woman torso

GWNI prompt: “Grey’s Anatomy” AU (ItaSakuKaka) (by moor)

(@uchihabat, enjoy!)

Sakura knew she shouldn’t have suggested Tsunade take another Detox December after the last one, but ffs this was kind of petty for punishment, even for the Surgical Director.

“I think it’s a fine idea; I’d love to. I just don’t think it’s a good time,” said Sakura as she drew the scalpel down the torso of the ridiculously endowed woman under sedation. These could not be real. The lack of scars was just proof of a magnificent skill-level in plastic surgery. It was not her own insecurity rearing its ugly head again because of whom she was working with.

“I think it would be an excellent time. The shelter is always looking for extra hands,” said Kakashi from across from her as he dabbed at the next mark on the woman’s torso in preparation for the following incision. “And you know you get lonely over the holidays. You’d enjoy yourself helping out with the puppies.”

She knew she would. But that wasn’t why he was asking.

“I believe Sakura asked for extra shifts over the holidays; she will be unable to accompany you to the animal shelter,” said Itachi as he monitored the vitals before nodding at the nurse to bring over his own implements. “We are scheduled together while you are on call.”

The tension in the room inched up an increment as Sakura’s ex, Itachi, regarded her current beau, Kakashi.

She and Itachi had dated on and off, with spectacular chemistry, throughout their studies and residency. However, at the insistence of his family he had asked for a break; during which time one of the senior staff members, Kakashi, had invited Sakura out for a coffee and… they’d woken up together the next morning, and he’d given her a spare key six months later.

Things with Itachi had been intense and spontaneous and, admittedly, absolutely earth shattering between the sheets. Things with Kakashi had become sweetly devoted, considerate and blissful. And she had to confess she had enjoyed the gobsmacked look of shock on Itachi’s handsome face when he’d caught Kakashi nailing her over the staff room couch from behind one evening during an unusually quiet night shift.

Never do better than an Uchiha, her butt.

(Hmph. Literally.)

While her relationship with Kakashi was warm and wonderful, Itachi did not seem to have accepted that things were truly over between them.

—As evidenced by the fact he had somehow bribed someone on the team to take their shift over the coveted holidays. Sure, the pay was double time and a half, but it was also a time for families. And especially when it came to Uchihas, family came first. Having no family of her own, and her relationship with Kakashi, also a family-less man, Sakura had offered to hold down the fort, granting the remaining surgical staff the option of going on call (paid), or taking vacation.

Itachi sticking around while shunning his family was unheard of for an Uchiha.

So what on earth was he expecting, trying to weasel into the holidays with her while they were on duty?…

“You’re certain there was no mention on her chart of any previous surgeries,” said Sakura to Itachi as she clamped open the cut. Something was fishy about this procedure; she could have sworn she just saw some discoloured scar tissue…

“None,” said Itachi, confident.

“They aren’t real,” said Kakashi. “I prefer real ones, by the way. They’re so soft to cuddle with.”

Oh fuck, here they go, thought Sakura, closing her eyes a moment and taking a deep breath.

“A man of your years would have the experience to differentiate. However you would be incorrect in this case,” said Itachi, setting about his own incision by the woman’s left hip.

“They’re false. And a man of my years does have a great deal of experience to share, and guidance, patience and tenderness. A man of my experience doesn’t run from his responsibilities, either. He only takes on what he knows he can dedicate himself to, entirely,”

Counting to ten in her head, Sakura peeked at the monitors while Kakashi’s long, gentle hands opened the cut and gently shifted aside the vocal cords, allowing Sakura access to the thyroid where the first tumour was located.

“A man with priorities will take the time to set them in order to ensure his completely success,” said Itachi as a nurse clamped the edges of his incision open.

“Gentlemen, focus,” said Sakura as she noted the silky edge to Itachi’s words.

“People are priorities, too. Or did you forget to factor the human element into your success?”

“Long term planning is more successful than short term and allows for unfortunate and temporary deviations to cross paths. One can learn from such negligible mistakes,” said Itachi, his voice low and smooth.

“One moves on from mistakes, too,” added Kakashi. “To happier, more loving relationships. We’re expecting, did we tell you?”

“What?” Itachi’s smooth cutting faltered.

“We’re expecting lots of puppies in the near future. A litter of our own, and the shelter anticipates two coming over the holidays. So many little paws going pitter-patter,” said Kakashi gleefully.  

For her part, Sakura sighed.

“Looks like they were fake,” she said, pointing with her scalpel. “Nurse, could you please update the chart?”

“… Huh?” asked the nurse, shaking herself from the ping-pong match that had been zipping back and forth between the combined hotness that was Itachi and Kakashi.

Sakura fought the urge to roll her eyes.

Song on the Subway

Rush-hour on the A train. A blind man
 staggers forth, his cane tapping lightly
   down the aisle. He leans against the door,

raises a violin to chin, and says I’m sorry
 to bother you, folks. But please. Just listen.
   And it kills me, the word sorry. As if something like music

should be forgiven. He nuzzles into the wood like a lover,
 inhales, and at the first slow stroke, the crescendo
   seeps through our skin like warm water, we    

who have nothing but destinations, who dream of light
 but descend into the mouths of tunnels, searching.
   Beads of sweat fall from his brow, making dark roses

on the instrument. His head swooning to each chord
 exhaled through the hollow torso. The woman beside me
   has put down her book, closed her eyes, the baby

has stopped crying, the cop has sat down, and I know
 this train is too fast for dreaming, that these iron jaws
   will always open to swallow a smile already lost.

How insufficient the memory, to fail before death.
Who will hear these notes when the train slides
   into the yard, the lights turned out, and the song

lingers with breaths rising from empty seats?
 I know I am too human to praise what is fading.
   But for now, I just want to listen as the train fills

completely with warm water, and we are all
 swimming slowly toward the man with Mozart
   flowing from his hands. I want nothing

but to put my fingers inside his mouth,
 let that prayer hum through my veins.
   I want to crawl into the hole in his violin.

I want to sleep there
                                 until my flesh
                                                        becomes music. 

Ocean Vuong