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“Lady Tsunade! Dr. Haruno!” Kaori shouts, running through the hallways of the Konoha Hospital. She bursts through the doors, huffing and puffing. The two best medical ninja in the Leaf Village—if not the entire ninja world—turn towards the mousy, brown-haired nurse.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Tsunade exclaims. She’s sitting at her desk, wide and semicircular, not unlike her former office in Hokage Tower. She slaps a patient file down on the cypress surface, which makes Sakura jolt.
“Lady Tsunade! Dr. Haruno! My patient, Sasuke Uchiha—he’s—he’s completely inconsolable. He’s refusing medical treatment!” Kaori’s hair is disheveled, her white sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Her face is flushed pink from the run, no doubt.
Tsunade groans and rolls her eyes, but Sakura gasps. “What do you mean, he’s refusing medical treatment?” Sakura asks.
Kaori shakes her head. “He’s become, well, somewhat combative. Every time I try to engage in one of the prescribed healing sessions, he just jerks away, uses his force to rock the bed back and forth. Throws pillows, rips up bed sheets. Shouting, too. And then his Sharingan activates, and, well, that scares me. He’s not hurting me, but . . .”
“He’s combative ?!” Tsunade's voice fills the whole office, and Sakura cringes internally. She remembers when that tone of voice was often directed at her. Tsunade lifts a powerful, dangerous fist. “Why, he should be grateful we let him in here! That boy’s on thin fucking ice! If it weren’t for Kakashi, I’d—”
Sakura holds up a hand, quelling Tsunade’s fury, if for a moment. But inside, she trembles with anxiety. Immediately, the thoughts that had been bubbling beneath the surface for the last 36 hours come rising to the surface like scum. What if Sasuke isn’t on the Leaf’s side anymore? What if he turns against her and Naruto again? What if he’s dangerous?
Just before Tsunade storms out of the room, likely to reprimand the Uchiha, Sakura cries out. “Lady Tsunade! Wait!”
“What?” Tsunade shouts, and the window frames rattle. Sheesh, everything’s so urgent with this woman.
“Let me see him. Just me. Please. He’s . . .” How could Sakura begin to describe what Sasuke was going through, when she didn’t even truly know the extent of it herself? But Sasuke is her dear friend, and she wants the best for him. “He must be having a hard time right now. I’m wondering if . . . maybe, being around those he’s more familiar with can help him . . . readjust to life in the Leaf.”
Tsunade pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers. She sighs, and the room pauses. The Leaf wanted to arrest Sasuke immediately, but with Kakashi as the new Hokage, he’s in the process of pardoning Sasuke at the urging of Naruto. This of course didn’t mean that all of a sudden everyone in the Leaf Village accepted Sasuke as the antihero he was. Far from it; Sasuke is still under lock and key in an isolated wing of Konoha’s hospital.
“Alright, Sakura. Against my better judgement, I trust you. But you still report to me.”
Sakura can't help but smile. “Yes ma’am. Thank you, Sensei.” Kaori leads her to Sasuke’s room: down long, fluorescent-lit hallways to a dimly-lit corner of the hospital. Kaori hands Sakura the key and stands watch.
“Thank you, Kaori. You did the right thing.”
Still flushed and slightly afraid, Kaori nods her head, and walks off.
Sakura gets a glance at him through the small, rectangular window that leads into Sasuke’s private room. The room’s a mess: overturned bedside tables, scattered pillows. She feels the anger roiling off of him before she opens the door.
He lies propped up in a starchy white bed, dressed in pale blue hospital scrubs. A simple blanket covers him from the waist down. From here, she can see the damage from Sasuke and Naruto’s final battle. Cuts scabbing over, black eyes turned yellow. And his missing left arm. Under Tsunade's orders—she is the chief physician in Konoha after all—Sasuke's one remaining hand is cuffed to one of the bed rails.
Sakura was intimately familiar with his—and Naruto's—injuries after their final battle. Broken ribs, broken noses, broken fingers. Bruised organs, blood loss. The only thing more gruesome that she can remember is when she had to cut Naruto’s chest open and pump his heart.
The other thing she notices is his hair—ragged, disheveled, too long for its own good. Still, after two days, caked with blood and grease and grit.
