Dance for Me

"To dance is to reach for a word that doesn't exist,

To sing the heartsong of a thousand generations,

To feel the meaning of a moment in time."

- Beth Jones

The room had not been used for years, according to Tsunade. This was true, judging by the vaguely musty smell, and the hollow echo of the floor as light feet travelled over it, led by another pair; suede soled and moving with sure steps.

Sakura was dancing, and she was not alone.

She let the music take her, pulling her, tugging her gently into its rhythmic flow, twisting and twirling in time to the peaks and falls of the deep cello. She allowed herself to curl backwards at the spine, strong hands around her waist dipping her almost to the floor, and she let her left hand trail across her body slowly, to brush the polished wooden floor beneath her, while her other hand rested behind strong shoulders.

She was pulled up sharply from the dip, suddenly face to face with her partner, his right leg in between hers as they moved once more in perfect synchronicity. They travelled backwards and forwards across the dance floor, interlocked in a seductive interchange where each was completely aware of the other's body.

The second dip he led her into, his body remained close to hers, and her left leg wrapped around his upper thigh for balance. His chest was pressed flush against hers, and she was sure he could feel her hammering heartbeat and shaky breaths.

"You're distracted..." came the low mutter against her ear, warm breath tickling her cheek.

Large hands splayed across her taut back, bringing her up with agonising suspense to stand upright anew, a muscled leg still in between hers. His right hand moved further up her back, resting on her shoulder blade. His wrist brushed the side of her breast when she took a step that was slightly out of time. She gasped, realising too late that he could her hear her sharp intake of breath with her pressed up against him like this.

"Focus, Sakura..." he chastised gently, "you'll get nowhere if you're this on edge."

Sakura nodded mutely and tried to still the butterflies in her stomach and relax her shoulders.

"I'll try...Sensei," she replied with a hushed voice.

"Good girl."

One week ago...

"You want me to what?" she'd asked, certain she must have misheard.

"Dance, Sakura," replied Tsunade, "Ballroom dancing- a widespread custom of Cloud. That's just one of the things you'll need to become well-versed in to succeed here. This an undercover mission of the highest high calibre, and I believe you are the most suited to the job. You are exceptionally quick at memorising physical techniques, not to mention flexible."

"Dance..." Sakura reiterated, not quite able to grasp the concept. "Shishou, I'm not very...graceful. I don't know anything about dancing."

"Rubbish," dismissed Tsunade, "I've seen you practicing your katas when you think nobody is looking. You might as well be doing tai-chi. Your fighting style may be blunt, but you yourself are not. Sakura, you're not only the best suited for the job, you're the only person for the job."

"Then, what else does this mission involve Shishou?" Sakura looked at her teacher warily.

"It's nothing like that Sakura, so get your mind out of the gutter," said Tsunade reprovingly. "It's some simple espionage to begin with, and depending on what you find, possibly an assassination. Just...with some rather large implications. Hence the 'S' rank."

"A massacre?" Sakura guessed. Surely her shishou wouldn't ask such a thing of her?

"Not quite," Tsunade said gravely, "Cloud's Daimyo."

Sakura's steps had become out of time, so Kakashi widened the gap between them, scrutinising her body's movements with a practiced eye.

"You're moving your hips in time with your feet..." he told her as he closed the gap between them, "and they should be half a beat delayed. Try it."

The amount of things she had to concentrate on at once was almost frying her brain. Point left foot out, not in, move arms opposite directions to feet, delayed hips...

Kakashi, to best assess her progress, pressed their bodies close together, his splayed hands on her back pressing every inch of her torso into his. This way, she soon found out, he could feel every move she made, as she could feel every flex of his lithe muscle through her thin clothes.

She prayed he hadn't noticed the shiver that ran up her spine at the contact.

"The Daimyo? Why?" Sakura was shocked. Such an act would surely lead to war with Cloud, dissolving any pretense of good relations they had previously been enjoying.

