Chapter Text
Spring semester goes like this: meeting with Naruto and Sasuke on the sixth floor of the library for “group study,” even though none of them have class together anymore, Hinata and Sai organizing group therapeutic painting days, morning runs with Ino, and less frequently, meals with Sasuke in the break room between their labs. He’s typing away when she walks in, working on what she presumes to be his senior thesis. “Did you cure blindness, yet?” she jibes, shrugging off her white coat and hanging it up on one of the hooks. She hadn’t expected Sasuke to choose something so clinical for his focus project, much less cell replacement therapy for retinal disease.
“Did you cure cancer?” Sasuke retorts, not looking up from his screen.
“Getting there,” Sakura chirps. She pulls out a chair for herself and smiles brightly. She had a rare morning where all of her experiments had gone to plan, and all of her results were the best she could have hoped for. Her application to present at the end of semester expo was approved, too; yet now, sitting beside Sasuke, she can’t shake the feeling of anticipation. “Did you see? There’s a shipment of Aurelia aurita in the lab across the hall. They’re really pretty,” Sakura says, aware that she’s babbling, “though I don’t know why they needed live samples. Honestly, it’s a frivolous expense.” She opens her laptop to find the articles her PI had given her as suggested literature review reading. “If they want to study Nematogalectin-related metabolism, then they could have just ordered the protein itself.”
Sasuke hums his agreement, looking exceedingly bored.
“Anyway,” Sakura clears her throat, “Sasuke-kun is leaving soon.”
He pauses, bringing his gaze to Sakura’s fingers drumming gently against the wooden table. “It’s for my family,” Sasuke explains to her, though he doesn’t know why, “they want me to oversee some company experiments in Oto.”
“I know. I just,” she begins. Sakura nibbles at her bottom lip. “Well, I just had to say it, because I don’t know if…”
“What is it?” Sasuke asks. His stare cuts through her.
She feels her heart clench in her chest. “I like you,” Sakura confesses, the words spilling out of her mouth like a geyser. She doesn’t wait for Sasuke’s response. “I know that doesn’t change anything, but I figured I just had to say it, because who knows when or if we’ll get to see each other again.”
“Don’t be annoying,” he scolds her, not acknowledging her declaration, “you have my phone number.”
Sakura blinks away the tears forming in her eyes. “I know we were never close, but…” Still reeling from his rejection, she bows her head. She hears the sound of him closing his computer.
“Thank you,” he says, and she knows that he is sincere. Sasuke’s bangs cover his eyes before he turns away. She sinks back into her chair as he shuts the door behind him. Sakura lets her tears fall freely; she knows that she will not see him later, and she doesn’t.
Still, Sakura sends him a message before his flight to wish him a safe flight. Thank you, Sasuke tells her again. She remembers the way his hair hung over his face that night, how he left like he was running away.
Sakura doesn’t expect life without Sasuke to be so empty, because life was almost unbearably busy before she had met him. But she doesn’t see Naruto as much anymore, because the last leg of his program is at the downtown campus, and Ino and Sai graduated and moved into an apartment of their own. Sakura doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s lonely; she treasures the times she runs into Naruto at graduate school events, and the nights they spend at Ichiraku together. Naruto is as bombastic as ever. He talks about meetings with politicians and district attorneys, about finishing up his degree and eventually running for office. She admires the scope of his dreams, his resilient energy. If he misses Sasuke, he doesn’t mention it, and nothing about his behavior betrays him.
Sometimes Hinata comes along and they talk about more trivial things, like entrance examinations and meal prep for the week. She appreciates these small conversations, preferring them to Ino’s hounding as of late.
Ino and Sai have been making steady progress in their relationship, so it comes as no surprise to Sakura when the blonde takes her aside after dinner to tell her that they had spoken about a timeline for engagement. “If I were to guess, he’s going to ask in a year and a half,” Ino says, dipping a cherry by its stem into their shared chocolate fondue.
“Please, please don’t get married in the middle of our boards,” Sakura replies, thinking about whether she could manage the stress of medical school and the stress of being Ino’s maid of honor.
“Only if you find a boyfriend by then,” the blonde tells her, only half-joking, “otherwise, you surrender maid of honor privileges.”
“You know I don’t have time for these things,” Sakura says, staring at the film the chocolate forms as it cools down.
“I can set you up, if you’d like,” Ino offers, “with a nice guy. Morio-san. He actually asked about you, if you were interested. Do you remember, at Sai’s last gallery event?”
“I remember,” she replies after biting into a cherry, “no, thank you.” Sakura pretends she doesn’t bristle at the suggestion. If she didn’t meet Sasuke, Sakura thinks, her life might have ever been normal. She could have met someone at the hospital, or at the lab, and fallen in love with them easily. She’d have a date to her best friend’s wedding who would listen to her gripe about the unflattering color of the bridesmaids’ dresses, who might even pick her up from the hospital after evening clinic. If only. But Sakura doesn’t regret meeting Sasuke, not even a little; and she knows she’d be lying if she ever said so. So she doesn’t. Still, Sakura is different now: her hair is short, and she runs marathons.
