#alas I am quite incapable of being normal about him but it's fine right?

[viperwhispered]

Oh no I'm supposed to work but my brain was like "Oh but consider getting corrupted by Jamil" and like 😳😨🤔🤩

Hasdfghh the concept is so vague but just the vibes of coming to agree more and more with the things he does (and supporting him in his right to wrongs and, just)

And before you know it you've gone from being all straight-laced and stuff to just the schemer power couple

how much you'd still be under his thumb is left to your personal preference I guess tho I'm more thinking of him pulling that side out of you rather than just "puppeting" you or anything

There goes my concentration I guess

[raevenlywrites]

Dasi High 2 of ?

All day long, all I wanted was my book. My book. I thrilled at the way the thought seemed to pulse in my head, heavy with the weight of destiny or something. It had to be some kind of strangeness at work, to put this exact book into my exact hands with my exact little name on it. Kiesha... It wasn’t exactly a sorceress’s name, but still, it wasn’t that common. Not for books that looked like they’d been buried under the sea for the last thousand years or whatever. “This should be in a museum,” ala Indiana Jones and all that. My book. It filled my chest with warmth just thinking about it.

But I kept it in my bag all through school, even during lunch. No Coke, greasy pizza, or nosy teachers were going to threaten my ancient tome. I wasn’t an idiot. I was going to keep it safe until I got home.

Safely ensconced in my beautiful window seat, the envy of all book lovers and cat nappers everywhere, I savored the moment, feeling the heft of the book in my lap, breathing deep of its good, good book smell. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a technophobe, but books man--nothing compares to the feel of thick pages beneath your hands, the crinkle, the earthy smell. Yeah. There was a reason Brass thought I might be into it, namesake notwithstanding.

The cover was plain, well-worn, shiny and slick to the touch with the press of so many hands before. The finish had worn off the lettering and embellishments, but fingers could trace the rise and indents of them. I suddenly wondered if I should be handling something so hold, then realized I had no idea how old it even was. Oh well. Brass’s mom wouldn’t have let him have it if it was priceless, right? With a steadying breath, I cracked the cover.

The glue had long since stopped holding the pages in, but the binding was still sound. Maybe I’d ask Donte or Nalini later if either of them knew anything about repairing old bindings. They were both always doing handsy stuff, Donnie with his computers, and Nani with eir soaps and stuff. Surely one of them would know something, or be able to point me in the right direction. For now, I gingerly laid the cover open in my lap and turned the pages with a reverence I almost never felt for anything. I hadn’t been this careful with a book since my Sandman hardcover omnibus I got for my last birthday.

Enough stalling. It was time to read.

I was surprised to note my own reluctance. I’m not usually one for drama, but this... it just felt heavy. Important. Like it mattered.

The front endpaper had a yellowed bookplate pasted in, painted with an elegant symbol or crest or something I didn’t recognize. It looked almost like a stick figure of someone dancing, arms reaching up and stance wide--except there were weird branches coming off, like cursive flourishes. Maybe it was a signature? If so it wasn’t in any language I could read. I suddenly panicked at the thought that I wouldn’t be able to read any of it, aside from my name, and eagerly turned the page, anticipation mixing with dread.

But instead of a title page, or anything even printed, it was another handwritten page, like a dedication, or maybe a poem or something. It was written in the same kind of cursivey, wavy letters as the bookplate, and with growing anxiety I turned to the next page.

The family tree.

Thin, spidery hand writing covered the pages, faded, but definitely in the familiar English characters. Arabic? Or was the for numbers? Whatever. I could read it, that was what mattered. It was hard to parse, just as it had been at school, but I found the letters of my name quickly, and my finger hovered over the page, tracing the line down. Don...Donovan? Sisal... Salem... It was almost impossible to make out, save for the ever-clear Kiesha. Almost like that was the only part I was meant to read. I stared at the whole page, trying to let my eyes go soft focused, to see if anything else jumped out at me, but the longer I looked, the harder to read it became. I gave up and turned the page.

A list of names and dates followed, like you’d expect from an almanac. But instead of useful things like “March 3rd” or “Spring Equinox” it said things like, “the fourth night of cheres” or “the eve of Namir-da”. It was English, but just barely. I skimmed the page but quickly moved past it, eager for something that made sense.

It was hard not to let my disappoint take hold. This book had felt so special--it was special, just... not what I’d been expecting. Recipes, as Brass had said, and almanacy things, lie when to plant, but nothing that gave me any sense of wonder, or importance. I was just about to give up when I finally came across a section written in plain English.

They say the time has come. I have been given the family book, and told its mine to keep. But what I am expected to do with it, I cannot say. I have nothing of my own to add. I am not even the oldest of the family line. But I feel I should write something, to mark the occasion if nothing else. So here I do write, on this, the first of August, in the year seventeen hundred and seventy-one, that I, Kiera Cortana, am now in charge of the family book, for better or for worse.

Whoa. Now that was seriously cool. I flipped back to the family tree, to see if I could find Kiera. There, near the bottom, Kiera Cortana, 1753. Neat. That made her... seventeen, eighteen when she wrote her entry? Wow. Barely any older than me. That warm tingle started again, that sense of connection, and I just let my hand rest on the page, fingers just below her name. There wasn’t any more after hers, though there was room for more. Hope for the future that never came.

The warmth turned to sadness, a kind of longing I couldn’t really put my finger on. I got that way sometimes, just out of the blue. Homesick for a place that didn't’ exist. At least here I kind of got it, sad for a girl who may or may not have ever grown up. There was more after her first journal entry, but it was just more recipes and things, and more of that squiggle script I had no idea how to read. On an impulse, I got out a notebook and copied down what letters I could make out, including the symbol on the front book plate. I wanted to look at it more later, when I was stuck at school, but I didn’t want to risk bringing the actual book there. It was so old, at least three hundred. Man, Brass totally shouldn’t have let me have this. I decided to call him and give him a hard time about it.

“Hey, Ki, is everything okay?”

I frowned at the concern in his voice. “Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I’m not always in mortal danger or whatever you seem to think.”

Brass snorted. “Well I assumed you had to be in trouble since you’re calling. Normally you just text.”

Oh. Right.

“Just wanted to chat,” I said, too casually, but he'd caught me off guard. I used to call Brass all the time. It was weird to realized I’d stopped. “I’ve been looking through that book you gave me.” When in doubt, change the subject.

“Yeah? Anything good?”

I heard the sound of a sliding glass door in the background, the tell-tale sign of Brass going out to sit on the back deck. He used to do it to be near the TV antenna, hoping it would give him better cell signal. Now it was just habit. I smiled, picturing him there, long and lanky and lean, back against the side of the house as he balanced on the deck railing, one long leg trailing down...

“Kiesha?”

“Hm?”

I made a startled little noise as I came back to myself. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Did you know it was so old? There’s an entry from the 1700’s in it.”

