title: frequencies
word count: 4,124
summary: kakashi gets injured, sakura heals him, and they meet somewhere in the middle. (takes place a few years after the war, i'm guessing.)
Honestly, Kakashi is getting too old for this shit.
He can feel it all the way down in his bone marrow. It's getting harder to fully wake up in the mornings—something he's never been good at anyway—and the recovery time from chakra exhaustion is increasing, if imperceptibly so, each time he returns from a particularly strenuous mission.
As usual, he can't move. At all. His fingers and toes barely wiggle after his greatest efforts, and even then, the soreness is potent enough to squeeze his eyes shut. With a foul grimace, he notices his scarred eye is crusted with dried blood that crackles all the way up to his hairline. How it got there, he's not sure, and he can't be bothered to remember.
A half-assed groan pushes its way out of his mouth and nose, muffled by his torn mask. God, he has to piss, and desperately needs to shower, and move his back where it's not as stiff as one of Yamato's mokuton creations. The wrinkled leather of his sofa is hot where it reflects his body heat and a drop of sweat rolls down his earlobe. He is desperate for a distraction at the very least, but he can't even reach for the copy of Icha Icha inside his flak jacket.
In other words, he is absolutely fucking miserable.
Thankfully, three hours into contemplating possible ways to die without moving, someone knocks on his apartment door.
"Come in," Kakashi croaks, but the sound doesn't carry very far. After a minute or so, he hears them test the knob, only to find it unlocked before swinging the door open.
Sakura, fresh and bright in her crisp white medic's coat, steps in the room with arms full of brown paper bags and a cheerful smile. In that moment, she could have been an angel and he wouldn't have known otherwise. His heart beats hard against his chest.
"Hey! How—oh, wow. Okay." The bags are immediately set (read: dropped) on the floor, contents thumping as they hit the hardwood. A few oranges and apples roll across it. With quick, purposeful strides, she marches over to his sofa across the room. "You look awful."
"Mm. Good to see you too." He tries to give her a crinkle-eyed smile, but it comes across more as a slow wink from his one visible eye. Sakura shoots an unamused glance at him before gently tugging his hitai-ate off, cringing enough for the both of them when it pulls his eyelid and brow with it.
"Geez," she hisses, prodding at the tender skin with a cool fingertip, then reaches up to lift his dirty hair from his forehead and check for other injuries. He restrains a contended sigh at her ministrations and tries to calm his heart rate—she's just being sweet, just doing her job, for crying out loud, and he somehow still has the energy to let his silly crush take precedence over the pain of his injuries.
God, he really is too old for this shit.
When she hits a tender spot on his skull, he grunts faintly, but loud enough for her to pause in concern.
"There?" He grumbles affirmatively. With a nod, she moves to start checking his face, pointedly ignoring his narrowed eye when she nears his mask, but much to his relief she continues on without a word. Sakura runs her hand down his arm and frowns when she notices his sweater is sticking to him.
"How long have you been sitting here? No air conditioning or anything?" Kakashi tries to shrug, ignoring the goosebumps that are rising from the contact, and only garners a mildly frustrated huff from his savior of a former student. "Okay. You're gonna have to tell me what you've been doing, sensei. You've been gone for at least a week."
"Uh…" His mind is too thick and foggy to think straight. "Mission."
"Yeah, I would hope," she mutters, checking the pulse at his wrist with a cool thread of chakra to get a sense for diagnostics. "Why didn't your teammates take you to an outpost? Or bring you to the hospital?" The expression on her face shows she already has a good guess.
"Solo mission."
Sakura's eyes roll. "Of course." She glances down at his knee, which is turned at an odd angle, and as she reaches for it dread radiates through him. He knows it's shattered, and while he's had worse, it still is pretty painful when Sakura's hand skims over it.
"Look, I really think you should go to the hospital. I can carry you there myself." Once the words are out of her mouth, she visibly regrets them—they're both aware he'll never go for that; she's been around him long enough to understand why.
"Don't." It's not a plea or a command, but the lack of inflection in his tone makes her mull over her next words with a visible pout.
