She awakens slowly, and to a generalised ache that throbs throughout her entire body with every heartbeat. Her eyelids feel like they're glued closed, and she doesn't bother trying to open them. Wherever she is, she is alive, and if there is danger nearby she could do nothing about it in her current state, anyway.

Her mouth is dry, but she thinks that must be the result of deep sleep because she doesn't feel otherwise dehydrated in the least. She is, in fact, quite comfortable. Aside from the overall aching of her body and the way it seems to protest that this whole 'lying down' business is really much too strenuous. The muscles in her calves cannot relax any further than they have already, yet they feel as though they are immensely strained, like she's at the end of a marathon even though she's lying down. That dichotomy brings her memories of the past two days into sharp relief against the shadowy backdrop of her eyelids.

She sees her own gloved hands, chakra scalpel delicately slicing into heart muscle, parting the fibrous tissues to reveal a bead of darkened meat, where unnatural cell death has occurred. This man was a regular in the hospital; he had suffered a string of heart attacks, resulting in a severely weakened heart. He did not have long to live, but she thought she might be able to fix him, and he had nothing to lose. She remembers being excited to find this damage, because it meant there was indeed something she could do for him, and if her rewiring had been allowed to be completed he may have gone on to live for many years. He may also have died, but that was the choice he made when he accepted her offer. He was no doubt dead by now. If only Tsunade had given her just a little more time, she may have been able to save him.

Then again, Tsunade was a legendary healer. If anyone could understand what Sakura had been attempting, it would be her shishou. Maybe he was still alive. Maybe Tsunade saved him.

Tsunade. Sakura feels hot tears well up behind her closed eyelids, despite her exhaustion. Even through the familiar haze of painkillers, she can feel more than just her lungs hurting in her chest. If only Tsunade would have talked to her, given her a chance to explain instead of leading with an ANBU squad.

She sighs gently, trying to expel a heavy ache from her lungs that has nothing to do with her injuries.

When her tears are drying on her cheeks, and the painkillers have overtaken her grief, Sakura gives in and drifts down under a soft narcotic cloud.


She floats in and out of consciousness over the next twenty four hours, vaguely aware of someone checking on her every once in a while. In her cloudy brain she thinks it might be Naruto, but the footsteps are too soft, the presence too quiet to be her loud-mouthed friend. Sometimes she hears a soft humming, as though whoever is checking on her is displeased with her progress. In her more lucid moments she acknowledges that her caretaker is probably Kabuto, but her body hurts enough that she can't quite bear the added discomfort that accompanies that thought, so she pushes it aside.

She suspects that the dosage of whatever painkillers she is being given has been increased, because she doesn't manage to string together a coherent train of thought again for several more days.


The next time she wakes is different. Her head is clearer, her body doesn't hurt so much, and her eyes actually open this time. She darts a glance around the room from her prone positon, and notes that she is alone, and that wherever she is, they really don't believe in decorating. The walls are bare concrete, as are the floor and ceiling. There is a stand to her left, hung with an IV bag full of what she assumes is a saline solution and a minimal quantity of pain medication, judging by her alertness. A heart monitor, oxygen saturation monitor, and various other machines are pushed up against the walls and she's relieved to realize that the only thing attached to her body is the IV inserted into the back of her hand. She can only assume that most of the varied apparatus' arrayed around the room have been hooked up to her at one point or another over the course of her recovery.

No catheter... someone must be expecting her to wake up, and wake up in good condition, too, she muses. She breathes carefully, but deeply, testing the limits of her lungs, and notes only the faintest twinge when she holds her breath for a beat too long. Her legs are not bothering her, so she pushes herself up into a sitting position, and stretches them out before her. They move beneath the sheets without complaint, again only twinging when she holds her toes pointed for too long.

She has to admit, Kabuto did a decent job. She doesn't like admitting it, but there's no denying he saved her life.

She glances up from reacquainting herself with her body when movement catches the corner of her eye.

"Ah, you're awake. Excellent," Kabuto nods as he enters the room. He takes small steps, she thinks, but he takes them quickly- as though he is not quite as self-assured as he would like people to think.

