Title: Completion
Written: Began it in January, and finished it today. (lord)
Summary: Sakura does not understand the concept of 'team.'
A/N: Every author needs to write a Sakura-centric character study... This is mine. It's taken me a while to write, and this has some wrinkles still to iron out. If I don't put it out now, it'll sit on my laptop for another year. (Please let me know if I've missed any grammar/ooc mistakes. Still without a beta.) It was not supposed to be this long, but stories go as long as they need to, I suppose. To the LJ if you want to hear more behind-the-scenes moaning. Onward!
She was surprised to learn that they trained in groups of three. Two boys and a girl, usually. Everyone knew that shinobi were solitary. No one had ever mentioned teamwork.
She ran a hand along the spine of her books, categorized by color and subject. The 3rd Shinobi war, tragic love stories – nothing mentioned collaboration. Groups would be sent out on missions, but tasks were divided and done alone. She assumed.
Shinobi are secret-holders, thieves, and soiled hands. In books, she read about the lone warrior, adrift in the ocean of his sorrows. Even in real life, she never saw too many of them together. The green vests and the regulated pants, flanked by pedestrians on every side. She still counted green figures in the crowd.
Iruka-sensei once assigned it as an essay. She wrote sixteen pages, detailing why she thought that teams were useless, and how one-on-one personalized teachings were far more effective. That, and she thought, shinobi's should not keen on teamwork. She cited fourteen references, two specifically on the Hatake-scandal. It had been her first, and only, F. But that had been at the age of ten, right before she had broken off with Ino, and noticed how pretty Sasuke-kun's eyes could be.
Years later, when meeting with her teacher, she couldn't remember the question. She had Sasuke-kun as a teammate, and the famed Copy Nin as a teacher. What more could she ask for?
Sakura,
You have written a very well-planned essay, but it does not address the topic: the need of teamwork as proven by the three person team. Historically, Konoha Shinobi are not famous for such work – your essay was quite correct – however, just because a few men will rise to top, does not mean that there was no mesh to buoy them below.
Thank you for your work, Sakura. Please see me for a make-up essay.
Iruka
She loved her team. Of course she would. She had the Uchiha continually in close proximity. It didn't matter that he was ice, and that her sensei preferred enjoyed public scandals of pornography. Naruto had been the only hang-up, and while he pissed her off, sometimes when it was only Kakashi, Sasuke, and her, there were fewer words to say, and it welt wholly incomplete.
It doesn't make sense to her. But as much as she doesn't understand, she knows she won't survive without them. She can't do taijutsu, and she has scrapped together a pathetic amount of other, less famous jutsus. She has no magic eye, no chakra reserves, nothing to entice the eye of older, more developed jounin. In the midst of a battle, what would happen when Naruto left? Or worse, if Sasuke was down.
Lately, she cannot go into battle without double-checking her periphery. She doesn't dislike the feeling. Sometimes, when Kakashi praised her control, she bit down tears.
So, instead she makes bentos and patches her boys up. Then the question isn't always there.
"Kakashi-sensei. Why do we have groups of three?" she had asked one day, resting her meager chakra supplies, serving as dead weight. Konoha shinobi were notoriously pragmatic. The boys were off, climbing trees, outdoing each other, and fulfilling some idiotic rivalry. She looked down, and saw the thin sheen of sweat on his one eye. Once, some friends had called him Cyclops, and she said nothing in return.
"We don't have enough jounin for one on ones." He said.
She chewed it over. It was possible, of course. But there were hundreds of jounin on any given day, less in times of war. Teaching was a part of their rules, their derelict duty to pass on skills to another generation. And down, and down through the years.
"But even then, a good portion would be able to have one on one interaction…" she mused, flexing her sore muscles. She watched Sasuke and silently cheered as he won, especially when Naruto swore.
"It'd an old tradition." Kakashi said casually, his two fingers pressed against the ground.
"I'm glad we have it… it's been nice. I have Sasuke, and even Naruto, and you of course, Kakashi-sensei." She added, hoping he didn't think she was ungrateful. "I just think it's funny. All stuff you hear about shinobi seems to be very… solitary. I don't think I've read many stories of teams that survived."
She felt him stiffen, but he did not stop.
"A lone wolf is a dead one." He replied, quoting an old proverb. Sakura shivered, and she flipped down on her stomach so that her weight was easily distributed. She pressed her elbows into his shoulder blades, set her face on her hands.
"I suppose it builds up character, and teaches trust. Which seems silly... We're all about breaking trust, or using it for our benefits." She wandered off, remembering their first mission, and training with Kakashi. Who had made them jump through hoops, or grab bells, or be tied up all to teach them. She understood the why, but still it tickled inside her. An itch she could never scratch.