“If you’ve come to heal me Kaori, I’ll just throw something at you again.”
“Sasuke-kun?”
At this, Sasuke stills. Slowly, he turns to face her. Unreadable, he watches as Sakura approaches. Neither of them are sure which is the predator and which is the prey. They are both trembling, tentative, wounded. Vulnerable.
“Your nurse told me you’re refusing healing sessions.”
“Hn.”
“Why’s that?”
Sasuke narrows his eyes. Is he angry with her? He swallows hard—she sees it in the bump that bobs in his throat.
“You can’t get violent with poor Kaori, you know. She’s just trying to help.”
He doesn’t respond, instead preferring to stare into the middle distance. But even though he won’t meet her eyes, she sees something far past the anger, something soft and more akin to shame.
In any case, Sakura gets to work doing what she does best: helping and healing others. She checks on the smaller wounds that have previously been healed by her and others. She helps him sit up while she re-bandages his bruised and broken ribs. She removes the stitches from a few cuts on his face, reduces the swelling from his eyes and nose. And lastly, she sits by his bedside while she works on the stump of his left arm.
“Are you sure you don’t want a reconstructed arm? Naruto’s getting his in a few—”
“Yes.” His voice comes out forceful, clipped. “Yes, I’m sure.” Softer now. He still has trouble controlling his emotions, it seems. But that’s nothing new.
"Sasuke?"
"Hm?"
“Why’d you get combative with Kaori?”
Sasuke sighs, as if she should already know. But a moment later, he turns to face her. His hair hangs wild in his eyes. She gets a peek of his coveted Rinnegan. Still, there’s a strange mix of anger and shame painted like blood on his face.
“Will you at least let me cut your hair?”
He frowns. “Why? I . . . need it long now, for my Rinnegan.”
“Alright, I’ll just take a little off the top. Keep your bangs long. But half of it is matted with blood and grime, the other half’s been burned off. It looks like no one decent has touched your hair in years.”
“No one has.”
A sharp pang runs through Sakura. Fuck, she should have known. But she smiles it off. “I guess there isn’t much time for hair care when you’re a rogue shinobi, huh?”
Sasuke lets out a small huff of a laugh, and for a moment Sakura joins him. But that’s all it is—just a moment, less than a breath long. And for that moment, Sakura felt as if they were genin from Team 7 again, still twelve years old and half-innocent. But the moment is so short, Sakura can’t be convinced that it actually happened. It dissipates like carbonation, leaving nothing behind.
“Can you walk?” she asks.
Sasuke nods. “You’ll have to unlock me first.”
“Oh, right.” Sakura goes over to the opposite side of the bed and uses the key Kaori gave her.
But it doesn’t work.
She frowns. Kaori must have forgotten to give her the other one. “Hmmm,” she vocalizes.
“Seems Tsunade didn’t trust you. Or me.”
Sakura bites back a sneer. She takes a deep, clarifying breath. “I’ll be right back. Don’t fuck this up.”
She storms back to Tsunade’s office, fists clenched. She’s not sure who she’s mad at: Tsunade, for chaining up her teammate; Sasuke for giving her and Kaori attitude; or just everything in general.
“The key to his cuffs. I need it.”
A smile plays on Tsunade’s glossy pink lips. “No, you don’t. He’s dangerous Sakura. A loose cannon.”
“And you don’t think I can handle him? Especially in this state?”
Tsunade sits back in her leather chair. “I think that with Naruto and Sasuke, you lose just a hair of that professionalism I’ve drilled into you. You care about them too much.”
Sakura frowns. “Of course I do. Of course I care.”
“What do you need the key for, anyway?”
“He needs a bath. And a haircut.”
“Sakura, that’s not your job. He’s not your patient.”
“Lady Tsunade, you said I could do this, and I’m making these decisions based on my best judgement. I’ve known him for a long time, and I think I know what he needs. And what he needs right now is some basic human decency. Kaori is a great nurse, but she doesn’t know how to handle him.”
“And you do?”
Sakura tempers her anger, her anxiety, her insecurity. She’s used to being doubted, underestimated. But her two teammates are like her two hands: she’s more than confident in her bonds with them. “Yes, Tsunade, I do.”