Sakura nods slowly, "I am." The moment hangs and she wets her parched lips uncomfortably. "Thankyou, I suppose."

She doesn't mean to sound quite so ungrateful, but... this is Kabuto. She would never, in a million years, have pictured owing him her life. In all honesty, it genuinely grates.

He fixes her with an insincere smile, "You're welcome, I suppose."

Sakura snorts her appreciation softly, fair enough, and attempts to swing her legs over the side of the bed. He may have saved her life, but she'll be damned if she's going to remain lying down in his presence if she can avoid it. Of course, while she has recovered to a frankly remarkable degree, she has been prone for the past several days, and a wave of dizziness overtakes her the moment she is vertical. She sways back against the bed, bracing herself with her hands and waiting for her nervous system to compensate for the change in blood flow to her brain.

As the dizziness clears, Sakura becomes aware that Kabuto has moved closer, and she shoots him a wary look.

The grey haired man raises his hands in supplication and comes no closer. Sakura relaxes slightly and waits out the normalisation of her blood pressure.

"Am I," she clears her throat, frustrated with how croaky she sounds, "am I a prisoner, here?"

Kabuto shakes his head and quirks a small smile at her, "No, Sakura, you're free to leave if like. Although, I wouldn't advise travelling in your current state."

Sakura sighs and rubs her forehead, abruptly wishing she could just lie down and go to sleep again. She is not quite as recovered as she initially thought, and she doesn't have the mental capacity right now to puzzle out why on earth Kabuto would waste time and resources saving her, if she is not going to be used as leverage of some kind.

"Right," she mutters, unable to keep all the skepticism out of her voice, but she has a more pressing issue at the moment, "where is the bathroom?"

"Ah," Kabuto clears his throat minutely, and indicates she should follow him, "this way."

Kabuto leads her slowly out of the room and down a concrete hall that is equally as grey as her room. This is apparently some kind of medical wing, she thinks, as she peers discretely through doorways, catching glimpses of makeshift hospital rooms.

"Here," he nods to a door clearly marked with the kanji for 'bathroom,' and Sakura nods her thanks and escapes through the door.

A long room with several stalls, and basins, and a mirror running down one side greets her. At the other end of the room lies another door, and Sakura thinks it might lead to showers. She quickly (as quickly as she is capable of at the moment) finishes up in one of the stalls and confronts herself in the mirror. She looks half dead, she thinks. Although, she probably looked rather haggard before she even left Konoha, if her friends' comments on her physical state were anything to go by. Her skin is pale, her cheeks hollow, shadows smudging beneath her eyes. She is clean, she notes, though she truly doesn't want to think about how she got that way.

She presses her fingers to the hollows of her cheeks and frowns. Her forehead has never needed any help looking bigger than it is, and her almost gaunt appearance only emphasises it.

Sakura shakes her head and pulls away from the mirror with a tiny chuckle. Even now she can't help but be a little vain. She wonders where her vanity had been hiding while she worked herself into the ground with her research. She almost feels... more herself now than she has in months. As though she's woken from a strange, hazy dream that wasn't quite real. Except that it was real, and it kind of ruined her life.

She puts that thought aside for now. Her physical weakness is enough for her cope with at the moment; the mess that her life has become is one problem too many for today.

Kabuto is gone when she exits the bathroom, and she can't help but be thankful for small mercies. He has always been her enemy, and being weak in front of him – not to mention knowing that he has no doubt seen her naked, unconscious, helpless – is enough to make her shiver with undiluted fear and humiliation.

She returns to her room, checks the door for a lock – frets when she discovers there isn't one – and settles for closing it and pushing one of the machines up against it. It won't stop anyone from coming in; the machines are all on trolleys for easy maneuverability, but hopefully the sound of the wheels on the concrete floor will wake her.

Sakura gently lays herself down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. She is mostly healed, but she has never been more exhausted in her life.

She screws her eyes closed before she can get any deeper into thoughts about that.