hide. He says he will not give up—but what does that mean?

What does this man mean when he says he will not give up? Does he mean for his clan? Does he mean for victory? He didn’t need to tell her such things. Sasuke Uchiha is a man of his word. He speaks when he wants to be heard, and when he wants his thoughts to be made clear. The smallest of hope wishes to romanticize such a conviction—to believe it’s not about those things he holds onto with such pride, but instead about them.

“And if I chose to stay?” that break within her voice is harmful and shows so much of her own insecurities and faults.

It shows to much of herself. It shows the way this hurts and it shows how weak she truly is against the tide of life. A strong and supportive wife she had wished to become, and all those efforts were for nothing. All those efforts were but wasted attempts to hide that she was not fit for him, and he not for her. She recognizes these things but that’s not stopping the build up of tears or the way she tightens her hold upon her arm, “If—if I don’t want to lose my family?”

My husband—my husband is a good man.

“Your family will not be harmed. I told you there will be no acts against you.” that exhaustion is back within his tone and she’s sure if she looked at him he would be shaking his head.

She can’t look at him, though, because if she does it’ll hurt more. It’ll break that small fragment of hope. He says this as if he isn’t her family. He speaks as though she only talks of her mother, and those locked away in Konoha. Had she truly allowed herself to believe they were family when he did not?

That is the deepest of wounds he could inflict, and he had done so. It’s deeper than his sword could have touched. Would him thrusting it within her being back on the battlefield have been better? That shake of her head comes and that crumbling before him is inescapable, “Were we never family? Was it so wrong of me to believe otherwise?”

She thinks she’s heard her name but she can’t even begin to process it as she sits here curling within herself for allowing herself to of been so naive—for hoping so much.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to lose my home. I don’t want—” that selfishness from deep within her core just continues to pour out, and there’s no sense within her to hold her tongue and take this is stride.

She knew this was a possibility, and she knows she has no right to hurt in this way. She had committed treason on the battlefield and he was being so much kinder than he should have. Before this battle they may have been family and she’ll hold onto such disillusion because that is all she’ll have left. She wants to believe that more than anything.

He’s kind. He tries to do everything for our clan. Our family.

He could use her to make a public example. He could kill her here and now. He could go after her mother, and he could go after the rest of her family. He could do so many things right now and he is allowing her to leave without any of those consequences.

There was no hearing his footsteps and no way for her to prepare for him to wrap his arm around her as he presses her against him. It sends that panic rippling through her that he intends to remove her from his home here and now as she acts so shamefully before him. She won’t stop him. She cannot stop him. She deserves all of this.

It’s the softest of whispers within her ear. The gentlest of soothing sounds meant to comfort her as he presses his face against her own. Her heart, and her mind cannot make sense of it but it doesn’t lessen the ease it provides for her. Once again he’s showing that kindness the world neglects to accept and believe exists. He should be disgusted with her for her treason, and yet he is doing his best to comfort her.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” that question is filled with an ache she cannot understand.

She can barely understand the question, “I have no right to ask for such things—but what can I do when what I want is here?”

“I thought you would leave.” that press of his forehead to her shoulder comes with such admission and it stills her being and makes her cries lock within her throat.

He thought that she would leave his side. He thought if he gave her the option—gave her a choice—she would choose to leave his side. This man was not punishing her as he should have been. He was allowing her to freely choose where she wished to be, “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Why would you not leave?” he says something so simple, and yet there’s so much hidden behind that question.

Here in her act of treason he is acting as if he has wronged her. He is acting as if what had transpired had not been because she hadn’t been clear with her intent. He’s placed all the blame of what had happened upon his own shoulders instead of where it rightfully belongs.

“I have not been a prisoner of war in such a long time. You are my husband, and I am your wife, Sasuke-kun.” it’s the barest of whispers but it holds such fragility, and fear that what she thinks he’s admitting to may not be what it seems.

This could be just one of the many misunderstandings they’ve had. Just another moment in which they’re divided and clouded with uncertainty in what the other is saying, “I wouldn’t have given up.” Those five words have her turning to him to take him just as much into her as he has brought her to him, “I would done whatever it took to regain your hand—to make you my wife.”

It’s his face in hers hands, and god does it hurt to see him in such a state. Seeing him so battered and bruised. So broken, and worn. It had been about them, and not about this clan. It had been about trying to maintain their marriage even if she left his side. He had agonized over this as she slept and recovered. He had lived in such a world of unknown over what would transpire between them. Yet, here she sat wallowing in her insecurities and he had been awaiting for her to come to while bathing in his own.

Running her fingers within his hair is such a habitual action as the wind comes softly across their skin. He had been so scared of losing her. He had feared her leaving his side even after she had told him she loved him with all of her heart he thought she could disappear at a moments notice. All of those insecurities were just a reminder of what he has lost already. He feels such fear and he believes in such possibilities because they have been done before.

She will uproot them every time they bloom. This fear of loss just shows how much he feels. When he had first come within the room to find her on the engawa she had welcomed him home, and she will welcome him home once again, “Welcome home, Sasuke-kun.”

“I am home.”

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Chapter 20 The Faith

Her legs are moving before she can even think. Her husband needs her and she cannot stand idly as he's being attacked before her eyes, and sent out of her reach. It's only a few steps before it's all brought to a halt as her name is called out. Kakashi's fingers are held stretched out before her with eyes holding a plea.

"Sakura you have to help Naruto. We need to get the beast locked back inside him and we can't do that if he's dead." there's a graveness to Kakashi's voice that does nothing to ease her.

"But, Sasuke-kun, he—"

"He's been doing this for a long time. He can defend himself." the frustration is evident upon every word as his fingers fall tightening within a fist at his side, "If you go there you'll get in the way."

They're in a stare down and she knows what he says is right, but that doesn't mean she can't try. It doesn't mean she can't provide support for her husband. If he were to die—if she let's him die what good is she to him?

There had been so much hurt, and so much distress brought by her hand alone. The look that had flashed across his face had made it completely clear she had been the one to wound him deeply. They needed to talk. She had to make him listen, and understand that she hadn't done this to stand against him.

She believes in the world that he can bring.

Even after he's pointed his blade her way she cannot think otherwise. Because cruel men don't look like that—cruel men with damned intentions don't hurt like that.

This had become a slaughter, and she needed him to see that. They weren't fighting to bring peace. They were fighting to murder.

A glance upon the blonde's slow and shallow breathing has her lips trembling. He's dying. This man who had pulled her from her anguish inside Konohagakure is dying, and her husband, the one she is bound to, is fighting against a man who does so in her name. Here and now she has to make a choice, and has to stick to a faith.

She can run to Sasuke's aid and walk away from this man who needs her, or she can believe in her husband's strength, and heal the blonde.

The swallow she makes burns her throat as it goes down. Her eyes burn equally as they hold back tears of frustration—can she live with herself? That's what this comes down too. Regardless of which decision she makes she has to live with these choices, and be able to look at herself within the mirror everyday knowing who she's picked, and who she's left waiting.

Or even worse dying.

Every second she wastes leaves her with less time on both ends. To stand. To wait. To sit here contemplating her choices when it should be obvious what she should do.

Her husband is a man who's done this since he was a child. This male of lead colored hair wasn't wrong.

How many times had she not seen him off before now? How many times had he not come home to her? How many times before their marriage had he come home broken?

Was her faith in him truly so little now that she's witnessed what happens to him when he's left her side?

Fists tighten, and her legs are moving as she gets beside the blonde. She has to get him stable and get him moving. They've wounded him gravely and left him with such little chakra. Palms press against his chest and that green glow comes over where she lays them. The pressure she applies makes his muscles twitch but causes no sign of waking.

Her husband was going to kill this man while he lay here already weak and dying if she hadn't come—if she hadn't stood against him—he would have done it.

The shake of her head comes—because no, it wasn't that simple for him. Her husband had been questioning. He was hesitating. She had seen for herself how fast he could be when he intended to harm. He didn't think twice. He didn't have a falter to his step, and here he had.

She says she loves him, and that he is home. She says that to hurt her husband is to hurt her as well, and yet she had hurt him in so many ways just now. There had been a lack of trust, and a lack of belief in him. Her husband was a lot of things. He was so many things. She had questioned him for the briefest of moments. Believed he was capable of striking this man down without care—without feeling.

Believed for those few moments—those few minutes in time—that he was capable of killing someone defenseless and unable to protect themselves. How can she ask of him to listen to her when she allowed herself to think so little of him and who he was?

Sasuke Uchiha was not that kind of man.

How was she to ask him to listen and hear her out—to understand her—when she hadn't tried to understand him just the same? Standing before him, and standing seemingly against him. Countless times she had proclaimed how kind he was. She had said so to her mother with such conviction, and yet when tested she couldn't prove it to even herself.

When had her husband ever taken a step without determination? When had he ever faltered before her like he had now? He hadn't. Not once. Not once had her husband done such a thing. If he desired something he made it occur. If he intended to speak—to be heard—he did. He was so many things, but he was not a man who acted without thought.

Her husband was not a cruel man. He did not find peace in the killing of others. He did not battle as if he was seeking pleasure. He fought because he wanted to protect.

A shuddered breath. The closing of lids.

Hatred. The word itself is heavy. It weighs you down, and yet so many people feel that, you know?

The ache within her chest. The hurt that follows behind it.

He doesn't leave her side because he wants to. He doesn't go forth upon the front lines because he wants to. He leaves because he's desperate to protect. He fights because he's desperate to hold onto what little he has left. He tries so hard. He tries with everything that he possibly can.

He shoulders all the responsibility everyone has put upon his shoulders, and in the moment where he needed someone to believe, someone to hold faith, she had failed to give him such.

The shake of her small frame. The bite upon her lip.

"My husband—my husband is a good man." it's the barest of whispers, "He's kind. He tries to do everything for our clan. Our family." she wants to beg this man before her to not think so ill of Sasuke, "So please, please, don't think ill of him."

She cannot even look at him as fingers come over her own. She has to concentrate and yet this is all she can think about—all she can feel—because her husband is hurt, and therefore, she is hurt too, "He loves. I swear he does—he's not this being he's been painted as." the tears fall unable to be stopped as they land upon this man she's trying to save, and upon the hand meant to comfort her.

"You don't have to try and explain."

Her eyes find his, "I do. I need you to understand. To understand him." the urge to hide her face as she cries before this man is there but she can't, and she won't because saving Naruto is the priority not her pride, "All of us have put our hopes upon his shoulders—he's weighed down by all of our selfishness, and yet—"

The hand upon her head causes her words to become stuck within the base of her throat, "Sakura." there's a tilt of his head and a squeeze upon her fingers, "He is a half of you is he not? He couldn't be if he was truly what everyone's said. You don't have to prove it to me. You don't have to prove it to anyone. As long as you know who he is that is all that matters."

The tears are falling faster, and there's no stopping it as her nose scrunches up and her mouth trembles, "He is my home."

"And, he is a good home to have." the way in which he closes his eyes sends a shake throughout her being, "You remind me so much of my wife. Rin and you—you hold the courage to know what not to fear when so many do not."

The widening of her viridian is slow as she takes in these words. They're heavy but full of heart. They hold a softness upon the outside and a strength below the surface. He can say these words to her because he knows. Kakashi doesn't need her to explain that her husband isn't the monstrous myth that cloaks him. He doesn't want her to explain that her husband is a good man, either. He understand this all too well and he speaks from experience—from the misunderstandings that have come upon himself with the cruelty of war.

Because he has a home too. He has a wife who is home to him, and therefore another half of him.

There's no words of gratitude. It lingers in the silence and shows through the smallest nod of her head. Her eyes flicker upon the male who's breathing still remains shallow even after she's brought his bleeding to a stop, and mended his skin back together.

Fingers slide out from under her own, and the comforting ones that remain. The inhale she takes is deep before she slowly works to give back what was taken. He needs chakra and she'll give as much of it as she can. She'll bring this man back from the brink of death, and make him able to stand once again.

Her skin tingles as she gives as much of herself as she can. The minutes are ticking but she can't move any faster than she is. This is a delicate process and one that needed the time it was taking. Her muscles are twitching from the pressure she's applying but she's been trained for this.

She's been trained to heal. To keep them all fighting.

Every minute that continues to tick by has her feeling weaker. He needs so much and it's all the more evident by the coloring upon his face. He's so weak in this state. She cannot possible give him all that he's lost, but just as her husband continues to try she, too, will continue to give whatever she can.

"Sakura, take a break." his thumb rubs against her hand as she shakes her head 'no' at such a request.

The chaos of war is loud, and it only continues to escalate as they sit here bringing the blonde back upon the field. Breaks are not an option. They need him now, and the longer she takes the worse the fighting seems to get all around them. It's those very sounds that fuels her desire to work harder. The cries that haunt the air she's sure will stay with her for longer than she could ever believe. The earth that shakes below without her assistance is something that makes her stomach twist. It has everything to do with that beast being free, and even more to do with the Uchiha leader.

Madara.

The loss of his brother had pushed him too far. This was a man who had turned his love into hate. That was why he was no longer the man she had known in those last two years.

Could Sasuke handle losing another? Could he handle the possibility of losing all three of his remaining family members so close together? No one should ever have to have such a thing fall upon their shoulders.

She was defying him, and yet she wants to save him. She wants to keep him from passing just as his brother had, and his father right before this. Another crash miles away and the vibrations it causes has her faltering and tumbling over. The sweat drips down and her breathing is escalating.

Just a little more. She just needs to push a little more.

The fingers behind her make her jump, and then calm as she realizes it's just Kakashi here to help her steady herself. Her body has become so weak—so tired. It's exhausting. All of this is exhausting.

War was such a tiring thing. It broke the body, and wounded the mind. Shaky hands press down upon the blondes chest once again. Those hands upon her shoulders are welcoming as he keeps her firm and in place. The hair upon the back of her neck is standing and she's trying to keep her breathing even. That breathing, though, is only getting deeper and heavier as she continues to pump her chakra into Naruto.

Time feels so slow in this process, and the slower it drags the more the world seems to blur. How much more can he take? How much more does she have to give? She's running low herself, and the lower she goes the more she'll truly get in her husband's way. She'll keep going, though, because she made this choice. So when it's done and she cannot hold herself up she can only hope she's done enough. Her stomach turns and nausea fills her throat.

Her lids are heavy and as she raises them slowly she takes in Naruto's face. She makes sure she watches the even rise and fall of his chest, and she gazes over the color that's come back over his skin.

Frustration plagues her and then all at once there's the twitch of his lids, and then that slow rise as those azure make themselves known. There's the flutter of her heart but there's no energy in her to let it show. He's waking and that means she's accomplished what she's sought to do. She can save what little chakra she has left to heal her husband.

Yes. She can finally make her way to them—to Sasuke and Kiestuma.

Keistuma had said he would protect her. He believed her to be forced into coming on the front lines, and of being treated poorly by this family given to her through marriage. She had to talk to him just as much as she had to talk to her husband. She needed him to see, and to understand that she had no intention of leaving Sasuke.

He needed to know the Uchiha had never lied to her. They hadn't made her stray from her beliefs—no, in fact, they had strengthened them.

"Slowly, Naruto." it's the softest of tones as she dares to press her hand against him.

"What happened?" the stiffness of his voice is evident but it doesn't lessen the smallest bit of joy it gives her.

"Madara has taken the nine tails from you." the gentlest of squeezes comes upon her shoulder as Kakashi chooses to take the lead.

Shifting slightly there's the slow raise of his hand as he flexes his fingers before him. There's a touch of melancholy to his actions that has that small joy she had felt falter in seconds. Inhaling is all she can do to try and settle her nerves as she takes the hand that's offered to her. The nausea is still lingering but she has to leave their sides.

She gives herself one more second to try and settle her nerves. They will go to Madara, and they will seal that beast back within Naruto. They will go against her husband's uncle. They will go against her family once again.

Fingers curl lightly, and while she has no right to ask for such things after what has happened she can't help but try, "Please—don't kill him."

Slowly the blonde is rising and his hands settle within his lap, "Sakura-chan, I—"

"Sasuke-kun, he's lost a lot. Madara is all he has left."

They're quiet and then there's the feeling of fingers within her hair as if to comfort her. They can't guarantee her anything. They can't make a baseless promise. To go against Madara was to kill or be killed. There's no denying it. Even more so there is no mistaking it.

She knows what she's asking can't be granted—Sasuke will lose another.

"We will do everything we can."

That small whisper is enough to make her look upon him with the widest of eyes. He's trying to give her hope in a place where it can't be found. The smallest tilt of her head is all she can give as acknowledgment. This small comfort he's trying to give is more than enough. This man of lead colored hair—he is still looking to provide her with comfort even when she should be the smallest of priorities.

"Please be safe—Sasuke-kun needs me." she knows they'll try to dissuade her if she stays among them any longer.

Her feet start to move and she doesn't get far. The grip upon her wrist makes it all the more clear, "I told you. You'll get in his way if you go now." his voice is so even and unlike his whisper just before.

She won't look at him. There's a truth behind his words, and a cowardice deep within herself in this moment. She's asking them to take care of Madara on her behalf instead of going forward and insuring he lives to see the days to come herself.

Her mouth tightens.

Kakashi has to understand. He, too, has a spouse. He, too, understands this importance in seeking out your other half—of seeking out home. That small comfort and hope he had given her is what fuels these actions—this single look she turns to give him. This look of her's is one that she hopes will make him see and realize why she has to go to her husband.

There's that shift upon his face, and the way that eye of his widens. He knows his own wife wouldn't hesitate. She wouldn't be stopped. If his wife was in her position, and he were in Sasuke's there is no doubt she would go to him no matter the cost.

Because he knows the meaning behind a union—behind a joining of two. They are but one half of the other.

That's why when she feels his fingers slacken upon her wrist she goes for it here and now. She rushes forward into the trees without wasting a second even if her body is weak in these moments.

He won't stop her, and there's that shout that makes it clear he won't let Naruto come for her either. She won't look back again. She can't look back again. She has to move forward and stand firm in what she has chosen today. The wisdom and strength Kakashi had spoken of in his attempt to comfort her had been mostly true.

Although, she hopes the next time they have a moment together she can correct him on one small thing.

Marriage had not taught her what not to fear. It had taught her to run straight at it.

He's smashed within the terrain. The ache of it all and the break of his weakened rib cage the last thing he can fathom as he stares up at this man. The grip upon his collar hoisting his face closer as those teeth grind together is strong within it's hold. If he lived and walked away from this would the man before him be what he will become?

Would he be overrun with malice? Would he be warped by this loss of her?

Those facial features—they're so twisted. Those brows are pinched together tightly and his eyes are sharp with wild grief—what does this man have to grieve? They've successfully taken everything from him.

"You've poisoned her." the spit that flies from this man's mouth makes his skin twitch.

He has no response to give—he's done nothing of the sort. She had made her choice.

He's pulled to his feet forcefully and barely able to gain his footing. Everything feels so heavy. All of his muscles, and all of his limbs. They're not responding to what he's willing them to do. The release of his collar comes but those fingers within his hair are harsher still.

"You are a criminal," his pugnacious actions are followed with so much venom upon every syllable, "and you will die like one!"

The fist that collides up into his chin sends his head back and the tremor it sends through out his being sends him into a state of deliriousness. The world is spinning and that taste of iron makes him question if he's bitten through his tongue.

One fist, and then two pound his already weak and broken ribcage—it's one more hit, and then it's another within his stomach.

He's going to die. This man is going to kill him.

He'll finally see his mother. He'll finally see his father. He'll look upon them written in shame—he hasn't done enough to give them peace.

Yet, he can't find it in him to even defend himself to provide that for them.

Would his form, bloody and bruised, send his mother into panic? Or would she turn from him, disgusted, as she should?

Would his loss of will to continue forward cause his father to worry? Or would he find him repulsive for letting a woman cause his end?

The taste of dirt comes within his mouth as he's smashed down upon the earth once more, "You took her from us—You took her from me!"

He wants to laugh. He wants to let it out from deep within his chest. He had never taken anything from this man.

The world is spinning and the nausea he's acquired from the pain is within his mouth. Where is the strength he is meant to hold as an heir in these moments?

Had the sky always looked so dark? Had it always looked like this?

When did his body start to feel so light? Is this what dying felt like? Is this how he made others feel?

"What could you possibly know of her?"

What did he know of this nymph of spring? What did he truly know of who she was?

This woman.

She blossomed in times of adversity. She held a strength so different from the strength of men and battle. She sought to give affection. She wanted to give more than she received. She never asks for anything while he asks for everything. She smiles from deep within herself.

She loves deeply.

She had never chosen them over him. She had just wanted him to open his eyes.

"I will be the one who brings her home."

To accept that what he was doing was not in the name of war.

This was a slaughter—it was wrong. This was not what they fought for. There was no victory in this.

"I will take her from this cruel life."

This was cruel.

Cruel to his people. Cruel to the enemy. Cruel to all of them—and he had been willing to do it just because he had been told to.

"I will be the one who makes her happy."

This answer seems so simple and yet he had been the one who had taken it in so deeply. He had taken everything as betrayal and turned against her.

He was the one who had wronged her. He had made her unhappy.

Oxygen struggles to make its way into his lungs—it burns. He is deep within a cliff broken into by his body. That last kick had sent him flying hard and fast. It held so many of this man's feelings for his dear wife.

His wife.

This man continues to speak of her as if she has no will of her own. He continues to speak of her as if she is but a mere object—Sasuke had treated her just the same.

A prize to be won. A treasure meant to be polished and shown.

She would never be happy with such a thing. She would want more—she deserves more than to be reduced to this. He can't die like this. He can't watch her be reduced to such a thing.

She is worth so much more.

His ears can barely catch the jutsu before he's smashed within the earth even more. What oxygen he's managing might not be enough but he's willing to do whatever he has to.

Kisetsuma's voice can barely be heard behind the earth that's covering him. It's muffled but it's just the push he needs, "I am going to marry her, and remove that sickening last name of yours."

The fire burns hot scorching his lips, and fingers as it collides against the earth. It's a desperate tactic, but all the more worth it as it makes its way out and releases him from this grave this man had sought to keep him deep within.

It's a wheeze of air, and absolutely oxygen deprived but the smirk that stretches across his lips makes the taunt all the more amplified, "She will never be your wife."

That speed that had left him has returned. His body no longer feeling the weight of his shattered resolve. He's injured and in need of repair, but that won't stop him. He'll die before he lets his wife fall into this man's hands. He won't let her live a life like this.

He'll die trying. He does so gladly.

He will push himself beyond his limits. He will make sure that her future stays safely within her own hands.

It's a clash of arms and the grabbing of fists. One attack after another. Each one giving and each one returning. His body has suffered. His mind has suffered more. He must return the favor.

It's a promise of a lifetime he gives to himself.

His voice cries out. The force at which they go echos within the air and forever changing this earth. This was a battle for more than just ideals. It had started out for all the wrong reasons. It had come with the pain of losing one of their own.

It had been out at the edge—that moon reflecting before him.

He'll give his life. He won't let this new dream fall apart.

This is the end—

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Chapter 21 The Empire

One foot in front of the other. One at a time. Weak. Strained.

There's no regret. No desire to redo. To re-take her husband—that's all she wants.

Even as the earth shakes beneath her, and the overturned earth throws dust in the air she won't stop. Fingers pull upon the bark shaky as she makes her way through. There's no time for rest. She can't give herself even a moment.

Each second counts. This was a slaughter, and a battle no less. Her husband had come and gone from these fields. He had survived and he had gone back. In two years she had watched and waited for him to stumble through the door of their home. Tired, and worn. Battered and bruised. Lesser wounds to those of greater proportion. Her husband lived in this terror. He walked from lands stained with his loved ones, and returned to walk among them once again without those very same people.

She would as well. This time with him in tow. They have much to discuss, and much to understand.

Taking him back. That's all she understands.

That's why her feet keep moving within exhaustion. That's why even as she's drained and depleted she keeps moving forward. No hesitation. No moment to take a breath. The longer she takes the further he'll get.

Kisetsuma had sought to keep her husband from her. She would forcefully take him back—somehow and someway.

Kakashi had promised they would do what they could. They'd take back the beast that shakes the world, and in her place force the Uchiha leader to surrender. Optimistic and hopeful—she's all these things and that's why she continues to move forward.

If her husband loses Madara— If he loses but one more—what's to become of him after?

The swallow within her throat burns and the sensation lingers within her eyes. She should be going in the opposite direction, but she can't. Her priority is Sasuke, and that's why she's moving faster than she should. That's why the panic keeps her moving. Adrenaline in every action. Fear boardering itself upon every thought.

If she has to pick between the two she'll pick her husband every time. She doesn't know what she'll be able to do when she gets to him. She doesn't have much left to give. Naruto had taken it all. He had needed so much.

There's no regret. No regret in any of it.

That doesn't lessen the way her heart flutters up within her throat, and the way her stomach drops. What if Sasuke was in a state she couldn't fix? What if she was unable to defend her husband?

What if? . . .

What if she did regret helping Naruto? What if she did desire to redo?

She can't. She won't—but.

What if?

The back and forth of her head comes sending her senses soaring. It makes the world feel like it's turning, and the dizziness spread. It won't stop her from moving forward no less. Quicker and quicker her legs feel like they're taking her. She can't tell the difference with the world shaking so much, and the way her emotions seem to escalate every time that beast seems to thrash about.

Even as she pushes herself and makes herself continue that roar is loud in her ears. Danger is all around her. People are dying. The leader of this family she's obtained had brought forth a slaughter, and brought her husband under fire. He had caused so much and yet she's still hopeful and still praying he'll walk away from this. Praying that her husband won't have to endure another loss.

Praying that she'll make her way to him. That burn in her lungs isn't so terrible. It's a reminder she still can do something. That tightness in her calf muscles is but one more reminder that even in this state she can run.

