Sakura was released from the hospital after five weeks. All of the nurses (including the male ones) got teary-eyed when she left. Sakura could only assume it was because they thought she was never going to work with them again. She had been gifted with her own medical set, filled to the brim with medicinal herbs and bandages, gauzes and splints.
It was less hot then usual. The summer was melting into autumn. Nevertheless, when Sakura stepped out of the hospital with Shikamaru by her side, the heat was almost overwhelming after over a month of living in a cool hospital room.
Shikamaru grabbed the medical set that was slipping from Sakura's fingers. She gave him an embarrassed smile and thanked him absently. She had been lost in thought more than usual lately. It was going to be difficult, adjusting to life without her right hand.
She shifted, grabbing her crutch more securely and took an assisted step. Her feet slipped on the sand and she nearly fell. Shikamaru went to help, looking concerned, but she waved him away and hauled herself up, her forehead beginning to perspire from the heat and the exertion.
Shikamaru held her medical set and carefully watched Sakura's steps as they walked to her flat. She gritted her teeth against the pain, muscles aching already and feet stinging from the hot sand. Unable to hold a crutch with her right hand, she was favouring her left side, bad hand tucked into the folds of the robe the hospital had provided.
People were beginning to drift out of their houses to take a peek as she struggled on.
She ignored them, her eyes fixed on her apartment building. The Akatsuki's spies had been flushed out by Suna's interrogation squad and the Kazekage himself had deemed it safe for her to live in.
Sakura smiled to herself at the thought of Gaara. He had been bemused by her sudden offer of friendship, but had solemnly agreed to it nonetheless. It had gone by like a business transaction, and Sakura couldn't help wondering if there were any special requirements one had to meet in order to be Gaara's friend.
A rock got into her sandal and she stood on it accidently, causing the injured sole of her foot to flare up in pain. Hissing at the sharp ache in her foot, Sakura pressed on, conscious of the fact that Shikamaru was deliberately slowing his pace so that Sakura could keep up. She snorted lightly and sped up, kicking the rock out of her sandal and pushing her poor muscles harder.
"Sakura, slow down." Shikamaru said, worried.
"I won't fall over and die because I'm walking slightly faster. Give me some credit, please." Sakura said defiantly.
The sun was lowering in the sky. Night was coming. God help her, if she didn't manage to get to her apartment before nightfall she truly was a lost cause.
"Stop doing that." Shikamaru yawned.
A few children were scattered about. They were all staring at her.
"Doing what?"
"Getting tetchy with anyone who shows a tiny bit of concern for you."
"It's either tetchy or suicidal. I know which one is preferable." Sakura rolled her eyes. At Shikamaru's stricken look, she sighed and explained further, "If I just soak up all the concern and accept it good-naturedly, pretty soon I'll go mad. Everyone I see has an apologetic smile or pitying eyes. I want to heal myself. Accepting concern makes it seem impossible, or else why would everyone be so damn sorry all the time?"
"Humph." Shikamaru grouched like an old man, "You could try just smiling or ignoring the concern."
Sakura just cocked a sarcastic eyebrow, making Shikamaru chuckle despite himself.
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Her old room was familiar enough to make her smile, leaning against the doorway, trying to catch her breath from the short walk back from the hospital. Shikamaru had left after she finally managed to convince him she wouldn't die without his assistance.
Her bed was still messy from the last time she slept in it. Sakura touched the blanket lightly. Things had changed so much in just a few short weeks. She had been brutally tortured. She and Gaara had worked out a few trust issues and become friends. She saw her old sensei and received lots of messages from friends.
Sakura dumped her stuff on the bed and limped to the mirror.
She unravelled a few bandages. The one that awkwardly covered her chin hid a nasty gash from her neck to the bottom of her mouth. She breathed out thankfully after easing the tight bandage away from her stomach. It had covered up purple bruising around her ribs, and a few superficial cuts and scrapes.
She braced herself, staring at her eyes in the mirror to give herself courage. I can fix this, she reminded herself. It took a while to unravel the bandages that swathed her bad arm. She inhaled sharply at the sight of it.
