As a medic, Sakura is probably more prepared for the various symptoms of pregnancy than the average woman. She's studied the theory, administered pre- and postnatal care, and has delivered more than a few babies; at first it was only under the watchful eye of her mentor, but since she and Sasuke have been travelling to more remote villages, it's an occupational hazard.

So, her own first trimester is about what she expects – it's actually easier.

Morning sickness isn't as bad as she worried it would be – in fact, it's not so much morning sickness as random-moments-in-the-day sickness. Even then, it's more gentle queasiness than anything else. There are only two mornings she spends with her face buried in a nearby bush, while Sasuke holds back her hair.

There are a few of her favorite foods that she can't even think about without feeling nauseous. Still others cause her bizarre, desperate cravings she's never experienced before (tomatoes! She can't get enough tomatoes!). She also has to pee a lot more often which Sasuke is equal parts amused and irritated by depending on how much it delays their travel plans. And, good gods, she thought she was done getting pimples!

But what she wasn't expecting were the dreams.

From her studies and conversations with other expectant mothers, she anticipated the nonsensical, the silly, or even the highly sexual. What she ends up experiencing within days of confirming her condition is bleak, eerie, and a little depressing.

In the beginning, her dreams have a reoccurring theme. Whenever she closes her eyes, she finds herself walking along a beach. The tide is always out, leaving a vast, barren expanse of sand with shallow pools of water. The sky is always grey and foreboding, bracketed by cliffs in the distance. The detail in this place is staggering, despite the fact she's never spent much time on this seashore. Or any seashore, really.

Konoha is landlocked, and even her experiences during the war didn't give her much time to enjoy the coastline. Travelling with Sasuke, they've occasionally been to places like Kumo where beaches are more common, but never with express recreational purpose.

Despite this, the barren shore of her dreams feels as familiar and beloved to her as the forests and valleys of the Leaf Village. For whatever reason, she experiences a sense of utter safety during her dreamlike wanderings, which leaves her disconcerted and confused upon waking.

The pattern continues over several nights without change, until their return journey from Tsuki. That night, they have no choice but to bed down in a forest cave to avoid an incoming storm.

Since she told Sasuke of her pregnancy, he isn't as keen on sleeping outside. Sakura's assured him that, at this point, it really doesn't matter where they stop to rest, but he's been adamant. It's only when there's absolutely no other option that they sleep outside.

(She's trying not to find his overprotectiveness endearing, but she'd be lying if she didn't say she's been waiting her entire life for this.)

Despite the security of their defensive wards, Sasuke insists on taking the first watch – which they both know means he doesn't actually intend to close his eyes that night – and Sakura is too tired to argue. She expects this to lead to utterly dreamless sleep, and yet with almost no transition, she is back on the dream beach.

Only there is something different this time.

眠り

A dark form appears on the sand dunes of the horizon. She can't make out exactly what the shape is, but as she gets closer, she realises it's a human being.

"Hey!" she calls. "Are you all right?"

She begins to run, struggling through the unstable, damp sand, automatically reaching for her medical kit – only to discover it's not there. She doesn't let this deter her, however, and after what seems like forever, she skids to a stop in front of the person.

It's a man, she realises, based on the dimensions of the body, and he's badly injured.

He is face-down and, judging from the lack of movement, not breathing. When she reaches out to touch clammy, swollen skin and checks his pulse, she doesn't find it. The parts of his epidermis not covered by a waterlogged white robe are a mass of second- and third-degree burns, crisscrossing themselves like red, snaking roots of a tree. She's seen this before in electrocution victims except, from what she can perceive, there are no exit or entrance wounds on his body. It's as if lightning just passed across the surface of his skin.

Or...or channelled through his chakra points.

She reaches out to feel for the pulse in his neck, but finds, instead that her hand instead gently slap the man's cheeks, trying to wake him. A pit forms in her stomach at this, and she intends to channel her own chakra into the poor man, hoping to boost his heart and lungs back to working order.

But that doesn't happen.

Her hands keep probing the man for signs of life, and when she concentrates, reaching inward she can't feel any of her chakra. As a last resort she thinks to revert to novice healing, tries to fit her fingers together into the Ox seal, but they don't cooperate.

What the...

She considers her hands in confusion, and belatedly realises that they don't look like hers. These are paler and more delicate, with none of her scars from training.

And, most importantly, no telltale glow of healing energy.

No!

