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Being connected to two Hokage, a war hero as well as boasting a bounty fifty times the amount for the average kunoichi meant that being targeted was not a new experience for Haruno Sakura. The only issue to surprise her nowadays was the audacity of some of the bounty hunters who believed they stood a chance against her. Even with all they heard about her, they still tried their luck.
The latest one, however, was… unusual.
Unusual in the sense the bastard actually managed to clip her with a tanto blade laced in a poison she had not previously encountered—no, more than that, Sakura realised with a steadily building dread, hand weakly clutching her side.
At some point she must have blacked out, or managed to escape by nothing more than her subconscious will to survive. How else could she wake up in an unknown area with the attacker nowhere in sight?
To top it all off, she was also delirious from the poison she’d yet to extract. Had to be.
Why else would she be staring into the concerned features of a young Senju Hashirama?
“You…”
Sakura stared at him in disbelief even as he came to her side with a frown, assessing the damage.
“Relax,” he assured her and offered up a kind smile. “I am going to heal you.”
Numbly, she looked down to the hands that soon emitted a warm, familiar green glow that worked to loosen the heavy knot in her chest, though it did nothing to ease the weight it left in its wake.
Stubbornly, even with a fading consciousness, Sakura tried to get a look of the world around them, tried to spot any signs that confirmed she did in fact have the worst luck ever. Gut instinct screamed its nauseating warning that impelled her to try and resist treatment, but she barely managed to prop herself onto one elbow before darkness overcame her and she fell back with a startled gasp, leaving her at the mercy of the man.
“Ah, you’re awake again,” came a smiling voice.
Unfortunately, she wanted to whine in return.
Flashes of the moments she briefly regained consciousness alerted Sakura to being in a new environment long before senses returned to her. Nothing concrete that gave her much to work with; just enough to inform her that the jutsu used was powerful and remained fully intact.
When she got her hands on that bastard…
Damn it, of course when life was returning to normal and there was development—miniscule in the eyes to others, but immeasurable for those who truly knew him—in the rebuilding of her relationship with Sasuke, some asshole just had to creep out from beneath his rock and screw about with her.
Disregarding whoever was trying to persuade Sakura to stay down, pure fury and determination aided her in raising first to an elbow, then growling until she was sat up fully and glowering at the disorientating room surrounding her. The pain of her injuries was noticeable but ignorable, allowing her to continue her task without being side-tracked.
But the disturbing sight had that anger stuttering before it fizzled out entirely, stomach plummeting as her mind snapped back to the war, like all her attempts to mentally heal were nothing more than her struggling against a stiff rubber band that finally had enough of the strain.
They were in a tent, of some kind. Well worn compared to the one she occupied at the medical camp but familiar enough to douse Sakura in cold sweats. She believed the only reason she didn’t succumb to the panic settling deep into her tensing muscles was purely down to its layout. No cots lined the far wall with dead or dying shinobi, no utensils or medical aids, no potent stench of blood or disinfectant. No, this was… oddly more like a home—at least that was what the personal effects led her to believe.
Stay calm, Sakura willed herself despite the circumstances and what it undoubtedly meant for her.
Genjutsu was growing increasingly rare in affecting her and to confirm as such, her chakra was undisturbed. Although there was every chance it was a high level genjutsu that warped the mind into believing all was well, the pit in Sakura’s stomach told her that wasn’t the case. She’d worked her ass off in bettering that area of her skillset and knew it was too unlikely to happen.
No, this…
Steeling herself against the horrifying reality that the mere sight of his face confirmed, Sakura met the curious gaze of her rescuer, withholding the whimper of despair when it matched up to her shishou’s photographs and textbooks. Even though it was considerably younger than what was shown in the textbooks at the academy, it was still a match—there was no mistaking it. Not when she’d stood alongside his reanimated body during the war.
“I’m not that scary, am I?” he chuckled.
Gods, she wished. If that was what worried her the most, then her situation wouldn’t be half as shitty as it really was.
Don’t freak out.
If she was to hazard a guess, then Sakura assumed—
Shit, she couldn’t even think his name without it making her heart palpitate.
Hold it together.
The others would know she was missing, Sakura assured herself. Konoha had remarkable trackers who could go to her last known whereabouts, and from there, they…
A sudden clenching of her chest worsened when he took a step towards her out of concern, and she forced herself to lower her focus to his armoured torso like that could lessen the fear creeping into her system.
Chances of her comrades finding remnants of the battle was not impossible to believe, but hoping for them to find some way to retrieve her was unreasonable, and what the hell was she supposed to do with herself in the meantime? Sit on her ass all day and hope for the best?
No. No. That wasn’t what she was about anymore. She was a capable kunoichi who could deal with the damn issue by herself.
“You—”
The startled man jolted forward when Sakura fell forward to her hands, body shaking from the strain of trying to bring itself to her feet. Hands came to her shoulders to try and force her back down, his light-hearted jokes and attempts to settle her preventing Sakura from lashing out at the unwanted touch. The soothing nature reminded her that he too was a medic-nin and that there were no ulterior motives even as her back once more pressed down into the futon that smelled way too masculine for her to be able to relax in.
“What monster strength,” came his blithe jab tinged with amazement.
Despite his words, he hadn’t once shown signs of seriously struggling against her, more so wary of agitating her wounds.
One hand remained on her shoulder for an extra few seconds before he deemed her to be settled. “What is your name?”
“I…”
Shit, what did she say? Would sharing her identity cause any issues down the line? Sakura grimaced at the situation, mind grappling with coming to terms and accepting what should have been impossible.
Should have been but somehow wasn’t.
What the hell was she supposed to say?
Apparently refusing to be disheartened at her silence, he offered a wide smile and introduced himself with a warmth that tried to soothe her frazzled head. “I’m—”
“Hashirama!”
Sakura jerked at the newcomer’s booming yell of disapproval, her uncertainty only increasing when Hashirama spun with a sheepish smile and a wave of surrender. Vaguely, she recognised the voice after hearing it a couple of times on the battlefield, so knew who to expect.
“A-Ah, Tobirama—"
It didn’t prepare her for actually seeing him, though.
“What is the meaning of this, Aniue?”
Aniue, Sakura mentally repeated in a whine, adding it to the steaming pile of despair she was already struggling against.
There was no denying it.
She was stuck in the past.
Maybe she would go insane? After all, there were rules to travelling in time—damn it, that was… It sounded so inconceivable, yet there she was. There they were. Two of the greatest shinobi of all time. One of them being the man dubbed the God of Shinobi.
She couldn’t process any of it.
“This woman was injured and poisoned,” Hashirama explained easily. Taking a half-step back, he gestured to her dazed form and told his younger brother, “I could hardly leave her out there to die.”
“She could be a spy from—”
“Nonsense,” he rejected the notion with great confidence that only seemed to irritate Tobirama. Not that she was really able to focus much on their bickering when her head couldn’t stop spinning while it digested the situation. “You worry too much, Tobirama.”
“Evidently I must worry enough for the two of us,” came his growled argument.
She was in the goddamn past.
Green eyes peered over to the squabbling brothers after a composing breath, and Sakura willed herself to loosen up at the sight of them. After all, going off their armour, the lack of forehead protectors and the tents, then it was safe to say that the era she fell into was obviously the warring states period. Being so out of her mind could result in death, should someone believe her to have ill intentions like Tobirama currently did, if his suspicious glances were anything to go by.