She can run as fast as she can. She can make her way to him. Weak. Strained.

Even she can continue as long as she keeps feeling and keeps going forward—because he's at the end of the path and at the end of this bloodshed.

Terror. Fright. Panic. Dread. They're all just another word for something so basic.

They are fear.

The motivator, and the unwelcomed.

Do you know what the most basic human emotion is?

"It's fear." she mouths without a sound.

She responds because that is what she had been taught. That is what her best friend had taught her. That is what that woman of gorgeous blonde hair, and pale blue eyes had made sure to tell her so long ago. Long before this massacre of ideology engulfed them. Before this marriage she runs forward too. Later and back to a time when they saw each other far more than they do now.

How many people had she interrogated in the name of war to learn such a thing? How often has she sent herself deep inside their heads to understand and find the answers she sought? When had she realized that fear was what motivated and drove people?

That lesson had seemed so trivial—so out of place—and yet now it makes perfect sense. It makes sense because that's what's driving her. The unknown and the unsurity of it all. That is what is motivating her further. That's what pushes her body to continue doing what it shouldn't. That is what makes her legs press harder against the ground, and helps her body slide between the trees.

She wanted to grasp upon optimism. She wanted to hold the hand of faith. She dared to wish for hope. All of it is driven by fear. All of what she thinks is powered by such a basic emotion that's been decorated and escalated to greater heights.

Healing people. Fear had powered it.

Marrying an Uchiha. Fear had guided her through it.

Running to her husband's side. Fear had granted her the adrenaline to push herself beyond it.

For better or for worst fear had been upon every decision she had ever made—and that's okay.

She accepts her fear because that is what has given her the power to do what she's done till now. That is what had trained her and cultivated what she is known for. That is what had lead her to this moment where she's made a difference.

And she will continue to make a difference.

That's why when she's pushed through the trees and she's gripped painfully by her crown she lets out a cry. That's why as her arms are pulled behind her and she's forced upon her knees she bares her teeth. That's why as she's forced to look into the eyes of a Senju she doesn't back down.

Her husband needs her. Her clan needs her. He needs to be reminded he's done enough—that she'll be standing with them all to welcome him home after this is over.

Twisting her arm starts her attempts to release herself. The muscles in her arm tighten and the force at which they hold her sends tremors throughout her. The yank of her hair has her squinting and then the air lock within her throat. Knuckles against her nose, and then another thrust of her head back as blood comes within her mouth at the contact.

Fear. Fear is literally upon everything.

They'll kill her.

The blood drips from her mouth, and all at once she feels so weak once more. All that adrenaline—where had it gone? Would she find it upon the ground that is soiled even further with the addition of her blood? Her vision is blurred and her head is pounding. That grip upon her hair is so unsettling and yet her body feels so heavy. She feels so weighed down. So unable to move. Is this all she is capable of? What she not able to do more?

Was this divine punishment?

There's humor in this man before her. It's upon his tone, and it's shared by those assisting them in this dirty business. These were people she had once held similar mindsets with. Did ideology truly turn them all twisted?

No. This isn't divine punishment.

There are no gods willing to look upon such unsightly behavior. Such unsightly constructs brought forth by mortal minds.

Her bottom lip trembles. There's tears brimming awaiting to fall down below. The flutter of lashes allows them to go down and soak into the earth. There's pain in such a habitual and necessary movement.

"Ah, isn't—Kisetsuma-sama—eyes—?"

Forcibly once again she's forced to look into this mans eyes against her will. She cannot even make out what their saying. She can't hear them properly. Just a single noise within her ear. It's long and fuzzy. Constant and unchanging in tone. Just a word here, and a word there. Kisetsuma's name is all she can truly focus on.

All those myths. All those legends. They had spoken of her husband cruelly before her marriage.

Trained her to believe he was a cruel man. Trained her to believe he was born without a heart.

No—she had allowed herself to believe them back then.

She would not allow herself to believe in such a thing when that belief had turned these men cruel.

Twisted them into beings without empathy, or desire for peace. They're thriving on giving her pain—on playing with her—as if she, too, had no heart.

Ideology was cruel.

Strength was something she was known for. Stubborn is what she has been called. She would not allow herself to be weak before these men—before their ideology.

She would rise before it. Yet, she's scared—

The shift of her mouth and then the roughness of her throat sore and worn. Her blood would no longer soil the worn and tired earth. Her blood flies out hitting him within his face and his reaction is only a moment—a millisecond—later. She's not going to sit here regardless of how heavy she feels. Thrusting violently and thrashing without remorse. She doesn't have much left but that's not going to stop her.

She can't sit here any longer. Desperation—just another word to decorate the fear.

They'll definitely kill her.

Summoning forth her strength is taxing especially as this man shakes her head by her roots. She's crying out not just from pain but from the exertion. It's all to fast and just as she thinks she's going to be able to free her wrist there's blinding pain and the widening of her viridian.

Bone has punctured her skin and they've left her to writhe upon the ground. That pounding is no longer exclusive to her head as it rushes in waves from her arm. Her cry is that of a wail. It's loud and it's driven and dipped in fear as she tries to alleviate the pain.

She can't. She doesn't have it in her.

She'll die. She won't make it home.

She won't be there to welcome him home. Yet, she had said she would.

Thinking is gone. Pondering within the exhaustion is no longer a possibility—perhaps that's why she's on top of one of these men with her fist inside his head.

This is fear.

That grip upon her shoulder is barely even felt. Everything feels so fuzzy in her world in this moment. All of this is so numbing down to her core. She had sought to provide what others could not in a world filled with loss—filled with fear. She had desired to heal while so many of them had taken loved ones. That will to provide relief is what she had lived by.

She had wanted that. She had wanted that so much.

Yet, she cannot even hear them cry out.

All she can hear is her own breathing. All she can feel is the way her heart beats against her chest. That fist against her face isn't even considered. It's nothing by now. It's the smallest of things in this moment compared to what she's doing.

She's taken them from loved ones. It was wrong, but she'll do anything to stay alive.

To go home. To welcome him home.

It's not the tailed beast making the world shake before them. It's not their leader destroying the earth in which they walk. It's her. All of this is her. All of this fear has finally found it's way back. Adrenaline has grasped her hand and sent her mind reeling—in realizing she'll die if she doesn't do something.

So as she stumbles to her feet coated in their blood it takes her brain a moment to realize what she's done. Is this how those children felt their first time on the battlefield? Her stomach turns. She's seen far worse. There had been so many within her care who had looked so much worse, and yet because it's done by her it has vomit rising within her throat—maybe it's the shock, or the pain.

Maybe this is what it meant to fight for your clan. To fight for your loved ones.

Her skin feels cold. There's a shiver down her spin as she tries to ease herself back into place. She has to calm down. She has to find her center once again. That spinning in her vision isn't helping. There's a far greater weight upon her shoulders so much different than when they had been toying with her.

They weren't toying. They had been torturing her for amusement.

The press of her fingers against her heart makes it clear just how much her heart rate continues to hold it's hard and fast rhythm.

Kakashi. You hold the courage to know what not to fear when so many do not.

Naruto. This is war. Don't forget we don't do this because we want to.

Sasuke. What is the excuse that you cling to then wife?

They've all had this moment. They've all lived in this world far longer then her—she had made so many judgments. Held her head high as if she had a place to speak. She had pretended as if she had known it all—she had known nothing.

She didn't hold the courage. She had forgotten truly why they did this. She had made so many excuses for the way she had thought. She had been wrong. They had known these truths far longer than she could have ever imagined. They had stood where she stands now, and now she has stood where they've been.

That roar. It's loud but lower than before. It has her head turning harsh and fast taking what little balance she had maintained from her and blanking her mind in an instant. Adrenaline was kind. It keeps her from feeling her arm broken and protruding from skin. All she knows is to run forward—

She has to get to her husband and she has to bring them home no matter what.

There will be time to think back and come to terms with this. Here, and now is not an option. This isn't the time. This isn't the place. This isn't the occasion.

If they can live with their sins. If they can live with what they've been pushed to do. Then she can too.

__________________________________________

A start. A rise. A fall. No system eternal.

This is just a part of the unknown. Blood, sweat, and tears unshed as they go at one another. No strength to truly continue forward, but legs digging deep. Just hopes and dreams keeping them moving. They'll both fall if this continues any longer. Belief is what presses upon their backs cruelly knowing the human body cannot sustain such force. They're lost in this fight of thoughts and ideals—this is why Sasuke Uchiha is still standing.

None not even he can escape this paradigm. This is the end of an empire.

All of this is just constructs of mortal minds. Yet, they had built it up with the title of power.

This is what he had feared, and yet he's rushing down this road. The futures there and he seeks to obtain it. Those unknowns are vast. That submerge within self doubt hasn't cleared, but its fog has lessened. It has surfaced closer than it had been in a long time.

His eventual death is just a test of time—he'll challenge it regardless. He can't stop the fate of civilization, but he can push forward trying.

The Uchiha bloodline. The name and all of it's honor. It will die along with him if he doesn't push through. They're all waiting, and they're all praying. They're all holding out for his return home.

Slaughtering them and holding no patience for prisoners had been equally as wrong. The Senju would never forgive such an act. They were prolonging the war. Not ending it. They had challenged the Senju belief and now that belief would crush them as they dirtied their own.

They had followed blindly like sheep naive and too deep within faith. This is what their ideals had caused them. This is what they had brought upon themselves. He had come when called. He was no more than a dog. He had been lead by a leash, and he had followed devotedly. The blood within him was from the mainline, and yet he had been no more than the rest of them.

If he wants to save them all he will have to do the unthinkable. He will have to be even crueler. He will have to make the myth a reality.

He will have to kill his leader and seize control—because that is what his people deserve. Because that is what she's shown him.

Creation begins with the destruction. He had been a shameless God of War—up until now.

He needs to purify their ideals. Their coming of age came with a ball of fire—and just the same he would burn the current ideology down with with it.

Flesh bruised. Limbs that shake. One swift hit upon his enemy's jaw, and the speed has his body crying out from the overwhelming exertion. One leg thrown, and it's caught. A back hand tossed, and another one deflected just the same. Heavy breathing and grunts of pain is what stands between them. Twisting and turning—exhaustion present upon every movement.

His death wouldn't come from this man even if he can barely make out his face. That swell of his eye is making him move slower. His death would come from her—he's so sure of this, but today is not the day. There is too much left undone and too much left to do. He has so much more he has to do before he joins his mother, and stands beside his father. Today would not be his downfall.

Regret would not be what he holds upon his shoulders. No—definitely not today. The only thing falling today is that of an empire.

This is where his lifespan sits. He is but a mortal—decorated and rumored to be so much more.

He would prove the rumors to be more than true.

Dreams. Death.

One dream will rein supreme and one will die soaked within blood. Two men so vastly different and so similar. They seek the same thing. They seek victory, and they seek his wife. They seek the other gone from the Earth, and they seek their clan's future. The seek, and they seek. They won't stop until it's done and it's decided whose dream is meant to be a reality.

There's no do overs. There's no going back. It's here and now. Divine blessings will hold no power here. It's all will, and all selfishness.

She could leave him for what he's done today, and he'll fight that. He won't punish her for casting him aside after he's turned his blade to her, and after he had shown her such a side. To look at her with such eyes that sent Senju running, and terror boiling to the forefront—he had swore he wouldn't look at her with them, and he had. He had done exactly that.

Yes, he will fight.

She had known the stories that weaved around his name before their marriage and now she had seen it first hand. She had started in his home with that decorating his name. It won't stop him. She is his wife, and he is her husband.

He'll rise before her—he's selfish at his core. He'll show her a God of War can do better.

Time. Love.

Time decided all things. He'd put in the time going forward. He'd take the days, months, and years. He'll repair the damage he's done. He's not bowing down once again. Never again. He's done too much of that.

Sasuke Uchiha will not let this marriage die—instead another ending will begin.

Skidding within the dust and stone upturned. Blood upon his mouth, and burning from out his nose. That battle cry is from deep within his being and it pours out as his fingers twist within fists with his head flipped back.

They're at the edge of the hellfire, and headed for the end of an empire. In the midst of a battle and that vibration numb beneath the soles of his feet—this is where it finally comes and where it will go.

This is a start, and end. A rise and a fall because no system is truly eternal. No man not even himself is immortal. They can't escape the paradigm.

He has nothing left just electricity upon his tips. It's a shadow of it's former self. Footsteps pounding down adding to the drums of war over their hearts and minds. They're both conscious of the death that waits beside father time. Equally they're both just as stubborn to see how long they can go before it breaks through the crust and drags them down below.

This time make sure they're all dead. —before you leave.

"I love her."

Warm and wet—all of this is warm and wet.

This feeling is so undeniably similar, and yet it's entirely different. It does not carry carnal pleasures, and heightened breaths. It carries a copper scent, and barely audible attempts. It's heavy, and leaves him breathless for all the wrong reasons.

"I love her. Why did you take her from me?" the voice is shallow and barely there.

Numb. Sasuke Uchiha feels unbelievably numb. There's no sensation at first just prickles upon his skin as if he's laid upon his arm too long within the night. The twitch of his fingers comes and yet all he knows is that the tips are slick with the way they slide against each other. Every part of him carries a weakness. Waves are pouring from him, and yet all he can think is that it must be pain beneath the numb.

This man is asking him why. He's asking why he has taken the spring nymph from him. He has no desire to answer a dying man. He is not here to provide him comfort.

"Why?" this man's voice is so vulnerable in his moment of death—it's broken and it holds so many unseen tears, "What have I ever done to you?"

The more he flexes the more he tries to take everything in. His mind is in a fog, and his vision is obscured. That swelling has upon his eye has only increased making it all the more difficult. The drag of his eye is slow—lazy. The twitch of his fingers make his mind buzz with dull interest as they follow down his bicep and up his forearm. It's swallowed by a layer of crumbling armor, and even more layers of flesh hidden beneath. All he can discern in this moment is that this Senju is wasting his last breath.

Wasting it upon his broken and never to be obtained dreams.

Kiestuma Senju. This man had not build up walls around his heart. He hadn't slaved away on the stones meant to keep him safe from his enemies. This was a man who did not truly know the concept of loss. What could this man have possibly understood about loss? He clearly hadn't lost enough—if he had his selfishness would have been of equal intent.

This man did not need his wife—no, Keistuma did not need his wife to the same level, no even more so the same degree, that he did. Sasuke Uchiha needed her far more than that man could begin to understand.

Muscles tighten as he tries to summon forth whatever strength remains. All he desires right this moment is to push this man off. This Senju had thought himself worthy of the ethereal woman that was his wife. He was far below her—he would have never been good enough for her with such a lack of conviction fueling him.

Knees slam against the ground unable to keep himself up after having used up all that he can summon forth. The numbness has worn off and in its wake is the hope for oxygen and those waves of pain sharp and coursing through every nerve.

The weight of his head is too much to bare in these moments. He's looking down and feeling so profound.

He had felt safe within the walls he had spent years fortifying. He had built them within his arrogance amplified, and self-importance justified. That sky has opened wide no longer night, and the ground erupts from right behind.

Supremacy lies in wait to be overthrown—she had come and his walls had been taken down. Had she heard what that Senju had dared confess?

He had been so oblivious to his own frailty. Those vines over hers had grown up his wall and around his towers. She won't be stopped and she won't be kept at bay. She's the spring come to vanquish the winter—and she's here to stay.

She is delicacy and she is power. He had thought he was the God of War—no, she was the truest god of war with that spring she descends upon the earth. She had promised to shoot the nine suns from the sky. She had promised to drink the immortal elixir from those who would dare attempt to steal it with their greed. She had sought forth the challenge and she would not bow down as easily as he.

This is the meaning of union. She is marriage. He's glorified her at every turn since that day she was brought within their home creating a myth too good to be true. Painting her as ethereal, and decorating her as otherworldly. She was all that came with love and compassion.

She is the life, and the love of his people. That's why he decorates her even still. No—she certainly couldn't be stopped.

He had sought to keep her from his walls and she had brought them down like Jericho. The seeds she had planted had dug their roots deep, and held tight through every storm that showered upon them. There's no denying how they blossom around the layering of stone on stone that sought to keep him from this feeling so deep. She had overthrown such things and she must know she had conquered.

Yes, she's conquered him.

Body broken, and heart still lingering in limbo of what is to become over their marriage there's no hesitation in baring the pain that comes with gazing upon her. There is nothing modest in the way he views this woman standing so strong. Lost within himself and all the thoughts that come with her he questions why she stands with her back turned.

"If you intend to bring harm to my husband you will have to get through me first, Naruto."

He had claimed her as his own in this battle. She had claimed him before them all upon this battle field.

Sakura Uchiha is claiming him once again. The earth trembles at her declaration.

It's taking everything in him to focus now that she's made it clear they are not alone. The blonde dares to shift a foot at her threat—his foot takes its place back to where it had come. He's backing down and there's a flicker of something Sasuke cannot place within his eyes.

"I don't want to fight you, Sakura-chan." the blonde almost appears hurt that she would challenge him.

He's raising his arms as if to demonstrate this is his truest intent. The skid of his shoes comes as he takes another step back.

"I will not let you take him from me."

Sasuke cannot stop his fingers from curling within the dirt as she continues to bestow that self-importance upon his shoulders. He's looking down and then he's scaling this wife once more. He had meant to protect her and he had failed her. He had drawn his blade to her, and sought to end her. Sought to end their travels as husband and wife.

All of these things should make her leave him, and yet she isn't. She's standing as if an unmovable force.

The only thing he has done is end that Senju who had dared to try and rip her from him—his blood splatters the very earth they walk. He hadn't done even that for her—he had done it for himself.

Fingers wrap upon the blonde's shoulder as Kakashi's voice brings him back to the stand off at hand, "Sakura there's been enough blood taken for one day. We are only here to tell you we are retreating."

The adoration soaked within his words can be felt by all within the air and that's what has her tense shoulders wash away. He cannot see her face but he can picture those lips curving within their grace within his mind. He knows this must be her expression as her fingers once out stretched within a fist with intent to harm has come to hang beside her.

Footsteps make themselves known and then they're gone. It's the breeze that floats past them within the sun that rests its rays upon the earth. She's turning and she's coming for him. She's bruised and broken—she's still here before him though. Fingers dirty and bloody come within his strands caked of their own sweat, blood, and dirt. The pull upon his head to rest within her lap is all it takes to make his arm give out and in its exhaustion seek to wrap around her. He's pressing his head within her. The supremacy she commands within the walls she's created holds a comfort and a warmth so willing to devour him. There's not enough strength within each digit to bury themselves deeper within her clothes.

If only he could move the other hand.

"You've done enough. You've done more than enough."

It'll be okay—it'll all be okay.

His walls may have fallen but she's rebuilding. She's wrapping those stones within her greenery and layering them back up one by one. How long has he sat upon this lonely throne? How could he have missed such frailty in his walls? Had it always been so obvious?

He's not alone—she's right here running her fingers over his ear.

She also isn't using one of her hands—that smell is thick in that moment of realization. . . .No.

She's hurt—his wife is hurt.

There's a sickness upon him all in that moment and as he sucks in a breath much too harsh he's sent over the edge in pain and choking upon what little air he could obtain to start. He feels ill. That copper scent is thick and it's surrounding him and sending nausea throughout his stomach.

"Easy, Sasuke-kun." she's whispering as those long strands untamed and filthy slide against his cheek.

There's a height to her voice, and that does little to settle him. He wants to check over her. He wants to make sure she's not in danger. He wants, and he wants—he wants so much to know that she's not going to disappear.

"I can't heal you—I can't do what I need to do. I'm sorry." it's the barest of whispers that breaks and it sends his worn heart thundering within his ears.

She's apologizing like she has so many times before. It's such an unnecessary apology. What he's put her through, and what she's been through was all thanks to him. He has failed her as a husband, and yet she sits here heartbroken over his own state.

One drop, and then two.

He feels her tears hit his cheek, "I was so scared—and now when I've found you I can do nothing."

He needs to ease her. He needs to say something and yet he can't find the air to even begin to produce words to settle his wife. Everything is so tight in this moment as he feels his eyes sting. Comforting her is all he wants to do in this moment.

You've done enough. You've done more than enough.

The shift of her body comes and he feels the way they sway as she pulls upon him. There's a shake to her body and unending ache through his body at each and every movement she makes. It's all too much and his vision is failing him lost in blurred colors and forcefully closed lids.

"I'll get you help. I'll get you fixed—please just hold on, Sasuke-kun." her voice chokes as if it's taking everything in her not to lose herself.

A groan escapes his lips at the first step, and his lip trembles beneath his teeth. He doesn't want her to realize how much moving him is hurting him. He doesn't want her to cry anymore than she has. He doesn't want to cause anymore pain—he's caused enough for a lifetime.

The faintest of noises hits his ears—the words can't reach him with how overwhelmed he is by his wounds. Desperation is the only thing bringing vision back within his eye. The blur is harsh and lessens as he forces himself to try and focus on the multiple bodies before them.

No matter the cost he has to protect her.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Author Note: Ayyyyye, dooooooooooope I'm still alive. Somehow? My dudes I'm officially 27 today haha and so with this birthday I present to you chapter 19. I've been up to my eyeballs in foam, glue, and more with Katsucon being next week. I wasn't about to not keep my word though, and so here we are. I get to dip my feet deeper into ol' maidhood, and you get new content.

Anyways. . .Man I'm gonna eat some motherfuckin tiramisu to celebrate when I get back from Katsucon and it's gonna be fuckin great #inserttonythetigerhere

Until then, please get some cake or whatever the fuck ya'll like. I love celebrating with you guys even if I can't IRL until after my shoots. Fanfiction is a pretty sweet way to celebrate yisssss.

Chapter 19 The Pandemonium 

Exhausted and worn she’s fallen with her hands digging within the earth. Those scarlet locks the only thing vibrant in this state. It’s those strands that keep him connected to the present.

The oxygen she’s taking in makes it perfectly clear how much this task has drained her. The nine tails is no longer bound by the Uzumaki. They’ve seized him and taken control. 

Words linger upon his tongue never entering the air even as he watches Obito reach down and grip a hold of her arm. After everything she’s done to remove the tailed beast they’re still not done with her. There’s a part of him that feels the need to stop this—there’s something eating away at him as he watches this.



This feels wrong, but this is what Madara demands.
 All of this feels like it’s too much.

What they’re doing right now—could you possibly say this was right?

Was this what their ideals had turned into? Had they become as cruel as the Senju and Uzumaki who had painted their love in the blood of others?

Were they truly any different? Were they not one and the same using such methods?

“You know what you have to do.”

He doesn’t need to be reminded of what’s expected from him. He remembers the words scrawled upon the scroll. He knows what his part in this is. Yet, it doesn’t lessen the way this continues to dig further and further upon his moral compass.

Hesitant. Unsure. He’s of two minds. Yet, he gives that nod of his head.

The way this man drags off his teammate has him wanting to reach out—to yell for him to stop.

To extend his hand and take a hold of her. Protect her. To save her.

He won’t. He can’t. To do so would be to go against what Madara has already put into motion. The way their treating her—she’s no more than a tool.

She was a person. She held a heart. She held a purpose beyond that of a tool. She was no different from him or them.

She had a worth beyond this plan.

“Sasuke! Help me!” her hand flies out as if to reach for him before being yanked without care.

As if she is nothing more than an object.

She’s never dared to say his name without a horrific attached. No apology he gives will ever be enough for what he’s allowing them to do—for allowing this person who had stood beside him unwavering and all on her own to be used so maliciously.

And now against her own will.

The scream she produces and the desperation that echos with the night haunts him. It twists him in uncomfortable ways. Refusing to lift a finger as she tries in vain to stay only makes this feel even more disgusting—more sickening.

He can do nothing. He is not the leader of their clan. He is just an heir meant to inherit the throne.

That’s how he’ll battle the guilt—the wrongfulness of his part in this. He’ll cling to the fact he’s not in control.

Inhaling deeply and removing his eyes from her only increases the disgust before he casts his eyes upon the male who can no longer defend himself.

Step after step—each one slow and careful. Naruto Uzumaki is no longer a threat. He’s on the verge death after having lost the nine tailed beast. Madara had gotten what he had wanted. Obito had succeeded and now all that’s left was to finally be rid of the blonde.

Yes.

Madara demands this. He orders it.
He will follow his leader down this road.

He’ll further dirty his already scuffed moral compass. He’ll ignore the increasing cracks that form upon it. He’ll ignore the voices screaming within his head. 



It’s bittersweet as he watches the weak rise and fall of his chest. He’s known this boy since he could remember. Their mothers had been close friends—a war separated them but they defied refusing to lessen their bond. It was overlooked and it was ignored all because she was a direct heir.



Whispers had filled the funeral when she had passed. —they had mocked and made claims no child should hear.

If she hadn’t been friends with that Uzumaki maybe she’d have lived.


Maybe she wouldn’t have left her children behind.

Traitor.



His tongue slides against the roof of his mouth. The resentment from that time has lessened over the years. It has become a dull ache.

This boy hadn’t harmed his mother—no, she just happened to be on her way home from visiting them when she was murdered in the name of war. Senju and Uzumaki were one and the same to him. They stole his mother from him, and robbed him equally of his father. The days where they played in their garden were nothing now. 



Could you have called them friends? 
Naruto had chosen the Senju, and he had chosen the Uchiha.
 They knew nothing of each other now outside of the battlefield.


No. They were never friends.
Their mothers were, but they, they, were never friends.



What would his mother say if she saw him preparing to kill her bestfriend’s son? 

His throat constricts at the thought. He loved his mother far more than that. He would do whatever it took to avenge her.

He feels lost in time—if he waited here forever would this feeling die? 
Would this sudden fear that his mother will forsake him disappear?

