The Fall

Sakura made a lot of progress over the past five years.

Being just a high-functioning alcoholic was an accomplishment, especially in her line of work and with her proclivity for risky behavior. Things had been fine. She kept a tight lid on her grief, exerting meticulous control to ensure it fueled rather than drowned her. Yet this week she was a distracted, reckless mess that regressed into a spiral of old, self-destructive tendencies. All because of one word. One fucking word was all it took for her to be right back where she started. As a result, getting sucker punched was the shitty end to her very shitty week.

She wasn't always an alcoholic. Some thought she simply adopted her former mentor's infamous fondness for sake. However back then, she was rather intolerant of alcohol. It never interested her. Medical school highlighted the adverse biological and psychological effects of the drug. Residency confirmed the debilitating reality of addicts and consequences of drunken stupors. The costs outweighed the fleeting benefits, and she couldn't understand the appeal.

Until Sasuke died.

Drinking initially proved to be an adequate distraction. Her world brimming with artificial elation as she stumbled through a dream-like haze. Things didn't feel so raw anymore. Things didn't feel so excruciatingly heavy. She embraced the dissociation, the ritual of untethering herself from her sorrow, fury, and guilt. And it worked… until it didn't. Until it wasn't enough.

She started having bouts of insomnia. During the day, the academy was physically and mentally demanding. She got her highs from the adrenaline rush of learning how to subdue uncooperative suspects, breaching drills, and firearms proficiency training. From proving herself exceptional to the skeptics and saboteurs. But during the evening, the lack of intense stimulation created space for her grief to roar back, drowning her with racing thoughts that she could no longer drown back with merely a bottle.

So, she sought additional methods to occupy herself.

On a whim, after weeks of operating on fumes, she stood outside a dilapidated warehouse down by the ports. It was a seedy area where 'a lot of shady shit went down' according to the overheard gossip of academy classmates. Different flavors of illegal activity, including unauthorized warehouse raves. Inside was loud, dark, erratic chaos. Extraordinary fractal patterns of blinding light danced across her skin. The deep thrum of the bass filled her, overtaking her heartbeat, rattling her ribcage, and numbing her senses. It was overwhelming and it was exactly what she needed.

Oh, and the wanton fucking helped too.

Adrift in a sea of partygoers, she often encountered eager partners. A fast hook up in a bathroom stall. A frantic fuck against a brick wall in a dark alley. A ménage à trois in a luxury, high-rise hotel suite. Strangers engaging in a fleeting transaction. It was purely physiological, losing herself in temporary heat and pleasure. Sometimes she was gentle, sometimes she was rough. But she was always selfish – never allowing the intimacy of a kiss or the decency of staying the night or the courtesy of even sharing a false name.

Eventually, this cocktail of drinking, raving, and fucking worked – pushing herself so far past the state of exhaustion that she would finally pass out and the thoughts would finally cease. Soon after graduating, the job, the mission to find Sasuke's killer, became her life. This sole, all-consuming purpose burned brightly within her, wrangling her sorrow, fury, and guilt into a consistent, controlled simmer. Anything that spilled out was easily smothered by the bottom of an empty bottle.

But then the recorder showed up.

It was surreal. Perhaps her grief finally won, and she was losing it. Perhaps this was all a figment of her imagination. But if it was, did she really want to wake up? Replaying the audio over and over and over again, it had been so long since she heard his voice. And he was speaking to her.

She should tell Naruto… Shikamaru… someone. Forensics should run analysis on the recorder, lifting prints and comparing the audio to confirm it was truly Sasuke and not someone fucking with her. The P.O. box should be investigated – who owns it, who sent the package, who delivered the package, why now? She should avoid spiraling into old bad habits. There's a lot of things that should occur.

But… she also just wants to listen to his voice. Over and over and over again. She wants to be selfish and protect this tiny piece of him that miraculously survived and found its way back to her. Even though it makes the grief relentlessly crash into her in waves. Even if it kills her.

So, here she was, right back where she started. Distracted. Reckless. Self-destructive. One week of non-stop drinking, raving, and fucking flew by in a blur. But then she had to really push it, she had to really tempt fate. Maybe she wasn't as good as she thought with managing her grief. Maybe entering a trap house with three violent felons without backup was a stupid fucking idea.

Shikamaru certainly thought so, in one of the rare instances where he lost his shit at her.

