[OPEN] CLINIC THREAD - DEATH CITY

[soul_mods]

Characters: OPEN
Location: Horrorspital, Death City
Rating: PG
Time: December 20 onwards
Description: For all your injury needs from all that cavorting around saving Christmas!

Comments

open | dec 20 - 22

[hatedriven]

[the first day they show up Sasuke is a flurry of activity, blowing by people with Sara's unconscious and bleeding body in his arms until the nurses take him away and rush him into surgery.

after that, the boy is at a loss. he'll be standing at odd corners of the hospital, ghosting in and out of Rei's room and then into Sara's room once the king is out of the operating room. he'll be covered in dried blood, his hands and his chest and his clothes, until someone gets him to change and clean himself up. but despite appearances he isn't injured. not physically, at least.]

[hatedriven]

[he knows she's talented. most of the shinobi of Konoha are, and while she had seemed to drag at times when they were young, he'd sparred with her enough, watched her enough, to know the difference now. she ducks around him easily.

sasuke wonders if he let her do it.

but he spins, his focus purposefully narrowed to this one goal. to catch her, heedless of the people around, or the glances they drew from the handful of passerbys. it was probably quite the sight, the bloodied nin charging violently after a medic, half leaping to bring his next attack down around her shoulders as they hit the street.]

[adamants]

[ The street is at least better than the entrance to the hospital -- she can hope that people won't try to get involved now. Pray that they won't. That they'll know better from watching that this isn't about violence, that there's no malice directed from one to the other.

Sakura almost forgets about his speed and the reminder of it comes in a burst of hot pain to her shoulders. Regardless, she spins in his arms, almost defaults to a partial weapon form but stops short of it. Instead, one hand curls into a fist, aims for his jaw -- she knows there's little chance of it connecting, follows it up with crouching; a sweep of her leg under his to try and knock him off balance, if only for a moment to lead him further from the people gathering. ]

[hatedriven]

[it's something he's had to contend with, this fact that he can't react as quickly as he could with three tomoe and a bloodline limit. still, her swings are powerful, but not wholly subtle, and though her fist grazes his jaw he leans out of the way to narrowly avoid her sudden drop. his half step back is dancelike before he takes the bait and chases her again, feels his heart thump into his chest to keep up with the adrenalin building.

he closes the distance in a flurry of both closed and open-handed strikes. easily blocked, easily meant for sparring, but each jar between them strikes a cord in his chest, and each blow becomes more and more pronounced. he feels it in his blood; the fear, the need for revenge, the unadulterated guilt at what he couldn't accomplish and his own shortcomings. something twists in his expression, and he creates enough space to make room for a kick to her stomach.]

[adamants]

[ It's so damn easy to move with him, to meet the blow with a deflection or a block; the ones she throws are the exact same. Aren't used to strike against him in any way, but meant to force out the energy that courses through her, runs through her veins and spreads like a wild fire of damn power, adrenalin pushing her harder than she means to go.

She's ready when he makes the distance, catches the shift in his weight and when he lifts his leg she starts the jump, abuses the presence of his leg to grip it with her hands and uses it as leverage to push herself in a round-off over his head to land behind him.

And she runs again, grips edges of buildings, lifts herself, and heads for the rooftops. ]

[hatedriven]

[in another situation, he might have admired her grace. instead, the part of him too invested feels cheated to not have felt the give of a body under his foot and the subsequent crunch of flesh and bone against the wall that had been behind her.

the sound that leaves him is like a growl, and one sandal kicks up loose concrete as he leaps after her like a wildcat. he reaches for a higher point, to pick the flash of red and pink out against the gray of Death City, and when the odd infrastructure forces their course together Sasuke vaults the lip of his own roof and cuts her off before she can continue her trajectory.

he's barely hit the ground before he lowers his centre of gravity, a sweeping kick, and he's already reaching for her as she moves to dodge.]

[adamants]

[ Her ascent of the building isn't as fast as she could like it to be; knows she's lagging behind because of the exhaustion that pulls at the back of her mind and reminds her just how long she's been going without enough sleep. (She pushes the thought away; excuses, she thinks.)

Even more so when she's managed to make it up to Sasuke, when she's moving around his leg and then-

He has her.

There's a moment where she curses, inward, because the objective had been to make sure he couldn't catch her. That she could move out of his trajectory before he could completely catch her or hold her down. To keep him running and chasing and following her through the city to make him a little more tired, to run him down a bit and exhaust the anger that was still so very present in him.

Sakura stills and her breath stops in her throat and she watches to catch his next movement so she can at least attempt to block it.