The horror at being stripped of the ability to save this man hits her like a punch to the gut, but rather than dwell on it, she shoves it out of her mind. She might still have a chance to save him, even if she can't do it the faster way!

Her body seems to be cooperating with this, at least, but it's almost as though struggling through quicksand. Her limbs are heavy and everything feels like it's happening on a delay.

Firmly but gently, she turns him around, intending to start compressions to his heart –

Only to recoil in shock.

Beneath the swollen, vein-scarred skin is Sasuke.

夢

Sakura wakes suddenly, her entire body jerking into consciousness. Sweat drips from her forehead, and she feels as if she's been running.

"Sakura?"

Her husband is a featureless shadow in the dark.

"You were on a beach," she whispers without preamble, her voice shaking. "You were unconscious, and I couldn't...I wanted to heal you, but I couldn't do it. And then I turned you around and I think you were dead, but there was no...I couldn't..."

"It was a dream," Sasuke assures her. When her body remains stiff and agitated, he reaches out and cups her face in his hand, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.

Sakura sighs, leaning into his touch, and the rigidity of her spine eases somewhat. "I know it was. It was just...very real."

"Your senses are heightened right now," he informs her quietly. "Your mind is likely drawing much more on sense-memory."

"I know that," she protests, smirking slightly at the fact Sasuke is quoting information he's read from a pregnancy book she picked up in the last village. She never saw him read it, but she remembers that exact sentence.

Not interested in baby books my ass, you big goofball!

"And you also know that I'm fine," Sasuke continues. From the frown she hears in his voice, she suspects he's noticed her smirk. "As are you."

"Other than being married to a know-it-all, I'm wonderful," she mumbles, curling up in front of him.

"Hm."

She feels his fingers in her hair, moving back and forth in a comforting rhythm. Sleep creeps up on her, ushered in by the calming sensation of fingertips brushing against her skull –

Sakura jerks back to full consciousness.

"Wait!"

He freezes. "What?"

"I have to pee," she announces, navigating away from him.

"Of course you do," he sighs, letting go of her.

When she finally gets back, Sasuke has fallen asleep. She suspects he just meant to close his eyes for a second, but then he's been going without sleep more often these days. She worries he intends to keep up the trend until they are safely back in Konoha – which could be months from now.

For this reason alone, she chooses not to wake him.

The wards will be enough.

She reclaims her spot beside him, burrowing in close and shifting so that her back is fitted against his chest. In his sleep, he drapes his arm across her waist, holding her close, and Sakura smiles into the darkness. He used to hold her like that when they were kids, too...though back then, he would rather swallow kunai than admit to it.

Sometimes on away-missions, their genin squad would have to sleep outside. Kakashi would take first watch – like Sasuke does now, having no intention of waking any of them to take the second – and the three of them would end up huddled together like puppies. They were usually so exhausted that no one had the energy to complain about sleeping arrangements. Sakura would end up sandwiched between the two boys to minimize any bloodshed – Naruto muttering in his sleep on one side, and Sasuke curled protectively into himself on the other.

But sometimes, very rarely, he would end up lying against her, arm slung over her hips, breathing against the back of her neck.

She never slept well those nights, too shocked and pleased to do anything but marvel at being so close to him. He'd wake before everyone else, and she'd feel him recoil as if burned, and then his warmth would be gone.

Sakura never mentioned it in waking hours because she expected him to be embarrassed. He never said anything either, even though he would've known she was awake. Kakashi looked knowing beneath his mask, but acted like he hadn't noticed any of it at all.

Now, though, she has no trouble falling back to sleep within Sasuke's embrace, and thankfully, there are no more dreams that night. When the first rays of morning sunshine peek into their shelter, instead of pretending he hasn't spent the night wrapped around her, Sasuke hides his face in her shoulder and determinedly ignores her attempts to coax him awake...until she cheats a little, ducking under their covers and using lips and tongue in her most convincing argument. The sound of his strangled cries and panted curses echoing off the damp walls of the cave are completely worth the attempt at a reproachful look he gives her afterward.

"We're not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves," he reminds her.

"Then you should learn to be quieter," she retorts, wiping her mouth. When he growls and snatches at her, trying to pull her down beneath him, she dances out of his way and singsongs, "Come on! We're going to be late."

The rest of the morning progresses in the usual fashion with them trekking through the forest to their next destination. It's quiet, which is the norm – she and Sasuke don't always talk while they travel, existing in a silence that's more a perfect dynamic of companionship than a need to avoid possible threats. It's a time for reflection, or just being together.

