Chapter Text
Sakura pads down the stairs of the unfamiliar home eyeing all the details she hadn’t noticed the night before. It was beautiful — of course, it was the home of the Kazekage — with wide, airy windows to let in sunlight, pale wales, and dark, rich wooden floor. The dining area faced an interior courtyard, decorated with succulents. Sakura wondered if those were also grown by Gaara.
She moves into the kitchen hesitantly, honing in on a coffee pot. Remembering which cabinet Temari grabbed the mugs from last night, Sakura pulls a fresh mug and fills it to the brim, moving back towards the living room. In her sleep-addled state, she didn’t notice the brunette on the couch, yawning widely.
“Sakura,” Kankurō says in greeting, draped over the couch in a tank top and boxer shorts, sans-face paint.
“Well, that’s casual,” she remarks, ruffling his hair in response to some deeper instinct as she slides onto the couch next to him.
“We lost that last intimacy barrier when you dragged poison out of my internal organs, Haruno,” Kankurō drawls, tugging on the end of her braid.
“Can’t argue with that,” Sakura shrugs, sipping her coffee. Ahh, bliss.
“Did you get Temari’s lecture on the Academy? I told her she should wait until you had a good night’s sleep in you, but she’s relentless,” Kankurō complains, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
“She gave me plenty of paperwork to look over,” Sakura comments, waving a stack of paper she had brought done with her to start perusing with her coffee, tucked partially inside her notebook. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you make so many enemies prancing around Fire Country healing people,” he snorts. “Real wicked of you.”
“I spent about equal amounts of time healing as I did punching holes in people, Kankurō,” she says dryly.
“Oooh, kinky, ” Kankurō wiggles his eyebrows. “I love a woman who can snap me in half.”
“Speaking of snapping me in half,” Temari cuts in, moving down the stairs with her hair loose around her shoulders, “I’d love to spar with you sometime this week, Haruno. I’d like to see you try and get close enough to punch a hole in me.”
Sakura glances up at the blonde. “You’re on, Temari. Hope your skills haven’t gotten rusty now that you’re leading the Academy.”
“On the contrary, I find that after dealing with children all day I have a lot of rage to get out on the training fields.”
Sakura laughs at that. In her experiences with the Academy kids and genin and Konoha, she can understand how they might inspire rage — she’d say Kakashi was justified for being late all of the time when Team 7 was young just to avoid them, but she can’t give him the credit — mostly, he was just a shitty teacher.
Temari throws herself on the couch, sprawling across both Kankurō’s and Sakura’s laps.
“Just give me fifteen more minutes to wake up, and then we’ll start lesson planning,” she mumbles into the pillows.
Kankurō runs his fingers through her hair. “Hey, I was up way later than both of you last night, you’re not allowed to be this tired.”
“I’m the older sister, I’m always going to be the most tired,” Temari complains.
Sakura smiles into her coffee cup. She could get used to this.
“Okay,” Temari claps her hands together, looking far too energized for someone who was passed out on the couch a mere half hour ago. “I see you’ve come prepared, so lay it on me.”
Sakura dumps some scrolls on the kitchen table, and flips open her journal. “The scrolls are mostly here for moral support,” she admits. “They’re what Tsunade started me with, and when in doubt, go back to basics.
“I know I’m supposed to rotate topics every two years, but I do think it’s important to start out every year with the same two lectures: the human body, and assessing patients and symptoms. There’s nothing they can do without that baseline knowledge, and the repetition of a yearly review will be beneficial for the second year students. I’d say these lectures could even be open to all shinobi interested, or I’d be happy to give a separate lecture on it.”
Sakura pauses, tapping her pen on her journal. “I know it seems basic, but I can’t move forward in training without knowing everyone’s starting level of knowledge, and this will allow me to set that base level of knowledge.”
Temari nods. “That’s understandable. We might take you up on hosting some basic seminars open to all shinobi, but we’ll focus on Academy-age kids for now. I don’t want to mix those sessions, at least at first.”
“Understandable. The younger ones will be more willing to ask questions if it’s only open to the Academy kids. I’ll also be starting the third and fourth years on the same two topics, but I’ll focus on them separately, because I’ll go into more detail with older students.
“I want to focus on non-chakra based solutions first, and then the end of the seminar cycle will focus on some basic medical ninjutsu, but more than likely it’s going to be the basics that will save lives — at least long enough to get the injured back to the hospital. That’s the goal of the program, in my mind. Preparation, prevention, and temporary solutions.”
Temari raises an eyebrow. “I expected there to be a catchy triple-p thing going on, here, with ‘preparation, prevention,’ but I guess not, huh?”
Sakura huffs and flips her braid over her shoulder. “Look, this is day one of lesson planning, alright? Lay off a bit. Anyways,” she clears her throat. “Back on topic. I have some familiarity with the common plants available in Wind Country, but I need to do some more studying on it. I’d like to focus on herbs and their uses for one seminar, basic wound care for another, and triage to start with.”