"The shinobi who cannot trust their teammates are lower than trash." Kakashi said, and stood up. Sakura jumped off, a little nervous, looking up at the sky. She had two more books to finish, one on the Yellow Flash, and another on the First. Tomorrow, she would ask Kakashi what he thought.
"They're still at it? Sakura-chan?" He said, his lackadaisical tone implying nothing. He rearranged the mask. She looked over at him with knotted brows.
"Let's break them up."
It was hard sometimes, being the only girl on a team of guys. Especially in the winter, when they had all shared a tent and Naruto had pressed against her, always in between her and Sasuke. She wasn't sure where Kakashi slept. It must have been close, as he was always there the moment the boys became too hot-headed and began to fight. She still stood by, and waited for them to stop.
Being with men was strange, she thought. Ino had told her that Shikamaru and Chouji were her bodyguards, and she didn't doubt it. The boys were genuinely smitten with her, although Sakura doubted if Ino would ever give them a chance. Chouji was fat, and Shikamaru was smart.
"It saves a lot of arguments," Ino had said. Sakura had reached out and tried to touch her hand, only to find that Ino had turned to face the wall.
She had wondered about the boys that night. Sasuke-kun wouldn't bother to protect her, and Naruto wouldn't be able to. Most days, they couldn't save themselves from each other.
Half a year later, she stood by her first kill. An enemy-nin, sloppy and old. Instinct had delivered a round-kick, breaking his arm and two ribs, before throwing him against the tree. They talked about red hazes and tunnel vision, but Sakura moved in a ripple of training, of movement. And then he was dead.
In his clothes, he had a picture of a woman standing in front of two young boys. Sakura found it while tagging the body, and gagged. She never made it to the woods. She didn't want the boys to see her, heaving and sobbing against the red grass. All the books had been wrong, must have been, because death did not look like sleep, as no one sleeping could look like that. Slack-jawed, blue eyes empty, body rigid like stone. Decaying flesh and maggot food.
Inner Sakura kept screaming and screaming, demanding to know why she wasn't out with the boys, who weren't laughing and playing, but could stand still and listen to Kakashi-sensei as he kept trying to teach them the correct manner for calculating numbers, and separating the dead. Inner Sakura roared and roared, taunting her about being a girl, and how even Naruto had been able to keep his stomach, and look at the stoic Uchiha, seriously, enough with the pity. But Sakura just shook and trembled and heaved until she was empty of everything.
Later, she went to bed early, barely able to look her teacher in the eye, when he had asked her about her whereabouts. She had shaken her head, and he nodded, telling her to wash up.
"What will we do with the bodies?" She asked.
"Float them down river, as a message to the town." He said, looking up from his smut, and Sakura wondered just how old he was. She had come prepared after finally having gathered the courage to ask him about another name in the history books, the one that matched his hue. Now the question was ash on her tongue, and she felt stupid for trying to learn by the book, for the book. Dates and facts crumbled beneath the weight of static blue eyes looking at you in death.
Konoha's genin were the youngest in the country. He had been old enough to be her father.
"Go back to the tent, Sakura." He ordered without inflection, but he might as well have whipped her. She knew she had failed some kind of test, but she felt too empty to fill up just yet. She nodded, and then curled up in a ball, staying awake through the night, knowing that the silence she heard was not only hers. That night, their tent held six pairs of open eyes, and as much empty space as the three could find.
In the morning, she wrapped up the bodies, as Kakashi gave them all a quick prayer. Then, they carefully tugged them down to the river, where the bodies floated onward until they reached the sea. Sakura watched as one by one, black lumps drifted onward. As a last touch, she had created a wreath, and placed it on her corpse before launching it.
She came back, and watched as the sun kept rising, and the forest kept going, just as they would soon. Their teacher had disappeared, and the three of them were left to hold together something terribly fragile. This had been a simple mission, and there would be more to come.
"The flowers were nice," said Naruto, before giving her a smile that made her heart feel less like lead. His hand felt warm against her shoulder. She had shaken her head though, and watched as Sasuke shrugged but allowed her to rest her head against his back. Sakura fought back rising tears. Whatever had happened, they had lived through it together, and for once, she smiled something not quite happy.
Together, they watched as the sun kept rising, and stayed until they were forced to leave.
"I think I get it now," she told her mother later. They were peeling radishes for supper, along with fish in celebration for coming home. Earlier, Sakura had protested such extravagance, but this time she had trudged back home with heavier and red-stained hands. She had stayed in her room, instead of chatting about the mission. Now, she felt so removed, as though she could watch and rewind and reply the events again, and she needed to get it out of her, before it choked her up inside again.