“Oh man, really?” He sounded equal parts excited and embarrassed. “I didn’t know that. Maybe I should let Mom look at it again...”

“No way,” I teased, “It’s mine now. Has my name in it and everything.”

“It has mine too.”

His voice was so soft I almost missed it. But I scanned the page and sure enough, Brassal was on a similar line as Kiesha.

“Weird... Almost as weird as your stupid name.”

I laughed to take the edge of, both from my words and from the creeping feeling working its way up my spine. Brass had always gone by the nickname, with Brassal being reserved for his father. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me to see it in an old timey book like this; it had probably been handed down a long line of people, like Maeve’s super grandma name. But still. It freaked me, and when I got freaked, I teased. Make everyone else feel off balance and it was an even playing field again.

“Yeah, yeah, Cobriana. Tell me all about weird names.”

I stuck my tongue out, even though he couldn’t see. Still, it made me feel better. Sky blue, grass green, Brass and I teased. I had missed this. It was good to be getting it back.

“You wanna come over for pizza and movies Friday?”

It was out of my mouth before I’d really thought about it. But his hesitation made me wish I’d just kept railing on his stupid name.

“Uh, how ‘bout Saturday. I have... plans. For Friday.”

No way. No freakin way. “Don’t tell me you gave in to Izzy,” I said with a disinterest I didn’t quite feel. “You know she’s only sharpening her claws on you for a real takedown.”

“Don’t be like that, Ki. Isadora can do what she wants, with who she wants.”

I mocked “Isadora,” in as childish a tone as I could manage. No one called her that, not even Izzy herself. Except Landon. But Landon was cyborg and completely incapable of using contractions or imprecise grammar, like ever.

“And what she wants is apparently to play kissy face with Serv, for all the good that’ll do her.”

“Serv?!” I could not keep the surprise out of my voice. Serv was like, canonically asexual. Or at the very least, not interested in someone as bubblegum pop as Izzy.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Brass said. “I didn’t ask, not that that stopped her from volunteering. Apparently they’re driving into the city to see a show or something.”

“Okay....” Izzy on a date with Servos. What an odd couple. I couldn’t fathom what sort of attraction would hold interest for both of them. But then, if such a thing existed, it would be in the city, not in this whole in the wall town. We didn’t even have a mall. “Well, good for them, I guess. So what about your mysterious plans?”

Brass groaned. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten. ”

“Nope. Spill it.”

He sighed. “I’m going to the movies... with Syfka.”

I gaped. “You’re joking. You’re joking! Why on earth would you want to go to the movies with her--xem?”

I was normally better with Syfka’s pronouns than this, but it was hard not to think of anyone out on date with Brass as anything but a her--a her he might want to kiss. Trying to apply that mental box to Syfka, of all people--

“Because--” Brass cut through my thoughts, “we have a project due, and it was either write a paper on a French film, or try to speed read through a work of French literature that I have zero hope of understanding because its kind of my worst subject.”

Oh. Right. School stuff. A perfectly reasonable reason to go to the movies with someone.

“Right. Okay. Yeah. So, does that mean you need to stay in and write it on Saturday.”

Brass laughed, and I couldn’t help but feel like it was at my expense.

“Nah. Come Saturday night, I’ll either be done, or I’ll be failed. Either way, pizza and a movie sounds great.”

“Okay...”

I couldn’t shake the little tight feeling in my chest. This call had thrown me. Everything about Brass seemed to throw me lately.

“Why don’t you invite Nikki over too? Or maybe Maeve?”

My toes curled under at that last. Maeve may or may not have been the reason Brass and I finally broke up. I hadn’t decided yet. Either way, I couldn’t imagine him volunteering to hang out with her.

“I wouldn’t subject you to that....”

“Ki, I told you I’m alright with it. Have her over, see if you still feel all tingly.”

I laughed, but it was hardly humorous. “I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to get my flirt on in front of you.”

I could feel him shrug through the line, that careless raise of a shoulder that meant everything and nothing.

“You’re too shy to do it yourself. I’m just gonna keep inventing reasons to get you two together until you get over yourself. Or she asks you.”

“Brass!”

But now I was really laughing, and his goal was achieved. I felt better, so he felt better. Stupid big brother mother hen. I smiled through the rest of the phone call, chatting about everything and nothing, and feeling more like myself than I had in a long time.

-

Raev’s general tag list: As always, let me know if you want to be added or removed or whatevs (especially since this is kind of a far cry from what I usually do)

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @faithfire @apollon-arium  @thehellinsideyourhead @raenawrites @adventuresofacreesty @anika-writes.

[its-bits-and-pieces]

Past and present merge

She felt the hard, cold floor that she was laying down on. (Y/n) opened her eyes, the light from the ceiling blinding her, making her to close her eyes again. She took a sharp breath and opened her eyes again looking around while getting up from the concrete floor. ‘Where the hell am I? No, that’s not the right question (Y/n). The right question is why? Who took me here and for what? I’m not bound nor hurt. So who ever brought me here wants me alive. Good, that’s good, it means I’ve got time to figure out why I’m here, where here is and how to get out.’ Looking down at herself she noticed first that she had a sash tied around her neck, black and in multiple layers so basically a blindfold. ‘Why around my neck as a necklace and not over my eyes? Is that a man’s cologne? Smells nice. Focus, (Y/n)!’ She observed that she was wearing the same outfit that she got on in the afternoon when she headed to pay a visit to the boys. ‘I know I didn’t make it to Baker Street so I was most likely drugged and kidnapped on the way there. … Of course, the cab! The divider was closed shut, probably he used something that could be vaporized, I get knocked out while he drives me to wherever I am now. Brilliant!’ Smiling that she managed to figure out how she ended up there, (Y/n) spun around taking in the huge, empty room that she was in. Barren brick walls, big windows, some smashed, others still intact, some debris on the floor and a door; a wide opened door that was leading to what looked as a hallway.

(Y/n) started slowly towards the door, her steps as quite as she could make them and her ears pricked to notice any noise that could suggest that someone was approaching or worse that someone was cocking a gun. When she was getting ready to pass the door and get out on the hallway a voice ringed out in the room and on the corridor.

“Miss (Y/l/n), if you be so kind to put the blindfold back on. No need to worry I’ll guide you through to your destination.” The voice said an Irish accent being discernable.

“You’ll have to give me a reason for doing that. See, if I would have been a religious person I would have said God is talking to me and I would follow, because that’s what sheep do. But, alas I’m an atheist so you’ll have to answer to the most important question in my opinion, and that questions is WHY? And, of course if the answer isn’t reasonable I might not find it fit to follow your instructions.”

“Well, the answer is very simple, darling. If you don’t you’re dead and so are the two innocent men that are expecting you next door.”