Hashirama’s mouth shut with a prompt snap when Sakura once more attempted to sit up, her squint prompting him to quickly re-join and steady her. “You must stop agitating your wounds,” he warned her with a tsk. “I have only healed them enough to prevent death—”
There was a derisive snort from the other side of the tent. “Finally, a wise move on your part—”
“I-I’ll…” The temptation to heal her wounds when they continued to inconvenience her was strong, though the rational side of herself warned Sakura to hold off. While a chunk of Tsunade’s teachings came from the man before her himself, they were also altered to adjust with the times and risked the flow of time. Shit, even her Byakugō no In was risky. “I can leave,” she assured the two men, looking to Tobirama insistently. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”
Even her speech was raising flags, Sakura realised with building dread, noticing the quirking of their eyebrows the more she spoke.
“What clan do you belong to?” questioned the younger brother. He folded his arms over his chest, the sound of his armour clanging together echoing in her aching head. “That symbol you wear is foreign to us.”
Oh, shit.
She resisted the urge to touch her forehead protector for fear of somehow bringing more attention to it, even though the damage was already done. All she hoped was that it wouldn’t have any ill effects on the timeline or the founding of Konoha. Even one detail out of place could cause catastrophic changes for her present, and the pressure of such a realisation left her breathless.
“It was a gift,” she lied and ducked her head in a submissive gesture that twisted her gut, hoping the following deflection worked just as well as it always did for Kakashi. “My grandfather was a talented man who created items like this for pleasure. This was his last piece before his illness cost him his hands—I treasure it dearly.”
“Oh?” hummed Hashirama and she noticed him shift to admire the forehead protector closely. “The design is remarkable—the craftmanship also.”
You should find it remarkable since it is your design, she thought sarcastically.
Tobirama was far less accepting of her words. His narrowing gaze warned Sakura to tread carefully as it assessed her form, but just as his unwavering attention had her panic increasing, there was a call of his name from outside the tent—one she almost thought he was going to ignore, before he tsked and dropped his arms, stalking outside without another word.
She basked in the relief that left her lightheaded.
That guy was just as imposing as he’d been on the battlefield. Brilliant without a doubt, but terrifying when he was looking at her like she was the enemy. What made it worse was that she knew there was nothing she could say or do to lessen that distrust because even if telling the truth didn’t risk the timeline, it was going to sound like nothing more than the ramblings of a crazy woman. They would probably go easier on her for being from a random enemy clan than proclaiming to be from the future.
Raising her head once more brought her attention back to Hashirama, who continued to watch her closely but without the intimidating aura Tobirama surrounded himself in. His head was tilted to the side curiously, dark eyes taking in her appearance like it was alien to him, but not unpleasant. No, Sakura could tell from the glint in his eyes that he was feeling that itch all medics experienced when faced with an anomaly—that urge to dissect and examine until they knew everything about the interest overruled many, herself included.
“You were in battle,” he stated, not asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who with?”
Stop freezing up, she ordered. It did no good being to tightly wound. If nothing else did her in, then that paranoia sure as hell would.
“I never saw his face,” she admitted, then feigned a wince like her injury was bothering her. Truthfully, it was nothing more than an inconvenience compared to other wounds she’d sustained, but it had been serious enough to cause issue and noticing a splash of blood to his sheets allowed Sakura to use it to her advantage, to deflect once more. “Forgive me, I bled—”
“Nonsense,” he assured her warmly and smiled again. “Had I worried for my sheets, you would not be on them.”
Naruto was right—the guy didn’t match up to the status that followed him long after death. Instead, he reminded her more of the man in Tsunade’s drunken recollections, when she was lost to memories that she didn’t mind sharing with those closest to her. Kind, happy-go-lucky. His aura allowed Sakura to finally take her first deep breath with true calmness, and she spotted his gaze softening when she visibly relaxed.
“Your name?” Hashirama asked more gently that time.
Wary but tired, she said at length, “…Sakura.”
“No surname?” he wondered, smirking.
Her family was one of civilians, one who eventually joined Konoha a while after it was founded. Nothing should flag his attention, Sakura assured herself, for she was the first of her name to stand out in their history. Their family business was quaint and struggled at the best of times, and that too wasn’t established until after the founding of Konoha. As far as she was aware, they played no major part in the warring states period—not like the Senju and Uchiha, anyway.
There was the option of lying about her surname, but what were the chances of choosing one that did crop up somewhere down the line? What if she chose one that was seemingly innocent, but turned out to be their enemy? There were too many what ifs.
“Haruno Sakura,” she told him with a smile she hoped didn’t look too strained.
The responding grin told her it was bought. “My name is Senju Hashirama. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Turning her attention to the tent, Sakura allowed herself to consider it now that the initial freakout subsided. She wasn’t really sure what to expect when comparing it to the luxuries and comforts of her own home—it was far beyond anything she could comprehend during such a fragile state of mind. While part of her was intrigued about some of Hashirama’s belongings that caught her attention, she was mostly homesick just looking at the place as a whole and soon enough, she couldn’t distinguish individual items.
“Ah, you will still be weakened by the poison,” Hashirama warned just as Sakura swayed. “I extracted the substance but it will take a while to fully recover due to paralysing agents.” It was the nausea bothering her, but she didn’t mention that. Couldn’t when the man paused and eyed her momentarily, then said offhandedly, “I have never encountered such a complex poison before now.”
Summon your inner-Kakashi and deflect, deflect, deflect!
Sakura brought a hand to her forehead to rub at the skin, only to grimace in the next moment and point out miserably, “Fever.” How she’d failed to notice sweating so profusely, she’d never know, though it did bring her a bout of comfort knowing her thoughts were likely so disorganised due to the fever. “…Sorry, again. Your sheets—”
His head dipped to capture her attention, and she once more felt the tension easing from her shoulders at his sincerity. It had to be a superpower, Sakura thought suspiciously. “Quit fretting over replaceable items. Life is too short, Haruno-san.”
Unable to resist, she gave him a small smile. “You’re right.”
“I know,” he teased cheerfully. Sitting back on his haunches with his hands to his thighs, Hashirama spared her another glance before adding with a lightness that she knew was to avoid upsetting her, “I will request more clothing be brought to you. If you plan on recovering with us, I would suggest a change of outfit.”
Oh, Gods. Another aspect of the past she hadn’t even considered! Even her damn clothing looked nothing like the current era’s—in her own time, it was fine. Fit in perfectly. But now she was worried it was far too revealing considering all historical documents she’d consumed growing up, or even the plays based in such an era, showing both men and women wearing traditional kimonos or armour.
Sticking around wasn’t an option, Sakura decided as she continued to mentally list how her presence could affect the future. Too much was at stake, and it simply wasn’t worth the risk. No, she was best off returning to wherever Hashirama found her and retracing her steps or trying to find some kind of clue as to how to return to her own world.
The man who originally attacked her was undeniably the mastermind behind the jutsu. He had to be around, otherwise what was the point? Who tossed people blindly into the past without a reason? To get their kicks? Hell no. It was a waste of time and chakra, not to mention possessed the ability to completely fuck over their world if she changed too much in the past.
She would find him, she assured herself, and when she did, she was going to kick his ass.
First, however…
“Please don’t take this the wrong way. I truly am grateful for all you have done for me,” Sakura started and frowned, hoping she wasn’t coming across as unappreciative or rude. “But I can’t stay. I need to get back home.”
“Of course,” he accepted easily, without a flicker of hesitation or negativity. It left her astounded that someone with such a powerful reputation was so easy-going, trusting and kind. She’d half expected him to be like his brother or worse, Madara. “My only ask before you leave is that you allow yourself to recover first. It can be hard out there, particularly alone. I do not advise you make the travel while vulnerable.”
She wanted to disagree and assert that she was capable, but there was something in his expression that begged of Sakura to take notice, and how could she not? She had no idea what to expect in that era other than clans fighting. This guy did. He’d seen the ugliest sides to it, experienced it all—unlike her, who only read about the most historical parts.
Was she way out of her league?