Granted, she would have eaten a bullet if he hadn't shown up in time, so the anger was warranted. The perp, who was easily three times her size, came from her blind spot and threw his weight behind a well-formed punch to the side of her head. She lost consciousness for maybe a few seconds, but it was difficult to assess given the ringing in her ears, sudden nausea, and splitting head pain. Faintly, the outlines of a glock and the sound of a gun cocking registered in her mind. Yet she felt nothing. Suddenly there were a few abrupt, deafening bangs of a well-executed breach by SWAT and a chaotic mixture of yelling, firing, and dead weight dropping to the ground.

And that, was that.

She was appreciative that Shikamaru saved her ass. But a miniscule part of her wished he hadn't.

As a paramedic was tending to her head, Shikamaru yelled so loudly that it drowned out even the sirens. Incensed, he went out of his way to fill out the incident reports, dropping it on Captain Yamato's desk. He refused to leave until the reports were read and appropriate actions were taken. One week of mandatory leave and then another week of desk duty, pending the clear from Lieutenant Shiranui. This ended up irritating him further because that overlapped with the official kick off of the taskforce, which he now had to lead.

She offered to do things on the sly, circumventing her orders. Yet he immediately shot that down.

'You're fucking useless while concussed. Focus on getting better and figuring out the shit that made you do something so stupid in the first place.'

Yeah, he had a point.

Maybe she should try therapy again.

Splitting headache. Mental fog. Irritability.

She felt like shit.

Grimacing, steam rose from the small coffee in her hands, clouding her sunglasses. She probably looked like shit too. Damp pink strands were starting to freeze in the cold morning air. Years of immeasurable stress and disregard for her own wellbeing resulted in sunken cheeks and a gaunt frame. Her skin was inflamed, radiating heat from the meticulous scrubbing (an old surgical habit) during her scorching morning shower. Discoloration and puffiness seemed to be permanent residents underneath her eyes.

Involuntarily sober, Sakura forwent the typical enhancement to her morning beverage, cutting out almost all alcohol to just barely avoid full-blown withdrawal. She had also been severely limiting her caffeine intake to avoid undermining her recovery. Between the forced leave, upcoming desk duty, and unavailable coping mechanisms, to say she was prickly was an understatement. She reigned it in as much as possible around Shikamaru. Despite his nonchalance, she knew he remained understandably pissed at her. It would be even more evident at the kickoff meeting this morning. Grimacing again, she took a small sip and sighed loudly. She loathed feeling useless, as if she wasn't contributing or pulling her own weight. Relinquishing control was also something she was trash at—

"Yo."

A rich, baritone voice snapped her out of her daze. She involuntarily shuddered at the pleasant sound. Snapping her attention to the source of the voice, she stared at an odd man. Dressed in an oversized bomber jacket with a white scarf coiled around his neck, his face was mostly enshrouded by a disposable medical mask. He was tall and slender yet slouching horribly. Spiky, unruly silver hair was oriented to the left. Dark grey eyes were an inexplicable mixture of apathy and alertness.

She felt exposed, yet reassured, under his gaze.

As she continued staring stonily at him, "Ah… I'm sorry to be a bother, but he's smitten."

Shaking her head slightly in confusion, "What?"

The strange man casually gestured down at her feet. Inching forward to look past her crossed legs, she saw a small male pug, lightly panting as he lovingly stared up at her. He licked his lips, flashing a cute pink tongue, as his tail furiously wagged.

"Why hello there…," she whispered.

Sakura loved dogs. Absolutely adored them, especially their cute little toe beans and soft paw pads. The pat-pat-pats of their feet as they scurried toward you. How delightfully happy and excited they always were. Just pure, selfless souls. The pug in front of her had a wonderfully wrinkled, mushy face, sweet brown eyes, and floppy ears that shifted as he quizzically tilted his head at her in response.

"He was adamant to finally meet you. Seen you around a few times and developed a bit of a crush."

Looking back up at the man, "He's seen me around?"

"Pink hair. Creature of habit. You're hard not to notice."

She snorted, raising a skeptical brow.

"Mah, I'm not stalking you. Especially since you're a cop," he nodded toward her shiny badge and gun holster, "I just genuinely feel bad for the little guy. He's been lonely since we've moved into the neighborhood. He misses his friends."

"Friends?"

"Well, girlfriend," he corrected himself while tucking idle hands into jacket pockets.