“Next door? A blindfold is normally used so the wearer won’t be able to see where he’s going thus rendering him incapable to either get out from there or to come back later. Also it’s used in the situation if the wearer shouldn’t see someone’s face, but you are definitely not in the building, so who’s face am I not supposed to see, Mr. Moriarty?”

A small chuckle erupted from the speakers “It’s not for any of those purposes in this case, I just want it to be a surprise for you, for your birthday.” The voice said sweetly. “Put the blindfold on!” the same voice shouted the next second.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the other room, Sherlock woke up from his drugged induced slumber. He looked around moving his head, that being the only part of his body that he could move. He was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, his mouth covered with a silver tape. Next to him tied to another chair was a man in his late fifties, fit, strong and who was looking at him with a questioning look in his eyes, his mouth also covered with a tape.

Sherlock knew who the man was and he also knew why they were there, looking up in front of him he could see two snipers on the balcony that used to be a supervising area over the action that took place down at the floor level when the factory was still running. Down in front of him at around three meters was a table with a gun on it and nothing else. He huffed through his nose realising that (Y/n) was soon going to face him and the man next to him holding that gun in her hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) cocked her head, thinking, her brain going a thousand miles per hour. She knew who she was talking to. John and Sherlock have told her about what happened at the pool that midnight, about Moriarty and the way he’s acted. She asked them all the details they could remember about his behaviour and she managed to profile him from their description and from his actions leading to that night when she could have lost her friends. Moriarty was a sadistic psychopath with a love for games and theatrics. He loved making others dance to his tune.

(Y/n) decided that at least for the moment she’ll have to dance, but she would find a way to change the tune, at least she hoped she will. She put the blindfold over her eyes and said “All right, Jim, I’ll let you lead this dance, for now at least.”

“Oh, good, you catch on fast. That’s good, dear, very good. Continue out the door and make a right.”

(Y/n) listened Moriarty’s instructions and after a walk that took around three minutes and that positioned her in a room that was bigger than the one that she just left, at least that’s what she thought taking in the consideration the echo her steps made when she entered it, the voice from the speakers instructed her to take her blindfold off.

Doing as instructed, (Y/n) could now see the two men tied to chairs in front of her and the table that was between her and the men. She also spotted the gun on the table and figuring out what she’ll have to do next she sighed. She slowly turned around and spotted two men on the balcony, taking a mental note of their position.

“I’m going to explain to you the rules of the game, (Y/n). You better pay attention. You’ll have to make a choice today. I know you’re clever enough to have reached a conclusion on what that choice entails. But in case you didn’t I’ll help you. You’ll take that gun and shoot one of them in the head.”

“And if I don’t?” (Y/n) asked making eye contact to Sherlock and then gazing to the other man, recognizing him.

Sherlock could see the flash of pain and sorrow passing over her face, it was there for a split second, then anger took over, raging anger, her eyes lit up with wrath and her hands balled up in fists. But it only lasted for a few short seconds and (Y/n) gained back her composure, her hands relaxed, her body only tensed enough for taking action if case need be and her face unreadable.

“(Y/n), dear, have patience, I’m getting to that part right NOW!”

The moment Moriarty shouted ‘now’, two red dots appeared in the middle of each man’s forehead. “If you don’t, they both die. And of course after that you’ll die too. Very simple.”

“No offence Jim, but you are not a man that I would consider trustworthy. What kind of assurance do I have that after I kill one of them, your men won’t shoot me and the other?”

“You have my word! You have one minute to make your choice.” A ticking sound started on the background. “Who will it be? Your best friend or your long lost daddy? I know for sure you were a daddy’s girl, (Y/n). Time’s ticking away, sweets.”

(Y/n) took the gun from the table and got out the clip, it was full. ‘This is strange, why would he give me a gun with a full clip when he asks of me to use just one bullet?’ “Thirty seconds!”. She got the clip back and charged the gun. She went around the table and headed towards Sherlock who was looking at her trying to read her face and her body language, but he couldn’t see anything, for the first time since he met her he couldn’t figure out what was she thinking or what her next movement will be.

(Y/n) hoped that her plan will work, but just in case it wouldn’t she formulated a second one in her mind. She stopped in front of Sherlock’s chair and lifted her gun to his face. Looking him in his beautiful eyes she whispered “I’m sorry!”, her father was looking at her, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Ten, nine, eight, se…” (Y/n) turned around and shot the sniper on her right and then the one on the left, she continued looking around, waiting others to pop up, her eyes moving rapidly over all the dark corners of the room. When she realized that there was no one else that was going to attack them she turned back to Sherlock, ripping the tape of his mouth and rushing to undo his bounds, ignoring the other man that was now dead, a gunshot wound in his head.

“Good choice (Y/n). Very good, of course it would have been easier to just shoot him yourself, after all you clearly have no problem in killing people. I enjoyed this dance (Y/n), I hope you’ll go out with me again sometime. Here’s my stop, I’ll be getting off now.” Moriarty said while (Y/n) finished untying Sherlock.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked her, grabbing her by her shoulders, she nodded and Sherlock took the gun from her hand and ran out from the room.

“He’s not in the building, Sherlock!” (Y/n) shouted after him but he was already gone. She turned around to the chairs looking at her father. She searched his pockets and found his wallet. Opening it she read the fake name under which he lived for the last fourteen years, or maybe the name he just acquired last week. She was still looking at the ID from the wallet when Sherlock came back, looking very pissed.

“I told you he’s not here. I bet those two did some mistakes in the past and this was Moriarty’s way of punishing them.” (Y/n) said closing the wallet and putting it back in her father’s pocket. “I’m going for a drink. Did you call the police?”

“No! I texted Mycroft, this falls under his jurisdiction, considering your father’s ex-job.” Next second Sherlock’s phone ringed and he answered, he didn’t say anything he just listened and after a very short period of time he said “Fine.” And stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “His sending a car. We should head outside.”

“I’m not waiting for his car, I told you I’m going for a drink.” (Y/n) answered leaving the room without a second look back.

“(Y/n), you are being irrational, letting your emotions takeover you.” Sherlock said catching up with her and stopping her from her march by grabbing her wrist. He looked at her, observing her face and realizing that her face wasn’t unreadable anymore, the anger was back so was the magnetic look in her eyes.

“Yes, thank you for informing me about something that I already know. I don’t expect you to understand, nor do I want you to. You just have to accept that right now I need a drink.”

“Drinking will only cloud your judgement and make you lose your clarity.” He argued, trying to keep her close to him the only way he knew how. He was worried for her safety and he thought that logic would be the only way to persuade her not to leave, after all she usually was a very reason driven person.

“That’s exactly what I want.” She screamed and took off running, feeling her tears will burst at any moment. She was scared by what she felt and even more so by the growing desire to shut down her own mind, afraid that after twelve years of being clean she will fall back in the arms of the drugs that almost killed her in the past. So she was going to drink and she hoped that her mind will be numb enough just with the aid from the alcohol and that she won’t look for something much stronger.