"I have it from a trustworthy source that the Daimyo is planning a coup d'état, which could be in the next few weeks, or it could be in months. This would mean very bad things for Konoha, as the Daimyo has a powerful personal army; very different to how things are in Konoha. Given the Daimyo's vendetta against Konoha ever since the Hyuuga incident, and his constant low-key attempts to provoke us into a dispute, war would be unavoidable. Widespread, bloody war from which we may not emerge victorious, and definitely not unscathed."

"Shouldn't missions like this be carried out by the anbu forces?" Sakura was shocked she was even being considered for such a vital role; if she messed up, the fate of nations would be affected.

"There are no women appropriate for this mission in anbu." Tsunade frowned, clearly displeased at the shortcomings of her forces. "They're all physically unsuitable. Their scars would give them away. Sakura, you're going to have to get awfully close to this guy, get to know him personally. It's too risky to allow a woman with clear signs of being a ninja to do this mission."

Sakura understood; after a wound had healed naturally, there was little that could be done with chakra to improve the aesthetics of it. With Sakura's constant access to medical techniques from a young age, she was probably one of the least scarred shinobi in Konoha.

"That's not all," Tsunade continued, "you're also one of very few people who can kill somebody and make it look like a heart attack. Nobody can know that we had a hand in this, Sakura."

"I still don't understand why I need to learn how to dance..."

Concentrating harder on her body, Sakura attempted to put the lithe grace of her fighting style into her movements, snapping her left arm out to the side with her wrist and fingers elegantly poised as her led her backwards with sure steps.

When she felt his arm slip around her waist, she sprung lightly into the air with his assistance, and he allowed her to descend until she was pressed against his chest. He was looking straight at her, his gaze boring into her unfalteringly. She found herself unable to maintain the eye contact, and looked away blushing, her hands fidgeting against his shoulders.

"That's not right," he admonished gently, "you're not participating."

"I'm dancing! What more do you want?" she asked, batting away his hands from her upper waist irritably. They had been practicing for seven hours with only a short lunch break as reprieve, and it had begun to wear her patience thin. She'd never thought that dancing would be as demanding as taijutsu, but it served to be just as physically strenuous, with the added stress of musical timing.

"You know what I want," he said patiently, "so tell me what you're doing wrong."

"Tango...is not just a dance," Sakura recited slowly, "it's an act. An act of seduction that must be believable to both the dancer and the audience-Sensei, I know this, but is it really all necessary?"

"If you're not perfect by the end of the week, somebody will spot that something's not right about us. Our cover must be flawless, which means you need to start acting like a mature woman." And stop acting like a child. "A lot is resting on this, Sakura; on us."

"Cloud's Daimyo... He has a fascination with dancers," Tsunade explained solemnly. "He holds regular gatherings, very high-profile, and difficult to get into. I, however, have managed to procure invitations for three of these events. Use these opportunities to show off as much as possible; pique his interest. Get yourself noticed. Let him approach you, and if he requests to see you again, you should agree, but until you have evidence of his treachery, you should bring your partner with you. You never know what a man's intentions are, and a misunderstanding could ruin the mission, especially when it comes to men who are used to getting what they want."

The dark implication in Tsunade's voice was not lost on Sakura, and gave her an idea of the type of man she would be dealing with; the type who had too much power, and used it to bully young women into bed with them.

"One last thing before you make your decision; by the time you're introduced to the Daimyo, it will be too late to send another team," Tsunade stressed. "After you meet him, you absolutely must see it through, even if it's just confirming that there will be no coup d´état. We only have one chance at this. Do you understand?"

"I do, shishou," Sakura said after a small pause, "and I accept the mission." She met her mentor's gaze with determination.

"I knew you would; you're my apprentice after all." Tsunade smiled at her with something akin to pride."I think now would be a good idea to meet your team leader, and dance teacher." Tsunade angled her head towards the window, "Kakashi, you can come in now."