The years pass and blend into each other before she hears his name again. Sakura is an MS-3 when she sees Sasuke on the news with a person named Orochimaru. The headline reads about an ethical violation in one of the Uchiha family’s company experiments, though it is unclear if the company heir was aware of the violations while they were happening. Her heart aches for him, like it always does. She considers calling his old number, but doesn’t. She sits alone, shouldering the weight of her unmoveable feelings.
Sakura gets an interesting patient from Kakashi-sensei, Konoha Hospital’s resident ophthalmic surgeon. She jumps at the opportunity when she hears the details of the case: a young man with rapidly declining eyesight has been diagnosed with a rare form of retinitis pigmentosa. When she hears, a jealous Ino elbows her and makes allegations of nepotism. “You’re not even in surgery, Ino-pig,” Sakura complains, nursing her now bruising ribcage, but smirks after; yes, it is favoritism, but Sakura isn’t bothered in the slightest. It’s not every day that a surgical intern gets to assist in a retinal transplant, after all.
She runs to the east wing of the hospital to prep her patient for surgery. Sakura looks at the chart Kakashi hands her before he steps out of the room. She reads the patient’s last name and freezes. “Hello, Uchiha-san,” she greets the older man, who turns to face her in his hospital bed. “I’m sure Kakashi-sensei has walked you through the procedure, but I’d like to introduce myself. Please call me Sakura-san. I’ll be assisting in today's procedure.”
“Hello, Sakura-san. Please call me Itachi-san,” the man says. He seems utterly serene, unbothered by his complicated situation.
Uncomfortable, Sakura shifts her weight from her left leg to her right. “Do you have any questions?”
“I have one,” her patient says. His fingers grasp at his bedsheets. “Does Kakashi-san really wear that mask all the time? Or is that another consequence of my onset blindness?” The corners of his lips perk up, thoroughly amused by his own joke.
Sakura smiles at him. “He wears his mask all the time, he’s a bit of a clean freak,” she chides, “but Kakashi-sensei should really be more concerned about another type of contagious diseases.”
Itachi’s chuckle is warm and too familiar. “You’re very funny, aren’t you?” he says quietly. “I trust in you and Kakashi-san.” And then, “Thank you, Sakura-san.” She tilts her head in acknowledgement. Itachi reminds of Sasuke, almost, but not angry -- so maybe he doesn’t really remind her of Sasuke, after all.
Following the successful transplant, Itachi stays at the hospital for two weeks so they can monitor the progression of his vision. Sakura makes it a habit to visit before her rounds, whenever they are. Itachi usually doesn’t mind. When she stays, Sakura describes things to him in vivid detail: the red skin of an apple, the spring sunlight that peeks through the blinds, the mural painted in the hospital’s cafeteria.
On one visit, Sakura meets Itachi’s mother, who is beautiful and looks every bit like Sasuke. “Hm,” the older woman says when Sakura introduces herself, “I think I might have heard something about pink hair before.” Itachi and Mikoto share a secret smile.
Sakura stops by once more to see Itachi before he’s discharged. She scribbles something on her clipboard before strolling into the room, annoyed that she had been put on scut the past couple of days. “Sakura, huh?” Her pen bleeds through the paper.
“It’s been a while,” Sakura says, her mouth suddenly dry. “Sasuke-kun.”
There’s a glint in his eye that isn’t unfriendly. “Ah, it has,” he says, “you’re a surgeon now.”
Did she imagine the pride in his voice? Sakura occupies herself with straightening the collar of her white coat. “Surgical intern,” she corrects, “not a surgeon yet, anyway.” She hopes he doesn’t hear her voice shaking.
“Sasuke is here to pick me up,” Itachi interjects, dissipating the palpable tension despite looking thoroughly entertained by it all.
“Ah, okay. That’s good, you aren’t allowed to drive, after all,” Sakura informs him, slipping comfortably into her role as a doctor. “If your eyes irritate you at all, contact either me or Kakashi-san immediately.”
Itachi bows a little and hands her a small envelope. Sasuke watches the exchange suspiciously as he ushers his older brother out of the room. Itachi pokes his forehead and steps briskly through the door. “My thanks, Sakura-san,” Itachi says. The secret smile from earlier is back.
Sakura is grateful that the train is rather empty after her shift. She’s wearing a light t-shirt dress and sensible loafers, a safe option that balances her need to impress and her need to not look completely desperate. In all honesty, Sakura had no idea what to wear to dinner with her former patient’s family. She had even been inclined to decline the invitation that was in the envelope from Mikoto and Itachi, but Ino berated her.
(“You are going. What the hell, even, Forehead?” the blonde said as she aggressively searched through her wardrobe for the perfect casual dinner outfit, “What even goes on in that big brain of yours?”)
