When Naruto and Sasuke had left the village, Sakura hadn't expected much. She'd maybe expected a lull, expected nothing much to come of it. She'd certainly expected to work at the hospital, expected to take her missions and occasionally have to coerce Kakashi into actually doing his paperwork.
What she hadn't expected was to be what is apparently next in line for Kakashi's position—although, she supposes it was inevitable—or for the nurses at the hospital to look at her with such adoration.
Sakura's not complaining, she just hadn't expected it.
(She's the medic on a team of powerhouses, the backline fighter to Naruto and Sasuke's brilliance, and she never thought it would be her people looked at like this.)
But it is her; and as she gets glances and propositions from both civilian and ninja, from male and female alike, she wonders.
As a child, she had eyes only for Sasuke. Revelled in how it made her like the other girls, how the ability to gush over the same boy made them stop teasing her as surely as Ino's defence had. That borderline obsession continued, until it wasn't a crush anymore—it was shackles, a love too heavy to do anything but hold her down and too embedded to throw off.
She looks at blue-black chains around her wrists; looks to the man they lead to—far off and so in love with their teammate that it hurts—and she mourns that her time as a part of Team Seven did nothing but bind her to one who will never love her back.
So the next time she's hit on—Inuzuka Hana, leaning on the counter with a leather jacket and a smirk that shows sharp teeth—Sakura accepts. Gladly.
(She learns that those teeth and that tongue are good for more than just talking; for more than just a smirk that's more a challenge than a smile. She learns this gladly, learns how to reciprocate, and when she turns up to work the next day with a line of purpling bruises up her neck, Sakura lifts her head proudly and revels in how Hana's eyes follow her movements, fixed on the marks.)
She's helping Kakashi get through his paperwork—training, he says, for when she takes over from him, although Sakura's 98% sure he just wants to get out of doing it himself—when Ino appears, hops up onto her desk and leans over her, blonde hair falling all over her papers.
Sakura knows better than to piss of the head of T&I—she'd like to keep her sanity, thanks—so she doesn't just shove Ino straight off her desk in response. Instead, she leans back, tilts her head up challengingly and watches as Ino's eyes shoot straight to her neck and everything falls into place. She lets her lips widen into a smirk, watches as Ino's brow creases in a frown.
"If you were curious," Ino starts, her voice practically a whine, "why didn't you come to me?" She's tracing a painted fingernail over the table, pouting just slightly, but there's a tilt to her lips that shows she's struggling not to smile.
"You'd be open to that?" Sakura asks, less curious than she is confident; watches as Ino grins, teeth and poison and promises, and throws herself over Sakura's desk and into her lap.
"Very much so," she murmurs, rakes her fingers through Sakura's hair, presses their lips together for just a heartbeat, and then another, and another. It's perfection and it's something else; something more, and Sakura doesn't think this is going to be just a one-night-stand—doesn't think this is going to be like it was with Hana, and somehow…
Somehow, that doesn't worry her. Somehow, it's exciting—taking her best friend and turning their relationship into something new.
People always said not to date your best friends, but with her lips on Ino's neck and Ino's hands in her hair, Sakura thinks she doesn't really care.
Naruto and Sasuke's return was something Sakura hoped for, desperately, in the dark of the deepest nights, but it wasn't something she expected. They'd do better away from the village—she knows this, even if she regrets it.
(Her regret fades, with Ino by her side, pale hair draped over the pillows and warm breath on her neck, but her hope never does.)
So when they do return; when Naruto smiles at Kakashi, bright and brilliant, and Sasuke hns, cool, calm, collected, Sakura throws herself into the room, Sai hot on her heels, and drags them into a hug.
Nothing changes. Even with Naruto back, even with his dream, nothing changes. Kakashi smiles at her through his mask, the fabric tugging up around his lips and his eyes closing, bright and happy.
"You're still my first choice," he says, and she hears you're still my favourite, and feels like crying. It's relief, bright and shining and warm, a flood of emotion that settles over her like a blanket, soft and comforting.
Then she remembers Naruto's dream; it's like a bucket of cold water sluicing down her spine, washing away her good mood as surely as news of a death or a failed mission would.
"But…" she says, sees Kakashi's eyebrows rise, and finishes with a lame, "Naruto?"
Kakashi leans forwards, meets her eyes and says in a voice that's deceptively calm, "Naruto left," and she knows what he means. Knows by the ache in her heart and the ink staining her hands, knows by how she feels her back crack when she rolls her shoulders because of the hours she spends bent over her desk in the Hokage's office, helping Kakashi with his paperwork. And he says, "You didn't," and she knows it was always going to be her.
Even with Kakashi and Ino backing her up, the way Naruto's face falls when they tell him is heartbreaking. It leaves her breathless, shaking, because out of Team Seven she always was the most responsible; but she's also the most susceptible—the civilian girl with something to prove, with her teammates repetitively leaving for years at a time; leaving Sakura behind.
She cries, that night—huge sobs that shake her whole body and leave her exhausted—and the next morning, she gets up, kisses Ino goodbye and heads for the Hokage's office, head held high and emotions on lockdown.
Kakashi is exhausted; it's obvious in the shadows under his eyes and the way he absentmindedly rubs his head, revealing a constant, aching pain. He's tired, and he was never really cut out for something like this.
(Sometimes, sometimes, Sakura looks at him and wonders if Tsunade was thinking straight when she chose him. Other times, she looks at him and she's proud, because he's doing so well—doing the best he can in a job he wasn't made for.)
He'll pass the hat to her soon, she thinks. Not because she's ready—she doesn't think anyone could ever be ready to run an entire village—but because he's tired. Sakura can't blame him; she'd gladly take it, to help him and to help the village, because she is Konoha's and she will protect Konoha with her life if need be.
She's not wrong. It's only a few months after Naruto's return—a few years after the war ends—that Kakashi looks at her in the eyes and says, "I think it's time for me to step down."
Sakura smiles, softly; looks at the exhaustion writ all across his face and says, "Yeah, I think it is."
(He passes down the hat with a smile shining in his eyes and Sakura accepts it with a smile of her own.)