 He won’t cry if he kills this boy his mother had doted on as a child.

He won’t regret this.


They had tried to kill each other plenty of times before this—
Never had they been so close.



This is different. This situation is real. He’s going to kill this man—he’s going to kill Naruto Uzumaki.
He’s going to kill someone his mother had cherished.

She’d understand. She’d know he was doing what was right by her brother’s decree. There would be no shame upon her face for doing what he needed to in times of war. Fingers curl around the hilt of his sword and as it clicks from its hold it’s slide is slow and steady. That floral pendent his wife had given him swaying equally as slow with such movements. 



“Sasuke-kun! Stop!”



Freezing he can’t help but follow the call of her voice—how? How had she found him deep within the chaos? The grip upon his sword becomes loose as he takes her in. She’s out of breath and followed behind.

Seeing someone so close to her makes his grip tighten once more until he can clearly see who is with her—this man had made it clear he adored his wife during the festival.



“This is war Sakura.” 



Can she see how conflicted he is in this moment? Can she see how much it’s twisting him to know he’s going to kill someone so precious to his mother? 
Can she see the way his moral compass is spinning erratically?

Does she see the disgust brewing inside for himself? Does she know he’s dying inside?



Those even steps are there and there’s no missing the wounds she’s suffered on the battlefield. They’re not serious. They’re not fatal—but there is blood, and discoloration upon her skin and that’s terrifying enough.

It’s around her throat, and so many other places.

But as terrifying as that is there is something far more frightening in this moment that he’s clinging to. Is this where her love came to a halt?

She’s stopping him. She’s keeping him from slaying the enemy. They knew each other. Naruto had said it right before her dance. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t meddled and now it’s clear he should have. 

Had they always been close even before she became his wife?
Was he also cherished by her as well?

Naruto had gained his mother’s affection and now he would take Sakura’s from him just the same.

This. This is what hurts. This is what makes him question what he’s done to deserve his enemy taking everything from him. All of this—everything he’s ever lost—was thanks to the Senju and Uzumaki.

He loathes himself or being so weak. For playing into such thoughts—but how could he not?

He had reached out for her when he had known better. He had known not to give her any part of him. He had—he had given in to her. He had fallen for the anguish he had put her through. He had been desperate to fix all the cruel things he had done to this woman he had finally begun to see as his wife.

He rightfully deserved such things—yet the self pity in him refuses to accept that. He had lost so much already and the world was continuing to take everything from him.

He hates this blonde. Because projecting his self hatred onto him is easier to accept.

Fingers tighten around the hilt only to loosen a moment later. He wants to scream at her—she’s the one being cruel now.

How can she stand with them when she said she supported him? She’s not with him—she’s betraying him.

She is the one who’s cruel for coming into his world and lowering his guard. She’s the one who had made claims she wasn’t intending to keep in this moment.

She is the one he had desired to go further down the road of life with and now they were diverging.

He’ll loathe her too instead of overcoming his own faults—his own disgust for what he’s willingly becoming.

If it wasn’t for her he wouldn’t feel like this.

His mouth has gone dry as he tries to keep himself composed. She’s ruined him. She has completely destroyed it all. He wants to take back everything he’s ever tried to do and every attempt he had made to understand her better. He wants to take back believing she had become an Uchiha.

—as if it had been her birthright. As if she had loved him deeply.

He had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this. All of it had been decided for him.

He wasn’t given a choice in any of this. Yet, he had been the one to let her in.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good enough for her to put him before the enemy.

The tightening of his jaw slackens and then the control he always seems to have in place breaks in two. There’s no way to stop the way his eyes flutter and the way his mouth quivers alongside his heart that drops so painfully within his being. His eyes descend from her to the dirt below only to clamp down in an effort to keep himself together.

“S-Sasuke-kun?”

Teeth dig painfully into his bottom lip as she speaks—she sounds as if she’s panicking. She has no reason to be panicking. She’s not the one being betrayed. She’s not the one being cast aside—he’s not the one abandoning her.

It’s just her pushing him away for the family that came before him.

He had wanted a family with her—he had wanted her to be he one that brought a new life into his world.

He had wanted her.

His eyes snap open and it’s here and now that he realizes he has to stop her. He had done what his leader had told him not to—there’s was no guarantee she wasn’t carrying his heir.

He would not have her rip more from him.

Hands shake. Palms sweaty. Eyes burning. Sword raised high.

She had dug her roots deep—she had squeezed through iron and pushed through stone.

He would cut them down. He had said he would not gaze upon her with these eyes so many feared.

He had been wrong.

He can barely hold his sword still—his heart is loud and the trepidation it sends throughout his body only seeks to send his mind further into the confusion and loathing that’s painted within him.

“You don’t have to do this! Sasuke-kun, please!”

That’s all she has to say to dislodge his voice from the bottom of his throat—it’s filled with petulance soaked in disquietude, “Shut up!”

The way she shrinks back before him sends his heart aching before him, “Not another word—not from you!”

“S-Sasuke-kun—This isn’t war! This is a slaughter.”

He’s seen this look upon her face before. He saw it when he murdered that medic so long ago. He saw it upon that woman’s face when she begged him to give mercy. She’s covered in terror as if he’s already run her through—

He can’t take her back—not when she’ll betray him again. If he can’t have her he’ll be damned if the Senju will.

Can she see how he’s vacillating as she protects Naruto? Can she see how much her choices have completely twisted his world?

Does she know how much he’s dying inside?

He won’t cry if he kills her. He’ll rebuild what she’s dug her roots into.
Their ideals had truly been far too different—

He’ll burn everything down.

His spring wife is daring a step closer and those fingers that had brought him comfort within their two years are raising. She’s stopped all at once with a hand on her wrist.

Yes. He’ll burn it down to the ground.

“This isn’t her betraying you.” there’s an exhaustion in those words as that male he had trusted in Konohagakure to keep his wife safe restricts her from coming closer. 



Here she is against him—not with him. Yet, this man claims otherwise.



He is a criminal without a crime. His good fortune had run out this time. There’s always a reason. There’s not always a rhyme to follow behind it. Those eyes of hers are glowing and just as equally those viridian are showing all that she intends.

She stands before him unable to compromise. That much is clear.

When he was already so hesitant and so lost in the direction his leader was taking them she does this to him. She sends him over the edge, and she casts him aside. Why should he care if the Uchiha are no better than the Senju?

Why should he care?

“Sasuke-kun.”



He’s not crying. He won’t do so in front of her again.



Those shallow breaths, and those twitches that come from her muscles. Tense cannot even begin to describe this moment between them. He’s out of time. He must make a choice, he must follow a faith, and he must cast this ache aside and move forward. Not once has she ever stood before him quiet like this, “Sasuke-kun!” 



No he’s certainly not crying.
 But he is most definitely dying. 



He’s absolutely running out of time. He’s lost in time and he’s certain this ache will never die. He’s truly a criminal. 
—and he holds all of their crimes. He is the one meant to be the example. He is the one meant to show his people where to go.

He’s choosing his leader. He’s choosing what he knows is wrong.

He’ll choose anything that’ll hurt her the way she’s hurting him right now.



She’s never turned against him. She’s never been one to lie. That look upon her face—the tightening of her jaw, and that gaze that bleeds through the night—she’s always been honest and she’s always held her heart upon her sleeve.

It’s the joining of two people. A union. A marriage.



He can question it all, and yet he knows he won’t find the answer of how they now stare back at each other at odds. This woman was his wife, and the one he meant to keep beside him. This woman was one he had allowed himself to trust, and the one he had wanted to bring new life into the world.



This woman.
 He trusts her.
 That’s what makes this bittersweet.



She loves him. 
 Deeply. 
She asked for his love to be just as deep.



He had agreed and allowed himself to feel such a way when he decided that the Uchiha clan was just as much her birthright.


He had trusted her. He had felt so much pride in her.

If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so.

He knows this battle is wrong—he knows it’s exactly what she says. This is a slaughter. There’s no denying the claim. This was no longer war. This blood bath while great and one of the largest was no battle. She was here to rein him in. She was here to make sure he didn’t falter and head down the wrong path. She was the voice that would lead him back from the chaos.

She was the voice inside his head as Karin was dragged from him.

Could he kill her? Could he kill what he had allowed her to obtain? Could he close her out as he had when they first met?

To anger and fight Madara would be to go against the Uchiha. Could he go against his leader? Could he go against his family?


Isn’t that what he is expecting of her?


A shift of his foot and the fall of his crimson from her viridian comes. He doesn’t know what the answer is. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to pick.

Would following her down this unknown road be the right choice? Would he regret not killing Naruto down the line? Would he forever harbor feelings of distrust because of what she’s doing now?

Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?

His hand wavers and with it his sword scrapes the earth. He’s at the end of the line. Alone in his head—waiting for something divine to answer him. Drowning in silence he prays to make it through. Out on the edge as all these things echo internally.

The storm winds are blowing. His dreams are falling apart. Just like her.

He’s crying internally. Because he cannot do this—he cannot harden himself to do what he has to.

That concept of him and her. It’s blowing away.

And he hates himself for it—he places such hate upon her to make it easier to live with.



It’s that lack of time that seeks to make it clear he’s lowered himself upon the battlefield. It’s that pounding of his chest and that pain deep within his gut. This man. This Senju always catches him when he’s bewitched, and it just proves she would be his end. 



It’s her voice that makes his eyes force themselves open as the contents of his stomach cover the grown and upon his person. The gravel and stone he had set to walk upon with her has given him padding but scratched all that it could touch—

he’s here. 



The force is harsh and enough to send his head back and mind reeling. That punch has made his mind halt to two simple questions—what was he doing here, and was this ever even truly a war?



It’s the collapse of waves echoing out internally.
 Why does his heart feel like it’ll break further than just in two?



“Kisetsuma-san!”



He cannot control the roll of his head and that blur of his eyes. She’ll leave him and there’s nothing he can do. She’ll return to this man who sought her out so violently. 

He can’t protect her—he can’t protect any of them.



“It’s okay.” there’s so much warmth in Kisetsuma’s words for his wife, “We’ll take you back here and now. I’ll protect you from him.”



He feels it deep within—



“Kisetsuma-san, what are you—?”



“I won’t let the Uchiha hold you any longer. You will no longer be a prisoner of war.” 



This exchange. 
 It’s the death of a desire—



The vexation. The distress. The exasperation. The absolute loss.


It’s her choice. It’s always been her choice.



She could hate him. She said she loved him.
 She’s slipping through his fingers. This man will take her even though they—



“Kisetsuma I am not a prisoner—”



“What lies have they been feeding you all this time? These Uchiha—they’ve done everything they can to turn you against your family and friends”



—even though he’s the one she said she loved with all of her heart. He must confess that he feels like a—

“I will protect you.”



Monster.

All of that loathing, and poisonous vexation he’s placing upon everyone but himself. It’s revolting.



He’s barely aware of what he’s even doing. Everything in his world has fallen out of reach. He can’t protect her. He can’t protect the Uchiha. He can’t even protect himself. He’s lost his sword somewhere. He’s lost the ability to feel just the same. He’s lost his mother. He’s lost his father. He’s lost his brother. He’s lost his uncle. He’s lost his grandfather.

—and now he’s losing his wife and any possibility of a child. He’s losing the possibility of a family.

His heads thrown back as this Senju strikes him once again, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing his own fist right within their jaw. Dirt finds its way deep within his nails as he twists to make himself rise.

“Sasuke-kun move!” her voice is shaking, and terror-stricken as it comes within his ears.

She’s calling out to him—if he caught sight of her right now would she be in tears? Hadn’t she abandoned him already? Why is she calling out for him at all? She had chosen to protect Naruto over standing beside him.

She had chosen them over him.

He’s managed to do as she’s plead out, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s raising his hands up and lacing his fingers together before bringing it down upon this Senju’s back and preparing to raise another fist. All of these things are barbaric. All of these things aren’t strategy. They’re literally beating each other down. They’re doing everything in their power to harm the other.

She’s clouded all of his judgment with her abandonment—that’s what he tells himself when he feels that foot connect with his stomach before the ground shakes with an almost godly force. It’s enough to make them both halt and look to her.

She’s taken her arm back, and that male of silver stands beside her ready to attack, “Don’t touch my husband.” her breathing is erratic as if she’s been sent over the edge just the same.

It’s enough though to send his mind back into pandemonium. She’s claiming him. She’s making her position as his wife clear—even though she stood against him.

Even though she—

“Don’t you want to come home?”

His knees are weak but he’s pushing himself up. There’s a stagger to his stance, but he’s not backing down. There’s swelling in his left eye, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at her with his right just the same. Pressing his hand against a tree he’s steadying himself even more, “Sakura.”

“He is my home—” her voice has broke and it’s as those fingers twist within the fabric of her warn torn clothes against her chest that she finds it once again, “To hurt him is to hurt a part of me!”

He’s still and there’s the lightest of feelings within his chest—this woman saw him as home. It hadn’t just been him looking to her for that feeling of home. These words. These feelings.

They’re a lie.

He can’t trust what she says. She’ll trick him once more.

She’ll lower his defenses and then twist the knife she’s dug between his shoulder blades deeper.

How can she say these things?

Yet, here she is. Here she is making her feelings clear even to this man who had sought her out. She had said she loved him with all of her heart—and that’s what makes his mouth drop. She felt that his pain would harm her just the same. She saw him as a direct part of herself.

Is this what marriage was? A union? A joining of two?

His fingers curl into a fist and his teeth grind together—he had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this—but he definitely wanted her. He wanted to keep his trust in her. He wanted to keep that unbelievable pride for her.

He wanted to have a family with this woman. He wanted to continue walking down this road with her. He wanted to travel through the gravel and stone. He wanted to come back to that world of spring she makes a possibility—yes, he wanted her.

God, does he want her.

He can’t. He won’t.

Because it’s all a lie. Everything this woman spills is for show and not out of love. If she had loved him she wouldn’t turn against him at a time like this.

Yes. She’s brought him into complete disarray.

His mind had broken out into pandemonium—and she almost sadistically continues to shove him into it further without remorse.

He can barely hear her. All he hears is noise. It’s loud. It’s hot upon his ears. It’s too much to take in. Shaky fingers hesitate to raise. Lightning flickers upon the tips. To reach for her out of comfort or in an attempt to harm her he’s unsure. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

She’s thoroughly split him in two. He’s of two hearts.

It all truly echos internally. 
Failure. Just like him.

He can’t find such things like that right now—she’s completely out of arms reach as his head cracks against the tree he had used for support, and his body is thrown up within the air. The instinct to defend himself is there but it doesn’t lessen the blow of being tossed across the battle field as he seeks to shield himself with his arms.

Her voice is so much further now than it ever had been—it’s masked and drowned out. He’s crying.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Chapter 18 The Land

The march of his men is fluid and in rhythm. There's no hesitation to their steps. This military symmetry is practiced and done without thought. Those before him are willing to stake their lives on this battle. These are the ones willing to come when he calls, and await the time when they can be of use. They will take back Otogakure.

They will do as their leader orders. They will slaughter the Senju and Uzumaki that dare to stand before them.

The deepest of inhales fills his lungs as he steadies his nerves and prepares to brief those before him. A hum falls from him, unheard, as he clears his throat to rid himself of the anxiety. That anxiety had vanished in the morning. Then it had returned as the maids adorned him for battle. An inhale follows it giving him the strength to stand just as firm as those before him. He cannot let his voice waver. He cannot allow them to witness even the smallest amount of hesitation within him. This is where they would need him to be the commander they had placed their hopes upon, and that is what he would give them. He would not fail them when they needed him most. He would not give them any reason to doubt.

He would be the rightful heir he was meant to be— Yet, his hands have the subtlest of trembles.

"Do you think we are condemned to hell? Looking for hope—I know it can be hard to see. We've tried so hard but can we truly not save us from ourselves? Destined to die from the moment of our birth. . .do not forget everything you are worth."

The press of his fingers digs into his palms as he lets his voice fill the shrine. There's no missing that flicker of emotion upon their faces—anger, pride, loss, and so much more. It's quick, and washed off moments later locked behind years of training—but it doesn't lessen the fact it was there. He needs to raise their spirits, and wash away their fears. Building them up, and leading them forward. That's why he exists.

He will remind them why it is they fight.

"It's obvious the future isn't what we thought it would be. We may be born of the dust, and one day we will return—but we won't leave until this new will is done."

They respond with a call. His hand raises and with a fluid motion he points to them. There is no need to remind them—remind them of the losses they've sustained, but he does. He does remind them of the loved ones no longer standing beside them. They are just as important. Even if those before him know this it is his duty to make sure they are thought of in times when those still alive need strength.

Their voices escalate in response as they call out to him once more.

He makes sure that he reminds them that they are the Uchiha Clan, and there is no other clan that carries pride in the way they do.

"We are the young—we are the generation able in body and mind—so rise up from the ground because no more dreams will be lost in time. No more lives will be lost without stride. Our voices will be unified."

Their voices resonate in unison—loud, and singular to make it clear they've heard him.

He will give them the strength to look forward. He will raise their hearts before they walk upon the gates of hell.

The brief movement of pale pink and bodies that follow behind catch his attention. None of those who had answered him dare a glance as the newly entered take their places. They hold their gaze strong upon him and only him. Steps strong, but slow in stride take her up the steps to him. The brush of her fingers dances upon his own tickling the skin. Grasping his hand almost gingerly she raises them above their heads. She's taking the throne here and now. His wife is staking her claim, and her title. He doesn't need to look at her to know there is a confidence that wasn't present before today. This woman truly knew her place, and it's the voices that erupt at this display that make it clear they, too, know of her place beside him.

There was no question from her. There is no question from them. There is no question from him.

She was—no, she is—an Uchiha.

The squeeze upon his fingers as she leads their hands back to their sides coaxes him to gaze upon her. She looks prepared to travel. There's hesitation, and then those viridian make their way to him, "He has summoned me to lead your medics into battle."

The air lingers at the base of his throat unwilling to travel down within his lungs. The grip he has upon her hand tightens instinctively as his jaw tightens and his teeth grind together. He knows he cannot over turn this decision. This was a direct command. This was one thing beyond his current power—he was not the head of their clan just yet.

It's her thumb rubbing against his own in slow soft circular movements that allows the air to finally make its way to his lungs. The slow drop of her lids follows those coaxing movements. There's no need for words between them. Even if he did have the power to overturn it she would never agree. The softest of noises falls from her, "I will welcome you home."

Reassurance lingers in those five little words, and it's all he needs to hear before he's leading them down the steps of the shrine. This shrine had been where they had wed, it had been where she came to pray with the children to give their offerings to Chang'e, it is where he had sought her out after his uncle had departed from this world, and now this shrine is where she reaffirmed that promise to welcome him home.

She had said just the same the night before. She had said it to ease him after they had shared a moment of husband and wife. They had basked in a morning with that same ease as she stayed nestled beside him. She had granted him comfort after he had made it clear she wasn't just a title. No, she truly was his wife.

She says them now to grant him confidence—to grant him the strength to face his responsibilities. She does this for him after he has done the same for his men.

The march of his men has resumed as they set out for Otogakure, and beyond their gates. She lingers behind among the medics that follow. Their steps are the only thing that haunts the air was they head for their destination. They how the strength, and the will to complete this mission. They'll meet with others in the days to come, and then with their leader they will take back Otogakure.

No prisoners. They will stand victorious.

They have marched for days, and they have met with familiar faces. Those close and those distant in relation have come to aid the leading Uchiha. Their steps never falter. Their exhaustion is never seen. It's hidden behind stone faces. Locked away by the years of battle they've endured. The tension has continued to grow as their numbers build—Uchiha, and Hyuuga alike. Those rhythmic steps only seem to make the world around them grow darker even when the sun has them sweating. The gravity is almost too much to bear as they march behind the Uchiha leader.

They don't even take the time to do more than realign. She's following suit no matter the disquietude that tugs upon her conscious. This nervosity—is this what those bathed in war have learned to overcome?

It's as they stand face to face with the Senju, and Uzumaki days later that she feels the way her nervosity becomes heavier pressing her against the Earth's terrain. This would be where she was tested. Her husband stands behind their leader among the most trusted. Glancing among them all it's become clear that Shisui has stayed back from the frontlines. He won't be here to watch over her when her husband and her separate upon the battlefield. Viridian don't miss the blonde standing just across the way among the enemy, either.

He fought on the side of the Senju, Naruto Uzumaki.

The tension in the air is enough to suffocate them all. It will only take the call of the leaders before them to have them at each others throats.

"Madara. We do not have to do this. Izuna has—"

"Hashirama you would do well to hold your tongue." the way Madara hisses sends them all stilling.

The balance is tipping. The scales are changing.

"Is there no way to settle this peacefully?" the tone in which this Senju leader asks for peace resonates in a plea.

"Bring me Tobirama's head." there is no amount of forgiveness to be found in this request.

This request is cruel, and it's here and now that she realizes she's made a grave mistake. Her husband had filled his men with strength, and she had sought to make sure she stood beside him properly when he had.

This wasn't war—this was about to become a slaughter.

This fight was revenge cloaked as a battle meant to end a war. It was a personal fight between two powerful men—It was nothing more than that.

"I cannot give you his head—I will give my own." he speaks strongly and filled with resolve.

This offer hangs upon their shoulders as they wait to see if Madara will take the attempted peace offering.

It's only a second, and then a third. Her palms sweat within her gloves. They clench and unclench as if it will release her from the overwhelming anxiety brought by this two very powerful men. Almost scared to breath she swallows hard and feels the way the hair on the back of her neck stands up. This feeling is no different to when one has cold water poured upon them—there was never a reason to watch. Did anyone actually believe that Madara would take the offering? Madara had made his demands clear, and he would not negotiate his terms.

He would take nothing less.

The roll of Madara's head comes allowing him to gaze upon the sky. It's exhausting seeing these powerful men play this useless game. It's almost frightening watching two men play with the lives around them for the sake of their greed. Yes, there is only the wait for when the blood bath begins.

Her fingers tighten within a fist. The sound of leather stretching is loud within her ears. She watches the way this man moves, and then there's the way her heart drops at how he shifts. She doesn't need to be beside him to know he's loosened up his neck. That roll of his shoulders and that tilt of his head are entirely meant for removing the stiffness within his muscles.

Every subtle movement is a warning that it will only escalate from here. The way his arms fold across his chest and the way he stands so firm has her swallowing. The way in which he has made no attempt to respond, and left them all waiting—watching—for when the negotiating ends, and the battle begins sends an even greater nervosity through her being.

All of these things are so simple. So ordinary. So nonthreatening. So peace like. Yet, there was never any true desire for peace let alone negotiating.

Heart stopped. Mouth falling. He's gone in an instant—and back before she can even question it.

This will become the new Diyu—a new land of the dead.

He's landed within the army and she barely has time to catch Hashirama going after him. The Senju are thrown as if they were but objects in his way—tossed aside and unimportant to one so powerful such as him. The way the earth shakes below her makes her head whip, completely unprepared, as they all rush in. Feet slam against the ground and shake the earth under the combined force. There's panic and all she can do is hope to catch a single glimpse of her husband before he's rushed forth and begun his own assault.

This is the world her husband lives within.

This is chaos. This. Is. War.

The sound of her heart is only second to the scream that echoes out upon them. A kunai flies past her an almost fatal reminder to keep herself focused. Feet shuffle and she's pivoting as fast as she can to avoid the enemy's attempt at using her body to create rubble from the ground beneath her feet. The dirt disperses up and there's that moment of eye contact before she's flipping herself back and onto her hands.

If a medical ninja should die who would treat the injured?

Strike after strike. It's only one Senju at first and then two. She's never been on the front lines. The sidelines had been her place before today. There's no time to take it all in. Evasion is her priority—if she should die so fast then why had she bothered to come? Her hands would heal their injured. Her personal feelings no longer mattered. They had called upon her to keep them moving, and moving she would keep them.

The medical ninja should never be hit by the enemies attacks.

Fingers grip a hold of the fist meant to deliver a blow and it's only a moment later that she's swinging her leg and connecting it with the second enemy. She barely has time to think before she feels another right behind her—she'll be overwhelmed in no time. This isn't a simple sparing session with Tsunade.

No amount of practice could have prepared her for this moment. Sakura Uchiha was no longer upon the sidelines.

Her voice is loud and it's only moments later she's throwing the unfortunate enemy forward and into the other. The twist of her hips comes and her fist is connecting with the ground opening it wide and shattering the playing field within her grasp. She's rising slowly and there's no mistake she's captured all of their attention with her outward display of strength. Brows pinch and finally her eyes find his.

Wide and holding that beautiful color of deep rich red—his sharingan has found her with this display even while locked into a battle with Naruto. None had been prepared for this show of strength—they had whispered of it and seen the aftermath.

They had yet to see it first hand. To see him home will be by her hand.

They're attacking each other—yet, it's with the oddest of kid gloves. It is almost as if he knows something is off about this particular stand off.

It's as if he knows of what Madara had planned.

There's the careful way at which he is always lingering back. This man and him had fought so many times before now. May it be in some unspoken good sport, or with literal intent to end the other he couldn't decide here and now. Perhaps he didn't want to know.

They only stilled briefly to take in his wife's display of power upon the field before the blonde had taken off and sought to distance himself even further.

The faster he ends this and corners the blonde the faster he can return to her side. His leader had made the plan and intent clear. No matter what happens they are to take the beast that lays sealed within this man. If they can accomplish this, the war will be over.

Peace can be obtained.

All he has to do is kill him after it's all said and done. And yet, he's not exactly doing what he knows he needs to.

Hearing his leader demand the head of the Senju leader's brother in payment for the loss of his own had held a malice that he had known Madara could possess, but not one he had seen. His leader was known for his power. Madara's very name held more control than his had ever obtained. That rawness, and that malicious intent had not been something even he was used too.