Although today, her usually peaceful thoughts are clouded by analysing her dream. It's bothering her, hanging on where most dreams would retreat to her subconscious immediately. She supposes it's because she was reminded of her helplessness, a state she's actively avoided since she was a teenager.

If Sasuke notices her preoccupation, he says nothing. Until she volunteers the information, he won't pry. So, she decides not to say anything because it sounds ridiculous in her head, let alone out loud.

They just make it to the overnight ferry which, it turns out, is not helpful to her queasy stomach. She spends most of the voyage heaving over the side of the boat, or curled in a foetal position in their cabin. Only as they're nearing their destination does her exhaustion finally allow her to give in to sleep.

眠り

She finds herself back on the beach, kneeling in front of an unconscious Sasuke.

Only it's not Sasuke, she realises in relief. His features are more delicate, and his hair is lighter – despite being so thoroughly soaked – and much longer.

Her healer's instincts have already prompted her hands to check for signs of life. He isn't breathing and she can't detect a heartbeat. Judging from the burns and bruises, she'd say he's suffered both electrocution and massive trauma, as if thousands of fists careened into him.

For a split second, she goes to heal him before remembering that here – wherever here is – she has no such ability. Swearing, she rearranges his body so that he is supine on his back, and prepares to restart his heart manually.

At least...she thinks she's the one who decides to do that. The body she inhabits in this dream world seems to have a mind of its own.

Pressing the heel of her hand on the centre of his chest, she begins to count out loud, watching his chest with each compression. After a minute or so, she leans down to check his airway, tilting his head back and lifting his chin.

There is still no indication of breathing, and she pinches his nose closed, covering his mouth with hers and breathing in to him. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his chest rise and feels her hopes rise with it.

That's good, at least, no punctures or obstructions.

But when she pulls away, he doesn't continue on his own.

Swearing, she restarts the compressions.

"Don't...you...die..." she orders him with each downward press.

You're...not...him...but...I...won't...let... you! Sha...na...ro!

The cycle of compressions and breaths continues almost without end. It goes far past the point where she would've stopped for anyone else, but she can't take the chance. If this person is anything like Sasuke, he will live. He has to live.

Again the overwhelming sense of slogging through quicksand is back, this dream body of hers already pulling away in defeat, but she wills her borrowed hands back into place, growling and cursing as she fights her way forward again, forcing herself against the barrier of her dream and his chest.

As she pulls away from his lips once more, preparing to push down on his chest, the stranger's body seizes and his mouth opens in a gasp.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she cries, sitting back on her thighs to give him room. "You're all right. Just lie still, and try to breathe, okay? You had me scared for a –"

Sakura's words die in her throat when the man's eyes shoot open, and the coldest, red irises she has ever seen meet hers. She's hit by a wave of terrifying certainty about two things just then –she knows these eyes better than any other and, if he wanted to, this man could stop her heart with just a look.

夢

She jolts awake with a cry of surprise.

"What? What's wrong?!"

Sasuke is kneeling beside her, his hand on her arm, staring at her with an expression of thunderous concern.

"It was you," she gasps, thoughts colliding too quickly in her brain to make sense. Her words come out jumbled. "It was you, but it wasn't you, but it was your eyes. And you were unconscious, but I saved you, I think, but it was...it was like that day, and I though you...I thought he was going to..."

"Slow down," Sasuke instructs her. "Start from the beginning."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, coaching herself to remain calm while she carefully relays everything. She tells him about the strange dreams she's been having, how they were recurring at first, but now somehow seem...

"Continuous?" he supplies.

She nods because there's no other way to put it. "I don't know what this means."

Sasuke frowns.

"I want you to tell me if this happens again," he tells her finally.

"How would that help?" she asks.

"I don't know," he replies. "But I'd feel better knowing what you know."

She knows her husband doesn't like the idea of an obstacle or opponent that he can't fight. Perhaps he thinks that the more information he can get from her dreams, the more likely he'll be able to help her. She also knows that he is compulsive about these things, and will fixate over it until there is some kind of resolution – which there may not be.

She offers him a bright smile. "I'm sure it's nothing. I'm getting ahead of myself. Making something out of nothing, the way I sometimes do. I'll be fine."

Sasuke frowns like he doesn't completely believe her, but nods stiffly.

