Sakura's remaining days in captivity melted by in much the same manner that the previous had: hours spent reading or tinkering in the lab were interspersed with Kimimaro's healing sessions and occasional talks with Kabuto.

On this particular evening, the long-awaited confirmation that Sakura would be leaving the Sound, and alive at that, was given to her by Kabuto:

"Hi," said Kabuto as he came in bearing her dinner. "You owe me. Bigtime."

Sakura looked up from her book with a frown, because owing Kabuto anything was not high on her priority list. "What do you mean?"

"You're going to be freed," said Kabuto. "Orochimaru has agreed to have you released. He had some other tentative – ah – plans – involving you, but I convinced him – at great personal risk, may I add – that someone else would be more suitable."

Sakura was actually rendered speechless by surprise: she had almost gotten used to the idea that she would leave Sound in a body-bag, or not at all.

"…Are you serious right now?" she asked when she managed to find her voice.

"Yeah," said Kabuto.

"If you're messing with me…"

"I'm not," said Kabuto. "I promise. And you're welcome."

Sakura stared at him, trying to detect a lie in his black eyes. She did not find one, but then again, Kabuto was a very good liar.

"If this is true," said Sakura, "then – then thank you. For changing his mind about keeping me here."

"Mm." Kabuto removed his glasses, wiping an invisible speck of dust off with care. "I wouldn't particularly want your death on my conscience."

"So – if this is actually happening – is there a date set for my release?"

"A day or two from now," said Kabuto. "I need to prepare some things first."

"Prepare what? I can leave, like, right now, if we need to," said Sakura.

"I'm sure you could," said Kabuto, replacing his glasses. "But it's me that needs to prepare. We'll have a bit of traveling to do. We aren't exactly in the Country of Fire, you know."

"Oh," said Sakura. "Sure. Of course. That's fine."

"You can start packing up," he said, gesturing to Sakura's belongings spread haphazardly across the room.

Sakura stared at him. "You know I – I don't want to offend you, but this all seems a little too good to be true. I've been burnt before by you guys…"

"I know you don't really have a reason to trust me," said Kabuto with an almost rueful smirk, "but trust me."

"I didn't think Orochimaru would let me leave quite so easily. I thought I knew too much."

"Apparently what you know – or, rather, think you know – isn't all that important."

"Oh."

"For example," said Kabuto running his hand down the wood panelling on the wall, "we'll be changing locations ourselves shortly. So whatever you've learned about the Sound's current setup will soon be obsolete."

"And certain other things – like Sasuke's state of mind – might actually be useful, if reported back to Konoha. Might get Naruto off of our case once and for all, actually – that would be nice. He's a tenacious little brat…"

Sakura couldn't help but smile at this description. "And he'll also get off your case for me, if I go back."

"Exactly. So yeah – you're going home."

It was still almost too good to be true, but Sakura wasn't going to argue with him about it until she had a solid reason to suspect a trick.

"So start packing up. I'm going to check on Kimimaro and Sasuke. They were having a pretty vicious spar when I left," said Kabuto, leaving her to it and disappearing into the dark corridor.

Sakura shook her head, knowing she would probably have a lot of work on Kimimaro when he came back. She dipped her spoon in the watery soup that Kabuto had brought in, mulling over the conversation as she stirred the bowl's hot contents. She had fought and whined and argued so much about her release, and now that it seemed imminent, she was having a hard time believing it.

After eating, Sakura busied herself with collecting her gear, ready for a departure sometime soon. Her few clothes were all rather the worse for the wear and her other belongings were in much the same state – her toothbrush was beaten up, her sandals threatened to fall apart, her hairbrush was a mysterious bristling pink thing…

The task really brought home the length of time that Sakura had actually spent in Sound – five or six months now? She felt so out of touch with reality, trapped as she was in this little room where days and nights rolled by without much change. Instead of seasons and lunar cycles, Sakura's measuring of the passage of time was more-or-less linked to Kimimaro's condition, rather than any other system. Two months since the lung cleansing operation, seven weeks since basic motor skills returned, one fortnight since last rash outbreak – these episodes were Sakura's calendar.

Speak of the devil… Sakura thought as she heard the door swing open. Well okay no, not devil…

When Kimimaro entered – sweaty and disheveled as he was – Sakura was reminded that his looks were far too angelic for that particular expression.

And he seemed rather bothered (well, as bothered as Kimimaro could look) when he come to stand beside Sakura, who was kneeling next to her half-packed bag.

"You are leaving," he said, squatting beside her.

"Yes, I am… and you need to get washed up," Sakura said as she spotted a rather nasty gash above Kimimaro's collarbone. She pulled his pale hair away from the wound, grimacing when it stuck in the half-congealed blood.