At this, Tsunade cracks another smile. “Alright, then, Doctor Haruno. I’ll give you the key, but I expect it back when you’re done.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Back in Sasuke’s room, Sakura unlocks the cuff, revealing red marks where the metal has bitten into his skin. “I can heal those for you, too,” she says.
But Sasuke shakes his head. As he rubs his wrist, Sakura can’t help but understand Sasuke’s insistence on pain. It’s a hefty reminder.
“Ready?”
Sasuke pulls the covers back, and Sakura drags a chair to the middle of the room. Someone else can clean up after his temper tantrum; that’s not the most pressing issue at the moment. “It’ll just be easier here,” she says. “Cleaning up the hair and all.”
Sasuke limps, leans forward into Sakura as she leads him a few feet over to the chair. Immediately, her breath quickens and her skin flushes warm. She hasn’t been so close to him in years, but it reminds her of all the times they used to be close. Camping during missions in Team 7. Training with Kakashi. The Chunin Exams. Whenever he was hurting, she was the first place he leaned on. Some things never change.
Sasuke grunts, sitting up in the chair. Sakura takes one of the discarded, half-ripped sheets and drapes it around his shoulders. Sakura raids the drawers of the medical cabinet in his hospital room for some good scissors and a comb—but Sakura can’t get very far. His hair is filthy.
“Can you wash?” she asks.
“Hmm?”
“Can you wash your own hair? It’s too dirty for me to cut it.”
“I suppose.”
Sakura helps him to the bathroom. He’s filthy in all manner of ways, too. It’s barely been two days since the fight, so Sasuke’s priority has been on healing, not cleanliness.
“Will you bring a chair?”
Sakura nods. It’s strange, seeking Sasuke this weak. She knows he’s not actually weak but tired. Exhausted, physically and emotionally. He’s probably crashing.
Sakura does paperwork while Sasuke showers. Eventually, his steady voice comes from inside the bathroom.
Sakura peels open the door, peeks her head inside. Sasuke is shimmering and wet, wrapped in a towel from the waist down. She’ll need to rebandage his ribs again.
“Will you help me?” His eyes dart over to his pile of clothes.
Sakura raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh! Let me get you new ones!”
As Sakura retrieves a new pair of linen pants and a shirt, her face begins to turn as pink as her hair. As inappropriately lewd as it is, she’s excited by the prospect. But no—she’s a professional, she’s not his friend right now. She’s his nurse, his doctor. Maybe Tsunade was right; she cares too damn much about her boys. And in return, they care for her.
Back in the bathroom, Sakura helps Sasuke finagle the shirt over his head.
“Have you started physical therapy yet?”
Sasuke shakes his head.
"You’ll probably start that in the next few days."
"Hn."
Then the towel around his waist drops. Sakura is a medical professional—she’s seen things that are so much worse than plain old nudity, but she can’t help but blush.
When Sasuke notices—because of course he notices—the corners of his mouth twitch. “I’ll need help getting these on, too.”
“Oh! Right.”
Because of his busted ribs, he has trouble leaning over and pulling his pant legs up. Sakura helps him get his feet inside the legs, then lets him pull the waistband up. He hasn’t learned how to tie things with one hand yet either, so she assists with that. Strange, how a shinobi who almost ruled the world a few days ago now needs help tying the waistband of his pants. She can only hope his physical therapist is as kind and understanding as she is.
After, she leads him back to the chair in the center of the room. First, she begins work on untangling his hair. Running the comb through his black locks. She tries desperately to make conversation, because the silence between them is like flies on her skin.
“How are you feeling?”
“Alright.”
“Are you in any pain?”
“Some, yes.”
“Do you want me to hook you back up to your IV?”
“No.”
“Will you tell me why you got combative with your nurse now?”
Sasuke stiffens. “It doesn’t matter.”
Sakura presses her lips together. “Sasuke, please. Tsunade’s not happy. You’re still a prisoner awaiting pardon here. Everyone here in the Leaf Village fears you because of all you’ve done, and—”
“Is that true?”
“Is what true?”
“Do you fear me, Sakura?”
