The Yin and the Yang

by lilac haze

AU. Non-canon. Modern setting. ER Doctor Sakura Haruno. Subjectively speaking, Minato Namikaze is bad at his mystery job. Age gap less than five years. MinaSaku. In which two strangers learn to find balance not only within themselves but each other and all the struggles that come along the way give one major event that was lead up by thousands of tiny decisions and steps.

2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

---

A/N:

Hello Reader,

Thank you for your support in this new story. Here is chapter two and a little earlier than expected. Had some extra time so decided to push this out early. Hope you like!

~L.H.

---

Chapter 2

He stood unmoving as the amber liquid was poured from the crystal container into a smaller glass with similar etchings. The sound floated to his ears before the image obscured by smoke came in front of his eyes. He inhaled as deeply as he could while maintaining the facade of subtlety In here - within these four walls - any display beyond the bare minimum would not be absolved.

It was dimly lit; just on the cusp of dark. The two large windows were covered with thick velvet curtains. Dark wooden paneling that blended into the flooring. The symbol of allegiance - of the family - was stitched, carved, pressed, and embossed on every fabric and surface. Only the air seemed to be free of the branding but he supposed the smoke and the solemnity was as close enough. The scratching across the papers stopped just as he had finished his report for the month. The official scribe waited with his hand perched, pen hovering over the ledger to immortalize spoken into written.

"That is all," Minato concluded. He met the eyes of his leader through the cloud of slate gray.

The man leaned back in the upholstered leather chair. He steepled his fingers, tapping them together. His elbows dug into the plush armrests that squealed weakly.

"Thank you, Minato." The use of familiarity broke the tempered seal.

"Of course, Uncle," he dipped his head slowly; low. He walked backward several steps, only presenting his back to the desk when it was deemed acceptable. The handle was warm against his palm when he turned it. He did not allow the door - carved with distinctive designs on each of the six panels - to make a sound as it once again latched, leaving him on the other side.

The carpet was emerald - the color of pine needles - under his black loafers that he had wiped the bottoms of on the wiry textured mat laid flat across the entry. He nodded without seeing the faces of the guards who stood with their hands clasped at their fronts and heads slightly bowed; fingers twitching around their various tools of choice. Each one spoke almost to their individual style. One adorned with red waves stood out amongst the heads of raven.

Sasori fell in step with him just as the heavy wooden doors were open. The lazy sunlight was upon their faces, not bothered enough to warm them from what had been a sharp chill contained within the interior of the pagoda. A holdover from the feudal era. A subtle show of wealth and an even bigger display of strength. The central hub was impossible to miss. Even the tall concrete walls that surrounded the estate could not compete with the balconies on the fourth floor and above. The white paper lanterns with prayers and blessings written in thick, stark, black ink sang farewell as the wind moved through them. A chorus of a hollow sound. Every detail was more crisp and committed to memory, from the koi ponds that surrounded the pagoda, to the stone bridge that arched almost in a perfect half circle. Even the stone lanterns that adorned the ends of that bridge. The mature ginkgos whose bright yellow leaves had been underfoot not even a week ago, had covered everything in a golden blanket. The vibrant, showy reds and oranges of the maples native to only Konoha were outnumbered but they had put in a valiant effort and the contrast had been striking. The black pines were single-handedly keeping the complex from being left a mess of brown, gray, and gloom with their constant, reliably hardy green needles. Life, the pines were the gatekeepers of life at the complex for everything that was eye-level and above.

The plum yew had the responsibility to maintain color - with their yellow-tipped green leaves - underneath and around the trees that were now left barren - estranged from their leaves. The bamboo towers that grew on the inside along the walls that contained the property - at the perimeter - were perhaps his favorite. If he stood still long enough and the wind moved through the leaves just right it was as if he were standing at the shores of a beach - if his eyes were closed. It was restorative. And more than a little sad. He had lost hours playing in a bamboo forest that was no more, coaxing the laziest person on the planet to chase him. He never did just as Minato pretended to never notice in his pursuit to squeeze as much enjoyment he could from the moments that were fleeting. He understood that even then - somewhere between two and three decades ago.

The camellias bright and white were too just a fragment of his memories. They were the boy's - the one who was born here - mother's favorite flower. She had planted so many trees - over six feet tall in some cases but they might as well have been a hundred feet tall at that age, everything was massive for the little blond boy - at the guidance and advice of the best florist-botanist Konoha had to offer. She loved them like a third son, after her first and only born, and the son that ended up under her roof and care because he lost his. He had never seen camellias produce as many flowers or for as long as any of hers. But maybe that was just his fondness murking up truth with fantasy. Each tree had been either uprooted and rehomed or died where it stood when poison was poured directly into its roots.

Grief was a strange thing. It was unpredictable. It turned who was familiar and believed to be known into a stranger. Even the most logical, even-keeled, and grounded to become unsteady on their feet. Sporadic. Errant. Emotional.

"Is it done?" Minato asked the man who had been silent enough to allow him to ruminate deep and long where the edges of what had been bled into what was. He slid a hand over his blazer jacket to undo the twin buttons.

"I took care of it, Blondie," he let out a sound of annoyance at Minato's expression, the one that strongly encouraged him to elaborate. "It went like the last time and the time before that. So don't you worry your pretty little head about getting your hands dirty," the man cleaned under his nails as if to say something. But Minato knew better.

"Good," he said decisively and in finality. One less thing was on his plate now so one less thing that lingered in the back of his mind. The head liked patterns and consistency. He was not one for flash-in-the-pan brilliance. The more Minato delegated now, the easier things would be for everyone. The easier it would be to swallow for the ones that were blindsided.

Asking for forgiveness is a lot easier when it's backed by zeros.

A lot of them.

"Keep up the good work," Minato said without thinking. Predominate cycles were being spent thinking a month, two months, and even six months out from now.

Sasori blinked impassively at him, making Minato come close to regret opening his mouth. "How did your thing go?"

"Like it always goes," he tugged at his hair. His fingers moved to the cigarette tucked behind an ear.

"Like I would know," Sasori scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You took a while," he picked a thread off his faded jean jacket with disinterest. "Were you yapping away with the nephew?"

"He's out," Minato said with a sidelong glance, pausing momentarily. "Do we need to stop for food?"

"I'm fine," Sasori said without snapping because that would only prove what Minato alluded to being the truth. And he could not have that. He blotted at his forehead with his fingertips with no real hurry. "What did Boss Man say when you gave your future projections?"

Minato's silence was telling enough. Sasori's lips tugged into a smirk. He pulled a pointy instrument from his pocket. The tip had a purple gleam under certain midday light angles.

"You didn't tell him," Sasori stated with a smug curled lip what the truth was. "Is your plan to breadcrumb him until he dies? Or you do?"

The blond's teeth pressed up together hard enough to form a tick in his jaw. He forced himself to unclench it. He spoke with calm. "I have a plan. Everything has its time."

"Where have I heard that before?" The redhead asked with slightly more aggression than passiveness.

"Patience pays off. Trust the process," Minato reminded him with a tiredness born from the repetitive nature of these conversations that seemed to have more back than forth. The process was what got him here to where he was standing today, where Sasori ultimately wanted to be.

One day.

"Right," the man in question concluded with a lack of conviction. He brought the senbon to his mouth, sucking at the substance at the end. His boots crunched in the gravel. He pulled the passenger side door, impatiently - ignoring the look being directed at him by the man on the other side.

Minato sighed but ultimately pressed the button on the handle twice to unlock all the doors, Sasori slinked into his seat before he could even get the door open. When he did, his eyes landed on the center console. He frowned; brows furrowed and chin tight.

"Where's the cup?" He stooped down to look his partner in the eyes.

Sasori blew out, irately, disrupting the ambient air in the car cabin. He tucked the senbon back in his pocket with some modicum of care so it would not prick him. "I know how you are about keeping company property clean," he informed with an attitude - as if he was chewing rocks to cut each of the words from them. He jerked his head to the right.

Minato's heart sank.

Just what I needed.

The blond sighed, longer and with more frustration than the ones that escaped him earlier today. He straightened his spine before shrugging out of his coat. He placed the jacket across the back of the driver's leather seat. Sasori watched him with bored eyes, his head propped up against a curled fist that rested on an elbow on the car door. He had the perfect vantage to both brood and judge. The least self-destructive of his hobbies.

Minato undid his left cuff first, rolling the white silk up to reveal a sleeve married with ink. Black. He stopped just as the crook of his arm. The tattoos continued. He repeated the process for his right arm, it too had no sizable block of skin visible once the stark line of skin a centimeter under the ball bone of his wrist began. The barrier between what was visible and presented, and what was hidden away under layers of tailored art.

The ugly truth.

"Just leave it," Sasori grumbled, pressing his fingertips to his closed eyelids in an attempt to ease what was already building for it to even come to his notice. "We both know that you have the number memorized. We're wasting time," he scoffed in indignation at just how much he believed Minato to be doing: too much.

Minato closed the car door. He walked around the hood of the car and made his way to the green dumpster hidden behind a brick wall and some ivy.

So much for not getting my hands dirty.

That day was still in the distant future; it was not today. He lifted the black plastic cover - breathing through his mouth to keep from gagging - and began to search; expression grim.

---

Her phone was in her cubby. Safely tucked away two stories above the emergency room, where she currently was. Stitching skin back together. It was by design. If there was an emergency - a personal emergency - the main landline could be used to get a hold of her. And of course, there were her pagers. Usually, she did not go to such extremes to lock her phone away exactly thirty steps above her. Because usually, she was disciplined enough to not check her phone. Usually. Because usually, she did not give out her number to attractive strangers - she never had to, between her well-meaning mother and out-of-her-mind best friend. Thus, usually, she could be trusted to be an adult and do her job while one hundred percent focused.

Usually.