Izuna's death had affected him deeply. It had affected Madara even deeper.

His brother may not be dead—he is just a traitor—but he understands. He knows how such loss can twist the way you view the world.

The way in which one views theirself.

Izuna had kept a balance. He had maintained the way they ran things, and how a show of power was conducted. Without him there was nothing to maintain that. There was no limiter to keep Madara in check. Madara would not rest until he had felt his brother had been avenged—until the Senju had paid dearly.

He doesn't blame his leader. No—he can't blame him because he knows those malicious feelings all too well.

The difference lies in how he had kept his locked away and beyond the sight of others outside of a battle. He had never brought it before a meeting or within negotiations.

Losing all of his siblings. Losing his nephew to the opposing side. The death of his brother-in-law. The death of his father.

Madara had lost even more than he had.

That's what pushes him to close the gap between him and Naruto. Following his leader, and his demands was what was expected. He had never truly questioned Madara before. There had never been a reason to hesitate. He knew the intent behind this man's actions—he wanted to give the Uchiha peace by any means necessary.

He didn't want anyone else to lose what he had lost. Every member was family even if not a direct link.

That's why sacrifices had to be made. That's why morals had to be cast aside. Some had to die if they were going to save all.

Yet—he is questioning things. He's hesitant in how his leader has told them to kill everyone. There was no desire for prisoners. There was no need for spoils. Madara was seeking to completely extinguish the Senju, and Uzumaki.

Hesitation makes him miss when normally he would not. He had raised the morale of his men, and marched them to this point. Yet, every time he hears a scream there's that sinking within him. There's this thought that it's one of his. There's this wonder if he's simply marched them before the gates of hell.

He's lost inside.

He has a feeling there's something more. Beyond the doubt, and beyond the sea of burning tears. He should have said more, told his men more, and made it clear how much their desire to fight beside him means to him. There's hope they understand. Hope that they know he would never intentionally walk them to their graves.

Never would he lead them to Yomi-no-kuni. Never would he spend their life so carelessly—so knowingly.

Yet, he had—and he had allowed his wife to give him confidence in doing so unknowingly. How could he not hear their screams and believe he had walked them within the land of the dead?

It's a clash of his sword upon a kunai, and they're going deeper within Otogakure. The deeper they go the further he is from his wife. The further they go the deeper into the city he becomes. All he has to do is release himself from his hesitance and he can stop the distance this creates.

Madara had reason. Madara was reason.

They're airborne and then deep into the trees. Had they planned to separate him from the larger forces? Were they luring him into a trap? Was this boy who had never dabbled in such tactics pulling him further along and into a mass awaiting him?

No—it wouldn't work on him.

That hesitation is cast aside as he uses force to send them upon the forest floor. It's a connection of fists, and then a spree of dodging. There's something odd lingering in those eyes staring back at him. He has yet to say a word this whole time. Was it because he was close to his wife?

The swing of his sword comes and the force makes it clear he's no longer willing to play within doubt. He would not harm her family, but he could not guarantee her friends. The mission before him would be done. Hurting his wife is the last thing he wants to do, but if it means giving the world rest from this war he would be willing to ask for forgiveness later.

There is no playful quips. No attempt at a spar. He's out to land blows with intent to harm, and Naruto is doing everything he can to escape them all. None of it makes sense. Any other time he would attempt to harm him back—he hasn't attempted a single blow.

Naruto Uzumaki is all defense. Patient, and keeping himself from getting too close.

Perhaps the blonde should have tried—if he had he wouldn't be pinned to that tree with a slam of his head against the bark.

There is an anger decorating his face, and within his eyes. The cause of such vexation is unknown. They've done this so many times before, and never once had he given him such a look. Any other time before now those eyes had always held a touch of amusement at these little matches.

Not this time. No—definitely not this time.

Foreboding. Those eyes make it clear something isn't normal.

This time make sure they're all dead—

Something isn't right.

—before you leave.

Panic. It's beneath the surface and just under the nerves. Deep in the muscle, and strong within the tissue.

"Fight back." his voice is tighter than he'd like to show—this isn't how he wants to win.

The reply is instant, "No."

"Why aren't you fighting back?" a hiss falls whilst his fingers tighten upon the blonde's collar yanking the male forward.

The way in which the blonde's features contour has him pushing him back against the tree. He expects more from this man. He expects a show of strength, and a determination unrivaled among his own. He expects this man to put forth the effort. He's showing none.

He's refusing to fight. What right does he have to do such a thing?

If they had the right to refuse this war wouldn't have lasted this long.

"Is this how far we've fallen Sasuke?" his features don't contrast with the raucousness of his voice.

It's enough to make him want to be the one creating distance between them. There's an accusation behind such a tone. The grip upon his arm tightens as if to hold him from doing so. Who was he to question if they've fallen? There is no falling where they stand right now. This male knows just as well as him there is no true hero in war. There is only survival. There is only pushing forward to see your goals obtained.

There is only making sure you walk away from the land of the dead.

They were no longer little boys. They were no longer children. They understood the world they lived in. These boys had become men. They had aged. Their once small, and childish shoulders had become stronger, and firmer as they grew. There is no other path than this for the likes of them. Years had transpired since their times playing tag. Too many months to count had come and gone since their naive times of running without a care. All those days from long in the past were just that—the past.

Sasuke, meet Naruto—I hope you'll become wonderful friends.

That feeling. That foreboding is lingering. It's caused the firm press of his lips as they stare at one another. Why did this man not understand?

You'll do that for me won't you?

The Senju, and Uzumaki were getting what they deserved. They had brought this all upon themselves. They proclaimed love, and yet they took without remorse well before now. He understands completely. To fail in this mission would be to let down the generation meant to take their place. It would allow them to grow up without their fathers, and even more without their mothers.

He knows that feeling all too well. He knows what it's like to be without a hand to hold —to be without a mother.

He hadn't been able to hold onto his mother.

All that panic below the skin. It's finding it's way up and out through his being. He can't let it show. He won't let it show. Sasuke Uchiha refuses to let this man know he's hesitating—Sasuke Uchiha is no different than his uncle.

He is an avenger.

I hope you can be good friends just like his mother, and I.

It's such warm memory. It's such a warm thought—and it's the only one he's being granted. The chains have come and they've bound the blonde successfully. He knows that vibrant red anywhere.

That's right she, too, is an Uzumaki. Karin Uzumaki can use the Adamantine Sealing Chains. This is how they will take the beast that sits bound to another from her clan. Obito has done his portion. He's kept Karin from harm, and now he will protect her as she takes what will give them the power to stop this war.

Mother. Something isn't right.

He's gone and out of her sight, and it takes everything in her to keep from following after him. She's needed here where his men are being brought down. They're fighting hard to defend their homes, and those they stand beside. Twisting herself allows her to doge one of the attacks before another one lands and a gasp of a cry is let out. The senbon needles have plunged deep. She knows better than to immediately yank them free but that reaction is powered by instinct.

These men live for this. It's death before dishonor, and just the same she is following their shadows. Hands stretched out and glowing upon their torn skin. Repairing what once has been. She can break the laws her team is bound to.

She doesn't because that's not her role in this.

She had avoided the land of death before dishonor. Always staying on the sidelines, and standing within camps far from the chaos. Those fires that warm the skin, and that sweat that sinks itself within the wounds is something she had only ever experienced once. It had been the last thing she had wanted. She had been forcibly thrusted into it by the act of wrong time and wrong place.

Those memories are never truly far. They are always just below the surface.

It had taught her. It had molded her. It had shown her what it meant to be unfortunate in a world that had brought so much misfortune to those around her.

She couldn't bring her father home—she could only gaze as that light left his eyes.

There was no stopping the way war had cast a shadow upon her small insignificant village, and upon her loved ones.

To love someone. To be in love with someone. To love with all of your being.

It's a fearful thing—because death can touch that which you love.

That's right. She couldn't bring her father home —but she hopelessly wants to bring home Sasuke.

She wants to bring him, and his men back home. Yes. That's her role. That is what she is here for.

Their blood may define them but they are more than that which binds them. That's why she tells them to stand even when she disagrees with all that's before her. These men aren't finished yet. Respecting their pride, and their honor is all she can do—to do it is a service to not only her husband but to those awaiting their return.

Everyone had someone waiting from them far from the Diyu. The land of the dead was not meant to hold so many.

Shifting her foot and raising her arms up has almost costed her gravely. That sword is too close for comfort. That sword does little in stopping her from lunging forward in an effort to protect herself. She's rusty and without practice but carries all the will necessary to hit her mark. The biggest tragedy is how much she's holding herself back. There is no malice and no ill intent behind her actions.

Just the desire to bring her clan home from this manslaughter. No—perhaps the tragedy lies in the what ifs.

Or maybe it's the almosts that bury them deeper before the gods that must weep for them?

This was brought about by the schemes of men. Potential wasted and their dearly held ideology nothing but a sham.

These men used to be alive, but now it's as though their mythic. They used to have the desire for peace, but it's clear both sides have lost such hopes. The times have shifted and this war is stronger than ever. It holds battles of no remorse, and no care for their own loved ones.

Perhaps they had already died. If they were alive wouldn't they be able to see that which she sees?

She bows before neither of these so called men.

Knuckles collide and the grip upon her wrist is tight. There's no time to be wasted as she's rushing forward and pushing them within the ground. Hands upon the newest one injured and a slice across her cheek are a reminder that, yes, she is alive. There's so much frustration on this land, erratic and fast paced. That restraint she's been exercising falters as she thrusts her fist forward and breaks the air filled with such hate. She knows she's gone too far as they skid across this wasteland—she had just wanted to defend herself.

They may have words of law, but the sword holds order.

Turning. Twisting. The flood. The gateway to the heart. Eyes unsure of where to stop.

All of this around her is a world unlike any other. Lungs cease to have air and she feels so mentally off kilter as another body liters the floor just within her line of sight. There's a level of hysteria—a madness—so unlike the loss of a patient after they've come off the battlefield. To witness such acts against mankind consistently must alter the way they viewed the world.

Altered the way they hope for better times.

This is only her second time having to gaze upon the brutality as it occurs. Her husband had grown upon such dead land, and so had those who had answered his call to stand beside him. How much tragedy had they withstood only to become pawns in the personal struggles of their leaders?

They're falling so fast around her.

Knees scrape against the terrain as hands apply pressure to their wound. They're bleeding out, and it's painting her within it's color with their attempts to stop her. Frantic fingers tug upon her own before pressing against her arms and chest as if it would be enough to free them. This wound has made them far to weak to accomplish such things.

Could they even see her? Could they even recognize she was on their side in the grip of death?

The whimper of a child grabs her attention and halts her fingers. Unforgivable. That man has slain a child, and in return another has grappled upon their back digging their kunai deep inside the offender's neck. Heavy breathing and the immediate need to keep them alive overcomes everything. There's no saving them when they've been cut so deep, but she's unwilling to stop her attempts. She just has to save this man before she can attend to the child. Iron floods all of her senses, and her devotion to save this man has caused her to miss the shadow looming from behind. Turning her head her fingers halt in their healing—can't it all just stop?

No remorse. No regret. There's no place for that.

The land is rained upon in blood—perhaps Huangdi has slain Chiyou once again? No—the Gods would not allow a repeat of such a battle.

So she wishes to believe. Yet, look at where she stands.

That's how she pushes off the dead child, and disregards the man she had tried in vain to save. Overwhelmed and overflowing in ache. This cruelty both sides show makes everything about this sick.

She became a medic to save lives, not to steal them away. That hope. That belief. It feels so out of reach as she swings her leg forward and collides it against the opposing Senju's throat. She's not wishing to deal lethal damage. All of this is done as a means to defend her and her wounded. Her principles are screaming to find a way to make it stop—to find a way to halt this blood bath.

How can she when her family is the one that refused to speak? She might be his wife, but she holds no power upon this land.

Only those who have stood upon it hold any true power. He's stood here for years.

Couldn't he halt their weapons? If Sasuke spoke wouldn't they listen?

The crash of her heel against the earth sends it rolling. It sends the embers out into the sky and their flags waving. Reminding herself to breath is all she can manage as that wire wraps around her. Flesh cut and tight within its pull.

Startle decorates her as she gazes at who has brought her to her knees. There's a burn and a choke as the desperation piles itself up. Stopping them. Stopping the battle. That's all she can think to do. She can't do that if she lets this man kill her. Healing them takes too long. It just prolongs it all.

Sending them back out moments after their defeat. She can't bring them home if it all ends here.

They're dragging her by the throat and that desperation has her fingers covered by leather and blood scratching to pry it off. Digging her feet deep against the ground is meant to keep them from having complete control. There's no thought to use her monstrous strength. Just the will to live hot and heavy upon her knee jerk reactions. One more wire wraps upon her and takes away her hand pulling it in another direction. Tears burn within her eyes and brows pinch as she flexes her bicep to gain some kind of upper hand. Her leg is the next one out from under her allowing her skin to scrape across the land.

The attempt to speak and yell for them to stop is silenced with just a twist of their wrists. Pulled from all directions they're taking her down. Three against one and the constriction of blood makes her scattered mind disperse even further.

They'll rip her apart. She cannot even begin to draw back.

Air gone. Eyes unable to close. Fingers against wire.

It's slack and that inhale is full of regret as it leaves her coughing upon the dirt. Sweat slides down her face as the mantra to keep breathing echoes within her ears. Heavy attempts for oxygen begin and her heart drums against her chest. Fingers press painfully against it as if it'll keep it locked under her rib cage. Another shadow covers the ground before her and the reaction is immediate. That monstrous strength has made its way back and has her shoving herself back as a means of defending herself once again.

"Sakura." her name is spoken with so much comfort unlike all that chaos that has been ringing within her ears.

That heart beat heavy against her chest flutters for an entirely different reason. It's not out of fear. It's not out of the desperation. It beats because this is the first real familiar face among the many fighting around her since it had escalated to this point. Hazy in thought there's the question of how he had come to stop them from ripping her apart. She wants to question it, but she can't seem to stay focused long enough to utter such a thing. Fingers shake as they reach to take the one extended out to her. They're on different sides. He shouldn't be helping her.

Perhaps it's the gods—they've called in a favor.

Lips part as her raspy tone calls out, "Kakashi-san?"

"I made it to you just in time." she can barely catch what he says as she's helped upon her feet, "We have to move. They'll kill Naruto."

That's all he has to say and she's stumbling behind, "This isn't a battle anymore." her legs feel weak and her throat sore but that's the last thing she can think about when he tells her Naruto might die.

That ankle that throbs is the least of their concerns.

"We had gotten word before this—your husband intends to kill him while he's down."

Two head towards them but it doesn't slow down their steps. Vaulting over them keeps her from losing pace even as he's able to run past them in ease, "What do you mean?"

"Madara intends to take the nine tails from—Naruto." the flip back he makes has her skidding to a stop "Your husband has been—instructed" the kunai he's pulled out soar making his own men disperse to avoid harm, "to kill him once it's done so we can't take the nine-tails back."

He's taken off again and it doesn't take but a second before she's right back beside him passing the mass of men, and passing the mass of children brought to appease their leader's desires, and worldly views.

Madara truly had no intent at seeking peace.

He wants the Senju wiped from the earth. And her husband is meant to assist.

Death is to come before dishonor, and yet how does this not dishonor what her husband seeks? Her husband lived for his people, and he lived for his clan. Could they stop him when he follows it so resolutely? Her husband's shadow is long since gone. There's no doubt he intends to do as he's been told.

She'll plead with him. She'll beg him to stand down. Sakura will do whatever it takes to try and make him understand. This isn't a battle. It hasn't been a battle since the moment Madara had sent word to gather. This was personally driven with no hope for peace. Sasuke was more than the flesh that binds him. He was more than the eyes that mark him. He was more than just his birth. He had told his men to remember their worth. When was the last time he remembered his own? When was the last time he was just Sasuke, and not Uchiha?

Surely, he would listen. Surely, he would take what she says into account. Surely, he would trust in his wife.

But to have agreed with such methods and madness— Perhaps it's that which buries them in the end.

Surely, he remembers just as well what he is truly worth— and will stand against the sword that orders.

[ombreecha]

Some of you asked me about posting my work over on Archive of our Own.

Here it be, my dudes.

Well I’ve begun reposting my work there officially. I only have the first five chapters of The Uchiha’s Wife on there but will be uploading throughout the week to get it to where fanfiction.net is. Eventually I’ll get to my one shots as well.

[ombreecha]

You would put a chapter up just as I was finally about to go to sleep 😍🙌

Happy New Year 😏😏😏

Who needs sleep when there’s sasusaku fanfiction to read kekaroo

Ps - Sunrise got updated a few days ago too 👀

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period. 

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: I will be writing an exclusive one-shot for The Uchiha’s Wife for the Connected: SasuSaku Fanzine! This one-shot will never be posted online and can only be obtained and read if you purchase the fanzine. You can find more details about the fanzine over at @thesasusakufanzine !

Missed a Chapter?

Chapter 17 The Reaping

It doesn’t matter how bright the sun is. There’s no warmth to be had in his retreat from the war. His uncle is gone from the world of the living, having made his way beside his mother and father. The list of family continues to grow shorter. His grandfather stolen right after—of old age or stress—it didn’t matter. Brows pinch at the thought as he settles his chin upon his knee. Subconsciously he swings his free leg over the engawa. It’s rhythm was barely felt as he gazed out upon his garden. It bloomed with the colors of spring.

This war sought to take everything from him. This war sought to render him with nothing. One had slipped between his fingers. Another no longer awoke days later.

Fingers curl turning white within the cloth of his pants. Perhaps this was punishment—divine intervention. The gods must truly be angry with him for all that he’s done since his first time upon the battlefield. They demanded an exchange—for all the lives he took they would pluck away what he sought to keep protected and safe within his hands. They sought to show him the cruelty he showed others.

No—the Senju took Izuna, and their cruelty had taken Tajima days later. The gods could not possibly reside in this world.

If they had they never would have allowed this war to go for as long as it had. They never would have allowed children to become fodder. They never would allow so much blood to cover the terrain.

The sun seeks to warm him but it can’t make its way deep enough. He���s numb to it’s attempts to heat deep within his skin, and it cannot make the home painted in sorrow brighter with it’s rays. The endless nights continue to maintain their hold—sleepless.

He cannot defend and he cannot protect.

He cannot bring them victory and he cannot return home.

He can only choke as he rises and stares at the ceiling as he lays.

He had lost so much. He had done all he could to maintain his grip upon that which was left. It was pointless. He’s reaping what he’s sewn.

Never would he had considered his uncle’s passing a possibility in this world filled with impossibilities. Lifting his head he can only close his eyes to try and ease the pounding of his head as the subtle breeze brings the scent of the garden to his nose.

Earthly and floral. It’s the only thing that can seem to quiet the never ending thoughts within his head. He knows he’s leaving soon. It only took a word from Madara and soon enough he’ll be away from this garden he looked to for solace. Exhaustion would continue to coat his being, and his mind would remained muddled by the uncertainty of what the future holds deep within the scrolls besides him.

His village needs him to command. They all needed to look upon their leader, and see him walk away from another loss. They needed to see him stand firm and proud. He needed to be what they looked to in times of sorrow, and pain—he must be the one that does it all because that is the role he is meant to play as an heir.

There would be no time of weakness for him. Weakness only brings fear to those that looked to him to guide, and bring them the peace look for in the horizon.

He could not fail them anymore than he had. That Senju had gotten the better of him. That battle had been lost because he had allowed the Senju to plant that consistently growing doubt—was he good enough?

Desperately. Unmistakably. He wants to be. He has to be.

Was he good enough to lead their armies should Madara fall? Was he good enough to have her stand beside him through the hardships of war? Could he stand firm and not fall?

It’s under the waves he’s sure he’s sinking like a stone. This quake within his being only seeks to plunge him deeper within the waters that rippled with his lack of conviction. That Senju’s hands had dragged him down with no remorse. His will has been questioned, and he does not know how to answer. What could he answer when this is where he sits unprepared to brief his men—unprepared to inform them of the changes that would be coming.

Unprepared to explain the unknown.

There would be no more peace talks. There would be no more playing with ideals.

Madara sought to eradicate the Senju from the earth. Madara sought to paint upon the land with the blood of Uzumaki. There would be not turning back with Izuna gone from his side.

Where they go from here is unclear with such convictions.

His leader had lost just as much as he had—he had lost his last sibling and his father had only joined days later. Their losses sustained during those times had been great, and those that chose to defect only continue to grow. He’s not alone, and yet he is. He’s never been more alone than in this moment, because Madara has never been close with him. Madara only saw him as a chess piece upon the board.

This fear in his head would not subside—it’s as if he’s battling against the tide.

Ebony drag themselves across the rolled up scrolls once more. Swallowing thickly he knows already what lies deep within. He just has to make the moves necessary.

He’s truly reaping what he’s sown. The fear he feels is pungent within the air.

Could he be the leader they needed now when it was clear they needed him more than ever? Could he be the—

That man. That Senju. He was deep inside his head. He was rearranging all he could touch. This man had struck him deeper than his blade could possibly reach. Here he sat concerned with his birthright, and now just as strongly he sat here knee deep side-by-side the spring nymph who had fallen beyond his reach once upon at time.

I will take her back.

She was here in his home, and yet he could not find a way to reach for her. He could not find how she had managed to pull herself from a place filled with such petulance and desperation. He feels crushed beneath it all—he was required to bring forth an heir.

Madara’s demands were clear.

It’s passing down the bloodline. Because it’s his birthright.

How had his wife possessed so much strength that night? How had she made her way back to his side with her heart upon her sleeve?

His wife was not a weak woman—he was a weak man.

An heir was no longer a thought to dismiss. His bloodline would end with him if he did nothing. The Uchiha leader would no longer listen to his demands to remain outside of the world of infidelity. His order was clear, and the punishment far more severe.

Far more than what it had been at the funeral when he had lashed out in defense of his wife. So much more severe.

He’s not against an heir—but he wants it to be not from politics and demands. He wants it to be from the heart.

He wants it to be from her. He wants it to be from this woman with glowing viridian eyes, and seemingly endless pale-rose colored hair.

He had wanted to know the secrets that lay within her heart. She had told him clearly what she had wanted when she expressed her love so openly to him among the financial books and across the table. Had he ever expressed what he wanted? Did he even know what he sought?

This want of his—is it not because this is love? He had lost the knowledge of such things long ago. He had trapped himself behind large walls made of thick stone. He had wrapped himself within protection and security in order to keep him from feeling such loss again. His brother had left him alone and alone he had made sure to keep himself.

He couldn’t feel loss if there was nothing to lose.

Yet, here he is seriously considering—seriously thinking of what lies beyond. Here he sits—the irony of it all—daring to think of what he wants. When has he ever expressed such a thing? When had he not just followed the commands from above? When was the last time he openly told her what he wanted? When had he openly given his thoughts?

When was the last time he had put such care into them?

The swallow he makes is thick and stops in the middle of his throat. If he disobeyed. If he was selfish as he always was—if he dared to bring forth a child from this ethereal woman—would they be accepted?

Would they be slaughtered? Would he watch as his leader ended its life?

She deserves. . .better!

She deserves a husband who is not bound by his bloodline. She deserves a husband who does not bring her through the chaos. She deserves a husband who does not sit deep within their home, cowering before her and all that resides outside of his walls.

He can’t let that happen regardless of his wants. He couldn’t watch a child made of her love be taken from her like that.

His mother could no longer be his protection, and now he would be the one who would destroy the still mending foundation of his marriage. Would his wife understand where he sat? Would his mother become distraught that she is unable to continue her protection?

Nausea fills his throat and it overwhelms—it burns as guilt does his conscience. Light floods his eyes as he dares to open them. The thud within his head never wavering as he brings himself to his feet and away from this place meant to give him peace—it’s done the exact opposite. It encases him in that world of spring she hails from. He wants to run and he wants to hide. He wants to be the twenty year old he was meant to be and not the next heir to a clan.

He wants to be the man that she deserves. He wants to be the man that his people see. He wants a child with his wife—not a child with a distant relation to please the masses.

His leader is going blind. It will be him who stands upon the throne. With a wife—who deserved so much better than a man tied by blood.

Ebony eye the door his fingers have yet to pull upon—this is where he runs within the dark. Desperate, and crawling for a place to find peace from the responsibilities that lay out before him.

Heart thundering. Palms sweaty. Tears threatening.

Fingers pull and the door slides with a crack as he goes where any child should be able to when the world has settled it’s inescapable pressure upon their shoulders. Crushed beneath the weight, and knees sliding deeper within his own insecurities. There’s no telling if the thunder within him is the heart or his head. He’s struggling to maintain balance against the tides of his darkest fears.

It’s a form of madness misunderstood. It’s a panic that cannot be describe.

Their pictures sit before him upon this shrine meant to give them prayer beyond his grasp. He’s come to them every morning he’s awoken since they’ve passed. He’s prayed to them within the camps. He’s whispered to them on the battlefields. He’s apologized more times than he could count for not being the prodigy their first born was. He’s apologized more times than he could count for every day they don’t stand be side him. He’s apologized over and over with no end in sight.

This is the thing he dares to want—dares to dream.

He wants a child from this woman because she has stood firm against him and all that’s come her way. She is a woman had gazed upon those walls he had carefully built. This woman had planted the seeds with care, watered them daily for two years, and nurtured them until they scaled the height of these stone walls.

That’s what scares him. This woman scares him far more than any Senju or Uzumaki could.

She’s dared to plant the idea that he could actually have something—want something.

The waters pour down, and he knows he’ll have to apologize to them for the fear he should never have allowed to overtake him

You will never—no matter what you do—be good enough for her. She’s made him dream for something—made him want more than just peace.

