Clean Through

AN: Somehow I got behind on updates here by a couple chapters, so I'll get them both posted up this week sometime so that we'll be in sync for the new chapter I'm working on. Sorry about that guys!


Naruto swallows hard when his words seep into the night air unanswered. Sakura looks at him like she's looking right through him, and he's never seen her appear so drained. He'd say she's utterly expressionless except she looks so damn tired as she steps forward to close the gap between them. You're still beautiful. He can taste the words on his tongue, but he knows: now's not the time.

He steals quick glances at her out of the corner of his eye when she pauses by his side. And he can't help but feel afraid.

What will they be after this—after she keeps walking and chooses to leave him behind? He's not foolish enough to think they'll be able to go back to normal, no matter how hard he tries.

He didn't want to become just another black mark in her existence, another heartache. This is why he shouldn't have given in that first time in the forest. He could have been happy as her friend forever, knowing he was valued at least in that way: he didn't have to be her everything. It's a pretty lie, but pointless and mostly just upsetting.

Gingerly, she hooks her arm through his and leans her weight against him, head resting on his upper arm. He feels panicky, flighty—worries he'll break under the weight of the silence, and it takes several moments for him to relax into her. She clings to him, but he can tell it's more out of exhaustion than anything.

“It's been a long day.”

He nods his understanding, but really it doesn't tell him anything. He wants to put his arms around her but refrains, fearful she'll pull away. Fox chakra rises just beneath his skin like a red-hot tide. It ebbs almost immediately, leaving an icy burn in the hollow of his chest. It's an uneasy feeling—a false sense of security at best; he knows better than anyone how it can come crashing down in an instant, drown him in his own tumult of emotions without warning.

He shuts his eyes tight to keep their cinnabar coloration from giving him away. Don't look; don't look at my face. Don't look.

“Sakura-chan?”

Her fingers coil through his, pressing their palms together. “I told them. I won't give you up.”

He's surprised when he feels the first hot tear bead and streak down his face.
The thick, beryl-green coating sheens in the overhead light as Sakura examines the nails on her right hand from every possible angle before bringing them to her puckered lips. She exhales a cool breeze across the painted tips, shakes her hand to fan it in the air.

“I'm not sure I'd call this 'preparing for the mission', Sakura-chan.”

Naruto puffs air lazily across Sakura's left hand where he lifts in front of his face. But he's not complaining. . . mostly. After all, he'd chosen to accept the dainty hand she offered him, knowing full well what she wanted.

Honestly, he's just happy to see Sakura so at ease in his apartment. In the past few days it's felt more like a home than it has in years. Hell, he's just happy to see her in his apartment, period, as not less than thirty minutes ago—well, he didn't think it was ever going to happen again. And now she was wearing one of his over-sized t-shirts, hair tied back in a messy bun while she painted her nails on his bed.

She doesn't rise to his banter and it falls quiet save for the hushed sounds of their fanning.

“I'm sorry.” She has to force the words out finally, annoyed with herself at the difficulty it takes to push her pride out of the way even when it's for his sake.

He pauses mid-blow. He doesn't roll his eyes up to look at her from where he sits cross-legged on the bed, chin resting in the palm of one hand, elbow propped on one knee, but his fingers flex barely against hers where he grips her hand.

“I didn't think you'd get so worked up just because I was mad at you.”

He'd jerked her into his arms without warning, squeezed her so tight against his chest it'd been hard to breathe.

Naruto laughs, scratching the side of his nose sheepishly, but the gesture lacks any real weight. He knows she doesn't like him to pretend with her, but having covered up his emotions for so many years makes it a hard habit to break. She scrutinizes him, and he can tell that it's nagging at her—the slight annoyance over her own obliviousness, the inability to pinpoint the source of her unease.

She has no idea he thought she was going to dump him.

(Or would that be 'call off their agreement' because he's still not sure they're even 'together' in her mind.)

It's cute and saddening in a way, but also a relief, and he's not about to clue her in.

I forgive you. “Hmph, you should be. But more importantly, what are you going to do to make it up to me?” His smile is genuine this time as in the end, he can't resist the urge to tease.

She swats at him, nearly overturning the bottle of green nail polish on the mattress and he yelps.

“Hey, watch it!” he grumps. “I don't have spare sheets.”

She lets the full horror of that statement wash over her for now (sometimes she wonders how the boy has managed to get by on his own all these years), momentarily distracted. “Here, gimme your hands,” she commands, trying to curb her break-away smile.

Her nails are mostly dry now but he's furrowing his brows in exaggerated distrust as he eyes her, scowling to hide his trademarked, idiot grin. Finally, he relents, offering her his hands but still whines, “It'll look girly,” when she extracts the brush from the bottle, wiping excess polish along the inside rim.

She paints only the thumb on his left hand.

“There,” she says, blushing prettily, but he doesn't quite understand.

She starts on her toes in long, thick strokes, needing an excuse to avert her eyes. She doesn't look up when she explains softly, “This way everyone will know you're mine.”