There stood her sensei, hair ruffled and clothes slightly creased, as though he'd just been napping, a hand raised in slack greeting.

"Yo," he gave her an eye-crinkle.

Unsure, Sakura looked back at her mentor, who nodded encouragingly. Sakura turned to face her old comrade, though her eyes didn't rise higher than his feet.

"I look forward to working with you, sensei," she bowed tensely.

"Lets stop for today," sighed Kakashi, letting go of her hand and stepping back, reinstating the distance between them.

Sakura felt her shoulders drop in relief at his words. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this exhausted in a non life-threatening situation. Her feet had been emitting sharp spikes of pain for the past hour, despite wearing the soft, black satin dance shoes Tsunade had presented her with. She'd been intrigued to find out that the bottom of the shoes were covered in furry suede, and had stroked them with ardent fascination until Kakashi had cleared his throat, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She'd flushed and looked away, muttering something about it feeling like a cat.

Looking over at the tall jounin as she rubbed her aching shoulders, she wondered at how appeared to have no signs of fatigue. What little she could see of his face looked matte and a healthy creamy colour, as opposed to her own sweaty, red mess of a face.

His composure irritated her.

She was all too aware of her breathing; embarrassingly loud in the echoey room, the pounding from the physical exertion booming terribly in her ears. She tried to quiet her strained breaths, but found her efforts wasted as she succeeded in only making her breathing irregular as well as awkwardly loud. To cover up her embarrassment at her unfitness she sank to the floor to touch her toes in a stretch, her breathing muffled into her knees.

Sneaking a look up at her silver-haired counterpart, she found him observing the room with his trademark nonchalant repose; one hand in pocket, an elbow on the rotting windowsill. At first glance, he seemed as though he was somewhere else entirely, but from the way his eye was focused on the wall, and not some distant daydream, Sakura could tell that he was right there in the room with her, though the tension, hanging thick and cold, felt like an impenetrable stone wall.

Although there were sounds that could be heard, there was a type of silence between them that went beyond what could be heard. Every gesture was evidence of how their relationship had changed. Ever since that mission. The bad one.

"You're receiving voice coaching," Kakashi began, seemingly unaffected by the strained atmosphere, "so let me hear your Cloud accent."

"Okay then..." Sakura, for a moment, was unsure of what to say. "This mission feels dangerous. I know we've taken harder missions together before, but this is something else." Sakura told him with a perfect Cloud lilt. "A Daimyo huh..." she shook her head before tilting it up at him quickly, aware that she'd maybe said too much about her insecurities. She forced a smile in his direction. "You know what the only thing I like about this mission is? Besides the large payoff, I mean."

"I can guess," remarked her sensei dryly, looking pointedly up at the ceiling, a hint of resigned anguish in his voice.

Sakura brought the soles of her feet together, reaching forward to stretch out her thighs and hips.

"You have to dye your hair pink," she reminded him gleefully, the tense atmosphere not quite oppressive enough to dull her delight at that certain aspect of the mission.

"Strawberry blond will do," he amended, "as long as it's somewhat similar to yours, our cover will be believable."

"Oh..." replied Sakura, finished stretching and looking up at him. "I suppose that's fine too..."

She tried to hide her disappointment; she had been looking forward to seeing if her sensei would go through with the orders from the Hokage to dye his hair pink for their cover. When Kakashi had politely suggested that Sakura dye hers silver instead, Tsunade had replied sharply that it was far easier to colour hair than to lighten it, and bleach was bad for a woman's hair. Sakura had a feeling that Tsunade was just as eager to see Kakashi with pink hair as she was.

Sakura had been cursing the rules binding her to secrecy all week, longing to tell Naruto all about her impressive mission, since he would frequently return from S-class missions with exciting, half-garbled tales of epic battles with missing-nin and famous shinobi. She and Kakashi finally got the S-class mission they were capable of, and she couldn't even brag about it.