The purplish curving scars left by Gaara were still there, but new burns and cuts decorated the skin all around them. The scar tissue had been broken and interrupted by stab wounds and cuts. Kunai had been used to carve macabre patterns into her skin until it lay corrupted and twisted. The only other person Sakura knew with a gorier and more impressive collection of scars was Morino Ibiki.
Forehead pressed against the glass of the mirror, Sakura shook visibly, staring in horror at her arm.
She forced herself to look further down.
Red lines travelled down her arm and connected at her wrist. Her hand lay limply at her side, nerveless and tingling.
Sakura let her good hand ghost over the bad one to assess the damage fully.
Closing her eyes, she sank under the surface of her skin. The nerves were deadened and unresponsive. All life ended at the wrist, where kunai had been used liberally. Her hand should have been amputated, Sakura thought distantly, in her professional opinion. It could not support weight. The fingers could not be used for anything, be it as delicate as surgery or mundane as writing.
She could feel traumatic neuroma gathered on the edges of her scars. They indicated that the nerve fibres were injured and were very painful. Neuromas were essentially tumours of the nerves. It was not a good sign.
She now understood why everyone was so against her trying to heal her hand. Why Kakashi had seemed regretful and upset. Why Tsunade had looked wretched. Shikamaru's warning that she should learn to accept pity made sense now. If she failed this, she would have to live with the world knowing her failure and judging her for it.
Suddenly her stubborn proclamations that she could fix it seemed childish and ridiculous.
She looked up and glared at her reflection. Standing around looking miserable was never going to achieve anything.
She sat on the edge of her bed and rested her bad arm on her lap. Concentrating fiercely, her hand lit up with the familiar green glow. She gripped her bad hand and closed her eyes.
Nothing happened.
She gritted her teeth and flared her chakra. She pushed through the damaged nerves. Her hand tingled. She pulled at a few, testing. Sweat dripped down the side of her face. It was like searching in the dark when you didn't know what you were looking for.
Her chakra fizzled out. She opened her eyes. Her hand was still pale and unmoving. She tried to twitch a finger. Nothing happened.
With a growl of frustration, she threw the medical set at the wall.
How do you heal something that has already died?
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In desperation she turned to the Kazekage.
Gaara was an obvious permanent fixture in his office. If he left his chair Sakura was certain he'd leave an imprint. That was how often he stayed in his office. Usually alone. It would be sad if it wasn't obvious how much he loved his job.
"Gaara-san. May I come in?" Sakura asked politely, good hand freezing in a knocking position when Gaara abruptly opened the door before she could complete the gesture. She lowered her hand, feeling foolish.
Gaara just jerked his head towards the inside of his office and retreated back to his side of the desk. When she had sat down opposite him he picked up some papers and frowned at them.
"Isn't it the common practise for friends to refer to each other with the informal suffixes, 'kun' and 'chan'?" Gaara asked tonelessly, pale green eyes scanning the papers. He sounded as though he was reciting from a book.
"You wouldn't call me Sakura-chan." Sakura rejected the idea. Gaara was not a fan of formality.
"You would call me Gaara-kun." Gaara pointed out.
"Rather a one-sided deal." Sakura remarked.
"You should call me Lord Kazekage-sama. Gaara-kun is a less former alternative. I assumed dropping the suffix altogether would be too much for your delicate sensibilities?" Gaara said, a little bitterly.
He was in a bad mood. That much was obvious.
"Not at all, Gaara." Sakura said deliberately, suppressing the tiny voice wailing in the back of her head that only idiots like Naruto addressed Kages so informally. She decided she would just mentally tack the suffix on the end whenever she said his name. Compromise.
Gaara gave a twitch that could almost pass as a smile. He looked stressed.
"What did you need, Sakura?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.
"I was wondering what your collection of medical tomes is like." Sakura said. She wasn't hopeful.
"We don't have many modern tomes, or even updated versions of old texts, but the ones we do have are considered exemplary. A few were written by Chiyo herself. Those were mostly about poisoning, not healing, but still." Gaara looked at her steadily, "Are you planning to do something foolish?"
"Just ground-breaking," Sakura gave a strained smile, "I'm going to heal my hand."