"I'm pretty sure, at least." She continued, and her mother handed her a peeler. Sakura shucked the red skins, by carefully running the small blade along the side of the red vegetable, trying to keep her lines as smooth as her left hook, and as flawless as her chakra control.
"What's that, Sakura-chan?" her mother said. Hers were always in one line, a singular red streak of skin that left the white and crunchy exterior perfectly smooth.
"Why we have teams of three. It's for the support and the trust that comes from it." She didn't tell her mother about the man, and how his blue eyes were still everywhere that she could see, or how Naruto had stared off into the forest for an hour before even making one pass at her. Even Sasuke had stopped the remarks. The sun had been high in the sky, before their teacher had finally put down the book, and something had returned to normalcy.
"Are you still wondering over that F you got at the academy? Sakura-chan, you graduated the top of your class in written work, and number two in training. Why bother?" Her mother had laughed a silky but warm and effervescent laugh. Her pink hair was pulled up behind her, sans messy buns or stray strands. She was effortlessly feminine, in much the same way her daughter was not.
Her mother's fingers adroitly finished her neat and tidy pile, and she went on to the fish – which her father had bought at the market especially for his little Sakura-chan – and began to run a large cleaver up and down, removing the scales and chopping off sharp fins. Small beady, unmoving, fish eyes watched Sakura as she peeled her radishes.
"No. It doesn't bother me," she said, knitting her eyebrows together. "I just really believed it, and it wasn't until today that I got the reason."
"But support comes from many things, and teammates are not the only thing that can bind you." Her mother said, then gasped.
"Sakura-chan! Your hand." Her mother rushed off to find a band-aid, but Sakura watched as her thumb gushed red, and wondered if it was any different than Sasuke's blood, or Naruto's. She must have pressed the blade a little too far, a little too fast, and now there was a gash that bled, and wasn't that a sign? Sakura put her thumb into her mouth, tasting both the peppery radish and her metallic flavor. Inner Sakura scoffed and rolled her eyes. Actual Sakura was sure that Inner Sakura felt that her/their mother was right. She was glad for her mother's return, and her tender ministrations for such a tiny wound.
"Oh Sakura-chan. You're so…" She ahemed. "Now that you're a ninja, I sometimes feel like I can't do much as a mother. Times like these make me feel useful." Her mother smiled, and fluffed Sakura's hair, in the same manner that Kakashi-sensei did, whenever he felt that she needed comfort. Sakura hypothesized that it was because she wasn't Naruto and Sasuke who grew up being surrounded but never touched – one from fear and the other from reverence. She felt adrift again, and somewhere in the house, a pair of blue eyes were following her.
Sakura had nodded, and found herself in her room. Useful had been a truth. Shinobi didn't need mothers or caretakers. Shinobi had duty and honor and destiny. She only had a team member with a fox in his stomach, and an emotionally unavailable crush, and a teacher with a pornographic obsession. It wasn't fair, she knew. In comparison and competition, she was only the band-aid of the useless mother. She rolled back on the bed, and realized. This was just how she had lain, forty-eight hours before she had left for a mission, and come back with compensation without actualization.
Her mother spent too long bandaging such a small cut. Sakura felt her stomach swooped as she realized Naruto would have healed within a minute, and Sasuke-kun would never have let himself get cut. She felt her mouth go dry.
"Maybe I'm just obsessing," she told her mom, who cheerfully went on and on about this mother and that. Sakura faked interested, while she thought of blue eyes, and the picture of a family that she kept hidden in her desk.
Sasuke-kun is a strange guy. Sometimes, he's so angry and ready to break down walls or challenge Naruto to the stupidest things. I hate their games. Who Can Climb a Tree the Fastest? (Sasuke) Who Can Eat More Ramen?(Naruto) Who Can Make Kakashi-Sensei show his face? (We all tied in last place.) Boys are silly, and dumb, and I don't know why I like them so much.
Naruto's a lot like a smile, because when he does, you want to hit him, but you're also biting your lip. I try not to smile when he talks, but it's hard. Sometimes, I punch him so it doesn't show. Who would want to say that they liked that kid?
Then there's Sasuke-kun. He's so much different from what I thought. I used to think he was suave and probably had a million girlfriends. He's popular and smart. But I asked him once, and he had rolled his eyes, and told me that he didn't date. I felt kind of relieved. It's funny, because I've liked him for a long time. Ever since Ino and I first saw him, we swore that we would catch his attention. Ino's now with team 8. I'm now in close-proximity with him all the time, and I feel like I know less. Sometimes, I wonder if he's really all there, or if something ripped out whatever kept him alive. Human beings aren't meant to be so alone. I wouldn't want to be, but it's probably different for him.
