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Her day begins and ends the same way every other day the past year seemed to - with Sakura walking into the hospital with a confident spring to her step and a brightness in her eyes and dragging herself out (on the rare day she had the energy to pry herself from her desk) with antiseptic or blood or a mix of the two staining her hands and the lab coat she'd forgotten to peel off.
Tonight, Sakura consciously decides not to make the effort to drag herself out of the hospital. Leaving means she'll be roped into the birthday party Ino's been planning for Sai for months, and she doesn't quite have the energy to even shower, let alone paste a convincing smile on her lips.
She spares a glance at the old clock posted right above the chalkboard in her office as she shuffles in and locks the door behind her.
8:00PM.
Fourteen hours since Naruto shook her awake and thrust her straight into a day from hell.
It's still a little too early for anyone to come looking for her yet. Naruto will notice that she's not at the bar right when he arrives, but Hinata will patiently remind him of the shitshow that was today and reason that Sakura's still probably dealing with the aftermath. (In much less colorful terms, of course; Sakura's only heard her friend curse a handful of times, none of which were in front of Naruto.) That'll buy her about an hour before Ino starts making a fuss and sends Sai or Kiba out to Sakura's apartment.
If she's not there, they'll assume she's still at the hospital, and they won't come back until it's close to midnight. Not today. Not after seeing the hallways lined with burn victims pleading for someone to find their loved ones. Not after returning home and finding that the stench of charred skin and blood isn't so easy to wash out of their clothes.
Sakura didn't get to leave. Her role just changed from a kunoichi dispatched on a rescue mission to the de facto head of the hospital the moment she crossed the threshold.
She pulls the shades in hopes of convincing her friends that she isn't here if they do decide to come looking but stops short in front of the light switch. The migraine between her temples screams for her to turn the fluorescents off, but she doesn't trust her mind not to see death in the shadows of her office tonight.
She turns them off anyways.
It isn't until she's sitting criss-cross on her floor with her too-full bookshelf at her back and a bottle of sake in her hand that Sakura realizes her hands are trembling. A splash of sake makes its way onto her carpet instead of into her cup, and she curses because it's good sake - the expensive kind that Tsunade bought her a case of after the war and no no no.
She cuts that thought there because violent memories of the war, or rather the days immediately following the war, have been intruding into her mind all day and she just can't.
A case or so of sake should knock her and those thoughts right out (or so she hopes). Years of honing her skills as a medic nin have given her a certain resistance to toxins, including alcohol, and it's why she doesn't bother to drink most of the time; social drinking is more of a waste of money than anything else. She figures that's precisely why her mentor gave her an entire case as a gift.
It isn't until she's two bottles in and there's a buzzed lightness to her body that she realizes she's crying.
Her breath seems to come faster and faster, shallower and shallower, and she wonders if the buzz and creeping, cold numbness in her fingers is because of the alcohol or the lack of oxygen. She's shivering, muscles tensed to the point of pain, but she blames it on the chill of the hospital.
Another glass will knock the cold right out. At least, that's what Tsunade used to say when she drank away the ghosts that forced themselves a little too close to the front of her mind.
It's a few glasses later that Sakura starts seeing the eyes of the dead staring back at her from the shadows at the edges of her office. She's back on the battlefield, the same smell of burnt skin and the mournful cries of shinobi finally processing the deaths of their comrades hanging in the air. She's been healing for days, but she continues to push. The fighting may be over but there are still identities to confirm, survivors to heal, and families to be notified.
Sakura knew that death was part of her job description from her days in the Academy; protecting the interests of the village often required it. Tsunade had let her figure out that the same was true of her job as a medic on her own, when she lost her first patient at fifteen. She'd learned to put the deaths she dealt with in a neat little box which she deadbolted and tossed on a shelf in the deepest recess of her mind she could find.
But death was a uniquely stubborn bastard that didn't always like to stay in that box.
She'd been awake for the full three days the war had drawn on, but the medical corps was tasked with the brunt of combing through the miles upon miles of dead shinobi for another forty-eight hours or so. They'd had help, but medics were the ones needed throughout to organize, heal, or in the worst possible cases (which Sakura and Shizune handled) show mercy to the shinobi who were alive but long past the point of saving.
Sakura nearly vomits and washes the bile down with more sake. One glass. Another.