(Pointless endeavour.) ]

[hatedriven]

[it's a small thrill, sharp up his spine, that curls onto his mouth sadistic and mean. got you. his grip changes, stained fingers catching her throat and her bicep, and he hoists her clear off the ground before lurching into his intent (too much force, something whispers to him) his own body coming over hers as he slams her, prone, against the rooftop, straddling her waist.

the impact shudders up his arm, jars him back into the present and out of the destructive sequence that had driven him to this.

the fight was relatively short, all things considered, but Sasuke pants as though he'd gone five hours at it. his grip loosens, away from the pulse he could feel under his fingers in her throat, and he stares down as though seeing her for the first time. too much. this was too much. everything was too much. and he was suddenly, inexplicably, exhausted.]

Sakura.

[adamants]

[ It's when his hand reaches for her throat that the braces herself for the inevitable impact. Whether against the ground or maybe the nearby door that lead to the rooftop they were currently on, she was anticipating either. But

[hatedriven]

[for one fleeting, inexplicable moment, something small inside of Sasuke wants nothing more than to lean into her hand, press his face into her shoulder and let his weakness take him. let his grief overwhelm him until there's nothing left. but he's never done this, and he's never had anyone he's shown that broken part of himself to. not like this. it's too much like giving up.

dark eyes search her face for a long moment, braced over her, and he doesn't move when she reaches for his face. he doesn't slap her hand away, and he doesn't say anything. he can't give up, as scared as he is.

Sasuke's chin dips, breaking eye contact as he climbs off of her. then, in a gesture unlike who he'd once decided he would become, he offers her his hand.]

[adamants]

[ Just that is enough, though. For Sakura to know. The fact that he doesn't push her away, brush her off -- she knows that this is wearing on him much more than he's already letting on. If the violence wasn't enough, it's in every movement he makes, and, also, the ones that he doesn't.

When his hand is offered, Sakura reaches to take it without really thinking, using her free hand to push herself from the ground at the same time. Only once she's standing does she realize what just happened. That Sasuke actually helped her up, that he didn't just walk away or wait for her to stand on her own. And with him, it's the smallest gestures that mean the most.

Brushing off her clothes, she looks up at him. ]

Thank you.

[ Because this helped her, too. ]

[hatedriven]

[he doesn't nod, just looks at her when her eyes meet his own. his fatigue is clear now, emotional and physical stress, the snapping of his resonation, all catching up with him. the previous unbridled wildness that outlined him and made his eyes bright has fizzled, and instead, he seems more detached.

he needs to change. maybe shower. she'd told him that.

Sasuke doesn't move, just continues to look at her.]

[adamants]

[ The exhaustion is obvious, the fact that he's completely run down. She takes a deep breath, reaches back to run one of her shoulders, before she extends a hand to his arm. It's a slow outreach, so that there isn't a worry for a violent reaction, and she rests a hand against his bicep.

He needs to get out of those clothes. She'd try to convince him to sleep, but. That would be beyond pointless. ]

Come on. You can shower at the clinic, okay?

[hatedriven]

[it's unusual, he thinks. somehow, his relationship with Naruto over the months had been slowly stitched back together. it was tentative, they weren't what they used to be, and Sasuke was fully aware it was his own doing. but having her here-- it was different. their parting had been different. and now she was utterly unlike the girl he'd once known.

his gaze drops to her hand on his arm.

well, maybe not completely different.

Sasuke's lips part, as though he might say something, and instead he just takes a slow breath. it quivers at the end before he exhales. he turns away from the soft grip of her hand and back toward the clinic, but his pace is much more sedate now. mutely, he's inviting her to come with him.]

[adamants]

[ Sakura doesn't say anything after that.

Instead, she falls into step beside him, hops from the roof and back down to the street below. Her back aches, and she's even more exhausted now than before. But the tension is gone. The worry and the concern that had been knotting every muscle inside of her had ebbed away during that fight. It had been almost a mainline of relaxation.

She stops at the entrance to the clinic, looks over at him. ]

I'll bring you some clean clothes. Go take a shower. Please.

[hatedriven]

[he stops as she does, listens to what she has to say. he can smell copper on his skin and his clothes, and though it's all but dried, it feels like it's burning into his skin. he blinks at the doorway, then nods once, a small, jerky movement, and passes her into the sterile walls of the clinic.

instead of wandering aimlessly, as he had been before, he turns deliberately and makes for where he knows the onsite showers would be located. whether they're intended for staff or not, Sasuke could care less at this point.]