When I'm with him, it feels like unraveling a mystery, not a romance novel. I won't stop though. And it's not just because Ino's been touching him a lot, but mostly because… sometimes when he spars with me, and he teaches me something simple… his voice is soft and steady, and my stomach does flip-flops. I think I'm (still) in love.
But I still don't understand our team, or how we're suppose to band together. We're close, but only because of the things we're forced to do together. They're not like the friends I had in grade school. Sometimes, it feels like we're closer than family, and other times, it's as though we're all strangers living side by side.
It's funny. Naruto knows Sasuke-kun better than I do, mostly because they fight more and argue more – which means they end up talking more. I can't believe I'm actually jealous of Naruto – who I admit is getting so much better. We're not held together by any earth shattering bond. Ino's team is closer than ever, and sometimes when I watch them, I wonder what it's like. Being the best on a team. I think I just missed the praise. I don't know, and I probably won't. My boys take competition seriously.
Tomorrow, we begin training for the exams. Kakashi-sensei said that we would meet at noon. I'll show up at two, and still be early.
Birthdays came and went, but Sakura's thirteenth had been rather wonderful. Her friends at the academy, some now barely acquaintances had shown up, and there had been cake and strawberry ice cream and pin the kunai on the nin. It had been wonderful, and Sakura had soaked it in, enjoying it because kunoichi understood the swiftness of time.
Sasuke and Naruto had been late along with Kakashi-sensei, but they had all brought presents. Naruto had given her a bouquet, one made of flowers. The present had been just like Naruto though. Simple, and natural. Maybe beautiful. Sasuke's had been a practical kunai, with special honing abilities and extra speed. Sakura had smiled at his pragmatism and hugged him generously. But, by far, Kakashi's had been the best. A picture of them all together, framed and put behind glass. She had almost cried, and beamed when he had ruffled her hair, and winked.
When the guests had left, the two boys stayed to help clean, and her mother sent them both home with extra cake and cookies. Her mother had remarked that those boys were awfully thin and could use some mothering. Sakura rolled her eyes.
"You have no idea."
That night, she had traced the picture, marking Kakashi's eye, and Naruto's whiskers, and Sasuke's pretty eyes with her fingertips. A week away from chunin trials, and the boys had taken a break to celebrate a party with her. She would have joined, had her father demanded that she not train on weekends. He missed her, he had said, and so she stayed inside.
She regretted it later, when Sasuke-kun had disappeared, left, a week afterwards. Her mother had tried to hug her, and ply her with chocolate, telling her that it would be all right, as eventually stop hurting. Sakura didn't even have the effort to throw a tantrum, to tell her no and shut up please. So instead, she walked into her room, shutting the door quietly in her wake.
Tsunade-sama had always stood in the periphery. Sakura knew that someone assigned teams, and prepared interviews. She traced her signature on one of her mission scrolls, wondering if she would have enough courage to do what the Hokage did. It was different from everything that she had been taught. Medic-nins gave life, as jounin took it away.
Ino had laughed when Sakura had confessed her idea.
"Good god, Forehead. What are you thinking? Just barging in and asking her? Why not ask Kakashi-sensei to put in a good word, and wait around for a few months?" Ino said.
Sakura agreed that it was a better plan, but she was old enough now to distrust plans and anything that seemed too simple and easy. It had been three months since Sasuke-kun had left.
Her mother was wrong, as it still hurt just as much when she went back to her room, rereading Naruto's letters until the ink smeared. The bruise from Sasuke's fingers hadn't healed, and Sakura made sure it stayed that way, jabbing herself to keep the discolored flesh. It was childish, and when Kakashi-sensei noticed it, on one of their rare practice sessions, he had quirked an eyebrow.
"It's been some weeks," he mused.
"Ahh," she responded.
They didn't meet very often, as every time they did, the damage done was catastrophic. That and in between his instructions, Sakura could feel the emptiness from behind her. She knew she couldn't ask that of Kakashi. It would be as though she asked him to stop reading Icha, or stop seeing the stone. It meant too much, and far too fast. We all grieve in our ways, she thought.
Naruto's letters still came every week, and they ranged in length. At the beginning, they only talked about the new sights and how the Toad was such a lech, etc. They always ended in No new news. Sorry. Sakura couldn't write back, and she was sure that Naruto understood. He was keeping a promise to her, wasn't he.
Sometimes, when she shopped or on her way back from work, she would have to steady herself against a wall as she inhaled him in, a twist of ramen and sweat. Other times, it was something dark and bold, That smelled of blood and ashes. Cinders and smoke left behind. When those passed by her, Sakura felt her stomach do cartwheels, and excused herself from the operating rooms.
