Loose Ends
Chapter 1: Control
Hatake Kakashi hated loose ends. In fact, he despised them. His shrink had told him that leaving things unfinished was emotionally dangerous. Well, in his line of work, it could be hazardous to his health. Loose ends were like the old girlfriend that called you at the worst times, or the cut that would heal if you could just stop picking at the scab. Leaving loose ends would inevitably come back to bite you in the ass. These were his thoughts as he snuck into a penthouse apartment one warm September night.
The stars were out, shining with all of their twinkling glory, but it was the night of a waning crescent moon, so the chances of him being seen were slim to none. The thing that grated on his nerves about this job in particular was that he was being forced by his contract to leave a loose end. It took less than two minutes to pick the lock, even with the obligatory latex gloves. Once his kit was safely stashed in his back pocket, he silently opened the door.
After slipping inside, and disarming the alarm with the code provided him, he proceeded through the richly furnished living area and down the hallway to the bedroom. He found the two people occupying the bed sleeping soundly. There were clothes littering the floor, and a telltale scent in the air that said the two young people had made love not long before. He smiled a bit at the irony.
Identifying which was male, and which female, Kakashi proceeded around the left side of the bed, and pulled out a slender knife. He had cleaned it thoroughly with bleach before he left his apartment, making sure that none of his DNA, nor any fingerprints were on it. Upon approaching the sleeping young man, he saw that the kid was smiling—or perhaps smirking—in his sleep. In the end, he hoped that he could die that way, too. Maybe not in precisely the same way, but with a smile on his face, nonetheless.
Knife in position, he swiftly grabbed the young man’s forehead for leverage, and drove the point of the blade home, right between his first and second cervical vertebrae. There had been no struggle, no, the bed had not even shaken. Only the slightest pop was heard when the point of his instrument penetrated the muscles around the young man’s spine. It was hardly audible. That was why, when he looked away from the smile still on the young man’s lips, he was exceedingly surprised to see the other occupant of the bed sitting up, staring at him with a look of complete horror in her eyes.
He was very glad that he had decided to wear a ski-mask. At least she wouldn’t be able to finger him in a line-up. Quickly weighing his options, he decided on a less violent way of sending her back to sleep. Out of the front pocket of his jeans, he pulled a small cloth-covered ampoule of chloroform. Once he had crushed it between his fingers, he moved around the bed and covered her mouth and nose with his hand, forcing her to breathe in the vapors. Only then did she really begin to struggle.
In a hissing whisper, he said, “Sleep now.” Her eyes—green or blue, he wasn’t sure—began to droop shut, her struggles ceasing, and he smiled behind the mask. “There’s a good girl.” Her eyes were completely closed after a moment, her breathing even, and he stuffed the cloth back into his pants pocket, laying her pale-haired head down. Then, he made sure that there were no fibers under her fingernails from when she had clawed at the light jacket he had worn. One could never be too careful.
Just before he left the room, he surveyed the scene. The young man’s pillow was now soaked with his blood, and the girl was fast asleep. Starlight and a little pale moonlight washed out all color from the room, making it seem like a scene from an old black and white mobster movie. Again, he smiled behind his mask at the irony of the situation.
On his way out, he left the door open. The sooner someone discovered what happened, the better. As soon as the hit made headlines, he would be paid. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was what he lived for.
--
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“He’s dead! Some bastard killed him!”
“Miss, please calm down. Who’s dead?”
“My fiancé. Somebody snuck in and killed him, then the son of a bitch knocked me out!”
“Please stay calm, Miss. I’m going to send the police and paramedics over, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, ma’am…”
--
Haruno Kosuke smiled. He held in his hand the New York Times, and on the very front page was a large picture of a very handsome fair-skinned young man with black hair, and the headline: “Son of Crime Boss Slain”. Of course, he wished that he could take credit for this, but it hadn’t been his idea. His beloved wife, Ami, had disliked Uchiha Sasuke from the very start. The fact that he was the second son of Kosuke’s rival, Uchiha Fugaku, was quite beside the point. The little bastard was controlling, and had far too much influence over his baby girl.