But today was far from usual. An hour into giving him her number and clocking in for the day, she had checked her phone no less than thirty-eight times. And she was not subtle about it either. It was so bad that the first-year residents - hell even the interns - asked if she was waiting for a package or something. Because what else could it be? The hospital was lousy with gossip. Everyone and their grandmother knew about her and her stance - that she was not even loud about voicing but after enough attractive paramedics or surgeons were turned down…people put two and two together because everyone was just so Goddamn nosey.

The rumors that she was hopelessly in love with Ino were amusing enough on a good day, which this was far from. Today Sakura was in no mood for any of it. Especially not hot-shot attendings and residents who approached her asking if she would put in a good word for them with Ino. Her usual approach of offering them a noncommittal "I'll see what I can do," was not within her realm of patience. Not today. Because today, she was too busy trying not to think about how she most definitely embarrassed herself in front of the prettiest blue eyes she had ever seen. And she was not even that into them! Or so she had thought - before her descent into madness. She could not be trusted.

So, it was during the second hour that she made the trek upstairs and locked away her phone - she even went as far as turning it off so that her fancy watch would not receive calls or messages. She learned today that even when that was the case, her damn watch still did because she was connected to the Wi-Fi. So she did the only reasonable thing, she disconnected from the internet.

Completely.

Because she could not be trusted not to jump or react to every notification even when it was simply an email from a meal prep or food delivery service, or a text from her wireless carrier encouraging her to upgrade her phone. She was a certifiable, embarrassing mess. Because it was officially six whole hours since she gave the man her number and there was not one text, or phone call thus zero signs of interest.

He was probably staring at Ino…this whole time.

Even her internal voice sounded bitter, there was no spinning this in a positive light.

Unless you count having definitive proof why never to try this again.

Because in all honesty, how long did it take to send one measly text? Honestly.

Sakura peeled off her gloves with more force than necessary on account of the tiny hole that was not there prior.

"You're all set. Come back in a few weeks to get them removed. Keep them dry and clean. And make sure to make an appointment," she rattled off in a detached and professional tone - clinical voice as she typed into the tablet in her now bare hands. Sakura nodded her head at the nurse who was assisting to take over to start the discharge process. She tucked the device into her arm to pin it against her ribcage, she relished in the heat it radiated. Keeping her forward motion, Sakura pulled the blue curtain away and stepped onto the ER floor. She moved to the circular counter. She set the tablet on the counter to reread the notes she had abbreviated and fixed the number of typos she had made.

"You're needed in room 1-B next, Doctor," a beautiful woman with curly black hair and bright red eyes said as she dropped some files from her computer to Sakura's screen.

"Thank you, Kurenai," Sakura smiled with a curt nod of confirmation of the instruction. "I'm going to miss you so much," she pouted at the charge nurse - her favorite by far.

"I'll be back before you know it," she rubbed the top of her swollen belly - the one that was stubbornly trying to not be contained in her purple scrubs.

She's glowing, she's so happy.

"Got to love our materiality policy," Sakura tutted and Kurenai made a sound of resigned agreement. She turned on her heel and moved to the room as per instructions. She pointedly ignored the woman who had appeared in the hall, not all that different from a troll lying in wait. Her heels clicked. Echoing. Resounding; nails being struck into a hollow coffin.

"Anything?" Ino asked her, a tablet of her own was held in her hands.

"I'm busy," Sakura breathed churlishly, she immediately slipped into a room - not 1-B because she needed to get away before she wrung Ino's perfect neck- thankfully it was empty. She cursed herself for having a loose mouth and immediately spilling her guts to Ino the second she handed over the coffee - because she had eaten both pastries before even making it halfway back to the hospital in her need for comfort only carbs could bring her. She waited out the blonde who from all accounts was down in the ER for legitimate purposes because she did not barge in after her demanding that Sakura explain herself.

She breathed.

"God, I'm such a loser," she covered her face with the back of the far from sanitary tablet and groaned. She counted to six before she squared her shoulders and stepped into the hall - pushing the thoughts of troublesome blonds from her mind.

Unsuccessfully.

---

He stared at the menu, reading it for the third time - after the initial time, standing off to the side so it could not be mistaken that he was standing in line. The very line that formed and cleared on two separate occasions, all the while he stood there frozen facing the daunting task he thought he had been prepared for.

Why are there so many choices?

When did tea become so popular? What happened to just the basics: black, gray, and green? What more was needed?

The answer seemed to be a lot more as he scanned the tea section of the three-paneled menu that hung from the ceiling on golden chains. The tea menu was right in the middle and it took up the entirety of the card. The gold letters popped against the dark green background. It seemed to fight their jungle theme. Everything was either a shade of green, gold, or vibrant.

I shouldn't even be here.

And yet here he was, steeped in indecision. Brewing in the prospects of all the options.

He scratched the back of his head. He had narrowed it down some. It was cold outside so the tea should be hot. It was late so it was best to go with decaffeinated. The size would be medium because it was between the two extremes - it seemed like the safe option. He narrowed his eyes. The loopy gold font was either getting hard to read or his eyes were starting to dry out.

Flower tea?

His frown grew more severe. It was pink. That was a definite plus, he thought. But then the thought that it was more hype than actual substance crossed his mind and that caused him to fall short of walking to the register and placing his order. He sighed, getting close to conceding to himself what had been the case from the moment he stepped into the shop: he was defeated.

He lowered his cobalt eyes from the menu to find a pair of yellow ones that were watching him with amusement. She was not even shy about it as she rested her cheek against her curled fist that was propped on the counter she was leaning over. Her short gray hair was tucked into the green berets that were part of the uniform - complete with a dark green apron with gold trim and a lighter green vertically striped shirt.

"Hi," he began lamely, returning her greeting that she had said over twenty minutes ago that he had politely asked for more time in return.

"Hi again," she answered, scrunching her nose. "Ready for help?"

If he had any leverage - or position of authority - he would have used it now but he did not so Minato stalked over to the counter, stopping a yard short from her smug face.

"Yes, please."

The barista smirked, making a show of straightening her posture to her full height. A whole five-foot something of it. "So what are we thinking?" She asked him, blinking slowly.

"Tea," Minato simply answered.

She raised a black brow. "You don't say," she brushed imaginary dust from the counter.

Minato, unbeknownst to him as to why, glanced over his shoulder - both of them. Perhaps to rely on anyone - someone - else reacting to what they just heard. But he was not sure himself that he had heard right. But there was no one. So he turned back with confusion on his face.

She waited with her hands folded on top of each other, boring her eyes into his.

"I," he refrained from tugging at his collar. It was hotter than he remembered it being. "Need something calming but not something that will induce sleep, but also not something that will push away sleep either. Something warm and with sugar. Something light?"

The girl listened intently which was more than he had come to expect from the younger generation. Her yellow eyes crinkled with knowing. "I have just the thing," she began to punch things into the register. "That will be seven fifty ryo."

Did the president hand-pick the leaves for the tea?

Minato cleared his throat. He held up two fingers on one hand. "Make that two."

The girl smiled. "That will be twenty-five ryo."

Now it was his turn to raise a brow. His hand halted on the way to his wallet inside of his back pocket.

"I added a tip. It's my gap year, I'm saving up for college," she explained shamelessly - without so much as a blink.

Minato sighed. He opened the black leather and went for the largest pocket. He pulled out the bills - three tens - and handed them to her.

The girl beamed. "Your order will be right out. Thank you and come again soon!" She sang with so much jovialness that he could not even front to be annoyed. "I work every night this week," she whispered before winking.

He closed his wallet but not before his hands smoothed down the carefully cut scrap of paper lined with plastic that had a string of numbers written across it in neat handwriting. He moved to wait under the green sign that said "Pick Up" in gold cursive letters to weigh what was more surprising that Tani had a place where people would spend so much on so little - maybe the Professor was onto something with a business with profit margins this high - or that he got played for the sucker he felt like.

This tea better be calming.

Because he needed a little bit of a top-off.

---

There was a prolonged screech as metal skidded on metal. The car lurched, jostling her fully awake. Sakura blinked, rubbing her eyes. She saw the stop being displayed over the screen right where the doors parted.

Two more stops to go.

She stretched her arms over her head as a small yawn slipped past her lips. She focused on listening.

She walked up the stairs. They creaked with each step she took. Her heart was stammering in her ears. Like thunder. She held the plastic weapon in her hand, clutching it to her chest. Everything trembled as she unlatched the safety. It was impossibly loud.

The female voice narrated the words of the book in her right ear through her headphone.

I need to rewind it. I missed the build-up.

She pinched the space between her brows; the bridge of her nose. Sakura pulled her phone from her pocket. She went back seven minutes - about the time she had dozed off. She peered over her shoulder at the window behind her. Just flashes of depressing yellow light as the car whizzed through the tunnel. It was so dark.

Julie poured over the police files. Her suspect had to be amongst the mugshots that were stern about the table. If there was one golden rule for serial killers it was this: once they got a taste of killing, they could not resist.

The audiobook resumed in the same even cadence of voice.

Maybe one of them could visit me next.

A wry smile pulled at her lips as she thought about it.

xXx

He stood on the platform, his right hand in his front pocket. His cobalt eyes kept referring to the ever-changing screen. The eleven forty-five train was still in Hayashi. There was still Mori before it reached Tani, the station he was currently at. He held a cupholder in his hands. Two disposable, single-use cups sat nestled into it. Tea bags hung from the side.

He brushed lint that was not there from his collared shirt. He adjusted the waistline of his pants just to give himself something to do other than stand around staring at a screen. Minato heard the vibration before he felt it. He reached across to his pocket to extract his phone. His blond brow furrowed together. He clicked the call button.

"Where are you?" Sasori's breathless question filled his ear.

"Out," he answered, confused. "What's wrong?"

"You need to get away. Go dark. Everything has gone to shit. You need to go!"

