Quotes:
Sakura - Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. – Marilyn Monroe.
Hinata - Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life, but define yourself. ~ Harvey Fierstein
"… So sign here, here… and here, please." Kabuto pointed at various spots on the paper smoothed against the table.
Sakura tapped the pen against her lips idly, eyes scanning the paper.
Not an ordinary employee contract. This had been written up by a lawyer specifically for her. Orochimaru's own seal, the characteristic winking snake, coiled at the top of the page.
Sakura didn't speak legalese. She couldn't understand most of what was being said. The basic stuff, her working hours and pay, she could read perfectly. Enough to see her wage was a bit low.
But she glanced around the room, and knew she would sign anyway.
She was in a genuine laboratory. Vials and scales and Bunsen burners galore, gleaming surfaces, tiled floor so clean you could eat off of it…
And stacks and stacks of medical textbooks.
She was practically drooling at the thought of working here.
Besides, she trusted Orochimaru, and anything associated with him.
She signed the paper with no further hesitation, aware of Kabuto's eyes on her face the whole time.
"Right!" She said cheerily, clicking her pen off, "Do you now own my soul?"
"For the majority of the week, yes." Kabuto smiled at her, "Allow me to introduce your… ahem, test subjects."
The door opened and three people entered the room.
"Hey," A dark-haired youth strolled in, his grin a little mocking, "You the newbie? I'm Zaku."
"Kin." The lone female said.
"My name is Dosu." Said the heavily bandaged man. Sakura was uncomfortably reminded of lepers, and wondered what 'tests' she was supposed to perform on these people.
"For today," Kabuto spoke up as though reading her mind, "I want you to just take a blood sample from each of them, just to test the waters. As you gain more experience, we will allow you to perform more complex experiments. Under supervision, of course."
Kabuto handed her a wickedly sharp-looking needle.
Sakura gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "Soooo," She said, drawing out the syllable, "For my first day on the job, you want me to perform phlebotomy, an invasive procedure. A procedure that has, in unpractised hands, caused death. You want me, a frankly useless, untrained sixteen year old, to handle needles and hope that I jab it in their veins just right? You don't think there is the slightest chance something may go wrong?"
There was a brief moment of silence.
"I have faith in you." Kabuto said.
"Excellent, off we go then." Sakura grinned, "Who's first?"
For some reason, they all looked a bit green all of a sudden.
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"You know a lot about medicine." Kabuto commented, sliding next to her as she washed her hands at the sink.
"No more so than your average medical drama fan." Sakura shook her head, scrubbing her hands clean with the soap provided.
"I am a professional myself, Sakura-chan. I can recognise skill and expertise."
"My mother's a nurse. She's taught me a lot."
"Your mother doesn't seem to like me very much."
"You are in your twenties, male, and you refer to me as 'Sakura-chan.' She's more suspicious than your average mother, I'll grant you."
"Why might that be?" Kabuto asked, grabbing her wrist. His finger traced the kidney cancer band she had recently purchased and put on for the first time, "Because of your limp, and this?"
"You think I had cancer?" Sakura asked, breathing out harshly, trying not to explode at him for touching her.
"I don't know. I won't ask. I know it's hard to –"
"I didn't." Sakura said, ripping her wrist out of his hand, "I would have thought, as a professional, you would be able to tell."
"You never know." Kabuto said gently, looking curious, "Come on, tell me. What happened to you? What's wrong with your legs?"
"Diagnose me." Sakura snapped, moving away from him, every clunk of her cane against the tiles an embarrassment.
"OK." He said, the light flashing off his glasses as he tilted his head, "You broke both of your legs as recently as six months ago. They are healing up nicely, I assume you owe that to your mother. One of your legs was damaged so badly that it will never be the same again. I can see how it twists at the knee slightly. The other was a clean break, you were lucky. They may ache in cold weather, when it rains. You may never truly be free of the pain. You need to use the medicine I gave you."
Sakura threw her cane aside and tried to punch him, not thinking straight. He dodged her punch and held her fist securely in his hand.
"If you knew all that, why ask me?!" She snarled in his face.
"My, my," He muttered, "It looks like you have a dark side, Sakura-chan. Who died in your family? Why do you wear that band?"
"I'm a charitable person!" She bit out, struggling to free her wrist, "Let go of me!"
"I find that hard to believe. I told you before, I only work with those I trust. We have many candidates to train up. You are not our only option. I simply want to understand you, but if you continue to lose your temper in this way, I will discharge you."
Sakura's glare was venomous. She pulled her wrist free. Her voice came out cold and hard, but oddly calm somehow, "And if you ever touch me like that again, I will remove your balls. I'm here to work, not chat. I don't have to tell you a damn thing, so put the idea out of your mind. We aren't gonna have a cute little tête-à-tête about my private life. Me wearing a fucking charity wristband is none of your goddamn business."