Sticking around was just as hard as Sakura suspected it would be, and it was barely even two hours after waking that she began planning her escape.
It was unclear which was worst: hiding out in Hashirama’s tent knowingly causing a stir (if she heard one more snippet of gossip from those walking by hoping to catch a glimpse of her like she was a concubine then she was going to lose her shit), or interacting with them all knowing she stood out like a sore thumb—again under the assumption she was Hashirama’s illicit lover. Unable to stand either one of those outcomes, she prepared herself for sneaking away once the moment was right.
Sakura was not underestimating herself in the least by being so hesitant, more so treading with caution.
A frail old woman with a distinct shake to her hands brought a change of clothes at one point, though as rude as she likely appeared if she knew the truth, Sakura pretended to be asleep to avoid interacting. The elderly rarely possessed a filter and with the direction of the whispers that passed, it was too possible for her to question Sakura’s being there. Any other time, she wouldn’t have hesitated to look the nosy person in the eye before shutting harmful rumours down, but the less people she spoke with the better.
Before that, Hashirama was called out to deal with a family matter—going off his grumblings she suspected he was being scolded for bringing a strange woman back to their camp. What stunned her was the lack of guards stationed outside, however; the show of trust was surprising considering all she’d read about such an era.
Was that guy seriously the God of Shinobi?
Regardless, Sakura wasted no time in discreetly sending chakra to her wound, healing it without the use of her hands just in case somebody was watching over her. The last thing she needed while escaping a camp full of absurdly powerful Senju clansmen was an injury holding her back; having them notice the advanced level of skill wasn’t wise either.
The clothing Hashirama requested be provided awaited her in a neatly folded pile and Sakura held it up with a pinch of discomfort that swiftly smoothed out since she shouldn’t complain at an act of kindness—much less about a gift.
However, the kimono was… Well, a kimono. Even with this one being a komon meaning it was designed for casual wear, it continued to be far heavier and more restricting than what she was used to wearing. The green was beautiful, Sakura allowed, but overall, it was not going to be making her life any easier.
It was a clean change of clothing though, she thought with her currently torn and bloodied ensemble in mind, now strewn across the foot of the futon. She supposed it would also aid her in blending in—
Yeah, right. Someone with pink hair blending in?
The sudden intake of breath from behind had Sakura’s mind made up as she yanked the base layer of the komon on swiftly, folding it over without a care. Hashirama didn’t intrude further, and a suspicious glance over her shoulder showed that his back was now to her. He was also angling himself in a way that ensured there was no accidental revelations by the flaps of his tent.
“Forgive me—”
“I-It’s not your fault,” Sakura assured even when embarrassment begged of her to lash out. “I was taking too long.”
There was a small sound of acknowledgement, like Hashirama wasn’t sure whether to agree or disagree with the statement. Only too thankful for the silence, she focused more intently on dressing herself in the unfamiliar clothing, eyebrows pulling together with concentration.
Kimonos were rarely worn in her day, to the extent where learning to wear one was a part of the curriculum at the academy and stores offered lessons to civilians. Sakura had always believed it to be a ridiculous notion—teaching people how to dress themselves—but shit, the pressure of getting it right in such circumstances was suffocating.
She spotted Hashirama shift onto his heels at the prolonged silence.
Basic knowledge was left over right side and she—
“You are unused to clothes?”
Don’t be defensive, she willed herself even when her agitation swelled. The tent was not private even though it was supposed to be his home. That point was proven by the startled gasps and giggles from outside that followed his quietly spoken words. Surprisingly, Sakura’s teeth weren’t the only ones to grit.
Even quieter, he asked, “May I assist you?”
Hands gripping a tighter hold of the silky fabric, Sakura looked between it and Hashirama before finally assessing her appearance critically. Nothing was on show—the base layer of the kimono was wrapped firmly around her body and swiftly, the kimono itself followed suit, but Sakura soon cursed the modern era when she struggled immensely with the obi. Every kimono she wore—which she could count on just one hand—was always assisted by her mother.
“You have my word I will not take advantage,” he assured her after another pause.
One point Tsunade reinforced when speaking of her grandfather was his tenacity to stick to his word once it was given—spoken about fondly, as she noted it to be a trait passed onto her beloved younger brother. A man’s word means everything, the blonde would snort affectionately before promptly decimating the tender moment by sarcastically pointing out that the gentlemanly trait was one that died out over the generations.
“…Thank you.”
Perhaps reading the discomfort in her body language, the brunet made it a point of keeping his intentions obvious in his approach. Only reaching out when deemed necessary, always stating beforehand. Sakura’s continuous glances up at his expression brought her attention to the careful composing of his handsome features, and she realised in that moment that she had yet to witness a single negative emotion from him.
Shockingly, even as he rearranged the collars of her kimono, she found she felt comforted by his presence. The initial disbelief and panic were fading, replaced by a fascination as the man her shishou admired so greatly provided such a dignified level of care for a stranger—for someone who could very well be his enemy. This was not the man famed throughout the nations as the God of Shinobi, but instead the kind, warm man Tsunade so dearly loved and respected.
“I noticed your wound is completely healed now,” Hashirama pointed out with ease, his voice soft. “You know medical ninjutsu.”
Rather than acknowledge the words, Sakura instead evasively questioned in response, “How long were you looking at my body to notice that?”
It floored her to witness his cheeks flooding with colour at the words that weren’t entirely an accusation due to the lightness of her voice conveying there were no hard feelings (a purposeful move on her part).
“Forgive me.” With a sheepish smile, Hashirama met her gaze. “I assure you I am no voyeur. It is a simple fact that not much gets by me; I did not intend on staring.”
Sakura nodded in acceptance of his explanation, saying distractedly, “I suppose as a medic it’s only natural for you to subconsciously check on the healing progress, or to even view the body as a whole as nothing more than a case.”
Shit, she could tell by the ever slight tilt of his head that she had him bewildered by her terms. She supposed back in his time—their current time, her fraying mind stressed—they didn’t have hospitals, or structured patient appointments and cases. To them, their hospital was a literal battlefield. Half the time they probably never saw the same person more than once.
Flashes of the war kept Sakura’s mouth shut; the return of the cold sweats eliciting a strong shudder that caused Hashirama to pause, eyeing her in concern.
“Are you feeling cold?” he questioned, brown eyes searching hers intently. “An infection could have occurred with my only part healing—”
She shook her head—the only answer she could give while the tremors took hold. Fortunately for her sake, Hashirama continued to hold onto the kimono, so even as her mind was flooded with blood and detached limbs and the bodies of her friends and comrades, she remained on her feet.
Damn it, Kakashi was right in his hesitance. Up until the interrupted mission that landed her in such a predicament, he’d kept her close. Never officially declared her off the rota, but let it be known that a break was highly advised. In the meantime she became his part-time assistant (a move she suspected made to keep her up and about rather than ruminating, while simultaneously allowing Kakashi to keep a close eye on her).
Maybe she should have accepted she needed more time to heal rather than being so overconfident.
“I…”
A careful hand came to her cheek to delicately tip her head further back, and Sakura found she had no fight in her to prevent the move. Brown eyes were concerned but noticeably calm in their assessment of her symptoms, before they saddened briefly once it connected for him.
“It is not an infection,” he stated the obvious quietly, voice empathetic. “You are traumatised.”
The war affected many in its devastating aftermath; once adrenaline wore off and they were faced with literal piles of their dead or their parts that they then had to try and identify, all the while providing only a basic level of compassion and respect because there were just too many. Even with the extensive trauma training, Sakura was unable to come to terms with all she had seen.