[kuriquinn]

Samsara [Part VII]

General Disclaimer

It takes two weeks before they are able to pick up Orochimaru's trail, and when they find him, it's in an underground base between the Land of Bears and the Land of Whirlpools.

Sakura is once again sweating through her winter clothes, practically gasping beneath an extra cloak. She doesn't remove it, though. Even without Sasuke's admonition that she should keep her pregnancy literally under wraps, she would have no intention letting Orochimaru see that she is expecting.

"I doubt he'll try anything," Sasuke mutters as they head into the cold, echoing underground chambers. "But still…"

"It's Orochimaru."

"Exactly."

"I'm hurt that you think so little of me," a sly voice whispers in the dark, and even though she has long since gotten over her nightmares of this shinobi, Sakura shivers.

She turns around, having to squint in the dark to make out the figure of Sasuke's former master. As he comes closer, she sees that he has once more stolen a body, this time of an unlucky teenager. His eyes are as cold as ever, however.

"My most heartfelt belated congratulations on your wedding, my dear Sasuke and Sakura," he says warmly, as if they are old friends seeing each other only after a few days instead of years. "I'm afraid my invitation never did arrive, but I don't hold it against you. Had I known you were in the area, I would have prepared a gift for you."

"This isn't a social call," Sasuke says, not bothering with a preamble. "What do know about past lives?"

Orochimaru chuckles. "So serious, as usual, my dear boy. And what a question…is your past history causing you problems perhaps?" Sasuke and Sakura exchange tense looks. Orochimaru's eyes narrow, catching the by-play, and his eyes light up. "Not my dear apprentice, but his lovely wife. That is something I would not have expected."

The way he looks at Sakura now reminds her of a snake preparing to consume a bird. She refuses to be intimidated by it, and takes a step forward.

"Sasuke might trust you, but let me make this abundantly clear to you," Sakura tells the Sannin, a hard smile on her face. Ten years of rage and resentment over what he did to her husband and to her in the Forest of Death build within her. "If you do one thing that strikes me as a threat, I will destroy you. You might not have a spine to rip out, but I will tear your nervous system out of you tissue by tissue if I have to."

Far from being insulted, Orochimaru appears amused.

"You still have the same fire as Tsunade. Far be it from me to encourage your, er, rather gratuitous imagination," he pretends to cough delicately, and then sighs. "Alas, there isn't much I can help you with. Not unless you happen to know where the remains of your esteemed former incarnation are located. In which case, I could summon her – or him – to you to ask directly." Sakura makes a disgusted face. "Ah, it is as I thought."

"Can a previous incarnation take over a current one?" Sasuke asks, finally voicing what has been worrying them both for weeks.

"Of the three of us, I imagine you would be in the best position to answer that, Sasuke my boy," Orochimaru purrs. "As you're the only one who has had concrete proof of living a previous life."

Sasuke frowns.

"From a strictly scientific standpoint, however, it wouldn't make sense," the older man continues. He gestures vaguely. "There are endless treatises on the subject of the soul, and yet the one thing that almost every one of these scholars would agree with is that it is immortal. Unchanging and immutable – a force that exists in continuity no matter what incarnation you inhabit."

"Then that means she could surface again after all," Sakura says, dismayed.

"Don't be foolish, my dear. Note that I said the soul is immortal. People are not. People are the sum of their experiences, their personalities, their hates and their loves. When a body dies, those things die with it. The woman you were, her existence ended when she perished. It's only the traces of her that you are somehow tapping into."

"Wait…what?"

Orochimaru sighs. "I'm disappointed. You were supposed to be the intelligent one."

Sakura narrows her eyes, balling one hand into a fist beneath her cloak; there's a soft touch against the back of her wrist, and she looks up to see Sasuke discreetly shaking his head.

Fine…he get's one. Just one.

"Allow me to demonstrate," Orochimaru says, either missing the by-play or not caring.

He reaches into his robe, causing both Sasuke and Sakura to tense; noting their posture, he smirks and, in a much slower fashion, draws out a scroll. From the girth and seals, it's obviously a summoning scroll.

"This scroll represents a covenant between the serpents of Ryūchi Cave, and has for over a thousand years," he explains, unrolling the paper and showing the names and the blood marks. "The covenant remains the same down through the generations, immutable – but the owners of these marks are not. They are human, after all." He smirks down at his own mark, like he's enjoying a private little joke. "The names and blood oaths never disappear, and are simply added to. I imagine the soul to be the same way – unchanging, immortal and utterly incapable of true death."

"You're saying our souls have an imprint of every life we have ever lived," Sakura realises.

"I am saying no such thing. It's merely a hypothesis, as there has never been anyone to test the theory on," Orochimaru says, his cold eyes focussing on her with a disturbing intensity. "I would be more than happy to pursue the study further, if you're interested."

"No," Sasuke interrupts. "We're leaving now."

He chuckles again, clearly not expecting anything different.

"By my reckoning, the average human is too dull, or too caught up in their own misery to take much notice of their soul, let alone remember a previous existence. And so I wonder, dear Sakura," Orochimaru muses sweetly, "What could possibly have caused such a change in your disposition that you are suddenly more aware of your soul than normal?"

He stares at her intently, his eyes not even straying to her stomach, but somehow she knows that he knows.

"Will it end with the birth?" she asks, not bothering to beat around the bush. Sasuke startles, jerking his head toward her and considering the intense staring match between his wife and former master, as if trying to decide who he might have to protect in the case of the worst.

"Who can tell? If I were to hazard a guess, there seems to be something left unfinished in your previous life," Orochimaru says airily. But his eyes become more intensely focussed on her. "A message is being given to you, my dear, and you are likely not meant to know what it is until the time is right."

For some reason she is reminded of the far-seeing eyes of the Sage of Six Paths, and she can't help the hollow feeling that grows in the pit of her stomach.

眠り

When it happens, it does without her understanding quite how.

In one instant, she is wandering along the sea shore, a rare moment on her own since the journey began. Asura and his men are bartering passage from some of the local fishermen, while she enjoys a rare peaceful spell by the lotus blossoms. Somewhere in the distance she knows Taizo is watching her, but he keeps his distance.

In the next moment, the cloudless day is darkening, a storm rolling in over the water.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, lightning slicing through the clouds, the tempest growing closer and closer with a speed that has her shivering. She is sure that it will engulf them soon.

"My lady, we should find shelter," Taizo says, appearing beside her instantly. "Asura will not forgive me if I allow you to take ill."

"I can manage myself, thank you," she says, pulling away from his proffered hand.

There's a violent, splitting crack several feet away from them, and she wonders if the lightning hasn't perhaps hit a rock –

But when she turns to see for herself, there is Indra.