Kabuto's gaze was analytical.
He pushed his glasses up more firmly and smiled, "Fair enough, Sakura-chan. I won't question you further."
"Creepy fucking bastard." Sakura, who had no filter when it came to her mouth and her temper mixing, spat out, rubbing her wrist in obvious disgust. She retrieved her cane from the floor.
"Thank you," Kabuto said mildly, "Shall we discuss negotiating a small pay rise in light of your valuable skills?"
"I," Sakura gave a mock-bow, narrowly avoiding smacking him in the face with her cane, "am going home now. I'll be back tomorrow. Oh, but can we make my shift later? I'll have to miss school otherwise."
Kabuto wiped his mouth, looking away. Eventually he replied, "If you read your contract again, you will notice that your hours are non-negotiable."
Sakura raised her eyebrows, "I might be wrong," She started slowly, "But I believe I have a thing called civil rights?"
"Not when you work here," Kabuto flashed her a smirk, "This isn't your local charity shop you've signed up to work for, Sakura-chan. This is Orochimaru-sama's time and money, both devoted to train up sympathetic medical students for his cause. Not everyone gets this chance. You were extraordinarily lucky."
Sakura gave him a look usually displayed by poker players who were doubting the other player's bluff, an unconvinced sneer, eyebrow raised, lip curled.
"If I get in trouble for this," Sakura pointed at him, gazing steadily at him, "I will eviscerate you."
"I would welcome you to try." Kabuto replied pleasantly.
Sakura pursed her lips, staring at him, hard, as though trying to figure him out.
There was a flash of a forced quirky grin and then she was gone, bag over her shoulder, little broken legs stumbling underneath her weight, cane tapping out her path.
Kabuto leaned against the counter, sighing. Sakura reminded him of a bird, a particularly stunning and talented bird, whose wings had been clipped, but still tried to fly stubbornly.
He would love to find the person who had clipped those wings. He would love to patch them up for her, and find a way to diffuse that ticking time bomb of a temper of hers.
He glanced over the other side of the room where Sakura had carelessly left the contract, evidently uncaring for the potential consequences or trusting in Orochimaru enough not to worry.
For now, he would leave Sakura's wings be.
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"Gaara!" Sakura snarled down the phone, limping down the stairs.
"Sakura." He replied dryly, sounding unconcerned by her sudden ire.
"I am furious! Wanna study?"
"Is fury conducive to studying?"
"Oh, man, you've no idea. I just need to take my mind off… stuff. I can't go home like this, I'm too –"
"You can come to my house, if you like."
Sakura stopped still. "Uh, what, like… alone?"
"I would also be there."
"Ha ha, you are hilarious. You know what I mean."
"It's just me here."
He's dangerous. Neji's voice rang insistently in her head.
"If I'm honest, I don't think I know you well enough to go to your house."
"Sakura." His voice was flat, "There is the distinct possibility that my grandmother is about to return home – " He broke off, his voice fainter as he moved away from the phone, " – with what looks like baked goods. If you believe you, the most frightening girl in school, can overpower myself and my grandmother, then I believe you can risk coming round."
Sakura thought about it, her stomach growling. Scariest girl in school? "You say the sweetest things," She cooed, genuinely pleased, "I'll come over. Surrender the baked goods and I'll try not to beat your ass too badly."
"I do not cooperate with terrorist threats."
"Oh please, Cookie Monster, hand over the dough."
Gaara's chuckle may or may not have sent butterflies frolicking through her stomach.
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"I don't know if I'd call this studying." Sakura mumbled, voice low and heavy in her chest from how she was lying down a little awkwardly, all of her weight pressing on her arm.
"Then you obviously don't do it right." Gaara replied through a mouthful of lemon cookie, smiling in a way that made his eyes crinkle up.
"Well, I know I'm not holding this damn thing right." Sakura groused, grappling with the guitar until it nearly smacked her in the face.
"Sit up and be gentle with it. It's not something to wrestle."
"It's fucking heavy." Sakura lowered the damn thing gently to the floor, nearly laughing at Gaara's worried expression, as though she was swinging his firstborn child wildly around the room instead of delicately putting a guitar down.
Gaara was lying on his bed, balancing a plate of cookies on his chest and Sakura sat on the floor in front of his radiator, enjoying the heat emanating from behind. His room – and house – was not at all what she had been expecting. When she thought boy-room she thought of mess, of dirty socks and apple cores and dog-eared porn magazines hastily shoved under beds, but Gaara's room was tidy, the carpet white as though new, his various bookcases and wooden furniture unstained, and not a porno in sight.
It was almost disturbing.
"Did you notice it's snowing?" Gaara asked, brushing crumbs off his chest and nodding at the window.
