The garden surrounding the cenotaph was completely empty. It usually was around this time of day; most everyone who still paid their respects to the dead had already done so in the morning. That was why Kakashi preferred to go later in the day. He liked the quietude, the chance to reflect without distraction. But this time, he wasn't there to remember those who'd died. He was there to sort his thoughts out and, maybe, find some answers.
Kakashi sat down on the well manicured lawn that stretched out around the stone memorial and let his eye trace along the names carved over its surface. After so many years of doing this, the names were as familiar to him as any jutsu. He didn't know the faces or reputations attached to more than half of them, but he felt it was owed to their sacrifice to at least know their name.
Near the top there was a whole group of the Hatake clan: Yoshida, Tenabi, Mori, Akemi, Ita, Senji, Hiyoriku… The list went on and on, the results of the first Shinobi War. It was easy to trace each war by the placement and grouping of names on the cenotaph. Between those spaces were the lives claimed on routine missions during peacetimes. A few more Hatakes could be seen interspersed in there. His uncle, who he'd never met. A few cousins, his grandparents, and more whose relations he couldn't place.
His mother's name was about a third of the way down from the top: Hatake Hiromi. Pictures of her were rare; she and his father had only been married a few years at most before she'd died. But the photographs he still had of her proved her name was apt. She'd been a beautiful woman.
He still remembered her vaguely. He remembered her gentle smile, the sound of her voice. More so than the faint impressions from his childhood, he remembered the way his father spoke of her. There was never any pain, simply sadness for the fact that she was no longer there. His father used to talk about how they'd met, their wedding, what kind of woman she'd been. It made those half-recalled memories more solid, more lasting in his mind.
Much farther down was his father's name, Hatake Sakumo. It'd taken many years before he was able to look at the carved name for longer than few seconds. First, it was out of anger and bitterness toward the man who'd not only (so he believed at the time) destroyed their lives but abandoned him. But over the years, especially after Obito's sacrifice, he'd avoided the name out of shame – shame at how he'd treated his father in those final days, how selfish and cruel he'd been. He still remembered the look on his father's face when he'd come home wearing the mask that was now his signature. The flash of confusion dissolving into understanding and then a pain so intense it couldn't ever be expressed in words. It was two days after that when his father killed himself, unable to bear the fact that not even his own son would stand by him.
It'd taken many, many years to come to terms with the loss of his father, and it had taken his own death to be able to tell Hatake Sakumo how proud he was to be his son. Kakashi's gaze lingered on the name, his dark grey eye tracing over the characters as if to memorize the marks. He reached up, tugged his mask down so that his face was bear to the gentle breeze. That mask… it'd gone from being an expression of rage to one of hiding to something almost in way of a joke, thanks to his first – and only – genin team. It probably didn't serve any real purpose now, but he still wore it as a reminder of what it had represented to him.
His eye roved lower, automatically moving to find the next names on the list. Uchiha Obito and, a few rows below it, Rin. Kakashi touched the metal plate covering the Sharingan and said a silent thanks to the two of them, not just for the gift but for everything they'd been for him. They'd been friends when he'd desperately needed some, despite the fact he hadn't been aware that was what they were. They'd been teachers in their own ways, showing him that there were more important things than rules and duties. Obito had been his first true friend; Rin had been his first lover. There were so many firsts he'd shared with those two. So many more that they never shared.
It was as he was moving to the next memory, that being Minato, that he spotted a name he'd never noticed before: Haruno Hochiko. A slight crease formed between his brows and, before he knew it, he was picking out every single Haruno on the cenotaph. There weren't too many; the Haruno clan was very minor, mostly consisting of civilians and public servants. But they still had ties to the village, enough so that they could enroll their children in the Academy if they chose to. Most of the names were probably distant relations to Sakura: great-great-grandparents, fourth cousins, that sort of thing. But this Haruno Hochiko… They fell near enough in the timeline of events to be a closer relative, possibly an aunt or uncle. He wondered why Sakura never mentioned it before.
Unbidden, his mind imagined another Haruno name being added to the cenotaph, much lower and much newer. Kakashi sucked in a sharp breath and recoiled from the stone monument like it'd just attacked him. That one quick flash of imagination encapsulated his greatest fear, and no matter how he tried to shove it aside, push it back into the box it had unexpectedly burst from, it wouldn't leave. It was firmly implanted in his consciousness now and nothing would remove it.