She hesitates for too long, then sputters. “I don’t— That’s not—”
Sasuke remains rigid.
When Sakura parts his hair and finishes brushing it off to one side, she sighs. It’s no use. Their conversations keep derailing. There’s too much water under the bridge. Actually, the bridge blew out a long time ago. Now, they’re clinging to the driftwood.
Sakura begins clipping his hair: the crunchy split ends first, then making silky layers around his face.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she finally says. “I’m just hurt.”
It takes him ages to respond. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Sakura pauses, placing her hands on his head, and drawing him in close to her abdomen. His eyes slide closed at her gentleness. Late afternoon light, golden and translucent, streams in through the big corner window.
Sasuke swallows, audibly. “I’m so tired.”
Sakura rubs his forehead, caresses his hair, for just a moment longer. Then, “I’m almost done.”
She clips off a few more spots, removes the sheet then brushes the excess hair off of Sasuke’s neck. She extends a hand and leads him back to his hospital bed, hooking him back up to a few machines and IVs.
“There,” she says, smiling. “You look much nicer now.”
Already dozing off, Sasuke barely manages a small smile—but he manages. “Thank you, Sakura.”
She nods. “Anything for an old friend.”
“Is that what I am to you?”
“Is that what you want us to be?”
Sasuke turns his face away from her, unresponsive.
Sakura sits in a chair near Sasuke’s bed, scribbling a few notes for Tsunade. “Sasuke. I’m speaking to you now, not as former teammates, not as friends. I’m speaking to you as the second best doctor in all of Konoha. I need for you to be honest with me. For Tsunade, this is a matter of national security. Why were you attacking Kaori?”
Frustration grows red-hot and ever-present on Sasuke’s face, and suddenly she can see why Kaori was so afraid. She can see how close Sasuke still is to the boy who threatened to destroy the Leaf Village only days ago.
“She wasn’t you.”
She gasps, but of course she knows. Of course she knew. She was the only one he leaned on, in those good old genin days. She was the only one he ever apologized to. He let her cut his hair. Hell, she’d seen him naked here today. Of course he’d want someone familiar here, to wash and to eat with, in a world that he hated so much and that still hates him. Suddenly her chest swells—how could she ever think of leaving him and just going back to work as usual?
When she glances back up at him, there’s a juvenile desperation carved on his face. For the first time, he looks like a boy of seventeen—so genuine and heartbreaking that Sakura knows what she needs to do before Sasuke can even open his mouth.
“I’ll tell Tsunade to reassign me to you as your nurse and doctor on file. She’ll listen to me; hell, I’m stronger than her so she practically has to!” Sakura laughs.
But Sasuke doesn’t seem to be in a laughing mood. His face is sober, serious, as it often is. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”
Sakura leans forward and grabs his hand. “You could have just asked for me, you know. You didn’t have to throw a fit.”
“Would you have come?”
Sakura ignores the splinter that this question pierces through her heart. “Yes, of course I would. Of course I would have come. Naruto went to the ends of the earth for you. And so will I.”
At this, Sasuke turns his face away from her, staring out the big window that looks over Konoha Hospital’s courtyard. Sakura gets up and sits on Sasuke’s bed, but he angles his face even further away from her. She pushes, he pulls.
She doesn’t know what sort of power possesses her to do this, but she leans forward and draws Sasuke close to her. Somehow, he lets her. She cradles his head under her chin. He feels soft, small, and smells of oud and caustic hospital soap and home.
Eventually, Sasuke raises his arm and clutches her. His heart monitor begins beeping with fervor, and he buries his face in her chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Sakura smiles into his hair, glancing at the beautiful trees in full bloom from the second-story window. The cherry blossoms will surely be opening up in a few days. “How long will you keep apologizing to me?”
“Probably for the rest of my life.”
The sun streams in through that big window, constant and dancing and golden. The wind romances the trees, freeing stray dogwood petals like the first snow. Sakura strokes his clean, fresh hair; Sasuke rubs her back. She dares to kiss the top of his head; he holds her like she’s sand and is destined to slip through his fingers. The sun sets, the moon rises, and the stars come out to sing.
Sakura returns the key to Tsunade the next morning.