Unlike most people, Gaara hadn't immediately gawped at her hand and conducted their conversation whilst addressing her injured limb. Even Temari couldn't hide the pity in her expression whenever they talked.
He frowned. "The damage is excessive?"
"Very." Sakura nodded, "Tsunade-sama said it was too complex, you know that."
"I know what her opinion is," Gaara said dismissively, "I wondered if you'd find anything different."
"I personally think it should have been amputated. But I'm going to research the subject thoroughly and find a cure for the damage."
Gaara regarded her silently.
Sakura fidgeted in a seat like a naughty child being brought up before their teacher for a dressing-down. She'd left a few bandages off. She'd managed to reduce the gash on her neck and chin into a faint scar. Most of the cuts and bruises were gone at this point, banished by Sakura's healing hand, happy to be able to heal something.
"I was afraid the torture would leave you damaged psychologically." Gaara said bluntly.
"Oh!" Sakura remembered waking up to Tsunade's hand on her forehead, "I think Tsunade may have had a hand in healing any impact the torture might have had on my mind." There was no need to mention the insomnia, paranoia and recurrent fear that every shadow was wearing an Akatsuki cloak.
They were both quiet as Gaara signed some permission slips. The sun had gone down by this point. It was actually pretty late, but Sakura had known Gaara would still be working. She was glad that Gaara wouldn't question her keeping such late hours as he was just as sleepless as she was.
"I'm glad you are safe." Gaara said suddenly, surprising Sakura. He kept his eyes on the paper as he said it, "I've made sure you don't have to worry about capture."
As touched as she felt by Gaara's admission, his last comment struck her as faintly ominous. "How did you make sure of that?" She asked warily.
"Anbu are trailing you as we speak." Gaara said distractedly, gazing at some forms.
"…What." Sakura said, stunned. Anbu were not bodyguards for random chuunin. Certainly not without the express permission and/or request of the chuunin!
Gaara looked up. "They reported no suspicious activity, don't worry."
"G-Gaara, you can't just… just have Anbu stalk me! I need my privacy, Gaara!"
"Very little privacy in an Akatsuki cell," Gaara said sternly, "Which is where you will be if you aren't watched."
"You should have told me!"
"It didn't occur to me." Gaara sighed. Sakura noticed his pallor and the deepness of the bags under his eyes.
Sakura's back stung when she moved back in her chair. She ignored it and made a thoughtful steeple of her fingers.
"You believe I can do this, right?"
Gaara looked irritated, "Heal yourself? Of course."
Though they were said with the irritability of a sleep-deprived, work-overloaded Kazekage, the words felt warm to Sakura. Someone believed in her. It made it seem less impossible to achieve.
"Thank you, Gaara." Sakura smiled gratefully.
Gaara merely nodded, his attention mostly on the never-ending stream of mission reports decorating his desk.
"Here, give me some." Sakura offered magnanimously.
"Can you write?" Gaara asked.
"With my left hand, yes. Nothing fancy, barely legible."
Gaara flicked his gaze over several ink-smeared pages, "Legible should be enough."
They spent the rest of the night marking reports and trading papers until the sun crept up and the cicadas and the birds began to compete in song.
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Over the next month, Sakura's new mantra became: I can fix this. When she fell down in the shower and bruised her knee, she let out a sobbing breath and vowed, I can fix this. When she watched nurses hurry to the hospital, hastily clipping on name badges and straightening their stethoscopes, she held back the tears and just mouthed her mantra.
I can fix this.
It was almost impossible. She suddenly was incapable of even the most simple of things. She could only hold things in her left hand, and it was only upon losing her right that she realised just how much she had used to use it. She would automatically go to pick something up and have that horrible realisation all over again, that her hand was ruined.
Going from Kazekage's bodyguard and most skilled medic in Suna to disabled former kunoichi –for Tsunade had most reluctantly sent her a letter informing her that she was unfit for work. Enclosed had been a much more personal letter, detailing just how much it hurt the hokage to have to fire her former student – was humbling.
