"..."

After a moment, the bone-blade pressed against the grocer's belly retracts. Slowly. Petulantly. He will obey — but he does not like it.

Kimimaro's gaze glides from Sakura's back to the grocer Kimimaro holds by the front of his shirt several inches off the ground. Kimimaro's eyes narrow.

the gasp escapes the child as a squeak, which is just one more reason for shizuma to duck behind the corner and freeze and press flat against the wall, his tiny hearts fluttering in time with his gills.

he’s seen the woman a few times before in passing, one of his parent’s many friends or political affiliates, maybe. she’s strange. scary. where are her gills, her scales, her claws, her tail? everything on her looks soft and easy. shizuma doesn’t know what’s scarier: that she looks so different from him, or that he kind of likes it.

talons clutching the fabric over his hearts, shizuma shyly pokes his head around the corner and glances at the woman once, twice, three times. he can’t see her too well — his eyes are still adjusting to open air, after all — but he can feel the buzz of her body mingling with the electromagnetic fields lancing through everything, shifting his vision into a world of white ripples and waves. and he can smell her, too — earthy, warm, and thick, all underlaid by the subtle spicy warmth of their parent’s cologne. the smell of home.

the anxious flutters in his chest slow. she is an other, a stranger, a potential threat .... but how scary can she be if the strongest most bravest person in the entire world trusted her enough to let her inside?

it takes a moment for him to steel himself, but shizuma sidles around the wall and approaches cautiously, blinking rapidly as he struggles to shift between his three distinct eye lenses, one for each type of sight. by the time he reaches her he’s got himself stuck on drysight. he squints at her in an attempt to make her afterimages behave, then reaches out and lays a tiny clawed hand in her outstretched palm. her palms are rough and calloused; signs of a working woman. shizuma relaxes a bit more, gills stilling as he inhales that same spicy sweet scent through his nostrils.

“iruka-sensei doesn’t have a favourite student! he likes everyone eq-”

sasori’s body is the finest work of puppetry kankuro has ever laid eyes on. it’s deeply unsettling, he’s sure, to watch him wield what looks like a corpse as a weapon ( but, hey, what about kankuro and his puppets isn’t deeply unsettling?), and he gives sakura an apologetic smile for it. “my bad. maybe i should repaint it, slap my name all over it? ah, but it would be such a shame to ruin a piece of art like this.” sakura had been the one to defeat sasori in battle - a feat that inspires awe in kankuro even to this day - so certainly she knows more than anyone how lethal the poison, how destructive the sting of such a work of art and the man who once puppeteered it. she’s wise to be afraid. but they’re allies now, friends even; kankuro will only ever use such a weapon to defend his konoha comrades.

“i learned how to build puppets from master sasori’s own notes.” he can’t help but give him the title and show him the respect a master of his craft deserves. kankuro was never sasori’s student, had never even met the man before he’d left him for dead, but he undoubtably owes his proficiency in the art form and battle style to his writings. “his work - these puppets - they revitalized the art of puppetry for all of sunagakure. without his designs, i’m not sure we’d still have a puppet core.” there is a definite fondness when he speaks.

     It’s almost automatic: when she bumps his shoulder with her hip he leans away from the table, enough that she can slip right into his lap, without even looking up or pulling his chopsticks from his sad-looking bowl of soupy rice. Sakura captures his free hand and squeezes his hand and that’s fine, because he’s pretty sure the watery liquid they’re trying to pass off as coffee is just chicory root and doesn’t have caffeine anyway, so there’s no point in clinging desperately to the mug like someone might get bold enough to steal it. 

    Sai allows himself one jaw-cracking, cat-like yawn before he settles his chin against her shoulder and slumps bonelessly against her back. Too many hours scouting and running and not enough sleep, and he can feel the warm tickle of her chakra gathering in her hands while she instinctively checks him over without a word. He thinks about scolding her and telling her to save her strength, but he thinks better of it when she makes a frustrated noise and the lingering cramp that had been troubling his left arm from pinky to elbow dissipates. 

