She didn't really plan on it, not at all. It was just…when the news about Jiraiya arrived, she'd followed after Tsunade—mostly expecting to be shut out, and a little disturbed that Tsunade was so hurt she didn't bother to hide.
She couldn't come up with anything worth saying when she spoke to Tsunade, but…though she'd never had any love for Orochimaru, she felt an intense empathy, an understanding of what almost was and might still be.
Alone, unable to save her teammates, the people most important to her. Words wouldn't help her, either.
She's not sure why she ended up leaning in and kissing her grieving mentor instead, and she half-expected to be pulverized or at least coldly shoved out of the room. She certainly didn't expect her to grab her, or to kiss her back so enthusiastically—desperate, maybe, rather than enthusiastic.
A desperate bid to grasp on to a lasting connection, and a hopeless offer to remind her mentor she still had bonds, important connections, people who she hadn't failed to protect. Hope.
It sort of made sense, though, and her mentor's lips were soft and skin warm. Sakura offered softer, more reassuring touches, her master stronger, firmer grasps—akin to a woman who clung to a rope hanging over a chasm.
She didn't remember most of the details, it all blended into moments and emotion and two different but harmonious sorts of needs that met in tugging hair and entwining limbs and bruising bites.
After, she stayed the night and shared warmth and unspoken promises of lasting company.
She didn't really talk about it later, it didn't seem right to bring it up.
Things seemed better in the morning, like they usually did, and so there didn't seem any point to repeat reassurances or dig things back up that could begin to be buried.
The hokage went back to her job, and she…she went back to thinking about the day when she might be standing where her teacher was.