"You'd be a lot more comfortable there, and you know it." A finger pokes at his stomach, which makes him flinch a bit, and it makes a wicked smile spread over her face. "Plus, someone that isn't me can hook you up to a catheter."
His silent, half-lidded response makes Sakura snort lightly, which he hopes signifies that he's lost too much blood for his blush to show. He can tell the moment she mentally gives up the argument she craves to pitch with him; her mouth scrunches to one side as she thoughtfully chews at the inside of her cheek.
"Fine, you big baby," she mutters after a moment. "I'm going to run back to work and get some supplies. And I have to tell Tsunade that you're back."
"Don't," he repeats flatly. An idea comes to him, however, and his eyes form innocuous little half-moons. "Actually, go ahead. Ask her if she can give me a sponge bath. Preferably shirtless."
Sakura laughs throatily. "Ooh, this is why she calls you a brat. I'll pretend I didn't hear that so you can live a little longer."
"What does it matter," Kakashi laments around a dramatic, raspy exhale, "I'm halfway there as we speak."
"Okay, okay, I'm going." She sighs too, pretending to be exasperated, but he can see the twinkle in her eye—somehow she actually enjoys healing him, which he assumes is because it gives her a peek into his extensive medical history. "I'll be back in thirty minutes. Don't move."
"Nice one," he mumbles as she rushes out the door, stepping over the tumbled bags by the entrance. Almost immediately, he finds himself able to fall asleep, lulled by relief.
The sound of the door kicked shut wakes Kakashi immediately. He doesn't know how long it's been, but knowing Sakura, it's probably been only twenty minutes since she left.
Behind her are Shino and Yamato, both of whom are carrying various bags and medical items, looking stiff and slightly uneasy.
"Alright," Sakura declares in the definitive tone she uses when she's in charge. "Yamato-taichou, you take Kakashi while Shino and I set everything up."
"I, uh—" Yamato stammers, probably wondering the same thing as Kakashi, but then thinks better of questioning Sakura and walks toward where their patient is plastered to the sofa. "Up you go," he murmurs before leaning down to retrieve him.
Thankfully, Yamato dignifies Kakashi by only placing him halfway on his back and letting his feet drag like a rag doll as they move down the hallway. The movement jostles him, and he suddenly remembers both how terribly his leg hurts and how even more terribly he needs to use the bathroom.
"Yamato, you gotta help me out here," Kakashi croaks before explaining. The two of them have been in far closer quarters during their ANBU days, so it's not that weird. Kakashi thanks whatever higher powers exist that Sakura thought to bring Yamato instead of someone like Naruto or even Genma to do this job.
"Okay," his trusted companion sighs, because clearly this is not where he expected his day to go. "But you have to pay next time we go out to eat or get drinks, senpai. One man can only take so much."
"Sure, of course," Kakashi agrees amiably, knowing damn good and well he's not going to follow through.
When they emerge into the hallway once more, Sakura and Shino can be heard tinkering with things in the bedroom. He gets dragged through its doorway to find them arranging medical equipment around his bed, which now has clean sheets and a small mountain of pillows at its head. It looks wonderfully inviting, soft and cool, especially with the small fan now sitting in the corner of the room.
Sakura turns from where she's laying out things on a metal tray. Syringes. She sees his eyebrow raise before he even registers that it moved.
"Painkillers," she explains with a smile so lovely that his stomach drops. Or perhaps it's just a survival instinct against that beatific expression—it's highly possible that she's a little too excited to heal him.
Shino finishes hanging the drip bag on its rod. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Sakura-san?"
"No, no, that's all." She gives him the same smile, and Kakashi's stomach drops again, sour. Oh, boy. "Thank you so much for coming with me. I'm sorry it took up most of your lunch break, though."
He dismisses her polite embarrassment with a single raised palm. "Not a problem. It's my pleasure to help with duties which benefit the village."
Before anyone else can get a word in, Shino bows to her, then to Kakashi and Yamato, and makes his exit in a well-postured flourish.