The familiar heaviness began to creep through his chest, shortening his breath to the point where he started to feel lightheaded. Kakashi dropped to his knees in the grass, his fingers digging into the soft dirt. He bowed his head, squeezing his eyes tightly closed so as to shut out the cenotaph altogether. But that image, the one of Sakura's name carved in stone, remained behind his eyelids.
"Please," he whispered, unsure if he was begging the dead or a power higher than them. "Please, I … I don't know what to do. I can't lose her. I just … I don't know how to help her. Tell me how to help her."
The only answer was the wind rustling through the surrounding trees. It seemed not even the dead could provide him with guidance.
Kakashi sighed and sat upright, letting the blades of torn grass slip free from his fingertips – just like so many other things in his life. He watched the pieces flutter down to their comrades, all of whom remained nicely rooted in the earth. His gaze lifted to the cool, smooth stone of the cenotaph. This was normally a place of calm for him, somewhere he could go to think things through. Today was the first time since he'd started coming there that he was leaving more agitated than when he'd arrived.
He stood up, dusted his knees clean, and tucked his hands into his pockets. His eye lingered a fraction longer on all the familiar names before he turned around and headed back toward the village. There was still work he needed to do, duties he was obligated to fill. He didn't want to push Tsunade past her tolerance by completely foregoing his duties, especially when she was sticking her neck out for him and Sakura with the Elders. Besides, the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could go home.
Home. It was strange using that word in conjunction with their apartment. It certainly didn't feel much like a home anymore. Maybe what he actually meant was the sooner he could get back to Sakura.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of routine. There were follow up evaluations with the current genin instructors and team leaders, one-on-one training with the up-and-coming instructors, a meeting with the senior jounin to discuss the future chuunin exams being hosted in Kumogakure. He had reports to fill out, team assignments to finalize, and training plans to approve.
It wasn't strenuous work, but it was tedious and didn't at all help to distract him from everything that was going on. If anything, the monotony actually allowed his thoughts to dwell even more fixedly on it all. One question continued to roll around and around inside his head: what was he going to do?
That question remained unanswered as he went about his business, going through the motions of a normal routine. Through all the meetings and evaluations and paperwork, the only thing he could think about was what to do. It wasn't just the fact that he was on borrowed time; it was the fact that he didn't know how much longer he could keep going with the way things were now. He was trying to be strong, for the both of them, but the truth was that he could feel himself starting to break. The thin cracks were slowly widening, spreading further and further across his eggshell-thin resolve. It wouldn't be long now before they reached a critical point and crumbled entirely.
Kakashi finished his work and left, taking the usual route back to their apartment so he could stop and pick up dinner. The one saving grace was that no one asked him how he was doing, how Sakura was doing – or, worse, the attempts at vagueness by asking how things were. As if reducing the situation to a thing made it easier for him to talk about.
He tried not to be bitter or resentful toward the questions. The people asking were friends and legitimately concerned. But he didn't like the idea of answering and then having them go around telling other people. He hated to think that, at a time like this, people were gossiping about his wife's condition. He knew it was probably too late to wish it wouldn't happen, but he didn't have to add fuel to it.
The elderly couple who ran the small market recognized him on sight and immediately broke out in wide smiles. If they knew anything about what had happened, it didn't show. They just greeted him as always, asked what he was having today, and went about preparing it while he sat down at one of the tables by the window. The woman had been slipping in a couple extra dango sticks lately … but he liked to think it was because he spent regular money there rather than some unspoken form of sympathy. Or maybe she just had a crush on him? After all, feeding him was how Sakura had 'tamed' him….
He flinched a little at the memory of that conversation. They'd only been together for about six months, just long enough to be the steadiest relationship he'd ever had but still new enough that he didn't know all her personal quirks. She'd wanted to go on a picnic, had even (much to his surprise) skipped out on her duties at the Administration offices to do so. Kakashi had gone along with it. He wasn't particularly fond of picnics, but Sakura had asked and he'd realized around that time he would do anything for her – even allow himself to be dragged off into the forest with an enormous basket of food.