He’s kneeling before them, fingers twisted upon his knees. He’s lost his strength of will as his lip gives way to a tremble and his brows come to pinch within their frustration and their anger.

Who was this man to say those things? What did he know of him? He had done all he could in the name of war. He had done it all with hopes of a future where the children of his clan did not have to come run to their parents memorials for guidance.

He is doing it all for an unknown future that whispers of children with her. Remember you reap what you sow.

He’s sinking deeper. Endlessly. Unable to find air. Unable to discern rights and wrongs. He let this man inside his head. He’s shot down the walls his wife had carefully scaled, leaving them brittle and broken.

He’s opened the gates to the foundation that is his marriage.

He’s lost his resolution and now hope too was slipping from trembling fingers. This otherworldly woman was home. He wants nothing more than to seek her out and the escape she provides. He wants his foundations stronger. He wants their travels unquestioned. He wants her upon the throne. He wants her to give him a child.

You will ruin her. You will dirty her. You will defile her.

He’s left alone in this darkness as he gives in against the tides of all that seeks to flood his world, and bring him down from upon his place as heir. There’s no confidence as his grinds his teeth in an effort to keep the sound at bay that threatens to leave his mouth.

“Why have they forsaken me?” his voice is a tremble as he stands before these two no longer there to help pick him up.

The tremor of his shoulders comes as the air stops within his throat. Sasuke Uchiha cannot let out such a sound in his home. This son cannot let himself fall before them both—he cannot fall before his father, and his mother. This heir needs the discipline, and the strictness that he’s been taught. The power to keep it all held in his but a thread before them both—he needs to do at least this for them.

He’s already shamed himself so deeply before them.

The blur of his vision comes and goes. It’s here and now he’s finally taking a moment to let out a shudder of a breath that sends his ebony to fall upon his father. Lungs fill with the much needed air—he’d forgotten how to breathe—forgotten to keep his voice from escaping.

Those darkened depths are beckoning him further still. When all those prayers he prayed feel lost like tears in the rain. The shake of his iris comes as he stares upon the mats below. There’s no missing the way the drops fall darkening them in this dishonor. He’s embarrassed them all.

He’s left to fight alone.

He’s nothing more than the Senju said. A coward.

He’s petrified of his wife. He’s afraid of his people. He’s terror-stricken of his leader. He’s terrified of all of them.

Is there a way to do right by all of them? Can he have this dream and still be the man they need him to be?

Under these waves he’s falling so endlessly. He’s sown this weaved plight. It’s that firm grip upon his shoulder. He’s lost far below the ground and hope has long since left his side.

He has no hope to maintain. The end has finally begun.

Fingers tighten their hold upon his shoulder before disappearing to slide around his front. The squeeze is tight and there’s her breath upon his ear. This sorrow weighs upon his shoulders openly for her to see. This fear can no longer hide from her.

Everything he had sought to keep within his hands has slipped through and gone where he cannot.

He’s has been knee deep for so long—he’s had been overtaken.

The sun is eclipsed by the moon. The ending that he knew would come has finally begun.

Arms twist around him and it’s as he still cannot bring himself to reach out for her that she gives him no choice. She’ll bring him from this world of torment he’s encased himself in. She is ethereal with all that she does and has become the hope that lies deep within the spring. She won’t leave him alone with his trepidation.

There’s no missing the way her fingers ghost across him in affectionate comfort. The gentle squeezes and the brush of her cheek against his own. Another firm grip as she’s sought out one of his hand white within their squeeze upon his knees.

He cannot breath—he cannot find the oxygen he needs to live.

He told her he would never leave her alone. If he does not let out this sound he will have failed her completely, entirely, and unforgivably.

The throw of his head back upon her shoulder comes and the scream he lets out is the highest of wails as he lets the sobs take control of him in heavyhearted anguish. The press of her fingers comes upon his chest, and the fingers that have dug their way into his tightened fists give but another squeeze.

She intends to hold him together when he cannot do it for himself. She’ll keep him whole where he seeks to break under it all. The quake of his chest comes, and it’s here he wonders when the last time he cried was.

He needs this woman far more than she needs him.

It’s clear before him and obvious to see. He’s sorry he’s reaped what he’s sewn.

He’s sorry for all the pain he’s brought within the world upon those shoulders so small and petite. He’s sorry for his shamelessness in needing her comfort when he should be standing tall with nothing to fear. He’s sorry for all the things he’s neglected over the years.

He’s sorry he ever thought her weak when he has always been so much weaker.

This woman was strong. His wife was strong.

Those impossibly soft fingers have trailed his arm as she continues to press him against her still. They linger further up as if one wrong move will have him running from her side. They continue their ghosting across his neck, and patiently come to cover his eyes removing the ceiling from their strained and tear-filled sight.

Lashes flutter down feeling her palm where she keeps it. His breathing, erratic and choked, is slowing and it’s as if all he’s needed is to be shielded from all that is before him.

“I will wait for you. I do so gladly.” her voice is just a whisper in his ear.

It’s calming, and it’s bringing down his heart that dares to burst just beneath her fingers. He knows what she entails and he knows the meaning behind those words she’s let fall between them. It’s all he needs to coax him forward to take her hand and finally reach for her as he knows he should have already.

The Uchiha.

They love far deeper than anyone else.

Nor do I know what it is you truly feel for her—only you can answer such things.

He can answer those things—they’re not the answer his leader demands. It’s the answer he wants.

Calm has come over him as he sits upon the futon. She’s pulled him from before his parents, and she’s taken him within their bedroom. She’s taken care of cleaning his face and changing him to gain the sleep his body needs. Not once does she ask what had finally been too much. Not once does she ask for him to tell her the things that had finally overwhelmed him and dragged him down beneath the surface.

He’s followed every move she’s made. Cautious so as not to bring him more suffering—he remembers when he had done the same. He had wanted to braid those pale rose colored strands back then, and he still had yet to learn. There’s no doubt though that he’s learned more as they continued to travel through gravel and stone. She had given him something belonging to her father—she had said it herself she hoped to protect him.

There’s wonder if she had found the scrolls and read the contents inside. There’s desire to know what runs through her head in this moment as she slides beneath the comforter to sit beside him. Those fingers press against his shoulder blade. She’s creating a closeness for him and him alone—she’s not giving this to anyone else.

This otherworldly spring nymph continues to try and sooth him patiently waiting for his next move. Oxygen fills his lungs, and it’s the smallest of pushes to speak to her since falling to pieces before her, “I leave in two days.”

“I see.” she’s letting out a hum between them and it holds understanding, and the subtle touch of longing.

She thinks he is before her still out of reach, and she thinks he sits before her shattered. It’s as if she does not realize she had retrieved him from the depths of his petulance, and desperation already.

It will be him who stands upon the throne. With a wife who stands beside him as if it’s her birthright.

The Uchiha.

They loved deeper than anyone else.

She loved him deeper than anyone else.

Reaching out those seemingly endless strands call out to him. He’s taking them within his fingers.

Madara’s demands were clear.

It’s passing down the bloodline. Because it’s his birthright.

This man demanded an heir.

He would give him his heir. She would be the one to produce this heir.

She is an otherworldly being of healing. A nymph of spring. She will be the life, and love his people talk about for years to come.

She is an Uchiha. It’s her birthright.

He can’t continue to be afraid of this man. He can’t continue to coward before his people. He will protect a child brought from the heart. He will be selfish and dream of this. He will be selfish and want for this. He wants a child, and he wants it with her.

He’ll become the husband she deserves. He’ll become the man who will lead his people forward.

Sasuke Uchiha will move forward—because that is what she’s taught him to do.

That is what she has always done—with a smile on her face, and her heart upon her sleeve.

Leaning in he feels her still for the briefest of moments—it’s a second in time—before he’s brought his mouth upon her own. It’s that part of her lips that has him allowing himself to try more. Roughened fingertips release the strands so coaxing before taking hold of her shoulder. Hesitance rings within every movement he makes. There’s an unknown to it all. There’s uncertainty behind these movements.

He’s never dabbled in such things before.

Pulling gently upon her shoulder has her following his lead to come closer. She’s held him together long enough today—he longs to hold her instead. Those legs come slowly across his lap, and those hands of hers are so small, just as everything about her seemed to be, have made their way into his hair. The pitch within her breathing has increased, and there’s something about those viridian glowing down upon him that has him capturing her mouth once more. Fingers tug upon the sleeping robe in hopes to feel that skin beneath.

That scent of hers, floral and intoxicating, is leading him, and it’s this look upon her face that has his insides heating. His body feels warm and it’s caused by her. Those half lidded eyes—there’s nothing childlike about this expression. There’s nothing demure about it. There’s nothing innocent in those viridian in this second. Nothing of what’s displayed across her features is a look he’s seen before. He wants to see more of it.

She’s displayed before him with that robe slumped upon her arms. It’s that skin, soft and inviting, beneath his fingers as he dares to press them against her hips that’s making him bolder—surer. Pressing his forehead to hers and then another moment where he takes another kiss. It’s gentle at first, and rougher in the next. Those arms that once wrapped around his neck hours just before encircle around his neck trailing upon his shoulder blades as the smallest of noises leaves her lips. The mixing of their breath only seeks to heighten their already steadily increasing pants for air. There’s this need to press her harder against him that increases the more he sees those eyes of hers half lidded, and the reddening tint across her cheeks. Squeezing her hips has another sound coming from her before he pushes her down upon him. The need to rub against her is instant and the satisfaction it brings has a rasp falling from him. She’s moving quicker and becoming less patient as she’s getting lost within this closeness he’s taken control of. There’s something absolutely erotic about the way she’s quick to reach for his own robe.

It pools behind him as he slides his arms out from it. There’s a desperation to his movements as his fingers slide within her underwear and begins to slide them down. A brush of kisses makes their movements seem far more difficult, but she’s removed what she’s sought. His hands make their way up taking in the feel of her before sliding back down to continue removing her underwear.

The urgency is there when she breathes out his name. He wants to know what he has to do to get her to say it again. He wants to hear it repeatedly. He wants to hear more fall from her, for him. Curling his fingers inside her, and pumping into her with nonexistent remorse is the answer to that.

Her hips move and seek to match this pace he’s set completely. He’s overwhelmed by the sounds that never seem to stop pouring from her. There’s a need to kiss her more, but no desire to lessen these soft sounds, and heightened moans. Warm and wet is the only words he can think to describe how she feels. That soft skin is turning dewy and it only makes the heat he feels throughout himself burn hotter.

Arched back. Breasts out. Voice echoing against their bedroom walls.

Her voice pants out his name as she tries in vain to recover from this high he’s brought her to. Visually, she was as ethereal as ever.  Those pale rose colored strands are tangled and sticking to her skin. That floral scent is all he can smell—that scent is encasing him as it always has—yet it’s brought forth an entirely different sensation.

He wants more. He wants to feel her. He wants to claim her in these moments. She is his wife, and he is her husband.

She is his and he is hers.

Those strands that dare to cling to her are grasped within his fingers and it’s clear he seeks to claim her whole. It’s no more than a few seconds before he’s pulled her down upon him—he’s thrust unforgivably—without so much as a pause. She’s taken him with a sharp cry panting as he pushes in and out forcefully.

Warm and wet. Warm and wet. All of this is warm and wet.

It’s hard to keep himself together. It’s hard to not be completely bewitched by her voice.

It’s hard to not be completely robbed of control with those lids closed, and that mouth open and letting out the whimpers she gives out with each thrust. It’s hard to not lose himself the moment she gasps out his name.

She’s immersed him completely with all of these things she’s showing him for the first time. These looks make him question if he’s drowning once more, but for an entirely different reason.

The release comes rushing forth—it was that voice of hers whispering against his ear that’s made him lose it all, “Sasuke-kun. Please.”

He feels himself empty inside her at those breathless and exhausted words. He twitches as he spills into her and rides it out coming down from his urgent pace to a slow rock before stopping completely. He feels unable to look away as he gazed up at her with viridian eyes glowing helplessly in adoration at him. His breathing still heightened but slowly falling back down to earth.

He releases her hips but only long enough to wrap his arms around that petite neck of hers. The press of her cheek against his shoulder allows him to feel her own breath coming back down alongside his own. The press of her fingers against his back is an entirely new comfort.

Shifting her slowly he’s settling her down. Tugging upon the comforter discarded in their actions brings them nestled within it. Once again he’s wrapping his arms around her and pressing her against him.

“I’ll come home. I’ll—” he’s lost his words unsure of what more he needs to say to provide her with reassurance that he’ll be okay once more.

“And I will welcome you home.” her voice is but a hum laced in exhaustion, and on the edge of sleep.

It’s one more deep inhale of that floral scent he’s come to love, and a press of his lips upon her hair before his lids fall and he finds himself within the comfort of sleep.

Finally.

That tickle upon her neck is what has her shifting. Her body feels heavy and her legs even heavier. The muscles ache, and the soreness is foreign. The attempt to shift her hand has her registering a lighter weight upon her own and lifting her lids to take focus of what's prevented her. That hand is large and the pads of his fingers are rough. They’re so different when compared to the small slender ones she’s been born with. That palm and those roughened pads had touched every part of her. They had ghosted across sticky skin and gripped her so firmly the night before. Now one lays upon her own so relaxed and without tension.

There had been no warning—there had been no foreseeing the night before. She had found him so broken and torn. Shattered and without self-remorse.

He had crumbled under the weight of his losses. He had lost his uncle, and the loss of his grandfather had come right behind it so unexpectedly.

These days had been long. They had been riddled with pain and riddled with unspoken anguish. That wail he had given way too caused her heart terror and fear of what was to become of him.

Never would she want to see him like that. Never would she have wanted to see him so lost and unsure of where to go.

Her fingers make their way to his. There’s no tight squeeze upon this hand so worn. There is just the desire to comfort him even now. That even breathing gives her hope his mind has settled. Those bags deep under his eyes perhaps lessened instead of continuing their growth.

There’s a fear of what comes when he awakens. Will he regret what they have done? That fear is sprouting and that fear makes her wonder if she had taken advantage of him in such a state. They were husband and wife—these things were normal.

Yet, not once had she ever thought he would look at her in such a way—find comfort in her in such a way. This man so broken and torn had sought her out as a woman. She’d consent again and again.

Yet, that doesn’t lessen the fear of what reaction he’ll have soon enough.

She needs to find faith that this is in fact what he intended—but she doesn’t know what lingers inside his thoughts. She still wont dare to ask.

Would it be better if she left his side before he wakes?

Or would it anger him and feel as though she is rejecting the closeness he created last night?

She doesn’t want to cause him more grief. She doesn’t want to hurt him unknowingly. —but she doesn’t know what the right answer is.

His hand is so much larger than her own in this weak hold she has upon it. That breath of his is calming and that deep inhale of his scent so much louder with them tucked so close together.

All of these things are soothing—and yet it doesn’t stop her own mind from wondering what she can provide more of. What can she do to keep him falling into such a state again?

The twitch of his hand has her breath caught within her throat, and then those fingers of his slide from her own and the panic is loud within her heart. He’s waking—and she hasn’t decided upon an answer still. She needs more time. She needs him to sleep longer. She needs him to give her more time to decide what she needs to do next.

He’s not giving her that time though as his hand slides over her arm almost comfortingly before gripping her upper arm and providing the lightest of squeezes. He’s pulling her closer and he’s sliding his arm over her collarbone.

His lips are so much closer to her neck and the warmth of her cheeks has her far more awake, “Sasuke-kun?” She dares a whisper in hopes he’s actually still asleep.

“A little longer.” The feel of his nose within her hair follows that sleep ridden voice of his.

They’ve already done so much, and yet this is what makes her feel shy. This gentleness he’s giving while half awake. This unusual and blatant affection—is this what had lied beyond the walls of his heart she had hoped to find herself within?

The slide of her hand across the futon comes and finds its way upon his arm wrapped so snug against her. He hardly ever asks for much. He hardly ever gives way to his wants. He’s asked her for something once more and she will give it to him gladly. The panic she had felt at him stirring to life had disappeared and vanished within that little request.

He wants to lay here longer with her. He wants to stay within the sheets finding comfort in her. It’s not just as a woman—but as his wife.

She had not taken advantage of him in his grief and loss—he had willingly come to her.

He had reached out and brought them closer than she would have ever dared try alone.

He had made this joining of two deeper. This was a marriage. She was his wife. —and he was her husband.

The press of her head against the pillow is deeper as she inhales a deep breath feeling so content within this morning. How many days had passed since their mornings had not been painted with sorrow?

There is no way for her to replace those he’s lost. She cannot bring them back to him. She can though stand beside him and help mend him back together.

Slowly but surely there will be happier times ahead. The distance is unknown and the time unfathomable.

She’ll travel to the ends of the earth for it if she has to.

It will come to them both, and she will do so holding his hand and walking firmly beside him.

He has given her so much comfort in her title of wife. A comfort she did not know possible when she had first laid her eyes upon him.

The dip back into sleep is quickly interrupted as the voice of her handmaid calls lightly through the door. The squeeze upon her tightens as if to keep her from responding and then it lessens just moments later. The slide of his skin against her own comes as he releases her. That warmth he had provided suddenly gone and in its place is the coolest of air. Pushing up upon her forearm has her twisting upon her stomach from her side to look up, and it’s only moments later as he speaks with the maid that her attention is gained by the sound of wings just out the doors leading to his beloved garden.

Soft in rising she pulls upon the comforter holding it firmly against her unclothed form. The pull upon the doors leading to the engawa are equally as soft as she walks forward. Leg muscles give off a wave of ache but that doesn’t stop her from walking forward and out of their bedroom.

“Sakura?” Her husband's voice is behind her and high in pitch making it clear he’s questioning what she’s doing.

Raising her arm the animal she had heard comes down. Brown with sharp eyes, and talons strong it sits awaiting for her to take the scroll from around its neck. There’s something deep within her heart—she can’t place this feeling. She doesn’t know if it’s a sense of foreboding or perhaps something lighter.

She doesn’t have to shift much to release the scroll from around his neck. The whisper of gratitude comes out and then and the slow motion of her arm lowering before raising up has the hawk taking off and expanding their wings. Fingers fiddle with the flap and it’s as she unrolls it that her eyes fall upon the written text. This where she decides perhaps it wasn’t such a foreboding feeling.

“Sakura.” He’s come to stand at the doorway.

The smallest of hums falls, “It’s nothing to worry about Sasuke-kun.”

She’s been summoned to join him on the battlefield and lead their medics. Whatever is to come—whatever sat within the scrolls her husband had received before her own now has reached her as well.

Sakura Uchiha would no longer be forced to sit within camps or deep within their home. She would be traveling beside him. She would be there to walk him home.

She wouldn’t have to wait this time.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Missed a Chapter?

Chapter 16 The Decay

There would be no return home for him—no, not in this state. There would be no returning to her in the blooded, and broken state he resided in. He would not allow her to fall amidst the trepidation. He would take the healing of the standard medic. There were pleas to not request such things, and to allow them to bring her to him. Those pleas brought forth a lividity they simply could not understand.

“This is why you were to marry her was it not? You know that there are few who are as exceptional at healing as she is.” the Hyuuga’s voice is laced in irritation as he stands with his arms crossed upon him.

He gives no response but a look. It’s heated, and it’s aggressive in all of it’s decoration. The hair on his neck stands as the medic within this station seeks to ease his discomfort. Their fingers are not as soft as hers and they do not have the same warmth within their glow. They are not as gentle, and caring within their approach.

The Hyuuga had come to his aid. Neji had fought the Senju off as he attempted to ground himself. Only more frustration, and more hatred echoed through him in waves at the thought. He had allowed this man to gain an advantage with words. He had broken the Senju’s arm and dealt greater physical damage, and yet the Senju had landed a blow mentality of greater proportions. He had planted the seed of doubt, and with that seed it had bloomed into unknown insecurities.

He had told him that he would dirty her. He had told him that he would defile, and ruin her. He had told him he would never be good enough for her.

He had known those thoughts, he had been within those moments of doubt, and yet he had never considered them as much as he had when he held the Senju down and snapped their bone beneath skin and muscle.

He knows that she is all spring, and warmth. He knows that is all the things he would never be. He knows that she deserved so much more than he could ever hope to give.

Those pale rose-colored strands had been ruined with his blood, and the roughened fingers that sought them out. Those viridian had glowed with warmth upon him—he was unworthy of such warmth. Those small and soft fingers had given the warmest of caresses within his ebony strands—he was too vile for such affection.

The fear of her being out of his grasp though is far more frightening than ruining that in which she is. There is the need to have her here with him, and yet in those moments of fear upon the battlefield he could see the grief that would decorate her, he could see the tears as they slid from her chin, and he could see the fingers that would shake as her voice rang out in command for assistance in mending him back together.

There had been enough of those moments. There had been enough of her fear. He would not continue to give her more of the same. He had made these mistakes before, and in the state his marriage lay he could not—would not—cause it more harm. He could not take the chance of it breaking their rebuilt foundation. He could feel her pleas, and he could feel the sobs she had given within their entry way. They carry a gravity of crushing proportions. They carry with him the need to quell her desperation.

I’m holding my breath that you will feel anchored to this world.

If the battle he had just been saved from was anything it was a showing of his anchor to the world. It was proof of his desire to breathe once more. The fear he had felt when the shadow of his enemy had fallen upon him was all she would have needed to see—to know he was anchored.

I’m holding my breath that you do not walk into this war with no attachment.

She had become his attachment—how could she not see what she has done to him? He had never been one to rush forward with such an influence upon his motives. He had gone after that Senju for her, and for no other reason. It was not done out of the ideals he was meant to fight for. It was not done for those who looked to him for victory.

I’m holding my breath that you care if you die. I’m holding my breath that there is some way to make you care.

He cared. He cared far too much. He cared for all the wrong reasons. He cared in such a painstakingly unsightly way. He would not die yet. He could not die yet. Not with his mother and father gone from this earth needing honor brought to them. Not with his people gazing upon him with all the successes he brought to them within their eyes. Not with her awaiting his return, and his protection. None of these were the reasons she wished for him to care—he did not need her to specify such a thing.

She had wanted him to care for his own well-being.

He would care for everyone else. It was easier. It was simple. It was something. Who could possibly think he could care for himself—he who was so vile, and cruel?

What is it I have to give for you to do these things?

He cannot stop the pained and raspy chuckle that escapes him as his fingers curl upon the table he’s perched upon. It’s entirely sorrow ridden. It’s dripping within the anguish he feels at those words. What more could she possibly give? She was always giving. He was always receiving.

Even as he tried to find the right answers. Even as he tried to find the right way to give back.

He was desperate within his attempts to give back. He was trying to find his center with her. He was trying to release himself from all the selfishness that he had shown and grown accustomed to with her.

She had given more than enough to receive the things she asked for. He was doing his best to give them, and yet he questions if they are what he should be giving. He questionings if this was not several steps back. He had lost this battle. There was no denying the loss he had suffered at the bastard Senju who had taunted and mocked his marriage. They had talked of her as if she was an object—as if she were a valuable item. They talked of her as if she had no will of her own.

Would she leave his side for this man who believed in the ideals she had? No—she supported him.

It is because I love you that that I believe in a peace brought by you.

Ebony fall to the pendant upon the hilt of his sword. It’s dirty with blood, but not less than it was when she gave it to him. She sought to give him comfort and protection out of her reach—with her love.

“Sasuke-sama! Sasuke-sama!”

The urgency has him reeling back sending tremors of pain throughout his being. It’s harsh and loud, and the throbbing that comes with it quakes his muscles. He can see magnitude of importance the disheveled Uchiha comes with. There’s terror behind that stare. The thought of it being of word of her being harmed sends his heart wild in perturbation.

This anxiety a constant he had not known before.

“Sasuke-sama. I—” the Uchiha is deep within his desperate need for air, and yet this is not why he has stopped. It’s as though whatever falls from him will in fact become a reality, and that only proceeds to send an undeniably sickening ache throughout his chest.

The words that hit the air have all present halting. The medic stops within their attempts to heal to slowly turn their head as they soak in what’s been said. The Hyuuga lets his arms fall in what he would gauge as devastation, and he himself has stopped breathing. His endless ebony have gone wide. There is the relief of what has been said, and in it’s place the shattering realization of what has dared been spoken among them takes all of his thoughts from her.

This distant relation to him had come with all the urgency necessary. There was nothing that would have prepared him for what had come. There had been no warning—no sign of this to be a possibility. Of all the members, and all the men within his clan this was not one he would have foreseen being taken from them.

His direct line is now cut by one more. There was no longer a mother, there was no longer a father, there was no longer a brother, and now—

There was no longer an uncle.

He was down to two. He was down to two direct lines. He was down to Madara Uchiha, and he was down to Tajima Uchiha.

Izuna Uchiha had died.

Home.

It is dreary and daunting as they enter the gates. There is no humor within the air. There are no smiles true in nature. They are small and they are tight. The words that had come only days before had released her from her duties. She would be needed here. The loss they had suffered would be one that changed dynamics, and it would change the way things played out from here on out.

Her husband had lost another. He had lost even more.

He would come home to them soon, and with that they would be back out. They would be attending the funeral. They would be in wear of endless black, and they would stand to give their farewells. That man had been kind to her. He had come when her husband had been harmed. He had come to her in order to ask for her assistance with medic relief. He had been there to give her praise when she had played her part within traditions not of his own. He had been warm in his treatment of her.

There is the low nod of her head leaving Shisui’s side. He has fallen among those with heavy hearts. His face painted in all smiles no longer present for any to see. This loss had harmed so many. There had been nothing that would have foretold such a thing.

That is just another of the many realities they live in. You would never know when the one beside you vanished from your grasp.

She knows she needs to enter her home filled with sorrow. She knows that she needs to begin her bathing, and dressing for more travel. There is no rest for them in these times.

