Chapter Text
The minute he lays eyes on her, he knows he’s going to hell. No teacher is supposed to look at a student—even if she hadn’t been his for years—that way. He sees her at the bar, sitting with her friends, her pink hair in a short bob cut. He didn’t know she’d already come back from her mission.
As she throws her head back in laughter, he’s able to see the new scar along her neck, and a sudden urge to find whoever did it takes over his body. He feels violently, his chakra reacting instinctively as slight sparks fly between his fingertips and he’s thankful his hand is under the table. He can’t avert his gaze until Guy shoves his hand in his face and he’s forced to.
He doesn’t hear much of what else Guy says, his attention continuously being pulled to the pink haired shinobi he once taught. When a Jōnin approaches her from behind, Kakashi forces his eyes away again. He needs to stop looking at her like that. And there are obviously other guys interested, ones that are her age.
He tries to focus on Guy’s story, thankful that Yamato seems to be carrying most of the conversation (small nods and sounds of agreement here or there), but he can’t help his wandering eye when he hears her voice.
“I said no, thank you.”
It’s the clipped tone to it that makes him stand. He notices Guy’s silence and Yamato’s knowing glance, but he doesn’t think of them. He walks towards the bar where she is pulling her hand from the Jōnin’s grasp, not even a ghost of a smile on her face.
His heavy hand lands on the Jōnin’s shoulder, and he isn’t aware of what he says. He’s just seeing red, and it’s filling his vision. He can’t see past it. Until there’s suddenly pink, and a splash of sea-green that his vision begins to clear. He can hear again and he realizes she’s staring up at him, smiling at him.
“Thanks for that, Kakashi Sensei,” she smiles.
He watches the Jōnin leave, hurriedly stumbling towards his friends and he can’t help the question that escapes him. “Not that I’m suggesting violence, but why didn’t you just punch him?” When he glances back at her, she’s flexing her hand, and he wonders briefly if she had been about to use it on the guy. But then he notices the bandages that trailed up her arm from under the glove, and he feels something stab at his insides.
She never got hurt like that on his missions. He made sure of it. She catches his gaze and waves it off, “I wanted to, trust me. But don’t worry. It’ll heal up soon enough. I’m not quite as fast at healing as Naruto is.”
He wants to ask what happened, how bad it was, but as she folded her arm across her stomach, the other on top, he notices she’s trying to hide it from view. “I didn’t know you were back so soon.” He tries to make his voice sound casual, “How was the mission?”
She smiles again, but this time it’s more forced. He’s known her too long to not be able to tell the difference. “Alright, other than this.” She lifts her arm, weakly. “How have things been here, Lord Hokage?”
He knows it’s a joke, a slight dig at him and his dislike for the formal title, but he can’t help what slips out. “Just Kakashi, please.” Their gazes lock as both come to understand what that means. He didn’t just remove the Hokage title, he took out the Sensei part too.
“Right, Kakashi.” Her smile was back to what it was before, natural and beaming. He notices Ino playing with her hands, and says goodbye to Sakura, abruptly ending their conversation and heading back to Guy and Yamato.
Yamato’s gaze burns a hole in the side of his head, but he can’t be bothered to return it. Not when his eyes keep wandering to the petite Jōnin only a few feet away.
. . . . . . . . . .
The next time he sees her, it’s at the hospital. He just happens to walk by as she's coming out, and instantly she smiles at him, waving him over. And Kakashi knows he shouldn’t follow that easily.
But this is Sakura, and part of him would follow her anywhere.
She’s beaming at him, “How are you, Kakashi sen—” she stops herself, catching the familiar title and corrects it, “Kakashi?”
“Fine,” he answers shortly. He wishes he had something more to say to her, to keep the conversation going. “How’s your hand?”
She lifted it, staring down at the bandages with a glare, “It’s lingering. The break was pretty bad, so most of my medical ninjutsu is weak right now.” She gestures to the hospital behind her, “I’m pretty much just checking in patients and doing minor injuries. Lot of paperwork today.”
He wants to know what happened, but the way she pulls it behind her makes him stop. He asked, “Do you think you’ll be staying around here, for the next little while?”
She laughs, “Probably. Why, did you miss me?”
Yes. He doesn’t know why the answer surprises him so much. Of course he had missed her. He didn’t even like that he had to send her out on that mission, hated it even more now that she’d been hurt on it. He had grown so used to seeing her around the village, always smiling and laughing, retaining her innocence despite everything the war had put on her and her friends.