Sakura scrambled up, ignoring the pain in her legs and gazed out of the window.
"Oh bugger." She said worriedly, staring blankly out at the white world beyond the window, thinking only of cancelled buses and her mother's frightened face and emergency calls to fucking Tezuka and the police being called again and –
"What, are you one of those people who detests snow for no good reason?"
Oh and why can't she just be fucking normal?
Why do the police have to be called when she forgets to call home?
Sakura glared down at her legs and impulsively threw her cane away.
"Yep," She turned around with a smile, ignoring the concerned look on Gaara's face, "Snow's just cold and wet and it gets everywhere. Ugh. I'm just worrying about how I'm going to get home…"
Gaara stiffened, licking his lips.
"My grandmother wouldn't mind if you just stayed over. I'm sure you've noticed we've got plenty of extra room." He suggested, seeming almost nervous.
Sakura smoothed back her hair, thinking. Gaara had had plenty of opportunity to attack her today, alone in his room with his grandmother dead to the world, asleep in bed. She could definitely take care of him if he turned nasty, for sure.
"I'll need to call my mother." She said, "What's for dinner?"
Gaara smiled.
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There was a spare toothbrush still in its packaging hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet that Gaara had rather shyly told her she could claim. She was grateful that she wouldn't have to slink home the next morning doing the walk of shame with morning breath to boot.
She took a long, hard look in the bathroom mirror, examining herself closely.
She looked pale, honest-to-God pale as a corpse. Her lips were tight – probably the dull ache in her legs flaring up – and she was frowning without realising it. She relaxed her brow (which was an actual effort to do) and let out a sigh, examining her teeth as she did so.
Her pain medication, as her mother had calmly reminded her on the phone, was at home.
She could cope, Sakura had replied, she would be fine.
Her mother had hung up, too furious for words, in the end. Before the end there had been lots of words like risking your health and didn't raise you to be this stupid and who is this friend anyway?
You may never truly be free of the pain, Kabuto had said.
I just want to be normal, Sakura thought helplessly. I don't want to have fucking metal pins in my legs and half a fucking kneecap. I don't want to have to see a psychiatrist.
As she stared into her slightly reddened eyes, she felt a particularly vicious spike of pain in her bad leg and nearly burst into tears.
Normal.
The anxious girl's face came to her mind suddenly, a vivid memory of the tears trapped in her eyelashes, the trembling of her hands and mouth and the sound of her shallow, raspy breathing. Sakura had the strangest urge to talk to her, thinking she would know exactly how it felt to not be like everyone else. It would be good to talk to someone who was as 'weird' as she was – maybe they could have their own brand of 'normal' as friends.
Without stopping to think about it, she was already scanning the social networking site she used most frequently on her phone for the girl. There were a fair few 'Hinata's' rolling around but only one that attended the same school as Sakura.
Huh. Hyuuga Hinata. Possible relation to Neji? Interesting.
She sent a friend request and sent her a message, one after the other with the lightning-fast expertise of a teenager who grew up on the internet.
Hey, I don't know if you remember me but we met once. I helped you out. Thing is, I reckon you might need a bit more help. More than just a sixteen year old telling you to take big breaths and your grandma. I know a woman who specialises in mental health, who would be happy to help you out, I'm sure. Her name's Tezuka Rin, search her online and her number will pop up.
Plus, I thought it would be cool if we could hang out sometime.
Sakura.
She got a reply four minutes later.
Dear Sakura,
Thank you very much for the assistance you provided. I just get very silly sometimes and I embarrass myself. I have been wondering if my issues are severe enough to warrant seeing a professional, but recent events have informed me that I am not strong enough to do this alone. I will contact the woman you referred to for advice, so thank you again.
It is good to be able to express myself like this. In real life, I can hardly speak. I just get very anxious in social situations, I can't bear the thought of embarrassing myself or offending anyone.
Thank you once more, Sakura. I would like to hang out. Out of curiosity, you obviously noted my issues in our last meeting, is there any name you would put to them? I would like to know what exactly is wrong with me.
Hinata. X
No problem, I didn't do much. You aren't 'silly,' you have genuine problems. If you've been having panic attacks and your anxiety is limiting your life and wellbeing, you need to see someone. The conventional method would be to contact your GP and ask for a referral to a mental health service, but I can hook you up quicker with Tezuka. Not strong enough? We'll see.
Most people chat shit anyway, I wish they had your problems.
No problem again. Your issues? At a guess… probably social phobia and selective mutism. I'm no pro, though. I'd recommend CBT.
We could go see a movie. You wouldn't have to talk then.
Sakura.
Dear Sakura,
I have never had a panic attack before in my life. You calmed me down and helped me through it. I thought I was dying. Thank you, truly, for being there for me.