So, when Ami had come up with the idea to hire an independent hit man to get rid of the thorn in their side, he welcomed it with open arms. A knock sounded on the door to his study, and he said, “Come,” before the door opened, admitting a tall man in his early thirties. The man wore a pair of faded blue jeans, a dark blue t-shirt, and a New York Yankees baseball cap over hair that seemed to be prematurely gray. “Ah, come and have a seat, Mr. Hatake.”
“Can’t stay. Things to do.” The younger man’s voice was curt, but Kosuke nodded.
“Straight to business, eh?” That was fine with him. Frankly, the guy gave him the fucking creeps. Opening a drawer on the right side of the desk, he pulled out a large envelope, which he handed to his guest. “It’s all there. Thank you for your services. If I have need of you again—“
The hit man was on his way out of the door already, stuffing the envelope into the black leather messenger bag over his shoulder. He stopped and turned to look back at him, those oddly mismatched eyes sending a chill through the elder man’s entire body. “If you need me, call Genma. He’ll set things up.” With that, the man was gone. Kosuke doubted that he would be seeing him again. He hoped he wouldn’t.
--
Thirty thousand dollars for…fifteen minutes of work? Kakashi could definitely deal with that. Outside the Haruno mansion, he straddled his motorcycle, stuffing his cap into his messenger bag. After fastening the chinstrap on his helmet, he started the engine, listening to the satisfying roar. A smile slid across his lips as he gave it a bit of gas, propelling himself down the drive. One stop, then he could deposit the money. He had to give Genma his cut. The guy was, after all, his middleman, and did deserve some compensation for screening his clients.
The only thing that Kakashi didn’t like about working with Genma was the fact that the guy was too nice. Well, that is, he was too nice with the cops. His best friend was a member of the organized crime task force on the NYPD, and one day, that would land him up Shit Creek without a paddle. Oddly enough, the cop seemed to be utterly blind to the fact that his best buddy was not just an antique weapons dealer.
Ten minutes on his bike brought him to Genma’s shop in Soho. The place was a bit ritzy for a guy from Queens, but he didn’t begrudge Genma his success. The bastard was good with those swords he played with, and knew his shit, so in Kakashi’s mind, he deserved to be able to make a living at what he was best at. It was the same for him, really. Kakashi was good…no, he was excellent at killing people, sneaking in and out of places unnoticed. And he got paid a lot of money for it. That is, until he decided to retire.
Until that time, he would keep on killing people. His life was rather simple.
The little bell above the door made a tinkling noise as he entered the shop. Genma was sitting on a stool behind the counter, playing with what looked like a dagger. He looked up, and smiled broadly at Kakashi, that damned toothpick sticking out of his mouth. “You’re going to choke on one of those things some day,” Kakashi said by way of a greeting.
“Good morning to you, too. Saw the papers. Clean work as usual, pal.” Genma cocked his head to the side. “You look tense.”
Had the man not been right, Kakashi would have contemplated knocking him on his ass for that remark. But as it was, he shrugged it off lazily and said, “You got any coffee?” Genma laughed, and told him to lock the door and put out the ‘Closed’ sign, then they went into the back room. Sitting down at the table with a cup of double espresso and scratching his chin in a rather irritated fashion, he looked at Genma and said, “I had to leave someone alive.”
“So? That was part of the contract. You knew about it when you took the job.” Genma was having cappuccino, which Kakashi thought was no more than frothy milk with coffee flavor in it.
“She saw me.”
“And? You were wearing a mask. Not like she can pick you out of a crowd.” Genma’s logic was difficult to argue with, but he still found himself unwilling to let it go. He hated leaving loose ends. He really, really hated it. “Calm down, idiot. For someone who’s as smart as you’re supposed to be, you really can be a little stupid.” Kakashi simply growled and drank his coffee. There were times when Genma really pissed him off. Of course, he had been to see his shrink often enough to know why it angered him: he did not take kindly to having his faults pointed out.
“Fine. Just don’t call me an idiot.” He didn’t feel any better about that absolutely nagging loose end, but he was going to have to live with it.