And it seems that she's right, anyhow. The next few nights, her dreams are once again no more than fleeting impressions. She experiences imprints of faces, moments in time, but no startling interactions with the man whose Sharingan is an exact copy of her husband's.

It seems her subconscious has backed off a little, and she's set to shrug it off as strange pregnancy related dreams after all.

But then it starts again.

眠り

The man with Sasuke's face – But different. It's different! – is unable to move or speak. His horrible eyes fade into a dull black almost at the exact moment she is conscious of being back in her dream, suggesting he is far too weakened to do anything. Still, he watches her distrustfully, as if expecting her to reach out and smother him or something.

"I am here to help you," she tells him quietly, hating the warble in her voice – and the fact her voice is somehow softer than it should be. "There's no need to worry. I'm here for you."

If possible, he eyes her with more distrust.

If you think glaring at me is going to scare me off, you've got another thing coming. I've seen much worse.

Oddly enough, the picture that immediately comes to mind is not her husband's chilling stare, but a stranger's face twisted into a snarl. The man is utterly nondescript, but the ugly rage there makes her body shiver reflexively. But there's no time to contemplate who it is or what it means with a patient to help.

Her eyes rove over his body, taking in the strange – but familiar! – high-collared white robe, checking symptoms, and making a diagnosis in her head.

Chakra depletion and acute over-exhaustion. Whatever happened to him, he completely weakened himself to the point of handicap.

Either he has had the chakra drained from him, or actually managed to use it all up. It's something she has never heard of – chakra is so tied to a person's life-force that even when severely weakened they can't really use all of it.

It looks like her mystery patient has come pretty damn close.

Sakura has no idea how she's supposed to help him without her healing abilities, and with hands that don't necessarily do as she wants. She seems to have the power to influence rudimentary life-saving measures – skills anyone might have – but not her own hard-won knowledge. Glancing around the beach, she doesn't see anything that could be used as an elixir or healing balm. She's going to have to venture beyond the shoreline, to see if there's a forest or field nearby.

A tiny, nagging thought at the back of her mind tells her to run away. Without her abilities, she would not be able to stand against him if her assessment of his condition is wrong. Whoever this man is, he's dangerous.

But he is also important, she knows that deep in her gut, and she has to concentrate on fighting back that impulse to run away.

That doesn't matter. I'm a medic, I have to help my patient...somehow.

Doing so on the shore is going to be difficult. She briefly entertains the idea of carrying him to somewhere safer, but as she quickly discovers, she doesn't have the strength to do so. The man is tall and, under normal circumstances, probably heavy – as waterlogged deadweight, he's even worse.

Besides, carrying him anywhere might attract attention, and that could be dangerous for both of them. Wherever they are now, this place is foreign to her – possibly to him as well. She needs to think of something, and soon.

Something at the back of her mind tells her it would be very bad indeed if either of them were found here.

夢

Sakura awakens the next morning, frowning at the ceiling of their temporary quarters, mind running through the calculations needed for a woman of average strength to move an injured man the size and weight of her husband.

And possibly to look into lucid dreaming techniques because the idea of being a paralysed watcher in her own mind is getting annoying.

Once she figures out the first problem, she lingers quietly, puzzling out where she's seen the man's garments before. She and Sasuke have travelled so widely and in such a short time that they've seen any number of strange clothing styles. Perhaps her memories supplied it?

She's on the verge of an answer when she notices a hand snaking under the waistband of her pants.

"Oh, you think you're being sneaky, do you?" she challenges playfully, and then giggles when long fingers ease between her legs.

All thoughts of her subconscious patient disappear as she finds something much nicer to focus on.

眠り

More dreams follow, night after night, but by now, she expects them.

Sometimes, she's not by her mystery patient's side, instead crawling through a wooded area on hands and knees, gathering herbs and berries in her apron. Sometimes, she's at a river, filling water skins and trying – unsuccessfully – to catch fish with nothing but her hands.

Other times, she's with him, leaning devotedly beside him, pressing freshwater between his lips and crushing food into manageable portions. He accepts her help, all the while glaring at her resentfully. Often, when she does something he doesn't like, he makes a noise like a growl low in his throat.

He is still unable to speak, so she can't ask for his name.

During waking hours, Sakura finds herself researching procedures, poring through the few medical scrolls she's brought with her, or asking local healers about their traditional remedies. It takes every inch of her concentration in her dreams to affect even the slightest change, such as picking a certain herb or grinding roots into powder.

