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Sakura is twenty-four when her parents die.
She never gets to know how exactly. They leave the village one day – get a mission that is supposed to be simple and quick. It’s a C-ranked one, one there should be no problem with, so when Sakura gets to know that they’re leaving for a couple of days, she doesn’t feel the need to ask about details – and then, suddenly, not even a week later when she comes into the Hokage’s office, Kakashi tells her. There is a frown on his face, clear despite the mask. Her smile vanishes.
At first, she honestly believes she heard something wrong. The first thought that pops into her mind is a request, a question – Can you repeat? But she can’t have misheared, because Kakashi’s words, albeit somewhat gentle, apologetic even, are still clear. I’m sorry, Sakura, he says. It's about your parents.
She doesn’t know how to react, her mind suddenly shut down and her body frozen, so she doesn’t react at all in the beginning. There’s white noise in her head or maybe it’s Kakashi still saying something and she can feel her brows furrow but that’s it. Kakashi seems to be ready for anything but that – for her screaming, sobbing, for the lethal wave of rage, and when none of this happens, he watches her, vigilant, his gaze careful and dark.
Sakura can barely breathe.
She stares at him in something that should be disbelief but is something more and less than that at the same time. Sakura is used to death – it’s one of the requirements for being a shinobi. She fought in a war and won, she kills people during missions and battles, sees men dying every day at the hospital, over and over again. She’s used to it, as much as it’s possible.
Her parents have always been a different category of people, though. They were a constant; they remained – her mother was there when Sakura was coming back home to pay a visit after an especially tiring mission or an exceptionally awful day at the hospital, her father was there to make her smile and feel at ease again. They might’ve not been particularly happy about her life choices or marriage, but they respected her decisions, still. And now-
Before she can do anything, she feels tears prickling in her eyes and then streaming down her face. Kakashi moves quickly, but she doesn’t really catch the action itself because in an instant her vision goes blurry, her chest tightens, and she starts crying. She barely manages to notice Kakashi’s warmth around her when he embraces her. For a moment, she wants to step away but then discovers that she doesn’t have enough will to do so, to do anything except lean on her sensei – the Hokage – so Sakura does just that.
And cries.
---
Sasuke’s not in the village when Kakashi delivers her the news, and he’s not there for the funeral, either.
It’s a meagre ceremony, quiet and simple. People gather at the cemetery, near the two new graves Sakura will need a lot of time to get used to, but they form only a small crowd. It consists of those she loves – almost everyone from the Rookie 9, except for Shino and Chouji, since they’re both away on missions; Rock Lee, Tenten and Temari; Tsunade-shishou, looking at her with something she doesn’t want to think too long about, as imposing as ever. Naruto, who’s openly sobbing by her side, clutching her hand in his own, a touch meant to be consoling, but Sakura can’t find it in her to squeeze back. There are a few of her parents’ good friends, too – they all seem devastated, shoulders slumped, tears gleaming in their eyes, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen any of them like that before; she’s also sure she catches a glimpse of Kakashi’s tall silhouette in the shadows at some point. She gives him a small nod as a thank you, glad he could make it even though she did not expect him to, considering how busy he’s been lately.
She’s surrounded by so many people dear to her, yet feels so cold.
Sakura stares at the small pile of white lilies in front of her, thinking that there should be one more flower, from her husband. She ought to be used to his absence by now, and most of the time she feels like she is, but as Naruto clutches her hand even tighter, the thought that it should be Sasuke’s warm, broad palm instead of Naruto’s trembling one forces its way into her mind.
The suffocating lump in her throat grows even bigger, eyes watering. She thought she’d shed enough tears, but apparently not; maybe there’s no such a thing as enough, it occurs to her, so she lets herself cry one more time, not knowing if it’s more of grief, mourning or anger.
She turns her head, looking at Naruto again, when a thought strikes her – one she immediately feels ashamed of, one she promises herself she’ll never tell anyone about – that now, after so many years of trying, training, subconsciously doing her best to accommodate, adjust and adapt, now, when she stands in front of her own parents’ graves Sakura truly, finally fits in her team.