"We'll practice more tomorrow," informed Kakashi, "you may know the steps now, but you've still got a way to go before you'll impress any Daimyos. We need to work on your hand styling; it's still sloppy. The hip lead, too; you need to get used to following a lead with only the lightest of touches."

"Okay, that's fine," Sakura consented, standing up to leave, "See you tomorrow, sensei."

"Seven o'clock sharp," he replied, to which she rolled her eyes.

"Seven o'clock, sharp," she agreed seriously. Sometime before lunch, but long after sunrise.

Despite her fatigue, she managed to hop nimbly up to the window, the door long rusted shut. The key Tsunade had given her for the room had promptly snapped upon being introduced to the stiff lock, and her inhuman strength.

Sakura resisted the temptation to turn around, crouched in the window frame, to see if he was watching her. She kept her gaze on the sunset-tinted evening view of the village, and on the roof below, because she knew that he didn't watch her, not anymore.

Sakura's apartment was cold, the chill of the air biting at her arms and legs once the hot exhaustion from her training had left her. Shivering, Sakura rubbed her goose-bump-pimpled arms and turned up her thermostat, grabbing an extra jumper from her clean laundry pile as she passed.

Her kitchen was a mess, which was very unusual. She'd been spending so much time doing 'extra lessons' with Kakashi, that she'd not had time to give her cosy apartment the attention it needed. Used cooking implements fermented in the dirty washing-up water.

"Ugh..."

Sakura began to drain the old water away, running fresh hot water with plenty of bubbles, and started to scrub. It had been a long time since she had let her place become in such a state.

It was all because of this stupid mission. It was taking up all her time, but she had no paychecks coming in while she trained for it, so she had been cooking at home to save money, hence the huge amount of washing up to be done.

Using a newly cleaned pot, she put enough noodles for three people on the hob, adding in seasoning, pork and vegetables. Since she'd been dancing, her appetite had grown exponentially; muscles being strengthened that she didn't even know she could use increased her calorie demand, which surprised her considering how much she already trained in taijutsu.

"Are you really going to eat all that by yourself, Sakura-chan?" Naruto was crouched in her window frame, looking at the large pot of noodles with wide eyes. "Were you expecting someone?"

"Come in and close the window, Naruto. You're letting the cold in," Sakura sighed, putting another few handfuls of noodles in the pot. Why did so many men insist on using windows when there were perfectly good doors around? Still, she appreciated the company; Naruto's bright presence was a sharp contrast to Kakashi's aloof, brooding one that she'd been around all day.

Naruto hastily jumped down to slide the window closed before ambling over, squinting analytically at her.

"You look thinner," he observed, "I thought you'd be bulking up with all the extra training, and you're clearly not dieting. What kind of training is Kakashi putting you through, Sakura-chan? Is it dangerous?"

"It's not...dangerous," she assured him. Not in the way you think.

Sakura was aware that she could not talk much about her training, as it linked to her top-secret mission. She shook her head, smiling. "Don't worry, I'm not going to waste away."

Sakura hadn't paid attention to how the training may have been affecting her body. While she still occasionally dieted occasionally like other kunoichi, she would be devastated to lose what little curves puberty had left her with before skipping right past her.

Sakura served up the ramen, too ravenous to care about trivial things like presentation as she ladled the ramen messily into two bowls, sliding one across the worktop to Naruto. He made an excited noise, before clapping his hands in hasty thanks and digging in.

For a few minutes, they ate comfortably, only the sound of slurping up noodles disrupting the silence. This didn't last long however, as Naruto soon finished his bowl:

"So I haven't seen you and Kakashi together so much recently, besides during your 'mystery training,' which I'm not allowed to see anyway. Have you even taken any missions together recently? I haven't even seen you at the Bright Shuriken since the mission with-"

"It's late," Sakura interrupted, her shoulders suddenly raised, "I have an early start tomorrow. Maybe we can talk another time, Naruto."