Sakura takes a breath here, briefly overwhelmed by all the topics she could cover with the students. What would save their lives, and what was superfluous? Would she make a difference, or just complicate things? She tries not to think about all the deaths on her hands in the war, where if any nin around the casualties had any medical experience, would their lives have been forfeit? Could she even try and make up for those losses?
A wam, calloused hand pulls her out of her thoughts, curling gently around the fist that was clenched around her pen. Temari doesn’t say anything, but just looks at Sakura like the thoughts are written on her face.
If Sakura squints, she can see the war-dead hovering around her, writhing in agony, so she takes a deep breath, and focuses on relaxing her hand under Temari’s gentle grip. Her heart aches, and Temari’s silence is the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard.
Taking another deep breath, she focuses. Any knowledge has the possibility to help them. The entire setup of this new academy is to prevent 12-year-olds from going to the frontline. We can do this. Temari’s hand remains, anchoring her to the earth.
“I’d also like to cover CPR, dehydration and heatstroke, and hypothermia and frostbite.”
Temari blinks, but doesn’t remove her hand yet. “Hypothermia? In the desert?”
“It’s good information to have, and who knows where their missions might take them. I don’t want to neglect it just because it’s not immediately relevant.”
The blonde nods. “It sounds like you have a good outline, then. What reference materials will you need for the first few classes?”
Sakura brightens. “I have a few ideas on that, actually.”
While she continues to talk, Temari’s hand is still covering Sakura’s, and Sakura feels no urgent need to rectify the situation.
“I know this is beneath you,” Gaara begins, and Sakura immediately worries. Oh, kami, what is he going to ask?
“...but I could really use some help with filing,” he finishes, gesturing to a haphazard stack of scrolls and folders on a table near his desk.
“Oh, filing is easy, you had me worried for a second.”
Gaara grimaces. “You’re an unparalleled med-nin, the hokage’s apprentice, and a world-class kunoichi. It seems like a waste of talent.”
Sakura cocks her head. “It’s not a waste of talent if it needs to be done and no one’s doing it,” she offers. “Besides, I did this plenty with the hokage. Never underestimate the power of an efficient filing system.”
The Kazekage eyes her thoughtfully. “Don’t sound too enthusiastic, Sakura-san, or I’ll sic you on the hospital filing system as well. It seems all of our filing systems are pretty haphazard. We inherited a bit of a bureaucratic mess here in Suna.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Gaara-sama.”
They settle into a comfortable silence, as Sakura methodically tucks scrolls and files into their proper places, the monotony soothing to her.
Sakura hums tunelessly, a little ditty that Shizune would often whistle while they worked together.
“What song is that?”
“Sorry?
“What song were you humming?”
“I don’t know the name of it,” she admits. “Shizune-senpai often whistled it at home.”
“Do you miss Konoha? I admit that I was surprised when you accepted the assignment. We had hoped for a talented med-nin, but I didn’t think Konoha would part with you.”
“Konoha didn’t have a choice.” Sakura turns to face him, setting a few files on top of the cabinet. “I needed a change of pace, because I changed. And Konoha just...didn’t provide me with a place to change. Does that make sense?”
Gaara cocks his head at her, and Sakura feels...vulnerable. Like she shared too much, and suddenly wishes she could backpedal and erase the last thirty seconds.
“That does make sense,” Gaara concedes. “When I first became Kazekage, I know everyone looked at me and only saw the jinchūriki. But I knew I was more than that, and it was a fight to change perceptions. But I still had the room to grow here.”
Sakura nods, but doesn’t say anything, and Gaara seems to sense the end of the conversation.
“Regardless, we’re happy to have you here, Sakura-san. I hope this becomes your new home.”
The woman before Sakura had a gentle presence, a stark contrast to the many kunoichi she worked with in Konoha (and Suna, to be frank). Her hair was a deep auburn, pulled back in a professional-looking bun, but she wore a simple set of standard issue jonin pants and a long sleeve shirt. In her right hand, she held a clipboard, and in her left, she was tapping a pen thoughtfully on her lips, a nervous habit if Sakura had ever seen one.
“My name’s Ameyoshi Utaka, Haruno-san, and I’ll be your therapist. If we don’t click after a few sessions, feel free to request a different therapist at the front desk — there’s no shame if that’s the case. I work mostly with medical ninjas, but I also serve as the general counselor for the orphanage in Suna.” Utaka glances up, and taps her clipboard with her pen. “I’ve read your file — what’s not redacted, anyways, but we can talk about whatever you want to talk about. The weather, if you’d like. The only important thing is to try and be honest. As a reminder, these files are extremely well sealed, and won’t be released to anyone, unless you request it.”