She had sat on her bed with the letter and cried. She never let herself cry anymore, but upon realising she was no longer a ninja she felt she was overdue a good cry. She'd received a healthy wage from the hokage, and now that she could not bring money in through missions she'd assumed she'd have to get another job somehow, but to her surprise Tsunade continued to send money, as though she was still a Konoha shinobi.
Over the last few weeks, Shikamaru and Temari had proven their worth as friends, visiting everyday, bringing gifts and gossip, tactfully avoiding sore subjects like Sakura's recent suspension.
The library was Sakura's kind of place. Mostly devoid of people, it smelt of mouldering old paper and dust. Contrary to Gaara's dismissive account of their book collection, Sakura found at least six useful texts within the first ten minutes of searching.
A Study of the Human Body offered a small, invaluable section on nerve damage.
Sakura claimed her books and brought them to a small, spindly table to examine them. After hours of peering at tiny print and blowing thick inches of dust off of the pages, Sakura finally surmised that surgery was her best bet.
It was an unorthodox method. Surgery wasn't used often, since medical specialists could even use their own chakra as scalpels, and thus many of the old techniques in the books had been largely forgotten or ignored.
Once the very old and slightly dusty librarian had allowed her to take out all six books, Sakura limped home, ignoring the blatant, open-mouthed stares.
She had studied these books day and night until she had retained the knowledge permanently – one of the benefits of having an overly large forehead was that it hid a rather impressively-sized brain, and Sakura's memory was perfect. She spent her days in a darkened room, writing notes feverishly until her fingers were stained with ink and her eyes red from lack of sleep.
She seemed no closer to the answer the day she found it, but it suddenly occurred to her to combine the methods described in the texts. Surgery, chakra nerve re-growth, using muscle and skin tissue…
She sat at her desk, frowning down at the book. Her bottom drawer contained most of the things the book claimed she'd need for the surgery. Except courage, which frankly, could only be found at the bottom of a bottle at this point.
After a healthy gulp of honey-sweet chilled wine, Sakura got out a surgical tourniquet, a powerful anaesthetic, a scalpel, a small operating microscope, some sutures and a cloth to soak up the blood. She realised she was shaking, just a little. The idea of performing surgery on herself, alone, was fairly daunting, but the knowledge that this was it, her last chance, was enough to scare her.
She applied the tourniquet carefully. The anaesthetic would work quickly, but not for long, so Sakura got to work hastily. She drew the sharp edge of the scalpel against her numbed hand. Blood welled up instantly. She set up the microscope next to the wound, and searched for the damaged nerves.
She began to slowly, painstakingly remove the injured nerves after exposing them. The cloth under her hand was stained dark red at this point. Her professional nature had taken over at this point; she'd stopped shaking long ago. She wiped away the excess blood, and let her fingers dribble chakra into the wound.
She began to use the small sutures on the cut nerve endings.
Her fingers glowed as she directed healthy tissue over the nerves, forced to cut some healthy skin and muscle to pad the nerve endings. She closed the wound carefully, eyes closed in concentration. Blood beaded at the edges, then dripped down her palm as the skin began to knit itself back together.
Now for the hard part.
Sakura reached into her chakra reserves, not allowing herself to worry about trying to accomplish something that was simply not done.
She pulled at the newly healed nerve endings. She encouraged their growth with her chakra. For a full minute Sakura waited, heart in mouth, as the nerves did not respond.
Then, slowly, steadily, the nerves began to creep up towards their respective target. One nerve in her wrist expanded all the way into her thumb. Her thumb twitched in response. Sakura felt the flashing responses of the nerves as she tested her fingers.
She pulled off the tourniquet, brushed aside the microscope and bloody cloth, and swallowed hard, watching her fingers move up and down at her command.
"I've done it." Sakura whispered to herself, sitting down at her desk, hand twitching and working again. Her brows pulled together as she focused on clenching her hand into a fist. It did so weakly, fingers scrabbling at her palm.
She sat back in her chair and put a shaking hand over her eyes, laughing, exhilarated. She'd done it!
The bright moonlight shone through the blinds. Sakura moved her hand into a pool of light that had escaped through the blinds onto her desk. The skin appeared to glow underneath the light of the moon.
Her arm was the only thing left now.