Minato stepped away from the platform, half-turning his back. The incoming train was too loud for Sasori's low voice to compete with. He moved his phone to his other ear, securing it in place with his shoulder. He used his free hand to plug his exposed ear.

"Slow down. One more time," Minato spoke calmly and clearly but not without urgency. "Hora."

"Get out! Now!" Sasori shouted. There was commotion in the background. He heard the man curse before the line went dead.

Minato pulled his phone from his ear. His eyes scanned. He counted at least ten people just on this side of the platform. He dropped his phone to the ground, crushing it with his heel before kicking it toward the tracks.

The doors pulled apart.

His head jerked up. He inhaled sharply. Cobalt eyes widened.

The tea fell from his hands, splattering on the floor just as a sharp pain had his hand moving to opposite his shoulder - more than enough to encompass the burns on his hand and side.

xXx

She opened the door. Everything was amplified. Every drop of sweat that left her brow and hit the floor sounded like a raging waterfall. If he - the suspect - was in the house, he could hear her. She knew it to be true. Even her breath howled like the wind in a blizzard. She moved with her training.

The car was slowing down. Sakura held onto the pole, it was keeping her more or less up. Each day seemed to be more tiring than the one before. She smiled automatically as an elderly woman made her way to the front. Sakura stepped backward to give her room. More and more bodies started to line up. A total of five. The doors parted.

Julie moved, her gun and flashlight crossed. She breathed shakily.

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed. She grabbed onto the grab bar and turned back to look at Sakura with surprise still on her features. "Careful dear, someone spilled something. What a mess," she shook her head and tutted, grumbling under her breath about what the world was coming to and why no one seemed to be raised right anymore.

Sakura thanked the woman for the heads-up as she waited for her to clear the path. It was not until both her feet were on the platform that she realized what that something was. Blood. The smell was unmistakable. She would never misidentify that smell.

It's fresh. There's a lot of it.

Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe as many as two.

Julie followed the trails of crimson.

Sakura stepped around it. The train had departed. Gone in a loud wizz and aggressive tailwind.

Someone could be hurt.

She ignored the faces that either stopped to stare at the blood or the blank ones that walked past completely oblivious to everything. She followed after the blood, holding her purse closer to her. The pepper spray in her right hand gave her some illusion of control.

Julie's breath caught when she arrived at the ensuite bathroom. The floor was wet. The tap was running over the edge of the claw-foot bathtub.

Sakura ran up the stairs that connected the platform to the hall before the tunnel where the light of day would shine through in a number of hours. The drops of blood were getting smaller and smaller. Just trickles for her to follow. She had to work harder to not disrupt the canvas they saturated. There was a large bloody handprint on the concrete wall inches from her head.

A man. The victim is a man.

The hand was much too big to belong to a woman or a child. She kept moving, pushing her shaky legs to remain rigid just long enough.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Sakura ducked, pressing herself against the wall. Flush. She closed her eyes. She shook slightly. The concrete was rough against her cheek. Her heartbeat vibrated off her ears so loudly that it nearly displaced the lone headphone she had forgotten was still in her ear. She peeled an eye open. She glanced around still from the safety of the wall. The narrow hallway was empty. Dirty but empty. She placed a hand over her thundering heart.

Get a grip, Haruno.

She admonished herself, disappointed. She breathed, controlled, and measured. In. Out. In. Out. In-

Julie let out a cry of pain as a bullet grazed her leg. Blood gushed forth-

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Sakura froze. The sound was too loud. Her whole body vibrated; from her teeth to her toes. She covered her head without the thought crossing her mind. Instinct. Pure instinct. It was bonafide.

Bang. Bang.

It was echoing. It had to be echoing. It was so loud like she was at an indoor shooting range and the stall next to her was unloading a shotgun. It was impossible for her to tell where it was coming from. It was all around her but she knew that was not the case.

Julie-

She pulled a headphone from her ear, tearing it away. Her hands shook - trembled - as she tried to pause the audio. She fumbled with the passcode. She nearly locked herself out for minutes. She punched the numbers with desperation. The line trilled. She held her shaky breath.

"Emergency services. What's your emergency?"

"I'm at the Tani subway station and I heard gunshots. Five of them," her voice fluctuated, held together by a thread - her stubbornness. "There's blood. I think someone's hurt."

"Ma'am, what station did you say you were at? And you heard gunshots? Do you see a gun?"

Sakura licked her lips, she was moving slowly in her crouch, clearing an inch of ground at a time. Her boots sounded. The strike of her heel was like a hammer.

"I heard it go off," she whispered, compensating for everything else about her that was too loud. Her eyes darted up to the camera. Her heart sank. The screen was broken. Shattered.

If I die, it won't be recorded. They could get away with it.

"Ma'am, ma'am, I need you to stay with me."

"Oh my God!" A shrill shriek had Sakura jumping out of her skin. She pressed up against the wall. Flat. Her breath hitched. She saw a woman running with her hands on her head. Tears streamed down her face. "They're shooting!" She cried out in terror, grabbing onto the metal railings with peeling yellow paint drilled into the concrete wall as she zigzagged. "Ah!" She cried out in surprise. She lurched forward, falling on her face - catching herself at the last moment.

"Ma'am!" Sakura fell onto her hands and knees. She crawled. She was at the woman's side instantly. Her eyes found blood on the woman's heel. Glass stuck out from her backless sandals. "From the cameras!" Her brain was working much too slowly. "You're okay," Sakura said over and over, not sure to whom. It did not matter. It was not like she could stop it anyway. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her brown and black plaid coat.

"Ma'am?" The operator asked her loudly, audio muffled by the layers of fabric and the chaos all around her. "Are you still there?"

"I'm going to die," the woman wailed.

"You're going to be fine," Sakura said with more calm than she felt. She pulled open her black bag. She pushed things around until she found bandages and hand sanitizer. She squirted some onto her palms and rubbed quickly. "I'm going to pull the glass out, okay?" She did not go back looking for gloves that she knew were in there. With her blunt nails, she pulled out the jagged pieces of glass.

Bang. Bang.

Sakura's shoulders jumped but she worked to keep her hands as steady as possible.

"God!" The woman covered her face with her arms, her eyes were wide as she trembled uncontrollably. "I have kids!"

"And you'll see them," Sakura said through clenched teeth. "I need you to stay calm. Please," she begged. Her hands shook as she pulled the last of the glass. She ran her fingers along the broken skin relying on going by feel. "I think that's the last of it. Now this will sting," she let out a warning.

"W-what?" The woman let out a pained yelp as the alcohol hit her wound.

"Shh," Sakura shushed her as she quickly bandaged the injury. There was frantic running of feet. Heavy. Sakura raised her eyes to find a middle-aged man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair. "Sir!" She moved to grab him, lurching forward as if she was inebriated - tweaking out of her mind. "I need you to help," she glanced back at the sobbing mess on the floor. "I need you to help get her out," her eyes darted over his shoulder. "You too!" She pointed to a high schooler in a skull cap. "Now!" She shouted.

The man and teen jumped, they each grabbed an arm and hauled the woman up, half dragging her uncooperating frame. Sakura wiped her hands on her brown pants. Smearing them with red. Clammy and covered in sticky, warm blood.

"Remain calm," she waved in more people past her. Her lips trembled. She reached inside her pockets, her fingers found the dog tags. She traced the engraving over and over with her shaking fingertip.

Give me strength, Sakuto. Give me strength to be brave like you.

Sakura grabbed her bag and ran in the direction she had last heard the gunshots. She clutched the railing to keep her from flinging herself down the flight of stairs. She did not even notice that the call had disconnected somewhere along the way.

xXx

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was not helpful - his internal monologue - but the pain was starting to become too much. It was impacting his ability to think clearly. Minato panted; his head was tilted back. The unforgiving galvanized steel provided no comfort in what could very well be his last moments. He was pinned in place. If anyone came over the stairwell, the stairs he could see, it would be over for him.

"Shit," he muttered in defeat, his hand continuing to apply pressure to his left shoulder. He flinched as yet another bullet sailed through the plastic and steel. He watched it wizz by and lodge itself into a pillar. It was the world's most morbid version of a round of Battleship. And he was running out of decoys.

He let out a grunt of frustration, his eyes on his fingers trying to get them to respond. The pain had him clamping his teeth down on his tongue until he tasted blood in his mouth. He hissed. His eyes continued to move, scanning to find any way out. It was a clear path to the stairs. Assuming the man did not have backup that was en route, if he made it to the stairs he was home free. But there was very little coverage between where he was and the promised land. One more hole through him and he would bleed out - assuming the bullet did not kill him instantly.

Think. What did you miss?

Nothing. No. That was not true. The only thing he had missed was his target, as in the man shooting at him. But that was intentional. However, the man was not getting the hint and Minato was running out of time because it was leaving his body in scarlet rivulets.

He closed his eyes, turning his head away. A bullet speared through the flimsy resistance. Small shards of plastic shot out - shrapnel. His left ear rang. It was disorienting.

This might be it for me.

He felt more peace than conflict. His hand twitched, fingers unable to curl all the way. He was not without regret. He pushed all the air from his lungs. He blinked his eyes open, slowly. The sweat that had dripped down his brow stung in his eyes. Irritating them red. He stared at the gun at his side. He had bullets but no way to fire them. A sound had him raising his head. His ears perked. It echoed. Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack. Almost familiar somehow. His heart sank at an all too familiar flash of pink that could not be easily dismissed.

What is she doing?!

His eyes widened. He picked up the gun with his right hand, swollen and raw. A wounded cry of pain ripped through his throat, he unloaded the clip with numb fingers praying that she would not be stupid enough to continue her path.

xXx

Her body froze for a second before instincts took over. Instincts of the wrong kind because Sakura lowered onto her stomach. She began to crawl on her elbows like she was back in her childhood home's small backyard with lush green grass - her father's pride and joy - trying to keep up with a much longer frame who was army-crawling away from her, throwing playful taunts over his shoulder - smiling wide and carefree.