For nights now, she had poured over medical transcripts, while pictures of famous medic-nins loomed on her walls. Both her parents approved, but that was because Sakura said only half-truths, leaving out trivial bits.
Example. Medic-nins were four times as likely to die from over-exhaustion, and during wars, they were the first targets. It took them years to gain control and learn how to mend flesh and bone, but they could never completely cure what existed before.
"They save lives, rather then ending them." She told them, just as she had rehearsed. She did not tell them that the best part of the job. Medic-nins were always sent on missions with teammates, but expected to perform and remain alone.
During her second try at the chunin exams, Sakura did not feel out of place. Most of the Rookie Nine class was there, as the exams had been shortened drastically last year. The convention was large and held in Sand. She had seen their new Kazekage, and shuddered at the memory of his own demon, which in turn made her think fondly of hers.
Tsunade-sama had come, of course. Sakura had been surprised at her mentor's recommendation, but the Hokage had smiled. It had not been a part of her plans, as the clinic worked her until her bones ached, and she hadn't touched a kunai in two weeks. But the Hokage mentioned one name, and Sakura felt herself give-in.
"…Besides, Naruto will expect it." Tsunade-sama had said, without looking up to see the surprise – and the hurt – in her student's eyes. The Hokage knew many things, like how to heal and reset bones. How to look away at her teammate's looks, and how to stop a heart with a name. Sakura attributed this to never allowing wounds to be stitched up and healed. But a wound like Orochimaru never really heals, she supposed.
"You walked into my office, demanding to be my apprentice. You obviously have balls and talent. Now, instead of proving it to me, prove it to the other old geezers in the stands."
They did not speak of what else it would say. Another female medic. Another link in the cycle of similar teams. She had read all the stories now, both of the Sanin and that of her ex-Sensei. Sometimes at night, she wondered if it was always this way, some continual wheel of one medic, one missing, and one fucked up. But she had smiled at her mentor, because she was moving on as best she could. The only thing Sakura asked was that she not be made jounin before Naruto came back. Tsunade-sama agreed.
Now, in front of the old geezers, Sakura felt her body relax. Her opponent was a little older, and swore he was going to be the next greatest fighter.
"Hey, ugly. Whatever happened to the fox-bastard on your team?"
When she hit him, she was sure to cause maximum damage. Still, it only took her twenty minutes and sixteen seconds to subdue her opponent. A few well-placed shadow-clones and a harsh attack on his kidneys had almost made up for her weak defense and the painful sensation of ruptured organs in her lower stomach. She stumbled out without a signal of victory, who was there to see it? And stretched herself out on the tiny hospital bed. The light above the green tent buzzed, and resounded in her head. All around her, people busied themselves, healing people, or trying to be stoic despite the pain, and the wooziness called morphine.
Then she heard the sound of a one-eyed man.
"Kakashi-sensei!" She had said, glad for a moment to see his lazy eye, and mask. He held out a new set of kunai.
"Welcome to chunin," he said, and she watched the crinkling of his mask which was his own version of a smile. Her chest felt tight, but full. They exchanged pleasantries, and Kakashi evaded all questions of a certain black-headed boy. Sakura felt herself cough and look away.
"Do you remember the question I gave you?" She said. He pretended not to.
"I've been thinking about it, and I have a new theory."
"Oh?"
"It's because Konoha wants to tie us down. They lump together when we're young, and force us to have all these bonds. Then when we're older…" and too fucked up to walk normally, "they're all we have. It's a safety line that Konoha's famous for."
Kakashi-sensei said nothing. She couldn't keep it inside, and it bubbled and frothed demanding to be heard. She would blame it on her exhaustion, or the adrenaline.
"I smell them sometimes. All around the town. And it's as though they were right there."
"Sakura-chan."
"It's not fair." She said too soft for him to hear.
"You should find a hobby," he told her. "They must not be working you enough if you have time to find loopholes and theories, eh Sakura-chan?"
He ruffled her hair. "It'll be okay."
She didn't want to yell at him, or at the stupid grin he had beneath that mask. So instead, she bit her tongue, hard, until she tasted blood.
This town isn't terrible. It's just boring. There's only one sauna, and its men only, so the Toad is throwing a hissy fit. I don't mind it too much, since it's got it's own ramen section. I've tried all sixty-four flavors of ramen – with the Toad's own money! They weren't all good, but shrimp and naruto flavored were my favorite. I think I'll get some tomorrow. The Toad's throwing a fit – he says I'm not eating enough vegetables. Green onions are technically vegetables, so take that, Toad.