Sasuke remains ignorant of her nightly vigil and, although she isn't exactly keeping things from him, she's glad for it. He would worry needlessly, and though he hides it well, he's already anxious. So when he asks her about her dreams, she tells him nothing new has happened.

It's not really a lie, it's just...not completely true.

But she doesn't think he'd take kindly to her worrying so much about a figment of her imagination, especially as the sour-faced man in her beach dreamscape has started to grow on her.

"I hope you're not attached to your hair," she tells her invalid one day – night? – as she finally disparages of the snarled, wet hanks splayed beside him. "It's beginning to attract bugs. You don't want that – I know from experience how hard it is to get rid of them once you have them."

Wait, what?

She is startled. She has never had head lice – her mother saw to that – and yet, despite her rambling, the utter authority in her voice is undoubtable. It's as if the words were supplied from somewhere else.

Her patient's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes his lack of growls as permission and carefully hacks off the hair at shoulder length.

"There. It doesn't look so bad, I don't think – of course, I have had some practise. I have to see to my own often enough."

She's referring to her fastidious tendency to keep her hair cut while they travel, but that's not the image that comes to mind. Instead, she has visions of a cool, dark room, trembling fingers and a mirror balanced in front of her while she tries to even out the layers.

There's something indistinct and odd about the face in that mirror, however.

This happens sometimes. Images and ideas coming to her as she works on him. She can never make sense of them and passes them off as quirks of her psyche.

Or going batty from the stillness.

Her patient's constant quiet reminds her starkly of how Sasuke was when they were children. While she's now close enough to her husband that she finds their silences companionable, this person before her is a different story. The prolonged hush is driving her crazy, and she finds herself falling back on her childhood habit of rambling.

Not just rambling, actually. The things that come out of her mouth make her head spin. They are the utterly confusing, nonsensical words that characterise dreams – things that make perfect sense to her now, but which she knows will mean nothing to her upon waking.

"I suppose you must think I don't have a much else to do but be here," she tells the man once, adjusting the small brush fire she's started beside them. The wood she chose doesn't give off much smoke, but the heat is comforting – and it keeps his body heat constant. "I guess you would be right. Where I'm from, my existence is not much more than an afterthought. My father – well, he's important. He rules over this land. But my mother, she was a lesser wife who told everyone I was going to be a boy –"

She frowns at this, because that's not right at all, and yet the story falls from her tongue with the utter conviction of truth.

" – When I wasn't, my father wasn't happy. He had her put to death, and it's only because the priests said he'd be cursed if he spilled his own blood that I wasn't, too."

The story makes her stomach clench, her first-hand anger mingling with second-hand sadness.

"Everyone says I look just like my mother, and that's why my father doesn't care for me very much," she goes on matter-of-factly. "My older sister, though, he loves her. I...I would love her, too, I think, if she'd let me." She ducks her head, feeling embarrassed about admitting this. It feels like she's never said this out loud before. "But she's so busy, she doesn't have time. Father has sent for so many tutors and instructors for her that she's never around. See, she's the one who's going to make an advantageous marriage one day and make our country strong again. So, she has to be accomplished. She says it's a waste of time because she's so beautiful, and I think she's right. Men take one look at her and fall in love right away."

She sighs wistfully and the tiniest bit of jealousy seeps into her words.

"She has everything. I wish...I wish I could just have..." She trails off and shakes her head. "Never mind. It's not important. And all of this must be boring you, right?"

She smiles gently at her patient and is surprised to find that he's been listening to her the whole time with an intent expression. In fact, unless she's much mistaken, there's something else buried in the lines of his face.

It takes her a moment to realise that it's empathy.

夢

"Have you ever dreamed about being another person?" Sakura asks, glancing up from the trashy romance novel she's already read three times. It's utterly failed in its job of keeping her mind off her dreams, especially given this latest development where she's apparently made up an entire other life for herself. She decides to give up on the book.

They're enjoying a rare moment of downtime, a day not spent travelling or scouring villages for information about local disturbances. Across the clearing, Sasuke is carefully oiling and cleaning his katana, mouth set and brows drawn together in concentration.

"Sasuke?"

"Hm?"

"I asked if you've ever dreamed of being someone else? I mean, from the perspective of someone who wasn't you," she clarifies.

"No."

"Oh." She pauses. "Never?"

"Most of my dreams are memories. And I am always myself," he responds absently.