But she was not seven years old and this was most certainly not her backyard. Sakura crouched behind a trash can waiting out the gunfire. She covered her ears. The air smelled of gunpowder and blood. She nearly gagged. Her ears rang. Her heart was beating in a painful rhythm.

One. Two. Three. Four.

She counted off the shots, her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth clenched with each and every round fired. Her breath was up and down, completely thrown off. The silence was somehow louder than even the barrage of fire.

Keep moving. Keep moving, Haruno.

Left. Right. Left.

She dragged herself forward, pulling her bag against the ground, squinting trying to see through the smoke. A vending machine was thrown on its side. Riddled with holes - bullet holes. Bullets lodged into the concrete pillars behind her.

That will make ballistics's job really easy.

Her head raced. She crawled around the blood, her leather bag dragging against the grimy tile. Hunched over, she sat back on her heels, opening her bag. She found the roll of bandages, open from when she used it last and had hastily shoved it back into the bag. She tried to find the end of it. She could barely see past her hand but that did not stop her from shakily feeling around the silk. Her fingers landed in something wet and warm.

Her heart all but stopped when she felt something curl around her wrist - encircling it.

xXx

His eyes were as cold as ice as he gazed upon her with pure, unadulterated fury. "What are you doing?" He hissed out the question in a voice he did not recognize. "Answer me!" He snapped, agitated by her silence.

"C-coffee man?" She blinked at him, mouth open as she stuttered. She was suspended in her disbelief.

She's an idiot.

Minato groaned as he tried to sit up. He chanced a glance to look over his shoulder in the direction where the bullets had come from.

Did I hit him?

Hands pulling at his frayed shirt did the same to his attention. She was prodding the injury.

"Sakura," he called out her name but her movements did not halt. "What are you doing?" He repeated just as tersely as the first time he asked the question.

"You're hurt," she did not look him in the eye. Perhaps she was not as foolish as he believed her to be. His gaze would have eviscerated her. "I can help," she claimed in a voice that remained together and if he had the capacity for anything else, he would have been impressed by that fact.

Not that he would want to encourage her stupidity.

I need to give her cover.

Adrenaline coursed through him. His fight and flight was retriggered. Freeze and fawn were never an option before much less now. He narrowed his eyes, thinking. His priority had shifted but it was clear. Painfully clear.

"You need to leave," he said through clenched teeth, he swiped at the sweat from his brow with his forearm.

"You'll die if I leave," she threw back in his face. Her emerald eyes were hard. Stubborn and promising to be unmoving. "I need to call an ambulance." Her hands were going toward her pockets presumably to reach for her phone.

He grabbed her wrist with his battered hand, the pain was not registered, stamping her creamy skin with red. "Stop," he commanded.

She opened her mouth. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Minato did not think. He pushed her to the ground - hard - and covered her entirely with his person.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

She shook like a leaf under him. Small. Frail. Terrified.

The smoke made it hard to breathe. "Are you okay?" He asked her, only able to spare her a quick glance.

"Fine," she said with a shaky voice. Her eyes were wide. "You're a criminal," she announced.

He pushed air out of his nose audibly. A smirk tugged at his lips in added absurdity to it all. A part of him did not believe this was actually happening - that she was really here.

Did I die and go to purgatory?

He did not dwell on the prospect for too long.

"Surprise," he said distractedly. Only people with affiliations to two things had guns in Konoha: law enforcement or criminals. It was nearly impossible for citizens to get weapons like this. The fact that he did not have a badge or backup and an aversion to calling an ambulance only pushed the needle further in that direction.

"Shit," his hand shook. Uncooperative.

"Your hand," she frowned at the swollen mangled mess. "You can't shoot."

"I know," Minato loaded the magazine with difficulty - biting back dark curses.

I'm sorry.

"You need to." He held the gun with the handle angled toward her, flat on his palm. His eyes were hard. They left no room for argument. "The safety is off," he said in an almost gentle voice. "That means-"

"I've fired a gun before," she snapped at him, interrupting. "And I'm not doing it again." She shook her head firmly. "No. No way," she convinced herself - solidifying her convictions.

He did not let his surprise bleed into his expression. "Sakura," an unsavory taste filled his mouth when saying her name out loud in front of her for the first few times was in a situation such as this. "We don't have time. He will kill us. And he won't lose sleep over it."

He will kill you!

How was she failing to gauge the seriousness of the matter?

He pulled her wrist with a rough tug. "Get down!" He shouted.

Sakura yelped as two more rounds sliced through the vending machine. More liquid gushed on the floor wetting their clothes. "Fine! Fine!" She screamed. She took the gun, peeling herself off his chest. Her hair and forehead were covered in blood - painted over her sweat.

Sakura whimpered as her hands curled around the plastic gun. Hand over hand. Her wrists were stiff. Her grip was firm.

"Good," Minato pressed his uninjured shoulder against her back. "Keep your head low. Do you see him?"

She nodded. "Yes," her gaze was locked on the raven-haired man hiding behind a pillar. "Oh my God."

"You're doing great. Don't overthink," he encouraged every bit as much as he coached. "He's reloading," Minato spoke with calm and control. "We have time before he comes out from behind there and that's when you shoot. Remember to breathe."

Keep your eyes open, Rara!

A voice she had forgotten the pitch and tone of rang in her ears. He was chuckling. Like he always did. Like she still remembered from the first and only time she held a gun. She had been twelve. She thought she was so grown up. She had wanted him to be proud of her. Would he be proud of her now, she wondered.

"Good." Minato was right there to guide her. "Just like that." His voice was soft behind her ears. Breath hot.

Sakura held hers. She saw black peeking out from the pillar. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. Teeth pressed tight.

Bang.

Minato was pulling her down again so fast that all she could do was accept it. "You need to keep your eyes open!" He corrected, with faltering confidence in her claims and abilities.

"I can't," Sakura started to shake. "I can't."

You have no choice.

Minato pressed his hand to his shoulder. More blood gushed out. "You can, Sakura. You have to. He's seen your face."

"What?" She stared at him utterly lost.

"He's seen your face, Sakura," Minato said solemnly, his restless eyes - they never stopped scanning for more than a couple of seconds at a time - urged her to connect the dots that his voice had been unable to.

"Oh my God," her face - the one in question - lost color. She gulped.

"You can do it. I believe in you." Minato turned her around by the shoulders, wincing in pain, giving her next to no time to dwell on anything. "You have to."

It would go a long way if you remembered to keep your eyes open.

She pointed the barrel of the gun at the man. The man who had seen her. She lined it up. She blinked, exhaling. She pulled the trigger. Once. Then again.

Bang. Bang.

A cry joined the sound of bullets leaving the chamber.

"You got his hand!" Minato exclaimed in surprise, eyes wide from watching the spark on the side of the gun when the bullet shot out of the chamber. "Nice shot," he could not help but add.

Sakura dropped the gun unceremoniously, with her hands held up by her ears. Minato caught it before it could clatter to the ground and go off again. Friendly fire was going to be nothing but a concept tonight. He shoved it into his jacket pocket. "Come on," he got up partially to his feet, pulling her with him.

Backs arched and moving in zig-zags, they ran. Sakura followed after him, too overwhelmed to think about anything; just having enough wits about her to bring her bag with her. She held on for dear life. The leather handles were the only thing to complain verbally about her grip strength.

xXx

She dug in her heels just as he had ducked into an alleyway, sirens screamed in an angry blur of red and white. An ambulance. But her heart picked up all the same as if she were the one chasing behind the vehicle. Usually, she was running toward the ambulance - to greet it with determination. Usually, police sirens and squad cars only induced curiosity and not panic. Usually, she had no reason for it. Sakura threw her weight back, stretching the arms that connected them - held in place by her hand in his grip. Managed but still strong. He looked back at her confused. Broad shoulders rose and fell with each heavy pant. His forehead glistened with sweat - the parts of it visible through the set of plastered hair. She shook her head. Decisively. The restraint slackened. Their arms fell almost in synchrony. His warmth lingered in a sticky coating around her hand.

"You're bleeding," she stated flatly without emotion, matter-of-fact, and straight to the point.

"That's not exactly a new development," he smiled lopsidedly at her, breathless.

Humor to deflect. To de-escalate. To keep me engaged.

Or to cope. She had seen it. The fear that flashed across his eyes was not all that removed from a caged wild animal. It was primal. Feral. No matter how good he was at hiding it behind easy smiles perfected from years of repetition. He could not mask the truth any more than he could change it.

"You're going to pass out," she pulled out her phone from her pocket before he could stop her. Sakura turned on the flashlight, holding the opposite end under her chin. She shoved him against the brick not caring if she was being gentle. That was not her priority.

He can only complain if he's alive.

"We can't be in the open for too long," he protested in words only. He slumped against the wall until he was seated with his knees bent. He was in no position to fight back in earnest. He was losing color. Fast. it would be alarming if she had the capacity left over for that.

We left a trail for him…or anyone to follow.

She knew that even if he was much too considerate to say as much. If they wanted to avoid being caught - tracked down - this was necessary and long overdue. She moved with sureness as if the dingy, dirty alley that smelled a little like wet carpet was the pristine, sterile environment of the inside of her ER. She breathed through her nose, pushing duality from her mind.

He's a patient, just like any other. You took an oath. So help him.

And she would. And that too with a singular focus.

He watched her lower the phone. His brain muddled as she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing the balled-up fabric almost carelessly at her feet and over her boots. It was not until her blouse - sheer black and tied with a bow around her neck- was halfway over her head that he registered what was happening. He blinked when she pressed it against his shoulder, displacing his hand for just a little while with a grip that was far stronger than what her deceptively small frame alluded to.