---
Tsunade-shishou tells her to not show up in the hospital at least for a week. The words are well-intentioned, Sakura knows, because the former Hokage’s gaze softens just a bit as her carmine lips work around the sentence so the command turns out more like a plea as a result. She doesn’t know if that’s a good idea, but it’s not like she has any better so she agrees.
She does try, really.
It’s not so bad at the beginning. When Sakura wakes up the next day, her bed is empty and too big for her alone, but she doesn’t expect anything different. She forgot to draw the blinds and now the sunlight creeps into the bedroom faster than her mind, still languid and sluggish from sleep, can catch up. Her head feels heavy, her body tired even though she’s just woken up, but then Sakura catches a glimpse of the clothes scattered on the floor, black and dismal, and remembers.
It’s a bit harder to get out of bed that day, but she keeps telling herself that all she needs is time. Sakura, as great of a medic as she is, knows there are wounds that chakra cannot mend and the most skilled hands cannot heal. It will get better, she says to herself, I will get better, but it’s more of a promise than a fact.
Naruto tries to help her, too, in his own way she now begins to truly appreciate. He’s there to ask how she’s been, invites her to ramen - his treat – twice in three days, asks if she could heal the rib Kiba’d broken him while sparring. She scolds him as usual but knows he notices the dullness of her smile when he eyes her with worry. Sakura kind of hates that – for a split second – but understands just the same.
No matter how hard Naruto tries, though, and how thankful she is for everything he’s doing, her house still feels empty. Rooms are too big, she’s too small – the space overwhelms her in a way nothing ever has before; her footsteps echo in the hallways when she moves around, and they get louder and louder every minute, almost giving her a headache. When she opens the windows, sounds of kids playing outside and their mothers chastening them make their way into the apartment, mixed with the early autumn breeze Sakura meant to let in, and her chest constricts. Sakura hadn’t lived with her parents since she was sixteen, but she’s never felt more lonely during those eight years than she does now.
Four days pass until the silence of her house gets unbearable.
---
Haruno is no clan – not when compared to Hyuuga or Uchiha she now is a part of – but Sakura, as she looks in the mirror one morning, reminds herself that it is – was – a family, too, just like Uchiha or Hyuuga. She eyes her reflection, sees the pink of her hair, green eyes, just like her mother’s, the soft arch of her bottom lip and paleness of the skin, and every single thing reminds her of those she lost because they were everything that is her.
I am the last one in the family now, she thinks and then briefly wonders if Sasuke feels like this, too, when he looks in the mirror.
---
Tsunade-shishou is not exactly thrilled when she sees Sakura entering her office, to say the least. The week during which her apprentice was told to rest or at least stay away from the hospital is not over yet – there are three more days left, after all – so at the beginning she doesn’t even want to hear about letting Sakura go back to work.
Sakura is stubborn, though – has always been – and Tsunade knows it. They argue for a good fifteen minutes, Sakura polite but determined, her former master implacable towards her quiet demand. She doesn’t know what it is that makes Tsunade give in eventually – the bags under her eyes, the tension of her jaw, her slouching just a tiny bit or maybe something entirely different, but when Sakura draws a breath and says “Please let me go back to work,” one more time, the woman in front of her sighs, swallows and then finally nods, rubbing her temples, a simple “Okay” sounding like an exhale.
So Sakura throws herself into work as quickly as she can. Tsunade won’t let her perform any surgeries or take care of any seriously injured patients – and she knows why, so she doesn’t mind – instead giving her insanely huge piles of papers to sign or read that nobody else had time or patience to deal with. Sakura buries herself in paperwork; as boring as it is, it helps. All of a sudden, she has something else to focus on, right in front of her, and it helps her forget.
Some tend to describe that kind of condition in a pretty far-fetched way, saying it feels as if someone ripped their hearts out of their bodies. For her, it’s different – she still has a heart, she’s sure, since a dull ache in her ribcage won’t let her forget about its presence. Her feelings are not gone, not decamped; in fact, she feels too much, rather than too little.
Perhaps that’s the main reason why she tucks the emotions away – dumps the cold fire of grief and powerlessness raging inside of her until it’s nothing more than an ember, a spark she keeps hidden away so that nobody can ignite it again.