To that day, she recalled the sickening dread of coming across more of their allied forces. The weight of helplessness knowing there was genuinely nothing she could have done to prevent those deaths. Laying them out in never-ending rows and hoping she didn’t mix anything up for those who then had to officially identify them for the sakes of informing their families or updating their records.
It never really hit Sakura until a few weeks later, though. Those crushing emotions… Gods, she had thought in the moment that that was it. That it was soon over. She foolishly revelled in the relief of being home knowing that the war had ended. But then one day in Kakashi’s office, of all places, she found herself reliving those memories all over again. The blood—the blood was everywhere and impossible to remove, the cries echoing and that suffocating helplessness enough to finally bring Sakura to her knees in a dissociative state. She still wasn’t sure how long she lingered in such a state but when she came to, she was surprised to find Kakashi maintaining an unyielding, comforting grip of her hands like he was trying to keep her grounded. He’d spoken to her firmly, understandingly, the entire time before his palpable relief at the clarity returning to her gaze had him heaving a relieved sigh.
“I long for the day we can all change our ways,” came his sighed admittance. “To set aside our strife and end this senseless cycle.”
It will come, she thought. The time of healing, of reconcile and of peace. For his time and her own.
Soon, Sakura repeated to herself in the hopes it would help soothe the trauma threatening to take hold.
“Shall we sit?”
“No, I—” Swallowing hard at the continued noise from outside the tent, she spared a glance in the direction of the opening. “I’m thankful for all you have done, but I really need to go.”
“Alone?” Hashirama questioned, somewhat unsettled by the notion as he once again looked to her trembling. “Although the battles are as of now quiet for my clan, I cannot guarantee the same from others.”
It had to be alone if she wanted any hopes in tracking down the creep who sent her to the past. If Hashirama tagged along then she would likely have to explain the situation to him, and she wasn’t sure how to without there being ripple effects.
Apparently only just realising he was still holding onto her, Hashirama cleared his throat and took a step back, bringing a reluctant smile to Sakura’s lips at the blush staining his cheeks.
“Allow me to escort you, at the least.”
“I…” She huffed in amusement. “You don’t even know where I’m going, or how far it is.”
Dark eyes gleamed with their own amusement, like he had an inside joke she could never possibly understand. She only recognised it due to how similar it was to Tsunade’s knowing look—the one that was playful and teasing.
“I suspect you will start from the area I found you in.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“How else can you retrace your steps?”
Sakura busied herself with assessing the finished look of her kimono, eyes warming at the beautiful floral pattern that repeated throughout. While they certainly wouldn’t become an outfit she would wear in every day life, she decided there was no harm in acquiring a few for formal events.
“Well?” Hashirama pushed.
“I suppose being escorted will save me some time—only to the spot you found me in, though.”
“Of course,” he agreed, grinning.
Nothing.
How the hell could there be nothing? No traces? No remnants of familiar chakra?
After parting ways with her escort, Sakura scoured the area for up to a mile radius in each direction. But even if she did drag her ass further through the considerably denser forest before collapsing, she suspected there would still be nothing to go off.
The first night of being alone and without leads was easier than the rest, for she still had high hopes in something cropping up. She was too distracted by the insanity of being in the past, Sakura repeatedly assured herself. A night of rest would help her get her head on straight.
Having come across it during her searching, Sakura returned to the waterfall barely a mile away and explored the surrounding area for potential threats and food. A cave was revealed within the waterfall—untouched as far as she could tell—and so she set up camp there with the intention of it only being a single night, since it wasn’t the greatest spot in the world to sleep in. Still, it was better than completely out in the open and she revelled in the peacefulness of nature, so she settled.
But soon enough one night turned into two, then three then four. By the end of each day Sakura returned to the damp cave with a hope that was struggling to fight off defeat, because no matter how extensively she searched, there were no leads. Not even one.
The quiet, while at first was soothing, now ground on Sakura’s nerves. Although the gushing of the waterfall did help to an extent, it soon became apparent that the problem ran deeper than that.
So used to being surrounded by chaos and demanding personalities, she quickly found herself feeling lonely.
Part of her even wished for the company of Hashirama, even while knowing it was far too risky.
Days blurred into weeks that dragged into months, all occupied by the same mundane routine of searching for food, firewood and training simply to keep herself from losing her mind during the isolation.
She wondered if the others had noticed her absence yet, or if much time had even passed in her own world. How did it even work? If she suddenly shot back to the future, then would she reappear in the same spot mere seconds later, or would the same amount of time have passed there?
If it did, then it was a given that they would be suspicious already. The mission given to her was simple—more than that, it was to assist in political matters between the Hokage and Kazekage. Once those predicted three days of travel were up, there was no doubt in her mind that Gaara would send word back to Konoha, if only to request confirmation of her departure. From there, the search would be kicked into gear with Naruto, Sai and Ino likely teaming up and leading the party.
Idly and with a weary heart, Sakura wondered if they would inform Sasuke of her being missing, or if he would assist at all.
Their relationship was on the mend, albeit shakily and at a tortuously slow pace with absolutely zero glimpses of romance—not for her lack of trying. It was hard reconciling with someone who wasn’t even around much to begin with, but she wasn’t about to intrude on his path of redemption. Not when she knew it was about figuring himself out too. So much had happened, so much tragedy and heartache and rage. It was only to be expected that Sasuke had no idea who he was without it all.
“This is where you choose to stay?”
Whirling around to look in the direction he came from, Sakura felt the defensiveness draining out of her at his casualness and the item in his arms. She couldn’t tell what it was due to the fabric wrapping, but it was fairly big.
“How did you do that?” she snapped without meaning to, startled by the first voice she’d heard in months that was not her own. “It’s so quiet here that I should’ve heard you!”
“You appeared lost in your thoughts,” Hashirama teased.
Unsettled by the risks that posed, Sakura set about piling up the extra firewood to the side of the clearing she was occupying. Reclining beneath the stars with a campfire to keep her warm reminded her of simpler days, and eased the painful bouts of homesickness when she needed it most. In those moments, it was easier to convince herself that she wasn’t stuck in such a hopeless situation, even if it was nothing more than a delusion.
“I thought you were going home?”
I wish, she thought sullenly.
“Not yet,” Sakura replied instead.
“Why?”
She sighed at the question that was far too complicated to answer, unable to deny she was beginning to wish that she could. If anyone could break down such a jutsu, then surely the God of Shinobi could? And if not, then they could brainstorm. If not brainstorm, then just…
Just to have someone to talk to, came her depressed wish.
“I’m finding it harder than I thought it would be to get back home.” Knowing that it was entering dangerous territory, Sakura diverted his attention to the bundled gift in his arms, asking, “What is that?”
“This?” It surprised her when Hashirama jostled it lightly and grinned. “It is for you.”
“For me?” she questioned suspiciously. “You didn’t even know I was here… Right?”
“Wrong,” he told her gladly and finally approached. “I merely bided my time.”
It was as amusing as it was frustrating. “Why? What for?”
There was a knowing glint in his eyes that once more reminded her of Tsunade, though it possessed a quality her shishou lacked—one she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Despite the difference, Sakura was sucker punched by the increasing homesickness it brought to the surface.
“You appear to be a proud woman, Haruno-san,” Hashirama explained, his smile simmering. “More importantly, you seemed devoted to your task. I did not want to intrude on that.”
Selfishly, stupidly, perhaps even recklessly, Sakura wished that he had if only to spare having her hopes cruelly crushed. Maybe if he’d been present from the start she could have blamed the lack of leads on procrastination.
Instead, she…
It’d been two months since waking up in Hashirama’s tent. Two months of having her hopes of returning home crushed daily.