"When?"

"Now."

"You are leaving now?" asked Kimimaro, rocking back on his heels and appearing shocked at the prospect.

Sakura laughed. "No – I meant you need to shower now. I need to take a look at this cut, and whatever else you decided to damage while out there."

Sakura eyed several bloody abrasions on Kimimaro's knuckles and a cut on his sweat-glistening bicep. She brushed a finger along the laceration, unhappy at the swelling around it. Clearly Kimimaro and Sasuke had been training with weapons.

Kimimaro shrugged off her hand – an unprecedented thing that told her quite how agitated he was. "When are you leaving?"

Sakura stared at her hands, suddenly aware that she was hardly better than Kimimaro when it came to unsolicited touches.

"Kabuto said in a few days," said Sakura, feeling altogether too conscious of Kimimaro's knee touching her thigh and his naked torso right in front of her in all of its well-toned sweaty glory.

"Oh," said Kimimaro with a tone of relief. "Then I will go shower now."

"I'll be here," said Sakura, turning back to her bag.

VVV

She was leaving.

He had known it was coming. He had known all along, that she wouldn't be staying. So why, now that it was finally confirmed, did this fact hit him with such force?

Kimimaro stripped and stepped into the shower's hot jet, hissing when water ran over the open wounds on his body. What else had he expected? That she would stay here, in this tiny room, to heal him and be with him for the rest of her life? Stupid. She hardly deserved such an existence. And he himself would soon be sent out on various errands and missions, and then what would she do? Occupy herself with repairing IV stands and polishing scalpels? Of course not.

He lathered up the white square soap and washed off several hours' worth of sweat and blood. He had known it was coming. But where had these past few months gone? And why hadn't he done something… something… enjoyed them more, perhaps? He had settled into this comfortable routine, and, like all good things that happened to him, it was coming to an end altogether too soon. Training all day, then spending a few precious hours in her company in the evening… her concerned looks and frowns and smiles, all for him… it was idyllic. Of course. Too good to last.

Perhaps he was being selfish, Kimimaro thought as he switched off the shower and pulled open the curtain. Yes, he was probably being selfish. She didn't like it here, she was a captive. She was happy to be leaving – to be released. She would be getting her life back, returning to her village and her people.

Kimimaro toweled himself dry, trying to avoid rubbing his cuts. Several had re-opened from their partially-healed state and blood ran down his skin in little rivulets.

This healer-girl. She really made everything far too complicated. He shouldn't even be having these thoughts. This confused mass of swirling… things… in his head and in his chest should not even be there by right. She was just another tool for Orochimaru to use – to fix another tool of his, Kimimaro himself. And that was all.

…At least, that's how it ought to have been. Not this… this mess of sensations and longings and thrills that he did not quite understand but liked very much.

Kimimaro opened his bathroom door to find Sakura leaning on his bedpost, her pink hair twisted into a braid, green eyes flicking rapidly from wound to wound as he walked towards her.

He really did not want her to go.

It was so ludicrous that he could have laughed, had such impulsive outbursts not been quashed out of him a long time ago.

And yet… and yet, the certainty of it made it all the more bearable. At least he knew what he wanted, and he knew it with an expectant tension somewhere in his stomach.

VVV

Watching Kimimaro nearing her, Sakura marveled for the hundredth time at the progress that this man had made. He was a walking medical miracle, from a ghastly corpse-like being to this, a shining example of health and fitness. And absurd good looks. Tsunade would be proud.

Kimimaro was watching her with a fierce intensity as he approached, enough to make Sakura apprehensive. He came to a halt in front of her and passed a hand along her cheek, all while looking at her like something had just been confirmed. Then he dropped onto the bed and assumed his usual inscrutable expression.

Sakura tilted her head in curiosity. If she could only read his mind…

She passed her hands over Kimimaro's skin, healing minor scrapes with her usual efficiency. Her thoughts drifted back to her previous conversation with Kabuto and she realized that this would probably be one of the last times she was doing this. The realization hit her with an unexpected pang.

She blinked at a sudden sense of impending loss. This whole routine had become so familiar, so… normal. Smooth white skin, still-damp hair, the smell of antiseptic, half-closed green eyes… this was Sakura's one constant here at Sound. Her favorite part of the day, really. And it was coming to an end.

Obviously, this was a good thing. She was going home. She was going to see Naruto, Kakashi, Ino, Tsunade. She was going to go back to work at the hospital. She was going to apply for that Konoha research grant. She had a paper to give at a conference in February. She had her whole life to get back to.

