Rating: T

Words: 1,200

Pairing: Referenced Kakasaku

Warnings/Summary: Character death, some mention of blood, this is mostly just angst because I can, sort-of ambiguous ending, but not really if you were paying attention?

Author's Note: This was one of those 'what would happen if X' type thoughts that quickly became a drabble. Also, I'm aware that this isn't the next chapter of Altered Reality, so there's really no reason to point it out. This took maybe two hours, I've spent more than eighteen on the next chapter of AR. Sometimes you need a break from working on the same thing. Enjoy!

The blood would always haunt Sakura, the acrid scent filling the air, even through her surgical mask. Crimson coated her arms to the elbow and dripped from her gown, puddling in the floor. Shocked, empty faces surrounded her, eyes frightened as the medic peeled off her gloves. The insistent drone of a heart rate monitor filled the room as Sakura looked at the clock. "Time of death: 14:37."

One of the girls made a note the file that she held, as an equally young boy tugged a stark, white sheet over the man's face. Uninjured and unmarred, it looked like her patient could have been sleeping from the neck up; his chest downward was another story. Four dumbfounded shinobi stood in the room: Sakura and three medics in training. Bringing them to assist had been a mistake, but she'd never imagined that she would lose him so quickly.

"Finish your charting. Then, take the rest of the day off, if you need it," Sakura offered, looking at each of her students in turn. She'd lost dozens of patients and friends through the years, but these shinobi were younger, living in a time of peace, where injuries like this were the exception rather than the rule. Today's events would either cement their desire to become medical shinobi, or it would crush that dream. Sakura didn't envy them the painful night of soul searching ahead, but it was something that they had to go through.

"What about his next of kin, Sakura-sensei?" Mirani asked, ever the thoughtful one. Unshed tears filled the girl's wide, blue eyes, but she kept them from falling.

Rather than answering, Sakura reached out to touch the white mask that lay forgotten on the table. It had been thrown there during the chaos of ripping clothes, finding wounds, and applying pressure. The porcelain felt like ice beneath her fingers, even where blood had sprayed over the cheek and forehead. The droplets had congealed, sticking to the mask in obscene patterns. Sakura exhaled. "He didn't have any." Anbu rarely did.

The threatened tears finally slipped from Mirani's eyes as she stifled a whimper behind her glove. Sakura placed one hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed. "Go on, I'll take care of the rest." Indecision warred on her face until Sakura nudged the younger woman toward the door. Then, she was alone.

Half in a daze, half out of habit, Sakura reached up and turned off the machine that had been monitoring the man's heartbeat. The silence was nearly as oppressive as the resounding reminder of her failure. Sakura pulled off her stained mask and tossed it toward the bin, then stripped out of the gown she'd pulled on over her scrubs. Despite the fabric's water resistant properties, blood had soaked through in places. She dragged the covers from her shoes and threw them aside as well.

Armor removed, the pain slammed into Sakura full force. She barely managed to hold back the sob that fought to steal her breath. "I'm sorry," she murmured, moving back to the bed to run her fingers over the hand peeking from beneath the sheet. "I did everything I could." Tears stung the back of Sakura's eyes, but she forced them away. This wasn't the first time that she'd lost someone; it wasn't even the first time that she'd lost someone she considered a friend.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Sakura turned away for the last time. She could remain here, letting the hurt and pain tear her apart, or she could move on with everything else that needed her attention. She approached the sink, cradling the mask in one hand. Sakura lost herself in the methodical process of cleaning, letting her mind ignore what came next. Hot water removed the splashes of red from her hands and the porcelain, but it grew cold too quickly.

Opening one of the cabinets, Sakura wrapped the mask in a piece of cloth to protect it, then stepped out of the trauma room. The hallway looked as it always did. Medics and trainees scurried around, charts or coffee clutched in tired hands. Consistent beeps issued from the other rooms, accentuating the silence in the one Sakura left behind. Ignoring it, she approached the shinobi responsible to keeping the flow of medics and patients moving.

"I'm going to be out for the rest of the day unless another emergency case come in," Sakura began without preamble. "Hiro can cover my patients until tomorrow." The woman's brown eyes traveled from the mask to Sakura's face, then she nodded. The oppressive weight of being head medic pressed heavy on Sakura's chest.

As much as she wanted to go home and throw herself on the couch with a bottle of sake, Sakura couldn't. The sheer exhaustion of losing a patient was bad enough. The next thing required of her was a special type of torture that would rip the pain open a second time. But, she couldn't give in to the emotion. She had to be the strong one, even if she felt like crumbling. Squaring her shoulders, Sakura stepped out of the hospital.

The kunoichi's knock was answered almost immediately. Entering the Hokage's office, Sakura pulled the door shut behind her. At the sight of her, Kakashi's eyes shone with a smile that his mask couldn't hide. Sakura's chest tightened. She loved this man, and she'd come to destroy his world.

"I'm not late for dinner already, am I?" Kakashi teased, looking at the clock above Sakura's head.

"Kakashi," Sakura began, fighting around the lump that rose in her throat. Tension immediately entered the man's posture; he knew by the tone of her voice that something was wrong. Kakashi stood, coming around the edge of his desk. "I need to report a shinobi killed in action."

The words halted Kakashi's forward momentum. He must have sensed the world splintering around them, recognized the coming pain. Channels existed to report a shinobi's death. Normally, the closest relative was notified first, then the head of whatever division the person belonged to. The word would eventually reach the Hokage via one of his advisors.

Grey eyes fell to the blood that stained Sakura's hip and stomach, recognizing that she'd come directly from the hospital. "Who was it?" Kakashi's voice didn't tremble. Not yet.

"We did everything we could, but his injuries were too significant." Sakura drew a breath. "If they'd gotten to the hospital-"

"Who was it, Sakura," Kakashi interrupted, closing the distance between them. His hands came to her shoulders, reaching for the reassurance she couldn't offer.

For the first time, Sakura wished she didn't know Kakashi as well as she did. They'd been dating for over a year, and in that time, she'd come to love him, and by extension, the handful of people that he guarded like hoarded treasures. There were so few people Kakashi trusted as friends. Swallowing, she held out the cloth wrapped bundle in her arms.

Kakashi raised one eyebrow as he took it, throwing back the soft fabric. The glare of white against black surprised him. Sakura watched the shift from shock to horror as long fingers tracing the red and green streaks that covered the porcelain. The cat mask tumbled from Kakashi's hand, clattering on the floor.

It was the first time Sakura ever saw Kakashi cry.