--
The day of the funeral, it rained. It was as if the heavens had opened up, and were pouring out all of the sorrows that the people standing huddled together on that lonely hill were feeling. In the midst of all the black and gray stood one bright spot. The Uchiha family all seemed to be pale, and have black hair. Just like the young man they had come here to bury. The bright spot was the only person not belonging to the family. She wore black just like the rest of them, but she couldn’t help the color of her hair. Flamingo pink stood out against the pallor of her face and the black cloth of everyone’s clothes as she knelt next to the casket.
Haruno Sakura was a very smart girl. She knew that her marriage to Sasuke would have united two of the largest and most powerful families of organized crime in the country. But that was definitely not why she was going to marry him. Ever since she was a small girl, she had thought of him as quiet, thoughtful, and even sad. It was only in the past few years—after she met him again in college—that she was able to see behind that. He was a beautiful person: passionate, creative, and intelligent. Sakura had loved him.
She still loved him. And as she rested her cheek on the slick, wet surface of the casket, letting herself get soaked by the rain and not giving a damn about it, she made a silent vow to him. She would, if she ever came across that knife-wielding, chloroform-using sack of shit that killed him, she would make the bastard beg for death before the end. The same went for the son of a bitch that he worked for. Finally, she lifted her cheek away from the wood, and placed a white rose on the top of the casket. When she hauled herself to her feet, the family made way for her. Sakura walked, though she surely didn’t know where she was going.
Somehow, she found herself sitting about half a mile away, on a bench, under a willow tree. Weeping willow. The water collected in the leaves of the tree, falling on her with renewed vigor as the wind picked up. Even the trees were crying for Sasuke, today. Her breathing became erratic, and the sobs that had not come when she was within view of the hole in the ground where they were undoubtedly laying her fiancé to rest now made themselves known. Sakura cried hot, salty tears that mixed with the rain, forming a bitter concoction: grief.
She got up from the bench, and paced. The anger that had begun to set in when she was near the grave was rushing full-speed through her veins now. Sakura wanted to hit something. She wanted to pound her small fists into something until it broke. Would that make her feel better? In her dazed, grief-stricken mind, she thought that it might.
--
It was a good thing that his eyes were 20/20. Otherwise, he would have lost that pink spot when she walked away through the haze of driving rain. His father had been worried about her, and sent Itachi to make sure that she got home safely. Sakura had been pacing for about ten minutes, now. She muttered—and at times screamed—obscenities that he had not been aware a well-bred young woman would ever have known. Personally, he wasn’t too surprised that his brother had been killed. It was no secret that the boy had some enemies. This fact did nothing to lessen his grief, however.
Itachi sincerely hoped that he was wrong about who had taken the hit out on his brother. If he were indeed correct, it would mean war. Sakura had just sat down on the bench. He walked slowly over to her, making sure that he let his footsteps be heard. Her eyes were bloodshot when she looked up at him. “Itachi…” Sakura’s face made him pause for an instant. One of his cousins had thought for some time that the girl was simply marrying Sasuke so that the two families would be united, and stop fighting. That assumption was blown out of the proverbial water now. She might not have cried when she was standing there with the family, but she was certainly making up for it now.
When he approached her, Sakura flung her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. It was things like this that Itachi had trouble dealing with. Emotional females…always difficult. So he awkwardly put his free arm around her, and patted the girl’s back. She was soaked to the skin. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” She sniffled and looked up at him, reminding him of the little girl he had seen years ago, hiding behind a see-saw and stealing glances at his little brother as he played in the sand box at the park. “Come on, Sakura. I’ll take you home.”
“Okay. Just…don’t leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone. Not there.” Her voice was so small, Itachi blinked. It wasn’t often that his emotions were triggered. He had trained himself to avoid that sort of thing years ago. But the sound of her voice made something in his chest tighten. Pity? That had to be it. Sakura was certainly pitiable at the moment. She refused to use the umbrella, saying that he should stay dry, and so they walked to his car.
Once the door was closed, and the two of them were alone in a confined space, an awkward silence settled over them. Sakura would do nothing but look out at the rain, but Itachi could tell that she wanted to say something. He wasn’t going to push, so he just started driving. The two of them sat in silence, apart from Itachi’s occasional irritated grunt at the amount of traffic there was on a Sunday afternoon.
