fuhgeddaboudit
theeflowerchild
1. this is a stick up
From the second Sakura's body makes contact with the hot, wet asphalt, she knows getting off early was simply too good to be true.
It isn't anybody's fault, she decides, because things like this happen all the time: people get attacked, and kidnapped, and robbed, and, well, murdered. Even if they have the most normal, whatever days in the world, like she always does. First: wake up, then: drink coffee with Ino, then: complete rounds with Tsunade-shishou, and finally: get mugged on her way home the one day she gets out at four instead of six pm.
"Alright, bitch, give us the fuckin' money!" one of the burley men screams, crouching over her. They dragged her far down the alleyway, too far, next to the old YMCA, far enough that nobody can hear her scream.
She has to die at some point, she thinks. She just didn't expect it to be in her ugly lab coat, in broad daylight in the middle of bustling Konoha city. Her parents were right, she should have stayed in Suna. She can already picture the headline of The Times: "Pink-Freak-Doctor Brutually Murdered Right Outside her Dream Job!" Or something.
She winces when she tries to speak, and can't recognize her weak voice when she starts to say, "I'm sorry—" but she cut off by a swift, painful kick to her side.
"We didn't ask for an apology, bitch," the thug growls as she screams in pain, "just your money. If you want to live, that is."
She has trouble finding her breath, the contact leaving her immobile. She bites her lip and tries to fight off the pain, saliva mixing with metallic from her torn lip or torn insides, she's not sure. If she survives this, she'll be sporting a pretty bruise and a few scars for a very, very long time.
She tries to say, "I don't have any money," and it comes out a weak whisper. "Check my pockets," she huffs, "please."
The other thug laughs, and reaches into her lab coat where he finds an ID, and nothing else. "I guess this isn't your lucky day," he sneers, and raises a hand in the air she knows will be a painful punch.
She braces herself for the impact, and knows this is bad—like, really bad. Their vicious laughter fills the thick, slimy summer air of the nearly enclosed alleyway. She shuts her eyes as tight as she can, arms up to block any rap she expects to come. Moments pass by, her lip bleeding, her stomach throbbing, and Sakura begins to count her way to a semblance of strength and calmness. When she reaches twenty, she realizes the impact never came.
Sakura considers her options: she can open her eyes and see what the hell is going on—they're teasing her, probably, torturing her; that want her to see their faces when they call her—or she can keep them shut and pretend like nothing's happening, keep counting until she's in her happy-happy place.
Sakura opens her eyes.
The men are gone, or so she thinks, until she turns her head the other way and she sees they've made their way toward the back of the alley, frowns on their faces, shivers running down their spines. It's dark, and she's got blood in her eyes, but she knows they look horrified.
And she knows it's not her. Sure, she's scary in her own right, but a tiny, pink haired-nothing caked in blood is hardly a threat.
"S-Sasuke Uchiha!" one of them stammers, quaking in his boots.
Sakura frowns. Where has she heard that name before? She carefully turns her head, pauses when the searing pain overcomes her survival instincts, and then focuses on shifting her eyes only to realize they are not alone.
A tall, and lanky silhouette stands at the head of the alleyway, and she can see the bustling street behind him, effectively ignoring what's going on. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and she can tell his posture is impeccable. He takes soft, calculated steps. He is languid, only seems to move when necessary; robotic, even. He doesn't speak, yet.
"Mr—uh, Mr. Uchiha, what brings you here?" the other attacker asks, voice breaking, lips smacking.
She's definitely heard the name Uchiha somewhere before.
His voice is velvety, and deep when he speaks. "I could ask you the same thing," he says, unwavering, and takes another step forward.
"Nothing, Uchiha, I swear—! Whoa, man, what that fuck are you doing?!" he shrieks, throwing his hands in the air like a criminal about to be arrested by a cop.
It takes Sakura a moment to realize what this Mr. Uchiha-guy is doing, and then her breath catches in her throat.
He's holding a gun.
"Listen, man, we don't want any trouble," the thug tries, cautiously.
"Obviously you do," he counters, and takes another step forward. "I think you this your lady an apology."
The other thug swallows loudly enough that Sakura can hear it from feet away. "Like we said, we don't want any trouble—"
"Apologize," he repeats, icy and harsh. She'd reckon bored, too, if they were in any other situation, but she prays her savior isn't about to lose interest in their situation.
"We-We're sorry," they stammer, but they're looking at Mr. Uchiha.
A sickening click resounds through the area. Sakura has never seen a gun in person before, but she's watched enough cop shows to know what that clicky-noise means. "Now," he starts, menacingly enough that even Sakura shivers, "Get the fuck out of here." As soon as the men start running toward the exit, the gun goes off.
Sakura screams, and she realizes when they're gone that he's shot the bullet toward the sky.
Her savior shoves the gun into his pocket, and begins sauntering over toward her, all too calmly. He's too tall, and he gives her a once-over that makes her nervous. "You alright?" he asks.
Sakura would snort if she had the energy; of course she isn't alright. She'll be lucky if she doesn't need surgery! And where does this man get off sounding annoyed? She doesn't even know how to respond, so she just says, "yeah, I guess."
"They hurt you," he says, and it isn't a question.
"Yes," she agrees. She counters his unshakeable, blank stare with one of her own. She can make out his basic features in the dim alley: high cheek bones, long, messy hair and dark, impossibly dark eyes. He's dressed in a nice suit, and he's managed to not get a single speck of dirt on him.
"Let me help you up," he says, finally speaking, and offers her a large hand. She takes it, and he slowly helps her up onto her feet.
She winces, and his hand flies to her back, steadying her. She hugs her sides, and tears begin to will in her eyes, lashes thick with dry blood. The men were wearing steel-toe boots, she's sure, but they may as well have covered their feet in diamonds.
She hums, staring at the stranger for a moment who took time out of his day to save her. The stranger who just happened to have a gun on him. The stranger who struck fear into two, equally alarming, strangers. "Thank you," she says.
"No problem," he says, and he makes it seem like it really wasn't. She sees his eyes wander across her, pausing on her shoulders, and then her hips. She suddenly becomes too aware of how she must look, shriveled and red as apposed to her normal perky and pink. Unconsciously, she begins to play with her hair with one hand, pressing down fly-aways and relying on this stranger to hold her up—which he does.
Even in the dark, she's able to recognize how handsome this man is, and how powerful he must be, too. If the gun didn't give off the hint. Why didn't she wear makeup today again?
He breaks her from her thoughts, thoughts only Sakura would have after being nearly murdered. "You're a doctor?" he asks.
"Oh, well, yes," she says, and remembers she's wearing her lab coat, with a name tag that reads Sakura Haruno MD, Internal Medicine, even if a few of the letters are blocked out by her own bodily fluids. "I am."
A questionable smirk surfaces on his face, and Sakura shivers. "Well, Sakura Haruno," he says, and she knows she's going to regret waking up that day, "You owe me one."
He leaves her at the doorstop of the hospital. Sakura knows if she had been any farther from her place of work, she wouldn't have made it without an ambulance. At least she's alive?
She places her savior's name and words in the back of her mind for another day.
Updating effective 2/6/2019