As soon as Sakura gets to the house and toes off her shoes, Mikoto sweeps her into the kitchen to gossip about Naruto and Hinata, of all things. Sakura imagines she’d feel much more awkward if Mikoto weren’t such a welcoming and inviting force. Talking to her is easy, and they spend time in the kitchen giggling about an actress’s latest pregnancy. Sakura sets the table for the family despite Mikoto’s protests.
From the other room, she can hear parts of Itachi and Sasuke’s muffled conversation. “Mother likes her,” Itachi’s deep voice reverberates through the kitchen door.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sasuke’s baritone responds defensively.
Mikoto winks at her. “I do like you,” she says mischievously as Sakura neatly folds their napkins into triangles. Sakura blushes.
When it’s time for dinner, Fugaku, Mikoto, and Itachi all take seats across the table, leaving Sasuke and Sakura to sit together at the other side. If she weren’t so embarrassed, Sakura probably would have made a snarky remark about the strategic seat placement. Instead, she thanks Mikoto for her hospitality over dinner.
“So,” Mikoto says with a slow smile, “how do you two know each other?” Sasuke scowls.
“We went to Konoha University together,” Sakura supplies politely, feeling self-conscious with all of the family’s attention focused on her.
Animated, Mikoto passes one of the prepared side dishes to Sakura. “Did you also study Biomedical Engineering?”
“No, Biochemistry, actually,” she says, taking the bowl from the older woman, “I was Sasuke and Naruto’s TA. That’s how we all met.”
The sound of laughter from Mikoto’s stoic husband seems to startle both Sakura and Sasuke, who looks borderline bewildered. Mikoto grins as she reaches for Fugaku’s hand.
“Sasuke is truly his mother’s son,” he says mysteriously, linking their fingers together.
Out of the corner of Sakura’s eyes, she sees the tips of Sasuke’s earlobes redden. Mikoto is an expert storyteller; she paints a scene of Konoha University decades ago, of herself as a clueless second-year struggling through Organic Chemistry, and her handsome knight-in-shining armor TA who tutored her through every exam. How, when she had bought a thank you gift for him, he had declined and asked her to dinner instead.
Fugaku seems to relax, chiming in whenever Mikoto misses a detail. “No,” he says when she tells them about her first date, “you didn’t bring a jacket. I remember, because you kept complaining about being cold, and I had to give you my sweater.” Something in Sakura’s heart warms as she watches the couple dispute the details of their courtship.
When Itachi mentions baby pictures, Sasuke glares at him and Sakura notices the time. “I should probably be going,” she says, moving to excuse herself.
“Wait,” Sasuke says, “I’ll drive you home.”
The ride home isn’t long, and is mostly filled with the sound of the radio that plays a band that Sakura listened to religiously in college. Sasuke’s car is exceptionally tidy, but Sakura hadn’t expected anything less.
When he reaches her apartment, he clears his throat. “Sakura, I’m sorry,” Sasuke apologizes.
Wide-eyed, Sakura asks, “Sorry? Sorry for what?” She thumbs the hem of her dress.
“For everything.” Sasuke runs a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “Can we start over?”
Sakura leans over and tucks his hair behind his ears. “Yes,” she says, because that’s always the answer when it comes to Sasuke. His hand reaches up to tap her forehead. “Yes.”
Starting over looks like this: Sasuke picking Sakura up after her shifts, sometimes having meals delivered to the hospital so she remembers to eat, and sometimes the two of them lounging around Sakura’s apartment and watching medical dramas.
“Sakura,” Sasuke says, wrinkling his nose, “you know this is all grossly incorrect.”
Sakura shrugs. “So what?”
“So what,” he mumbles, exasperated, “so what, you’re a surgeon.”
“Surgical intern,” Sakura tells him for the hundredth time, “and I’m just a regular girl. We love terrible television, even if it’s medically inaccurate.”
Today, starting over looks like Sasuke carting her usual order from Ichiraku over to Sakura’s apartment after he gets out of the office because she’s sick. She sniffles her gratitude as she reheats the broth on the stove. “Don’t they say doctors make the worst patients?” he asks. Then, he kisses her deeply, pressing his lips to her chapped ones before sliding his tongue past hers. He can feel her heartbeat, her warm form pulsating against his chest.
Sakura pulls away to say something, but dissolves into a nasty coughing fit. “I’m not your patient,” she finally manages. She pouts before coughing again.
“If you get me sick, I won’t forgive you,” Sasuke quips, a lazy arm looping around Sakura’s waist.
She makes a face. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you stuck your tongue in my mouth,” Sakura bites back.
“Oh, did I do that?” Sasuke asks innocently, albeit with an amused tilt of his lips.
Sakura looks up at him, annoyed. “Yes,” she pulls on his tie, “now do it again.” And Sasuke, of course, obliges her.