She would give anything to go on a girly lunch date with Ino again. She wanted to go to Ichiraku with Naruto and Sai. To train with Tsunade. To be trapped in the Hokage’s office and joking about hating life with Kakashi. She wanted her parents to welcome her home each day with their terrible jokes and nagging. Wanted to be there when Sasuke found peace within himself and returned home.
She wanted to see her precious people again.
“It’s okay,” she eventually told him over the restricting of her throat. “Thank you for taking the time to check on me.”
His responding grin was wide and happy, creasing his eyes and managing to ease the ache in her heart. The package in his arms was raised somewhat like he was bringing her attention to it, and despite the situation, Sakura felt herself smiling.
“After forming an allegiance with another clan, we awoke to several carts filled with gifts,” Hashirama explained finally, and she was pleasantly surprised to witness the peace and comfort he found in the pact. “Their way of thanking us for accepting.”
“Oh?”
“I can feel it,” he went on to say enthusiastically, eyes warming. “The ending of an era of war is near.”
They were so close to that part of history already? Sakura had assumed with how young Hashirama appeared—not much older than herself—that the joining of the Senju and Uchiha clan and the domino effect of said peace treaty was many years away. Was the establishing of Konoha also close?
Quietly, almost to himself, he added, “I am relieved to make it to this day.”
When not many could say the same, she could read in his distant gaze.
It was so easy for the people in her time to talk about the warring states era; they oftentimes overlooked the devastation caused or sugar-coated just how brutal it really was. They never discussed the individual lives lost—they were always a collective. Never a person’s family member or loved one, just one of two sides. The victors and the defeated.
They had overlooked so much tragedy and despair.
She hadn’t ever considered just how relieved those effected were at the mere notion of it all ending.
Before she could even try to find a response to his vulnerable words, Hashirama seemingly shook off the mood with ease and turned his focus to the clearing she occupied. Having grown tired of the bugs attracted to the moisture of the waterfall, Sakura stayed mostly around it, only ever returning to the cave when the weather was abysmal.
With a displeased sigh, Hashirama placed the gift to the ground and told her, “I apologise for leaving it this long.”
…What?
There was no stopping the comical dropping of her jaw when Hashirama clasped his hands together in the snake seal; no way to argue against his assistance when a simple cabin was shooting out of the ground within a second of the seal being made. While there was no mistaking the fluctuation of chakra, it was still unlike anything she had ever witnessed before—so effortless, so casual. He didn’t even need to prepare himself beforehand.
Trying to shake off the awe that left her looking like an idiot, Sakura looked from the cabin to him, insisting, “This really isn’t necessary—”
“Unnecessary?” he repeated, affronted. “You are a young woman in a land of wars with no home, Haruno-san.”
She feebly gestured to the cabin and told him, “A wooden house won’t protect me from the things people can do.”
He paused at that, considering the truth to the words, then promptly dropped his head and shoulders forward like she had just told him his beloved pet had died.
Horrified to see such an intense level of dejection, Sakura waved her hands like she was trying to brush the whole situation off and told him as cheerfully as possible, “But thank you. It’ll be nice to have somewhere to call home for now.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes,” she insisted, tone earnest. Then, like she wanted to distract him from the dejection that had him so depressed so suddenly, Sakura questioned, “So, what did you bring me?”
Revived, he offered up a grin and said, “Dinner.”
Sakura was ashamed of herself for caving to her lonely heart’s need for companionship.
After their first dinner together in her newly built home, Hashirama frequently ‘checked in’ to ensure she was undisturbed by the clashing of clans, oftentimes offering tipoffs if those battles were at risk of imposing on her territory. Sometimes he came to her simply to share dinner, offering up a refreshing break from the same old roasted fish that she had grown tired of months ago.
The company was greatly appreciated, particularly when Hashirama listened to her rants and troubles when Sakura grew comfortable enough to share them. Although she certainly didn’t share her (safe to discuss) problems with him with the expectation of his intervention, she was still pleasantly surprised and deeply grateful for the thoughtfulness that soon filled her pantry. Then toiletries. Linens. All Sakura had complained about was being tired of fish yet it prompted Hashirama to essentially make the house he built a home for her. It was now at a point where he never visited without some kind of offering.
Still…
Faltering in the threshold of the cabin just as Sakura prepared to leave, she looked to the makeshift coatrack in disbelief, for what hung from it was far beyond any of the gifts that were previously brought to her.
Was that why he wasn’t around to hand it to her personally?
She stepped forward and glanced around the clearing, though found he was nowhere to be seen. That didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t around—Hashirama was ridiculously talented at masking his presence and no matter how intently she listened out for him, he still went undetected.
Attached to the gift was a single note and she gingerly pulled it free.
I came across this kimono and instantly thought of you. – Hashirama.
Sakura’s breath caught at the thick fabric that met her when she reached out. So unlike anything she had seen before; far greater than any of the four kimonos she’d owned in her lifetime. Its colour was vibrant, golden patterns carefully hand stitched with such an attention to detail that she was almost intimidated. It truly was beautiful and, dare she say, romantic.
Many had professed feelings for her over the years, so up until that blindsided moment Sakura had liked to believe that she was not unaware of the signs of interest. But there was no use in denying that she hadn’t picked up on any from him. To add to the surprising revelation, it was the first time a man had ever gifted her with something so extravagant, and for Hashirama to suggest he’d thought of her upon seeing the luxurious kimono?
She was completely blindsided. What’s more…
She was flattered. Maybe even a little excited.
Horrendous guilt wracked through her just as her chest warmed with affection. A warmth that was promptly extinguished and left her feeling as though she was kicked in the gut when Sasuke’s face flashed in her mind.
…Was she wrong to accept the beautiful gift? To become reliant on Hashirama’s company in her crippling loneliness? To want to seize some semblance of happiness in such uncertain times? Was she a bad person for enjoying the sentiments?
Unable to be so rude as to ignore the gesture, Sakura accepted his gift but put it aside once the door was shut, downcast eyes refusing to look in its direction as she chose to instead return to her bed.
Her feelings for Sasuke were as unchanging as they always had been. It didn’t matter how much space or time came between them. Even being a hundred or so years into the past couldn’t change it. But…
But what if she really was trapped in the past? So far, Sakura had found absolutely no way to return to her time, and as the days blurred by and the seasons continued to change so obnoxiously that it felt like they were trying to provoke her, she began to suspect her loved ones were unable to find her also.
It wasn’t so much about replacing Sasuke—she would never. Could never. There was no turning her back on her love for Sasuke. More to the point, Hashirama’s life had to go the way it was intended, otherwise who knows how much could change in her own timeline? There could possibly be no Tsunade—no, Sakura corrected, there wouldn’t be a Tsunade if Hashirama didn’t marry Uzumaki Mito. And she would become the reason why her shishou no longer existed and the following impact from her extinction.
But if she was stuck then could her heart ever recover and open itself up once more? Not necessarily with Hashirama, but in general? Did she have to make a conscious effort of moving on considering the knots in her stomach? How long did she give it before safely assuming there was no returning? That this was now her life?
Sakura flopped down onto her back with a heavy sigh, flinging an arm over her eyes.
Moving on meant getting back out there. It meant re-joining the world and shutting her mouth about anything that could alter the timeline—not doing anything that could speed up the advancements of the world before it was ready or taking such humongous achievements from those who worked themselves to the bone for them. Picturing such a life where she wasn’t putting her skills to use was agonising, though by that point Sakura questioned which was worse. Being utterly alone or being surrounded by others—either way she wasn’t going to be able to utilise her strengths or really be herself.
She was so tired of being alone.
She just wanted to go home.
“It is challenging to avoid someone when you rarely leave one area, yet you managed it splendidly.”