"Yours?"

"Oh no, literally his. He had a thing with a cute Pomeranian next door back at our old place."

She snorted again, "So, I'm his rebound?"

A deep chuckle rang from him, "Well, we'll see. You just might be it for him. I've genuinely never seen him so smitten before."

As if on cue, the pup started pawing at Sakura's right leg in an attempt to be picked up. Relenting, she uncrossed her legs, setting the coffee cup down. Gently, she hoisted him up on her lap, dog tags jingling from the movement. Rubbing behind his ears and under his chin, the dog scooted right next to her chest and began nuzzling her.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

Still enraptured by the delightfully sweet animal, she gave him a distracted nod, though noticed he kept a respectful distance sitting on the opposite end of the bench.

"What's his name?" she asked, cooing as he tried to lick her face.

"Pakkun."

Her ministrations stopped, "Wait, do you live in the Kikyo building? Apartment 808?"

He raised a brow. Although most of his face was obscured, he seemed slightly panicked.

Giving him a small, reassuring smile, "I'm 803."

Realization dawned on him and he relaxed, "Ah, the package."

Pakkun let out a tiny bark at Sakura to continue petting him. Narrowing her eyes, "You signed a note as your dog?"

Shrugging, "He is technically your neighbor. It also stops stalkers."

"Stalkers?"

Scratching the back of his head, "Well… Are you familiar with the Icha Icha series?"

Yes, she was. The next book was highly anticipated, but it had been delayed twice due to 'lack of inspiration,' according to the publisher. Naruto was an enormous fan (he took a day off to 'emotionally recover' after the second delay was announced), but then again, pretty much everyone was. It was incredibly lewd literature, yet bizarrely a best-selling phenomenon, shattering countless records. Based on the billboards and advertising plastered on city buses that inundated her on a daily basis, a franchise of movies was in the middle of production with two famous leads.

She nodded.

He sighed and then leaned slightly closer to her, "I'm the ghost writer," he shared in a hushed tone, suggesting it was a closely guarded secret.

Bewildered, "What?"

"Jiraiya-sama created the series but wanted to pursue other projects and I ended up… taking it over a few years back."

"You're full of shit."

Internally she winced. It had been a while since she interacted with a civilian in a casual, civil setting. Her conversation skills had deteriorated into only being able to shoot the shit with equally crass colleagues and yelling after degenerate suspects who made her chase after them.

Completely unfazed, as if he was long comfortable with her abrasive nature, "Unfortunately, I'm not. Hence, the stalkers."

"What makes you think I'm not a super fan stalker? You're playing it rather fast and loose here with that revelation."

"Ah I have a sixth sense about these things. You are the complete opposite of a fan, aren't you?"

Muttering out, "I mean… the books are okay."

He let out a good-natured laugh that was muffled by the mask. Unusually drawn to this eccentric man, she wished his face was visible as she couldn't get a good read on him.

"And the mask, a deterrent as well?"

"To an extent," giving her an eye crinkle, "I'm also a bit of a germaphobe."

Pakkun had curled up in her lap and began snoozing away, occasionally snorting as he dreamed. One of his hind legs adorably twitched every once in a while.

"Actually, would you mind doing me a favor? As a thanks for dropping off your package— you know it was quite the inconvenience walking to the opposite side of the floor."

Half scoffing and half laughing, "You're rather presumptuous."

"Eh," he said nonchalantly, "Worst case you call me an asshole and storm off… Or I guess you could shoot me," he finished with a shrug.

"No, worst case, I let your stalkers know where you live. I'm sure they'd be delighted to interrogate you on that highly anticipated sequel."

Sighing at her mean-spirited tease, "Mah, that's way worse than getting shot. What ever happened to protecting and serving the innocent citizens of Konoha?"

She shrugged, absentmindedly rubbing the sleeping pup's soft paws, "I'm off duty right now. And you seem the type to have at least a few unpaid parking tickets."

"You're really scary," he drawled as their eyes briefly connected. Breath hitching at the intensity of his gaze, she forced herself to look away.

Lightly, "Also, it's actually a favor for Pakkun, rather than me."

Her interest piqued, "What is it?"

"Do you mind hanging out with him sometimes? Again, he's pretty lonely and I'm often holed up in my apartment writing," with a self-deprecating chuckle, "You don't even have to talk to me again."

Her eyes softened at the peculiar, yet endearing, request.