Her legs do not carry her there though—they carry her further and farther from home. They carry her to the shrine that her husband would take her to for Hatsumode. The spring air does little to warm her skin in these moments. Her cloak is dirty, stained, and far from what she should be wearing in the presences of gods.

Her fingers work to remove the gloves as she walks upon the stairs. They feel the cool breeze with each touch and pull she makes. The silence is deafening. It’s not loud in this moment, but it is thick within the air. It is laying upon their hearts, and their shoulders. Sliding her gloves within her pouch that is tucked upon her side she takes in the deepest of breaths within her lungs. It burns far more than it had on the way home.

The news has turned her nose raw, and cheeks rosy in color as she gives a small offering before allowing her lids to close shut. The clap of her hands is not loud as they come together. There’s asking for peace. There’s asking for a life of calm for the Senju child they murdered within the camp. There is a plea to allow those who had fallen—those who continue to fall with each passing minute—to find warmth in the afterlife, and be pardoned for the part they have taken in this war when in front of King Yan. There is no stopping her from biting down upon her lip as if it will stop its shaking as she comes to ask for her departed uncle-in-law to rest at ease. There is hope that he died without pain, and there is hope that he will find as much warmth as he has given to her in the afterlife.

Wide doe-eyes open at the feel of one behind her. There’s no mistaking the scent that comes from the male that holds her. There is no mistaking the arm that has wrapped around her bringing her to press against him. The ebony strands that mix within her own upon her shoulder are the same ones that her fingers have found themselves within throughout her marriage.

“Sakura.” his fingers tighten within the cloth of her cloak.

The words are heavyhearted. The rasp of his voice is strangled in saying her name. She knows it has taken every ounce of his strength to utter this, and give away his mourning. Her hands still within their palms pressed in prayer lower to allow one to cup his hand upon her. He does not need her words. He does not need her apologies. He needs her to help him hold all that he is desperate to protect.

She attempts to turn to him, but is stopped as his arm presses her back against him tighter, as if such a thing were possible, “Please.”

He is pleading to her. He is begging her to stay just as they are. She will give whatever it is he asks. He will never have to ask twice for such things. She will give all that she can. She always has, and she always will.

He had played his part within her father’s passing, and she will play her part within Izuna’s passing.

The moments that pass by are long, and slow. She does not know how long they stayed there for. She does not know how much time had passed within this place of prayer. There is only his uneven, and raspy breath against her ear. There is only the shudder of his form, and heat that radiates off him.

He is hurt mentally, and physically. There is no missing the signs. His breathing is shallow within his rasp as it falls from him. She will need to mend him back together. Viridian gaze upon the gray sky within this afternoon. Her head rests comfortably upon his shoulder before letting her lids fall and giving one last prayer to those that watch above them.

She thanks them for bringing him to her once more.

He captures her hand within his as they walk down from the shrine. They walk in silence as they make their way inside their home. He has not asked for anything else. He makes no fuss as she attends to his wounds. There are no looks between viridian and ebony. The wounds he has are far worse than she had realized. The medic who had attempt to heal him within her absence had done what they could, and yet she knows that they were forced to leave him in this state due to the word of his uncle’s passing. She too had been forced to halt in her assistance at such word. He is quick from his bath, and they are moving as quickly as they can. It’s as he finishes packing items within his bag that he finally allows her to see the ebony that she had sought out since their time at the shrine.

The swallow that follows in this connected moment is completely involuntary. It’s thick and it’s heavy. He’s here before her but the way those eyes stare down upon her make it clear—he’s so much further away. He’s never looked so blank before her—so preoccupied. This man had closed himself off when he had taken a hold of her hand and they descended the steps.

He had pushed his own mourning away. He had cast aside his own feelings. He had brought up a wall meant to keep himself locked within.

Could he even see her?

The maid tugs upon the obi of this kimono she’s been wrapped within. It does not have beautiful patterns. It does not have anything outside of their emblem stitched with care upon it’s back. The deep black color is unfaded and as endless as the night devoid of stars. The cloak upon her is of the same color. They are matching within their mourning wear.

He does not take her hand this time, and that only makes her gaze upon it as he steps firmly in front of her. There is the need to take it within her own to remind him he is not alone. She is here, and she is willing to do whatever he asks.

She can’t take that hand in hers, though. There is no desire to be selfish in acquiring his hand within her own.

The travel is quiet.

Only two others travel with them for protection. The travel to Madara’s home feels long and foreboding. They do not run within the trees. They hold strong footing as they travel. The funeral will be soon, and they will make it there before it begins with this pace.

Footsteps. Thrusted forward. Doors and no pleasantries.

All who have attended wear as they do. There are many among them. She recalls them from meetings, and she recalls them from their visits to her home to converse with her husband as they passed through.

The wake begins. The exchanging of money in envelopes tied of black and white are handed off—she does not know how much Sasuke has given and yet, she feels there is no true price that would ever be enough. He has given multiple envelopes—the people that reside within their village must have handed them off. There is the assumption this is what he prepared as she was cleaned and prepared to head back out. Following his lead is done with care. Tajima is the first to give his respect, and Madara is not far behind.

His appearance is startling.

The bandages wrapped around his eyes make her heart hammer at who had harmed him—had it been the one who had taken Izuna from them all? There is the urgency to attend to him after they have settled. There is desire to make sure this man is not taken from her husband’s side as well.

Fingers find themselves wrapped around her own as he takes her with him to pay their respects. She is his spouse. She is his wife. She is his partner. She is the second part of this joining of two. Those fingers of his have left hers, and in their showing she follows through grabbing her own incense from the bowl. They hold it to their foreheads before dropping them within the burner. Palms pressed together and lids fall as they give way to their silent respect. She is uttering all the things she had among the gods before her husband had come for comfort. The smile upon her is deep within its sadness. It’s a smile of pain, and a smile of loss. It’s bitter upon her lips.

It is all she can bare to give. This man’s kindness was all she had known him for.

The feelings that radiate beside her are washing throughout the room. Her husband’s lips are pressed within that firm line she has grown to know so well, but it’s the brows pinched within his respects that she has not expected. He is truly mourning in this time—she had never wished to see such a thing.

They take their place beside Tajima, and Madara. The guests follow suit in giving their own respect to the departed. Those among the highest of rank stay for the night vigil. The meal is light, and does not hold the flavor. The loss within the room has taken the flavor from the joy that food provides.

It is as they are retiring for the night that she stays locked within her place even as her husband has risen awaiting her to follow.

“Madara-sama, would you like me to tend to your wounds?” she is soft spoken—she does not wish to anger her husband, but she cannot stop the desire to make sure this last remaining link of his is protected and out of harms reach.

He gives a nod, and her husband assists in her raising offering out a hand. There is an uncharacteristic tightening of his grip. There is no explanation for such a thing—it gives away a sense of misgiving. It’s as if her husband fears what will become of her in treating his last remaining link.

Madara is quiet as he removes the bandages. She ties the heavy endless sleeves back, and ties the locks of long pale rose tightly behind her. It’s not until he turns that the startle she had felt within the wake decorates her face blatantly. The bruising, and the dried blood upon his face she can only hope is truly not as severe as it looks. The step she takes back brings her husband to her gripping her shoulders to steady her withdrawal from the sight. There’s a reassuring squeeze upon her arms and she knows he is hoping it will give her comfort from such a sight.

She swallows the suffocating lump that had lodged itself within her throat as she moves forward to begin her treatment, “What—what happened? Who did this to you?”

“You have taken his eyes.” Her husband’s voice cuts through the air.

This has only caused her to halt her fingers as her gaze comes upon her husband, “His eyes? You mean—Izuna-san’s eyes are—?” She cannot understand what it is her husband has given away.

He only grants her a nod of his head as Madara speaks within the air, “He has no need for them while dead.”

The chill that overcomes her with those words is sharp upon her heart. She has never before heard one talk in such a way of their family. The words are like that of convenience—as if this man was now only convenient in donating his eyes. Had this man not loved his sibling? Had this man not cherished him? Had he only seen him as any other?

There is only the smallest of laughs within the air as she keeps her viridian upon this man in front of her. This is what had made her husband tighten his grip upon her hand. This is what he had feared—had he known at the wake what Madara had done? What Madara had taken? Had he foreseen what Izuna’s death would bring?

Fingers that shake find their way upon this man’s face. There is hesitance with every movement as she seeks to heal, and remove any discomfort that is upon him. There is certainty that her heartbeat within the room is loud enough for both males to hear its frighteningly erratic pace. The discoloration of skin is easing with her glow, and the laceration that hints upon the corners of his eyes lessen with every brush of skin.

The Uchiha leader seizes her fingers here and now as if she has harmed him, “That is enough. It does me no good if you are exhausted.”

The panic to rip her hand from his is there. The urgency to create distance is clear within her viridian. The spring wife can only feel the way her eyes widen. This was not the same man who had come to find her within her cousin’s home. This was not the man who had praised her. This man is inundated with hatred, and intent.

This man before her and the man she had known throughout these last two years were no longer one and the same.

Had she ever truly known this man oozing with malice?

The grip is tightening upon her fingers, “Please rest, Sakura-san. There is still much to do tomorrow.”

She finally can no longer wait to remove her fingers from his as she tears her hand from his moving to come to her husband’s side. Those endless ebony, and viridian meet—she knows she is to leave and retreat to their given room.

There is hesitance to leave his side with such a man, but it is only seconds later that she does so. She feels suffocated. She feels crushed within the rawness that this man exudes, and to be here any longer only seeks to drown her within such malevolent feelings.

To be here any longer would be deadly.

All she can do is collapse within the room as she seeks to find oxygen. She had not known that a man could do such a thing with his mere presence. This was far beyond what she had ever come to know. The desire to find more air is all that powers her lungs. The desire to never be locked in a closed space with a man that radiated such anger—such malice and such hate—is what makes her wrap her arms around herself.

This is the protection she seeks.

The paper door slides open, and with it her husband has come within the room. His eyes—they glow bright in that vibrant rich red—had they always done so? He is at her side instantly, and he has gripped the hand once held by the Uchiha leader in his. Those glowing eyes of his look over her fingers and look over her hand as if he is looking for something—some kind of harm done to her.

Yet, he is the one with blood upon his lips.
He is the one with a mark across his face.

There are no words to ease her heart tonight. There are no words from him inside this foreign room. He is all the usual stoic—the hint of anger he had held within those glowing eyes of his have left. They are quick to prepare for bed within the silence.

It’s only then that he opens his mouth, “We will discuss this at home.” it’s soft, and that is what makes her look over her shoulder at him.

The glow of red is gone, and in its place are those eyes that reflect the same color as the kimono she’s worn today.

That is what carries her forward. Those ebony of his have taken hold of her viridian as if to hold onto them with no remorse. Her fingers glow—she has only remembered as she looks upon him partially dressed that he still has wounds in need of healing. The job she had done at home had been the barest of attempts—it had only made it so his rib cage would not cause him greater issues within their travels. It is still bridle—it could break again if she did not tend to him correctly.

Those lips of his remain tight with her coming to mend him. He only gives fingers that dance upon her head before digging within her rose-colored locks as she works on him.

Sleep is hard to find inside these four walls. They only continue to stare upon each other. There are no brief moments in which their hands brush against each other. She feels as though to touch him in this home is forbidden. The frustration is openly painted deep upon the corners of her mouth.

Lids that flutter open have no realization of when they had closed within the night before. Her husband has already risen and has already begun to dress himself. There is a certain level of distance between them. It’s not physical. It’s entirely mental. This is the furthest she has ever felt from him when he was within her reach. No moment in their marriage had felt like this—it is as if they are back to the time when he had slid the door open when they first met. He had found her crying within his home in distress over her new life. He had casted his eyes from her as if she had been a mere object in the room.

The funeral holds the same traditions that it had during the wake. They drop the incense once more into the burner. They give forth final prayers, and they still take their place beside that of Tajima and Madara. The wrapping upon his eyes is back where it had been in the previous day. The sight plummets her stomach.

The coffin when opened is not a sight she had expected. The face is covered with a cloth of white, and she cannot bring her eyes to gaze upon it as they place their flowers within the coffin, and then watch as it is nailed shut—to watch as it is to never be opened again.

The repetition of incense comes, and the furnace is handled by Tajima as the cremation begins. They turn for the feast that comes. It is quiet with only small chatter among them. Sakura does not speak. She only can casts her viridian upon Sasuke’s form between her bites. He has remained quiet throughout all of it. She can only begin to wonder what has come within his thoughts.

He stands in front of her and she behind when they finally make the journey home. Those who have traveled with them speak among themselves. Their conversation is that of idle chatter to fill the solemnity that hangs above them.

The night that falls upon them, and decorates the sky brings forth an uncharacteristic chill deep inside spring. They walk within their home still lingering within the sorrow.

All of them who make up this home, and all of them who make up this village will need time to heal.

They will need to stand strong unchained from loss before they can run forward once more.

[ombreecha]

Hi! I hope you're having a good day! :) I was wondering, when can we expect the next chapter of 'The Uchiha's Wife'?? I absolutely love that story! Though, I understand if you take your time. It has a complex plot, and I know you try your very best every time to deliver to your fans the best chapter possible. I also hope you're taking care of yourself and enjoy this holiday winter season. Health should always be 1st. Take care!

Hello! I’ve been decent! Thank you so much! I hope yours is well just the same!

Weeeeell–so the thing is. I saw this the exact day you sent it. I’m only now responding to you because you literally are the swift kick in my ass that I needed to get the next chapter posted. I felt bad so many of you were asking about the next chapter but I wasn’t holding a lot of motivation (mentally I’m a bit drained) to really get it done due to life, work, back log on cosplay, new cosplay due by February, etc.

You were basically the one that finally got me to jump up and hit the ground running (or in a sense the straw that broke the camels back in a way). I literally spent from the time you wrote me any chance I had free revising, going over chapter 18 with @beatoneheart 183928392 times, and responding to reviews so that when I wrote you I could finally give you the next chapter (both my mom and my dad have literally woken up at least once to ask me wtf I am doing at 6 am kek).

Happy New Year from me to you!

Fanfiction.net | Tumblr

I hope you enjoy the newest chapter~ Thank you for writing me and I hope you had a wonderful holiday my dude. I though am going to get some much needed sleep since I have to build armor later.

Night!

[ombreecha]

I’m not neglecting — i’m simply writing

The deepest of inhales fills his lungs as he steadies his nerves to prepare to brief these men. He cannot let his voice waver. He cannot allow them to find even the smallest amount of hesitation within him. This is where they would need him to be the commander they sought to place their hopes in, and that is what he would give them. He would not fail them when they needed him most. He would not give them any reason to doubt. He would be the rightful heir he was meant to be.

“Do you think we are condemned to hell? Looking for hope. I know it can be hard to see. We’ve tried so hard but can we truly not save us from ourselves? Destined to die from the moment of our birth—do not forget everything you are worth.”

Their voices are throaty as they resonate with his request.

[. . .]

This request is cruel, and it’s here and now she realizes the severity of what will now transpire. Her husband had filled his men with strength, and she had sought to make sure she stood beside him properly when he had.

This was no longer war—this was to become a slaughter.

an empire will fall, my dudes.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period. 

Missed a chapter?

Chapter 14 The Days

Days turned into weeks.

There’s only the briefest of moments to recognize his time away from her. He has taken back territory, and he has come to the aid of those who needed it most within their clan. They are forever moving forward. They are there to help swing the the tides of battle, and help those exhausted and wounded. Any wounds gained in their efforts are easily handled with the aid of the vibrant redhead within his group.

He feels the pressure upon his shoulders with every altercation. He has to make sure he avoids harm.

The road traveled is far from home, and he can only allow fleeting thoughts upon her in these moments as they head for the next battle. He only dares to look back for a few seconds knowing his focus is needed on those seeking relief.

Their anniversary had come and gone. He had been deep within the throes of battle ripping his blade through those that desired to slaughter his clansmen in the name of war. It was only after the fighting had died down, and only after he had received treatment that he had realized it had even come.

There would be time for that. He would make time for it.

He would make it up to her when he returned to her side—he does not know how but he can only hope there will be an answer once she is within his grasp.

The sky that shows forth the stars is all that lights the earth as they run to their next destination.

The idle chatter of the loudest member is only overpowered by the yells of their female teammate. Feelings of irritation cannot be found as he drowns them out, and there is no desire to break up their bickering. It’s the last thing he’s concerned with. There’s so many other—so many more pressing—matters that have his attention.

The smell of blood is thick within his nose and impossible to miss. It’s a mixture of his, and a mixture of those who dared to challenge him. The blade that had come across his arm, and the hand that had dug into his flesh—they leave another scar having been mended by the makeshift medic on their team.

It’s not the cleanest job, but it’ll do. It’s just another mark upon him to add to the list.

Legs burn within their overuse, and yet it does not make him allow the breaks requested by his team. He only sought to continue forward—he only sought to do whatever necessary to bring victory to his clan.

Sleep had always been far from his mind. It’s a secondary thought. He is not plagued with the haunting thoughts of slayed medics. He is not harmed inside that unconscious realm that sought to render him defenseless. There is only endless black within his dreams. It doesn’t lessen his exhaustion but it’s a welcomed change of pace, and one he finds himself silently thankful for.

The flutter of his lids comes with the sound of the earth shaking below him. How long had he slept, and when had the battle found its way to them? He’s groggy and he’s soaked within the remnants of sleep. The call of his name is the last thing from his mind as he scrapes his head against the earth rolling back and onto his feet. He’s barely got enough time to step back before the jutsu coming for him has hit the earth with the same force that had awoken him. These movements he’s done to remove himself from this danger has dislocated his thumb—it aches and it throbs but it is just one more thing pushed aside and ignored.

The sword that comes through the air slices the smallest of ebony strands as it soars through the air. Suigetsu never hesitates seeking to strike back unwilling to let his leader have this round. The smell of copper comes and then the dying of clothes soaked in blood. Another scream of his name and his ebony have vanished. Deep rich red are glowing as he’s moving forward fingers grabbing the face of the next shinobi’s audacious attack.

He is not kind. He is ruthless.

Electric lights from his fingers and the deafening shout that fills the air is only silenced by the blood that chokes and spills from the Senju’s mouth. Little care is shown to the body allowing it to drop as Jugo rushes forward decorated with manic wide eyes, and widening lips. They hold no fear even when woken with such tactics. Karin’s not far behind calculating and calling out the number of those that surround them—this is why he put this team together.

His team has defeated and killed far more than this. Every one of them has their use and every one of them performed their roll with ease.

They did not question. They simply reacted.

The thrust of his blade lodges itself underneath the final shinobi’s jaw. A sharp tug is all he has to give to have it split through the child’s face ending this small surprise attack upon them. There is no missing the fact that he has slain a child with equally as little care as the older male he had dropped to the ground right before.

He had no care for age—they were all the same.

Deep rich red turn and there is a shared look between them all. They need to moving forward—they were always moving forward. It does not matter how far the road goes. They will continue, and they will conquer. They will fight, and they will show no mercy for those in their way. Humor that falls from lips that hide the sharpest of teeth. His remark is not missed—Sasuke sees no reason to entertain him.

Their destroyed camp isn’t a concern. No. It’s being found sleeping at all that poses the concern. If there were enemies seeking to bury them within the earth while they slept then there was more to come.

His legs are rested but they still hold that ache. They’re still pulsing, and their still twitching. Karin’s voice is what breaks through muddled thoughts of what comes next. Brows pinch in hearing what she has to say, and how many lay just up ahead. His brothers-in-arms are up ahead, and yet the number of Senju far out numbers them. Lips press firm and the swallow that follows tightens his jaw. There’s less urgency and more caution as they go forward.

They cannot change the tide of battle here, but that does not mean they would not survey the damage received. They were too late, and there is no missing the Uchiha who have surrendered. Their hands are held behind their heads showing they have accepted defeat, and it only serves to make his fists curl and shake. His throat tightens, and then there is the turn of red to flicker towards his own—they’re not the eyes of an Uchiha.

This is a man who needs no introduction. Who didn’t know this man?

Tobirama Senju was well known for his belief that the Uchiha needed wiped from this earth.

The tilt of that mouth can be seen even from this distance as if challenging him to come forward and resume the barely held battle. The male with strands of white is proud in his stance as his arms cross upon his chest adorned in the colors of Senju.

The control needed to not take his bait is great, and the control needed to turn and return from the direction they’ve come is even greater. Accepting this loss is something he has not come to terms with—he’s stubborn when it comes to accepting a loss. The chase would soon begin and their speed quickens. They cannot take on this army even with the four of them. They are powerful, and they together could bring down a camp—an army is an entirely different story.

Retreat is something that only seeks to make his body flush with indignation.

Tobirama would not send all of them after them—he would only send what he thought was necessary. The terror that comes with the idea of being struck down in such a shameful manner—in retreating—is what makes him ignore the branch that cuts across his cheek. He could not let his pride get in the way of logic. He could not let himself take the chance. He couldn’t allow himself to become injured or dead from foolish pride.

She was waiting. She was always waiting.

She is the flower that bloomed in this time of difficulty. She is what lights the way home, and she is what will mend him from this shameful act.

The hiss that falls from his mouth brings their eyes to him. They know he’ll produce an order. They don’t need to ask. The humor once within the air is trapped within Suigetsu’s throat. The manic decoration has washed itself from Jugo’s features. Karin’s calls have quelled within whispers of how many linger behind them.

The could stop their retreat, and take care of the five the seek to close in upon them. They could crush their skulls, and rip their hearts from their chest. They could stain the earth with their blood, and bathe within victory.

They won’t—because others would be right behind them. There is more than five. It does not take a tracker to know they are being baited, and asked to stay and fight.

To do so meant death. His people needed him alive. She needed him to come home to her.

He would not abandon them in the name of pride, and he would not abandon her even as this pique settles itself deep within.

That welcomed dreamless sleep would disappear with this loss. They would drag him from what little peace he had found, and plunge him deep within his own fears. There is no denying what he cannot stop.  The small reprieve is gone and the vivid red that reeked of copper would coat it all.

“Juugo—Send out to see where the closest ally is.”

It’s the agitation laced within his whisper that has Juugo hesitating, and then the stop of his feet upon the next branch. No, he would not fight but he would give them distance until they could meet with others. He’s quick with his hand seals, and the intake of oxygen within his lungs puffs his chest.

He will set the forest ablaze.

He will burn it down to the ground if he has to. The fire that comes forward is strong and lights up the forest before them. He’s not stopping at one though. He intends to release another. The harsher the flame the more devastating the burns. It’s at the inhale of the second and the release that he flashes just beyond the hell he’s release from his lungs.

The taunt across this Senju’s lips, and the widening smirk is just another thing to snap at his resolve. It calls for him wish to lunge within the fiery embrace he’s given the forest. He had long since removed the Senju from his mind, and now it’s with that look that he’s resurfaced.

This man has continued forward and continues to bring his personal feelings to the battlefield. It lingers within the proud look across his features, and the curl of his fingers upon his arms as they come to cross over his chest. Fingers curl into a fist and his ebony widen as urgency to remove such a proud look upon his features digs at what little remaining resolve he can maintain.

The lips of his enemy moves, and it only seeks to light the fire of battle more vividly than even that of his flames.

He would show this man—no, he would show this child—that you did not come to him with such a look. He would tear it from his features, and he would dig his fingers deep within that mouth and remove the tongue that dared to mock him.

Coward. He had called him a coward.

The grit of his teeth comes and then the fingers of another wrap upon his shoulder. The whip of his head shows the startle that had shaken his heart at someone so close to him. He has lost sight of everything so easily before this Senju that sought to obtain her. The lavender that hold him are stern with no sense of humor present.

The tightening of Suigetsu’s fingers come, “We’ve have to go.”

He’s breathing in deep—an attempt to settle the irritation resting upon his chest. The lavender keep his steady, and then the silent agreement mixed with reluctance follows. There is no need to tell him twice, and they are moving again no longer allowing the flames to glow upon their skin that burn the trees down with no remorse.

They’re heading south east, and heading for safety. Shisui’s father would assist, and provide them with enough men to hold their ground for any who would make their way through the flames. It’s only a moment—seconds really—before he’s giving commands.

“We’ll use a kill and run tactic.” his voice is gruff—just another sign of his reluctance and spite for their retreat, “Create distance, strike, and then keep moving—one at a time.”

It’s a basic tactic but one that works. Speed was not equal among men, and never would be. Someone’s always faster—someone is always bound to separate themselves from the herd.

Strike them down, and then continue to make the herd separate in an effort to catch up. No sooner after the words have left him do lavender light with amusement as he shifts to turn back to who dared to catch up so quick. He’s lifting the sword as long and large as himself sliding it over the young child’s head who had pushed through the flames and allowed the fire to play across him. He’s had to put little effort in securing it around his throat before the yank of his hand comes effectively bring wide eyes and silencing any possible sound that could come. There’s no remorse, and there’s no time taken to see where the severed head falls as he sets to resume his steps at their leader’s side.

Rotation, and succession come with this tactic. Not once does the Senju who sought his spring wife make an appearance. There’s the sinking of his heart within his stomach in realizing that they had already battled. He had allowed this man to quake his being, and fallen in a battle of mental wills.

Coward he had called them—no, he had come to taunt him, and him alone.

He had allowed himself to almost take the bait. He would have taken the bait. He would have pushed forward within animalistic rage. He would have put them in a dangerous state, and jeopardized all their efforts in the name of pride.

He had mocked, and he had held judgment against this man who sought his wife. He had saw him as a child for bringing his personal feelings onto the battlefield, and yet he had almost done the same. He had almost lunged forward, and he had almost cross the fire he had created to give them time. It’s the grind of his teeth and the silence that comes as Karin tells them no others seek to follow. They did not seek to fall upon the forest floor lifeless and without a soul.