"Oh."

She spares a brief second to reflect on the sad truth in that – with a life like Sasuke's, she doubts his subconscious has ever been a retreat from reality – and tries to go back to her book, but the text is blurring together. Her already vague interest is gone, so she puts it down.

"I'm bored. Can we go for a walk or something?"

"We walk every day."

"I know that, but it's usually to get from Point A to Point B. I meant, let's just go for a stroll. Enjoy nature. Autumn's so pretty, and we won't get to enjoy ourselves so much once winter comes. And we won't have a lot of time alone, just the two of us, come spring."

"Hm. Fine. Let me finish this."

"I was also thinking of maybe stopping in the capital after all. They've got a library there, and I want to look a few things up. I know you hate big towns, but it'll only take a few days."

"Mm-hm."

Sakura frowns at him, trying to discern whether he's seriously paying attention to her or not. When he continues to wipe invisible detritus from the blade of his sword, she knows none of what they've just discussed has penetrated the thoughtful funk he's trapped himself in.

Time for a distraction then.

With quick movements, she stands and stretches. When he doesn't seem to notice, she goes on to unbutton the clasps of her tunic, then her bra, and pulls them both over her head.

"I think my breasts have gotten bigger since I've been pregnant," she says, pitching her voice a little louder than before. "What do you think?"

He doesn't so much as glance up. "Maybe."

"Excuse me if I don't trust your assessment – you're not even looking at me."

Sasuke lets out an annoyed sigh, shoots her a brief glance, and goes back to work. "Yes, you're bigger."

Sakura raises an eyebrow at this, mentally counting down the seconds, and is rewarded when the rag in his hand suddenly drops and he slowly looks up again, utterly bemused.

There we go.

Still, she pretends not to notice and cranes around to examine her backside as well. "I think I'm bigger down here, too. We have a measuring tape in our kit somewhere, right? I'm going to find out, since there's nothing else to do and you're so busy."

She turns away, reaching toward their bags.

There's a clatter of metal and the rustle of a cloak, and then an arm seizes her around the waist from behind.

"You don't have to resort to obvious tricks to get my attention," he murmurs quietly in her ear, and she shivers at the feel of his breath on the skin beneath her ear.

"Apparently, I do," she teases. "Besides, my tricks didn't ever work when we were younger. I consider this back pay."

"So you traffic in sexual favours now?"

"Who said anything about sexual favours?" she says innocently. "I'm just finding ways to occupy myself while you're clearly uninterest –"

"You've always been a horrible liar," he tells her, and proceeds to divest her of the rest of her clothing.

眠り

Her dreams return to the murky, fleeting glimpses in the next few nights, and for a long time, she barely interacts with her mysterious patient. Sometimes, she still dreams of scouring the woods for things to help him, but more and more often, she begins to see darker, more troubling things.

Sometimes, her slumber is assaulted by the downright upsetting.

On occasion, she'll find herself cold, shivering convulsively in a drafty room. She is exhausted, but doesn't sleep, eyes focussed on the moon as she waits for morning to come. Other times – and this is even more troubling – she feels the familiar impact of fists against her face, a man's voice demanding where she wanders off to every day. She cowers, tears and blood streaming down her face, insisting she doesn't go anywhere, and hoping the lie isn't detectable.

These brief glimpses always leave Sakura annoyed upon waking, the sense of helplessness like an acrid taste at the back of her mouth. Since Sasuke refuses to spar with her since she's become pregnant, she spends those mornings doggedly running through her taijutsu forms or crushing boulders to dust. These are her only outlets because, in her dreams, she is maddeningly placid.

The next time she finds herself back with her mysterious patient, she smiles through the bruises on her face even if it's the last thing she wants to do. She's angry and wants to find the bastard who did this, show them exactly what she's capable of, but this dream body of hers doesn't let her. Instead, she smiles, pretending like she isn't in pain every time she moves.

The act isn't convincing – this man is as observant as Sasuke – but Sakura doubts he'll remark on it, given his reticence (real or enforced by his handicap).

Which is why she nearly has a heart attack when a dry, rasping voice breaks the usual silence.

"Where did you get those bruises?"

She actually physically jolts, looking around to see if someone's watching them. It takes an absurdly long time to realise that her mystery patient was the one who spoke.

"Did you just..." she stares at him in awe.

He is glaring at her again, ostensibly furious; if she knows that look as well she does, she gets the sense he's angrier at himself for speaking than over the state of her face.