Standing up, "No pressure to answer now, or any specific way. Just please consider it."

Walking a few paces away from her, he let out a low whistle and Pakkun instantly awoke. Giving a full-bodied shake, he sprung off her lap and trotted over to his owner, circling around him excitedly.

Pausing for a second, she called out after him, "Wait, what's your name?"

"Hatake, Hatake Kakashi," he responded while walking away. Pakkun glanced back at her with a whine as he kept pace with his master.

Brows furrowing, she called out after him again, "Aren't you going to ask for my name?"

He turned back around, giving her another eye crinkle, "Didn't want to be presumptuous again… Also…"

It clicked, "Also you knew my name as it was addressed on the package."

He nodded. Giving her a two-fingered salute, "See you around, neighbor."

Pakkun let out a little bark as if echoing Kakashi's sentiments. As they both disappeared from her line of sight, she felt oddly empty. That was the first conversation with a stranger that she didn't proactively cut short or loathed in… years. It was probably the concussion. The sweet pup certainly helped as well. But there was a feeling she couldn't quite place, her instincts hinted that there was just something about him. Well, maybe she'd consider his offer – hanging out with a cute pug couldn't hurt, even with an eccentric as hell owner.

An alarm rang out from her phone. Shit, she was running late. Deciding to grab a cab, she hurried out of the park, trying to block out the over stimulating sights and sounds of a bustling city morning.

Her coffee remained forgotten.

Fuck this concussion and these flickering fluorescent lights. Fuck forgetting her coffee. That was so stupid and annoying.

As was their uninvited guest.

"EH?! What the hell are you guys doing here?"

The door to the conference room slammed wide open with a confident kick as a shock of blonde popped into view.

"Naruto," Shikamaru snapped, "The door was closed for a reason."

"GOOD MORNING NARUTO-KUN! You are filled with exceptionally youthful energy today!"

"Please dial it back Lee, we're guests here."

"This is already a waste of my time."

The taskforce was off to a rough start, especially with the impromptu interruption of Naruto, who wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this initiative. Shikamaru was already itching for a cigarette despite smoking half a pack in preparation for this very meeting. Throwing her a glare, she mouthed 'sorry' in response. They both had good feelings about their new teammates. There would be an adjustment period, but the three newcomers were the best in their respective fields. Pressing two fingers to her temple, she applied light pressure and massaged the side of her head in a circular motion as she surveyed the room.

Rock Lee was one the most effective undercover assets on the force, nicknamed 'simpatico' because he was so goddamn nice. This geniality somehow translated into an uncanny ability to navigate the most unsavory characters of the Konoha underbelly and penetrate the innermost circles of criminal organizations. Although naturally high spirited and loud (to the point he gave Naruto a run for his money), he was utterly invisible and ruthlessly effective during covert operations. He was also a hand-to-hand combat genius – incredibly scrappy and having never lost a street fight.

Tenten had a pulse on all smuggling and arms dealings in Konoha and a knack for expertly wielding everything from ninja stars to kalashnikovs to anti-tank guided missiles. Once, she subdued a gangbanger with a cast iron skillet. She also had one of the most robust, private collections of antique katanas in the city. Quick as a whip, observant, and a hard worker, she garnered a lot of respect in her unit. Her surgical precision with a shotgun was a source of admiration by her peers. It also helped she had an unbreakable submission hold that made even the most seasoned grapplers wary.

Finally, there was Hyūga Neji, a certifiable genius when it came to accounting and white-collar crime. His dual MBA/JD from Konoha University was one of the many things that fueled his incredible arrogance. Though his ability to break anyone in an interrogation room was truly unparalleled. It bewildered many when he landed at the KMPD rather than a top private equity firm. The chatter through the grapevine hinted that it was a deliberate 'fuck you' to his clan. He disliked Sakura because she was almost an Uchiha, and she disliked him because he was an asshole. But they respected one another to have a frosty, but productive, working relationship.

Attempting to earn a place back in her partner's good graces, "Beat it Naruto," she said plainly, "This is need to know, and you don't need to know."

Pouting, "But Sakura-chan, you're technically not supposed to be here while on—"

"Leave. And don't let anyone know I'm here, especially the Captain."

"Fine…," he grumbled before trailing off under his breath how much 'meaner' she was lately.

"One more thing," she started sweetly, "If you eavesdrop, I will shoot you."