Sakura nods, tucking her feet under her legs on the cushy loveseat. The office was warm, personal — different from any medical office she had been in. It’s painted purple, filled to the brim with books from the traditional diagnostic manuals to even a copy of The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi. Sakura eyes a small basket of fidget toys in the corner that she assumes must be for the kids in the orphanage. Utaka follows her line of sight to the toys, and smiles brightly.
“Even the grownups use those. Sometimes it’s easier to talk through things when you’re solving a rubix cube, or so I’ve noticed.”
Sakura nods, and picks up what looks like reusable bubble wrap, pressing the bubbles experimentally. “Okay, I can see the appeal,” she admits, glancing up at Utaka. “I’m not sure where to start.”
Utaka waves her hand. “I can start with some questions, if that helps?”
Sakura nods, tensing slightly. Even this casual conversation feels slightly invasive, like a sample slide under a microscope, and she can’t help but shift restlessly on the couch.
“How are you like Suna, so far?”
Sakura blinks, the question far more bland than she expected. She can do this. “I like it. Gaara — the Kazekage and his family have been very welcoming,” she hedges. “The heat is a bit harder to get used to.”
Utaka nods encouragingly. “How have you spent your time with them, so far?”
“Temari-san and I have begun working on the lesson planning for the medical training of the Academy students, and I shadowed Kankurō-san in his lab, and I’ve been assisting Gaara-sama with some assistant duties. They’ve also invited me to their family dinners, which is...very kind of them, considering I’m new here.” Sakura finishes slowly, feeling more like she’s participating in small-talk at the hospital than a therapy session. It didn’t resemble the psych evals she took in Konoha at all.
“You’ve known them for over ten years, is that right? Even if you’re new in Suna, your relationship with them goes back further,” Utaka points out. “You’ve even saved all of their lives before. The poison extraction technique with Kankurō-san is still talked about in the hospital.”
“Well, yes, but that’s more of a professional relationship. Not a personal one.”
“They may see it differently,” the redhead shrugs. “Regardless, isn’t it good to make deeper connections here? It seems like they’re trying to be your friend. Why don’t you let them?”
“We’re shinobi,” Sakura replies dryly. “Everything has a deeper motive.”
“Inviting you to stay in the Kazekage compound would indicate a decent amount of trust,” Utaka says thoughtfully, tapping her pen against her lips. “For homework, I’d like you to write down the worst case scenario of what could happen if you accept their friendship, and what the best case scenario is. Bring it to our next session and we’ll talk more about it.”
Sakura nods and Utaka jots another note on her clipboard. “Tell me about your team back in Konoha. How was your relationship with them?”
“Well…”
When Sakura careens into her dreamscape, tied up with thoughts about therapy — who knew therapy had homework — she’s immediately dropped into surgery, up to her elbows in blood as she barks orders at nurses while attempting to reconstruct the abdominal cavity of an Academy-fresh genin, it’s a miracle she even made back to Konoha alive, taking an explosive tag to the gut —
The girl on the surgery table opens her eyes and looks at Sakura. “You know how this ends, Haruno-san, I don’t know why you always forget,” Yamadate Kinri pouts. “I always die on this table.”
Sakura freezes, chakra flickering out on her hands. She forgot — she always forgot how young Kinri was. She looks like a young Ino, long blonde hair matted with blood and gore. She remembers clearly that her youth distracted her in this surgery, even though she was too experienced to fall prey to that trap — kami, we’re sending children to war .
Kinri smiles at her, blood dribbling from her mouth. “I signed up for being a ninja, just like you, Haruno-san.”
Sakura remembers giving Kinri a lollipop once after she broke her leg in a training accident, and how she didn’t wince at all when the bone was set.
“I don’t think you can really make that call at 6, or even 12, Kinri-chan” Sakura murmurs, clenching her dripping fists. She feels sick, seeing this girl who was chewed up and spit out by a war machine, even in the “good” village.
“I became a legal adult when I became a genin,” the girl chides, twisting her head to get a better look at Sakura. “I was prepared to die for my village.”
“Were you really?” Sakura asks quietly, hands still twisted in her innards, a frozen parody of the failed surgery that’s haunted her since she was 18 years old.
“No,” she smiles. “I wasn’t really. I don’t think anyone’s ready to die at 12, no matter how what the Academy teaches you.”
Sakura takes one blood covered hand and smooths Kinri’s hair, heart twisting inside her. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Kinri grasps her hand, a blood-soaked smile playing on her lips. “I’m dead, Haruno-san,” she says gently. “‘I’m sorry’ means very little now.”
Sakura awakens twisting in her sheets, hands clawed into her sheets, a snarl twisting her face.
When she stomps down the stairs, dream tangled around her, Kankurō blinks at her sleepily from the kitchen table, halfway through applying his face paint while staring in a tabletop mirror.
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?”