A/N: Just a oneshot I whipped up.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Hunger

I want him to look at me. I don't know why he won't. Ino says I'm not ugly (you have to trust her opinion about those kinds of things, and Naruto wouldn't have a mondo crush on me if I was). I don't think I'm cruel—a little temperamental, sure, but never outright cruel. I'm not snooty or petty… I'm actually nice. At least I try to be, which is more than he can say for himself.

I miss him. I really do. Ever since I turned sixteen and became a jounin, equal rank with him, he hasn't said a word to me at all. He wasn't even at my ceremony. He can't be ashamed, because I know there's only a two year margin of skill and effort between us (he was a jounin at fourteen), and if he's afraid of my power, he shouldn't be. Yamato-taichou remains one of my best friends regardless of that sort of thing.

Maybe it's because I'm a sixteen-year-old girl and I'm friends with mostly guys. But that's just how the ninja world works, doesn't it? A lot of women are afraid of becoming kunoichi, some for good reasons and some for bad. At least I'm never worried about breaking a nail. No, I'm more worried about my teammates getting killed and whether or not I can heal them. He should be proud.

Maybe it's because I'm a sixteen-year-old girl and I'm still looking for my thirty-year-old teacher. Maybe he's afraid of me chasing him, of being a predator, but if he doesn't want me after him, then why does he run?

—

I'm sitting with Yamato on a warm summer evening. The air in the restaurant is hot and heavy, and he's already slurped up two cokes that he spiked with lots of rum. He told me he planned on getting hammered, because his mission the other day was kind of horrifying. I'm nursing a virgin margarita, drinking it really slowly like I normally do before sticking the orange slice in my mouth and humming my approval.

Yamato is my best friend that's a guy. We're in complete confidence with each other, which is something I can't say for anyone else (other than Naruto, but I couldn't stop that even if I tried). He's told me his name, too (Tenzou), even though he'd rather me call him Yamato. Once, I even asked him if I was sexy enough to nail a guy I saw in the back of the room. He told me I was sexy enough to nail any guy I wanted before giving me a grin and a pat on the shoulder.

Today I'm wondering if I should ask him about Kakashi-sensei. They've known each other for so long; he's bound to know why sensei's avoiding me. But when I check Yamato's progress, he's finished his third spiked coke and rubbing his forehead idly.

"You okay?" I ask.

"I really don't want to get hammered tonight," he says quietly. "But I can't get the mission out of my head. Maybe if I get Kakashi to hypnotize me or something…"

"Have you seen him?" I ask, too eagerly. Yamato peers at me from over his hands.

"Why?" he asks.

I look to the table and scratch my finger on the wood. "He's been avoiding me," I say. "Since I turned sixteen."

Yamato frowns and rubs his chin. "Well, that's not right," he said, though whether he's talking about the correctness of my statement or the morality of Kakashi's actions, I can't tell. His speech is slightly slurred, and his eyes are glassy with alcohol-lust. I reach across the table and place my hand over his, drawing some of the alcohol out of his body with my chakra to sober him up a bit. His hazy eyes clear.

"I'll see if I can't get him to talk with you sometime," he offers, and I retract my hand, smiling happily.

"Will you?" I ask, clapping my hands together. "That would mean so much to me, Yamato!"

"Sure." And with the smile he sends me, I know he won't ever let me down.

—

It takes a week, but Yamato finally pins Kakashi down and hints heavily that he should come and see me sometime. From the story that he tells me, Kakashi sighs and takes the hint. I'm so excited that I can barely wait.

So as I'm heading out of the Hokage's Tower after finishing my rounds at the hospital a few days later, I hear a voice I haven't heard in about six months.

"Yo."

I nearly jump on top of him with my delight, but instead manage a smile. "Kakashi-sensei! Long time, no see! Where you been?"

He looks cut and trim, with not a speck of dirt on the uniform that I've come to know so well, and the uniform that I have forgone in favor of my usual outfit. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

"Around…" he says vaguely. I scowl.

"Around…?"