The bickering of this team that had become common place with this team never comes. They do not fall into place as the restrained vexation washes off him in waves. He’s trapped within his mind, and trapped within his loss. They have suffered a loss greater than just those who gave up willingly to the Senju.

They have defected—they have abandoned their brothers, their sisters, their wives, and their children.

They have tossed away their family thinking this to be the answer. They are tired of war, and they are tired of fighting. They are tired of Madara’s rule, and they seek out a peace brought by Senju hands.

They are willing to let the Senju dictate what comes next.

The power within his stride is set to relieve him from this submerge of bitter feelings. He needs to be clear of mind, and he needs to move forward passed these losses. His muscles resume their ache although dull, and almost numb. This would be just one of the many battles he’s lost. It would add to the list.

The battle may have been lost—but this war was far from over.

Deep within the setting sun they have made their way in. They have come upon Kagami’s camp. The distance had been further than expected, but they had made it. They are not expected, but they are welcomed. Ebony cannot stop themselves from running across those injured and wrapped within bandages. The exhaustion deep and set within their faces is unmissable. He is sure it’s upon his own features as well. The throbbing of his thumb is felt but still the furthest thing from his mind as he looks upon this camp. Kagami’s voice is what comes to break his eyes from these men who show relief with his presence.

“I thought it might be you making your way here.” he’s light in tone running his fingers within his dulling ebony.

It’s a shared look of ebony to ebony, and then the firm press of lips. The steps that follow are to give them privacy. They cannot afford to plunge their morale deeper with news of defection. This is all too familiar within the recent months, and only now does it seek to be problem. The number of those defecting is high and the number just continues to increase.

Where was their pride? Where was their hope for a better life with their loved ones? With their friends?

Had war truly weakened their pride? Had war truly become too much?
Had these endless years of battle finally taken their toll?

“There’s nothing we can do but look to the next battle.” the breath deep with discontent follows his words, “I’ll report the loss to Madara-sama.”

His face decorates in mild discomfort at the older Uchiha’s words as he comes to stand beside the table in the tent, “Where would you have us move to in the morning?”

The male fingers linger over the map before tapping it, “Head north. There’s a medic camp—your wife is there. I suggest getting decent first aid. You’re as good as ever at holding your own for long periods of time, but there’s no missing the exhaustion.”

“We’re in too deep for rest. We need to keep pushing forward.”

“I would never tell you how to run your missions, but I’m also not willing to sit by and watch you, of all people, possibly fall thanks to lack of care. Karin-san is decent, there’s no doubt, but you need proper healing, and rest. I couldn’t face your father if I turned a blind eye—No. I won’t face your father like that.”

Lids flutter closed and there’s no strength left to fight the feeling of fatigue that’s within every muscle, and every bone. This man would not take his stubbornness, and it’s with the older Uchiha’s voice that his lids are lifting to take him in once more, “How many have you taken down?”

“We have aided the capture of two territories, and destroyed three of their camps.” his voice is even and yet he too can hear just how worn out his tone is.

“Madara-sama will be please.” his features paint itself with the smallest of smiles before fingers come to rub the back of his neck.

“I’ll have them get you situated. . .They’re relieved that it was you who came upon us while we await our own medics. Going off everyone’s reaction seeing you helped with their morale.”

Silently he stands there taking in the older Uchiha’s words. It’s a subtle look his way—this man has been at war for longer than he’s been alive. They’re both experienced but he’s definitely wiser. This man fought beside his father and this man has done everything he can for his clan. He’s loyal, and he cares for his men. There’s a bitterness lingering in those last few words.

That bitterness isn’t directed to Sasuke. It’s a bitterness he holds for himself—he wants to be the one providing hope when his men have almost run out.

Lungs fill with air before he gives a nod of his head signaling his departure from the tent. The sky once colored by the setting sun now holds the depths of night. Wood burns giving those in the camp heat and light as they go another day away from home.

His team has resumed their flow within the camp, but there’s no missing the bruising, and the injuries they’ve sustained. These people sought to assist him, and sought to assist his clan. They did not agree with the Senju’s beliefs.

The world had been cruel to each of them throughout their lives, and they had persevered and made their way to this moment in time. They each held their own reasons. They each held their own ambition. They each walked beside him willingly with no thought to step from his side.

Peace brought by love can come in many forms.

The wind that blows through is strong, and the petals carried with it seem so out of place. They are light in color but unmistakable. Ebony look out to find the source, and it’s now he finds the tree that’s petals have fallen. This tree is old and it’s branches hang low. It’s trunk is twisted and turned, and it’s bloom had started to fall to the earth below well before now.

Subconsciously his jaw shifts and his mouth parts. This feeling isn’t one he’s sure of—he had felt it strongly as a child but it’s been such a long time since then. Slow and fluid his hand raises up to capture these petals that fall far too quickly to the ground. His skin is stained with the blood of his enemies—like an old bitter wine—and the sharp pain that comes with the movement of his thumb finally gains his attention.

The swelling is large upon the pad of his hand, and the twist of skin is almost enough to make him question if he’s actually broken it. The cool wind washes over him showing how heated his flesh had become.

One petal slides upon his hand sending an almost ticklish sensation through him. What should be such an easy action is strained as he tries to close his fingers upon this lone petal. The pain is sharp, and spikes up his arm as if a warning. Quelling the pain comes with a deep inhale as his heavy lids fall. Even breathing picks up the subtle floral scent in the air— it’s easily overpowered by the copper that lingers upon them all.

This was longing. It’s stronger than before—it’s as if he was that child waiting on his father’s return.

He longed for his spring nymph of a wife who was tucked away within a medic camp north of them. Sasuke can only wonder if this is what she felt when she awaited his return, and if this is what moved her to support him.

Sakura had found her way back to even after all of his cruelty had broken her down. She had asked for all of him in return.

He would give her all of him—he doesn’t know how or when, but he will.

One day.

She was an otherworldly being bewitching him with the tree he adored. There’s comfort in the fact that she’ll take care of him, and that she’ll look upon him with those glowing viridian soon enough.

Thunder cracks within the air bringing his ebony to fall upon this tree so out of place among the green that had already come to life. Rain intends to fall from the sky and yet it does not move him from this spot. Fingers come around his hand and vibrant red are what hold his.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she’s scolding and her brows are pinched with concern—they’re not pale pink, and her voice is not as high.

Her actions make the petal fall from his palm as she seeks to relocate his thumb. It’s a quick fluid motion, and another sharp pain that shoots throughout his arm and the twist of his skin is gone. The swelling remains.

The terror of his dreams will be there tonight, but the petals that seek to vanquish the coppery scent of blood upon them will linger, and provide comfort in the morning. They’ve suffered loss, but he will bring more success. They’ve been defeated, and he had been cowardly for not standing his ground in fear of death.

He will fight again tomorrow, and he will fight again within the days that come. He will bring pride back to those tired and exhausted in this camp—and to those back home.

He will give them hope. He will never stop moving forward.

The earth below is no longer damp and soaked from the thunderstorm that had struck the sky just days before. It’s rain had finally ceased as if it no longer had tears to shed. Fingers seek to shield her eyes as she dares a glance at the sun that has risen to bring warmth to everything the spring showers have touched. It’s rays are tender, and its heat is coaxing.

That fresh earth scent clings to all it touches. The wind that comes through is not harsh nor is it one laced in winter chill. It’s soothing against the skin seeking to immerse her within the trees—it’s a reminder that there were still surfaces untouched, and unplagued with war. Floral beds lay in wait for their turn to bloom, but have taken their places. Those that pull through have already come to life—they’ve come to remind them all of warmer days ahead.

Her tongue flicks across her top lip and then the sound of the grass crushed beneath her shoes enters her ears. She won’t leave the camps side for long. She needs a moment of peace, and a moment not filled with the injured. She needs a moment to bask within the spring. Deeper down these wooded plains she heads always keeping track of where she has been and where she needs to go.

Rising above the foliage she can’t help but count the petals. Eight to twelve petals a piece with no leaves in sight. White like the snow but so different from the snowdrops that hang low in the north.

It’s poisonous—like the petulant flower that had held so much control over her heart when she had sought to let another be her husband’s anchor to the world.

The woven basket touches the ground soon to be much heavier. The muddy cloak of cream brushes against her skin as she bends and seeks to get to work on uprooting this desired plant.

She could not trust another to grab her what she has sought. A skin irritant to the unknown, and the red that flowed through its stem, but another reason to give care. The sickness that flowed through her camp had begun. This was but another thing she sought to keep herself free from. Every part of her being is needed. She could not allow sickness to keep her from aiding them all.

Digging deep and giving care is easy. She’s been trained for this. Others had been trained for war. She had been trained to keep them all going.

To keep them all fighting. It’s cruel irony when she allows her mind to wander.

She’s diligent and completely focused. The brush of her wrist upon her forehead comes wiping the pale rose-colored strands from her sight as she continues to take what she thinks necessary. Every part of this plant is needed to ease the sick’s throats, fever, and aches.

Her gloves have become stained, but that is the least of her worries. Devising how she’ll use it is all she can think of until the shadow of another comes over her. Viridian widen and then the slow turn of her head comes to follow. Her voice is caught within her throat.

His figure is looming, and his presence is lethal.

He’s not here to hurt her—but he’s the last one she expected to check upon her.

“Sasuke-kun?” she’s unsure if she’s spoken loud enough, but the tilt of his head as he looks upon her makes it clear he’s heard her. He’s coming beside her and there’s no missing his eyes set with exhaustion, and the blood that’s clung to him. Viridian glow in seeing his thumb wrapped tightly and held in place. Every stain upon his skin is unmissed--it’s dried and no longer that deep rich red. Sasuke’s eyes have chosen to focus on what she’s uprooting for the wooded soil.

How many weeks had it been since she had wished to see him? Even covered in blood she’ll take him like this.

All of this is enough as long as his chest continues to move, and that heart continues to beat to a rhythm only it knows as normal. Unthinking she’s reaching out to take his hand and then it’s just before she touches she freezes. She’ll dye his skin with the red that thrives within the bloodroot—she’ll irritate the skin with it’s oil upon her gloves.

Her hand recedes and fingers work to tug the gloves from her hands, “Don’t touch it. It’s poisonous when handled incorrectly.” she’s explaining as he holds his eyes to her.

A hum low and showing understanding comes, and then they’re looking and holding an eye contact that only they know. They’re making no movement to touch or brush. They’re simply taking in the others presence.

Enchantment seems to dance within her viridian before she’s pushing up from her knees to stand. Fingers dance upon the baskets handle, but it’s grip never comes as he takes it with ease using the hand that had been harmed nonetheless. Thoughts are wandering to treatment and ease of pain and stiffness. It’s obvious there has been previous treatment, but she seeks to make sure there is nothing that remains.

This is why she had been given to him. This is what she is meant to do. She would make sure she provided more than just that in her support.

Silence sits comfortably between them as she takes him within her designated medical tent. Slender fingers dip within the bowl of water meant for cleansing, and she’s calling for another with a whisper. Her fingers are delicate with each turn of the bandage that hugs his skin, and then there’s the swelling that greets her. His features never change even with the tightening of his jaw as she seeks to see it’s ability to move.

His pale skin has turned bluish. Viridian are calculating the possible time in which previous treatment has occurred and almost as if dazed her voice whisper a single question, “How many days?”

His only response is but a deep inhale, and a tilt of his head as he looks from her.

He looks as if he’s filled with shame. He looks as if he has done something worthy of guilt. He looks as if he has done her wrong.

A swallow follows and that’s all she needs to know there’s lingering discomfort. It’s an easily treated injury. There’s no need for concern. The rest of him is an entirely different matter. It’s hard to disconcert what is his own blood and what is not. There’s no missing how warm his skin feels against her fingertips, and the cloth she uses to clean him. Sweat, dirt, and so much blood stains that pale skin of his.

Her hums have made their way into the tent. Bruising is found beneath his clothes. They’re light and just another thing she can mark down as nothing to be concerned with. Something holds his attention, and she knows it’s not her—she can only assume it’s what his next move will be.

Her fingers are out before him coaxing and seeking for him to take them. The question she had held still hung in the air. She hadn’t been only asking about the injuries.

How many days had he gone without sleep? How many days had he gone with his mind clouded by what was to come next?

How many days had he become restless, and uncertain? How many days had it been since they stood next to each other?

It’s night within the camp and it’s unlike any time before as he lays beside her inside of the tent as if they are inside the walls of their home. This is something she had never been given before. They had never truly crossed paths outside their home in the midst of the war torn lands. They had never lingered, and they had never stood beside each other inside a camp.

His blade swung through the air piercing the flesh far from where they held her. Her fingers glowed to signal the way to health, and home in protected camps.

The sleep he falls into is dark and dragging him beneath the earth. It’s etched across his face, and the dip of his brows. He’s twisting those fingers tight within the sheet that covers them, and those ebony strands stick to his forehead as the sweat rolls down his skin. Whatever had gripped him within their days apart he would not utter. He would not make a sound to alert her of his troubles. Those bags that had settle beneath his eyes had set thanks to those unspoken worries. He had been plagued with something before he had left, and it had taken root deep within him. She did not need him to tell her such. Fingers find their way deep within his hair to sooth and persuade those features to ease out of their tormented state. She had not lost as much sleep as he had. She would stay up with him as he fought through his night terrors.

The muffled cry outside her tent has her raising her viridian, and she’s gone only moments before it wakes her husband from his already overdue rest—terrors or not he needed whatever rest who could gain. Fingers grasp the fevered child’s hand, and she’s coaxing him away to provide care, and comfort—this child’s fever is high, and the vomit that covers him reeks.

A hand held up high, and the shake of her head is given to those apologizing for the disturbance they think this child has caused her. This child had fought just as her husband had. He had sought comfort in her the moment he had arrived, and comfort is what she would give him as she sought to ease that hoarse throat, and burning fever.

Time ticks by so slow, and yet so fast as she goes through the motions. She’s calculating and easing the muffled cries he gives. She wonders if this is what her husband had looked like sick, and fevered as a child. This child’s hair sticks upon his face just as her husband’s had deep within his tormented sleep—beyond her comfort.

Viridian cannot remove themselves from this child as she holds his hand, and it’s only the press upon her shoulder that finally breaks the spell.

Shisui. He had come looking for her.

He’s taking her place, and suggesting rest but a shake of her head makes it clear she has no time to bask within that comfort. Pushing the flap of the tent open brings light to her eyes making her wince. The night had come and gone, and yet she knows this is a sign of something far worse. The sun may feel warm, and its rays may be what coaxes her heart forward, but the coughs and scratchy throats around her make it clear there is worse to come.

The cool morning is upon them as the newly risen sun hangs upon the sky. It’s more than enough to get her heading out for more herbs.

If this continued—it would take them all. She could not let that happen.

The rules of her master are clear. She would be the last to fall. She would not let sickness enter her and take her from the care of those who needed her before being shoved out to perform miracles upon the battlefield.

Footsteps heavy, and a mind muddled with concern has her walking farther and longer than she should have allowed herself. There’s an overwhelming sensation that overtakes her as she comes before the floral bed far from the camp. The basket within her hands hits the ground, and all at once she feels the weight she’s pushed upon her shoulders lift.

She is not gifted in the language of flowers like that of her blonde best friend who she knows stands upon the battlefield. She is not knowledgeable in the way that, that woman is, and yet there is no denying the comfort she feels as she looks upon this field that bloomed. There’s no denying the comfort that comes from having her husband so close. There’s no denying the way her heart shakes as he sits there among the lavenders that dare to cast a glow of blue upon his clothes. There’s no denying the way he looks surrounded by the dwarf crested iris that have flourished and show victory in the early spring.

Those endless ebony seize control of her. This great divide that stands before them is growing smaller with each passing day even if he does not stand next to her. It grows shorter in distance and it shrinks beneath every step she takes to bring herself to him. The bags under his eyes still linger and those firm pressed lips make it clear he still will not tell her what lingers in his thoughts. She takes her place beside him pulling her knees to her chest as she bathes within the sun settled next to him.

“You weren’t there.” his voice is soft with lingering exhaustion.

“There’s a few cases of influenza in the camp. A child had gotten worse within the night.” she’s breathing out as she tightens her arms around her knees, “They may hold weapons, and run head first into battle, but they are still children. They long for someone to take care of them.”

Silence settles between them. None of what she has said is wrong, none of what she said is something he doesn’t know, and none of what she spoke of was something he didn’t understand. Her legs shift to lay upon the flowers beneath them. The horizon framed with trees holds her attention and it makes her lost in her thoughts once more.

“My mother would sleep at my bedside when I was sick.” his voice is thick between them sprouting desire to see what kind of face he makes when speaking of his mother.

Sasuke had never stopped looking her way—her words had retrieved his stolen attention.

He had been looking to find an answer, and to find a response. He was looking to respond to her unlike the times before now when he’d leave her guessing. He was responding as if he knew she had wondered about the woman who she was sure still protected him in death.

“She sounds just as a mother should.” her lips are curving within a smile enchanted by such a response from him.

His movements are sluggish by their lack of peace, and it’s only moments later does he lean his head upon her own, “She stood proudly beside my father. She was kind, and she would lay my worries to rest—she would. . .”

His words die upon his tongue as if he’s not sure how to describe this woman spoken of with a warmth he had buried behind walls for far too long. She wont press him to say more. He’s said what he can, and he’s making those small attempts that she knows hold hesitance. It’s clear the love he has for his mother, and it’s almost as if speaking so warmly has brought him peace for this small moment. His breathing is deepening and only moments later does it become clear that he has let himself fall within sleep. There’s a fear at moving him as he wakes so easily. Her movements are slow and carry forth all the hesitance she can muster after a sleepless night.

Peaceful. He looks peaceful as his chest moves slowly with each breath and a face no longer twisted in torment.

There’s guilt in having a moment like this with her husband. She wants more of these moments when he leans upon her to provide comfort where he cannot find it on the battlefield. Many could not dance in a moment of bliss like this. Many could not sit within the flowers that had blossomed upon the earth. Many could not entertain peace as she is being given here and now.

Her husband was truly kind.

Fingers wrap upon the stem of one of the many dwarf crested irises in bloom beside her. They pull with the slightest tug breaking the stem, and it’s with a kiss upon the white and orange mixed within the lavender that she presses it upon his lips. The nuzzle of her cheek against those ebony strands is all she could permit herself so far from home.

She would not allow herself the satisfaction of receiving more than this. While so many were hurt, and surrounded by pain she could not allow herself to fall deeper into bliss. She could not allow herself to feel such overwhelming comfort in this time of war. He had sought comfort, and she had been happy to give it to him. He had given her a chance to witness the warmth he held for his mother, and she could not be more thankful.

When they walk away from this field it will put them back within their roles. They will not have time for comfort. They will not have time to bask within the safety of each other. They will only give way to lingering looks, and brushes of fingers.

Three more days come and go from them after this moment. She is wrapped within her duties as a medic just as she knew she would be. He walks among those that have fought, and he is the leader she knows he has always been. There’s a care in every movement he makes. There’s a care for these children of war that she knows he has held long before she had ever been given the pleasure to witness it.

She will see him off, and then more days will stretch before them. They will be separated as they have grown accustomed too, and they will be without the comfort that, that floral field has allowed. He will be drenched within his own determination, and she will be drowned by her duties as a medic.

There is a horizon at the end of these travels. It’s there and it’s in the distance.

It’s only but a simple question of when. How many days?

There’s nothing cheap about the smile that’s decorated her lips as she sees him off again with his small team. The days have become lost and so has their anniversary.

She will return before him, and he will return behind her seeking peace from the field of battle.

Her fingers reach upon her neck and the clip is easily undone. The necklace hidden under her cheongsam slides from her neck and it’s here that she holds it out between them.

Her steps are soft as she comes closer to him, and her fingers boldly grab upon the hilt of his sword. He’s watching everything, and then a brush of his fingers come over her own as she wraps the chain securely on the hilt..

Viridian glow watching his finger upon the pendant and it’s as their breath mixes between them that she speaks low and just for him, “Happy anniversary.”

The way in which he holds the pendent within his hand shows more of that hesitance she expects. Viridian are prepared when his ebony make their way from the petals, and it’s with a smile that shines that she speaks once again, “It was my fathers. I hope it will provide you with comfort, and will protect you in the way that my father protected me—with love.”

The way his eyes widen and the way they shake with her feelings is something she knows she won’t be able to witness often. She takes it all in. This look upon his face is one she adds to the list of things she hopes to remember for as long as she walks this earth. It is much like the enchantment she felt when he kneeled beside her just days before this.

It’s magical. It’s witchcraft. It’s a level of sorcery she is sure only he possesses. It is just one more thing she loves about him. —because only he holds such a gift.

As if he has not bewitched her with such a look he steps forward and his forehead comes to touch upon her own. It’s a fluid motion without hesitance. His fingers brush across her jaw finding their way into her pale rose. There is a warmth where his fingers are. There is a warmth of a different kind in these actions. She almost dares to thinks that his lips will press upon her own, but all that comes with their lips so close is a whisper of gratitude—just as if he had been awake to witness why she would not dare press her own lips upon his in the field of dwarf crest irises.

Thank you—Sakura.

[ombreecha]

hi, i really love your story "the uchiha's wife" good its sooo good and im a big fan of yours already but are you gonna upload soon? and i really wait for the smut coming😝 lots of love💜💜💜

Sup, my dude~

Thank you so much for reading my work djsakjdsal I will be uploading soon. I finished first round edits about two days ago, and @beatoneheart is going over the chapter right now as we speak.

There’s some more revisions I’ll be doing this weekend, but it should be out at the beginning of next week.Today tho I actually am going to a wedding so I won’t be able to look it over till tomorrow or Monday.

Lots of love to you as well for sending me an ask dude and checking in!

everytime i read sasuke-sama i fucking snicker like goddamn i have such a hard time taking my own shit seriously

[ombreecha]

Oh f*** i could hate you for this

— @beatoneheart

She wasn’t ready for this crime against Sasuke my dudes

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period. Missed a Chapter?

Chapter 12 The Answer

The amount of people who linger within the home of her cousin is more than she had imagined. They continue to give their praises, and they continue to give her tender squeezes upon her shoulder in thanks for the call to the spring that would surely come upon them. Her toes sit nestled within the water no longer hot and turned warm with time. The chill of the snow between her toes had been harsher than she had anticipated. Viridian move to gaze behind her looking for her husband sitting against the wall with a book in hand. He knows she is looking to him—it’s that flicker of his gaze that tells her so.

There is a call from the hall announcing Madara’s enter within this home that silences the room. Dragging her feet from the water meant to assist she stands. There is something within those hereditary endless ebony that she cannot place. It does not hold disgust, and it does not hold love. It’s that something in between that has her bare feet bringing her to stand before him. Sasuke has made only the smallest of sounds as he comes to stand beside her discarding his book.

This man holds so much power within her family brought by marriage.

This is a man who sends her husband to war, this is a man who had her plucked from her home, and this is a man who could alter everything with a wave of his hand. His name sends fear deep within the hearts of any who speak. His presence silences those who stand before him. His entire being commands and controls. This is a man who sends her husband to war, this is a man who had her plucked from her home, and this is a man who could alter everything with a wave of his hand.

This moment where she stands before him makes her lungs feel heavy. There’s no telling what he will say, and what he will do. There’s only hope floating upon a sea of fear that she has done nothing to bring shame upon this family, and shame upon her husband.

Hope. She dares to hope that she has pleased him—dares to hope that he looks upon her as those around her have.

Fingers raise from the man and it’s as they find their way to her head and pat upon her pale rose-colored hair that her viridian widen unprepared for the affectionate action. The firm press of his lips tilts gently, “Thank you for bringing a new form of pride to our family.”

Her eyes sting with new tears threatening to fall at the praise he has given her. Those simple words of praise hold no shame. There is no shame upon this family, nor her husband brought by her. There is a pride, and there is recognition. This man has felt pride from her traditions—from the family he has taken within that powerful grasp of his. This man who struck fear into the hearts of millions stands before her with that gentle curve of his lips, and eyes that hold no disgust—and it was caused by her.

Her traditions have done this. Her family has done this. She has done this—she alone has caused him to look at her family in this way.

Their worlds were separated. Yet, in this moment they are one.

This relief he’s brought her cleanses that hope once floating upon a sea of fear. This relief lifts her lungs, and soars her heart. There is no fear before this man so powerful. There is only the wish to show how much her heart feels in this moment.

Voice shaken with his words she speaks with as much heart as she can bare without shedding her tears, “Thank you so much for watching me—”

The voice is loud, and mischievous as it cuts her off, “Sakura-chan, don’t cry over that!” the laughs she lets fall cannot be contained letting the tears fall with the close of her lids.

“Naruto-san, hold your tongue, this is between clans.” the voice of one she has not met properly scolds bringing her to gaze up eyes of crimson, and hair of silver.

Fingers press against her back, and it makes pale rose dust her cheeks, “Sakura. Move so they can come in properly!” her mothers voice calls from across the already filled room.

She’s embarrassed by her lack of manners and following her husband’s lead to move aside she lets them enter fully within the living space. They don’t stay long, and yet she finds her gaze fleeting upon them even with each one giving her their own praise. Their names are but a blur, and their faces equally unable to keep her attention. It’s well after they leave that she takes the time to properly give her feet the healing they need. The festival is far from over tonight, and she would take this opportunity to give her time to her husband. She has been without him for longer than she had ever intended, and while it’s not as long as the war has taken him from her she has no intention of letting this opportunity slip from her grasp.

Her cousin teases her as she helps her within new clothes. Tenten does not give way to harsh words about the man that has killed those she sought to protect in the war. Instead, she gives way to idle curiosity. She gives the smallest of opinions—he might not be as bad as the stories claim.

