count your graces

rating: t
genre: friendship
pairings: pre-kakasaku
POV: Sakura
other notes: ambiguous same age AU, title is a reference to shakespeare's sonnet 17
word count: 986

As Sakura stares at Itachi's perfectly placid face, she thinks that if more people were present during the medical staff's biannual pub crawl, the medical profession as a whole would get significantly more respect from the rest of the shinobi corps.

Because, really, she doesn't know anyone else other than Itachi who could manage to pull off stone cold murder while wearing a feathered hat quite so covered in sequins. Or with such an…enthusiastic brim.

Groans echo around the table, and Shizune and Emi-kouhai grumble as they shove their chips in his direction.

Itachi carefully wraps his lips around his swirl of a straw and takes a long pull of whatever the terrible purple and gold concoction Ino ordered for the lot of them is called. It is slightly sour under the sweet, and if Sakura finds out what it's made out of then she's probably not going to want to keep drinking it, and that would be a shame, as Sakura is not drunk enough yet to stop drinking.

Sakura's been out of chips and the money to buy herself back in for almost an hour now, and it really isn't fair that they've banned cheating, because that would have been the only thing keeping Sakura in the game.

For all the things she is thankful to have learned from Tsunade-shishou and all the ways those things gave Sakura the tools to turn herself into the person she wanted to be, she really wishes that it hadn't come at the price of also inheriting Tsunade-shishou's terrible, terrible luck. Not that she would trade it, of course, but not getting completely decimated in every single game of cards or chance she ever plays would be nice.

Ino is dealing the next round, and Itachi turns to stare at Sakura.

It's only because she knows him so well (and, really, Sakura is never not going to find it funny how horrified Sasuke was and continues to be by the friendship that started Sakura's second week at the hospital) that Sakura can tell Itachi is completely drunk. It's something about his eyes, maybe, or the extra tension in his posture to keep himself upright.

"Sakura," Itachi says, his voice controlled to the point of almost monotone, "promise me."

Sakura purses her lips around a smile. "Mm? What am I promising now?"

"Sakura," Itachi continues, "you are my friend and I care for you very much, and I need you to promise me that when you marry Hatake-kun, you will invite me to be a part of your wedding party over Sasuke. Sasuke gives terrible speeches and Naruto-kun will be crying too hard to speak, and I want you to have the best speeches at your wedding."

He is impressively composed as he carefully enunciates his way through this impassioned declaration.

It's even more impressive the way he dodges out of the way of Sakura snorting her really-now-that-she-thinks-about-it-truly-terrible drink out of her nose and all over him, continuing without pause.

"Excuse me?" Sakura demands, pawing for the napkins that are scattered over the table, trying to mop up the mess she's made of herself.

Itachi nods gently, hat scattering light as his head moves. "I know, it might be too much. I know that your friendship with Sasuke goes back many more years than our own, though I like to think we have been friendly at least since we were introduced. Take as much time to think about it as you need to."

"Itachi!" Sakura manages to finally screech, voice skipping right over a few octaves to land somewhere a little too uncomfortable. "I am not going to marry Hatake Kakashi!"

And, because Sakura inherited her shishou's luck, she is left standing, red faced and horrified, as her declaration slices right through a lull in the bar, drawing all attention to her.

For a moment, everything is completely quiet.

"Mah, mah, Sakura-chan," drawls Sakura's least favourite voice in the world, "I know we're not friends, but you don't have to sound so insulted. Some people would consider me a real catch!"

Sakura's grip snaps shut, and her glass shatters, the last of her seriously-she-is-never-drinking-this-again-because-oh-gods-Ino-what-unholy-concoction-did-you-spawn-into-being drink splattering over her shirt and up her arm.

"You!" Sakura shrieks, spinning around, ready to— well, she hasn't really quite thought that through yet.

And then, because seriously people should stop underestimating medical shinobi in general and Itachi in particular, before she can quite manage to finish picking up her chair to throw it at That Asshole Hatake, Sakura comes to with a start, swinging wildly at the figure hanging over her with a blade she keeps strapped to her thigh.

The bar floor is sticky underneath her, and the room is empty but for the single, glittering man sitting cross-legged at her side.

"Really, Sakura," Itachi says from around his straw. "This is a perfect example for why you should pick me over Sasuke: he would just contribute to the guaranteed property damage. If I am part of the wedding party, it will just mean you have to pay less to apologize for the mess once every thing is said and done."

Sakura flinches as he moves and a particularly blinding ray of light reflects off his hat and hits her in the face. Then she sighs, and raises her hands in the air, making grabby hands.

Itachi tilts his drink down and Sakura catches the straw between her teeth.

Terrible.

She doesn't know why she bothers.

"Yeah," Sakura finally sighs, dropping her head to bounce off the sticky floor. "Sure. You get wedding party precedence."

Itachi smiles from around his straw and another beam of light blinds Sakura.

Whatever.

It'll never happen.

Sasuke will never have to know.