Training is great. I practice from dawn until dusk, or until the Toad needs to write. (I've seen some of his work, and it's nasty. I know though that you won't read it, so just take my word for it.) Sometimes, I just can't sleep, so I'll practice basic forms, or shadow-clones in the moonlight. It's better out here, since there's no city lights. That, and we don't have to kill people.
I miss you a lot Sakura-chan. At night, I look up at the stars, and tell myself that you're okay. It's the only thing that made me want to stay. Before you get mad, just listen kay? It's because you're really, really strong, and you won't back down. It'll get you in a lot of trouble. Believe me, I know.
No news of the Last Remaining Dumbass.
There are fourteen different type of stitching, and their situational function must be adhered to at all times. Obviously, less effective than cell repair, stitches are nevertheless important, especially upon the battlefield. Chakra stitching is usually futile, particularly as chakra conservation is absolutely essential in dire situations. The whipstitch is best suited for lacerations to the back the front, as they are especially designed for large gaping wounds –
Sakura slammed the book down. It was four in the morning, and by now, she was only study for the sake of doing something. Tomorrow, she would have to perform all fourteen types, and two more Tsunade had invented. She shuddered, thinking of dead blue eyes.
In the dark crypts of the freezer, Sakura would have to quell both nerves and hands as she forced herself to touch dead flesh, then stitch them together. Most of the bodies she had used were of enemy-nin, and their faces had been torn apart or had grisly scars. The pale flesh was as hard as stone, and Sakura didn't want to now what jutsu her mentor used to make rigor mortis disappear.
Sakura yawned, and shuddered at her first "patient." He had eyes that wouldn't shut, and Sakura had taken an extra five minutes to settle her stomach before dissecting him and naming each muscle in the intestinal region. Tsunade-sama hadn't even flinched as blood began to pool, and Sakura had held in her own terror until she was dismissed. Then she had crumpled outside the building, hyperventilating onto her vermilion hands. It was the first time, she had seen the dead could bleed. It was still red.
By now, she could cut, sew, heal, chop, and destroy without hesitation. Live bodies were a treat in comparison. Tsunade did think ahead.
She was old now, she thought. Her fourteenth birthday had come and passed, without a party – at her request. She had gotten quite a few presents, but most of them were sent out of pity, a gesture towards the "cursed team." The only gift she kept was that of Kakashi's.
It was a new glass frame, and Sakura wondered how her ex-sensei had known that she had thrown her old one across the room. She didn't ask, and by the time she had worked up enough nerve, the moment was gone.
Naruto's gift had come two weeks later, and it was post-marked from Grass. It was a box of preserved cherry blossoms, and then a letter that was unfinished.
Sakura had placed it on her desk, wondering for days at why he didn't sign it.
Her chest still hurt, but now less so. Time had deadened the blow, but she knew it was still there. Like novacaine, numbed but painful if pressed hard enough. Sakura held the letter against her chest. When he came back, he would explain, and she would show him all that she had amounted to. In the back of her mind, a memory of fire flickered and died.
She picked up her book again.
- as it does both pull the skin, and allow healing. Medics beware, however, for the whipstitch, while quite effective, also allows for the least movement, and agility is cut by half. Should a medic be in dire situation, it may be better to amputate. However, this is always the last resort.
Sometimes, when Kakashi-sensei was injured, Sakura would stop by in between breaks and chat. He was illusive as ever, but it felt nice, she thought, to be in the presence of someone who was in just as much pain as she was. Sometimes, she brought him lunch, but only if there was no tomatoes. She stopped eating tomatoes a year after he left.
He took tea sometimes, but it always disappeared before she saw his face. Not that she tried very hard. Somehow the fun had disappeared along with Naruto. And Sasuke-kun.
There had been a rumor that he was seen in Mist. She had asked for a leave of absence, but Tsunade-sama had denied it.
"One day, Sakura, you'll understand." The woman looked haggard as she said it, and Sakura left the room.
Sakura spent four days rehashing her old kunai forms. Naruto's letters came only once a month, but they were longer, darker she thought.
She had moved out, saying that it was time. Her mother had cried, and her father had carried in a few boxes to her new apartment. It was tiny, with a small closet for a toilet and shower, and a communal kitchen downstairs. There were no pictures on the walls, but Sakura was rarely there anyways. Most nights, she spent down at the clinic, saving the commute time.
Once, she had taken Kakashi-sensei home, and realized that he lived very close to the Uchiha sector. From his window, she could see the Abandoned signs that had been taped across. She imagined a time when it had been bustling with activity surrounded by active guards at the entrance. She had asked him about his own clan then, and he had pretended to be asleep.
She healed his wounds until she could barely move, and so she collapsed on the chair and woke up at night. Her teacher was still passed out, and in the moonlight, he looked more fragile than she cared to admit. Slowly, her eyes traced each feature, willing herself to never lose his image. Her worst nightmares were always about forgetting Naruto's hair, or Sasuke's spinning eyes. And now, Kakashi's stoic glance.
