A/N: So I haven't been around for a while, but this story has been ruminating in my head for some time so I thought "What the hell?" and just started it! It's my first attempt at Kaka/Saku so it's very exciting for me! I hope you enjoy what's to come.
Enemies by Design
Summary: When a simple medical consultancy involves her in a dangerous political battle, Sakura is forced to oppose a man she trusted above all others…and the feelings she begins to develop for him.
I. First Contact
It was a beautiful day.
The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing (but, most importantly, nowhere near her)…and the tea was wonderful. And well deserved, Sakura generously surmised. Ino could call her an old woman til she was blue in the face – Sakura hoped that one day it'd truly stop her breathing and therefore talking – there was nothing like a good pot of tea after a long, strenuous day of doing absolutely nothing.
When Tsunade had called Sakura into her office yesterday, Sakura hadn't expected to like what was coming. Nothing good ever came out of being ominously summoned to Tsunade's office, as it usually meant her shishou would start harping on about her amount of logged overtime hours…and amount of intentionally unlogged overtime hours. The conversation usually went something like:
"Sakura. You're working too much."
"I respectfully do not agree with that statement, shishou."
"You were at the hospital 95 hours this week."
"However would you know that, shishou?"
"That is none of your concern."
"You're spying on me."
"I'm checking up on you."
"Without my knowledge or consent. That's spying."
"I'm Hokage, I'll spy on who I want. You're working too much. Stop. Sleep. Be social, talk to people who aren't colleagues or patients."
"Whatever you say, Hokage-sama."
"Okay, now I know you won't do it."
And so different versions of the same conversation ensued at least once a fortnight, always resulting in Sakura never reducing her working hours…just finding out who the spies were and developing means of avoiding them.
But yesterday had been different. Instead of telling her to stop working so much, Tsunade had given her a mission straight off the mark. And it wasn't just some cut-and-dry-reconnaissance-because-we're-in-a-time-of-peace mission on which she was merely the token medic. It was high profile, unclassed, sensitive in nature, and worth big money. It was so secret she didn't even know who her client was or why she was seeing them. She had assumed it was a medical issue. Why else would Tsunade send her? She was strong, yes, but most certainly not the strongest shinobi in Konohagakue no Sato. However, she was one of the most adept medics and the Hokage's trusted apprentice. Who better to send for a matter of such medical secrecy and sensitivity?
So she'd become excited. Finally, something to do. Something that would require every morsel of her attention and intelligence. Constantly working at the hospital was worthwhile, but lately it had become routine, repetitive. Peacetime meant very few shinobi returned from missions with mysterious, inexplicable symtoms that no one knew how to explain, much less treat. Those types of injuries were her absolute favourite. It meant she had to hit the research books and uncover every last fragment of information about any symptom ever recorded and, through nothing but the potency of her mind, piece together a puzzle of history and biology to formulate an answer. And that was just the first part of the procedure. Once she had gathered relevant information and diagnosed the patient, she'd then have to create an antidote that had not previously existed in order to save that patient's life, often working under an extremely tight time limit depending on the level of deterioration the patient was experiencing.
It was thrilling. It was life-affirming. It removed her from everything but the life she was saving. Nothing else mattered. Everyone left her alone, let her work, didn't hover or nag or complain about the sleep she hadn't been getting. They wanted to save a life, they let her work.
But now? Peacetime. Relative peace, anyway, as there could never be complete peace in a land of shinobi nations. Everyone was always watching everyone, hoping to be the first to uncover some nefarious plot to kill all of mankind and destroy the world as they knew it. That's what it usually amounted to, anyway. But for the last two years? Peace. No major incidents, no startling battles, no more names added to the Black Book, no more targets.
It always struck Sakura as depressingly ironic that the one thing shinobi worked towards the most was also the one thing that frustrated them the most.
Peace.
The shinobi nations had been formulated in a time of war to protect nations that had been at war. Therefore, even now, when there was no war, there was nothing for shinobi to do other than general maintenance. But there were only so many times you could fortify borders and perfectly execute training drills before shinobi got restless.