"Around…"

"You are the most unhelpful person that I've ever met. And the most anti-social." I place my hands on my hips and lean all my weight on one leg, successfully pushing the hip out. I notice his one dark eye following the movement before flicking back up to my face. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground. "Why haven't you come to see me?"

"I've been busy, Sakura." His eye flickers back up to me again, but only for a moment. "Sorry if I've upset you." From being crossed over his chest, he's now practically hugging himself, each hand on an opposing upper arm. He's acting like he's expecting me to kick him or punch him. Under normal circumstances, I would, but right now, all I want to do is forgive him.

"Don't worry about it," I say, "but don't do it again." I waggle my finger at him, and he gives me a happy little eye crease, releasing the shield of his arms from around himself. "Spar with me tomorrow?" I ask.

"Don't you have hospital duties?"

"No."

There's a pause in which people pass us and notice us and give us fleeting hellos which aren't returned. "All right then," he says finally, and I smile.

—

We meet the next day at seven o' clock (he comes at eight), and we've both got bentou boxes for lunch, because that's how long we plan to spar. I give him a friendly clap on the arm when I see him, and he ruffles my hair. Does his touch linger? I can't even tell.

"Shall we start?" he says, and we do.

No chakra or weapons, he says. Fists fly and feet crunch as we jab at each other with our heels and our knuckles. He's faster than I am and always has been, but I'm stronger than he is even without my chakra, and this is my pride. I'm a woman, one of the few physically capable of surpassing a man when it comes to muscle.

I land a hit on his ribs and send him staggering backward. His movements begin to slow, and finally, he says it's time to stop.

"But it's not even ten yet!" I say. "I thought we were going until one?"

"I forgot I have a meeting with the Hokage today," he says evasively. I leap upon the words like they're a lifeline, even though they're slicing me to pieces.

"Bullshit," I snap. "Don't give me that crap. You promised, sensei. It's been six months since I've last seen you!"

"You saw me yesterday," Kakashi deadpans, and I feel rage beginning to grow inside of me.

"That doesn't count!" I shriek.

"Sakura, don't act so childish."

That's when I snap. My fist comes out and cracks across his jaw so hard I feel the bone and tendons shift beneath my blow. His body doesn't move. He was expecting it, I think. His head jerks to the side, but that's all, and he stares at the ground. Even if I can't see it, I can tell his mouth is hanging open simply because I can see that it's crooked.

He lets out a little sound of pain.

"Oh, oh my god, sensei, I'm sorry!" I gasp, and reach for him, then recoil. "I'll need to take off your mask," I say apologetically.

He nods and turns to me. I don't get nauseous very easily, but the way his jaw is slanted, knocked out of its socket and twisted to the side, makes my stomach churn uneasily.

I reach for the dark mask and begin to ease it down. He winces when I brush against his dislocated jaw, but I'm able to pull it out of the way of that too, and assess the damage.

The first thing I have to do is crack it back into place before it starts swelling any more than it already has. The tendon in front of his left ear will feel a little stretched and the one by his right a little pinched, and his jaw will be cracking when he yawns for a while, but the swelling will just make it hurt more than it has to, so that's what I turn my attention to first.

He's an excellent patient. When I grab hold of his jaw with my left hand, he squeezes his eyes shut while I snap it back into place. There's a hissing escape of breath, and that is his only sound.

His face is beautiful, I think as I send my chakra in to reduce the swelling. Even with the outrageous bruise he's going to have, he's like a god come to earth. I heal the fracture that I've made and the large, dripping gash that's appeared on top of it, wiping up the blood with a strip of my shirt. He keeps his eyes closed as I work, and when I stop, he opens them to look at me.

"Can you talk?" I ask.

"Prolly," he slurs quietly, rubbing his chin as he pulls his mask back up over his face. "Thanks a lot."

But his thanks is sarcastic, and makes me want to punch him all over again. He's not looking at me anymore, but past me, and it makes me want to start crying.

"Why won't you look at me?" I whisper, my fists clenched. "Do I humiliate you or something?"

"Of course not," Kakashi snaps. "You could never humiliate me. Hurt me, obviously yes, but humiliate me? Absolutely not."