People around her seem to be relieved at that – they stop watching her worriedly when they think she can’t see, greeting her and smiling back instead; talk without concealing anything, joke and laugh or scream and yell, at her and with her.
She fools everyone skilfully enough that they actually seem to start forgetting anything ever happened, and eventually, Sakura believes that if she does her best, one day she will be able to fool herself, too.
---
Sasuke’s always been pretty quiet when coming back home, so she’s barely surprised when one evening she comes back from the hospital to find the front door unlocked and a dark travelling cloak on the hanger. Sakura slips off her shoes, puts them next to another, bigger pair, and walks into the living room.
Sakura catches a glimpse of his broad back before he turns around. He’s tired – dark circles under his eyes and an unhealthy pallor of his skin are enough for her to tell. Sasuke’s posture seems to be slouched just a bit, too, his hair is an inch longer than when she last saw him; that makes her wonder, makes her want to ask so many questions – How far away have you been this time? Have you eaten yet? When was the last time you slept? – but she decides not to voice any of them.
“Welcome home, Sasuke-kun,” she says instead, smiling softly at him, and it’s the first time in what feels like ages the gesture is not forced.
Before she knows it, she’s holding him in her arms, tightly and needy, feeling him embracing her, too. For an impossibly relieving second everything is in its place again, all the ratchets clicking home. Sakura lets herself inhale Sasuke’s musky, familiar scent, relax into his arms, let go of all the tension bundled up in her shoulders. It’s a moment of silent happiness she wishes could stay with them both, because she doesn’t feel so miserable anymore.
A thought runs through her head – does he know that she’d lost her parents, does he have any idea? – and she wants to believe he does not, because wouldn’t that make it all at least a bit less real?
It evaporates when Sasuke speaks up.
“I heard what happened,” he says, not knowing that it is just what she had in mind, his hand on her back. She swallows. “I’m sorry, Sakura.”
The illusion of peace around them shatters to the ground as if someone popped the bubble she had imagined was there. Sakura tenses, knowing Sasuke feels it for sure.
For a split second, she wants to be angry at him again, like she was during the funeral – for not being there when she needed him, for not holding her hand, for not bringing a white lily like everyone else. She discovers that it’s easier to be mad when he’s away, though, because there, in her husband’s embrace, she cannot find any of the acrimony that was once inside of her anymore.
He steps back to look at her before she can protest, leaving her with no other choice but to face him.
“Have you been to– “ she starts, but then the words get stuck in her throat, hurting like some hard-edged item she’s accidentally swallowed. Her voice sounds a bit strangled. “How do you know?”
His gaze is as firm as always.
“Kakashi wrote me,” he answers, “I came as soon as I could.”
She expects to find a grudge in his tone – should it really be Kakashi and not her to inform about such things, after all? – but discovers something else instead; a tightness so slight that if Sakura didn’t know him so well, she wouldn’t catch it at all.
He never really got along with her parents. Sakura knew he tried, and they probably tried, too. She had always managed to explain it easily to herself – they were just different kinds of people, period, but it may have been something else. Sakura’s family didn’t know the truth about him – the real reasons behind all his actions, what really happened to his clan. Her mother was wary of him; her father didn’t believe she was truly safe by his side. Despite them trying to conceal it, Sasuke knew, observant as always, and agreed to it by marrying her, regardless of all.
Right, she thinks. They were his family, too, weren’t they?
Sasuke catches her gaze. His eyes are dark with fatigue. There is a question in there.
Sakura squeezes his hand before letting go.
“I’m better now, Sasuke-kun,” she tells him, shifting her weight and smiling again, the curve of her lips soft. She wants Sasuke to believe it.
“Okay,” she claps her hands, pretending to snap out of the heavy mood, turning and heading to the kitchen, “Have you eaten yet?”
She wants to believe it, too.
---
She discovers that with Sasuke around, going back to her previously scheduled routine is harder.