He realizes he’s been too quiet. He nervously rubs the back of his neck, “Yeah, Shizune isn’t quite as gentle as you are when it comes to check-ups.”
The compliment makes her blush, an adorable shade of pink that Kakashi knows he’s going to hell for for noticing. “I could give you one after work,” she smiles. “It’ll probably take a bit longer since I can really only use the one hand.”
He wouldn’t care if it took her hours. He wanted it to.
But a sensei should not think that of his student. “You don’t have to, it’s fine really. I don’t do much more than paperwork myself these days.”
“Well when I was going through records this morning, someone skipped their last one.” She raises an eyebrow at him, daring her to challenge him, “And that one was when you were still going out on missions.”
He finds himself agreeing far too easily, and far too eagerly. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, that was his student. But as she turned to head back into the hospital, saying goodbye, she didn’t add the Sensei either.
. . . . . . .
Kakashi is pouring himself over his paperwork once more, the hours of the day having escaped him as his pen rolls across the page. He doesn’t look up as the polite knock sounds on his doors, but he knows who it is. He’d recognize her chakra anywhere.
She walks into the office, smiling at him, that same smile as always. “Think you can take a break, Kakashi?” the glow of the sunset behind him makes her normally pale skin a warm shade of orange and he can’t help the way he admires it.
Instantly the pen and papers are pushed aside, his attention on her. The minute her chakra had entered the building he’d only been half aware of what he was reading anyway. He walks around the desk to meet her, leaning against it to keep things casual between them. She was here for a check up, nothing more.
“How was the rest of your shift?”
“It was good, Shizune took a look at my arm and tried to speed up the process a bit, so hopefully it’ll only be a few more weeks until I can use it again.”
Weeks?
The mission he’d sent her on had been low risk, he’d made sure of it. He hadn’t wanted to send her at all, but they needed a medical ninja of her caliber, and he couldn’t send Shizune who was busy running the hospital. Before he can stop himself, he asks the question that's been on his mind since he’d seen her. “How did it happen?”
Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t look all that surprised. She must have known he was going to ask eventually. She sighs, dropping her eyes down to her arm and looking anywhere but at him. “There was an ambush on the way back. They must have known I was the medical ninja because they went after me first. We fought back, but when I punched him…” her eyes grow round all of a sudden, and her voice lowered further.
“What happened when you punched him?” Kakashi asks softly, desperate to know now.
“My arm went through him. He was a lightning clone, but whoever cast it must have been pretty powerful. Before he disappeared, he…” he watches as the memory dances in front of her eyes, the haunted look being one he knows only too well. Her hands reach for the top of the bandages, and at first he moves to stop her, tell her she doesn’t have to show him, but as his eyes catch onto the lightning shaped scarring he froze.
Her entire arm must be covered in them. That much lightning, would have shattered the bones until there was next to nothing left. “Sakura,” he doesn’t think much of it as he traces his hand along the visible portions of the scars.
But at her sharp intake of breath, he pulls his hand back, too aware of how close they are to one another. When she speaks, he can feel her breath on his face, “I know. It was bad, but I was able to heal most of it after I saved my team.”
“That shouldn’t have happened. The mission wasn’t even that dangerous, you were just going to help through a flu epidemic.” He can’t control the anger in his voice. It had to be a targeted attack, there's no way it was random.
“I know, but it’s okay, really. Shizune and I think I’m going to make a nearly full recovery.”
“What about your team? They were assigned to protect you, what happened to them?” he demands, and he hates that he’s raising his voice at her. But he can’t help it. She was supposed to be safe.
“They were just as caught off guard as I was. It was an ambush, and the guy knew what he was doing. Genma almost died on me and that was because he blocked an incoming kunai.” She reaches up, planting her good hand on his shoulder, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “It was an ambush, Kakashi, and we did what we had to.”
“But you—”
“I know. But it’s over with now, and you yelling about it isn’t going to change anything. Now, can we do that check up, or what?” he realises she’s right, and he gives in, stepping back and points down the hall. There was no point doing this in the office, the manor would be much more comfortable for both of them.
She understands at once and follows him out of the office, their footsteps echoing around the silent hallway. Once they arrive, he sits down on the couch and reaches back to grab his shirt. He’s done enough check ups in his life to know the drill at this point.