"Hold," she commanded. Her black camisole was tucked into her brown dress pants. The chill of the air caused her skin to erupt in bumps. He could see her breath in front of her. Her teeth nearly clattered.

He obeyed without a word. The flashlight almost blinded him to the point that he was forced to close his eyes. He could feel something being wrapped around his arm tightly. He followed the nonverbal cues she gave him - a tug on the arm meant to lean forward, and a hand pushing back meant he needed to lean back. He liked to believe he did not impede her progress all that much. When the red light was no longer dancing behind his eyelids he blinked his eyes open. It took time to adjust back to the lack of light that was barely discernible from the darkness of closed lids.

She was rummaging through her bag again, crouched close to the ground - seemingly indifferent to the cold that her body endured. Before he knew what was happening, something was being shoved over his head. Instinctively he lowered his neck. She was standing on her toes, breathing altered by the effort of reaching to the edge of her range, tucking his blond hair under a black beanie with a hurried hand. It was when she pulled out a maroon scarf from her bag like a magician that he started to chuckle - on the verge of deliriousness.

"Got any alcohol in there?" He asked with a smile. "It would help with the pain."

She shot him a less-than-impressed look. "Lean forward," she commanded yet again. He did as asked without thought. She draped the scarf around his shoulders, hiding the bandages. He noticed that her coat was around her again. She pulled up the hood. His blood on her forehead and hair - or what was left of it that had not dripped off with her sweat - was harder to see. "Let's go." She helped him to stabilize mostly on his own two feet again without the support of the wall. His legs shook. She was there. Minato walked in step with her, her arm around his torso propped him up.

The adrenaline was starting to wane fast. Each step hurt more than the previous. He closed his eyes and focused on his breath.

xXx

It took her two tries to get the key into the lock in her flustered haste. The number of cars had progressively slowed down until they stopped coming all within three blocks of the alleyway. Each time she had simply held him closer and kept moving. She had tried not to think how each sound - a cat, garbage being dragged through the streets by the wind, the cries of an oversensitive, cheap third-party car alarm - meant their demise. She had never been more grateful for both the lack of street lamps and the blatant lack of upkeep for the spare ones they had. The darkness shrouded them, preserving their lives. Sakura pushed through the door, breathing for what felt like the very first time after a long abstinence. Minato's head lolled limply against her shoulder. Neck boneless. They backed against the doorframe, closing the heavy door. She groped around behind her blindly to engage the lock. It clicked. She exhaled. More and more of her control she regained. Next, her hand reached out to find the light switch.

It flooded the room. She closed her eyes, hissing at the light like a cat. She blinked them open. She crankled the dial on the thermostat that was right next to the light switch. It was almost as cold as outside in the stagnant basement air. She moved as quickly as she could as her body adjusted. Her arms and back would hurt tomorrow.

Worse than when Ino convinced me to give CrossFit a chance.

She had not moved from her couch for three days after that workout which nearly worked out all of her life force from her bones. She did not believe herself to be a quitter but after one forty-five-minute class, she was more than happy to accept the new label and everything it brought her. Thigh gap and toned stomach be damned.

Should have stuck to it.

It would have made this easier. Surely. It was like she was dragging a tire attached to a rope over her shoulder. So maybe she was beginning to see the point of all of it. Not that she ever imagined she would be here and in this situation. Even hypothetical scenarios had their limits.

"You're heavy," she complained to no one in particular as she staggered, struggling to carry them both to the center of the room. He grunted in pain when she lowered him - as gently as she could (she did not throw him like a sack of potatoes, it was the best she could do) - into the leather chair. "Sorry," she said out of habit. Her messy bun was more of a mess than a construct. She did not bother to correct it now. It was out of the way and that was all that mattered now. She peeled off her jacket - drenched in blood - onto the floor, stepping over it to gather all the supplies. It took longer because of Hiro's reorganization. She had been too tired to fix it last night.

"Shit," Sakura muttered under her breath. She gathered the tools and placed them on the end table next to the chair, clearing everything else off of it hastily. Not caring what broke or got displaced on its way to the dark gray vinyl floors. The crashing sound caused him to stir. His unfocused eyes blinked in alarm. "You're safe," she said in a soothing voice while she held him in place with a firm hand pressed to his uninjured shoulder in stark juxtaposition. Any sudden movements could cause him to bleed out even faster. "You're okay," she bit the inside of her cheek.

I still don't know your name.

"I'll take care of you," she promised him with a confidence that one would be foolish to challenge. "Just rest." The blond must have been somewhat lucid because he nodded his head before closing his eyes to promptly pass out again. "You picked a good day to wear black," she commented as she cut open his shirt that had been white just this morning when she handed him his cup. She was too preoccupied to remember that particular fact. She lifted his head and shoulders from the chair as much as she could to peel back his suit jacket. The insides were a dark blue with white origami roses - Konan's signature - and dark green leaves.

Sakura never understood why the inside of men's clothing - specifically suits - was more interesting than the boring outsides that looked like they were all wearing the same thing. She scrunched her nose in a feeble attempt to hold in a sneeze. She inhaled backward sharply, feeling the snot down her throat. It was disgusting but he was passed out so it was as if it never happened.

She scrubbed her hands furiously - skin turning pink. She wiped them half dry on a sterile towel she ripped from a pack. She donned gloves in record time somehow managing to avoid ripping them. Sakura pulled the operating light closer to him, her shadow cast on his face. His body - his torso - was covered with tattoos. Both his pectoral muscles and his arms from what she could see. Only his abdomen and everything above his collarbones were free of ink.

Akatsuki.

"Shit," she cursed herself, questioning everything. "The bullet," she forced herself to focus on the task at hand and not obsess over the fact that she was helping a criminal. A criminal with a gun. A criminal that shot that gun. A gun that had her fingerprints all over it. A gun that was still in his jacket pocket, she realized with a start. Sakura moved to grab it with gloved hands. She put it in a drawer without thinking about it further. He was still bleeding.

"The bullet's still lodged in him." She needed to get it out. Sakura reached for the tweezers. She breathed through her nose, slowly.

xXx

Minato awoke to pain. He opened his eyes only to snap them closed. It was too bright. He tried to raise his hand to cover his face but everything hurt.

"Drink this," a voice - feminine and vaguely familiar - said. He felt his head being propped up and something pressed against his lips. He drank. The liquid burned. He coughed.

"Easy!" She said chastising.

He sipped instead of trying to gulp.

Vodka.

He remembered the taste. He felt warm. Or was it cold? Alcohol did not work that fast on him before. Minato fell back out of consciousness.

xXx

The lights were dimmer. She was hovering around his shoulder. He could see her eyes. They were focused. She was pulling and tugging on a thread. Thin. Black. It did not hurt as bad. Or maybe he had just gone numb. He felt warm. He felt sticky. Something cool was gliding over his skin. He closed his eyes. The darkness's call was too tempting to ignore.

xXx

His forehead was against something hard. Boney. But also soft. It smelled nice. Even if it was a little sticky. His thick, long blond lashes fluttered. He could only see creamy skin and thin black straps. He was warm. Something smelled good. Something other than the blood and the antiseptic. His chest felt restricted. Not in a bad way. Contained. Like a hug. He smiled. His eyes felt heavy. He closed them again.

xXx

His skin smelled faintly of alcohol from the wipes - she lost count after the fifth one - she had used to clean his torso, arm, and hands - not from the alcohol he had spilled down his chin. It left it clammy so she had gone back to run a warm towel over the area. His upper body was no longer sticky from the artificial sweetness but it did not take long for his body to displace enough sweat to form a sheen over him. She blotted at his brow with a damp cool towel.

His pants clung to him in what had to be discomfort but there was little she could do about that. There were no indications that he was injured beyond his hand and shoulder. The garment was not in the way of her triage and subsequent treatment. It was not justifiable medically. And then there was a completely different aspect - one she did not want to get into. She had no desire to find out what his reaction or first thought would be once he realized his pants were gone. So she left them covering his legs like loose skin.

Sakura adjusted the dark gray felt blanket around those very legs, draping it over some of his abdomen - as far as the fabric would go. He was shivering. He was breathing. She did not need to attach the heart rate reader to his finger to see that. The beeping would only drive what was left of her sanity over the edge. She stepped backward. One step. Two steps. Then three. Slowly.

Sakura yanked off her gloves. First the left and then the right. She moved until there was no space. The back of her shins hit something thin and hard. Cold. She sank into the chair, letting it catch her as she fell. Her body was suddenly uncooperative and untrustworthy. She watched his chest rise with intent focus. The bloodied gloves rested across her thighs. She did not even spare them a second thought - her motions were automatic. Sakura reached backward, pulling her hair out of the ponytail so that when she leaned her head back against the wall, the tie did not pose complications.

Complications.

They could not afford them now. She had been thorough. The bullet that was lodged in him now sat in a small plastic container with a screw-on lid. See-through as it was only slightly opaque. Her eyes darted for just a second from his rising chest to the cup at his bedside. He breathed. She listened. She returned her eyes to him and began to count his breaths. The very ones they had snatched back from the cold grip of death.

Too close for comfort.

xXx

His throat was dry. It was as if he had swallowed fistfuls of sand. Raw and agitated. There was light pooling on his face. Unnatural and bright. Heating it. It was adding to his discomfort. It felt like he had been kicked by a horse. He did not know why that came to mind as he had never been near enough to a horse to know what that felt like, but it did. And it felt accurate. His upper body was on fire. Everything throbbed. No. His shoulder did. His left shoulder specifically. All pain and heat were centralized there. Until it was too much to contain in the small area so it spread to everywhere else. He turned his head to the side, moaning. A vein danced in his neck. Visible and pulsing. He could feel it humming. Everything hurt. His dry, dry eyelids - there was crust developing in the corners - pulled apart. His vision swam. He kept blinking to reset the picture - to see more of it.