The surgery on her hand had taken hours, but it was worth it. Biting her lip, Sakura directed chakra to flow to her right hand. It began to glow weakly with green, pulsing chakra.
"Yes!" Sakura yelled out triumphantly, not caring who heard.
Tsunade would have to give her back her status as a Konoha shinobi. Gaara would give her back her job.
And then suddenly she went cold. And the Akatsuki would be even more determined to get her.
Sakura's sharp eyes had caught a flaw in the Sharingan. Itachi could not follow quick movement with his eyes. It was why he'd been surprised at her sudden chakra growth and why she'd managed to land a hit on him. His sight was failing. The kind of surgery she had just performed could potentially fix Itachi's eyes, assuming it was the optic nerve that was damaged.
It was all a little too neat, this awful realisation.
And then it hit her, twice as hard as the last revelation. How had she been rescued from the bowels of an Akatsuki base, temporary or not? That had played on her mind more than once. How had Kankuro not come across any Akatsuki?
Because they'd allowed her to be rescued.
They had the torturer cut into her wrist, severing the nerves purposefully. This sort of nerve damage would obviously impact her career and her life. What medic, particularly a young, headstrong medic such as herself, could resist the challenge presented there?
They had wanted her to prove she could heal that sort of injury.
So they could take her back and have her do the same for Itachi.
Why had the Anbu not seen anything suspicious? Because Akatsuki were hiding, lying in wait, hoping she'd take the bait and heal herself.
If she proved her hand was healed, asked for her job back, word would spread. The world already knew she had withstood torture. Now they would know just how good a medic she was.
And so, in turn, would Akatsuki.
She felt dizzy. She had comforted herself with the knowledge that Gaara would protect her, that Akatsuki would no longer be interested in her. But now, knowing that it was a trap she had so willingly stumbled into, Sakura was terrified.
What could she do?
Tell Gaara, of course. That was a given. But she couldn't draw attention to herself. She'd have to act the part of the tortured cripple. She could truly, never be Senior Nurse after all.
A sob forced its way out, startling her with its animalistic, desperate sound.
Damn it. She struck the desk with her newly healed hand, the bottle of anaesthetic rolling off the surface and hitting her foot.
For all appearances, her hand was the same. The damage had been internal, save for the cuts and scrapes she'd long since healed.
She could go on, pretending it was useless. And it would drive her mad.
Even now, people were dying in Suna's hospital. Back when she truly could not help them, she'd still felt awful. Now she could save them. But in doing so, she would doom herself.
She was conflicted. She would rather die than be captured by Akatsuki again.
But she wanted to be a nurse again so badly she shook with the need to go to the hospital, do the rounds, check on her patients, give comforting smiles to those who needed them most.
It may seem ridiculous, even childish, but her dream since becoming a medical specialist had always been to run her own hospital.
She could never do that now.
She knocked the library books off the desk angrily, not caring about the fine for ripping the pages.
She sank to the floor, gripping her head in anguish.
I can't fix this.
Dreams are never simple, accomplishing them does not always bring the joy you thought it would.
Since the overwhelming majority (aka, EVERYONE) voted for A, Sakura should be able to heal herself, here you go! WITH A NASTY TWIST, as is my wont. I admit I had mostly planned for the eventuality that Sakura could heal herself, so I was relieved you all picked A!
All of the medical stuff is almost real, hugely twisted and warped by yours truly in order to make it doable, lol.
Gaara is very businesslike when it comes to friendships, I think. He and Sakura have a few interesting similarities and differences. In this fic the main similarity I have given them is that they push themselves too hard: Gaara doesn't think anyone else can or should do his job, and after years of sleeplessness, finds it easier to spend his nights working. Sakura enjoys studying far too much to stop when the sun goes down, and thus loses a lot of sleep in favour of reading her textbooks.
With the tiny plot twist involving Akatsuki, I figured they'd never lose a valuable prisoner so easily. Unless it was on purpose…
Quick poll take: The secondary pairing to this fic is Shikatema, what other pairing would you like?
A) NejiTen.
B) NaruHina
C) KibaIno
D) Your choice, leave a comment to let me know which one.