Up until now, her days were very similar to one another; not identical, but they consisted of mostly the same things – the meals she had to eat, her shifts at the hospital, occasional training, a meet-up with Ino or Hinata, and eventually going back home. And it’s not that she’s not happy to have him within reach again – she is – or that Sasuke intervenes in any of these matters because he doesn’t. She may be not used to feeling his warmth next to her when she wakes up or seeing the lights on as she comes back home in the evenings, but these are soothing things, ones she discovers she’s missed. His mere presence makes her want to be stronger, to get up.
Any remains of anguish she’d subconsciously let herself wallow in, even if only late at night, half-asleep, are now forced to die out; Sakura can’t do that next to him.
It is ridiculous because this man has seen her cry more times than she could count, which she believes neither of them minds; he saw her at her worst just like she saw him at his, and they both know each other better than Sakura’s infatuated thirteen-year-old self could even comprehend.
But she still can’t bring herself to let him know.
Sasuke doesn’t push, but Sakura can see the glint in his eyes every time she answers a little too quickly or smiles too brightly. She may’ve managed to pretend that she was okay near every other person, but him she cannot fool that easily, no matter what she does, and she hates it.
It’s just that… when she looks at him, whether sleeping in bed next to her or grumbling at Naruto or eating dinner across the table, she can’t help but think that what she has to deal with is so small, so slight in comparison with what he had been put through. Her tragedy is losing two people, his – losing the whole clan, dozens of those loved by him. Sakura looks at her husband, wondering how it is even possible to pick up the pieces after something as dreadful as that, knowing the person who managed to do so is right in front of her, and she’s suddenly ashamed of her own emotions, of her vulnerability. She let herself mourn long enough, she decides, even if it does not feel like it at all.
Sasuke would understand – he, of all the people, would understand her best – but even bearing that in mind, she can’t get rid of this irrational feeling.
So she just pushes everything deeper, buries it in her chest and carries on.
---
Sasuke Uchiha is not a man of words – he’s never been, never will be; proficient at putting more meaning into a single sound than some could express in speeches. Sakura’s known him for the majority of her life and spent a good part of it trying to change him, to break past all façades, gently make him open up and get rid of this unapproachability of his that didn’t suit the image of the perfect Uchiha prodigy – flawless boyfriend material - she had created in her head. As a genin, Sakura kept missing the little tokens of attachment he made here and there, usually looking the other way, and it took her some time to learn not only when to pay attention to notice the gestures but also how to read them correctly. By the time she became his wife, though, she had been able to acknowledge and appreciate every single one.
Sasuke’s a man of actions; Sakura doesn’t fail to see his feelings in them.
That’s how she knows he’s worried. Ever since he came back home, he’s been watching her, advertent, as if looking for something. He doesn’t tiptoe around her like everyone else did, because he knows better than that; but small signs of his concern are still present and Sakura accepts them silently. He threads his fingers through her hair early in the mornings, still fuzzy from sleep, when she doesn’t have to hurry to the hospital; makes her dinner, putting extra tomatoes on her plate, when she comes home late, exhausted. Rests his hand on the small of her back as they walk down the main street of the village, touch reassuring. Tells her to go to bed when he sees her poring over medical scrolls for too long at night.
Sasuke cares.
“Thank you, Sasuke-kun,” she tells him one day as they sit in the living room, she reading a book so old the pages almost crumble under her fingers, he drinking lukewarm tea, a cup in his hand, a scroll – unfurled but untouched apart from that - in his lap, “but you don’t have to worry about me.”
He takes a sip of his tea, briefly closing his eyes, and the slight tension appearing in his shoulders tells her he knows exactly what she’s referring to. Then, leaning a bit as he puts the porcelain cup on the table, Sasuke peers at her and says, “Don’t I, Sakura?”
---
Silence falls over them before Sakura can as much as see it approaching, not to mention stop.
She knows there are different kinds of it – the one after a fight, the one when there’s nobody else at home, the one in the morning after a rather busy night while eating breakfast together, shy smiles and muffled yawns - and she used to think that after years of marriage with Sasuke, she’d experienced them all. That kind of quiet she’s not familiar with, though, because there’s a strange feeling to it. One minute, things seem to be completely fine – as much as they can get; when they’re bickering with Naruto at training or eating dinner together – just to snap and break moments later. The silence creeps its way under the covers on their bed and between the curtains, slips under bedside tables and stands between Sakura and Sasuke.