"One by one, my boys are always leaving me," she thought, running a hand through his hair. In the morning, she let herself out, after writing a cheerful letter that she had crumpled up afterwards.
In the beginning, her parents dropped by often, bringing egg salad or tempura. They had only stopped when she pretended not to be home, and let the doorbell ring several times.
She watches her old house in between shifts, the window in the third stairwell giving a clear look at the house she grew up in. Her mother usually slept alone, and her father was away more than she remembered. When she passes by the house, her feet ache for familiar floorboards and the smell of sumeshi in the morning. But she goes on. She wasn't a child, and hadn't been one for a very long time.
On her mother's birthday, Sakura had come, and made tea and breakfast. The eggs were burned, but the toast was fine, and she blamed it on living at the clinic, where meals were yogurt and some yakitori. Her mother had smiled, and eaten it all, and then cleared her throat and fidgeted. Sakura sat across, and listened to whatever her mother chattered away about, but she had worked 18 hours straight, and failed to resuscitate a child. She made small talk, and looked at the redecorated walls.
"Do you like it? I put up all of your pictures."
Sakura looked around, and tried to remember that she had lived in this house for so many years. That she hadn't always been shinobi, and able to talk to her mother about boys and clothes. But the walls were different colors now, and the pictures all rearranged. New duvets for the couches. Nothing as she remembered.
Eventually, Sakura made some excuse, and as always, her mother believed her.
She would call up Ino, who hadn't moved out, and speak something non-sensical that night. It was three in the morning, but Ino always picked up, generally made her feel better.
"Sakura, you're not making sense. Go to bed, forehead. Quit working so hard." There were exceptions to the rules.
She lay in bed afterwards, and realized that Ino couldn't understand. Chouji and Shikamaru were where they had always been. Their families just about intertwined.
"You can't move backward," she whispered to herself, and listened to the room and the ghostly echoes of those who were still, always, infuriatingly there.
Sometimes, she imagines the things he would say if he was here. Letters had stopped, and by now, she could make it through a day without a thought of the team. Sometimes.
The Naruto in her head was always the same. They would be at the ramen shop, or the training ground, and in her dreams he was close enough to reach out and hold her hand.
"I never left you behind Sakura, believe me. You're with me no matter where I go. Sometimes, I swear I can hear your voice, Sakura. It's in my mind, and it shows up just when I need it to. The Toad doesn't believe me, but he hasn't been with his team in years."
Or.
"I imagine you in a pretty dress, and it makes me happy knowing that you've got Kakashi-sensei and Ino. Nothing makes you feel more alone than being the only one of your team, but whenever I think that, I just think of us all together, on your birthday. I know I'm never really alone, and I'm just whining for no damn reason. Tch."
He might roll his eyes, or make that squinty Naruto's an idiot face. Maybe stroke the whiskers on his face. There were a thousand different things that she had filed and categorized as Naruto's.
Still, her favorite words were like those at the end of his letters. She sometimes closed her eyes, and pressed her palms against her eyelids.
"It's hard to believe that it's been a year since I've seen him. I've promised you that I would find him, and I will. Then, I punch the bastard in the nose, and tell him that he's such an idiot for leaving. God damn dumbass.
"I think I'm coming back soon, Sakura-chan, because last night, I couldn't remember what your favorite color was. It's time to reunite Team 7. I swear I'll do it, if it's the last thing I do!"
And then he would scream or beat his chest or do something equally showy. Sakura spent much of her time imagining his homecoming, his words. She didn't know how to imagine Sasuke's.
Her apartment was a mess. Four days after she heard the rumor, she was still cleaning in a fiery craze. It was futile, since he wasn't in sight or on Konoha land. Sakura was upset at first, until Tsunade laughed at the thought of Naruto giving warning. What a fool, she thought, and angrily stuffed them all into the trash.
She rescued them later, seconds before they were carted off for the incinerators – thank God for Shinobi speed - and then spent an entire afternoon re-reading all of them, without tears for once.
The sad truth, she thought, is that I don't need any letters. I'll never be free of them. She still woke up at night, thinking she was 13, with Naruto's arm protectively against her, and Sasuke's kunai against the door.
Jounin have been picked and promoted, and Sakura was there at Neji's party, thrown by Tenten and Rock Lee. She arrived a little late, and still certain chunin starred. But Sakura was the Hokage's apprentice, former student of the Copy-Nin, and most of all, a part of what was Team 7. So she bore it all with the grace she could muster, and only felt a little squeeze of her heart when a teary-eyed Rock Lee hugged a stoic Neji, as Tenten smiled.