So what was with this swoop of gloom that was dampening her spirits? Was this Stockholm Syndrome? Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome. Yes, it was Stockholm Syndrome.

Kimimaro turned to look curiously at Sakura, whose focus on her confused thoughts had made her uncharacteristically quiet.

"Looks like you two had weapons today," said Sakura to break the silence as she wiped caked blood from above Kimimaro's collarbone. She peered at the gash, glad that it had not hit any higher than that.

"Yes."

"Well I hope you'll return to taijutsu-only training after…" Sakura found a catch in her throat, unexpected and entirely ridiculous, "…after I leave. Otherwise Kabuto will have a lot of healing on his hands."

"I do not know," said Kimimaro. Sakura watched his Adam's apple move and felt the resonance of his voice in her fingertips.

A few minutes of companionable silence followed, during which Sakura finished her work on Kimimaro's larger wounds. She made sure to heal him as well she could, as this might well be her final opportunity to do so. And hell if she would be the one to leave a permanent blemish to remain on that skin…

Sakura turned her attention to Kimimaro's bloody knuckles.

"My goodness. What did you do here, drag these across broken glass?"

"Gravel," said Kimimaro. "I landed hard."

Sakura shook her head as she cleaned out the many tiny cuts and folded what shreds of skin she could back into place. In some areas, the damage was such that she could see the whitish glint of Kimimaro's interphalangeal joints amongst the red.

It was a delicate and time-consuming task and Sakura eventually jostled Kimimaro over so she could sit on the bed as well. They sat cross-legged, facing each other, as they had many months ago when he had first shown her the Shikotsumyaku. Back then, Sakura reflected, Kimimaro's condition had still been monitored via chakra-signature, with screens blinking serenely at her in her room. It seemed like a very long time ago.

At length, the combination of Sakura's chakra and Kimimaro's own innate regenerative abilities meant that his knuckles were almost back to normal. Sakura stroked his fingers, adding a final layer of healing that would make the remaining bruising fade away.

Lovely hands, Sakura thought, running a thumb along them – almost aristocratic. It made Sakura wonder what Kimimaro would have been like, had he not been subject to such a brutish upbringing and adolescence. Quiet and refined, probably. He had a taste for the sophisticated, as she could see in his fighting style and dress sense. Noble, she supposed, but not gaudy. Perhaps he would have had a vaguely superior air, like Neji…

Sakura kept passing her fingers up and down Kimimaro's hands, lost in these contemplations. She didn't realize that he was touching her back, now catching her hand lightly between his index and thumb, now brushing his palm over hers.

When Sakura's thoughts finally wandered back to reality, she found herself smiling. She pulled away her hands from where they tangled with his with a shake of her head. She was so easily distracted as of late. These lengthy departures into fanciful reveries did not become her rational, efficient personality. Perhaps she was falling ill. She did feel quite warm, come to think about it. And lightheaded altogether too frequently. And giddy and volatile and happy for no reason at all.

Yeah. She was definitely coming down with something.

"Well, it looks like we're done here," Sakura stated unnecessarily after they had sat in silence for a while.

She found herself reluctant to get up and break the tranquility of the moment. Instead, her eyes roved across Kimimaro's body, looking for some inconsequential scrape she might have missed. She found none, only firm muscles under flawless skin – and did that boy have nice abs, or what…

Good god, she needed to get a grip.

Kimimaro took in a breath and released it slowly. "I do not want you to go."

"I know," said Sakura. "But I'm not staying here."

"I… enjoy it when you are with me."

Sakura gave Kimimaro a half-smile, looking down at where his thumb lingered on her wrist, tracing abstract lines there.

"What have you done to me?" asked Kimimaro.

"I haven't done anything," said Sakura, almost in a whisper, because those damn butterflies were starting up again…

"What is it, then?"

"If I – if I guess what you're talking about correctly, it's just attraction. A basic procreative urge."

"I like it."

When Sakura did not respond – she was too busy suppressing the curious impression that she was about to float – Kimimaro brought her hand up to his face, gently pulling her fingers out of their curled position. He pressed his lips to the center of her palm then looked up at her.

"It makes me feel alive."

Sakura attempted to disengage her hand from his grip. "Oh? Yes… yes well endorphins tend to be released, and adrenaline, it kind of – it just feels lovely."

When she raised her head, she found Kimimaro considering her with his bright eyes.

"Anyway," she added, "I'd better get to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"I am not going to let you go," said Kimimaro.

His sincerity was almost painful.

… As was his grasp on her shoulders.

"Kimimaro…"

"Why do you always run away?"

"Because," said Sakura. "I can't – I can't do otherwise. Goodnight, Kimimaro…"

And she slipped away again.

VVV