Maybe it was the tension in her bowed neck, or the white tinge on her clenched knuckles, but he got the message and backed off looking hurt and guilty at the same time.

"Sure," he said, "good luck with your training, and if I don't see you before you go, good luck on your mission. Thanks for the ramen - It's on me next we go to Ichiraku's."

"Thank you," she replied, her tone softer, "we'll go after I get back."

Naruto gave her his trademark ramen-grin before leaving, using the door for once.

Sakura's clothes formed little puddles of brightly coloured cloth on her bathroom floor as she undressed, stepping under the hot spray of her shower. She breathed the steam in deeply, enjoying the clean feeling that the refreshing soapy smell gave her.

Her bathroom was stark in its brightness, and the white tiles, some cracked, made the light seem harsh on her skin, highlighting her flaws as she observed herself in the long mirror, still dripping wet.

Naruto was right, she was slimmer, but thankfully not frightfully so; her arms hadn't changed much, just as toned as ever. Her waist had become more pronounced though, narrowing at a sharper angle below her ribs, and she was quite happy with the effect. She was relieved to see that her breasts appeared unchanged, if a little high, though she still remained a few inches on the pear-shaped side. She had always cursed her almost straight 'up and down' figure, and was more than a little self-conscious about her childlike looks.

She began to grow cold, her body heat leaving her as she shivered in front of the mirror, looking small and vulnerable in her reflection. Sakura hated that vulnerability; the lost look that still returned to her eyes occasionally, despite all she had done to crush it. The determination to be entirely self-sufficient had driven her to perhaps ridiculous extremes at times, but the feeling she got when she was an asset rather than a burden was worth the strain her extreme independence put on her. The small, wet girl looking back at her did not look like an assassin who could kill a Daimyo. She felt more like a silly teenager who was in over her head.

This mission... It threatened to destroy all that she had worked for, all that she had laboured to build upon and around herself. She was going to be forced to rely on Kakashi heavily over the next few weeks, if not months. The usual burning desire to prove herself was severely lacking in her recent training with Kakashi, and it showed. More than once, she had almost walked out of the room in frustration, but she knew that with Kakashi, tantrums or outbursts would get her nowhere.

Once her skin had been vigorously rubbed dry with a rough cotton towel, she dug around in her chest of drawers for a night shirt, a yawn stretching her mouth wide. Once her fingers brushed against something soft, dark and familiar, she dragged it out clumsily, before staring at the worn material with unease.

It was one of his.

Although the scent had long faded, the implications remained, and she felt uncomfortable wearing something that she wasn't sure really 'belonged' to her anymore. The way things were now...she wasn't sure what Kakashi and she were, but they were certainly less than friends. Apart from when they danced, it was as if there was a thick block of impenetrable ice between them.

She missed the way things used to be, the comfortable companionship they'd cultivated over the years. Before things went wrong.

Suddenly furious with herself, Sakura hurled the heavy shirt against the wall violently. The plaster cracked with the force behind the blow.

"Shit..."

Fifteen months ago

The bar was unusually quiet. Far quieter than any standard Friday night. The Bright Shuriken was usually thronging with activity, being the most popular shinobi bar in Konoha. Now, however, only a handful of seasoned looking shinobi were dotted around the rooms corners, some staring mournfully into their drinks, while others muttered quietly amongst themselves.

Sakura sat alone at the bar, a half-drunk glass of lemonade in front of her. The ends of her hair were still slightly moist from the rain outside, which still pounded violently on the high roof, filling the tall room with a low hiss of white noise. Her head rested on her arm, while her fingers absently manipulated the straw dangling from the rim of her glass.

The bell of the door rang dimly as someone entered, and Sakura dragged her head up to observe the newcomer hopefully as they made their way to the bar.

"Oh," she mumbled, a little disappointed. "It's you."