"He doesn't mess around," Kakashi states to himself. If only Naruto were so prompt and dutiful. The thought nearly induces a scoff, but he finds himself too out of energy to even muster that.
"I think you'll find we have that in common," Sakura practically sings, rolling her sleeves in neat folds up to her elbows before cracking her knuckles. A chill shoots through his spine that has nothing to do with the blowing fan. "Yamato-taichou, I'm really sorry to ask, but can you help him change? I can handle it from there."
Yamato stiffens where he's supporting Kakashi's weight. "Are you sure? That's a lot for just one person."
It's her turn to scoff now, though with a teasing edge more than anything. "I can promise you this is nothing compared to my day job. Besides, the main reason I asked you to come was because someone"—she arches a rosy pink eyebrow at Kakashi—"is too modest to let me do it all myself."
It doesn't take much of her not-so-subtly insistent stare, green eyes somehow friendly and intimidating all at once, for Yamato to concede and believe her.
"Alright," he declares, exhaling in a sad sort of way since he can't be of more use. "As long as you're fine, then, I'll head out after this."
"Thank you," she says sincerely, walking to the door and sweetly grabbing his shoulder as she passes. Kakashi's stomach decides to plummet again at the sight. He isn't exactly sure what to name the feeling, but he knows that he fucking hates it.
"Let's go ahead and get this over with, shall we?" Yamato guides them toward the edge of the mattress.
"Don't let him touch the bed!" Sakura urgently calls from the other room. "He's filthy!"
Kakashi and Yamato exchange a glance, one born out of equal parts confusion at how she knows and trepidation.
"And just put him in a pair of shorts or something. No shirt," she yells as water starts running from the kitchen sink faucet.
Kakashi tries his best not to recoil or grimace too noticeably. Yamato only smiles self-consciously.
"Well, I guess that makes my job a lot easier."
Neither of them can argue with that. In just a few minutes, Kakashi is in clean boxers and athletic shorts with minimal resulting soreness from the movement it took to do so. Once again, he finds himself grateful for Sakura's choice of help in the matter. Good old Yamato takes the dirty clothes under one arm to carry to the basket by the laundry machine and supports a shirtless Kakashi with the other, never once giving things a reason to be awkward. God knows Kakashi is awkward enough as it is.
The kitchen is warm and a little humid when they arrive there. Sakura is dipping rags into a large bucket—where the hell did she get that?—filled with soapy water, its suds full and fluffy white. The sink itself is empty of the coffee mugs that were sitting there since his last mission's assignment.
"Can you pull up a chair over here?" she asks. Her short hair is tied up as much as it can be, bangs tucked behind her ears and neck exposed to the sunlight streaming in through the window over the sink. He forces himself to look away from the shadowed dip between her collarbones.
"I'll do you one better," Yamato replies happily, tossing the clothes on top of the washer a few feet away, and then tightens his hold on Kakashi to bring his hands together. His forearm clenches just slightly as he forms some hand seals. Suddenly a few curling tendrils of wood spring to life in front of them, coming together to create a large reclining chair complete with a headrest. It's plain and smooth, but it looks expensive against the dull linoleum floor.
Sakura squeals in delight. "Oh my God, this is perfect!"
Yamato humbly scratches at his ear with a genuine grin. "I thought it might be more comfortable than one of the kitchen chairs. No offense, senpai, but those aren't exactly—"
"Yeah, yeah," Kakashi sighs dismissively, only feigning irritation. "Now let this poor senpai of yours sit the hell down."
With a laugh, Yamato lets him settle into the seat, and Kakashi can pretty much feel his bones melt. God, he's tired. If he weren't painfully aware of his half-nakedness and his throbbing broken leg, he would fall asleep right there.
"I guess I'll go now, if you say you've got it from here."
"I do, I promise," Sakura says, wringing out a rag. "I really owe you one, Yamato-taichou."
"Not at all, Sakura. I'm always happy to help you."
Kakashi narrows his eyes at the man. So much for favoritism, he thinks, though he can't blame him for liking Sakura better—after all, he's in the same boat, even if his is stuck at the bottom of the proverbial ocean.