And that was all they did for the entire afternoon: eat, drink, and get sleepy. He'd known the minute she started pulling out dish after dish that she'd been planning this for at least two days. It took away a little from her 'spontaneously' deciding to shirk her duties for one afternoon, but he hadn't complained. He'd joked that he wasn't Naruto and couldn't possibly eat that much, and she'd teased that the quickest way to befriend a dog was through its stomach. She'd then spent a good amount of time trying to rub his stomach to see if his leg kicked reflexively.
It hadn't, though there were some other reflexive actions involved.
A small smile curved his lips at the memory of that afternoon. How she'd been so happy telling him that she'd made everything the night before, how she'd watched him intently as he took his first bite, anxious to see if it met his approval. He remembered the horror that flashed across her features as he'd feigned disgust, the enormous bruise she'd left on his shoulder when he'd admitted that it was actually very good. She'd bribed him into eating some mochi with kisses and he'd demonstrated alternative ways of enjoying mitarashi sauce. It was easily one of his favorite memories of them together. That was, after all, the day he'd realized he loved her.
Kakashi's eye narrowed as he looked around the small shop. The grocery section was small and featured only a few locally acquired items … but there was more than enough there to make a decent dinner. He hadn't cooked for her in a long time. Cracking a couple eggs into a pan didn't count; he was talking about real, legitimate cooking that required chopping things up and using more than one pan. Perhaps a nice, homemade meal together was in order. Maybe if he talked about the picnic, or any other time when things had been happier, it might encourage her to open up.
It was a slim hope … but it was enough to get him to step back up to the counter and ring the service bell.
The old woman appeared from in back and smiled at him, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist. "Did you need something else?"
"Actually, I was wondering if it was too late to cancel my order," he asked sheepishly. "See, I just noticed how nice your produce is and thought maybe tonight I'd try my hand at cooking. But if you've already started it…."
To his surprise, the woman laughed and waved a hand at him. "Don't worry about it. It's about time my husband and I ate anyway."
Kakashi flashed her a grateful smile and said, "Thank you," before grabbing a shopping basket. The selection was rather limited, but he managed to find enough ingredients to do a chicken and leek soup. He brought his purchases up to the register, paid for them, and blinked in surprise when the old woman slipped in a small package of dango.
"For your wife," she explained. "She used to come here every afternoon for these."
A sharp pang shot through his heart at that new bit of information. He hadn't known Sakura had done that. It put a whole new light on why the woman always slipped him an extra stick or two. Kakashi swallowed hard and tried not to show how much her story made him ache. He took the bag, thanked her again, and hurried out of the shop.
The stairway leading up to their apartment was empty. Everyone was already out for the evening or settling in. He could hear them all as he passed by their doors: overly loud televisions competing to drown out each other, children noisily telling their parents about their day, infants screaming for attention. The combination of smells wafting underneath the doors was pleasant, a mingling of different spices and flavorings that reminded him he'd skipped lunch that day. All in all, their apartment building was very homey, very familial. It was why they'd chosen it over others that offered a bit more privacy.
Kakashi juggled the bags to one arm, freeing a hand to dig his key from his pocket. The door opened into twilight; it wasn't quite dark enough to be pitch, just enough to mute objects and cast deeper shadows. Sakura obviously hadn't left her room today. Well, no matter. Other days, he reminded himself.
He flicked the light switch just inside the door and the overhead light came on, spilling a warm yellow glow over everything. The living room was fairly clean, at least by his standards. There was a hamper of laundry that needed folding, some mail to be sorted (which reminded him; he'd forgotten to check the mailbox on his way up), and a couple empty glasses on the side table. Other than that though, it wasn't too bad. That meant he could focus his time after dinner to cleaning out the bedroom.
He took the groceries into the kitchen, glancing down the darkened hallway at the door. It was impossible to tell if she'd locked it or not and there was no light coming from within. Chances were she was asleep.