Kakashi sat down on the seat next to her, giving her a reassuring eye crinkle before ordering a drink from the barkeeper, who was looking at the quietly fuming Sakura warily.

"Expecting someone else?"

Avoiding his gaze, she returned her attention to her drink, eyeing it sullenly. All the usual crowd were away at the jounin inauguration ceremony which Sakura hadn't felt like joining. The way the exam had ended had ruined any feelings of sportsmanship she'd hoped to have in the event of failing.

"Not particularly..." She replied, before taking a sip of her drink, punishing the straw between her teeth.

The barkeeper placed a small bottle of beer in front of Kakashi, who nodded his thanks before swigging from it.

For a while, nether of them spoke, the gentle sound of rain growing more fierce by the minute, the occasional roll of thunder breaking up the steady assault of the rain on the roof.

"It sounds like a big storm out there..." observed Sakura, looking up at the ceiling, as though she expected to see dark clouds circling above.

"Hmm," Kakashi agreed noncommittally, his gaze fixed on the ceiling like hers, until his eye slid sideways in his tilted head to openly observe her. "Maybe it'll rain so hard the ceremony's canceled."

"Why would you-?"

"Would you like a drink? A real drink," he added, eying her lemonade with obvious distaste. "It's on me tonight."

"On you? Now that's rare..." Sakura muttered, with a slight smile. "Thank you sensei, but he won't serve you if you're buying it for me. I'm only seventeen after all. Did you forget?"

"Ah..."

The silence stretched between the heavy rolls of thunder, though Sakura was perfectly happy with silence; it allowed her mind to run over the last round of the jounin exam, mentally berating herself without mercy for her failure, when she'd been so close to success.

Over the past few weeks, Sakura had endured trials of almost unbearable difficulty, being pushed to the edge of her pain tolerance and her sanity by the many tests of the jounin exam. She had been within a hair's breadth of succeeding, when she had found herself placed against Sasuke in a face off for the title.

Sakura's match had been the biggest anticlimax of the whole inter-country exam, the crowd laughing and booing at her as she regained consciousness. To them it appeared if she'd just fainted a few seconds after the match had begun. Complete humiliation.

He'd defeated her with embarrassing ease, pulling her into a powerful genjutsu without even breaking a sweat, smirking even as he did so. She still couldn't get his smug face out of her head, or the longing to pulverise it completely.

Sakura's glass shattered in her hand, and she felt large shards embedding themselves deep into her palm with a sick pop. She looked at the dripping mess numbly, the wound too sudden to hurt yet.

"...Are you okay?" came Kakashi's quiet voice, asking about more than just her hand.

Her answer was a hesitant nod, then shake of her head, before the tears began to fall and she looked down at her feet. Though she'd heard that question more times than she'd care to remember that day, coming from Kakashi, coming from someone who really wanted to know, it was as if a dam had burst. She was unable to stop the frustrated tears from flooding down her cheeks. The barkeeper was staring at them, and looked as if he was about to say something to them.

"Come here," Kakashi said calmly, gripping her shoulder lightly with his gloved hand.

Barely a moment later, she found herself in an unfamiliar apartment that smelled like Kakashi. She looked around, surprised to find herself so suddenly transported.

"Sit," Kakashi pushed her gently towards a sofa before disappearing hastily into the kitchen.

Sakura obeyed, almost stumbling onto the sofa gracelessly in her attempt to keep the blood from dripping all over Kakashi's carpet and furniture. She cupped her left hand underneath her maimed right to catch the blood trickling off it in a steady flow, though she still managed to smear some on herself.

Before she'd even had a chance to take in her new surroundings, Kakashi was back with a box of medical supplies and a dark towel, which he placed on her lap.

"Give it here..." he said, reaching for her injured hand and inspecting it closely.