His still-hazy eyes wandered from where they had landed on a neat row of jars all with varying contents. Contents he forced himself to place. Tongue dispensers, cotton balls, cotton swabs, disinfectant wipes, and various other things that escaped his throbbing brain. Pressure built at his temples in a tell-tale sign of a migraine. He did not get them often but when he did, they could be debilitating.

I should sleep it off.

That was the only thing that worked but despite being exhausted, the pain all but guaranteed sleep would not come to rest on his pillow. So why bother? It would only add exhaustion to everything else. Everything that he was still in the process of determining as he became more and more reacquainted with the land of the consciousness.

Eyes swept from left to right before trailing up and up when nothing of interest was found at that level. First, he found the clock, it was twenty-seven minutes past three in the morning - he deduced both from the lack of natural light and because it was hard to believe that he would have slept fifteen hours straight. No, he felt too close to death - like a train ran through him - for that. A sickly sweet smell cut through the clinical-perfumed air. It was nauseating. Cobalt irises landed on a simple, brown wooden picture frame. Blond brows furrowed. Eyes narrowed slightly to bring the blurs to focus.

It was a picture of a man anywhere from mid-twenties to early-thirties. He had red hair. Straight and cut close to his head. With eyes that could be called teal as they were neither green nor blue, somewhere in between the two maybe. He was smiling with his whole face. He was happy. Proud even. He was wearing a uniform. Tan and green camouflage. Military. Minato blinked and squinted but he could not make out the stitched name across his left chest pocket. He did not know the man but something about the picture - the unmoving, still picture - made his stomach churn with unease.

Where am I?

His left ear - the one not pressed up against too warm leather - picked up on sound. He was in no condition to turn his head much less defend himself. He continued to lie mostly still, vision still blurry around the edges. Each breath was a challenge. He felt his orientation change. He went from being horizontal to mostly vertical with next to no warning. His head spun so it took him longer to place the green eyes staring at him. So long that his face did not change whatsoever.

"You're awake," she said neither pleased nor disappointed. Completely neutral in her statement of fact in response to his befuddled blinking.

She filled his line of sight. She was different from what his racing memories last recalled seeing her. She had a long cardigan on - beige and chunky - over her black camisole. Her hair had less blood in it and her forehead and face looked like they had been washed recently. Her hands were clean. There was no blood under her fingernails.

"How are you feeling?" She asked him. Her clean hands moved to inspect the bandages on his shoulder and chest. They were white and clean. He was without his shirt and his jacket. "Do you feel drunk?"

"N-no," he rasped. He licked his lips, they were capped. He tried to move his hand to his throat but nothing was cooperating. Everything felt heavy. Like he was suspended in water. Or maybe even something denser like corn syrup. It would certainly explain the unpleasant stickiness.

She was gone but before he could think too long about it, she was back. She held a water bottle in her hands. She twisted the cap. He heard the seal break. "Here," she said almost gently. He felt his head being lifted - cradled by the back of her hand - so she could help him drink. He gulped the first sip.

"Slowly," she admonished his fit of coughing brought on by nearly choking. A sense of deja vu filled him but everything was so fast that he could not linger in it. She had pulled the water bottle back. Water dripped down his chin landing on the bandages in tiny drops. "Can I trust you to not almost kill yourself?" She asked after his lungs had been cleared of water and all the pain receptors in his upper body had been reawaken to remind him just how not-numb he was.

Ow.

He had to settle for thinking it because that was all he could manage. Her green eyes narrowed slightly in what he chose to read as concern and not impatience. Minato smiled sheepishly. It was small but he saw the hard glint to her eyes soften. A margin. But softened all the same. He controlled himself when she brought the water bottle to his lips. She tilted it slowly. He drank even slower. Within two minutes he had taken a handful of sips. His throat was no longer parched and his mouth tasted less of cotton. He felt more alive. And not in a bad way.

"Where am I?" He asked her, his hand resting on his stomach. It too was bandaged. The compression of the binds was starting to eek through the dulling stabs of struggle.

"My clinic," she said with a sigh - not looking too happy to be sharing this information with him. "Do you remember how you got here?" She was reaching for something that was just out of sight. He did not move his head to follow the path. Instead, he took the time to study her. She had not slept. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"I do," he cleared his throat. Something went wrong. Horribly wrong. "You saved my life," he said with palpable remorse.

And I endangered yours.

Hers and all those innocent people's lives as well.

"That remains to be seen," she countered humorlessly. Her fingers were at his wrist. He felt slight pressure after the prick of her nails on his skin. Her hands were warm and somehow he could feel the difference between his burning flesh and her pleasant heat. "You have a fever. You need antibiotics. But you need to eat before you can take them. And you need to be sober."

"I'm sober." If he could, he would have sighed. But he could not. It would hurt too much. "I don't think I can stomach anything right now." Even being able to craft words was beyond what he thought was possible. His pants were sticky. He placed the sweet scent. Soda. From the vending machine. He was wearing just about every flavor.

The tea.

"Hm," she was rustling through a drawer. He wondered if it was all so she did not have to look at him. The thought bothered him more than it should have given the circumstances. He heard plastic being rustled. "Open," she did not give him a chance to resist. Something was being shoved into his mouth, clacking against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. His tongue wrapped around it in an investigation. Artificial sweetness. "Start licking," the corner of her lips twitched upwards for a second but he blinked and it was gone before he could confirm. "You need to get your blood sugar up." She slapped the bag of glucose that hung from a medical rack and hook with a blank expression. The one that was attached to the back of his hand. The one he was just now noticing. The bag settled. His stomach turned. Minato did not stand a chance. He followed her orders dutifully. His fever migrated to the tips of his ears, turning them bright red; thankfully hidden away by his yellow mess of hair.

xXx

"You sure you'll be okay out here?" She asked him for the third time, her bottom lip was tucked between her teeth. She kept eyeing him up and down. She could not help it. He was standing in her living room, barefoot on her green rug. In slightly too-short light gray sweatpants that were bunched around the bottom of his calves, exposing the golden skin of his ankles. He had chosen to forgo a shirt after his quick "hose-down" as he described it. "Just to get the sticky off," he had said in what had to be a convincing tone because she caved in and granted him the right and access. A hose-down she had stood on the other side of the door waiting for the sound of someone falling - after giving him what had to be the medical equivalent of a field sobriety test, which deemed him not to be a hazard to himself he supposed. The point was that she did her due diligence to avoid the risk of collapse. And thankfully, collapse he did not.

"I'll be fine," he assured her again just as he had prior. He did not feel it all that much. Rather he did not feel it anymore, against his tissue, embedded in him. She had extracted the entirety of the bullet in one go - it had been clean. The only thing that seemed to go right. It did not shard. It had not grazed bone. That made matters not as complicated for her.

"It's cold," she stated, with a voice that bordered meek. She did not know how they ended up here. Upstairs. Well, she knew as she was the one to help him up the stairs - his arm slung around her shoulders and hers wrapped around his torso while the other used the wall for support to displace some of the weight. His labored breathing. Her mutters of apologies. The multiple breaks they had to take up the sixteen steps to whose benefit she was not sure. Both of them were reduced to sweaty, panting messes. One with acute sharp pain and the other with dull strain. She knew all the specifics. In general. In general, she did not know how they ended up here.

"You should have the bed." She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door on the left. He had already seen the inside of it. He had to, in order to, use the only full bath in the one bedroom one and a half bath apartment.

"I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have," he gestured to the mint green couch. "It looks comfy." His eyes dipped on the blankets in her arms. The ones she was holding tightly without even realizing that to be the case. "And those will keep me warm." There was hesitation, enough for her to pick up on. He was unsure of something. "Are you alright?" He asked.

She frowned at the question. "I'm fine." She practically tossed the blankets to the couch. "I'll be just there," she pointed to the door on the left, the one he had walked through. "Knock if you need anything. The bathroom is across the hall. There are extra towels in the storage cabinet on the second and third shelves. New toiletries on the first. If you get hungry or thirsty, help yourself to the kitchen and the fridge. Um…," she scratched her head, glancing at the water bottles on the end tables - well within reach. "I think that's everything."

"Okay," he smiled. It came across as reassuring almost. "Goodnight."

She nearly scoffed at how utterly ridiculous it was for him to say that. Not to mention it was practically morning. Dawn had risen. She pulled her feet from the plush rug and turned away from him. She did not let her feet stagnate. They were after all the reason why she was in this mess. So why slow down now?

Sakura closed the door of her room behind her, leaning against it as she heard the breath she felt leaving her chest in her ears; her forehead flush against the painted white door. She pulled her eyes closed. It was not hard. Her lashes felt like curtains of lead. With a deep breath, she engaged the lock, knowing that he heard it. The building she was in was old. And the action was loud. She slowly walked to her side of the bed, dragging her feet. She pulled the cover and slipped inside. She reached for the pill container on the nightstand, finding it without seeing. Items were jostled from their place and they protested in vocal dissent. She did not bother to turn on the light. She filled her cupped hand with gummies. She counted five. Two point five times the recommended max dosage. She figured it would do the trick in keeping her asleep. Because she needed to sleep. Because if she slept, maybe she would wake up from this nightmare.

Or at the very least think straight.

She threw the gummies back, chewing for a lot longer than she had anticipated. Her mouth was left dry but she did nothing to alleviate the problem that she created. Instead, Sakura lowered her head back onto her pillow and stubbornly forced her eyes closed in pursuit of the improbable.

xXx

He blinked at the dark ceiling. He could make out the edges of the plastic blade of the white ceiling fan. It was stationary. The blankets smelled faintly of detergent and fabric softener. They were a little stale. Like they had been sealed shortly after being laundered. They were clean. Just as everything else about her apartment was. Her shower was without mold, discolored grout, or soap stains despite the no shortage of products lining the shampoo shelf. And the glass door was without hard water buildup. It spoke to the fact that she spent a considerable amount of time on upkeep. The water did not drain as well as it should have. She needed to unclog her pipes. He figured her long hair - which she had braided after her shower, still wet - was the culprit.