Kakashi set about getting their dinner ready, which was a simple enough affair. Chop everything up, toss it in a pot with some broth, set the rice cooker, and walk away. He scrubbed down the dining room table before setting a cloth over top of it – the one with pale pink flowers on it that she liked. The nicer bowls were taken out along with the glasses and silverware that rarely ever saw the light of day. All of it was wedding gifts, things Sakura insisted they reserve for special occasions. Technically, a Thursday night didn't really constitute as such … but then he didn't see the point in having tableware they didn't use.
He finished making everything look as nice as male judgment could before going back to check on the food. The soup smelled good, and a quick sip of the broth proved that the flavor matched. It would be another half an hour before the rice was ready, but he could start cutting up the fresh fruit and tossing it into a bowl.
Once the fruit was prepared, he stuck it in the fridge to chill. He left the packet of dango on the countertop for the time being. If he couldn't persuade her to eat the meal, perhaps he could coax her into eating her favorite snack. The soup was done and the rice was nearly so. Kakashi wiped his hands off on a dish towel and pulled his mask down. A pleased smile came to his lips as he took in his handiwork. Not bad, really, considering he didn't typically do this sort of thing very often. Now to get Sakura out and see what she thought.
Kakashi went down the hall and knocked on the door, waiting a moment before calling, "Sakura? Dinner's ready." When she didn't answer, he added in hopes of enticing her, "It's homemade chicken soup."
There was no response on the other side.
Disappointment started to wash over him again, killing off the thin line of hope that had ignited over the memory of their picnic. How stupid of him to think a home cooked meal would do the trick. Kakashi closed his eye, leaned his forehead against the doorframe, and mentally berated himself for being so foolishly optimistic. It was just another meal to her. Still though, he doubted she'd made herself lunch and she hadn't had breakfast; he'd seen the leftovers in the fridge when he'd put the groceries away. She had to eat something. His hand closed over the doorknob and twisted, opening the door just enough for him to peek inside.
Sakura was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him, staring at the curtained window across the way. At least she wasn't still lying down, he thought with some relief. She was still wearing the pajamas he'd put her in the night before. One camisole strap had slipped down off her thin shoulder and her hair was a matted mess. But that was alright. He could comb her hair out after dinner, get her into something else.
Kakashi entered the room, flicking on the little side lamp to shed some light in the space. He saw Sakura's back stiffened, heard her suck in a sharp breath, and paused as he was rounding the bed toward her. This was one of those times where she didn't want him near her. He could tell by the way her fingers clenched into fists on the bare mattress, in the fine tremor running through her. It broke his heart even further to know that the woman he loved didn't want him touching her.
He swallowed heavily and repeated, "It's time for dinner, Sakura."
She didn't move, didn't so much as look at him.
He waited a few seconds longer for her to decide whether she would go willingly before he took those last steps to bring him in front of her. Kakashi held his hand out and she recoiled, flinching like he'd threatened to slap her. Another piece of his heart shattered, possibly irreparably. But at least she was looking at him now – or, rather, she was looking at his hand. It was something at least, and right about then he would take any acknowledgement over none at all.
"Come on," he said, and despite his best efforts to keep his tone calming there was no stopping the thread of frustration from creeping in. "You haven't eaten anything all day."
After a moment longer where he stood there offering his hand and she avoided eye contact, Sakura finally stood up. She moved passed him, arms hugged tightly around her thin stomach, and made her way slowly to the kitchen table. He followed behind her, taking in the faint outline of vertebrae down the back of her neck, the hard stoop to her shoulders. Her hair was the longest it'd been in years, reaching just a little below her shoulders. It needed trimming; the ends were split and straggly. Maybe he could talk her into letting him do that for her after dinner.
She let him pull her chair out for her, but she waited until he'd moved to his side of the table before sitting down – avoiding any chance at contact, either accidental or purposeful. Kakashi sighed under his breath and picked up his spoon, not waiting for her to follow suit. He sipped at the broth carefully, but even then it was hot enough to burn his tongue.
"It's still pretty hot," he cautioned, even though he knew she probably wouldn't eat more than a couple bites anyway. "Sorry, but we're having chicken again. The store across the street had a special going on."
As was usual, Sakura didn't reply to any of that. She did, however, pick up her spoon, but it was only to stir the vegetables around and around in her bowl.
"I made some rice, if you want to add that," Kakashi offered, pushing the container of rice closer toward her.