She didn't even wince as he pulled out the two larger pieces of glass, placing them with a light clink onto the coffee table beside them. She watched the process with complete passivity, as if it were someone else's hand that had been so dreadfully mangled. She was impressed by Kakashi's expertise with the tweezers as he removed the smaller shards; it looked as though he'd had much practice.

"Sensei..." she called gently, her tears finally subsiding, though her face remained red and puffy. "I lost. I got my ass kicked by the last Uchiha and everyone laughed at me."

Without looking up from his work, Kakashi sighed, and nodded slowly. His hand which held her own in place may have tightened fractionally for a second.

"I trained so hard," she muttered bitterly, "but it didn't make a difference. I still couldn't win against him and that stupid sharingan - no offense. I didn't even last long enough to demonstrate a single technique to the judges."

"Hmm," replied Kakashi, seemingly still absorbed in his task. "And what are you going to do about it?"

His question took her by surprise. Until now she'd been wallowing in despair and defeat; mourning her dignity after 'fainting' like some weakling.

"Sulk," she replied obstinately, before breaking out in a wobbly, but genuine smile. "No, I suppose I will just have to train harder. On the bright side, now both Sasuke and Naruto are jounin, the next exam should be less insane."

She looked down at her hand, and grimaced slightly at the sight. She'd seen a lot worse, sure, but it was different when it was her own disfigured body parts she was looking at.

"All done," he said, setting the tweezers down. "You should close it up now so it doesn't scar."

"Mm," she agreed, before concentrating her chakra on the lacerations, knitting them together with minimal effort through the soft green glow of energy. With her eyes closed, she was oblivious to the intense gaze observing her illuminated face. By the time she opened her eyes, Kakashi was already getting up, taking the bloodied towel, glass shards, and medical kit with him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed at causing such a scene, in front of her sensei, no less; one of the people she'd wanted to appear strong in front of, not break down into tears.

"Don't be," came the simple reply from the kitchen, "unless you're apologising to your hand."

Sakura smiled a little at that. Kakashi, although often unsociable, knew how to put people at ease if he wanted to, it seemed.

Her old teacher emerged from the kitchen yet again, this time carrying two steaming mugs, one of which he placed on the table in front of Sakura. She looked down at it with interest.

"...Hot chocolate?" she inquired hopefully, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised.

"For you," he confirmed, "and tea for me."

"Thank you Kakashi-sensei," she said, bringing the mug to her lips with eyes squinted in appreciation. She knew he'd understand that she was thanking him for more than just the hot chocolate.

"I've not been your teacher for a long time, Sakura," he reminded her quietly, "and I'm not sure I ever was, really. You don't need to call me that."

"Perhaps," she agreed, eyes still half-closed."But I'll always think of you as my teacher, even if you were an awful one."

"I see..." Mused Kakashi, sinking into the sofa beside her. "Is it too late to change your opinion of me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll help you pass the next jounin exam, if you'd like," he offered simply, though he appeared to be talking more to his tea than to her. "I can help you with speed and genjutsu. The reasons why you were defeated today."

"But... What do you get out of it?" Sakura asked suspiciously. It was very unlike Kakashi to offer something like that on a whim.

"Hmm," he appeared to be seriously considering his options, though she could tell by the shape of his eyes that he was smiling. "A nurse?"

"No."

"A maid?"

"Definitely not."

"Then how about a competent, regular mission partner who I can trust to watch my back?"

"N-oh, really?" Sakura perked up at this.

"If you make jounin, and become my partner," (Sakura braced herself for more praise) "I won't have to go to the hospital after missions any more," he finished.

"Oh." Sakura deflated. "Okay. I suppose I can agree to that."

"That's not a very enthusiastic response, Sakura."

"It's hard to be enthusiastic when covered in one's own blood," she indicated towards her light green blouse, which was a lot less pretty with the dark smears marring the daisy pattern.

"You're right," Kakashi agreed, "It's a lot easier to be cheerful when it's someone else's. I'll just be a minute..."