The quiet tears have turned into sobs that scratch at her throat and squeeze her lungs. Her nails cut thin crescent moons into her forearms, and her shoulders hunch as if she can ward off the prying eyes. Sakura barely has the presence of mind to activate the silencing seal in her office - the one she keeps on hand when discussing particularly sensitive cases - before her sobs grow into half screams. She can't get enough air to manage much more than a hoarse cry, but if she can just drink fast enough, it shouldn't matter.
And so she cracks open another bottle and brings it directly to her lips, trying to focus on the burn of the alcohol on her throat and Naruto's bright smile reassuring her that everything would be fine when he first found her clutching a bottle of sake in the corner of her disaster of a bedroom.
What she doesn't count on is the alcohol making it increasingly difficult to distinguish reality from the memories that have escaped from her mind and seared themselves into the darkness around her. They become more real, more tangible, until she swears she can hear the fresh widow of a shinobi from Cloud shouting about how Sakura hadn't done enough. Another voice joins until there's a chorus telling her exactly what she feared most:
There shouldn't have been so many casualties. She should have been able to do more.
She was weak.
Her tears stop for a moment when she looks up and sees Sasuke standing in the doorway. For a fraction of a second, she almost feels relieved and tries to move to go to him, but she's reminded none of this is real, and she can't be sure which Sasuke this is. Given her current state of mind, it's probably the one who haunted her nightmares for months after the bridge and still longer after his genjutsu in the war. She takes a swig from the bottle she clenches in her fist and curls back into herself.
Sasuke's repeated calls of her name fall on deaf ears.
For his part, Sasuke is at a loss. He's never seen Sakura like this (and he'd witnessed her tears firsthand on many occasions as genin). Sure, she's always worn her heart on her sleeve and been far too open with her emotions by standard shinobi rules, but she has never seemed so broken.
Looking at the scratch marks that trail down her forearms and the far too many empty bottles of sake for someone of her stature littered on the carpet, Sasuke realizes he doesn't know this woman - and in retrospect, he never should have assumed otherwise.
From her confessions both during the war and when he made the decision to leave her behind yet again, Sasuke knows she's still fiercely loyal and has a light bright enough to forgive and heal anything it touches without her needing to make the conscious choice to do so. Her skills as a shinobi have grown to the point that she could give him a challenge if they were to spar, and he's seen her heal an entire battlefield for days on end while still fighting on the front lines.
She's become more than worthy of the title of the "New Sannin," as the original Team 7 has now been christened, and she still loves him (unreasonably so in his opinion, but he's come to realize that maybe he doesn't want her to change her mind - even if he thinks it would be better for her in the long run). But that's all he knows, and he finds himself wanting to discover more of who Sakura is now.
He has years of absence and cruel actions to make up for, and far more growth beyond that to become someone who deserves the steadfast love she's always been ready to give him.
At the moment, however, he needs to get her to let go of the liquor bottle she clutches onto like a lifeline and refocus on the present. He's been trapped by his past more times than he'll ever admit, and though he hasn't had real comfort since his mother (and Sakura, he amends), he owes it to her to at least try.
Sasuke approaches her slowly, intentionally making his footsteps heavier so that she can hear him approach. Whatever nightmare she's trapped in - he confirmed it wasn't a genjutsu the moment he broke the lock on her door after an unnerving spike in her chakra - she hasn't seemed to notice he's actually here. He bites back the guilt that surfaces at the thought that he could be part of her nightmare, but that's something they can work through later.
He crouches down in front of her, taking a firm hold of the hand that clutches the bottle to try to coax it out of her grip. She jolts at the touch, peeking hesitantly up from her knees with red-rimmed eyes and a mix of tears and sweat coating her cheeks.
"Breathe, Sakura."
Her grip loosens as she meets his eyes. He sees uncertainty waver in her gaze as she hiccups in a short breath, but then the panic snaps back down and tightens her hold on the bottle yet again.
"I- I can't."
The words are stilted, as though forcing out those two words causes her physical pain. Sasuke, however, considers it a small win as it means Sakura's decided he's real. Her breathing is still far too fast, and he knows he needs to stabilize it before she's ready to explain what's happening.
