A/N: I've been writing like a devil lately, and managed to pump out the next two chapters for this fic throughout the day. It's been harder than usual, because I've picked up some bug or another, and have been running a nasty fever all today. Yet the itch to write hit, and hit hard, so I had to give in.

At first I couldn't even come up with a proper title. My muddled amd fried brains mangaged to generate I'm Writing This, Because Through Sakura, I Can Achieve My Impossible Dream of Sexing Up Itachi. Yeah. That seemed a little too long...So, I went with something that linked with Sakura's constant thoughts of the past (It's funny - I think it might be a song title from the movie Voices of a Distant Star - correct me if I'm wrong. I've never seen it).

I apologize for gramatical errors. I don't know anyone well enough to ask for a BETA, and my email's severly whacked, so that system wouldn't work well right now anyways. Sorry for the shortness. Following chapters are longer. Please enjoy. Or don't. Drop me a review to let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I always forget these things...I do not own Naruto, etc.,etc. You guys know the drill.

Throughout The Years and Far Away

She'd spent nearly two years making a name for herself, killing when it suited her fancy, slaughtering helpless villages and moving from place to place like a cloud in the sky. Anyone who stood up to her was cut down; the amazing "Copy Ninja" of Konoha had trained her, after all, and her skill surpassed imagination.

The night was cold, her breath puffing out behind her as she ran, ducking through the trees and brush, clothing fluttering and flapping out behind her. Her face wasn't happy, but it wasn't upset either. She emitted a calm and cool aura, mind composed and collected, planning out her plan of action. The presence of her pursuers tickled at her subconscious, flanking her from each side, closing in on her steadily.

Interest kept her from leaving them in her wake. She held her pace steady, but did not increase it, even as they grew closer. No one had been daring enough to actually chase her in a long, long time. Even the most elite of shinobi had given up on her. She smiled to herself, reveling in the feeling of adrenaline spiking low in her belly, senses tingling. Gooseflesh prickled along her legs and arms.

There was the sound of rushing water suddenly, and she smelled the sharp tang of moving water. The stream wasn't too deep or wide; she could easily get past it if she used a bit of chakra to keep her above the water should vaulting it prove to not be enough. It looked cold, though. Bushes to her right snapped to the side, and dark forms bolted from it edges of blades flashing in the moonlight.

Cool still not breaking, her eyes narrowed; she dispatched her new opponents, blood flying about her in a gruesome symphony, splattering on the ground, on her clothing and skin. The warm liquid quickly turned cold on her cheek. In a mere moment, she was soaring over the water, pumping chakra into her feet when she lost her momentum, pushing off of the water and into the air again without breaking the surface.

As she landed heavily onto the opposite bank, she ducked a blow that would have probably knocked her unconscious, or in the worst case, cracked her skull. She dropped into a crouch, hair flying about her face, hands flashing out. The kunai she had yanked from her pouch lodged snugly between the man's ribs. He sputtered and fell, leaving her to move on.

The tip of a sword was suddenly under her chin. A very large sword. Her eyes traveled up the wide blade to its holder, a man of impressive height, broad shoulders swathed in a dark cloak. His skin was pale, his eyes sharp and what looked to be a fang peeked from the one upraised corner of his mouth.

Carefully, she moved, seeing how much he would allow, shifting until she was standing, the tip of his sword never leaving the underside of her jaw. The man smirked wider. "You've given us quite a chase." His voice was low and rumbling, a harsh edge of coldness grating in her ear. The blade left her neck, trailing down the center of her chest lightly, lowering until it was pointed at the ground. He licked his lips, smiling darkly at her, and she was surprised at the sharp teeth revealed. A knife flashed into her hand from the holster on her thigh.

"I'm going to enjoy this," the man hissed, hefting the heavy blade easily. His eyes gleamed. And in a flash they were locked together, breaking apart, feet shuffling, weapons flying. His blade was so big that when he swung at her middle, she managed to jump and land on it. His strength was truly amazing – he was able to hold both her and the blade horizontally with hardly a strain. She could feel his muscles beginning to clench, preparing to jar her from the sword's surface, so she flipped off and away from him.

As soon as her feet touched the hard ground, her knees shook violently, immediately buckling and dropping her. Her fingers dropped the knife she held, it became a little harder to breathe. Panting, her vision blurred, her head pounded.

Her body went limp, tremors running through her. Landing chest first, her cheek hitting the dirt, she managed to force her eyes open. As his footsteps sounded nearer, she finally noticed the vivid red clouds adorning the hem of her opponent's black cloak.

"Are you sure you can handle this?" His voice was uncertain, tinged with doubt and obvious concern.

The person to whom the question was directed was a perfect wall of calm, even in the face of something so dangerous. "There's no one else who can. All the medics we have aren't nearly strong, skilled or experienced enough. And we need someone who can stand the strain of constantly healing themselves."

"That's not what I meant."

"I've given this a lot of thought. I'm alright with what taking this mission entails."

But she had been a liar. It had hurt too much for words, the kind of ache that stops one's heart and freezes the body. To see the betrayal and anger in her comrade's eyes, see it shining there as they had hunted her, had hurt her more than anything ever would; it had torn her apart.

She slipped in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Her body was sore and numb, too tired to even tremble. She was slung over someone's shoulder, head jolting painfully with each step.

When she awoke again, there was light, whether from the dawn or dusk, she didn't know. The air was still bitterly cold, and a fog worked its way around the ankles of whoever carried her. She watched it swirling in hazy patterns, eyes fluttering shut every now and again, blurring and sharpening repeatedly until she woke completely. Her head began throbbing without warning, and she couldn't supress a moan. She felt rather than heard her captor's low, malicious chuckle.

She didn't know how many more times she fell into the blackness, but she reemerged to find that the pace had slowed. The mist was gone, but it was getting dark out again. There was a slow, quiet murmur of voices, the soud of something (opening?), then the air got slightly warmer. The dull sounds of the night were cut off with a click. Definitely the sound of a door closing.

Quite unexpectedly, she was dumped onto what felt to be a straw filled matress. The chill creeped back in now that she was on the floor, washing over her body and numbing her nose. Her eyes managed to crack open into slits just in time to see a cloak swirling out of the room, before the door slammed and plunged her into pitch black.

She didn't go back to sleep this time. Instead, she struggled to sit up, hands roving along the walls and floor to gain her bearings. She was pressed with an overwhelming need to urinate, and as her eyes adjusted, she noticed a metal pot in the far corner. Crawling, then stumbling to her feet, she made a slow trek to the chamber pot, fingers fumbling with the ties of her pants. The material bunched around her ankles and she crouched, completeing her task.

It was harder to stand from the crouch, tie her pants back into place, and make it back to the pallet laid out on the floor. Dropping onto it, she cradlig her aching head, twisting her fingers deep into her hair. She tucked her legs up into her chest.

And that was how she remained until the door opened and light engulfed her.

The nightmare began.

Bust gawsh-a-mighty, do I love FullMetal Alchemist...