Her eyes darted toward the rice but she made no move to help herself to it. Still, it was definitely a positive sign. It at least showed she could still hear him. But that didn't mean she was listening to him.
Kakashi watched her stir the soup around for a moment longer before pushing his chair back and standing up. He retrieved the dango, placing it in the middle of the table between them. The spoon stilled in her hand and her shoulders stiffened sharply.
As he saw her reaction, the old woman's words came back to him and he realized what a big mistake he'd just made. He'd only thought the owner's wife was being kind. Had he made the connection sooner… Well, there was no helping it now. The damage was done and the best he could do was try and soften it a bit. His smile slipped, but his voice remained cheerful as he explained, "A present from the shop owner's wife. She said they're your—"
Sakura stood up. "I'm tired."
He reached across the table, taking hold of her wrist before she could turn away completely. That closed off feeling was creeping through his chest again, spreading like a rash up his throat so that his next breath was more of a choke. She didn't look at him, but she didn't pull away either. Kakashi adjusted his hand so that their palms met. He brought her fingers to his lips, willing her to feel how sorry he was through the brief touch.
"I didn't know," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
Her hand slipped from his as she started to make her way back to the bedroom.
"Sakura, please" he begged as he quickly followed after her. He caught her before she could reach the doorway, his fingers curling around her frail arm. She stopped, but she refused to budge when he tried to turn her toward him.
Kakashi sighed, his eye closing as he fought to control his mounting frustration. He could have forced her to face him, but not without hurting her. Instead, he took the half step needed to bring them together, her back to his chest, and circled his free arm around her waist.
"Talk to me, Sakura. Please," he murmured, his lips brushing across her ear.
There was a moment where he almost swore he felt her body relaxing against his. Kakashi's breath caught when he felt her hand cover his over her stomach. But any joy at her touch was short lived as she pulled free completely, leaving him standing in the doorway alone.
The door shut. Any minute now he knew the tears would start.
Kakashi stared at the door a few seconds longer, warring between the frustration telling him to storm in there and demand a response and his hard-worn patience urging him to leave her alone. Patience won out and he slowly made his way back to the kitchen to start cleaning up. The food was packed away, the dishes stacked next to the sink, the table stripped down. It was while Kakashi was tossing the dango into the garbage can that the first muffled sob came from the bedroom.
His teeth ground together tightly and the dango hit the bottom of the can so hard the bag burst and pieces of pink, green, and white splattered outward. Those tiny fissures in his resolve were crumbling at the sound of her tears. Every night for two months, she cried alone in that room. Every night, she locked herself away so that she could fall apart, while he fought with everything he had to keep them both going.
Hands fisted as he struggled to keep the frustration from turning to anger, he went over to the sink and jerked the faucet on full force. The dishes clattered sharply as he piled them into one side, added soap, and began scrubbing them with furious swipes of a wash cloth. Even after the sink was full of suds and water he let the faucet run, turning it to the other side of the split sink so that it could simply run down the drain. It was a waste of water, but the extra cost was worth it if it could drown out her tears.
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he swore her sobs became louder. He could still hear them over the running water, still make out the choked breaths between the harsh clanking of porcelain and utensils. A fine tremor made its way through him, starting with his hands and working its way up his arms until it had invaded his entire body.
His hands gripped the edge of the sink tightly, bleaching his knuckles pale, as the shudders became more violent, threatened to drive him to his knees. Something warm splashed on the back of his hand, followed quickly by another and another. It took him a moment realize they were tears and that they were his. That the tremors racking his entire body were actually sobs that couldn't get passed the tightness in his throat. He was crumbling down, breaking apart. Everything was spinning out of his grasp completely, spinning like the kitchen floor, the sink….
Breathe. Focus on breathing, on maintaining control. That was what he needed to do. He needed to breathe and hold on and not think about Sakura slowly killing herself over something no one could have prevented.
The minute those words entered his head, whatever shred of control he had left snapped. All the anger and pain and sadness simply exploded. A bowl shattered against the far wall – one of the good ones from their wedding. Another followed it, hitting the plaster hard enough to dig holes and bury porcelain shrapnel. The bowl of rice followed next, raining down sticky grains all over the kitchen floor. Glasses burst against the fridge, a chair was kicked into the wall.