It's awkward - both because Sasuke has never done this and the fact that he hasn't completely sorted through his feelings for his teammate - but he eventually pulls Sakura far enough away from the bookcase that he can shuffle in behind her. He secures his legs around her sides and arranges Sakura so that her back rests on his chest.
It's almost annoying just how snugly Sakura fits against him, her head tucked just below his chin. A part of his mind notes how her curves seem to melt into his frame only to be ruthlessly shoved down. There are priorities, and noting how the boyish (yet annoyingly charming) Sakura has clearly blossomed into a young woman is not one of them.
Where the Sakura from his memories smelled of strawberries and artificial sweetness, the woman in his arms tonight seems as though she's been doused in a pungent blend of antiseptic and ash.
"Breathe, Sakura."
Sasuke repeats Sakura's name to ground her as he starts regulating his own breath: six counts in through the nose, hold, eight counts out through the mouth. He's sure to exaggerate his breaths a bit so Sakura can feel the movement against her back. Hesitantly, his hand comes up to trail over the marks on her forearm. His hands have always been cold, so he figures the one he has left might be able to relieve some of the sting from her nails.
He makes a mental note to pick up some basic medical ninjutsu and doesn't bother to pretend it's just for field injuries.
It takes about ten minutes for Sakura's breathing to return mostly to normal. It still stutters every now and then, but she's matching Sasuke almost breath for breath. She doesn't move away from him, and Sasuke doesn't move to shift her.
As they sit in silence, save for their own breathing, Sasuke realizes he's put himself in a position where he needs to actually start the conversation. There's no bright chatter, no smile to coax him into talking. Again, he's at a loss.
It seems this new Sakura has retained a talent for doing this to him.
Annoying woman.
"Tell me about it."
Sakura immediately shakes her head, breath trembling yet again. Sasuke sighs and guesses he should have known she wasn't going to make this easy for him. He can't blame her. If someone asked him to do the same, he would have told them to fuck off.
"Sakura."
She turns to him with a dangerous look in her eyes, a cold jade that threatens to cut him if he pushes too far. Sasuke's always been the best at serving the very same look, but it's unnerving to see it etched into Sakura's soft features.
"Dammit, Sakura. Just talk to me."
Her gaze grows warmer, but not in the way he wants. She's angry, and Sasuke isn't really sure how he could have pissed her off in just six words. Sakura being Sakura, she of course makes the reason for her anger clear immediately.
"And why the hell do I need to do that, Sasuke?"
Sasuke nearly winces at the dropped suffix on his name and tries to remember how his mother handled it when he refused to confide in her.
"You haven't been here" - even Sakura knows this is unfair as she says it, but the confusion, grief, and alcohol clouding her mind make it difficult to acknowledge how much the man she loves has grown to be able to offer this to her- "and you never told me anything when I asked you to. So fuck off, Sasuke-kun. I'm sure Naruto's expecting you."
Naruto most definitely wasn't, but Sasuke doesn't see the value in pointing that particular fact out. By the time he got to the village and was promptly dragged into the bar he had made the mistake of walking past on his way to the Hokage Tower, the idiot was already drunk off his ass. Ino was as well, so Hinata asked Sasuke if he would mind going to check on Sakura at the hospital since she and Sai needed to stay to take care of their significant others.
Sakura finally moves to get up, tipping over a half-full bottle of sake in her efforts, but Sasuke can still see the tremors in her hands and the familiar strain of a jaw clenched against tears. Her eyes still dart towards the corners of the room.
Sasuke's well aware of the ghosts that can haunt those shadows and resolves to help Sakura put hers to rest, even if it's just for the night. His legs tighten around Sakura before she can fully pull away from him, and she falls back against his chest with a huff and a glare that's more tired than venomous.
Sasuke sighs and lowers his head. His bangs cover his eyes as he decides to voice at least part of the feelings he's managed to process regarding Sakura. He's not sure exactly how to categorize how he feels about her yet (mostly because his mind still can't comprehend why someone so bright has loved him through so much darkness), but he wants to help and that's about all he can offer her at the moment.
She deserves more, so much more, but he hopes it's enough for now.
"I'm here, Sakura."
He wants to add that he's not going anywhere because someone who will stay is only a fraction of what Sakura deserves, but that's not a promise he can make.