He stands before them, face bone white, eyes blazing and spinning with their sinister red and black patterns.

Taizo makes the mistake of looking at those whirling tomoe, and suddenly there is blood seeping from his eyes and nose. He crumples forward, and Shachi doesn't have to see the emptiness in his gaze to know he is dead before he hits the ground.

"Indra," she breathes, the whisper lost in the wailing wind that surrounds them.

She has never seen him so furious, where every hair on his head seems to ripple with kinetic energy. A part of her wants to shrink away, hide in the shadows until his terrible wrath has passed, but she has also seen much worse from him.

And she has missed him so much, longed for him too fiercely, to flee now.

Mustering her courage, she takes a tentative step forward.

He whirls around to glare at her, the reaction of a wary lion against an unknown predator, but she keeps her eyes on the ground, bowing low before him in supplication. He has never, in their entire history together, used his Sharingan to invade her mind, but she has still seen him wield it against those who displease him to devastating effect.

"My lord husband," she greets humbly, relishing in the word on her tongue because she hasn't been able to address him in so long. "I –"

She is cut of when she is hauled to a standing position by her shoulders, forced to gaze into his blazing eyes. His pupils dance back and forth, roving over her features, as if he is trying to confirm to himself that what he is seeing is true.

She holds her breath, half in trepidation, half in awe. She hasn't seen him in so long, and he is just as beautiful to her as when she last saw him. A little more gaunt, his eyes harder perhaps, but undoubtedly hers.

"Shachi," he says, a question and a confirmation, but more important than any of that it's her name falling from his lips.

"Indra," she sighs, dropping all formality in her relief.

To her surprise, his eyes fade to black and an emotion she doesn't recognise flickers in his eyes. There's an inexplicable pause – the future shifts like tumbling rocks, the balance of the moment crystalline in its intensity – and something within him seems to break.

Then he moves.

Before she can react, his hands are on both sides of her face, pulling her face towards his. Then his mouth is on hers, pressing against her own lips with a bruising, desperate force.

Shachi gasps in surprise, and he wastes no time deepening the shocking kiss; sensation splinters through her, so deep that even Sakura feels as if a bolt of electricity has passed through her.

It's impossible to breathe, but Shachi doesn't care. For the first time since he appeared in her life, her husband is kissing her and holding on to her as if there is nothing else in existence but her.

He pulls away only when her lungs begin to protest and tears form in her eyes, and when he looks down on her, for an instant she can see the young boy that her brother-in-law and father-in-law remember. And her heart aches, because she wants to know him to.

When Indra draws her close again, it's not to kiss her, but to pick her up, cradling her in his arms.

"Don't move," he orders her, and then there is a sudden tugging sensation in her gut and the sense of moving quickly – far too quickly. The baby kicks at her ribs in protest, but by the time she feels it, they are no longer facing the open sea.

Instead, they are surrounded by a forest dale, a tiny wooden forest sanctuary behind them. She can't even smell the sea air anywhere, or sense Asura's presence.

"Where – ?" she begins to ask, but he is putting her back on her feet and capturing her lips again, and her questions die in her throat.

夢

Sakura wakes with the memory of Indra's lips on hers, and a horrible feeling in her gut.

She feels on edge, like she's balancing over a precipice of something too dark for words. Sasuke asks her if she's alright, but she waves him off.

The rest of the day she is distracted and moody, thinking of Indra and Shachi, her heart yearning for a happy and hopeful reunion, and her brain telling her it's not meant to be.

For two nights, she is unable to sleep, and on the third, Sasuke finally breaks his habitual tendency to wait for her to share her thoughts with him.

"You can't go on like this," he tells her firmly, sitting up beside her; the tiny bed of the waystation is uncomfortable, but a warm alternative to silent winter storm outside, "You need to sleep."

"I know," she replies faintly. "But I…I'm afraid."

"To sleep?"

"To find out what happens next," she admits, tears filling her eyes. "I have a horrible feeling, Sasuke. I don't even know why, it's like…the moment I woke up from, it felt like a turning point. Like everything from that moment is going to go one way or another, and I don't even know what I'm expecting."

"It's Indra," Sasuke says darkly. "It would be prudent to expect the worst." Sakura's shoulders slump, and he adds, "However…Shachi is you. And if I have learned anything knowing you, it is that somehow, you bring out the best in people. Perhaps she will do the same in this instance."

Sakura sniffs, and nods. She glances over at him. "I'm going to try to sleep. Will you…keep an eye out? Just…just in case."

She doesn't know what exactly he could do in the event that something – whatever that could be – happens, but the knowledge that he is there is a comfort.

Sasuke doesn't answer but to pull her closer to him.

眠り

It happens in a whirlwind of movement.

Him backing her into the wooden structure, mouth relentlessly crushing against hers, fingers tugging her hair out of its fastenings. The desperation is something Shachi has never felt from him before. She is surprised and confused, but most of all pleased, and she doesn't dare tell him any of that for fear he'll stop.

Instead, she murmurs unintelligibly into his lips and against his jaw, down the side of his neck.

That she missed him, that she thought of him constantly, are the children alright, why did he disappear, does he understand how much she loves him…?

He brushes it all of with a terse, strangled, "Later," while continuing to divest her of her clothing.

She chooses not to argue, busy doing the same, practically tearing his robes from his body. It's been so long, and still the actions are so familiar. She wants to weep at the feel of his bare shoulders beneath her hands, the scent of his hair and the scrape of his nails against her arms as he unwraps her garments.

When he suddenly freezes, becoming like immovable stone beneath her touch, she can barely hold back the cry of dismay.

"Indra?" she breathes, offering him a querying look from beneath hooded eyelids.

His expression has inexplicably gone hard, and he pulls away from her, eyes drawn downward. She doesn't understand what the problem is until she follows his gaze, staring down at the thin shift that can't disguise the swell of her stomach. She is larger than normal after seven months, but her voluminous robes still kept it hidden until now.

"You're with child," he states quietly, as if he doesn't quite believe it.

"Yes," she answers, puzzled by his disquiet and already missing his touch. This shouldn't be an unfamiliar sight to him, but then he has always refrained from being intimate with her during pregnancy. That's probably it, and any other time she could take that, but not right now when they've just been reunited. Maybe she can convince him –

"Whose?"

The word is delivered silently, but its impact is like a blow to the chest. She is so stunned she has to repeat it several times in her head to ensure she heard correctly; when she realises she did, it's almost as if she has been stabbed.

The shock of his query obliterates every trace of her ardour.

"Yours," she replies faintly, because he can't think…he couldn't possibly…?

Oh, no.

"That's impossible," Indra says, voice deceptively calm. "You've been gone."

"I…I discovered I was with child the day I was taken," she explains, her voice going a shade higher in sudden panic. He has taken a step back, his expression drawn. "I had hoped to tell you when you returned, but…"

"Is that so," he challenges, without really asking the question.