She traced her picture that night, and noticed its worn edges, and pressed them close to her breasts. She put it back when the smell of fire and ramen began to smother her.
Still, she kept her apartment clean, and her door unlocked.
And he does. Of course. He's Naruto, and you cannot doubt the sun's rising, can you?
He stood on top the pole, and when he rushed down to meet her, she almost burst into tears. He's taller than her now, and his arms are longer, and Sakura has to keep herself from running her hands over him, just to check that he's actually there.
He is, and as she watches him fight Kakashi for those stupid bells, she can almost fly, and treats him to ramen afterwards.
The question remains though, especially at night when Sakura slips between her covers and wishes for something near by. The wilderness begins calling at night, when the street lamps flicker and all she wonders about is fire and the way it looks across a field.
They have a new teammate, and Sakura hates him. When he walks, he swaggers, and yet he can't understand social normalcy. Kakashi had told her that he had been raised that way.
"It was an experiment." He said. Now, she was older, and she wasn't just dead weight. She could run faster. Split earth. Multiply herself with ease. And still, Naruto was ahead of her, sometimes just out of reach. Still, she thinks, after all this time. This time, she feels nothing but gratitude for his presence. She feels more whole now a days.
"It failed." Continued Kakashi. Sakura snorted. Of course it would. You can't just take a child and rip away every stitch of humanity, and then expect him to be okay. They'd all end up like Sasuke. Nowadays, Sakura believes they all will anyways.
Ino cried after Asuma-sensei died. Sakura had brought her home, and laid her down on the futon, and made soft cooing noises until Ino fell asleep. The next day, Choji and Shikamaru slipped through the window, and Sakura left before she saw how they gently pried her from the bed and threw her – clothes and all – into the shower. Ino smiles as she saw them, in a way Sakura can't.
It is worse because she knew what Kakashi would do. He would step in, and protect team 8. He's a living breathing model of everything Konoha wanted. Sakura shakes her head, and wonders what it would have taken to make him leave the town. Things are different, still.
She watched them train, and took pride in that it took Naruto and her only minutes to take the bells, while it took them days. Then, she thought that if it meant extra time, it would be worth the extra man. The picture on the mantle is always facing up. Yesturday, some kids were cracking jokes about the one-eyed jounin. Sakura had kindly explained some moral to them, but smiled when Naruto gave them a speech on the virtues of shutting-the-hell-up.
Sai comes to train with them, and they have a new teacher. Sakura felt the traditional steps fall through. It spun around her now, and she could not feel the gravity – except that it was there, still, pulsating underneath what she had locked away and swore never to give again.
But, one night, she pressed against Naruto, and drifted off to his heartbeat against her throat. The next day, he says nothing, so she does in return. Kakashi had quirked an eye, but there was too much to say, so they stayed quiet.
"Do you think we'll ever see him again?" She asked one night. The lights above the ramen shop make it seem almost as bright as day. Naruto stopped his slurping for a bit, and Sakura was glad that Sai had gone home early. Some small vindictive part was glad he understood betrayal now, but most of her was sorry that it had happened. Now he was the same as them, and that was worth grieving for.
"Sure." He said, resolutely.
She hated him then, for that stupid faith, because while hers wasn't gone – damned if she hadn't tried to snuff it out slowly, painstakingly beaten it from her heart – it burned slowly now, more maturely. Sai still has the bruise from insulting the Uchiha. Sasuke-kun, she thought. She will be eighty-six with saggy skin stretched over breaking bones, and still he will be buried inside her, a twisted knife that couldn't sit still.
Nights like these, made Sakura glad that some nights she crashed in Naruto's room.
"Three is such a strange number." She said, looking up at the sky. Somewhere out there, she thought, he's looking up too.
"When we see him," Naruto said – somberly, and Sakura is finally getting use to a somber, far more serious Naruto – "We will bring him back."
Sakura was glad he used 'we.'
They see him again, months afterwards. Rumours rampant, and Sakura can't breathe for a moment. He looks taller, and thinner. Muscles and sinews that she no longer knew. Two and half years will do this to a person, she thinks.
He looked down at the pair, and Sakura felt herself give in to all the delicious dreams she had suppressed for so long.
Hello, Sasuke-kun. She thought. And it worked. Teams of three, and all those years, breathing, hating, most of all living with or against each other. It was because when it worked, when three separate points collided to form this explosion of shinobi… the ecstasy, she thought. How glorious it was, she thought. How glorious it is to be reunited.
She closed her eyes, and breathed in fire and blood, konoha and sound, the past and present, all violently whirled together once again.
"But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone"
- W. B. Yeats