Konoha was restless. She was restless. As much as any shinobi in existence would deny it, they all got frustrated at peace…and frustrated at themselves for not liking peace. It was a good ideal to work towards, one many had thought was never achievable. But when somehow it was achieved two years ago, shinobi threw up their hands and exclaimed 'What now?' What indeed.
Konoha needed war to function, as it was built for times of war and the people residing there were trained to combat in it. They lost meaning without war. They lost purpose. They lost the ability to further their skills, strive to be the best, because there was no longer anyone better to fight against, to test their skills against. The thrill of meeting unknowns and thrilling challenges in combat was gone, lost in repetitive training with a familiar rotation of partners.
Soon they would start brawling, start trying to uncover forbidden techniques, start terrorizing the innocent, start leaving. Tsunade was well aware of these inevitabilities and was, as yet, unable to uncover a means by which to prevent it.
However, she had managed to provide Sakura with an unclassified mission – practically an extinct species in the nation's current environment. It had taken every ounce of her significant willpower to force herself to remain immobile and not jump up and down, squealing in resplendent glee.
She would have squealed too soon anyway. This mission was a dirty hoax, created by Tsunade to force her out of Konoha, away from the hospital, away from work and into the fold of a beautiful, picturesque, laid-back, charming town a mere day's walk away.
Sure, the client was real as far as she knew. She had received summons – summons! – directly upon her arrival instructing her to take residence at the Sleepy Hollow Inn (that name positively inspired thoughts of death by boredom) until she was further summoned – more summons! – to a secure place of the client's appointment.
Tsunade would have known that Sakura would have come here to this permanently half-dead village with nothing but hours to kill…doing nothing. Drinking tea. Looking out a window into a street filled with people who all looked the same: rich and affluent. Was there no poor here, or did they merely reside in the forest surrounding the walled and gated village? She supposed it made sense that this place was so ridiculously well-kept and absent of any imperfections, like a homeless man or - gods forbid - an orphan. It was the town that contained the Daimyo's prestigious residence.
Sakura peered through the window at the vast mansion now. It was impossible not to see the imposing structure of stone and wood as it towered above everything else, smack bang in the centre of the village, surrounded by a veritable fortress of rock and men armed with steel and spikes and all manner of pointy weapons. This village was ex-clu-sive! Why, she had had to bear a permit containing the Hokage's seal in order to be allowed in! She wondered why there was an inn at all, non existent as the tourists were. This village was just simply not a place that allowed a casual wanderer into its luscious folds. No, that would be a security risk. Who knew what reprehensible characters from other obviously disreputable villages would do to sneak in? No, no. That would not do. Apparently.
Even the tea she was currently drinking had cost almost as much as her weekly grocery bill. She was going to damn well sit here and enjoy it, and make it last as long as possible because she suspected the owner would kick her poorly-clothed ass out the door as soon as the last drop disappeared down her throat. And, really, where else did she have to go after this? She could look forward to an evening of counting the cracks on the ceiling, which would probably be a futile exercise as she doubted her inn even had any cracks on its ceiling. Ah, the lives of the rich - bereft of such titillating activities. How did they do it?
It was as she was contemplating the meaning of existence (as one does when one has nothing else to do) that she spotted something interesting. Or rather, someone interesting, someone who didn't quite fit in with the other people on the street.
It could have been his clothes: plain black and unornamented by the fashionable trimmings of the other high-class residents. It could have been his gait: unnaturally smooth and light. It could have been his stance: internally focussed and unaffected by his surroundings, unlike his peers who were obviously only walking through the street and not travelling in a gilded carriage so that they would be seen. It could have been that he was naturally…beautiful. There was no other way to put it. His features were symmetrical in a way only nature, not makeup or corrective jutsu surgery, could perfect – all sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw line, straight nose. It could have been the muscular overture of his physique, apparent even through his ill-fitting clothes.
But it wasn't any of those things. Not really. It was the shocking white hair that looked like it was permanently electrocuted. It was the hunched shoulders over an all-too-familiar perverted book. It was the hole just above the right elbow of his shirt that had been caused by her stray kunai when she was thirteen.
It was Hatake Kakashi.
And he wasn't wearing a mask.