She doesn’t like it, yet it’s somewhat relieving at the same time.
Sasuke starts to back off. He still cares, he’s still there, but his eyes don’t question her every smile or laugh anymore. Now they just slide, the previously present strange glint gone, his blank, usual expression in place again, and Sakura lets herself believe that maybe he actually trusted her words at last, her constant I’m okays and repeated don’t worrys. She’s rather happy, even though it’s not the exact happiness she’d been expecting; there’s a bittersweet taste to this one.
Sakura doesn’t stop his only hand when it slides into his pocket instead of resting on the small of her back as they head home from the Ichiraku’s one evening. Their shoulders are not even brushing – they don’t walk close enough to each other; silence once again settles between them, then stretches until they reach the house, meeting the quiet that has been waiting for them behind closed doors.
Only later, in the shower, does Sakura notice a sharp, quick sting of unexpected fear in her chest, wondering when it started and where it came from.
She comes back to the bedroom and expects to find Sasuke already sleeping, but he isn't. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbow propped on his knee, forehead resting against his hand. The pose is so familiar that the corners of her mouth quirk upward, and she swallows, opening her mouth to say something, when Sasuke looks up at her.
“I don’t know how to help you,” he confesses.
The words are rushed, hasty, but bluntly honest, and Sasuke winces a bit, as if angry at himself for letting them slip from his mouth so easily. Sakura stops in the middle of forming a sentence on her tongue, looking at him wide-eyed, then inhales slowly.
“Help me?” she repeats, trying to sound firm, but her voice comes out small.
He lowers his head.
“I don’t know,” he tells her again in a strange tone, shifting on the bed, “I tried, but you won’t tell me– ” Sasuke clenches his teeth, muscles of his jaw tense, then runs a hand through his hair. “You won’t tell me what to do.”
He sets his gaze on her and under its pressure, Sakura realises she’s been holding her breath. She exhales as she forces herself to move and sits carefully next to him, on the very edge of the bed. They’re both silent for a moment; it might look as if she mulls over what he’d said, but in reality, Sakura’s just trying to think of something to tell him that won’t make her feel worse about herself than she already does.
“Sasuke-kun, I… am really doing better,” she tells him at last, deciding on the safest option, the one he’s heard before, managing to convey a little bit of confidence into her voice now, “I know you tried to help, and I appreciate that, but I told you, there’s no need for you to worry–”
“Do you think I can’t see?” he cuts in, firm, anger seeping into the sentence. “Do you think I don’t know, Sakura? You barely sleep. You don't eat enough. Every minute you can, you spend at the hospital, working yourself to the bone, and I haven’t seen you go to the cemetery yet, even once in nearly a month. So don’t tell me that you’re okay, when we both know you’re not.”
That… startles her a little at first, but then it occurs to Sakura that she should’ve predicted it. Of course he knows, she wants to snap at this part of herself that let her believe otherwise, of course he notices everything. It’s Sasuke.
Abruptly, she feels tired because everything he said is true – she really hasn’t been sleeping well recently, she does try to keep her mind busy whenever she gets the chance to, and she wasn't at the cemetery since the funeral. She can barely bring herself to say the word out loud, yet it sounds so easy when coming from Sasuke’s mouth; she can’t help but wonder just how strong he is, again.
He never questioned her power or abilities, and Sakura’s more than sure he never will, but suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore. She finds herself doing it instead.
She looks off to the side, focusing her gaze on the pillows at the headboard, white and neat, plain. The ticking of her alarm clock on the bedside table almost matches the pace of her heartbeat. The silence stretches between them again.
“It’s easier that way,” Sakura says at length. She clears her throat, feeling Sasuke move next to her – maybe he exhales or turns his head. She doesn’t look at him to check. “I need something to keep me busy, Sasuke-kun. Working helps better than sulking. I don’t need to sleep.”
She still manages to keep it together. Her voice comes out firm.