--
When they made it up to her apartment, Sakura flipped on the lights warily. The place seemed empty, which was good. At least the crime scene tape was gone. There were flowers everywhere. Lilies, mostly. Sympathy bouquets, delivered by the truckload from the entire Uchiha family. She was well-liked by the family, it seemed. Sakura threw her purse under the antique pier table and stumped into her living room. It looked different now. Even with all of the beautiful flowers, the place seemed devoid of color. She sighed.
“Go and get changed into something dry, Sakura. I’ll make some tea.” Sakura smiled in spite of herself. Itachi liked his tea. Honestly, she would have preferred something a lot stronger, but she wasn’t going to say that around him. If he knew that she was planning on drinking herself into a stupor, he would probably call her mother. And right now, she did not want to see any member of the Haruno family. She had suspicions about them that were not what she wanted to dwell on right now.
Nodding, she entered the bedroom with trepidation. Then she thought of what Sasuke would say about her not being able to set foot in her own bedroom, and she strode boldly to the closet. After pulling fresh clothes from a few hangers and retrieving clean underwear and socks from the chest of drawers, she then proceeded to the bathroom, where she took a quick shower.
The hot water felt good, and she suddenly realized how cold she had gotten. That didn’t make much sense, with it being the dog days of summer. After boiling herself for about five minutes in the shower, she dried herself and dressed, returning to the living room, where Itachi was already sipping his tea. The scent of Earl Grey filled her nose. Like his brother, Itachi seemed to know how to make her calm down. She saw a cup on the coffee table, and sat on the long sofa, taking it up and leaning on the arm opposite where Itachi sat.
“Will you be returning to school tomorrow?” This question was asked as Itachi set his cup on the saucer sitting on his thigh. “If you need, I can call your professors. A couple days off of school might be good for you.”
Smiling slightly around the rim of her teacup, Sakura felt grateful for his concern, but once she had taken a sip of the hot liquid, she said, “No, I’ll go back. I have to. Sasuke would be laughing at me if he saw me sitting alone and getting all bitter. I’m going to go back, and I’m going to graduate next December.” Was it just her, or did she sound a little desperate? Sakura had hoped to make her voice determined, but it hadn’t really come out as she planned. Thinking for a few moments, she put down her cup. “Hey, Itachi?”
“Hm?” He mumbled around his teacup.
“Don’t you study martial arts or something?” His eyes widened, and he set his teacup down in surprise, the porcelain clinking sharply.
Brow furrowing, he said, “Yes, I’ve been studying Aikijutsu for about fifteen years. Why?”
Hm. Now, the question was, how did you answer a question like that—asked by a man whose IQ was nearly twice your own—and not sound like you were lying through your teeth. “Well,” she said hesitantly, “this situation makes me feel a little helpless. I just need to feel like I have a little control, you know?” His face returned to its usual implacable calm. Sakura was nothing if not a quick thinker.
Itachi seemed relieved. Why, she wasn’t sure. But, he sipped his tea again before saying, “If you like, I can give you the name of my old sensei. He’s not taking students right now, but if I talk to him, he might make an exception.”
That surprised Sakura. “Why can’t you teach me?”
That alarmed look flitted across his face again, but was gone so quickly that she wasn’t sure it had been there in the first place. Instead, he wore a ghost of a smile. “I’m not a good teacher, Sakura. You wouldn’t like me much after only a couple of lessons.”
Now Sakura’s feminist side was kicking in, and she bristled, just like she did when Sasuke would make a reference to women being weak in some way or another. “Are you saying that you think I couldn’t handle it?” Her teacup was placed on the table, and her eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch, indicating the danger he was in.
“Oh, I know you couldn’t. Besides, you have homework and term papers. I would require more practice of you than you would be able to give.” He seemed to be trying to dissuade her, but she had made up her mind. He was going to teach her, she knew that much. She just had to blackmail, con, or persuade him into actually doing it. Sakura tried begging, no luck. Offering to pay him only made him snort.
Her temper was starting to rise. What was it going to take? “Come on, Itachi. Just teach me. I’m a fast learner, I promise. And it isn’t like I sleep much. I could turn the back half of the living room into a dojo and practice here.” Finally, without having any other resources at her disposal, she resorted to the only thing that had ever worked on an Uchiha man. Sakura turned on the puppy-dog eyes. Just a little. She’d never tried them on Itachi, so there was no telling what the result would be.