He feels Sakura's surprise as she stiffens against him, and her breath stops altogether for a few worrying moments. Sasuke wills himself to stay relaxed at her back, still maintaining a steady breathing pace should she need the rhythm again.
Sakura's thoughts are a whirlwind that she tries to grab ahold of but slips right through her fingers. She's torn, half of her mind shattered glass that urges her to open up and share even a part of her pain so that she can just stop breaking. Sasuke's here, showing his own vulnerability (however slight) in hopes that she'll trust him enough to do the same, and she's not sure when she'll experience this side of him again.
The other half, near-solid stone with only spiderweb cracks, whispers that voicing the memories that haunt her will only confirm her weakness in Sasuke's eyes. Instead of seeing the warrior who destroyed the ground and healed thousands in the war, he'll see the wisp of a girl who had trailed behind him as a genin.
It's the gentle, unconscious stroke of Sasuke's thumb across her forearm that makes her decision. Sasuke can sense the shift in Sakura as her head drops back onto his shoulder and her eyes squeeze shut. She's tired, so tired.
"I killed them."
Her voice breaks in the middle, and Sakura hisses out a quiet dammit at her traitorous voice. Sasuke's hand tightens where it rests on her arm.
He's quiet for a moment. Outside of discussing strategy or the details of a mission, talking isn't something Sasuke has much practice in. That, and his plan may have ended at getting Sakura to calm down enough to breathe properly.
He spends another minute in silence, growing increasingly frustrated with his inability to find the words he needs to comfort the woman who has always known exactly what he needed to hear. Sakura, however, doesn't seem to mind the silence as she relaxes against him. Green eyes crack open, and though they're still muddled with pain, he sees a steady glimmer of trust and contentment behind them that immediately quells his frustration.
The open trust in Sakura's gaze reminds Sasuke that she's never expected him to be anyone other than himself. She's always been patient, meeting him more than halfway as he seemed to take one step towards her and two or three back.
He suspects it's the same now, as there's no expectation in her eyes, no tension in her body that suggests she's irritated by his silence. So instead of pushing himself to think of the correct words to fill the empty space, Sasuke pulls her more firmly against his chest and shifts her so his chin rests lightly atop her head.
It's more affection than he's ever shown, and it's far from comfortable for him, but Sasuke knows that Sakura's worth a bit of discomfort.
Just as Sakura has spent so many years steadfastly waiting for him to come to her, he settles in to wait for her to tell him - whether that time comes tonight or later down the line.
That time doesn't come tonight. Though she trusts Sasuke with her life, Sakura can't quite break through the insecurity that he'll find her weak the moment she says anything more. Maybe it's not a fair assumption to make, but most of her memories of them together on the battlefield ended in Sakura being treated as fragile - something to be left behind and protected.
Even if they made progress during the war, Sakura's not quite ready to test the durability of the picture of strength she painted as she threw herself at Madara or took on a goddess at her team's side.
Instead, she's happy to just let his presence ward off the shadows in her mind. The voices are silent at his touch, so she decides to just enjoy the rest and wrestle with them when they inevitably come back after Sasuke's gone again.
Sasuke feels Sakura's breathing even out and watches her eyes flutter closed as she falls asleep against him. It's an interesting thing, having someone trust you so fully that they're willing to be at their most unguarded.
And he's done nothing to deserve it. He knows this, and it merely strengthens his resolve to continue his journey of atonement so that he can become someone who's at least a fraction deserving of Sakura and all that she's willing to offer him.
As he maneuvers himself out from behind Sakura and shifts her onto his back, Sasuke realizes with a tinge of bitterness that this is something he could have every day - Sakura's presence and everything bright and loving that entails. But as much as he wants to be there when she wakes up and finally say yes to taking her with him, he's not quite ready for that step.
There's more growth to be had, more relationships to mend, more emotions for him to reconcile within himself. While he knows having Sakura by his side would expedite the process of mending bridges and healing his own wounds, she needs to keep some of her light for herself.
When he leaves this time, it's out of consideration not just for himself, but for both of them. He can just make out the time when he asks Sakura to join him on his journey in the near future, but it's not now. They both have steps they need to take before they're ready.
He leaves Sakura tucked under the nest of far too many blankets she's always stubbornly kept haphazardly strewn across her bed, with a simple note on her nightstand:
Next time, Sakura.