“That’s not what I mean,” Sasuke murmurs, sparks of irritation barely audible now.
Sakura forces herself to look at him, her eyes snapping up to meet his.
“What do you mean, then?” she asks because she is a fighter no matter what. “What do you expect me to do? What should I do to make you content?”
She knows it’s not fair of her to say that, because the sentences are bitter on her tongue; anyone else would be palpably hurt when faced with words like these.
Sasuke doesn’t even budge.
“This is not about me,” he tells her. His anger is gone. He's just- calm again, and it’s frustrating – so infuriating because Sakura can feel the prickling of tears gathering behind her eyelids while he’s as collected as ever. She lowers her head and grips the fabric of the old, grey shorts she sleeps in; her hands are shaking a bit.
“Should I yell at you for not being at the funeral?” she falters, the grip tightening. “Find someone to blame for my parents’ death and demand compensation? Beat the crap out of them, whoever they might be?”
Sakura grits her teeth, taking a shaky breath.
“Why do you even want to listen to all this?”
She’s so close to tears that she barely controls her voice now, but she’s not sure if the need to cry is generated by frustration or anger or grief. but she still looks up, despite herself. She meets Sasuke's eyes.
He doesn't look like she thought he would. He looks younger, for a second, with tension in his jaw and sharpness in his eyes and it's- it is fear. A feeling she’s more than familiar with, yet seeing it in his eyes rattles her. She notices her throat tighten, but her dread seems to be different than his because his is not an outcome of gradually losing self-control, unlike hers.
And he is not afraid that she’ll scream or fight; he’s rather afraid that she won’t, once again hiding every emotion under a thick layer of fake smiles and overwork.
“I am your husband, Sakura,” he says, sounding different, too – a little desperate, a little strangled, and there’s this raw part of his voice again, the one she heard when he said he didn’t know how to help anymore, the one she couldn’t pinpoint then, but can now.
Sasuke sounds defeated. When she realises that, it’s over.
It feels as if a dam’s been broken. First, a single tear escapes and travels down her cheek, a crack in the wall of her stubborn refusal to mourn any longer, and then she bursts into tears. Sasuke’s face goes blurry, so she lowers her head, her shoulders shaking, throat so tight she can barely swallow.
And suddenly Sasuke’s leaning towards her, his hand warm on her wet cheek, so Sakura clings to his shoulders right away, clutching him like a lifeline, not really thinking about what she’s doing. He sighs, the sound barely audible amongst her sobs, his chest rising and falling against her, then manoeuvres her onto his lap, locking his arm around her waist.
“I just…” she chokes out, tripping over the syllables when he pulls back slightly to wipe her tears away with his thumb, even though they both know she won’t stop crying anytime soon, “I miss them so much, Sasuke-kun.”
Something in the back of her head keeps saying that she owes him an explanation, despite the rest of her mind being sure he doesn’t need it. Sakura thinks about the one time she saw her husband cry – years ago, when he finally told her the truth, everything about his brother and the massacre, how all of this was so fucking wrong – and about how Sasuke once again is the witness of her tears now.
Sakura finds that she doesn’t care.
She’s not sure, but she thinks something flashes across Sasuke’s eyes at her words. His hand freezes, still on her cheek, and Sakura grips the fabric of his shirt on his chest, shaking with sobs, already predicting what his answer will be.
She closes her eyes when he says “I know” in a quiet voice and presses his lips to her forehead.
(Later, when there are no more tears left to shed, Sakura tells him – everything, because he is her husband, and they have no one but each other now.
She tells him about how she promised herself to be strong just like him, how she tried to comprehend just by what means he’d managed to deal with everything he’d been put through, with losing so many people, while she couldn’t bear losing two. Sasuke listens when she talks about how her own reflection in the mirror made her want to scream – I wonder if you feel like this, too – and how she lied to everyone around her, everybody believing her, except for him.
Sakura tells him about what she thought at the funeral, too – because she needs to say it, and he needs to know, regardless of all.
His arm tightens around her then; she knows what he means by that.
They go to the cemetery the next day, and Sasuke brings white lilies.)