"Then why?" I ask. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

He looks at me again, at the tears that are just beginning to show themselves behind my eyes, and I can tell he's very frustrated.

"I wish you didn't think that," he says softly. "I really have been busy, Sakura." Then he turns, and before I can stop him, he leaps away.

I'm so angry that I howl my rage to the sky, and I'm sure he can hear me.

—

Kakashi comes back from a mission one day practically dragging himself through the gates. I'm chatting with Izumo and Kotetsu when he stumbles in, blood tracing his every step. He's clutching his abdomen with one arm; the other hangs useless beside him.

He doesn't seem to take notice of us. He continues to walk, barely able to stay balanced, even while we all walk beside and behind him, worried as hell. Each pool of blood that he leaves with every step is continuously growing bigger, and when it's finally big enough so that I realize he might be in very deep shit, I stop him and turn him around.

His eyes are glazed over with a film of exhaustion. He's only half-conscious (no wonder he didn't notice us) and he's muttering something about reporting to the Hokage.

"You can do that from the hospital bed," I say. I gesture to Izumo and Kotetsu, and they help me get him back to where I can treat him.

—

The kunai that's hit him has just grazed his stomach, but since Kakashi wouldn't allow his body to rest and mend itself, it just kept getting worse and worse until he had to stick some boiled moss in it to try and stop the bleeding.

Really, the moss has probably saved his life.

After extricating the plants from his wound and dumping them, I and some other medics go to work on checking for infection and stitching the slice back up. It is about as long as my forearm, and will probably give him a bit of difficulty during training if he is trying to crunch, at least for the next month or so.

He has long passed out, and though he has a slight fever from his system attacking the moss he's used to save himself, he will come out of the ordeal all right. The only thing that tells you he isn't sleeping overly peacefully is the blood bag hanging off his arm and the light layer of sweat on his brow from the fever.

He doesn't sleep for very long, maybe an hour at the most. When he wakes, he opens his eyes and frowns at me, and I could cry right there and then on his chest if he'd only stop.

"Hey," I say hoarsely, with a weak little smile.

"Where's Tsunade-sama?" he asks.

"Busy," I say immediately. "You'll have to give her your report later." I take a seat on the edge of the bed. He looks at the blood bag and sighs at the narrow tube that's hooked up to the vein of his inner elbow.

"Talk to me," I whisper. I plead. I beg. But it comes out as just a whisper.

"Why?" he asks, looking at me. His voice is just as quiet, just as pleading.

I try to quell the tears that are choking off my air. "B-because," I stammer. "I miss you. A lot. And you don't ignore anyone else like you ignore me."

"You don't know that," he says, reaching up a hand to stroke my cheek. I lean into it just by a fraction, and he pulls away as though scorched. He even looks at his hand, as if to see if all his fingers are still there.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask. "What is so off-putting about me?"

"Nothing," he sighs, and sets his head back on the pillow, looking at me softly. He hasn't looked at me like that in ages, not since I was twelve. "Something. I don't know."

"That's stupid," I snarl. Vaguely I realize that this is more of his feelings than other people even dare to know, but I want something more than what he's giving me right now. I want a solid answer. I want him to look at me. Not this soft chiding crap, either. I want him to look at me like I'm a woman, not like I'm twelve. I want him to look at me like I'm Haruno Sakura, because that is what I am.

So I lean forward, and without even thinking, really, I kiss him, ever so gently. I feel his breath stop beneath my hand, because it's splayed across his chest for my support. I can't bear to look him in the eye, so when I release his lips (I had sort of enclosed them in my mouth a little), I look down at his collarbone.

His breath is shallow as it fans heatedly across my forehead. He's gripping my arms so tightly that if they were more brittle, they would snap.

"You should leave," he whispers hoarsely. "You should leave, now." His voice almost sounds pained.

"But I'm…" I start, beginning to look up to his eyes.

"Sakura!" he snaps, and releases me, instantly turning away. I get up from the bed.

I know why he won't look at me. I won't ask it of him anymore. But somehow I know that he's going to be looking at me more than he ever has before, and I know that I'm going to enjoy all of the uncertain glances he sends me.

I'm hungry for them.