Naruto paled, nodding profusely while fleeing the room. Shikamaru gently closed the door after him before turning back to face the room with a large sigh.

"So, what are doing here?" chimed Tenten, "It's all been rather cloak and dagger."

"Yes," Neji curtly added, "Why were we ordered to show up here today?"

She hid her smile upon hearing Shikamaru mutter to himself about 'useless Captains.'

"This taskforce reports directly to Chief Uchiha. Our mission is to capture Orochimaru. You're here because you're the best at what's needed to get the job done."

Three voices erupted at once.

"Orochimaru is back?!"

"YOSH! This will be fun!"

"You're leading this?"

Sighing as he responded to their rapid-fire reactions, "Yes. Maybe. Temporarily."

Neji was quickest with his follow up, "What do you mean temporarily?"

"I'm doing this as a courtesy while my idiot partner recovers," he drawled, lazily gesturing toward her direction, "She'll be taking point on this investigation when she returns from leave."

Swiveling to the back of the room where Sakura sat quietly, pale eyes narrowed in her direction, "Who in their right mind would appoint you to lead this?"

Narrowing her eyes to meet his challenge, "Chief Uchiha. Do try to keep up, Ne-ji-kun."

"My question still stands."

Well, at least his anti-Uchiha hard-on was consistent.

"Bitch all you want, but I know you're bored putting away coked up banker bros for insider trading. This is a chance to take down a real piece of shit. And you know there's no one as psychotic as I am about getting their mark. Hence why I'm taking point."

He smirked, "As long as we're all on the same page about you being psychotic."

As she flicked him off, Shikamaru interjected, "As entertaining as this is, back to the main point of this briefing—"

"Orochimaru is really back?" Tenten interrupted, "It's been like what, half a decade? I've heard some crazy shit about him."

"To this day my contacts are afraid to even speak his name!"

Trying his best to wrangle everyone, "Yes, he's finally surfaced after all this time. We'll need to move quickly—"

A sudden bang caught everyone by surprise.

"HARUNO," barked out Yamato as he swung open the door with total abandon, "Get your ass home now! I said one week of mandatory leave. It's been less than 48 hours! Don't make me bench you for two weeks instead."

In the distance she heard Naruto scream out, "I'M SORRY SAKURA-CHAN! IT SLIPPED UP! PLEASE DON'T SHOOT ME!"

Both Lee and Tenten tried muffling their laughter while Neji rolled his eyes with exasperation.

Scowling from embarrassment, "Yeah, yeah, I'm leaving."

Beyond done with this meeting and dying for a cigarette, Shikamaru drawled out, "First order of business… finding a new, secure, place to meet."

In the agonizing quiet of the evening, Sakura stared aimlessly at her bedroom ceiling. Unable to distract herself at night with drinking, raving, and fucking, she was going insane in the never-ending quiet, with her never-ending thoughts. A muted ringing reverberated in her ears. Every second sluggishly crawled by as if she was in purgatory. Sprawled out on top of her white covers, the recorder laid heavy next to her, just out of reach.

Taunting her. Haunting her.

She lost count as to how many times she listened to the tape. Over and over and over again. Even though each time it felt like she was drowning. Even though it almost got her killed. But what's one more time? Rolling over, she lightly grasped the device, bringing it closer and shuddering violently from anticipation.

Just one more time.

Hesitantly, she pressed play.

There was silence. Then static. Then, his voice.

Sakura…

Some of the guys on the force got this idea about recording their wills in case anything happens to them. I figured, what the hell, right? It'd be nice to leave you something to remember me by. You've also always had a thing for my voice.

Plus, I can say anything I want, because you'll never hear this. Like how I find your best friend Ino annoying as fuck… That you make god awful stir fry… You sing horribly off key in the shower… And sometimes I start arguments with you just because the make-up sex is so mind blowing.

Anyway, I'm working on something big. But it'll be okay. This will probably make my career. I might get a promotion and at least pay for our honeymoon with the bonus. I'm sick of getting shit from the dobe about you being my 'sugar mama.'

Hn, I like that you're a badass surgeon. Who knows, maybe I won't mind being a stay-at-home dad, eventually... Shit, I have to go. Whatever, this is stupid…

I love you.

For the first time, in a long time, she cried herself to sleep.

Thank you all for the wonderful comments! They're so greatly appreciated. :)))