"Are you able to talk?" she asks him, heart rising, hoping that now some questions can be answered. The question is tentative, though, afraid.

But he simply turns his head to one side. "Tch."

Sakura can't help but smile at that. She definitely knows this type of behaviour well. Her dream body seems to recognise it too, because she feels herself relax.

"I guess you used up all your strength to ask me that?" she muses lightly. "I appreciate that, but don't worry about me when your wounds were much worse. I'm really clumsy, always walking into things. I fell down the stairs this morning." She feels herself chuckling nervously, while she inwardly seethes at the lie. "There's a reason no one wants to teach me the shamisen. I would most likely put someone's eye out!"

But he exudes an aura of disinterest now and she sighs.

She should've asked for his name.

Their silent dynamic continues through montages that dance across her sleeping mind – of her gently rubbing healing ointments into his skin, bringing him clothing to replace his maddeningly familiar robes.

She continues to experience the puzzling, violence-fueled scenes as well.

Someone pulling her hair, a high, mocking laugh from a beautiful, ivory-skinned woman. Older sister, her mind supplies. Huddling on the floor, clutching her ribs as someone kicks her, displeased once more by something she's done or failed to do. The non-descript, sharp-eyed face again. Father.

She screams at herself to stand up and defend herself, but her body never listens. By the time she manages to raise a hand up to block a blow, it is too late, and she feels her ribs break.

Time passes and more often, she finds herself lying in a barren room, people tending to her and speaking in low whispers. She gets the sense that she is recovering from something – injury, most likely – but that knowledge fails to overtake the fervent sense of restlessness she feels.

If she's injured and bedridden, who is caring for her patient?

It feels like an eternity before she dreams of the beach again, and a stark relief hits her the day she finds herself wandering on that damp sandbar again...until she makes it to the spot on the shore where she's been tending to her mystery invalid, only to find he is not there.

Shock and disbelief fill her, competing with guilt that her injury kept her from checking on him. What if some wild animal found its way here and dragged him off? What if someone found him here, thought he was a foreign spy, and took him away?

Or worse.

I have to find him!

She makes a catalogue of possible places he can be, turns around to head toward the forest where she often sought medicinal herbs, and freezes.

Black eyes glare down at her, a sinister, six-pointed, red star at their centre, paralysing in their intensity. Her jaw drops in shock, but before she can say anything, he grabs her by the throat.

"Nn-gh!"

She clutches feebly at his hand, nails scrabbling in desperation against his skin as he lifts her off the ground. Her feet dangle uselessly in the air and her lungs constrict in their need for air. Confusion and dismay fill her.

"W-w-why?" she chokes out, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I am not weak," he tells her coldly, his voice no longer a rasp, but still low enough to make her shiver. "I did not ask for your help, and I owe you nothing."

She whimpers.

"Know that your death would mean very little to me," he goes on, tightening his grasp on her. Those horrible eyes gleam, and she knows that she's about to die.

Two emotions – utterly contradictory – war for supremacy.

The first – relief – does not belong to her, and Sakura knows it. She has finally realised that she is experienced someone else's life. Someone who faces this imminent death with a sense of relief, because it will be a swifter end than the one her abusive family is slowly driving her towards.

The second – a raw, instinctual fear – is hers, even as it is reduced to afterthought and powerlessness by her dream consciousness. She knows she's dreaming, she knows this isn't real, but what if something happens. They say if you die in a dream, your body dies too, and she can't let that happen!

The baby!

And so she fights.

She wills herself to struggle, ignores the mental and physical quagmire, the spots against her eyes and the burning in her lungs. She sinks her nails into the flesh of his hands, kicks her feet uselessly at him and glowers because how dare he?

Maybe some of her rage is visible, because something sparks in his gaze. His hand tightens again and she prepares for the end, knowing it's coming despite her desperation to survive –

Only to suddenly find herself in a heap on the floor, her airway miraculously free again.

Shaking off the dizziness that comes from breathing again, she looks up to see that he is now walking away from her. It takes a little longer for her to understand that she has been spared. She doesn't know if she is more relieved or disappointed.

"W-wait..." she whispers, her vocal chords aching from nearly being crushed. "Why...what...who are you?"

He pauses, but does not turn around, and she thinks he might kill her after all. But then...

"I am called Indra," he tells her quietly, his voice barely audible over the din of distant waves.

