Disclaimer: I woke up today, and realized Naruto isn't mine. I was greatly saddened.

Notes: All the lovely reviews on my first NaruSaku made me want to write more. So here I am again!

If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all okay
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
Jewel - Hands

The rain beat down with a relentless violence, pummeling the earth in an unapologetic cacophony of noise. In the strength of the drops, the grass had flattened, acquiescing with little resistance. The dirt had given way to mud, leaving the path slick and treacherous. As if conspiring with the mud, water had filled in the depressions in the ground, creating numerous murky brown puddles. And the constant drum of the storm on the tin roofs was a monotony that tugged at the weariness etched deeply in the bones.

He'd gotten caught in the rain about two miles from the village. Tired, bruised, and wounded, he had taken it with remarkable aplomb, mostly because there was little else he could do. The chill in the early morning air clung to his wet clothing, permeating through the layers to sting his flesh beneath. His hair, usually so boisterous, was plastered to his skull and nearly obscured the forehead protector denoting his rank as shinobi.

The Jounin uniform was drab in comparison to the brightly colored clothing he'd worn as a child. But for missions and the sake of uniformity, he liked it fine. Jounin was only another step in the direction of is ultimate dream. He would someday be Hokage. Another year from now, two, or even three meant nothing to him; not so long as the end led him to one day being the sole protector of this village.

Wincing faintly at the pull of the gash across his shoulder and down his back, Uzumaki Naruto shifted the pack on his good shoulder and forced one foot in front of the other when what he truly wanted was to collapse on the side of the path and sleep. But inviting pneumonia was hardly a pleasing prospect.

As it was, Sakura was going to be irritated with him (Another wound, Naruto? Can you go through one mission without hurting yourself?). If he gave himself a respiratory disease to compliment the other injuries, she would lecture him until it was all he could do to close her out. As much as he respected and cared for her, there were times when he didn't need to slog through the obvious.

Slowing, he took a steadying breath, though it pained him deep in his chest. Rubbing a hand across his brow, he coughed and found himself doubling over to stop the rhythmic spasms in his abdomen. He had been traveling for three days by himself, wounded and without food. Of a three man team, he was the only left, and the burden of the loss weighed heavily on his mind. It would be left to him to tell the families why their sons, fathers, brothers couldn't return.

And he couldn't help but wonder if they would look at him as they'd done when he was younger, seeing only the blind obedience of hatred and the demon fox.

As a shinobi, he knew the risk for fatality. He'd been on the verge of failure, loss, and death times too numerous to count. But no amount of mental preparation could make the loss of a comrade settle well. Reason and intelligence couldn't keep you from blaming yourself; you could always be stronger, faster, smarter. And each death was another nick in a memory too vivid and too prevalent to ever forget.

Naruto never allowed himself to hold on for very long. But he would weep for them and mourn them in his own way. He'd never held the rule that said a shinobi should never show emotion as worthwhile or something that applied to him. How could someone say they loved Konoha and not be hurt to lose it's people? Being consumed by emotions was wrong, but having none at all was far worse.

Straightening, he kept to the path, ignoring the slap of rain against his face. By now, he'd become nearly numb to the weather conditions, and he was cold in places that a body had no right being cold in. It wouldn't surprise him to be told one or many of his cuts were infected. Having been unable to properly treat himself on the field, and lacking the right to make camp in enemy territory, he'd had to move at a constant, grueling pace.

For anyone looking at him, he knew he must be hardly recognizable. Covered in mud, sweat, and his own blood (as well as that of the enemy), he imagined his appearance would garner the same reaction he himself would have to someone else in his place. Being unable to bathe for days, and subsisting on scant sleep with little to nothing for food, he could easily guess that he'd lost weight and was carrying the lack of sleep in the lines on his face and the pockets beneath his eyes.

It was with some relief that the grounded stones of the hospital came into view a short while later. Scarcely aware of his surroundings, much less the villagers, he managed a faint smile through slick, cracked lips. This was one of the few times he could say he was genuinely pleased to see the hospital and wanted to go in.

Pushing weakly through he doors, he moved hesitantly across the tile, receiving dark looks for the dirty streaks of water he was leaving on the freshly scrubbed floor. He would have apologized, if he hadn't seen her. And even in his tired state, he couldn't help but stop to appreciate.

She hadn't noticed him; talking to another med-nin, she made quick, precise motions with her hands and the serious cast to her face told him that whatever it was, it was important to her. Since Tsunade had taken her on as an apprentice, Sakura had strengthened not only her medical skills, but herself as well. Much like Hokage, she could use brute force to get her point across. Though she was more reserved than the old woman.

Much as it had been when he was younger, Naruto never grew tired of looking at her.

Someone must have noticed him finally, because she blinked and turned to focus in his direction. Smiling though it cost him, he lifted his hand in a wave. Though it was foolish, he took great pleasure in the way her face shifted, her joy at seeming him evident in the brightness of her eyes and the soft lines of her body. As she hurried toward him, he made himself wait for her. He knew her concern was nothing more than the familiar ease of friendship, but it never stopped him from wishing.