"Of course!" she cries, desperate. "Did Dewadasi not tell you? She was the last person I saw that day, surely you would have asked her?"

For a split-second he appears to be contemplating her words, hesitant, as if he truly wants to believe her. There is something – something in the darkness is whispering. It is sly and oily, and makes her skin crawl, but she can't make out the words.

His eyes harden again.

"The forest where you disappeared was destroyed," he tells her stiffly, but something like uncertainty lurks in his eyes. "There were bodies everywhere. Too blackened to identify. It was clear you had been attacked and defended yourself."

She knew she had caused some damage, but she hadn't realised…

"You thought I was dead," she realises then, horror and pain hitting her. "Oh, Indra…"

"If you were not dead, where have you been?" he asks coldly. "Our children have been mourning their mother all these months. I hope there's a good reason for that."

He very carefully doesn't mention his own reaction to her perceived demise.

She opens her mouth to answer, but words fail her.

Be careful. The wrong word here could be disastrous, Sakura cautions.

"It was…it was a grievous misunderstanding," Shachi tells him, but the words ring flat even to her hears.

"Misunderstanding," he repeats, as if he has never heard the word.

"He never…it wasn't his intentions for it to happen, just someone taking his wishes out of context and –"

"Where. Where. You."

Shachi exhales in defeat. "I was taken to the house of your father and brother."

Indra's nostrils flare. "Asura."

"I swear to you, he did not know about it until I arrived there, and he reprimanded those responsible," she says quickly. "He wanted to return me as soon as possible, but then I became ill, and then winter set in and –"

"You defend him so ardently," Indra sneers. "I should have known – the chakra of the man who was with you. It familiar. I've met him before, I think." His fists clench. More to himself than to her, he mutters, "Was my brother not satisfied with my birthright? Is this one more thing he meant to take from me?"

"I – I am not a thing!" she cries, in spite of her mounting fear. "Why would he want me? He has his own wife!"

"A wife who is barren if the rumours are true," he replies coldly. "While you have proven to be the opposite."

Did he really just say that? Did he hear himself say that? It's completely crazy!

He might as well have slapped her. With one sentence, he has reduced their relationship, every intimate moment to nothing but a burden of function.

Pain and disbelief churn within her, but surprisingly, anger is what rises above both of those.

"Don't," she whispers, the sound harsh and punched from her lungs. "Don't pretend. Not with me. All of this time, I've allowed you to feign indifference because you clearly needed to, but don't…don't reduce what my heart feels to no more than the duty of a brood mare."

"It doesn't matter to me what feel. I warned you the day you came with me that your purpose was to provide me with children," he dismisses. "You have served that purpose. Although perhaps your make-believe world of love was so convincing that Asura's spies thought your value to me was greater. I imagine he intended ransom, until he realised you lacked worth."

"Lord Asura would never do that," she insists before she can stop herself, too wrong-footed by his cutting words to think of anything else to say.

"Lord Asura, is it?"

"He's your brother, In – my lord husband! I only meant – his wife was ill," she attempts. "Her womb was closed, but once I helped her –"

"You healed the wife of my enemy?" he demands, low and dangerous.

"It w-was the right thing to do!" she protests. Although her inborn instinct is to fall to her feet, to beg him to forgive her, her time as a healer has made her instinctively protective of her patients – however short-term and however absent.

And Kanna is her friend.

"Was falling on your back for Asura the right thing as well?"

Her eyes widen then, and even Sakura feels blown away by the disbelief.

"Why would I ever do that?" she cries. "When have I ever been unfaithful to you?!"

His eyes rove once more over her stomach, as if that is answer enough, and they briefly gleam red.

Sakura suspects right then that he is going to kill her.

Shachi makes the same connection about a half-second later. This understanding comes with a strange, emotionless clarity, a detached sense of the inevitable. She has faced death by this man's hands before, but this time she knows there will be no reprieve. His cold eyes are telling her just that.

Strangely, she feels no fear for herself; her only thought is of their child, sleeping beneath her heart.

A child that was meant to be a beacon for the future, but who will never get the chance. She thinks back on her father-in-law's words, wonders if he wasn't just speaking of hopes instead of seeing into the future.

And then it becomes clear to her exactly what she has to do.

Not just you, Sakura thinks in angry desperation. She forces herself to concentrate, trying to will her own strength through whatever veil of time and dreams keep her and Shachi from interacting. We'll protect this child with everything we have!

She's done it before, helping Shachi recover while ill, lending Indra chakra to survive. Shachi has fire nature, one of the stronger chakra natures, and from the degree of destruction she is capable of, she can likely survive a lot. Maybe even create a protective barrier around herself. Sakura has regenerative capabilities, and if she can just awaken those here, channel them into her, they can –

What? Save ourselves? Even if I can miraculously transfer my chakra to you, it's not a permanent fix if he wants to kill us.

"No…" Shachi whispers. "You can't truly believe this…please, Indra – if any part of you has ever felt even a shred of warmth toward me, don't let it be marred by this suspicion. Since the moment we met, I have lived only for you. And over the years, our children… I would never let anything jeopardise that."

His jaw works at this, and she can see something like doubt there – reluctance. He doesn't want to kill her, but every action he has ever taken demands it of him.

We have to give him a reason – something to make him pause again, like he did when we mentioned finding out about the baby before being kidnapped!

If there's anything else in the world Indra wouldn't deny caring for, it's his children.

"At least stay your hand until our son is born," Shachi whispers, cradling her belly. She doesn't understand how she knows the child she is carrying is a boy, but it's as certain to her as her own name. "He will be your greatest legacy – the mightiest of our offspring, the one who will inherit your strength and your resolve. He will fan the flames of your will, and beget a powerful clan – an unbroken line that will gain more power with every generation."

Somehow, she sees all of this clearly in her mind, as if it is happening before her. She wonders if the old man passed his foresight to her when they said farewell.

Indra's eyes gleam, and she knows that for all his anger, he is listening to her. He is considering it –

The whispering is back now, louder but still unintelligible; it sounds almost cajoling, like it's trying to reign Indra's rage back.

Zetsu, Sakura realises dimly. Of course – he wouldn't want to lose this opportunity.

He wants to corrupt Indra's line. And even if Shachi were lying, and this child were Asura's, having access to it would mean Zetsu could more easily engineer a Rinnegan and figure out a way to bring Kaguya back.

Sakura knows how that story goes only well; it would be disgustingly ironic if that's what saves Shachi in the end.

"You would use the child to buy yourself time?" Indra asks, contempt lacing his words.

"I don't care about myself," Shachi replies. "I only want him to live. Even if I die today, everything I told you will come true. Except…" She remembers Hagoromo's warning. "Our son and all of his descendants may see with the same eyes as you possess, and yet be blinded by ambition. They will love with the same intensity that I have loved you, but will be doomed to lose that love in pursuit of power."