Sakura winced at being caught out. What was worse was being cornered when she couldn’t really escape—not without dropping the herbs piled high in her arms, which she sure as hell wasn’t about to do. The medicinal properties were major gamechangers and to try and keep herself mentally stimulated, Sakura intended to create a collection as impressive as Shizune’s and find new ways of utilising them. Choosing to remain isolated meant nobody would stumble across them anyways, and that way, she was utilising her skills somehow.
“…Until now, that is.”
Sparing a fleeting glance up at Hashirama, Sakura frowned and headed back towards her cabin with the intention of freeing up her arms. She could tell he was hot on her heels because before she had the chance to try and juggle everything to open the door, his hand shot out and beat her to it.
“Thank you.”
“Will we continue this vexing silence, or will you tell me why you are avoiding me?”
Gods, why couldn’t she find her voice? Sakura grimaced at the struggle and was thankful that Hashirama seemed patient enough to continue helping her with the gathered herbs. She couldn’t imagine any of her friends or family doing the same—most would withhold assistance until after they’d finished talking.
“Tell me if I was too forward with the kimono—"
Sighing, she told him while keeping her attention on storing her findings, “It’s not that. I loved your gift; it’s beautiful.”
A hand coming to the counter brought Sakura’s attempts of distraction to a halt and she finally met his eye. “Tell me what it is that upsets you.”
What upset her was the treacherous pounding of her heart seeing how close Hashirama was to her, and the way her stupid, stupid, stupid eyes were trying so damn hard to dip their line of sight lower. What broke her heart was that the longer she remained in his era, her hopes of returning were shattered and she grew lonelier by the day. What irritated the hell out of her was knowing that even if anything did happen between them, it could never be permanent. Catching feelings was ridiculous because he needed to marry Tsunade’s grandmother, so to her, distance had been the most logical move.
Damn it, her head spun every time she reminded herself that the man before her would one day be her shishou’s grandfather. It didn’t feel real when looking at someone not much older than herself.
“We are supposed to be friends,” he continued at the prolonged pause, head dipping like it somehow helped in emphasising his point when all it made her want to do was—
Stop it, she snarled at herself just as she looked to his lips, frustrated by the lack of self-control. Any idiot could figure out that the extended isolation that was only broken up by a single person’s frequent visits—them being the only person she’d spoken with in over seven months now—was bound to stir up feelings.
It wasn’t real. Any of it. Just a lonely woman craving more human contact. To be reassured that she wasn’t forgotten about in some strange war era where one mishap could potentially destroy her own future.
“We are,” she contended quietly, looking away.
He leaned closer like they were at risk of being overheard before asking in a considerably gentler tone, “Is it the stress of your trauma?”
That was… certainly one way of describing her rollercoaster feelings and relationship with Uchiha Sasuke. Pain and betrayal, heartache and helplessness. It was all traumatic, wasn’t it?
Still, for reasons even she couldn’t begin to understand, Sakura ached viciously just thinking of moving on, never mind realising her heart was already creeping open a miniscule window that would allow another to peer in. Whether anything came of it was a mystery but the potential was there. The opportunity.
Her willingness.
“Return to my camp with me,” he urged at the falling of her expression. “Isolation will only worsen how you are feeling.”
A risk she was going to have to take. “And have them label me your concubine again?”
Hashirama grimaced at that before bowing his head, saying meekly, “You heard that?”
How could she not when the same group of women had repeatedly walked by his tent in the hopes of hearing something worthy or being juicy enough to spread around his camp? When those very same women were present to witness Hashirama escorting her back to where he found her in someone else’s clothes, gasping and giggling at the supposedly scandalous sight?
“I cannot and will not make excuses for them,” he told her with a sincerity that had her pausing in pulling away. “But I hope you can one day forgive their callousness, as well as my own.”
Sakura frowned at that. “Yours?”
Dark eyes met hers with the same genuineness as his voice. “I am the future patriarch of the Senju clan, but more than that, I am your friend. I should have defended you.”
“We were strangers at the time,” she tried to lessen the weight of his guilt by saying.
“Perhaps, but my interest stemmed from the moment I saw you laying in the grass.” After a considerable pause, Hashirama looked to the space between them before daringly stepping closer and Sakura’s heart palpitated at the next meeting of their gazes that allowed her to see his amazement of her. “You are an odd woman, Haruno Sakura.”
She deadpanned.
He grinned attractively and added, “You are a fascinating enigma—one I feel I have no hopes in ever understanding.”
Her? An enigma? Everyone she had ever met always told Sakura that she was an open book and reading her was easy for them. Had the whole time travel and needing to keep her mouth shut added to her charm somehow? She would have thought it’d be annoying as hell, not attractive.
“Why do you seem so okay with that?”
“Gut instinct.”
Gut instinct was a powerful tool to any shinobi. She wondered what Hashirama’s was saying to him about her. A warning, or an encouragement? Curious, she scanned his features hoping to find a trace of it lingering in his expression.
It was the smirk added to his words that prompted Sakura to raising a daring eyebrow, not hesitating to call him out in a soft, “Now who’s being mysterious?”
He hummed and leaned further onto the hand on the counter, smile simmering but expression never losing an ounce of its warmth and understanding. “Will you tell me why you avoided me?”
Explaining the mess of her romantic history was too much for her to bear, so even while feeling uncomfortable with lying to Hashirama, she still said, “We’re all affected by this lifestyle, right?” At his pensive nod that urged her to continued, Sakura heaved a sigh and turned to lean back against the counter, pretending not to notice that she kept herself close to his side—so close she could almost feel the brush of his armour. “And not returning home… It’s adding to that pain.”
She shut her eyes to the hand that brushed her hair over her shoulder, willing the guilt to leave her alone as she turned into the touch.
“You are homesick and lonely,” he realised softly.
More than she had ever thought possible. Every day she woke up in silence, acknowledged the pit in her stomach having increased once more overnight, then went about her day in silence—her own doing, Sakura knew. Hashirama had offered her a place within his camp many times in the past seven months, however, she knew she couldn’t accept such an offer.
The kimono was a catalyst, in a sense. It doused her in icy waters of realisation. By encouraging their interactions and becoming so reliant on him, essentially taking advantage of his kindness with her need for social interaction, she was dooming him and risking the future. The kimono was too extravagant to be gifted between friends and looking into his eyes in that moment only confirmed Sakura’s suspicions.
He’d developed feelings for her.
Selfishly, she wanted to say screw it all. She wanted to believe multiverse was real and that her mere existence in his world created an alternate timeline that meant her own was spared, if that was even how it all worked. But then crushing doubt squashed the selfish desire to cave to her loneliness, because what if? What if that wasn’t the case? What if she screwed over every single person she loved by disrupting the flow of time?
“Why do you stay?” he questioned with a tinge of sadness to his tone. The hand once in her hair came to her cheek, guiding Sakura’s head in his direction. “Why won’t you return with me?”
Because of that hope in your eyes, she despaired.
“The quiet helps,” she only half-lied.
If any good came of being out there in the forest alone, then it was the clarity she found. The peace within herself when it came to processing the horrors of the war. No, it wasn’t exactly ideal and she certainly wasn’t cured of her post traumatic stress, but it was a start. A way to get a handle on things without being surrounded by triggers.
“Does avoiding me help?”
Her shoulders slumped, body relaxing when she admitted despite her concerns, “…No.”
That seemed to be all the answer he needed.
Sakura knew what was happening. She knew from the dipping of his gaze and the responding clenching of her heart that Hashirama planned to kiss her. She simply… didn’t want to fight it. There was no point. Not when this was her new life.
His touch was soft as fingers combed through her hair; eyes tender.
Even if they couldn’t last, even if it was just once, even if…
Even if…
“Would it be too forward to kiss you?” came his lowered whisper just as he guided Sakura closer.
This was her world now.