He never slept well in new surroundings despite having years of practice due to the nature of his job. Opportunity rarely came close to home, especially during the early stages where it had to be nurtured closely as it did not have historical data to fall back on. Something he was trying to spoon-feed Sasori into realizing. Time and work - a lot of it - went into making things operate smoothly. A lot of sleepless nights and trial and error where the margin for failure was razor-sharp. It was either excel at the fringes well enough to pull attention from the center or be thrown into the center - where all the dirty work lay. It was not easy to carve his path that benefited the hand that raised him while being able to look himself in the eye every time he came across a reflective surface. It was closer to impossible.

Kind of like right now in trying to sleep. Everything smelled faintly of her. He was exhausted. His body was tired. She was right, he needed rest. Minato tapped his index finger against his folded hands. His mind raced. He was thinking about everything. From the inside of her shower walls to what hell awaited him - them - in the full light of a new day where the consequences of yesterday would be harder to hide. Bigger. Their problems would seem bigger tomorrow. It was already problematic that they - as in him and her as one entity…together - had problems at all. He needed answers. But they would not come now. He had no means of communication. She did not have a landline and she had taken her cell phone with her.

Perhaps it was foolish but he did not believe she would turn him into the authorities. The facts seemed to substantiate this. The biggest fact was that he did not wake up cuffed to a hospital bed. He had been in and out of consciousness enough for her to find time to call them and absolve herself of this - of him.

You're a criminal.

She had said the words to him, to his face while they were under fire of all times. That was before she had seen his tattoos. They were distinctive. They branded him. They were his label. He did not know how well-versed she was in Konoha history - clan history - but the perfect circle on his left pectoral muscle, the one filled in with three wavy horizontal lines, connected by three smaller vertical ones denoted to whom he was loyal. To who owned him.

Nothing is without conditions.

Everything had a price. This was his - the price for his loyalty: she knew. She knew what he did. She knew what he was. She knew all that without knowing his name. He closed his eyes, wishing the fan was on because at least that way he had an excuse - a reason - to hold onto as to why he did not hear her whimpering and mumbling in the too-quiet house where a gurgle of his empty stomach was on par with a clap of thunder. She was talking in her sleep. She was having a nightmare.

She was crying.

That was her price for helping him. It was just a small subset of what she owed all because he was in the wrong place and at the wrong time. He ignored the recollection of intrusive thoughts. The ones that had filled his mind while he fought for his life.

Away. He had to lead them away from the platform. Away from people. Away from her. It was not logical. Her train did not arrive until much later but that was where his headspace was. Getting them away.

I should have stayed away.

But it was much too late.

He grabbed the back of the couch and pulled himself up with a grunt. Minato pressed his hand to where a hole had been carved out of him in the blink of an eye. One moment he had been standing on the platform and the next, he was on his ass. Bleeding. Only his reflexes and luck saved his life. Before she got to him and saved it for good. Both feet were on the soft rug. He waited - counted to ten - nothing changed. She was still groaning and crying. Pleading for it to stop; for what had already been set in motion.

Maybe if he had just been more decisive and less stubborn, the picture could have completely changed. Maybe he would have been either dead or back in his quarters and she…Sakura would be sound asleep, spared of having to experience this.

Spare of having to carry my burden.

Minato pushed up to his feet. He walked over the rug and onto the cold, wooden floorboards. They creaked. He waited outside her door. The sounds of her distress were even louder. He knocked. Softly. Once. Then once more. Nothing changed. Like a madman, he tried the handle. It did not budge. He did not know what he was thinking or expecting. He knew it was locked. He knocked again, louder this time.

"Sakura," he called out her name, waiting with his wrapped knuckles against her door.

I'm sorry.

"P-please," she wailed followed by the sounds of thrashing sheets.

He sighed, turning his back and slumping to the floor. He hung his head and she continued to be tormented by a dream of a memory.

I'm sorry.

---

She bit the side of her thumbnail. It was flexible and nearly transparent. Her knees were pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around her. Her face was tight from the tears she shed. She stared at the door. Gawing on her nail.

I have a criminal…a killer in my house!

Her life had turned into one of those true crime documentaries she loved so much, literally overnight.

I shot a gun. Three times. I shot someone.

Her lips trembled. She had hit someone. Her hands - the ones she used to uphold her oath of doing no harm - had harmed someone. She could have killed someone. Sure, coffee blondie had told her that she hit his hand so the chances of him dying from that were low. But Blondie could have been lying to her. Before yesterday - before even twelve hours ago - her worst offense as a citizen was jaywalking. But now, she had made the jump straight to potential murder.

It was for self-defense.

Sure. Even she could believe that. Maybe even convince a jury of that. Especially if she cried. No one liked seeing a grown person crying and it had been brought to her attention - by none other than Ino - that she was a very ugly crier. Maybe they would believe the self-defense line for the shooting. But everything that followed? That was inexcusable. She had performed surgery on a criminal. In her clinic. Her clinic was not sanctioned for that. She could lose her license on top of being thrown in jail for decades. If the syndicate did not kill her first. And he was still in her house.

He needs to go. He needs to leave.

Only then could she figure out what to do next. She could lie, she could tell the police that he forced her to treat him. That he held a gun to her head.

They won't believe he could fire a shot with the state of his hands.

With one being swollen nearly double its original size - his fingers would not fit around the trigger - and the other being unresponsive given the fact that he was shot in his shoulder. Her stomach churned violently.

I could just say I was too scared to think straight. But…then they'll ask how I was able to take the bullet out and stitch him up…I could say muscle memory! That I could do that in my sleep. That part is true at least.

She barely had to think about it. Sakura pulled at her still-damp hair without any conscious thought of doing so. Her teeth clicked against the nail. Guilt. She felt guilt. She felt guilty for her rapidly forming plan. It was ridiculous and absurd but it changed nothing.

Breakfast. I'll give him breakfast and a headstart before I call the police.

She nodded her head. It seemed like a reasonable enough compromise. It would give her time to iron out her story and fill the holes with something remotely related to believable. Sakura pulled her arms from around her legs, she swung them to the side of the bed. She shoved her feet into her pink slippers. Her legs were shaky as she made her way to the door. But she was gaining more and more stability the longer she stood on her own two feet. She slid the lock to the right, unlocking it.

She breathed - inhaling and exhaling three times slowly - and turned the doorknob pulling the door open. She did not see him on the couch. The thump, thump, thump, of her heartbeat was for naught. She could see the light on under the gap between the door and the floor across from her.

He's in the bathroom.

She moved quickly to the kitchen. So quickly that the hallway floor could have been replaced with burning coals in her sleep - the way she had scurried. She opened and closed her cabinets searching for reason to the madness.

She drummed her fingers against the cabinet door; finding a modicum of comfort in the act.

xXx

He found her in the kitchen. Her back was to him. She was swimming in her berry-colored long-sleeved nightshirt. It could fall off either one of her shoulders at any moment it seemed. The scooped hem touched her knees. The heat from the furnace was too high but that could have also been the lingering hold of his fever. He stood there, awkwardly feeling very much out of place. She knew he was there. He had not been quiet with his footfalls and her shoulders were stiff. But it seemed she was perfectly content not acknowledging his presence until he forced the issue. Which would have to be soon because he was starting to feel a little lightheaded now that he had stilled in for more than a minute.

Minato cleared his throat. "Good morning," he said to her wrought with tension back, finding the greeting inadequate. The proper greeting for apologizing for almost getting her killed and making her save him only to crash on her couch escaped his mind.

"Morning," she murmured without turning around. "Sit."

That he could do. He made his way to the small eat-in kitchen. There was a table with two counter-height chairs. He pulled one of the chairs upholstered with slate-gray cloth, and he sat down. He lowered his palms flat against the cool marble surface. The slab was thick - two inches wide and white with gray and brown veining. It was beautiful. A yellow ceramic bowl was placed in front of him. There was a spoon inside. Next, a box of cereal and a gallon of milk joined it on the table.

"Do you want toast? Fruit?" She asked from the counter. "I have bananas…I had a banana," she corrected with a scratch of her head. "I ate it yesterday at work," she mumbled, probably not for his ears to hear.

"This is fine," he shook his head, not sure for whose benefit. He reached for the box, trying not to strain himself which in and of itself seemed impossible. Frustration was starting to collect and it had only been hours of living with this. He poured the cereal first - clumsily. He made a small mess of the squares that fell out of the bowl. His aim was off and his grip was not tight enough. The box had just about slipped from his fingers. But he managed. The smell of cinnamon sugar filled his nose. He set the box back on the tabletop slowly. Before his fingers could curl around the handle of the milk gallon, she was sitting across from him. He did not even hear the chair squeak when she pulled it back.

"Let me," she opened the gallon, holding the red cap in her hand. She began to fill the bowl with milk. The cereal made crackling sounds as it damped. Like dry rice over a flame.

"Thank you," he held up his hand. The stream of milk stopped. He did not look up from his breakfast. Sounds of another bowl being prepped filled the silence between them. He began to eat, chewing slowly.

"How are you feeling?" She asked after some time. He was already halfway done. "Any nausea or lightheadedness?"

"No," he did not need to look up to know she was not looking anywhere remotely at him. "Just a little," he added unprompted, noting the way her lips pulled into a frown. "When I stand too long. Very mild."

"Define too long?" She asked, eyes narrowed.

"More than a couple of minutes?" He answered without much confidence.

"Do you feel either thing now?"

"No." He shook his head for good measure to show her that was not the case.

"Did you pass out at all? Hit your head?" She spoke quickly. "I did a test for a concussion but that's about all I can do without any scans."

"No," he said firmly to end that train of thought before she got really invested. "I didn't lose consciousness until I was in the chair and I didn't hit my head."