When Yamato leaves, it's just the two of them, a fact further emphasized when she pulls the chair toward her with a jarring squeak against the cheap flooring. He's close enough to smell her laundry detergent, clean and crisp with something floral, and the soapiness of the water out of which she grabs a soaking wet cloth. She touches it to his shoulder, deliciously warm, and his entire body seizes up when droplets trickle down his chest.
"You can thank me later," she tells him in response to the likely panicked look he sends her way. "I'd say you need this pretty badly right now."
"I believe you," he manages to choke out, praying it doesn't sound so pathetic. His pulse hammers in his neck and makes his jaw tremble. Both are thankfully covered by a mask.
"I'm not taking my shirt off, though." Her smile is humored, far more casual than the situation should allow. But he reminds himself for the millionth time that it's just him who is affected by the whole thing and that he needs to reign it all back inside where it belongs. "I may not be Tsunade, but I still do a pretty decent job. Trust me when I say you'll feel a lot better afterward."
He nods slowly, not trusting his voice. Especially not when the mental image of topless Sakura giving him a sponge bath threatens to invade his entire brain. His abdomen is clenched to the highest degree his aching muscles allow; his arms are locked half-slack over his lap. Pull it together, Hatake.
Rather than soothing, the process is pure torture. He can smell her shampoo, fresh and feminine, as she sits on a chair beside him. He can feel her breasts press gently against his shoulder when she leans across him. His mouth goes dry when she swipes a damp rag beneath the neck of his mask. Water collects around his waistband after running down his chest and stomach in the exact same path his blood is taking, though thankfully he is still in too much pain and is too exhausted to have a noticeable reaction. The entire time, his eyes are fixed on the ceiling, refusing to glance down the delicate slope of her vest's v-neck collar.
"Either you're really bored or really tired," she says after a little stretch of quiet, which sends his heart stammering into overdrive. Not for the first time, he feels like a prepubescent boy trapped in an old man's body. "In any case, I'm almost done."
He lets his neck slack toward her because he plans to say something, but the words dissolve on his tongue when he sees the faint glow of exertion beginning to show in her cheeks. She is literally so beautiful that it hurts.
Sakura looks at him, too, and for a good moment he wants to believe he sees something in those wide, clover-green eyes that means he isn't going completely batshit crazy. But then she turns back to the bucket, now murky with suds and dirtied rags, and squeezes out the cloth in her hand.
"Last one." Her voice is a bit softer than it was a moment ago, or so he thinks. His eyes fall closed when she wipes gently over his eyes, sweeping away all the dried sweat and blood from his lids and forehead.
She doesn't try to slip a hand beneath his mask—instead, she situates his head to lean further over the headrest and starts to wash his hair. Despite his rapid heartbeat, he nearly falls asleep at the sensation of water and short nails running over his scalp. In all honesty, he thinks he could die happy right then—a little unfulfilled, sure, but happy nonetheless.
He doesn't really remember her dragging him into his bed, only the feel of her hands on his sides and the cool sheets on his back. She covers him up to his waist, sitting him up slightly against the pillows, but leaves his broken leg uncovered, and then he feels the unmistakable prick of an IV needle on the back of his hand.
"This will help you sleep while I patch you back up," she whispers, likely sensing that he's close to doing so right then. He slowly blinks his eyes open to find her injecting something into the drip line. Ah, the painkillers.
"Good stuff," he almost slurs as it filters into his bloodstream. Its effects are immediate, relaxing his muscles one by one as it makes its way to his head. Sakura giggles under her breath, the sound music to his ears.
"Privileges of having a nurse at your disposal." His eyes follow the adorable stretch of her lips into a smile as she beams at him proudly, good-naturedly. "If you were at the hospital, you'd just be getting straight chakra treatment right now."
"Then why are you giving them to me?" he mumbles sleepily, feeling warm inside and wonderfully heavy. "That's like…cheating…or something…"
The joke falls flat, he knows, but Sakura laughs anyway, curling a strand of pink hair behind her ear. "I always make exceptions for my favorite patients."
