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Konohagakure's gates appeared, half an hour away. Kakashi unstuck himself from Yamato's side, conjuring chakra to his ribs and shoulder, numbing the pain. He felt crusty. Not from blood- the bored medic presumably rinsed him off at the recovery shack- but from grime and sweat. Leaning his weight on Yamato only made the both of them sweat, the salty smell permeating both of their uniforms. Kakashi's head felt like a brick, clouded by the concussion. He could still function. But every thought and movement required significant effort to reach beyond the confines of the mental fog. For half an hour, Yamato pretended his friend wasn't struggling to walk upright, grimacing behind the mask to keep the nausea at bay.

The ANBU arrived at the gate, masks hidden in their packs. The gatekeepers nodded at them, and the pair continued past. Sakura appeared from above, cracking the earth beneath her only a little.

She darted her green hands at Kakashi's chest. He dodged, sweating at the exertion. He stored away the memory of her lab coat billowing behind her as she aimed at him again.

"I'm fine," he slurred. Kakashi formed seals rapidly, using the last of his stamina. Smoke unfurled him in his room. He collapsed onto his bed; he lost consciousness over the covers.

Sakura touched Yamato's forehead, quickly scanning him for injuries.

"Yamato-san, please drink plenty of water and rest for a few days," she shouted as she bounded off, heading toward the sixth hokage's home.

Kakashi lived in a small house built on stilts, on the edge of the village against the trees. It was rough-looking, crafted from lumber connected with steel nails. A dying sunflower withered in a gaudy pot next to the door. The daimyo sent it after he heard the sixth hokage had a penchant for plants. Sakura ignored the trap-laden entrance and slipped below the house, searching for the emergency exit. Two dispelled traps later, she was in.

He was unconscious, breathing loudly in his ANBU uniform. Sakura gently slipped the mask from his face, staring at the long silver beard. She smoothed back his rebellious hair, oily from travel. Silently, she undressed him, probing and healing until he lay peacefully below his sheets. He had a new rib and shoulder injury as well as a concussion and possible cervicalgia. The injuries were healed by a medic but irritated from strenuous travel. He needed intravenous fluids, nausea medication, muscle relaxers and follow up. Sakura pulled a notepad from her coat, scribbling.

Kakashi woke, jerking his arm away. Blood dripped from the slipping needle and tubing of the intravenous line. He pulled the line off his arm, pressing a finger against the poke. He looked around, processing. He was in his room, naked, below his sheets. Sakura stood next to him, gloved and scowling.

"That was a perfect placement, Kakashi-sama," Kakashi focused on her face, dazed. He let go of his arm, allowing the blood to run.

"Sakura, what are you doing here?" he felt oddly clean after passing out on his bed. He smelled an armpit. He didn't vomit, so she probably bathed him. Completely inappropriate.

"You're dehydrated," she said. She picked up another needle and tubing.

"I don't need this," he pulled his arm away. His headache pulsed, reminding him that it was there.

"You have a concussion," she held him down, applied a cotton ball and tape to his first cut and set to work on another. He moved, twisting his body away from her. She pinned his torso with a knee.

The sixth hokage reflected on his life choices.

"Sakura. This is completely-" he turned away from her and retched, vomiting nothing. His stomach was empty. The medical director released fluids into his vein, and quickly twisted an anti-nausea medication through a syringe. Coldness seeped into him from the line. His head throbbed, the pain returning now that he was awake. Sakura read his mind and twisted a second syringe through. She pressed a hand against his forehead and eased some of the pressure against his eyes.

"Sakura," Kakashi closed his eyes. "Send someone else, send Ino," in reality any minor medic could do this.

"Why?" she leaned into the chair she brought from his kitchen. "I missed you-" she started to whisper.

"Sakura," he sat up, keeping his eyes closed. "You're married,"

"I know," she thundered. "I can't miss you if I'm married?"

"No," he said. "You can't. You have to miss him," Kakashi started to slide down, slumping back into sleep.

Naruto poised orange chopsticks over a steaming bowl of ramen. It was beautiful, the deep tones of the broth, the buoyancy of the vegetables. Ichiraku even used premium fish cake! The seventh hokage finally had respite from his demanding duties. Naruto inhaled the steam, allowing the umami aroma to relax him.

Sakura slipped in through the window just as he picked up a perfectly softened cluster of noodles.

"Naruto-kun,"

"Sakura-chan! Let's have lunch! Hiro can ord-"

"Naruto-kun, do you promise not to hate me?" Sakura interrupted. Naruto set his chopsticks carefully on the frog shaped hashioki. Confused at her request, he nodded.

"I need a dissolution of marriage," Naruto looked at her blankly. "...a divorce," she whispered.

Naruto picked up his chopsticks and rapidly shoved noodles in his mouth. Sakura ran her hands through her hair and took a seat across the hokage's desk. Naruto slurped loudly as he tried to think of something to say. An idea fluttered into his mind, causing him to set his bowl down while a bit of broth remained.

"Sakura-chan, the bond between the three of us as comrades and teammates is strong enough that you should talk to him. If there are problems between you, bring him home,"

Sakura took a breath.

"I don't miss him," the hokage looked horrified. "I-I don't miss him as a husband. I miss him as a teammate,"

Naruto willed his horror to fade: "I think... Sakura-chan, I don't know. I need to speak to an adviser,"

Sakura stood, walking toward the door. "I have a meeting soon, I'll get going," she said.

"Sakura-chan, maybe if you don't bring him back, maybe you could talk to Sasuke. I know he's a bastard, but he's our bastard," the seventh hokage said, glumly looking at the particles floating in the now lukewarm broth.

Kakashi woke, stretching, popping his shoulder's joints. His room was cluttered with empty and new intravenous fluid bags and indistinguishable medical supplies. A new potted succulent adorned his bedside table. A happy red bow winked at him as it adorned the pot.

The sixth hokage rose. An improper sense of affection was one thing. Something seemingly reciprocated was another. Even worse if it was real. If it was real, how long until it stopped when he came back? If it wasn't real, there was no point in getting his hopes up.

He yanked out his line, ignored the nearby gauze and tied a T shirt around his arm to stop the bleeding. Reaching under his bed, he retrieved a pack, slung it over his back and headed out, leaping into the leaves.

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