"Do you mean to curse me now?" Indra asks her coolly. "If so, your words do not worry me. Love is a weakness that exists only in those doomed to expire and be forgotten."

Tears run down her cheeks now.

"I love this child," she whispers, "as I love you. Neither of these truths will ever be forgotten."

"Your words are pretty, but they mean nothing if the child is not mine."

Shachi clenches her fists at the insult.

The Sage was right. There is no hope of her husband escaping his hatred. Not in this lifetime.

And this time, it's Shachi who glares up at her husband, furious and hurting and still desperately hopeful.

"If you were to call down lightning from the skies or set me alight with your strongest flames, I swear on my love and fidelity to you that they would not touch him," she vows over the sensation of her heart breaking. "Only a child born of our union could survive such a thing."

Wait – what? What are you doing! You're practically throwing down the gauntlet!

"Do you think because you are with child that I will hold back?" Indra challenges.

"Of course not," she responds softly. "I only hope it makes you take pause. Because if you do this, you cannot undo it. You are not so mighty that you can resurrect the dead, my love."

And she knows right away she said the wrong thing, because Indra doesn't take well to reminders of his fallibility.

He face looks like the shadow of death itself, and they both know that there is no more time.

Protect the baby – we have to protect the baby!

Shachi frantically sends every bit of chakra she possesses toward her womb, surrounding the infant there with a protective cushion of energy. Her panic radiates across the link to Sakura, who finds herself doing the same – just as she did when she breathed air into Indra's mouth on the beach, or when she saved him from poison. It's a supreme effort of will, but this child must live.

Especially if it's in any way connected to her own.

"Husband, I hope that one day your heart can be cured," Shachi tells him sadly. "Only then can new hope be born to your line…only then will you no longer need your sons to fight and die for your legacy. And when you realise I have spoken nothing but truth to you and how deeply your hatred has scarred you – know that I died still loving you despite the action you take tonight. If it takes the rest of your life, or many lives, I will wait for you. If I had an eternity, I would spend it waiting for you to return from the darkness that has you ensnared."

"You don't have an eternity," he tells her, raising a hand to point at her. His eyes spin into the sinister six-pointed star.

"Don't tell him my death came by your hands," she begs, trying to stir some last flicker of emotion from him. "Don't tell any of them – if you ignore anything else I have, said…please. Tell them I thought of them in my last moments."

He pauses here, the muscles in his face working like he's trying to hold back something.

"Irritating woman," he calls her, offering the tiniest, least perceptible nod of acquiescence. For one brief second, she thinks he might relent.

Then his Sharingan glows.

"Amaterasu."

Black flames engulf her and she screams.

夢

"Sakura! Sakura, wake up now, damn it!"

Someone is shaking her, lightly slapping her cheeks, and when she opens her eyes, the first thing she sees is a glowing red iris. Shrieking, she shoves her assailant away, the force of it causing him to land on his back several yards away.

It doesn't seem to phase him, because he instantly beside her again, Sharingan and Rinnegan both gleaming, determined and panicked.

"Sakura, it's me," he tells her softly, hand raised as if caught between defending himself from her or reaching out to her. "You're alright. You're here with me, and you're awake –"

She's not listening.

Instead, she is sobbing, struggling free from the blankets, clutching at her abdomen and trying to see if there's anything that shouldn't be there. Blood, or amniotic fluid, something to explain the sharp ache in her uterus that woke her.

But there is nothing in the sheets, and the pain is phantom.

"Sakura…"

"You…" she gasps, breath staggering as she comes back to herself. Reality begins to coalesce.

Sasuke, not Indra; Sakura, not Shachi.

"H-he killed her!" she sobs, barely taking in Sasuke's stunned expression. "He…she was trying to convince…she didn't…she never…and she was pregnant! And he…the flames! Black flames!"

And she's heaving and convulsing with pain and grief – emotions that aren't just her own, even if she feels like she is very much alone in her head right now. This time when Sasuke reaches for her, bringing his arms around her back and pulling her close, she doesn't push him away. She leans in, pressing her face into his chest to muffle to sobs.

Sakura doesn't know how long they stay like this, but Sasuke's grip never wavers. As the fear and disbelief finally leave her, she tries to speak again.

"She tried to save him, and she couldn't," she whispers dully.

"It was too late for him."

She pulls away, shooting Sasuke a look of surprise and protest, but his expression remains adamant.

"Yes, Sakura, it was. He was a man grown when he met her, and he'd already given into his hatred, even long before it was a curse."

"But…but you were saved…"

"I'm younger than he was," Sasuke tells her in a gentler tone. "I had you. And I had Naruto, and even Kakashi. You were all trying to save me. Indra never had anyone like that until it was too late."

"He still cared for her, though," Sakura says, desperate. "If he cared for her, why did he kill her? He knew she would never be unfaithful, he had to know it, but he –" She trails off, the details of her dream jumping out at her again. "Zetsu. He was there. I think he was trying to stop him, but –!"

"Tell me what happened."

She is still shaking, shock making her fidgety and nervous, and in contrast Sasuke is utterly still. She reaches for his hand, needing something to ground her while she tells him. And it's as if she is reliving it again as she details Shachi's reunion with her husband, the first kiss that she felt down to her own bone marrow, and then his irrational anger. The heat of the black fire.

By the end of it, she is weeping again, curled up on Sasuke's lap with her head tucked beneath his throat.

"Why would he do that?" she can't help repeating, over and over. "After everything…it makes no sense."

"I think that was a rare moment when even Zetsu's carefully controlled manipulations wouldn't have been able to stop him."

"I don't understand…"

"It was too much for him to take," Sasuke tells her quietly. "He was overwhelmed." Sakura makes a strangled, questioning noise in her throat. "You said yourself – when he saw her, it was as if something within him snapped. He was pleased she was there, more relieved than he would have ever expected. He lost complete control of himself. Probably for the first time in his life."

"Sasuke?" she shifts to get a better look at his face and sees that he is staring into the flames, brows furrowed in thought.

"It was likely the most vulnerable he had ever been," he goes on. "And then, in the height of that vulnerability – at the moment when he finally allowed himself to give in, to entertain the thought of happiness and of trusting someone – he discovered she was pregnant."

"But he didn't even stop to think…"

"Even the average man would have some doubt after seven months of absence," Sasuke tells her. "Indra was paranoid. And it wasn't a simple absence, either, but his wife spending time in the company of the person he hated the most in the world."

"His mind went to the darkest possible scenario," Sakura realises faintly.

"And that would have escalated quickly, amplifying every other negative emotion or insecurity he had. Maybe she wasn't kidnapped – maybe she fled. Maybe she betrayed him, in which case he felt he shouldn't be welcoming her, but punishing her."

"So, no matter how many times she told him the truth, he wasn't ever going to listen," Sakura concludes sadly.