Kakashi had just seized a colorful vase off the windowsill and was about to send it hurdling into the living room when he paused, suddenly comprehended what he was doing. The vase slipped from his fingers, thudding hard on the floor. It didn't break. He did though. He sank to his knees amidst the glass and food, his blunt nails digging gouges in the linoleum. There was no attempt to control the tears or the ragged sobs that came so fast and hard he barely had time to draw breath. Pieces of glass bit sharply into his hands, but he didn't do anything about it.
He wasn't a stranger to grief; it followed everyone who chose the ninja lifestyle. But this … he didn't even know what to call this feeling. It was overwhelming, violent, pulling him under like a riptide. It cut him to pieces, sliced through him more deadly than a kunai. Never in all his years had he ever experienced something so internally painful that he wished he could rip his own heart out so as to not feel it anymore.
He was losing her, might have lost her long ago and never realized it, and he was powerless to stop it. Perhaps Tsunade was right. Perhaps he couldn't save her. But maybe someone else could, someone trained to….
His eyes were raw and sore from crying, but he managed to open them just enough to look around their home. Apartment. Place. What did you call a place you lived in, had personal ties to, but no longer considered a home? He was depleted, drained so completely he doubted he could have scraped himself off the floor for anything. A full scale attack could start at that moment and he wouldn't have the strength or desire to do more than let the enemy cut him down.
Slowly, he became aware of another noise amidst the tears: a sharp tapping on the window in the kitchen. It was followed by the distinct call of a raven and another series of insistent taps to the glass.
Kakashi rubbed the back of his hand across his grey eye and looked at the window. There was no mistaking the darker shade of black against the inky twilight or the flash of a bright beak as it knocked against the pane, demanding his attention. He stood up and crossed over to the window, pushing it open just enough for the bird to hop onto the sill. It cawed at him again and turned to present its leg.
A thin roll of paper was strapped to it, bearing the Hokage's seal. Tsunade had obviously spoken with the Elders already and was now sending their judgment.
His fingers were shaking so badly it took him two tries to remove the tiny message and another three before he was able to uncurl it. He read it once … twice … and a third time because he couldn't believe it.
Your leave of absence has been extended by one month, after which you report for active duty or will be imprisoned. It was the best I could do.
One month. Tsunade must have called in quite a few favors to arrange this, or else she now owed favors to others. And now he probably owed her more than his life was worth … but he was fine with that. She'd given him another month to sort things out. Right then, it was the best news he'd had in such a long time.
The raven flew off into the night, leaving him by the open window with the letter still in hand, his eye greedily reading the words over and over again. All that kept repeating in his head was 'one month'. If he couldn't break through to Sakura in that time frame, there was no doubt in his mind that Tsunade would force him to commit her for evaluation. It was more time than he'd dared to hope for, but would it be enough? He didn't know and, to be honest, he was hesitant to believe for one second that it would be. Sakura had been like this for almost two months now. How could he unravel all that grief and sadness in half the time it took to build up?
His eye swept over the living room, searching for something that might inspire a plan. Everywhere he looked, there were reminders: of them, of their life together, of their future. All around him were little things, such as the mingling of their possessions, the arrangement of their books on the shelves. There were the coasters on the coffee table and the ring marks from where cups were placed on the wooden surface without one. The juice stain on the couch from when he'd been sick and she'd stayed home to take care of him. The old, battered throw blanket from his apartment that she'd insisted they keep because it smelled like him. So many little things connecting them, so many reminders….
And maybe that was the problem. He clung to the mementos, used them like a lifeline to preserve the past … but she saw them as a constant reminder of what had happened.
Kakashi raked a hand back through his hair, his mind centering in on that one thought. Slowly, an idea began to form, which quickly developed into a full out plan. Bits of mashed up rice flaked from his knees as he paced back and forth in the kitchen, running over everything that needed to be done. There was so much he needed to do, so many arrangements to make in only a few hours. It was a crazy, mad, desperate idea and he had very little hope it would actually work … but then he was a crazy, mad, desperate man and he was willing to try anything to help Sakura. He hissed in pain as his pacing caused him to step on a piece of broken porcelain.
First though, he needed to clean up the kitchen.