Just for the record, Sakura had the biggest, greenest eyes of any person in New York State. When she turned on full-strength puppy-eyes, there was no criminal hardened enough to resist them. The girl was, therefore, careful as to how she used that little ‘gift’ with those who had never had the experience before. Of course, with Uchiha Sasuke, those eyes had been ludicrously effective, but his older brother was a different story altogether. He began to laugh. It was quiet at first, just a little chuckle. But soon, it built up to being a rolling, belly-laugh that echoed through her apartment. That really made her angry.
“S-Sakura…” He was wiping tears from his eyes now, and she seethed. “You’re funny when you make that face! Don’t do that again, okay? It hurts to laugh.” Her face melted into a sullen frown, and she looked away from him. He sobered quickly, and said, “Now you’re pouting, Sakura. If I say that I’ll teach you, will you stop?” Now that was surprising. Somehow, she never expected that he would give in so easily. Sakura had expected that she would have to nag him for weeks.
She nodded, and took up her cup again. “Thank you Itachi.”
Looking at her from the corner of his eye, and with a tiny smile on his lips that reminded her quite painfully of Sasuke, he said, “That’s Itachi-sensei, to you.”
--
Kakashi lay on a leather couch, feeling rather comfy. He wasn’t at all sure why, but he felt quite at home in this room. Warm wood panels, dark leather furniture, and a very attractive woman sitting opposite him were only a few of the reasons he could have thought up, but none of them really hit the mark. “So, Mr. Hatake,” Dr. Yuuhi Kurenai began, those cinnamon-colored eyes looking at him intently, “what seems to be the problem? Today’s Monday. Your sessions are usually on Thursdays.”
His eyes strayed to the pen in her hand, as it wrote down the date, time, and his name. She had beautiful hands. When the pen stopped its motion, he resumed his inspection of her face. Dark, wavy hair fell down to her shoulders, and her suit made her look like she had stepped out of a 1940’s movie, like Casablanca, or anything starring Elizabeth Taylor. “I’m having a little bit of a hard time…letting something go.”
“Such as?”
“Something left unfinished, Doc. Only it isn’t really unfinished. It only seems that way.” She gave him a confused look before the pen began moving again, and he watched it. Briefly, he wondered if she had been an orchestra conductor in a previous lifetime. That was how much grace her hands had. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It was part of my job, and I was not supposed to do this one thing. But it just seems to me that it was wrong not to.”
“Hm. Mr. Hatake, do you remember what we talked about the last time you were here?”
Kakashi nearly snorted. “You mean my control issues?”
“No, Mr. Hatake.” Her eyes were staring into his soul, he could tell. “I’m talking about your OBSESSION with being in control. It isn’t healthy. You should try to let go. Do something fun to reward yourself for being able to.”
“I’m not a dog, Doc. Conditioning myself won’t work.”
“How do you know until you try?”
“Because I just do!” He sat up angrily, gripping his knees. “I know myself better than anyone else. I should. I’m me!” That seemed to disappoint the woman, who sat back in her chair, a defeated look on her face. He scrubbed his fingers through already wild silvery hair. “Sorry Doc. I just…how am I supposed to do this?” No, letting go was not his strong suit. Killing people? Without batting an eye. Theft? Oh, sure. Money laundering? Every time he had a job. But letting go of a mistake? Never.
“Just repeat after me.”
“Okay.”
“God, give me the ability—“
“I don’t believe in God, Doc.”
“Just repeat after me, Mr. Hatake.” Again, she began her little mantra. “God, give me the ability to change those things I can…” He repeated those words, so calm and soothing, “…the strength to bear those I cannot…” again he parroted the psychologist, finding himself swept up in the wave of calm that she exuded, “…and the wisdom to know the difference.” At last, he saw the point of this. She was working on his ability to accept failure. In essence, he was sure that was the root of the problem. He hated being bad at anything. And he certainly did not like failing. Anything left undone, any loose end, he saw as a failure. So, would her little mantra be able to help him? Hell, it was worth a shot.
Just as he thought this, the little bell went off, and she stood. “Time’s up for now. Should I expect you on Thursday, Mr. Hatake?”
“No, I think I’ll try that little thing out.”