     A long sigh rolls out of him, and he stirs his wet rice absently for a moment even as he squeezes her hands in silent thanks, and then he asks, “how are you so awake right now--” 

          And then it hits him.

     He squeezes her with the arm around her waist a little and peers at the side of her face, watching for her many tells. “You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”  he shifts tracks, voice still lacking the accusatory tone she might expect had the question come from anyone else. “I know you need to feel useful right now, Sakura, but you’re no use to anyone as a medic or a fighter if you’re delirious from a lack of sleep.” 

     Another squeeze when he feels her tense, and the look on her face grows thunderous that those around them start to lean away, but he lifts up a chunk of something that is hopefully tofu and holds it close to her mouth, hoping to cut off her anger in the bud. “Here, eat some of this... whatever it is. And then go back to sleep, okay? I’ll wake you when I get back from my scouting run. The medic tent can spare you for a few hours.” 

                  most wouldn’t consider rock lee the “type” for things as sensitive as diplomatic endeavors, but he’s taken to liasion between villages like a fish to water. not only is he charasmatic and dedicated in his normal day-to-day, but he and sakura work well together. she travels to those who need assistance, while lee spreads the good reputation of the allied shinobi forces; a union that needs to last long after the ashes of war have settled. 

                 normally, settled under stars isn’t the worst way to sleep, despite the terrible strain on ones back - he never complains, thought. but sakura seems to want to splurge that evening, and lee doesn’t say no. the inn is lovely, the sheets smell like cherry blossoms and the fancy hand soaps in the bathroom look good enough to eat! 

              (he doesn’t ,of course, but the colorful shapes of roses and shells are tempting.) 

                “hmm?” owlish eyes blink over to his companion as she speaks, “for me?” he confirms even as she reaches out to him to hand him something. it’s a carving, wood smooth in the shape of a tiger and lotus. lee feels his throat begin to clench a little. his eyes begin to water. not only is it a gift which means she was thinking of him, but it is something she crafted for him. made for him with her own two hands. something special and meaningful. his clan is small, it’s himself and gai, but the lotus has always meant so much to it. 

          Genma ducks-- he knows how this goes by now. 

     He’s pretty sure that’s Uzumaki Naruto sailing over his head, squealing like a hog going to slaughter. It’s certainly eye-searingly orange and blonde and loud enough, cursing up a storm all the way up until he crashes into the trees twenty yards behind Genma. A beat of silence, and then the cursing resumes, so he continues wandering closer to where the current spar between team seven has stalled, trying not to laugh at the varying expressions on each of their faces. 

     Sai’s creepy little not-smile, Yamato’s vague irritation. Hatake looks half-asleep, but he’s folding his stupid little book away now that Genma’s approaching. Sakura is the only one that looks even a little bit regretful, but sometimes with her it’s hard to tell if that’s genuine or not. At least, he thinks, she’d called out to warn him. The rest of these bastards would have been content to see if he would dodge. 

     “I see we’re having an exciting afternoon--” he starts, signing a quick hokage meet now at the silver haired jounin, tucked out of sight of the others. The other man groans and claps him on the shoulder. 

     Claps him on the shoulder. Hatake Kakashi claps him on the shoulder. Alarm bells go off in his head but not in time for him to interrupt the man when he says, “Maa, not exciting enough for me. Why don’t you four have some fun with Shiranui-san, I think I’ll go get some lunch.” Genma gives him the stink eye as the man smiles guilelessly back at him, and then disappears. 

     He turns back to the others, feeling vaguely irritated. The irritation turns to dread when he sees the calculating look on Yamato’s face, and the intrigued looks on the others. He really does not want to fight with team seven, you see, because he is relatively squishy and every single one of them plays harder than a rhinoceros. It is with that desperate thought in mind that he turns a smile onto Sakura, his cheek twitching a little, and asks, “Sakura-san, I actually have some new poisons I’ve been developing?”