It was only natural that he’d expected Tsunade to walk through the door; it was she, after all, who’d been the driving force behind the healthcare revolution in Konoha, and it was she who’d been the one to stitch together his flesh and bones during their years as teammates. And, well, if he were being perfectly honest, he would have enjoyed another opportunity to remind her again of who it was who had saved her bifurcated body, spilling itself all over the battlefield and left to die.
He’d completely forgotten about her apprentice.
She was an uncanny echo of the Slug Princess, the way she stood so firmly in the doorway of his room, hands on her hips (with those clenched fists no doubt itching to pummel him through the wall), and…was that the Strength of a Hundred seal stamped onto her forehead?
“Not happy to see me, Sakura-chan?” he teased, leaning forward from where he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, mouth curved into a maliciously pleased smirk. He hadn’t bothered with changing into a gown; his injuries weren’t that serious. In fact, he could have easily taken care of them himself, but he found the opportunity to see the latest developments of Konoha’s medical research facilities too intriguing to pass up, so he’d admitted himself. (Under the strictest of assurances from Yamato and the wary-eyed security guards that he’d be on his best behavior. Well…best-ish.)
“I suppose I couldn’t blame you for it, though I admit I am enjoying your reaction.”
Maybe once upon a time, she would’ve acted on her temper. Instead, airs of aloof disinterest regard the viper in the grass as if he were no different from any other patient. Truth be told, Sakura was more peeved that she’d been pulled from her work with the mental health clinic just a building away on the hospital’s campus, being in Konoha rarely enough as it was. Truly, she’d followed in her predecessor’s footsteps to the letter, down to abandoning her place as a Leaf-nin in exchange for the civilian life as a professor on an archipelago thousands of miles away. Aside from special cases and the mental health clinic, Sakura was as good as a ghost to the village.
So, she ignored him. At first, regarding him as little more than a floor lamp or chair, placidly removing her coat and making a leisurely point with it. Her body language was calm, collected, before she finally met lurid golds with measured disinterest. Pulling up a chair near his bedside that was still a good half meter from it, she crossed her legs. Morino would be proud of her, that was for certain.
“So, what’s your angle?” Sakura queried conversationally, gaze fixated on a clipboard with nonsensical details. “Scouting for new host bodies? A patient with special kekkei genkai catch your interest?” By the time she did meet his gaze, her eyebrows quirked upwards, patronizing. “Personally, I don’t really know or care why you’re here. But, here you are, and if you don’t have some comic book villain motive, I’m going to go ahead and assume that something’s gone awry and you’re, quite literally, falling apart. Especially if you have to come here of all places? The outside world advances faster than the shinobi. Hell, it’s a decade behind in comparison.”
Setting down the clipboard, she sat back with a cocky mien. “Go ahead, try something. My day’s been slow as it is and I doubt anyone would mind if I blow off some steam enacting a round of Mushi-ken.”