“That’s good. Call me if you need to come in, okay?” She ushered him out of the office with a smile, as always. No matter how angry he got during his sessions, she always smiled at him. How could someone stay so fucking calm all of the time? She had to be on drugs. But he knew she wasn’t. He only wished that she was. Then, he could know that she was human. Yuuhi Kurenai was not human. She was an angel. An angel that charged more than most high-priced hookers, and never gave him any. Not that he wanted her—never in a sexual way. But he would have liked to sit and have a beer with her. She seemed like the kind of broad he could really talk to, even in a non-shrink kind of way.
It was raining when he got downstairs. Cursing under his breath, he got on his motorcycle, feeling the water soaking through his pants, shirt, everything. He rolled down the street at a moderate pace, careful not to go too fast in the rain. Upon reaching his building, he drove directly into the freight elevator, and then mashed down the button. Kakashi cut the engine, and when he reached his floor, walked the bike to his door. When he put the key in the lock, it turned easily. That would not guarantee access, though. The brick wall had a metal plate bolted into it, which swung out, and revealed a hand-print and retinal scanner.
When he had been scanned, the door’s lock disengaged completely, then he slid it open, and shut again behind himself. The motorcycle was left in the corner, and Kakashi proceeded directly to his bathroom, where he stripped off his clothing and got into the shower.
Just when he got under the spray, he heard the buzzer for the door. Rolling his eyes, he shoved his wet hair out of his face and snatched up a towel on the way out of the room. He went to the intercom box at his door, and pushed the small white button. “What?” He sounded decidedly annoyed, but he figured if it was important, whoever it was wouldn’t mind.
“Oi, moron! Open up!” Kakashi cringed at the sound of the grating feminine voice that belonged to the only member of his family willing to acknowledge that he was still alive. Yamanaka Ino was his second cousin on his mother’s side, and since she was a little girl had for some reason or another taken it upon herself to make him be social.
“Ino, I’m supposed to be showering.”
“No problem. I can wait once I get inside. Come on, you idiot! It’s pouring!” He rolled his eyes again, but pressed the button that would open the front door. After waiting a few minutes, he let her in and made sure that the door was firmly shut behind her. “What’s your problem, Kakashi? You’re all pissy today.”
“Shut up Ino. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” He began walking back to the bathroom.
“Take your time! I’ve got all night.” Her voice echoed off of the brick walls, and the high ceilings of his loft, making him groan to himself.
Ten minutes later, he was wearing house pants and his bedroom slippers, along with an old gray t-shirt, and sitting across from Ino, who was trying to get him to go out on the town with her. “No. I’m staying in tonight. I’m tired.”
“But…oh, please, Kakashi? When was the last time we had a drink together?”
“On your twenty-first birthday, three months ago. And it was more than a few drinks. I seem to remember you puking your guts out in the alley when we left the bar.” It was true, and Ino didn’t remember it clearly, that was for sure. All she knew was the she had a damned good time, in spite of the fact that her older cousin was a total drag for the majority of his earthly existence. Or, at least that’s what Ino said. Kakashi liked his life. He was a relatively private person, which was fine with him. All he wanted, especially at the moment, was to be left alone by idiotic blondes.
“No. I’m not going to let you tell me no. Either you come out with me, or you’re going to rue the day you ever met me.”
In a bland tone, he said, “I already do, Ino. I already do.”
Now his cousin was angry. He looked at her, an amused smile on his face, and watched her fume. She sat for long moments, staring at him, finally standing to leave, saying she would be back the next week. Ino also said that he was an asshole who didn’t deserve her kindness. When the door shut, and automatically locked behind her, he couldn’t help but laugh.
--
A/N: Well. There's the first chapter. What do you think, huh? It's kind of draining to write this stuff. Hope you guys liked it.
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Chapter notes: Okay. This is going to be another one of those odd ones. It's kind of psychological, and I hope you don't mind. I do not know what Sakura's parents' names actually are. The ones I use here are just ones that I made up. Warnings for Chapter 1:
FL--lots of cursing
V--yay! violence.
Legal Stuffiness: I do not own Naruto, or any of the characters therein. Kishimoto Masashi, sole proprietor, and he owns my soul.