"But he did listen," Sasuke points out. "If he hadn't, he would have killed her instantly. Even then, he was wrestling with his own doubts, and it gave her the chance she needed."

"To curse him," Sakura remembers with a shudder.

"To try to save him," Sasuke replies. "If what you said about her last words are any indication, they weren't meant to curse him – they were her hopes that he would be cured of his hatred. And not just him, but their child and all of those descendants. From where I'm standing, that happened."

Sakura pulls away from Sasuke, kneeling under her own power now and frowning at him. "You think the baby lived."

"I know it lived."

Her heart beats hopefully, but her practical mind makes her shake her head.

"It's unlikely. She was only seven or eight months along. Premature babies don't have the highest survival rate now, back then, without the right medical care, and the fact that – " She shudders here, the imagery making her stomach twist, " – Indra would have had to cut it out of Shachi's dead body –"

"The child survived," Sasuke insists. "She – and perhaps you – made sure of that. It wasn't touched by the flames that killed its mother. A mother who, with her dying breaths, vowed their child was going to have a purpose and a destiny."

"'Fan the flames'," Sakura remembers. "The Sage said it too. That there would be more destruction before things got better. That there would be heartache if she wasn't – oh! He knew she was going to die!"

"And he knew that without her in the picture, the child would go on to father a bloodline that would become more and more powerful, and more and more cursed," Sasuke confirms. "The Uchiha."

"That's why the child wasn't included on that Kaguya clan mural. He was different from the others," Sakura understands now. She suddenly has no doubt that the child, the baby Shachi sacrificed herself to save, would have inherited more of his mother than the others. The inherent talent for fire jutsu, the blind devotion to family –

She gasps.

"It wasn't Indra's fault," she murmurs, staring at Sasuke in shock. "I thought it was – when I met him, when I saw how he acted around her and then later the children, I thought that's where it comes from. That unwavering love that can make you…that can make you into a monster. But you were right – he wasn't capable of that, not really. But Shachi – that came from her, didn't it?"

"Back during the war, Tobirama Senju told me that the Uchiha feel more deeply and more passionately than any other bloodline," Sasuke agrees. "They shatter much more completely than others as well, turning to hatred as if a switch has been flipped."

"Shachi's love – Indra's hatred."

They are quiet a long while.

"But that's over now, isn't it?" Sakura finally says. "Indra's curse broke with you. When you and Naruto had your big, epic grudge match. That's not the sort of thing that can just…start up again, right? That's not something that our child will ever have to worry about?"

"I honestly have no idea," Sasuke tells her. "I don't think so. I believe it's like a blade – once it's broken, it has to be entirely re-forged to be of use again." He frowns. "The only thing I don't understand is why you've had these dreams to begin with. If she was trying to warn you or inform you about Indra's curse, and the Uchiha…it's a little late. The curse was broken."

"Unless…" Sakura begins thoughtfully, an idea occurring to her that slowly causes bits and pieces of information to connect in her mind. "Unless it's more than one."

"More than one what?"

"Indra's curse was broken," Sakura reflects. "Shachi's wasn't."

"I don't follow."

"She was waiting for you – him," she says slowly. "Like I was waiting for you, so that I could tell you that I forgive you."

Sasuke is silent a beat, and then meets her gaze with an intensity that was absent moments ago. "And do you?"

Sakura smiles softly. "You already know I do. I told you that a long time ago."

"Not for what I did," Sasuke says quietly, and the way he is watching her now chases the smile from her lips. "For what he did."

"I…"

"For the things he didn't do," Sasuke goes on, a muscle in his jaw working. "For not being the man she deserved him to be. For never saying 'thank you' for everything she gave him, and not letting her save him. For killing her."

And she wonders right then if it's a trick of the firelight upon his face, of if she doesn't see the shadow of Indra there, awaiting her answer.

"You stupid man," she tells him with soft affection, and the words that tumble from her lips feel like there is a double timbre to them. "I forgave you the minute my spirit left my body. You just needed to be ready to accept it."

The kiss that follows is startling in its intensity, setting her nerves and synapses ablaze as if she too had been set on fire. It is desperate at first, an insistent press of lips and threading of fingers into hair – and she's not quite sure who initiated it. It's not exactly forceful, but still driven by more than just hers or Sasuke's need. The surrounding world goes silent – there is no gentle breeze or rustle of leaves, no warmth from the dying embers, no scratch of their blankets – and existence narrows to their shared breath and syncing heartbeats. Something within her breaks with relief, as if a piece of her that has been long broken has finally been fitted back together.

They only separate when neither can breathe, and Sakura rests her forehead against Sasuke's.

"Sakura…?"

His voice is rough, strained from lack of oxygen and bewilderment.

"I'm me," she whispers to him. "She's gone now." She doesn't know how she knows that, but she's positive. She brushes her lips against his once more and then draws back. "And she was right. Even with everything, with resolving your issues with Naruto, trying to find redemption, even this trip – you weren't ready to forgive yourself. Not until this." She tugs at his hand, moulding slackened fingers until they lay across her belly. "Not until this child became real. And that's why I've been having these dreams. Because you didn't believe you had been forgiven – either of you. And you needed me to tell me you were."

Her husband looks as if he isn't sure what to say to this, but Sakura won't allow him to question this. She has never been more sure of anything.

"You said yourself our child is hope," she reminds him. "Remember? And you were right. This is an end of the cycle, a promise that we won't repeat those mistakes. The future of the Uchiha is going to be very different – and you know how I know that?"

Sasuke's expression is expectant, but there is a softness in his eyes instead of apprehension. "How?"

"Because for the first time in centuries, I'm fairly certain the main Uchiha line is going to have a daughter," Sakura informs him with smug certainty.

The stunned face he makes absolutely rivals the one he made when she first told him she was pregnant.

終わり

Wow.

I'm actually done.

I think this is the first long-fic that I've actually completed in this fandom. I feel fairly accomplished right now, especially considering this was supposed to be just a one-shot for SasuSakuFestival!

Final edits will be done whenever I and my beta can get to them. I may flesh out some things or tweak others, but this is pretty much how I intended to end the story from the beginning, so don't expect major changes.

I know some of you want other details, and likely have questions that have remained unanswered. I figured I'd keep things vague so as not to accidentally rewrite certain ninja abilities, and of course, to keep the mystery alive :) Besides, I'm planning to write a long original work based on Indra and Shachi, and I don't want to give away too much. As it is, the glimpses of Indrachi relationship were only ever meant to offer more dimension to the Sasusaku relationship, not act as a gateway to an entire other plot, and I feel they've done that.

A huge, HUGE thank you for all of you awesome readers who took the time not only to read my story, but to leave comments. I wouldn't be as inspired to write this story if it weren't for you guys being so interested!

You're all amazing!

クリ

Epilogue