FicWad

Sasuke was gone, never coming back, dead in a cave far away with Tobi and Itachi. The news tore Sakura apart, and for weeks she wasted bitter tears on her former teammate, even as she worked alongside Tsunade to heal the ninja who had been sent to retrieve him.

The pink-haired girl could feel her teacher's eyes on her. Tsunade was obviously watching for signs of a breakdown, of a mental collapse that could negatively affect her work. So Sakura stayed diligent, refusing to give the older woman a chance to pull her out. The hospitals of Konoha was where she belonged, and it would be where she stayed and healed herself and others, even if it killed her. The killing medicine: remembering Sasuke as he was, then casting him off like dead skin, familiar but useless, warm but unneeded.

She didn't want to see her fellow ninjas outside of the work area, so at night she went drinking with Tsunade. Two broken women would burn moonlight carousing and bar hopping, slogging around drunkenly with the memories of dead, loved men. Talk of the past was forbidden. There was only the future - a world without foolishness and careless actions, a never-ending tale of never-will-bes and wouldn't-it-be-nices. Tsunade was fifty-four; Sakura was sixteen. They were either too young or too old to be doing such things, but the social mores of society stopped being important when they stopped breathing.

It would happen on the occasional summer nights, when the muggy heat called for more ice cold liquor than usual and multiple layers would be frowned upon. The two women found themselves in Tsunade's apartment and they would sit on her futon and slur memories of the dead. On one of these nights, Tsunade touched the back of Sakura's hand. It was light, almost feather-like, tracing the characters of Sakura's name on her skin. They traced a soft line upwards to the young girl's mouth and become moist; the invitation had been accepted.

They would often tussle on top of each other, pulling at each other's clothes, stroking the other's hair. And if they called each other by the wrong name - if Sakura cried out the name of her black-haired teammate while her teacher was between her legs, or if Tsunade whispered to the wind the name of the last great sannin as her student's fingers dipped deeper and deeper inside of her - well, that was understandable. The words were important, the sounds soon forgotten. What the ears didn't hear the body remembered, and carried over to the next besotted night of drink and talk.

They were the greatest of actors, the village their stage. There was no 'morning after'; everything went on as usual. Sakura was used to it. Three years ago under a full moon she had lost her virginity to Sasuke. She had been afraid at first, unsure of why Sasuke asked her to do such a thing. But she soon didn't care, and all that consumed her was the thrust of her own hips and the weight of Sasuke's member inside of her. She came, and it felt uncomfortable. A minute or so later, Sasuke came inside her, and Sakura felt as if she'd been consumed by the spirit of heat itself.

Sasuke left the village the next day. He returned three years later cold as the ground to be buried in the Uchiha family grave.

In the present, the last night of summer was different. No drink was had; when Sakura gestured to the sake bottle on the bedside table, Tsunade shook her head. Under the bedroom window, the disconnected sounds of nighttime revelry became background noise for a sober scene. Somewhere out there the people of Sakura's past were living: Shikamaru and his team drinking and playing Shogi, Kakashi downing hot brandy at a cold grave, a red-faced Temari punishing a Hokage in the making for being a peeper, Naruto eating ramen for half-price while trying not to re-break his arm. In the forgotten bedroom fireflies rested their wings on the windowsills and lit the way for Sakura's hands to cradle Tsunade's face.

Two sets of eyes locked on each other. No words were spoken as the two made love for the first time.