She couldn’t spend the rest of her life struggling with such debilitating loneliness.
Her response came in the form of closing the distance between them, seemingly taking Hashirama by surprise before he grew distracted by the wrapping of her arms around his shoulders.
It was a delicate kiss, though soon Hashirama grew the confidence to take control rather than continue their tentative back and forth. The hand once admiring her hair used it as a guide, and Sakura became hyperaware of the heat that evoked—a heat that deepened at the arm that came around her so that his hand could rest at the small of her back, bringing their bodies closer together with a light bumping of their hips.
She couldn’t ever hope to describe how it felt being embraced by someone again. The weightlessness that begged of Sakura to part from the kiss just long enough to savour being held for the first time in over seven months, forehead falling to Hashirama’s armour. Like he could sense her needs, stunning her, he didn’t object. Instead, Hashirama brought her as close as they could get with his armour in the way, damn near bringing a tear to her eye when he kissed the top of her head and tightened his arms around her.
“I understand there is too much you cannot disclose,” he began, the frown in his voice making it the heaviest she’d heard so far. Even while miffed about avoiding him, Hashirama’s sunny personality shone through. “But do not close yourself off from me. I am here regardless.”
Her breath caught upon leaning back and spotting that familiar knowing glint, but rather than worsening the knots in her stomach, it surprising soothed them.
It was the understanding that encouraged Sakura to return to him, slanting her lips over his in thanks. Her hands splayed out across his chest, fingers soon scraping the metal with indecision that didn’t last too long under the weight of need for his touch. It was far too strong to be put aside, no matter how briefly, and soon enough there was the unmistakable clang and clattering of his armour dropping to the ground carelessly.
The unyielding grip she kept of him had Hashirama groaning quietly, soon assuring her in a sigh, “I’m here.”
The kimono she wore—the first one he gave her—captured his caliginous stare when they parted from their kiss, further heating her cheeks at the gentleness of his touch when he traced the obi he’d tied the first time she put it on. He untied it with the same grace, gaze returning to hers just as her kimono fell open for him, but before it could be removed entirely, Sakura pulled on his hand and guided him in the direction of the bed she was shortly lowered to.
Remaining like that would have been plenty for her. Feeling so at peace, so cherished… The relief was otherworldly. But the demands of their bodies were unignorable, and Sakura’s back arched after a knee wedged itself between both of hers, the evidence of his arousal pushing against her persuading them to part further.
“You don’t have to be alone anymore, Sakura,” he insisted softly, lips pressing to the space beneath her ear. Propping himself up onto an elbow, Hashirama stroked her cheek with obvious admiration. “Allow me to take your loneliness away.”
She could only nod, too untrusting of her voice when the emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
Tender promises brushed to her skin, refusing to leave an inch untouched, uncherished, as Hashirama eased Sakura out of her kimono. The attention, his sincerity, soon had her chest heaving and eyes glazing over with an intense need that was mirrored in the throbbing of her sex—one that refused to be sated by his fingers or tongue, no matter how good it felt having his face between her thighs, no matter how intensely he made them quiver from his ministrations. It only served to work her up to the point of being damn near delirious.
Even when his equally hot body settled over her rapidly overheating one, Sakura only felt relief. Encouraging arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hands guiding her legs upwards until they were locking around his waist.
For the first time, there was no room for worry or guilt, not even a vague recollection that this was her first time—didn’t even cross her mind. All Sakura could think as Hashirama pressed into her and groaned hotly into her ear at the tight heat that welcomed him eagerly, was that she hadn’t felt so content in months. Hadn’t felt so okay in way too long.
Her hips were urged to angle upwards by one of his hands, and she moaned breathlessly at his shallow thrusts that were only amplified by his searing kiss. The arm beside her head shifted so that it was beneath it, hand lost in her hair and becoming more of a guide as Hashirama tilted her head further back to deepen the kiss, tongues tangling until she turned away, gasping just as he grunted when he was finally buried to the hilt.
His promises no longer needed to be vocalised—they were sworn with his movements. By the secure grip he kept of her, the lack of distance between their bodies, the way he made love to her. Gently at first then harder, rougher, but never once losing that lovingness that had Sakura clutching him tightly to her, dazed by the overwhelming pleasure that had her trembling in his embrace.
It was… Shit, it was everything she could have ever wanted her first time to be, and when she came it was with a stuttered moan that he swallowed with his kisses, hips urgently hammering into hers so that he could join her in the bliss that left her boneless and in an almost drunken haze. When he reached it, Hashirama collapsed forward with his orgasm, hips bucking into hers as he spilled himself inside of her with a telling, strained moan.
They…
Drained but refusing to be subdued, Hashirama weakly brought himself onto an elbow to kiss her one last time, saying breathlessly between each brushing of their lips, “I will never allow you to feel lonely again.”
Rather than ruining the moment by allowing her annoying trait of overthinking to take over, Sakura returned the kiss with a renewed hunger that had him pressing her further into the futon.
Although the visits weren’t daily, Hashirama did all he could to visit Sakura as often as possible for someone with so much responsibility. He continued to bring her a gift each time, always something different, and they would eat dinner together before ending their meeting wrapped around one another until they were both trembling and satisfied.
Sakura was wary of the feelings she could feel developing for him, even warier of his for her. However, selfishly, she didn’t ruminate over the consequences until she was alone partly because Hashirama was incredibly talented at redirected her.
“Don’t be startled,” he called out before revealing himself, much to her amusement.
Rolling her eyes playfully as she remained submerged in the river, wading lazily beneath the scorching sun, Sakura turned to face Hashirama and raised her eyebrows at the sight of his ensemble. While he tended to wear his armour, she couldn’t help but immediately look to the newest additions of his weapons and the white cloth bearing his clan’s emblem on his forehead.
Just as her lips parted to question him, Hashirama informed her, “The Uchiha Clan are once more on the move. We are setting out to stop them before the encroach on our territory.”
…He was confident but reluctant, Sakura noted. However, she knew not to try and intervene. She had to let it all play out for the sake of Konoha.
Instead, she told him, “Please be safe.”
The graveness of his expression cracked, making way for the warmth that drew her in. “I cannot say for certain how long I will be gone,” he said apologetically.
“I’ll be here,” she promised before she could stop herself.
He grinned widely, though something within the forest had him looking over his shoulder and sighing at the interruption. Hashirama returned his attention to her with a considerably smaller smile, already taking a step back. “I should go before my brother decides I am taking too long.”
He was close by? Grimacing, Sakura lowered herself further into the water until it reached her chin—not that it really offered much protection, being as clear as it was. If she wanted more coverage, then she would have to swim closer to the waterfall.
“I will be back,” he promised.
Watching him leave had Sakura sighing. Her focus drifted up to the few wispy clouds that made up the otherwise endless blue sky, noting that the sun was currently at its apex. Idly, she wondered what she could possibly have for lunch if only to distract herself, but it proved to be fruitless as her mind continued to return to her weakness.
Involving herself with Hashirama was stupidly reckless of her and Sakura continued to find new curses to call herself whenever she reflected over her idiocy. Allowing feelings to develop was one thing, but to sleep with him? Unprotected?
Groaning in despair, she dunked herself to try and shake the bone-deep weariness.
The once was tempting fate. Every other time following that was laughing in fate’s face disrespectfully.
Luckily for her sake, Sakura had skimmed through a jutsu to eliminate the chances of conception. Admittedly, it wasn’t perfected, but it worked just fine for Ino and Sai the one time it was required. It had worked every other time for herself so far, though she would know this time within a week or so either way—her cycle was predictable even with all the stresses around her.
But that wasn’t the point, she chastised herself.