That brings a lazy smile to his own face, and he closes his eyes, content. The drugs are pulling him under, but he doesn't want to stop talking to her, especially not when everything feels this great.
"Sakura." The word sounds incoherent even to his own ears.
"Hmm?" Her fingers brush lightly against his arm, and he fleetingly hopes he hasn't worried her by saying something.
"Why are you so nice to me?" he asks, forgetting what he'd originally intended to say. There is a long pause, and her fingertips disappear from his arm, and he wonders if he's actually fallen asleep or if she just didn't hear him. But then her weight presses into the mattress by his side, and her breath is on his ear.
"Because I like you, you dummy."
He falls asleep before he can find out if it's just the painkillers talking.
It's nighttime before he wakes up again. The room is cool and breezy, lit softly by the lamp on the shelf above his bed. The drugs still weigh at his eyelids and sit in his muscles, but it's a good sort of feeling, he thinks. His head and leg are no longer unbearably sore, and from what he can see the bruises and cuts dotting his arms and torso are healed.
A paper crinkles beside his leg when he tries to test its movement, and he looks to find a few sheets spread over the free area of the mattress. Sakura's head rests on one of them, her eyes closed peacefully. Asleep.
Without even thinking, he attempts to move his arm—her face is so close to his hand, close enough that if he raises it just slightly, his fingers will touch the seal on her forehead. He's always wanted to see how it feels; if it's somehow different from her skin. He has never been someone who touches or likes to be touched, but in his blissful drowsiness, the temptation is all too real.
And besides, her words from earlier are echoing over and over in his head.
"I like you too, you know," he whispers to her. He's only saying it now because she won't hear him in sleep, and the whir of the fan will drown out his confession.
There's no way that she feels the same about him. Kakashi is severely damaged goods and can barely take care of himself, even after somehow keeping it together all these years he's spent alone. He's old, generally a depressing individual, and is basically a complete wreck. He's horrible at expressing himself—case in point—and can't even accept how out of control his crush has spiraled. Can hardly accept how deeply he's fallen for a young woman, one fourteen years his junior, who he's never quite done right by.
There's no way that she feels the same. All those times she's gone out of her way to heal him, to drag him out of his loneliness, to spar with him or take walks when the weather is nice were simply out of kindness for a friend, he's sure. He certainly wouldn't like him if he were her, young and successful and thriving and unequivocally caring and breathtakingly gorgeous.
"I am an idiot." His fingertips glide slowly, feather-light over her forehead, finding the pearlescent diamond smooth like sea glass under his thumb. It's an indulgence he'll allow for just a moment.
"I said a dummy," Sakura suddenly says, voice low but clear, and Kakashi freezes in place. "Not an idiot. And I didn't think you'd remember that since you were all doped up."
He glances slightly downward to find her eyes open, bright even in the dim room, and she brings a hand up to place over his own. Both of them fall to the mattress, crumpling a sticky note or two where they land.
Kakashi is shocked into silence, eyes blinking owlishly from his pillowed perch.
"What? Nothing to say?" A small smile touches her mouth, but he sees a bit of worry pinch between her brows. "You were so vocal a minute ago."
"I didn't think you were awake," he tells her, half-joking. Over the fumbling rush of blood in his ears he can barely hear himself think.
Sakura's amused exhale is cool against his fingers and wrist, and her smile only grows as her eyes fall closed. The shadows lengthen her eyelashes as they flutter against her cheeks. "For once, I'm glad I had trouble falling asleep."
It's all he can do to turn his palm up to let it meet hers, to intertwine their fingers and feel the newness of the sensation sink in and send a thrill through his veins. He is suddenly very glad he decided against dying happy earlier.
That was nothing compared to this.
.
a/n: this is so corny, I know, but it's exhibit A of me getting back into fic after a few months of sporadic writing. if any of you have prompts you'd like to share, I'd love to hear them and see where I can go with them. you can PM me here, or ask me for my tumblr and we can talk there.
review?