She’s pouring chakra into her good arm, her hand glowing green. She speaks offhandedly, “Sorry it’s going to take a little longer than usual.” She gently pushes his shoulders back, until he’s laying on the couch and she’s sitting next to him.
She starts at his vital points, her hand directly over his heart, and he’s begging that it’ll stay calm. She trails her hand down his chest slowly, and it takes everything in him to not flinch at her touch. He remembered one thing correctly, she is much gentler than Shizune.
Her featherlight touches begin to drive him crazy, almost wishing that she would apply a little more pressure, remind him that this was solely for health purposes. He knows he’s going to hell then, in fact, maybe hell was too nice for him.
This was Sakura. He’d known her since she was twelve. Her brow furrowed as she ran her hand along his abdomen, and she gently pushed her fingers in further. He regrets the sharp intake of breath the moment it enters his lips. Nonononono, this is Sakura. Sakura.
And Sakura, ever the worrier asks, “Does that hurt? I’m sensing a little bit of twisted up chakra.”
“Yes,” he answers plainly, unable to say anything else. Yes, it hurts, having her that close yet trying to keep her at a distance. And yes, it hurts, seeing her in pain, unable to use her other arm. She pours more chakra into her hand, apologizing before she presses into his skin again.
“On any of your last missions,” she asks, her gaze sharp and focused, “did you get stabbed here?”
He wants to laugh and say he’s been stabbed pretty much everywhere before, but he can’t make the joke with her eyes locked on him like that. He nods, “Yeah, but it wasn’t that deep. It was practically healed by the time I got back to the village.”
“So naturally you didn’t get it checked out, right?” she asks with a smile and pointed glare. “Looks like whatever hit you was a chakra blade, and the chakra doesn’t agree with you. If you’ve noticed any sharp pains around here, that’s why.” She pulls her hand back, the usual green aura marred by a dark, purple one. She looks down at him, shaking her head with a smile, “This is why you should attend regular check ups.”
He props himself up on his elbows, watching as the chakra dissipates from her hand. She turns back to him, “Anything else I should know about?”
He doesn’t have anything to say, but he desperate wants something. He wants her to stay. He wants her to keep him company, just a little longer. Nights in the manor were lonelier than his apartment. There he could make the excuse that there wasn’t enough room for anyone else, but here he was faced with the hard truth. He had no one he could let in.
He selfishly makes up some story about an attack to his back, and she has to know he’s lying. Kakashi's too good to be caught off guard and hit in the back, it doesn’t make any sense. But even if she catches on, she doesn’t say anything. She just gestures for him to sit on the floor and kneels behind him, her warm hand running along his back.
The silence is comfortable. They’d known each other too long for it to be anything but. But when her voice breaks it, he can’t help but be a little grateful. “You have so many scars, Kakashi.” It’s mumbled, making him think he wasn’t meant to hear it, but he does. “You know, I can probably heal some of them. Some scars from chakra attacks can’t be healed, but these ones,” she taps along his back where she identifies knife marks. “These could.”
He doesn’t mind his scars, but he doesn’t want her to leave so soon. Just a little bit longer, he promises himself. So he nods, and she sets off, the room growing darker as the sun sets fully, the only source of light coming from the glowing green chakra behind him.
She finishes up a few more scars before she pulls her hand back. She sighs, “I wish I could use both, this would go a lot faster that way. And my arm wouldn’t get so tired so easily. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I appreciate you coming by anyways,” he knows he can say more than that. He wants to say more than that. But she only smiles at him, and he realizes he can barely see her through the dark.
“I’m just glad you let me.” She stands up, stretching this way and that, shaking out her good arm from its use. She glances out the window at the dark sky, “I guess I should probably head home.”
“You don’t have to.” The words are out before he can comprehend them. And he can’t take them back because she’s staring at him intently. “Your apartment’s across town and it’s already late. And it’s way closer to the hospital for your shift tomorrow.” He’s grasping at straws and he knows it. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He knows that his mind should not be going the direction it is as he watches her and waits for her response.
“Are you sure, Kakashi?”
He nods more firmly this time, comforted by the fact that she didn’t outright tell him no. “Yeah. There’s plenty of room here.”
“I don’t have any clothes to change into,” she mumbles, looking down at the carpet between them.
“Borrow some of mine.” It’s not a suggestion and he knows this is it. This is the moment she catches on and backs out. The moment he loses her and her trust because he’s too forward. He’s pushing too hard.
But Sakura only asks, her voice slightly breathier than before, “Are you sure?”