The swim wasn’t enough to keep her occupied. Cursing loudly and with a harsh splash of annoyance, she soon climbed out and wrapped herself up swiftly, considering she was out in the open and no sensory type.
Hashirama had to marry Uzumaki Mito, no matter her feelings on the matter, or how cold she felt realising what that meant for her personally. To try and banish those selfish feelings, Sakura busied herself with stocking up on firewood. She’d caught a rabbit earlier that morning—that’d do for lunch and dinner now that it was only her, she supposed.
The task of cutting down wood to burn was too monotonous now, she realised with a reluctantly accepting sigh. Soon enough, she was zoning out, almost taking more than what she needed before a familiar sensation snapped her back to herself.
She was being watched.
Gut instinct had her gradually stopping in picking up more of the chopped wood, before Sakura froze at the tingling of her nape that brought the hairs to attention, skin breaking out in goosebumps.
This feeling…
“Sakura.”
The sound of her name being spoken so softly, in such potent relief, by the one who’d always owned her heart had Sakura dropping the logs and spinning on her heel, tears filling her eyes the second they locked with his irrefutably comforted ones. Too stunned to speak, she could only watch as he stepped through the space-time portal, disbelieving that he’d actually figured out where she was.
How…?
“I found you.”
“Sasuke-kun,” she whispered, awed.
His next inhale was deep and noticeably unsteady, shoulders slowly rising before falling heavily—the only visible sign of relief he would show, she knew.
Home.
She was…
Just as she stepped forward with her arms raised, she stalled, eyebrows knitting together.
But then that seemingly unshakable homesickness evaporated when their chests came together harshly, squashed, as Sasuke closed the distance between them for the first time ever. His arm around her waist, cheek pressed against her wet hair, she felt his second relieved sigh.
“I found you,” he repeated, voice nothing but a murmur that was nearly lost in her hair.
She was home.
“How…?”
Much too soon, Sasuke pulled away seemingly to gather his bearings, and she noticed his mismatched eyes taking in the surrounding clearing with a touch of surprise before they returned to hers. The question was all too clear at the miniscule furrowing of his brow: why did you choose to be alone?
The guilt Sakura had previously worked so hard to brush aside returned like a tonne of bricks.
“When Gaara informed Kakashi you were missing, he sent two squads to track you down.” Unable to shake the overwhelming guilt that suddenly prevented her from looking him in the eye, Sakura turned and made her way to the cabin that had become her home, barely glancing over her shoulder to make sure Sasuke was following. “I got there first and memorised the remnants of chakra.”
He…?
She needed to busy her hands, Sakura decided upon entering the cabin. Anything that was important, she wrapped up in the beautiful kimono that caused Sasuke to pause in the doorway. Really, she should have left it behind. Taking it with her was sentimental of her. But her heart begged of her not to and Sakura tried to ignore the shaking of her fingers as they lingered over the fabric.
Hashirama…
No, she thought resolutely. It had to be this way. She had to return to her time, just as Hashirama had to marry Mito.
“I thought I was trapped here,” she whispered thickly, head falling forward.
“How long has it been?”
“Fifteen months.”
Silence.
Then, quietly, “You weren’t alone.”
It wasn’t said accusingly. There was no jealousy in his tone. Confused by that, Sakura looked over her shoulder and felt herself tearing up all over again at the concern staring back at her, because that was when she saw it. What almost seemed like a plea in his expression, the one that needed to know she hadn’t isolated herself for the whole fifteen months of being there.
“…No.”
Although she didn’t need the confirmation, her heart broke seeing the responding relief at her words. “You have always struggled with being alone,” was all he said.
Her throat constricted. “How long…?”
“Three months,” Sasuke replied and approached the counter with her stored concoctions.
Understanding they needed to come with them, he had her sighing gratefully when he produced a storage scroll and helped pack away her belongings. There were several items that caused him to pause, but she noticed he refused to fixate on any of them as he focused on his task.
“The guy who sent me here?”
“Detained.” There was no mistaking the pinch of reluctance in his tone there, leading her to believe Sasuke had wanted to do far worse than hand him over. “He was after disrupting the peace by targeting you—our mutual connection.”
Our being his and Naruto’s, Sakura realised before she frowned deeply. After all they went through during that war, someone wanted to rock the peace that was barely even settled? For what possible reason? Who the hell could be so goddamn selfish?
There were so many questions. So much that she couldn’t even think to ask in that dizzying moment. It was too surreal having Sasuke, of all people, there before her in the place she’d resigned to being her home. Standing before her like she hadn’t spent so many months coming to terms with being stuck in the past.
Just as Sasuke moved to seal away the kimono, Sakura caught his hand and turned her head away, requesting, “Leave it.”
He looked down to it though remained silent as she pulled it out from beneath the other gifts she would be taking back with her. They were soon sealed away, and she inhaled deeply while returning the kimono to its coat hanger, hands lingering for a moment.
“I’ll give you a minute,” was all Sasuke said before leaving the cabin without looking back.
Sakura had thought that she would be relieved to go home—which she was—but the conflict that stirred to life within had her hesitating in leaving.
Knowing that Hashirama was facing a deadly battle (even though she knew he would win) with her in mind, believing she would be waiting for him in the cabin he’d made a home for her only to find it abandoned, tore at her. However, she knew waiting around to say goodbye in person wasn’t the wisest idea either.
She refused to leave without leaving any forms of a goodbye, though.
Turning, Sakura grabbed a piece of parchment they had been using to jot down necessities that she needed, inwardly apologising for the sloppiness of her handwriting when she struggled against the messy combination of nerves, excitement and heartache. It wasn’t enough, not even halfway close to being enough of a goodbye, but it had to do.
Before Sakura could second guess her note, she attached it to the kimono before pocketing the one Hashirama had written for her.
She’d meddled with time too much to potentially risk the future even further by sticking around longer than necessary, and she could only hope that it would right itself somehow.
Her head told her not to, but she couldn’t resist looking back at the cabin that had become her home for the past fifteen months just as she was preparing to shut the door on it, heart carrying a new weight at the sight of it so bare without her belongings.
“It’s necessary,” came Sasuke’s surprisingly quiet voice from just outside.
Sakura bit the inside of her cheek and nodded.
“Come on,” he instructed and faced the clearing once more. “We shouldn’t linger.”
And so she left.
Hands grasping the edge of the counter with an intensity that caused her knuckles to be bleach of colour, Sakura dropped her head forward and exhaled slowly, trying and failing to calm the rampant pounding of her heart.
As far as she could tell, there were no major changes to her timeline and after careful consideration, she’d questioned the only one who had even an inkling of an idea as to why. As Sakura had suspected, however, her going back in time likely caused an alternate universe since her presence alone disrupted its natural order. Due to not having his rinnegan all that long and still being in the learning stages, that was all the answer Sasuke could offer her.
When they first returned, it was to a secluded spot that allowed Sakura to gather her bearings, to come to terms with the surreal return that’d felt so impossible for almost a year by that point. But then the smell and the sounds of Konoha had eased some of the heartbreak of leaving Hashirama behind, and she looked to Sasuke with a renewed strength that had his shoulders relaxing. No words had needed to be said between them for him to know she was ready to report to Kakashi, they simply began heading in that direction together. At some point, they silently agreed to keep where she’d been quiet also, and Sakura was extremely grateful for the understanding.
Ah, but now she was royally fucked.
Green eyes grew unfocused on the object that caused her so much grief, hands tightening their hold until she heard the wood splintering.
All previous troubles seemed so pointless now that she knew the jutsu failed. Worrying over how Sasuke was taking the undeniable setting he’d found her in; fretting over Hashirama returning to said setting and finding that she’d abandoned him to return home.
…No, she had bigger problems to figure out now.
That vibrant pink plus sign outweighed them all.