His brain lags in its attempt to process the meaning behind her words, momentarily doubtful he's heard her right. He sucks in a sharp breath, chokes on the gob of spittle that lodges in the back of his throat, nearly pitches off the foot of the bed. “Guh.”

When he's finally able to regain his composure (chest bruised from the pounding of his fist for air), he muses aloud, “I've never been owned before.”

He has the sudden impulse to add something silly like take good care of me but keeps it to himself, blushing fiercely at the thought.

“Idiot.” She still hasn't looked up from her toes, but he can see the rosy tint to her cheeks.

He wants to kiss her. He reaches out to snag her attention with the sleek brush of his fingers across her forehead, but she says, “I'm thinking about getting my own apartment,” and he freezes, hand mid-air between them.

God, this was turning into one shock to his system after another. Did this mean her parents were kicking her out? He clenches and un-fists his hand, dropping it back to side in thoughtful silence.

“I don't think you should live by yourself.” His voice comes out more strained than he wants her to hear when he adds, “It's lonely.”

She glances up, eyes locking with his and, worried she's mistaken his intent, he's quick to clarify, “Maybe Ino or—”

“Naruto, this apartment is too small for two people.”

Her tone and expression are serious, utterly devoid of the playfulness she'd shown him not five minutes ago. He feels like he's trapped himself: look at the foolish fox getting his hopes up over the thought of cohabitation with a sometimes-lover he's not even sure wants to be his girlfriend. Isn't that funny.

He lowers his eyes, trying not to grimace at the sudden twinge in his chest. “I wasn't. . .”

“Did you plan to live here forever?”

His face was going to burn off if this kept up much longer. What was she getting at? “Er, I hadn't thought about it. I mean, no. No, I don't.” Unsure he can handle any further implications (rather: not wanting to actually get his hopes up) he cuts in, “Uh, ready to get some sleep, Sakura-chan?”

She eyes him suspiciously but sets the bottle on the bedside table and, testing to make sure her toes wont smudge, crawls under the comforter with a huff. She rolls her back to him and curls in on herself. Hugs a pillow to her chest.

He inwardly groans, rolling his eyes to the ceiling in a why-me gesture of exasperation. If he wasn't so much of a coward he'd ask her if everything was all right concerning her home situation. But he also knows that she'll talk to him about it when she's ready.

He flicks the lights off and sets the digital alarm for 4:30 a.m. They're set to meet at the gates by 5:05 a.m. which is less than six hours from now. On second thought, he sets the alarm for 4:15 in case he can convince Sakura to take a joint shower. It wouldn't do to feel rushed.

They should be ready and on their way to the border before sunrise. That is, assuming Kakashi-sensei wasn't overly late.

He's not sure if it's okay to strip naked (he's pretty sure Sakura's not in the mood and would take it the wrong way), but he doesn't want to sleep in a pair of pants again and briefly pauses to weigh the consequences. Normally, he'd be willing to risk the elbow to his jaw before being thrown out of bed with the order to put some clothes on, but his face is still tender so he ultimately settles on a compromise of some pale blue flannel pants sans boxers. And since it is actually getting colder, his favorite black and white night cap.

“You still wear that thing?”

Sakura's voice from the darkness gives him pause. Had she watched him change into his pajamas? Though probably she had looked over after he accidentally kneed the dresser.

“You're just jealous,” he teases as he eases himself onto the bed, hands searching for her under the covers.

“It's nappy. When's the last time you washed it.”

She scoots closer to him when his hand snakes across her stomach.

“Don't you dare,” he hisses, finally settling against her. He breathes deeply the scent of her hair, noses her shoulder blade.

Hours later she reaches across from him to silence the alarm. He wipes at a patch of crusted drool in the corner of his mouth, rolls onto his stomach and buries his face against the pillow. She kisses a chaste line down his spine. Un-bunching the sheets from around his hips, she covers half-way up his back and hesitates, watching as he lightly snores. It's not the most attractive image in the world, but it's him and she's finally willing to admit to herself that it makes her happy. Biting at her bottom lip to suppress a smile, she reaches out to run fingers along the worn edge of his night cap, rubbing her thumb back and forth against the soft fleece where it touches the top of his ear. Silently, she slips out of bed and pads across the carpet, heading for the bathroom. She can at least let him sleep until she's finished with her shower.
Kakashi is only late by a few minutes (which is unusual in itself) and when he arrives he has Yamato with him. “Hokage-sama decided Naruto could use an extra escort,” he explains as the puff of smoke dissipates from around them.

Naruto huffs and Sakura only nods. Sai doesn't do much of anything. From the looks of things—Naruto's obvious glower, his and Sakura's proximity to each other yet distance from Sai—this could only mean one thing.

“Sai, try to refrain on the insults for the duration of this trip, please.”

Sai is quick to verbally comply but it's essentially the equivalent of a shrug. Yamato shakes his head: It's something different this time. But catching Sakura's growing discomfort, Kakashi lets the matter drop.

“Okay. Let's head out.”