"Good," she said in that detached tone of hers. The one that pointed to neither good nor bad. "Coffee?"

"Later. And my treat," he said with a small smile, raising his eyes to her. His comment caught her off guard enough for her to break her own unsaid rule. She was staring at him. Blinking owlishly. "I'll order in."

Sakura cleared her throat, thinking better of voicing the question she contained on her face. "I'll pack some antibiotics for you. Be sure to take them. For ten days. No drinking during that time. Take them either with or followed by food. They might mess up your stomach a bit. Eating smaller, more frequent meals should help. Avoid overly processed foods. Avoid oil. Avoid dairy a few hours before and after taking the pills. You should have your next pill around four. Every twelve hours."

"Okay," he nodded his head to show he was listening because she had gone back to avoiding eye contact.

"And take over-the-counter pain medication as needed. They will not interfere with the antibiotics. Follow the instructions on the bottle." Her nails tapped against the table. He focused on a splatter of milk on the gray mat. "I think that's everything," she mused distractedly, drifting off to finish crossing out the list.

"Can I use your computer?" He asked her, pulling her back in.

"W-what?" She blinked before frowning.

"I lost my phone," he lied. His wallet sat on the end table closest to where his head had been for some of the night. "For the coffee."

"Oh," she was far from convinced. "Sure." She stood up. Her breakfast was untouched. "I'll leave it on the coffee table," her voice called out from somewhere behind him. "Don't worry about washing or cleaning anything."

"Thanks." He rose to put his dish in the sink. They traded places. He settled back onto the couch while she found her chair again. Minato pulled her laptop to his lap. There was no password screen when he clicked the first key he could find. He frowned at her factory default desktop screen. "No VPN?" He asked, eyes peering over the metal edge.

Sakura furrowed her brow. "I don't even know what that is."

Too open. Too trusting. Too naive.

Minato sighed. He opened a browser in incognito mode and set about installing a VPN client.

The coffee could wait.

xXx

He was watching the news with zero volume and closed captions when there was a knock on the door. Sakura froze from the sink. Her hands dropped the bowl to the bottom. But judging from the lack of shattering, it did not break. Minato glanced at her before slowly getting up to his feet, gingerly holding his side. He pulled the black zip-up hoodie on the back of the couch - it was one of the articles of clothing she had offered him last night - and slipped his good arm inside while draping the other end over his injured shoulder, hiding the bandages. He held it closed to block his tattoos from view. At the second and third knocks, he was pulling money from his wallet. He balled it into his fist before moving to the peephole. The bored face of a teenager greeted him.

He sent his nephew.

Minato blinked but the image before him did not change. Sakura was in the living room now, wearing an expression of fear. His hesitation was feeding into her intrusive thoughts. Minato pulled open the door, mindful not to reveal too much. He smiled at the delivery boy.

"Delivery," Nawaki said with a yawn, still in the process of waking up completely. "Two coffees. And pastries." He shoved the offerings in the space between their bodies. The white bag was sealed closed with the orange logo. A holdover from the pandemic years. "You must really like Naruto's," he said with judgment. He had to bike close to an hour out of his way for it after all because the subway station was closed in Tani for some reason. He had not been paying attention when his uncle ordered him to make the delivery. All Nawaki cared about was the added minutes - hours - to gaming console access he was promised. There was no way that the coffee was still warm.

"Thanks." Minato swapped the bills for the coffee and bag. It took some creative thinking but he was able to pin the bags between his torso and arm that held the cup holder tray all while appearing normal-adjacent. It helped that the boy was clearly uninterested in why the man was behaving the way he was. So mechanical and stiff.

"Anytime, Mister." Nawaki grinned as he pocketed the two twenties. He bounded down the stairs on his way to his red bike with baskets both in the front and back that waited down by the street lamp. Chained up.

Now it makes sense why it took him so long to get here.

Minato watched him pedal off before he closed the door - not before looking left and right to ensure no one had seen him. He closed the door. He set down the tray on a console table against the wall. The same one that had a bowl for keys. He latched the lock. Grabbing the tray, he turned around. His heart sank to his toes.

Sakura was staring wide-eyed at the TV. He deposited everything on the table and made his way to her.

"Hey," he said gently, touching her arm in a tentative gesture.

Sakura did not recoil away but that did not fill him with anything remotely positive. She stared at him despondent. Minato coaxed her into a seated position as he did not trust her legs to support her for much longer. She did not fight him. He found the remote on the coffee table. He turned the TV off.

"It's going to be okay," he said, not sure if she heard him. She was staring at him blankly, not all there and present. "Don't worry," he smiled. "Let's just drink coffee okay?"

It felt as if he was holding his breath for a lifetime. She nodded.

xXx

Zero reported injuries. That was what the news reported. But how could that be possible? She for a fact knew that three people were injured. The woman with the cut foot, - the one who had screamed that "they" were shooting - the man with a hole in his hand, and the man who had been shot in the shoulder - the same man who was currently in the bathroom. The water was running. The TV was off. The coffee which had been tepid was now cold. The pastries went untouched.

No bodies. That was what the news meant. They did not find any bodies.

Yet.

She blinked slowly, pressing her thumbnail into her wrist. She needed to keep it together long enough for him to leave. She glanced at the bathroom door. She let out a shaky breath. She jumped out of her skin when something vibrated loudly. She swiped her phone from the coffee table. She pressed the call button before bringing it to her ear.

"H-hello?" She spoke into the receiver.

"Sakura! Where are you? You didn't report for your shift."

Shit.

She closed her eyes, desperately thinking of an excuse. Her words abandoned her.

xXx

He paced in the small bathroom. There was not much room to work with. "You said you handled it," his voice was contained and collected - held together by the steel of his composure.

"I know," the voice sounded guilty. Barely. "I messed up."

No shit.

If he was even a modicum less charged he would have taken a moment to appreciate that he was not presented with a string of excuses. But he was not there. He was not in that headspace.

"Do you need the doctor to see you?" Sasori asked him after a prolonged silence. "I can get you."

"I'm fine," he breathed into the receiver of the burner phone.

"Good," there was a pregnant pause. "What do you need?"

"Clothes. Supplies." Amo. He needed ammunition. "Do not write down or repeat the address I'm about to give you to anyone. Make sure you don't have a tail."

"Right."

Minato spoke the address three buildings down. It would take a while for Sasori to earn back his trust enough to be given the exact location.

"I'll be there in thirty."

"I need an hour," he disconnected the call. Minato watched the water move down the drain, trying and failing to not see the foreshadowing. He twisted the knob to turn the tap off. He opened the door. He could hear her voice. She spoke quicker as he stepped into the hall. By the time he was in front of her, her phone was in her lap. Her legs were crossed on the couch cushion. "Who were you talking to?" His question came out harsher than he intended.

She flinched. "W-Work," Sakura tumbled over the word. "They called to ask why I wasn't in. I told them I wasn't feeling well."

He felt himself relax. "Good. Can I see your phone?" He held out his hand preemptively in a gesture that did not even pretend she had a choice in the matter. She just did not know it yet.

She hesitated but ultimately complied. "Are you calling someone to pick you up?" She asked with poorly concealed hope in her voice.

I'm sorry…again.

His exterior did not betray his intention. Minato bent down and slammed the phone into the sharp edge of her coffee table. The screen shattered. His teeth were gnashed together in a jolt that woke just about all the angry receptors in his body.

"What the hell?!" She asked in outrage, shooting up to her feet. She was much too slow to hang onto anything other than her indignation.

"I'm not going anywhere," he declared. His emotions were still not sorted. Too much was swimming inside of him. "If you need to talk to someone, tell me. You can use my burner."

Sakura sputtered, unintelligibly. "Your burner?" She shook her head. "When did you…? Where did you…?" She pulled at her hair, pushing her fingertips to her temples. "Slow down," she breathed deeply. "Go back." Her hands were pressed together and pointed at him. Out of context, it could have been mistaken for prayer.

"You shot someone," Minato reminded her crassly. "What do you know about the Akatsuki?"

What do you think you know about the Akatsuki?

"Beyond that they are a bunch of criminals, you mean?" Sakura shot back, angry. Too angry to be scared. Or maybe using the anger to mask her fear. He did not know her well enough to discern the nuances.

"Konoha," he began, reminding himself to be patient. It was hard as this was an unsavory topic that he did not particularly care to be discussing. "How many clans do you think are in the syndicate? How many fractions do you think there are in Konoha?"

"I don't know. Ten?" She answered with her hands on her hips. "What's that got to do with you going psycho on my phone?"

"Keep your voice down," he narrowed his eyes trying to make himself seem more intimidating, and dangerous. He needed her cooperation first and foremost. Forgiveness came later. If it was in the cards. "Try a hundred and thirty-four."

"One hundred…," her voice trailed off as her eyes widened.

"In a population of ten million, there are a hundred and thirty-four clans tied to the syndicate." Minato pressed on the point of vulnerability. The vulnerability that said she was beginning to realize just how bad this all was. The less she knew, the sooner she obeyed and did as instructed, the better the likelihood that she came out of this mostly unscathed. She needed to listen to him. Without question. And without hesitation.

"And you shot the nephew of the Uchiha Clan in the hand," he delivered the decisive blow flatly.

"U-Uchiha?" She uttered in disbelief. Her eyes widened even more to levels he did not think were possible. "Uchiha," she breathed out the name like it was forbidden. "They…they…." She clamped her mouth closed, going numb with fear.

Good. Remember this feeling. Hold onto this feeling. It might just save your life.

"Now you see why you can't call the police?" Minato's voice did not lose its hard edge even as warmth bled into his icy eyes, coloring them closer to cobalt again - involuntarily.

She slumped back into the couch, leaving him with concern that she would pass out. He moved back, lowering into the accent chair. Her crushed phone was held in his bandaged hand. Tight.

---

A/N: Please review. Thank you!