He nods again, relief flooding his system, “Yeah. Don’t worry about it, Sakura.” When she agrees he feels lighter than he has in years. And then he feels guilty for feeling that way. He guides her to the bedroom where his closet is, and then leaves to head to the living room, making two cups of tea.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He asked her to stay, but now what? They weren’t going to sleep this early, and he couldn’t think of anything for them to do. He hasn’t had overnight company in a long time. And most of the overnight company he has had has been for missions.
The kettle begins to whistle, breaking him from his thoughts, and he realizes he doesn’t know how she takes her tea. As he stares at the two cups, he’s saved by her voice speaking up from behind him. “Are you making tea, Kakashi?”
He can hear rather than see the smile on her lips, and when he turns, he’s correct. But he can’t admire her smile for long, because his eyes are drawn to the outfit she’d pulled together for herself. His navy long sleeve shirt reaches down to her fingertips, and she has to keep pushing the sleeves up. She’s still wearing her black shorts, but the shirt is so long it covers most of them.
He needs to say something. He knows he needs to. So he does the best he can, “Yeah. How do you take yours?”
“Sweet,” she grinned. “I know it’s not healthy that way, but…” she trailed off catching his eye scanning her outfit. “Is this okay? I can grab something else if you—”
“No, it’s fine. I-it looks good on you.” Even in the dark, he can see the blush that spreads across her cheeks. She looks down, her fingers fiddling with the hem of the shirt. He hands her her cup, struggling to ignore the way her fingers graze his own, and he’s suddenly faced with his next problem.
He could just burn his tongue if he drinks it all now, mask down for only a second. But Sakura turns away, heading towards the window, “Don’t worry. I’ll stay over here.” He sees her silhouetted against the night sky, standing in his shirt, her pink hair glowing like a halo.
And he can’t think of something more fitting. She’s always a bright light, even when things are going wrong, she always tries to see the best. When they’d been sent on missions together, she’d been a stable rock for him to lean on. And when their roles would switch, he only hoped he was as good as she was. He pulls his mask down slowly, making sure she was still looking out the window.
But he knows he doesn’t have to. She’d keep her word.
He still drinks it quickly, though not much faster than Sakura does with her tea. He stands next to her, his mask back up and over his nose and holds his hand out for her empty cup. She smiles at him, thanking him and he ducks into the kitchen.
After he’s placed the cups in the sink and walks back into the living room, he’s struck by the domesticity of it all. She’s sitting on his couch, a photo frame in her hand, wearing his clothes; and he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve her. Her steady hands and fiery passion. He doesn’t deserve the calm she brings over him.
But he has it, at least for tonight he has her.
So he goes and sits next to her, watches her smile as she looks at the picture from nine years ago, the year squad seven had been created. It strikes him suddenly that she is as old as he was in the picture. She seems to stumble to the same conclusion, “I don’t know how you handled all three of us, Kakashi. I certainly couldn’t.”
He shrugs, “It wasn’t too bad. Naruto was definitely the hardest one.”
She laughs, placing the photo back on the table, “That sounds about right.” And that’s all they do. They spend the evening reminiscing, talking of missions and memories of their squad, even discussing Sasuke and Naruto and how far they’d come. He notices that it seems easier for her to talk about Sasuke now. And he tries to banish the spark of hope it gives him.
They talk for hours, and Kakashi realizes how easy it is. How she always gives him time to find the right words, how she nods along intently, her gaze burning against his own. They realize the time only when her eyes are drawn to the clock on the far wall and they decide to call it a night.
Kakashi offers to take the couch instantly, but he’s too tall. He’d be cramped on it. So naturally, Sakura offers to take it instead. The debate ends with the decision that the bed is big enough for both of them, and they head to the bedroom.
Kakashi is careful to stay on his side, far even from the middle of the bed. She tucks herself under the comforter and sheet, and he chooses to leave the layer of sheet between them as a physical barrier. He rests with his head on his clasped hands, listening to her slow, steady breaths.
He’s painfully aware of the distance between them, two feet at most and knows that they’ve been closer. Half of the missions they’d been on had ended with them sleeping in caves, huddled together to keep warm.
But those had been different. Those had been about survival. This wasn’t. He watches her sleep; thankful her back is facing him. He couldn’t handle it if she’d been facing him, able to see her softened expressions. He closes his eyes, the steady sounds of her breathing and the faint scent of her perfume easing him into a dreamless sleep.