Chapter Text
Note from the Author
First of all, thank you for not skipping over this as I’m sure many people did!
I wanted to post this extra note as a thank you. And I know, I thanked all of you several million times over the last few days while posting these chapters, but I truly can’t stress enough how much this means to me.
Shit’s about to get real personal and deep, so if that’s not your jam (wow, way to date myself), look away.
I suffer from two mental illnesses. The first is Bi Polar II, which I’m sure most of you have heard of. Although it’s caused me trouble in the past, I can (and do) take medication for it. What I want to talk to you about is the second one. It’s a mental illness called Borderline Personality Disorder, or BPD. Unlike BPII, there is no medication for it. Don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it sounds, and there are therapy-based solutions to help, which I have been doing for about a year.
One of the biggest problems people with BPD suffer from is lack of personal identity. What that means is that we look for not only validation, but guidance on who we are through external sources. Because of this, I’ve been very hard on myself throughout my life and tended to compare myself to others. I’ve been writing for decades but have never thought my work good enough. Most of the time, I would get discouraged and stop halfway through.
The thing is, I know I’m not the best writer. Before you start smacking the keyboard, please understand that I’m not looking for compliments or comments to the contrary. Very few people are the best at something. Being able to post this story after being able to admit that it isn’t the best is the point of all this. Despite the fact that there are things I would change, and the typos, and my excessive use of ellipsis, and commas (and parenthesis), and soooo many other things – I posted it. I posted it because I enjoyed writing it. And that is a HUGE step for someone with BPD.
I’m thankful to those of you that read the story, and somehow managed to get this far without scrolling away, because this was a big step in overcoming my mental illness. There’s a chance I’ll never fully overcome it. There’s a chance that I might struggle with BPD for the rest of my life. But I took this step, and you were there with me.
So really, thank you.
Finally! Here is a look at my upcoming KakaSaku fic.
It's much darker, so be warned! Please keep in mind that this is just the first draft and parts may chance.
Summary: Joining ANBU had been the final act of a desperate woman after her marriage fell apart. She never expected it to be the thing that made her connections deeper.
But Sakura Haruno had never been good when it came to talking about her problems. That was a dangerous thing when the ghosts of the actions you had to take in the name of duty haunted you. Enter Kakashi Hatake. He’d always been there when she needed him, and this time he comes baring libations.
Maybe together, they could find something worth living for.
Preface
When Sakura had joined Anbu, she knew that this day would come. If she were being honest, she would admit that it wasn’t even as bad as it could have been. It still hurt… there was always hurt. Perhaps she had stars in her eyes the first time she slipped on the porcelain mask. She dreamed of doing something worthwhile. Something that made a difference to the village. Even if she didn’t get the recognition, it wouldn’t matter. After all, Sakura’s achievements had been looked over her whole life. At least this time, it was her own choice.
“There’s nothing you could have done.” Shikamaru’s flat tone was softer than usual.
“I know.”
She remembered how detached he had seemed growing up. It was a running joke for their generation. Shikamaru Nara. Laziest shinobi to ever come out of Konoha. It wasn’t detachment, she knew that now. Working with a group of elite ninja who were constantly surrounded by death – that had taught Sakura what detachment was. Even when his tone was level, there was something behind it. She was glad that they shared a unit. Maybe she could learn to take things as well as he did.
He didn’t look away from the inferno as he handed her a smooth glass bottle. Red Label. It was the unofficial saké of the Anbu Black Ops. It was cheap and strong enough to knock Tsunade on her ass. Years before Sakura had ever dawned the mask, it became tradition to buy a bottle for an agent that had suffered a bad mission. That ranged in everything from failing their objective to losing a member of their team. It was Sakura’s first bottle.
She winced against the burn as the smooth liquid passed over her tongue. Six. The child couldn't have been any older than six. He hadn’t even known what was happening when the rogue nin decided to barge into his room in an attempt to escape her team. Sakura didn’t get the chance to explain it to him before the entire house lit like the funeral pyre it had become thanks to a panicked jutsu from a coward shinobi.