"Naruto!" Stopping short of reaching him, she fisted her hands on her hips and examined him critically. The way her lips pursed and the lines between her brows became more prominent, he knew she wasn't pleased with what she saw. "You haven't been taking proper care of yourself."

He would have replied in kind, but she found the blood and was rushing forward, grasping at his arm to twist him to better give her the advantage. With the noises she made and the sharp motions of her hands, he knew that she wasn't pleased.

"You're wounded. Again. And you haven't bothered to care for these."

Same old Sakura. It's nice to know some things never change. "I didn't have time."

Her lips flattened. "Well, what about your team?"

Expression closing down, he briefly turned his face from her.

"Naruto?" Her fingers were on his arm again, warm through the wet fabric, reminding him of just how chilled he was.

"Dead," he replied bluntly, flat blue eyes coming back to rest on her concerned face.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know how much-"

"Could I get changed? I'm freezing," he interrupted, not wanting her pity or her comfort now.

She frowned, but didn't say anything about his obvious refusal to discuss the happenings of his mission. "Yes. And you need a lot of things. Treatment of your wounds and food foremost. I might be tempted to keep you overnight."

For her sake, he grimaced and scratched at the back of his head, effecting a pout. "But you know I hate staying in here."

"Hmph. Should've thought of that before you got hurt."

"Sakura-chan... All shinobi get hurt on missions."

Nose in the air, she grabbed him by the arm and jerked him toward an examining room. "You aren't all shinobi."

He wasn't certain whether to be insulted or gratified.

Stuffing him through the door, she unceremoniously shoved him on an examining table and demanded he remove his Jounin vest and the undershirt. When he hesitated, she turned to scold him again as she gathered medical supplies. Knowing further argument was useless, he sluggishly struggled out of his wet clothing and hoped his embarrassment at having her see him shirtless wasn't obvious.

Sakura, however, was too intent on his wounds to notice anything else. There were a few superficial scratches along his ribcage that would heal soon enough thanks to the chakra of the demon fox, but he was entirely too depleted to deal with the gash on his back. Even the fox had its limits.

Clucking her tongue in annoyance, Sakura moved around to his back and pushed him forward with little gentleness. The motion was so unexpected, he nearly tumbled off the table. Displeased with his posture, she jerked him up again and roughly prodded his injury.

"Ouch! Dammit, Sakura..."

"Hold still," she snapped.

"You're the one shoving me around..." he muttered, but she didn't appear to hear him.

"Why isn't this one healing like the others?" She said aloud, and though he had the impression the question was rhetorical, he answered anyway.

"I'm too tired and I used too much chakra."

"I'm going to stitch it up."

Naruto sighed. He hated needles.

"I heard that. You know I'll be numbing it first."

That was just another needle. But he didn't voice his fear, because compared to some of the things he faced on a mission, a needle was relatively minor. He was just grateful he couldn't see it.

As promised, Sakura injected a numbing agent into several places, unable to witness his telltale flinches every time the sharp object entered his flesh. When the area was numb, she began pulling the thread in and out of his wound with quick, precise motions. Though his back and shoulder were partially numb, he could feel the vague pressure of her fingers and the needle. It was oddly relaxing.

He must have begun to drift off, because the next he knew her hand was gripping his shoulder and lightly shaking him.

"Naruto? I'm done."

He hadn't even felt her tying off the thread.

"Sorry. I think I fell asleep."

Her hands were suddenly on his neck, pressing into sore and abused muscles. "You're muscles are in knots."

"Well I..." He trailed off as her fingers began to skillfully knead his skin wherever they touched. The motions were soothing, and he could feel himself loosening already. It helped that she was using a light layer of chakra; it warmed him, tugging at that need for sleep.

"I'm keeping you here tonight," she told him quietly. "You can barely stay awake, much less walk yourself home."

"I need some dry pants," he murmured, unable to rouse himself to disagree.

"I'll get you hospital wear. There's a better room to sleep in than this examining table. Your legs will fall off," she added, and he heard the smile in her voice as her hands reached the small of his back.

"Yeah... I finally grew," he returned with less snap than he wanted. Her hands on him... It would be a lie to say it didn't mean something to him. But it couldn't; and only a fool would let it.

"Come on." She lightly shoved him from the table. "Let's get you settled in."

Naruto let her lead, because he couldn't do anything else. For once, her ministrations were gentle and her concern palpable. He hadn't seen his reflection yet, and he wondered if he looked that bad. It didn't matter though. Weariness and pain made him far more docile than he had ever been, and he accepted the soup she gave him without complaint. And later, when she forced him into a hospital bed with a stiff mattress and a flat pillow, he just smiled at her, thanked her, and drifted to sleep the second his cheek sank into the feathers.