Chapter 38

"Why did you clean it?" he asked after a moment, deciding not to dwell on the issue, "The jounin group hadn't even found me."

"I don't know," she replied sounding somewhat confused and baffled—either she was confused by her own actions or she was confused by his lack of annoyance.

He wondered what state she had found the house in when she had entered. To be honest, he hadn't lived there since they graduated from the academy—he had rented a small apartment and lived there after they had become genin.

"I suppose it was just a spur of the moment thing," she laughed nervously, "I'm not really sure what made me do it."

"What about my apartment?"

"Oh, well, that was raided after you left," she replied uncertainly, still sounding confused by his composed reaction, "to see if you had had any long-term dealings with Orochimaru… I don't know what happened after that, but I know that your things were then removed and dumped in the Uchiha manor. Something about the landlady wanting her apartment back."

"I see," he replied after a moments pause—it seemed that he would be living back in his former home after all, even if he had hoped avoiding doing so at all costs. He supposed it couldn't be helped, but of course he was not going to mention anything to Sakura about it, "We seem to have strayed from the topic of rehabilitation."

"Right," Sakura responded after a moment, sounding like she had gotten over the fact that he was not going to be angry with her, "Well, I took these things from your home in hopes that you will be able to recognize them easier. That's part of what we'll be doing—using your touch to identify certain objects. Then there's this—"

She took his hand in hers and brushed her thumb over the back of it like she had done earlier, sweeping his knuckles lightly. He nodded in return as he remembered his pledge of trust to her, and hers to him.

"Every time I grab your hand, I'll touch your hand like that," she explained, "Your brain will eventually associate that action with me, and then I can grab your hand and you'll know it's me without having to say anything. This can come in handy on missions when we have to remain silent, it will help you recognize that it's me, not an enemy behind you. From now on, I'll always perform that action, so if someone grabs your hand and fails to give you the recognizable sign, you'll know it's not me."

He snickered softly, "What if you forget?"

"I won't forget," her voice was teasing, "But if I do, you have permission to demand who I am and what I'm doing grabbing your hand."

"I'll hold you to that," he said in reply, finding himself smirking in return, though he had no idea why.

"You'll be disappointed if you want to yell at me," she countered, laughing lightly, "Anyways, lets get on with the exercise, shall we?"

He held out his hand as she put a strange, long object in his open palms.

"Tell me what it is," she told him, getting that professional tone in her voice, "My bet is that you won't have a clue what it is."

The corner of his lip twitched a little in amusement—like he was going to lose a bet.

They spent the rest of the afternoon examining different items from his home. Sasuke had managed to recognize all of them—and Sakura had lost the bet, as he correctly identified the first item as a shoehorn. He hadn't even realized that he had owned a shoehorn, or that his family had at least—that's why it had taken him a few minutes to distinguish what the curved strip of plastic had been. After the shoehorn she had handed him a feather duster, followed by a marble statuette carved in the shape of a pop-eyed goldfish.

As the objects came through his hands, he found himself actually having fun. It was almost like a game of sorts, and it hardly seemed like training—but the fact that he realized it was training allowed him to feel like he was putting good use to his time. Sometimes when Sakura put an extremely bizarre object in his hands, she would let out a musical laugh at the expression that would come across his face and dare him to guess what it was.

Some of the objects were dead giveaways, like the pair of scissors or the wooden spoon that had come over his palms, but others were more difficult like the shoehorn had been—a small salt dish had been an example. It had been a small little pot, no bigger than his palm, and was completely smooth inside and out, no specific markings to hint at what it was for. It was only after he had sniffed it and detected the slight scent of salt that he recognized it as the small salt jar that his mother had kept in the kitchen for her cooking.

Time had erased the recollections of some of the objects that Sakura procured, but she had managed to bring some items that stirred memories that had all but been forgotten. The salt jar in the kitchen, or the goldfish statuette that he recalled had sat on his mother's dresser. There had been an old wooden pipe that brought back the memory of his father telling him that it had once belonged to his grandfather. It was amazing what stood out clear in his mind, and what had been forgotten—different memories treasured, while others had been discarded. He didn't know how he felt about the reminders of his past; it made him remember the times he had with his parents, and it also made him feel somber too.

"Okay, this is the last one," Sakura announced and he held out his hands expectantly.

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