“Does it get easier?”
Her voice sounded almost emotionless. It was preferable, she supposed. She wasn’t supposed to break down. She wasn’t supposed to feel. That was the problem with being a medic. She got into the field because she did feel.
“No.” Genma spoke honestly, the senbon in his mouth switching sides as the blazing roof finally gave way to collapse in on itself.
When the fire died, the three replaced their masks and made their way back home. All that was left in their wake was a pile of ash and an empty glass bottle.
The first time she lost a team member was harder. He had been young – only seventeen. He was fresh out of training and excited to be out in the field. Sakura was sure she would never forget the terror in his eyes – the moment of fearful realization – as he looked to her. She was the medic, after all. The kunai had punctured an artery. No matter how much chakra she pumped into him, there was no way to stop the bleeding, not with their enemies closing in. She wasn’t even able to bring his body home to his mother.
That was the first night Kakashi showed up at her door with a bottle of Red Label.
“You’re not supposed to know any of the details.” Sakura said plainly, but stepped aside to let him in.
“For a secret organization, Black Ops are terrible gossips.” He had been to her home enough to know where she kept the glasses. By the time she followed him into the kitchen, the saké was already poured. “Genma got sent back out. He told me what happened.”
“I forget sometimes that you were Anbu.” She admitted, taking her glass without hesitation. She was starting to associate the burn with loss. There was something almost poetic in that.
“Once Anbu, always Anbu.” It spoke to her mood that she hardly reacted when he tugged down the mask he had worn her whole life to drain his own cup. Later, she would chastise herself for not memorizing the details.
“I left him…” She admitted, her eyes staring into the table top as Kakashi poured another round. “I abandoned his body in enemy territory. I couldn’t even watch when Shika destroyed it.”
It had been an explosion. She was sure that if she closed her eyes she could still feel the vibrations. It wasn’t Shikamaru’s style. It was the act of a desperate agent following orders. The kid’s body held too many of Konoha’s secrets. There could be nothing left behind. It startled Sakura to realize that she hadn’t even known his name. It wasn’t out of callousness or lack of interest. She just hadn’t had time to ask it. Given the nature of their work, no one would ever know just what he had died for. A nameless kid in a porcelain mask that would never be put to rest.
“You followed orders.” Kakashi said simply as he nudged her cup with one long finger. “Drink.”
The first time Sakura bought a bottle of Red Label, it was for Kakashi. She had been filing a mission report at headquarters when she got the news. Kakashi was back in the village, and he was hurt. More than that, his mission had been a hard one.
Despite the whispers, no one seemed to know just what his objective had been. All they knew was that the Copy Nin only got pulled back in for the worst cases. So she picked up the largest bottle she could find and made her way to the familiar apartment.
Sakura didn’t bother knocking on his front door, not when she knew he wouldn’t answer. Taking the faint glow of his bedroom light as an invitation, she jumped her way up the side of his building and through the cracked window. He didn’t look up as her feet landed softly on his floor. He simply sat on the edge of his bed, uniform in tatters and head hanging heavily in his hands. Although she couldn’t see it, the smell of blood hung heavy in the air. He didn’t lift his head until she reached his side, placing the heavy bottle in his now vacant hands. Now that she was closer, she could make out the large gash that started at his shoulder and disappeared under the back of his shirt.
Wordlessly, Sakura tore the already ripped fabric. She scoped out the damage with professional eye before setting to work, her hands glowing a faint green as he popped the seal on the bottle.
“I had to kill a child today.” His words were hollow, but she could tell from his tone that the pain would come later. It always did. She was thankful when her hands didn’t falter. “He lost control of his kekkei genkai. Ten people were dead before I even got there. The village saw no other way to save the rest of their people...” She didn't acknowledge when his eyes pinched tightly shut. “He was ten.”
“You were following orders.” She replied softly. “Drink.”
He did.