The smile upon her face blossoms with those words. It produces a soaring heart that her cousin, who she was undeniably close to before her marriage, would say such things. The hanfu she has chosen for tonight is of the same viridian her mother had blessed her with, and a red that warms its surroundings with its color. Her cousin has been kind enough to leave her rose-colored strands mostly down to cover her neck from the cool air. The makeup she wears is light in comparison to the ritual she had performed. The fully painted face exchanged for that of something simpler—red upon her lids, eyes lined in black, and the slightest touch of red adorn her lips.

She’s before him as her mother places the cloak of gray with a fur lined hood upon her shoulders in hopes to keep her warm within their walk throughout the festival. His arms have sought their own warmth within his sleeves, but it does not stop him from giving his arm to her as they make their way out. The scent that he holds—that marks him as him—fills her nose, and has her giving a gentle squeeze upon his arm without thought. The children that run throughout this night circle around them in their play. Each set of eyes that falls to her gives her the gentlest of smiles and a nod. This husband of hers was so very much a man of few words. It’s something she has learned and expected within these almost two years.

Ah. That’s right, their anniversary was coming upon them.

This man of ebony has shifted within their walk. It seems she had let the realization fall from her lips in a hum. That forever firm press of his lips is present. The two years in which she had been bound to this man had been filled with tears. Her constant giving, and his constant taking was within every aspect of it. Yet, there is equally just as many smiles to go with each tear she’s shed.

Those small attempts of his. They lingered within each aspect of her marriage.

There’s another unintended squeeze upon his arm. Their marriage was far from perfect. He was doing all he knew how to do. He was taking the smallest of steps toward her. She could never ask for more. She would never ask for more. He was giving in the smallest of ways, but with the deepest of meanings. His bow to her today would mean more than he could ever imagine. It had given her strength. It had given her the chance to know that he, too, could look upon her with the same pride she did him. The pride he had held for his clan was now also being held for her.

They did not understand each other completely, but in that moment he and her had understood each enough.

There is a knowing look that decorates her face. She had forgiven him, and yet he was still silently, but surly apologizing to her. Little did he seem to realize there was no reason to continue these silent apologies. Soon after he had taken care of her in her shameful state that night she had forgiven him. Well before he had prepared her bath and gazed upon her from the side of the tub uttering words of apology she had forgiven him. Each apology he had ever given her she was answering. Each little thing he did was answered in forgiveness.

She would answer him again. This answer would not be forgiveness. This answer would be her looking to the future as they rebuilt their marriage. There’s hope he’ll hear this answer. There’s hope he will understand her once more.

The match she has acquired as she makes him hold the lantern she has purchased will light with that answer. He’s lowered the lantern so she can dip her hand within it lighting the candle. Her fingers brush his as they lower it to the river that runs within the village. The water is sharp in its chill upon their fingers. It’s as they slowly let it go to join the rest that float brightly upon the water that she looks to him, and he raises those endless ebony to her. Fingers softly take his, and it’s here that she becomes daring. Leaning forward she feels him taken back by her intrusion to his personal space. This reassuring squeeze upon his hand is entirely her, and entirely intended.

Her lips press against his cheek. His breath has become caught within his throat as she pulls back from him, “Happy New Year, Sasuke-kun. May the year bring peace with it.”

His pale complexion has given way to the palest of red upon his cheeks. This look is so incredibly boyish—so unlike the man, who held such lackadaisical attempt etched upon his face like a mask. He’s scowling and has removed his gaze from her, but it’s that squeeze upon her fingers that he now gives back that tells her he has heard her answer.

He has understood her once more.

They continue forward throughout the town as the fireworks shoot off. Her best friend with all her gorgeous blonde locks, and eyes of pale blue shift upon her husband with distaste. She does not let it stop her from pressing fingers upon his arm as they speak. Ino Yamanaka had always been one to tease, and protect her. She had always been one to stand beside her, and while she had not been there to protect her from the Uchiha, nor her father’s death she had made sure to come for her when she walked through the gates of Konohagakure. She had been there to give her congratulations upon hearing that the little girl she had protected in their youth had chosen to dance in the hopes for spring. This woman was an important part of her world, and now it’s with her viridian that she asks silently for her to welcome this man, who was now also an important part of her world.

Lee is no exception as they come across him not far from where they have left Ino. He too gives forth those same looks of distrust. This boy had shouted his love to her within their youth. He trained hard, and he strived to become a shinobi everyone could depend on. His heart was made of gold. She had never returned his feelings, but she did not belittle them either. She loved him in a way so different from his own. She loved him as a friend, and she loved him as a brother. He was forever tied to her by those labels, and so it’s with her gaze steady that she shares a tender smile his way with fingers giving him his own reassuring squeeze upon his arm. He does not need to worry over her with so much heart. Someone else would love him far more than she could. The man who stays silent behind her may be his enemy, but he is her husband, and he should give his trust in him. It won’t be today, but one day it will happen.

She is sure of that.

The hate those who love her feel towards her husband is reasonable. She, too, had once held such a look upon this man. He has killed many, and he fights against them even in the cease fire that comes with her traditions. Their distaste, their disgust, and their loathing of him would not vanish just because she stood beside him. It would take much more than that to make them accept him. There’s time to build those foundations though. There’s time for them to gain trust in his protection of her. There’s time for them to see the man he is behind the legend. There would be a moment in time for all of that.

Viridian find those of honey. It’s what makes her stop within her steps making her husband turn to her. Her mouth is parted, and it’s without thinking that she releases his arm to run forward. Her heart is loud as she stops before the woman of golden locks. Those honey-colored eyes have widened and her mouth has parted. It does not stop her from wrapping her arms around the woman. The woman has spoken her name in adoration as she returns the embrace with a squeeze before pulling apart.

“I didn’t think I’d get to see you before you left.” the woman’s fingers grasp her hood bringing it down to her shoulders.

“I’m sorry I did not come when you arrived in the village.” this woman was yet another who would surly hold disdain for her husband, and even with knowing that she steps back from her turning to introduce her husband, who has followed within his own pace, “Please, meet my husband.”

The honey and the endless ebony have met. There is a scowl deepening upon this woman’s face. It’s with the deepest of inhales that she cuts through the silence, “Sasuke-kun, this is Tsunade-shishou. She is the one who taught me all that I know.”

Her husband is as stoic as ever, but she knows that this woman has captured some form of interest when he does not bring his eyes to her. There’s a moment where she sees him part his mouth, and then the tightening of his jaw occurs showing him swallowing whatever he had intended to say. Ebony fall from the woman to gaze upon the ground fleetingly before coming back. He steps forward, and then gives a subtle nod of his head, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There’s that silent apology he gives. He’s giving it again. He knows this woman holds venom within her at the sight of him, and even now he washes it off. He knows this woman is important to her. He knows that she is adored by this woman. He is taking that small step forward, and that is what matters most.

It’s as not until they are giving farewells that his voice, smooth and deep, cuts through the air, “Thank you.”

The spring wife cannot stop her head from whipping to him in that gratitude. The blink that follows through is equally involuntary. It makes her drag her viridian from him to see the look that decorates the golden haired woman. Those honey-colored eyes of hers do not understand the gratitude.

She understands it though. He is thanking her for the time in which this woman had taught her, and he is thanking her for the time in which she had become important to her. The smile that blossoms from this gives forth the deepest of bliss.

They understand so little of each other, but it’s in this moment that they understand each other completely, and that is what matters most of all.

She is sure of that.

The gates are within the distance. They are finally within reach of their home. The travel was long, and the travel was exhausting. Her husband saw no need for breaks, and only with the slightest look would he finally give in. Just beyond those gates stood a place that she called home.

She had missed her home. She had missed her people.

Just beneath this cloak of cream sat the emblem of her clan. It had not had the chance to sit upon her back within her traditions. It’s within this deep blue cheongsam that she is able to display it once more.

The people that greet them beyond the gates do so with their smiles deep within their eyes. There are those who come before her as they walk through telling her of how beautiful her performance had been, and others that come to personally greet her husband’s return. It’s late within the day as dusk is settling over the horizon giving the sky those beautiful deep colors of purple, and peach, and even still the children flock to him. There are the few who pull upon her cheongsam making her kneel to drag her fingers within their locks playfully. He has picked one up—it’s Hikaku’s. He’s scolding them gently for being out late, and to return home. Not once does he release Hikaku’s child.

He brings Hikaku’s child back within his mother’s arms just a little ways from the doors that seek to greet them. The air still holds its chill, but it has lessened within the days after the new year. Snow still crunches beneath their shoes, and yet it is far less in supply.

The maids are there at the door way. They give a unified welcome home that rings within the air. She had heard many times that home was where the heart was, and it’s as they make their way within the bedroom and she’s left her bag to the left of the sliding doors that she decides they’re not wrong. These people had captured her heart just as her husband has. They intended to keep it locked here.

She welcomes that. She hopes for that.

Their sleeping attire has found its place upon their shoulders. They stand within the kitchen as she brews leaves for tea meant to help them sleep. The silence is comforting as she grabs forth cups. There are no glances his way as he cuts a single apple. They’ve fallen into place so effortlessly.

His fingers press upon her back as he brings the plate of apple slices to sit beside the awaiting cups. There is no need for words. Her fingers grab upon the cinnamon within the cupboard above her and give it a gentle shake upon the freshly cut fruit.

The warmth from the kettle radiates from it providing another form of comfort. She opens her mouth as her husband brings a single slice to her mouth. Biting down she lets the taste flood her tongue. He brings the half eaten slice to his own mouth swallowing it whole.

They bring their snack, and tea with them sitting upon the futon. The silence is not loud, nor is it deafening. It is the proof of their falling into place. She’s blowing upon his cup of tea meant to help with his sleep, and aches from travel. They had not shared much in conversation upon the road home. He longed for home just as much as she had. She had followed him with no desire to slow him down.

Home was truly where the heart was.

It’s as she cradles his cup out to him that she whispers within the quiet of their home, “This should help with any fatigue, and provide good sleep.”

“Ah.” he is gentle in taking the warm cup within his own fingers.

They sip upon their tea, and their fingers brush against each others as they take from the small plate of apple slices before he whispers within the silence, “Do all in your family have that enhanced strength?”

Her lips curve upon the rim of her cup taking in the warm liquid before answering his curiosity, “Chakra enhanced strength is something I learned from Tsunade-shishou, and isn’t something taught by family.”

“So, your dance was different from those in previous years?”

“You could say that. The movements were the same but the desperation, and force behind them was all my own. . . I wanted him to feel me wherever he may linger.”

His fingers stop within their motion to bring his cup to his lips as ebony look to her. It makes her bring her eyes to him as she feels the gravity of his gaze upon her, “Your father felt you. Whatever desperation you held he heard it. He stood among us to watch you.” his closeness comes with his words, and his forehead has pressed against her own, “We all felt you pleading for the spring on our behalf.”

Fingers tighten briefly upon the cup she holds upon her lap. There is no escaping the earthly aroma that comes from him so close to her and the pride that flows within his words, “Thank you.”

Viridian open slowly at the feel of his fingers within her locks that swim untamed, “What was Kizashi-san like?”

“Hm, to describe such an ornery man—he was like the warmth you feel from the early morning sun. He always smiled—not one of those small gentle ones—they were loud, and bright and it was so hard to be angry with someone who just brightened the room in the way he did.” she dares with the slowest of movements to let her fingers wander upon his mouth, “He is the kindest soul I have ever known. He loved and gave with no desire to receive anything back. No mistaking it, though, he had the worst jokes. Ah, he would have teased you endlessly for frowning so much.” the smallest of light laughs fall as her fingers curl under his chin to allow her thumb to rub against his pale cheek.

His eyes close before her and she takes that as his recognition of what she has said. It’s only a moment of time—seconds if she were being honest—before his voice low and soothing finally comes to her ears.

“Innocence, simplicity, and the nature of life.” She cannot stop the low and fatigued noise of confusion from coming from her mouth, “In my culture, that is what your name stands for. What had made them call you that?”

He’s spinning the smallest of strands upon his fingers. There is affection with each slow turn of his fingers to wrap them deeper within her rose-colored locks. She holds no hesitation in answering his innocent curiosity, “My name is brought by two cultures. It carries my mama’s culture with the meaning of power, feminine beauty, and sexuality, but looks and is spoken as the word brought about by my papa, and your culture.”

“It is the joining of two people.” his voice is low within her ears as their noses meet, “A union.”

The tire that has settled upon her does not stop her lips from curving into a smile at the gentle notion he is making of her parents, “A marriage.”

Roughened finger tips that still wrap within her pale locks brush against her cheek. This moment is entirely intimate. She welcomes it reveling within the aroma of her husband and their tea. It’s all calming, and warming her skin. There’s no missing the deep inhale he takes with how close they are. He looks soothed, and pleased. It’s not decorating his face openly, but there’s no missing it within the slightly parted mouth he has given into, and the close lids that hide his endless ebony.

Pleased—it is what she feels heavy upon her chest in witnessing such a thing.

“Sasuke-kun.” she muses quietly between them, “You need rest.”

There’s a knowing in his reluctance to pull from her as he goes back to sipping his tea. It’s that reluctance that makes her press her hand to his leg covered by the comforter upon them. Only the sounds of their sipping lingers within the room, and then as he takes her empty cup within his fingers and places it with the empty plate upon the tray beside him do they nestle deeper within their comfort of their futon.

Her fingers grasp his hand underneath the warmth of the comforter. They give way to soothing circles upon his calloused knuckles. It’s his voice tonight that gives her peace from her exhaustion, “You said you felt desperate—you’re not alone. I’ll make you believe you’re not alone.”

She can only wonder if the exhaustion has made his lips loose to say such a thing, “You’re so unbelievably kind.”

There’s a shift of his head upon the pillow as if to tell her she is wrong, “I will protect you.”

Their lids dip closed as they fall within their fatigue.

The only lingering thought she has is that she’ll cherish her name more than she had in the days before. Her husband had given a new meaning to her name. He had felt it showed the joining of her mother, and her father. That was something she had never thought deeply of, and he in that way that was entirely him, had decided.

There is certainty that he is right. She could not ask for more than what she has received. She had truly gained so much within their own marriage.

He was teaching her, and she was teaching him. They were growing together, and they were learning together.

He is not forced to leave her side immediately at the end of the cease fire and their return home. The village has made sure to keep them busy with his stay. She has set to take care of the villages finances, and he has set to take care of lingering trade issues for today. They speak informally as they had begun to before she had left his side in those weeks. They gaze upon each other no longer as strangers as they cross paths in taking care of all that they had left when they spent their time within Konohagakure.

There is no doubt that her hands are full as she goes through the books detailing all that they have spent within the year. Her handmaid is there to assist with such matters. He, though, is deep within the market discussing the issues that have caused a low supply of certain items.

The war had made things dangerous for those seeking to refill their stock.

There’s a nod of his head in understanding their frustrations. He knows this will not be an easy fix, and will be one that takes time while he leaves them for the frontlines. It only proves how much more he will have to do throughout this year. They do not blame him, and they give way to apologies for burdening him when they know he does all that he can to keep them safe from the Senju, and Uzumaki.

The most he can provide them is his own gratitude, and wishes to meet with them again once a better solution becomes more approachable. He instructs them to write up their routes, and where the most trouble seems to be. He will employ those he can to help bring in the supply as long as it does not harm their chances in battle.

It’s as he leaves that he takes in the white that falls lightly upon them. While his otherworldly wife had called for spring it still feels as though the spring will not grace them with it’s presence for weeks to come.

The smell of the food within the market only sets to make him wonder if she is still deep within the financial books back in their home. He remembers his wonder upon if she liked sweet things—she had liked her tea sweet he had learned that day, and the days to come. Sweet truly did fit the woman of pale rose-colored strands. He lingers within the stands eyeing that which fills his nose—would she like mochi, or maybe mitarashi dango? Perhaps daifuku?

“Get the mitarashi.”

Ebony widen finding themselves upon Hikaku’s wife. She holds the hand of her child so fond of him, and he cannot help but wonder how long she has watched him as he lingered upon what it is that his wife may like.

She can only give him the smallest of smiles, “She typically gets them when we get lunch together at the tea shop. She has quite the love for them, especially during hanami.”

There’s a tint of embarrassment upon him, and he questions if the heat he feels upon his cheeks is from the winter chill, or the woman giving way to things he had not known. This woman had spent far more time with his wife than he had—he has no reason to think she is wrong. They had become close while he was out to battle. They had held so much heart in the previous year during hatsumode.

He buys what she has told him to, and it’s as he carries her child upon his arm, and the bought dumplings within a bag in his other that they walk towards his home.

“You’re changing. Slowly.” there’s amusement in her voice.

His ebony keep themselves upon the road ahead, “I am the same as always.”

“There is a gentleness there that has not been there in a long time.” she has turned her gaze to him, “Would it be so wrong to change?”

That is what makes him stop within his walk to finally gaze upon this woman, who too had suffered loss not so long ago, “There is no room for such a thing in war.”

“There is always room for it. At first, I did not know how to handle your wife, but she quickly found her way to all of us. She had come for me when I needed someone most. She brings a calm with her that seems so foreign in times of war.” the mother weaves her fingers through her child’s hair, “I am forever in her debt for being the one to give me a shoulder to lean on when he had passed. I do not know if I could have picked myself up without her hand holding mine.”

It’s as she speaks that he feels the loss of her husband upon him just as harsh as it had been when he watched him fall in battle, “Your family has given us more than enough.”

“Don’t feel such pain in his absence. He fought beside you with pride—every single time. He gave himself to your service because he wanted nothing more. My husband cherished all of it.” it’s here that she takes her child from him with a warmth he knows he has felt with his mother, “There is a strength in all that she does. She has not come for just me. When you are gone she goes to others to give them the same hand she used to hold mine. We, Uchiha, love far deeper than anyone else. She may be one of marriage but she is no exception.”

“. . .I only seek to keep her safe.” he is hesitant within his reply—he does not know where this hesitation comes from.

“Is that not where love begins? The desire to keep one safely protected?” there is the softest of laughs that fall from her, “I do not know what has happened, nor do I know what it is you truly feel for her—only you can answer such things. There is admiration for her though. There is a greater care for her. That is plain for all to see.”

He can only swallow thickly as she give her farewells. He had been unable to give her a reply to what she had said—he finds himself unable to deny all that she has spoken. He does not know if he would call this love. He had not lied when he said he had sought to keep her safe. This woman, although only older than him by few years, seemed wise in all that she spoke. She had spoken with clarity, and she had spoken as if she, too, had been in these moments of uncertainty once upon a time.

These feelings were so foreign—just as foreign as the unearthly spring nymph that was his wife. Ebony glance upon the bag within his hand. She was a stubborn and proud woman—she was slowly regaining all that she was. He had needed her back, and he would continue to do what he could to help her regain that. She was still ethereal, otherworldly, and a nymph of spring—he still cannot see her as anything else even as they approach their second anniversary. She contrasted so much when she stood beside him—he would have it no other way. She smiled with such warmth from the bottom of her heart—he had begun to long for those looks.

The widow had spoke of how they had not known how to handle her. He, too, had not known, and was only now beginning to understand this spring nymph. The admiration she spoke of was true. He felt a pride with her beside him. He held her to new heights. He could only be thankful for those who treasured her in such adoration—was there any who did not?

His walk home is one filled with more of the same thoughts. The maids give their welcome, and he gives a nod as he passes them through the halls, and it is as he comes to find her deep within the stacks of books she is set to look over that he can only decide that the widow is right—perhaps this was the beginning of such things.

She seemed to not hear him within the door way. Those fingers of hers are deep within the rose-color strands as her other hand scribbles upon a book in front of her. She is within the warmth of the kotatsu, and it’s only as he comes around her to sit before her that she looks up.

“Ah, I’m sorry Sasuke-kun, welcome home. Let me—”

“Here.” he slides the bag before her making those viridian gaze with curiosity.

Her fingers take the bag within her hand and it is as she looks within it that her mouth parts just slightly, “How did you—”

“You like them, don’t you?” he cannot look at her, and yet he desires to see what expression decorates those features of hers.

“I do.” the warmth that he knows comes from deep within her is coating those words.

He cannot contain the ghosting smirk that is upon the corners of his lips in feeling that warmth. He feels that same heat upon his cheeks that he had when the widow had told him what it is she had liked. There is the most pleasing of sounds that comes from her that finally make him drag his gaze to her. This is a look he has not seen before as she eats one of the dumplings from the skewer. The look is that of a child—it is innocent, and holds strong satisfaction.

His fingers slide the book that she had been scribbling in as he had entered towards himself. She has gotten much of it done—far more than he would have within the hours she’s been at it.

“Sasuke-kun, would you like some?” viridian hold mirth within them as she holds out the bag for him to take one as well.

He gives a shake of his head with the smirk deepening as he sets his gaze back upon the book flipping through it’s pages. She is organized, and detailed within the pages she’s filled out. He finds he would have expected no less. She had shown her intelligence before, and this only serves to prove it once more. There’s a neatness to everything she does. She has never been one, he realizes, to leave her things in a mess. He cannot recall a time within his marriage when he had ever seen her do such a thing.

This is another thing he has learned—it was another thing he had overlooked.

Her handmaid is quick to bring tea to them both. The green liquid is hot and soothing to the tongue as they set about working. She flips through another book as his eyes look over one he too has pulled from the stacks. His eyes dance upon her with every nibble she takes of the mitarashi dangos. She is one to eat with her mouth closed. She sips softly from her tea. It’s all simple and it’s all ordinary, and yet he feels as though she eats far too proper. She bites her lip when she is in concentration, and her fingers glide upon pages as if everything she touches is sacred. Those pale rose-colored brows pinch together within her concentration, and the glow of her viridian are calculating as she adds the numbers in front of her together.

They had broken through the stare of strangers, and they had broken through conversation laced in formality. Yet, he does not know where her ideals lay. Does she truly support him, and those that follow his leader? The difference in their ideologies seemed so small, but he cannot stop himself from laying the brush within the ink to sit as he takes her in. What is it that she felt with this war?

“Sakura.”

Those concentrated brows of hers, and that lip she had bit into lessen immediately with his voice. He finds subtle enjoyment at her constant change in expression with just his voice. Viridian hold that same curiosity they had when he had slid the bag of dango before her.

“Yes, Sasuke-kun?”

“What do you want in this war?” ebony watch every fall of those thick lashes within her confusion. There’s a shift of her mouth as if she is contemplating what he has asked her.

“I want what everyone wants—peace.” her fingers lay her own brush within the bottle of ink as she gazes into his ebony.

“You do not agree with our methods.” he speaks low as his gaze falls from her for only the briefest of moments, “You believe in peace brought by love.”

Her fingers slide from the table to her lap as she gives a nod, “I do. That is why I support you and all that you do.” her words have made his ebony fall upon her again.

“You support me?” the words carry an uncertainty—they carry forth the wonder of what she means.

He is trying to understand her.

“Yes. I believe in a peace brought by love.” he does not need to see her fingers tucked underneath the kotatsu to know she is playing with them upon her lap in what he can only assume is nervousness, “I care for you deeply, and so, therefore, I believe in a peace brought by you.”

There’s that sense of pride heavy upon him with those words. There’s that bite of her lip and those pinched brows. There’s the shake of her head as if she has said something wrong, and in those few seconds he feels the pride fall from him as he reads regret thick upon her.

He feels the harsh swallow go down his esophagus as he takes his ebony from her to gaze upon the mats beneath them—she regrets saying such things to him.

“Sasuke-kun—please allow me to answer you properly.” her voice is strong and that is what makes him once more bring his eyes to her, “I love you—with all of my heart.” Endless ebony widen, and his lips give way to the slightest drop of his mouth as she continues forward with her confession, “Peace brought by love can come in many forms. It is because I love you that that I believe in a peace brought by you.” those fingers have come within the fabric of her kimono gripping it tightly as her cheeks light with a rose-colored tint far darker than her own locks.

The pride that had fallen in what he thought was regret has coated him once more. The regret he had saw was not regret in supporting him—it had been regret in not speaking her feelings clearly.

Had his wife always been so innocent? So flushed? So demure?

This confession she has given is one he was not prepared for. The pride that has swelled within him at it though is unmistakable. He realizes he is not startled by her words of love. He does not know how long he has thought she had come to care for him on this level. He does not know at what point within their marriage he had come to the conclusion that this woman before him, decorated in such innocence, had loved him. No—what has startled him was that he never thought he would hear them fall from her lips. He never thought there would be a time when Sakura Uchiha would allow herself to say the words out loud for him to hear.

“Thank you.” he cannot stop his fingers from pulling upon his fringe as if it will hide him from her as the gratitude leaves his lips.

Sasuke is the one who feels washed within the timid air around them. The timorousness lingers in each flicker of his eyes. The courage, and the nerve is there though—the courage to steal a look at her from beneath his fringe. He wants to look at her. He wants to see what face decorates her in this moment. He wants to see the face of this woman who allowed herself to say her love clearly.

It's now or never. He wants to know the secrets of her heart.

Her viridian are there to meet his endless ebony. They glow within this shared gaze.

The smile decorated upon her is tender, but wide. The smile that has found it’s way upon her features reaches her eyes and is genuine, and from her heart. It is from deep within her, and has given him the chance to see it—it’s the beaming smile within the photo lost within the remains of Tanigakure.

She had told him of what she wanted. She wanted peace, and he can only hope to give that to her. His new found motivation in the battles to come has become even stronger. He feels this pride upon him in thick waves. He feels this support that she has put in him, and that she looks to him to bring about a world that she believes in.

The Senju, and Uzumaki’s belief in a peace brought by love did not seem so ridiculous within these moments.

He would bring a peace brought by her love.

[ombreecha]

had to secondary post it cause tumblr won’t show it in the tag with a link

The Uchiha’s Wife | Chapters I-XV Soundtrack [DOWNLOAD]