A flash of blue lightning envelopes him, and he is gone.

夢

"Indra."

Sasuke repeats the name slowly, sounding out the syllables as if the word is completely foreign to him. There is a deceptive calm in his voice, as if he is putting every shred of his considerable concentration into not reacting to Sakura's tale.

"It's...it's not exactly a common name, is it?" she murmurs tentatively, hanging on to that tiny shred of hope that's taken root since she awoke in a terrified sweat.

"No."

They regard each other in heavy silence. Neither knows quite what to make of this development.

"Do you..." she begins, then pauses, because the question is utterly ridiculous and there's no possible way... And yet. "Do you remember any of it?"

She doesn't know what exactly Sasuke saw or experienced when he interacted with the Sage of Six Paths, whether the transfer of his chakra also meant a transfer of memories. It's not a time they speak of very often.

"No. Whatever I knew that day disappeared quickly," Sasuke tells her quietly.

"Oh." She wraps her arms around herself. "So why am I dreaming this then? If anyone should be dreaming about you – past-you – it should be you. Or Naruto even. Unless –" She peeks up at him. "Maybe it's my past life?"

"Then why are you only experiencing it now, after everything we've seen?" he counters, the calm from earlier giving way to something sharp.

"I don't know," she admits. "It does kind of seem like something the Sage of Six Paths should have mentioned when we all met. But what else could it be? It's like I'm her, Sasuke."

Sasuke's eyes narrow in contemplation, jaw clenched and she swears she can hear him grinding his teeth. She reaches out – it's instinctive to want to comfort him, even though she's the one who woke upset – and places a soothing hand on his shoulder. The other automatically covers her still flat stomach.

Sasuke's eyes follow the movement, and then snap back to her face.

"The dreams didn't start until you found out you were pregnant," he says in a low tone.

"It's possible," she allows.

"That's the connection," he muses, almost to himself, staring into the distance like he is seeing something she can't. "He is the ancestor of the Uchiha...you're carrying the next generation...it has to have something to do with that."

"You really think so?" Sakura asks. The idea is unsettling.

"Do you have any other explanation?" he replies, almost harsh. The calm from earlier has begun to erode.

"Well, no, but we can't just jump to conclusions," she reasons. "Maybe it's just...maybe every woman in your clan has dreams like this. Or...or maybe only women who are about to give birth to someone of Indra's bloodline. Or –"

"Or maybe it's because I'm Indra's reincarnation that it's happening," Sasuke interrupts, running a hand across his face in agitation. His right eye flickers briefly between red and black. "Of course, we'll never know for sure and there's no one to ask because –"

"Sasuke, stop," she cuts him off, taking hold of his hand. She squeezes it, trying to transmit some sense of calm, despite the fact that his obvious panic is frightening her. She has never seen him lose composure like this, and her immediate instinct is to put a stop to it. "It's not something worth getting worked up about. These are dreams. Dreams that might not even be real, and are probably just my mind shoving together a bunch of information. You know, odd facts I know about you and me and maybe some of the plot from that horrible romance novel I was reading. If it helps, I'll stop reading it."

"Sakura –"

"Let's not worry too much about unwanted commentary from dead people, okay?" She makes a face. "And that is a sentence I never though I would say.

The look Sasuke gives her now is equal parts awed and disbelieving.

"You are taking this remarkably well," he says, sounding almost accusing.

Sakura tosses her hair. "I told you, didn't I? The day we met the Sage of Six Paths? Nothing will ever surprise me again."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he says stonily. "Are you sure you don't know any sleeping draughts you could take? Just to stop the dreams until we know more."

"Nothing that wouldn't harm the baby," she confides. "Relax, darling. I'm sure this is all just a big coincidence. We're reading too much into it."

"I'll have to watch out for you better. Until there's a way to protect you from this, I need to know everything you see."

Sakura snorts at this. "Right, and what exactly are you going to do, pry my eyes open when you think I'm having a nightmare and use the...Sharingan...to...Ehhh!" She sees the subtle shift in his expression. "You're actually th– no! No, no, no! You can't do that!"

"I wasn't going to. I was just...considering."

"Well, consider me breaking your nose!"

"...Using the Sharingan that way wouldn't be possible anyhow."

"Possible or impossible, that's never going to happen! You promise me right now, or I'll put you down so hard, losing an arm will look like a bee sting!"

Sasuke's skin turns a shade paler, and he nods.

つづく

_____

Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

クリ