I just wish I could speak to my father about this. But, to him, 'social phobia' is just some name shrinks give laziness and rudeness, an excuse for my inability to do what he wishes I would. I am sure that, if I could say it eloquently enough, he would understand. I just need to find the words.
That is a thoughtful suggestion, but I'm afraid crowded theatres are often too overwhelming for me to bear. I'm sorry, I know I'm just being difficult.
Hinata. X
OK, you may have just made me tear up. No problem times infinity. Stop thanking me before I have a breakdown.
I could talk to your dad, explain why he's a douchenozzle and totally wrong.
Dude, no. Not difficult. The world's difficult, you just suffer more for it than most. How's this? You decide the place, the time, everything. Never apologise for being yourself. You aren't silly or difficult. You've got a stutter, I've got a limp. It's what we've got, not what we are.
Jeez I got kinda deep here, just ignore me, I swear I'm Angry Girl for realz.
Sakura.
Twenty minutes into their conversation Sakura was perched on the toilet seat and her thumb was aching from tapping buttons constantly.
Gaara knocked at the door, his low voice calling through the wood, "Sakura, you in there?"
"No, the door locked itself," Sakura said absently, "Yeah I'm in here. What's up?"
"Well, dinner is ready. My grandmother has cooked real food and everything."
"I'll be right down, little Miss Sassypants." Sakura grumbled, coming off the internet before Hinata could reply with another heartfelt thank you.
She felt strange, sort of buzzing with energy. Rejuvenated, that was the word. Normalnormalnormal wasn't bouncing around her head anymore, now she was thinking about herself as a whole, not just a damaged pair of legs.
Never apologise for being yourself, she'd boldly said to Hinata. It was another one of those phrases that are drummed into you in the Sweetness and Light section of the internet, the websites that say things like 'weird is cool,' and 'age is just a number.' But maybe there was something in this particular phrase, some meaning she had failed to derive from it upon her first hearing. She had once been told that she was uniquely herself and that was a wonderful thing.
If you broke Haruno Sakura down into multiple parts, you would get this:
One reasonably intelligent mind.
Bitchin' hair.
A tendency to hide her problems behind her wit.
Two fucked up legs.
Razor sharp killer wit.
Well-adjusted, happy, healthy parents with little to no behavioural problems.
The bestest of friends – the endlessly devoted Ino, the hilariously prickly Neji, the sexily knowing Gaara and the tentatively sweet Hinata.
Two unbroken, perfectly working arms, thank you very much.
A cane her mother poached from the hospital.
The glorious Tezuka.
A fuckton of DVDs.
No life-threatening illness.
And finally, an mp3 player that worked on oddly-numbered days.
Haruno Sakura didn't have it too bad, that was for sure. Even broken bones and fucked up heads can heal over time.
Maybe it was time to let it all go and move on with her fucked up, glorious life.
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She woke up in the middle of the night with stabbing pains in her legs and let out as many swear words as she knew, hissing profanity under her breath. She splayed her legs, stretching them out to the corners of the mattress, clutching the sheets.
She was in one of the guest rooms, one with pink and yellow striped wallpaper and faded posters. She took a deep, calming breath and buried her face in her pillow, feeling as though the lower half of her body was slowly being crushed.
Her phone beeped a notification.
She stabbed the buttons in the dark until her internet popped up (Gaara's grandmother, or her neighbours, had fabulously strong wi-fi) and Hinata's words filled her screen.
Dear Sakura,
A lot of the time, I don't like who I am. I'm meek and quiet and I can't stand up for anyone, least of all myself. I'm not particularly good at any subject. I don't have any friends. My little sister should be the one inheriting what I will and my cousin deserves what I have so much more than I do.
But I think you are right. This is my life and it won't stand still as I get better, I can't waste my time on self-loathing and wishing. I'm going to change. I will be better. I won't listen to my father.
I know you didn't want me to say it again, but it's all I can think – thank you.
Hinata. X
Sakura smiled and closed her eyes, pain forgotten.
Strip away the bravado and witty words, and you have a sixteen year old girl with broken legs. Sakura pretends she's fearless, but she is terrified of everything.
Kabuto is the most effing creepy creeper since creepers began to creep.
Heads up, Hiashi gon' have some problems wit' his daughter.
The theme song of this chapter is probably I am by Hilary Duff. Empowerment, yay.
Sakura and Hinata meet in the middle and probably have the longest, most in-depth convo Hinata has ever been involved in during this fic. They are both just very lonely girls with problems.
(Don't you just love how Sakura lists Tezuka as one of the things that make up Haruno Sakura? That fickle weirdo)
Some of Sakura's secrets come out. The whats and not whys at the moment, sorry! More to come on that front very soon.
Quick poll for funsies: What song would you have played at your funeral?
No suggestions.