Bemused, Sakura watched her sensei disappear into what she could only assume was his room, and emerge loosely holding a dark piece of clothing. He tossed it to her.

"The bathroom's over there," he said, pointing, "you're welcome to freshen up t- what are you doing?"

Sakura was holding the garment at arms length, and staring at it intently.

"Checking for fleas," she explained without taking her eyes off the shirt.

"It's safe," he reassured her earnestly. He never let Pakkun in his room.

"That's what you told me about that fruit when I was a genin."

"It was safe."

"There were grubs in it!" Sakura objected.

"Edible grubs," he protested seriously.

"Fine," she relented, "but if I get fleas, I will exact vengeance upon your limited editions of 'Icha Icha.'"

With that, she disappeared into the bathroom to change.

Kakashi's bathroom was exactly as she had expected; clean, plain and efficient. A set of dark towels hung on a rail on the back of the door, which she noticed had no lock, and a solitary bar of white soap decorated his sink- odourless, she discovered as she washed her blood off her hands.

After changing quickly into the oversized shirt, she was pleased to find that the garment smelled pleasantly of mild soap powder and a little of Kakashi himself. It just about covered the bottom of her small shorts. She splashed cold water onto her face, feeling considerably more human as the coolness soothed her puffy eyes.

Stepping out of the bathroom clutching her own ruined shirt, she nearly ran headlong into Kakashi, his hand snapping out to her shoulder to steady her.

"That was quick," he noted, his eyes fixing briefly on the hem of the large shirt, where it brushed against her thighs, before jumping hastily back to her face.

After a few second under his stare, Sakura grew curious, and mildly irritated at the attention.

"What?" She finally asked, glaring at him, before biting her lip as she grew concerned. Was there something on her face? Was he staring at her forehead?

"...Checking for fleas," he eventually explained, letting her shoulder go and reaching out a hand to ruffle her hair like she was a genin again. "You'll be fine."

Sakura was pleasantly surprised at the familiar contact, but allowed him to thoroughly mess up her hair, and looked up at him with mock irritation until he'd finished.

"Thanks for that. I should go, Tsunade wants to see me in the morning," Sakura sighed, "I'll return this once I've washed it."

"Keep it," offered Kakashi. "Consider it a present for failing the exam."

Sakura laughed, fiddling with the long sleeves of the shirt as she looked up at him with a grin.

"Alright then, I will. Thank you sensei."

The gloom settled on Sakura as she pulled on a childish nightie, decorated with faded yellow rabbits; one her mother had bought her when she had been fond of such things. She had returned Kakashi's shirt to the back of her bottom drawer, stuffing in with carefully measured viciousness. She didn't want to destroy her drawers; she'd done enough damage to the wall with her temper already.

Her bed seemed to welcome her entirely, the firm mattress and cotton-covered duvet offering the warmth and rest she'd been craving since late afternoon.

Kakashi was a slave driver when the situation called for seriousness, and Sakura knew that this relentless training was necessary; the date of their departure to Cloud loomed ever closer. It was just over a week until the pair would be deep undercover, in the thick of potential treason, and worst of all, they were going in near-blind to their enemies. With this in mind, Sakura could understand Kakashi's concern that her performance had to be impeccable upon their introduction to the Daimyo.

A wry smile pushed at her lips as her hands fisted under her pillow in exasperation.

Dancing. Of all the things for Konoha's fate to rest on, of all the stupid things...

A/N: Oh hi you pretty, wonderful reader. Isn't a dancing Kakashi wonderful? *nudge nudge* (review please! XD)

So this is the first installment of what's planned to be a multi-chapter of pretty epic length. It even has PLOT, and NAKED people (later), so you should totes stick this on alert.

I would also like to introduce the wonderful messi_jessi over on LJ, who will be betaing future chapters. Everyone salute her. \o ...Thank you. :3

Dancing ninjas are doing the Kizomba on your mother's ceiling. Thought you should know.