UM OK so this didn't turn out the way I had planned- oh who am I kidding. I didn't plan anything. :) That first part just came so naturally after reading bluebackstabber's fic, and I didn't know where I wanted to go with it afterwards. So I felt like I had more of a story to tell, so I'm gonna split this into 3 parts. Here's Part II, which is more scene-based then Part I. TW SASUKE HATE (jk he's mentioned for like 5 seconds but my characterization might be a turn-off for some.)

The war ends in all in a dazed sort of incredulity, the celebrations carried out in a state of disbelief but with whole-hearted enthusiasm.

There's a brief period of peace between all the shinobi of the Allied Corps before the baseline tensions start up again, everyone returning to their respective villages. It's sad to see the festivities end, but there remains a sense of comradeship; Sakura bears the evidence on her skin: friend and medic are imprinted on her body in multiple dialects, the script a warm embrace that lingers despite the distance.

When Sasuke returns to the village she sees him clearly for the first time, a chain of words across his bared collarbones screaming filth-Traitor-MURDERER-UCHIHA; these days his family name is the dirtiest word of them all.

His hair is scraggly, his eyes bloodshot at his trial. Kakashi pardons him as his first decree as the Sixth Hokage, but there's hardly a flicker of emotion in those dark eyes of his. These days what used to be charisma has faded into a frightening darkness. Cold. Distant. Uncaring. Sakura's not sure how she overlooked it back then.

(These days, handsome has faded to a mere shadow on his shoulder.)

::~::

Tsunade steps down as Hokage, naming Kakashi as her successor. Despite his blatant rejection, somehow he finds himself holed up in the Hokage's office barely two weeks later, sweat dripping from his neck down his back under the thick muslin of the Hokage's robe as he signs one paper after the next. (His signature is a messy Kakashi followed by a crude sketch of a one-eyed scarecrow.) Quickly he has a newfound respect for Tsunade and Minato; politics are harder than scaling mountains, more bloody and cutthroat than ruthless assassinations committed in the dead of the night.

These days his words change. Irresponsible fades. Dependable surges up in its place, and the word tastes foreign on his tongue, like bastardized version of a favourite childhood food. These days he looks at his words more often, stares into the mirror with his clothes half-off and watches the whorls shift and a village of people whisper about him.

::~::

He doesn't see her much these days.

When she shows up at the window of the Hokage tower, rapping impatiently on the window, to say he's surprised is an understatement.

Sakura's eighteen, he knows, but she looks older than that. Indeed, she's been through, been a significant part of the largest war in shinobi history. But that doesn't stop her from poking his upper arm hard as soon as he unlatches the window and lets her in. "Where'd it go?"

He blinks at her, doesn't understand for a moment. Then he remembers the way she and Naruto used to crow at him: Unreliable! Irresponsible! Late! The words had once covered that arm.

"I guess it's been a while."

She laughs, a genuine sound. He's missed genuineness, being that his days are spent with politicians. That's all, he says firmly to himself. That's the only reason for the clenching feeling in his gut.

"If you'd like, I can say them every night and make them come back," she offers, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Kakashi gives her a long-suffering look out of habit. It comes out fonder than he intends. "What are you doing here, Sakura?"

"Just finished designing my first S-class poison," she says, eyes alight with excitement as she rattles off the components and advantages and effects.

"Isn't this highly classified information?" Kakashi asks mildly when she pauses for breath, but his heart is swelling with pride. "Not even I should know until you've submitted it for approval, no?"

And it's then he realizes letting her into his office had been a terrible idea from the start.

She grins at him, all sharp teeth and spirited eyes, a woman now, not the girl who had first come into his care. The top button of her blouse is undone, he notices in a slight shock. Glittering, promising (no, no, no, she's just a girl, she'd kill you if she knew what you were thinking) — "I trust you," she laughs, blithe.

You shouldn't, he thinks.

Suddenly he's glad he doesn't see her much these days.

::~::

Sakura becomes the Head Director of the hospital, starts up the much-needed mental health ward on her own. She fights the elders for the funding, for the support, and in the end she wins them over. Though hard-won admiration is written on their faces, they whisper behind her back: bossy. Tiger woman. The Second Tsunade.

Quietly Kakashi thinks to himself when he watches her from afar at the unveiling of the newly-constructed ward: she's truly blossomed like the flower she was named after.

Of course, he never says that out loud.

::~::

Becoming Hokage is the reason the hero on his face becomes common knowledge. They'd forced him to take off his mask modelling for the Hokage monument—he would have refused, but Tsunade hadn't given up her title as Hokage and thus his superior until she'd made sure every square millimeter of his face had been mapped out in agonizing detail. (They could have at least ignored the mole, he thinks despairingly the first time the monument is unveiled.)

Now, despite covering his face with the usual two masks and the veil of the Hokage's hat, the word keeps growing as people read it off the monument. Hero-hero-hero stretches across his face until he can no longer conceal it (not if he still wants an uncovered eye with which to see), the two syllables overtaking the vertical scar that reminds him to this day of his greatest failure—

No, he stops himself, and looks out the window to the monument.

He-ro, it says. Not fail-ure.

::~::

Her mother passes away three years after the war. Her father's a mess for a month or so, and despite all the death Sakura's seen, all the anguish of bereaved loved ones she's handled, she can't face him, and the stifling pressure envelops her in the family home, in the streets, really anywhere she can see people who had known her mother. Poor girl, they whisper behind unmarred, civilian hands.

Kakashi finds her on the Academy swingset after the memorial service.

"Yo," he says, a two-fingered gesture as always. She's gotten used to seeing him in his Hokage's robes, at least in passing. "Mind if I join you?"

She's not had contact with him for a long time—not beyond simple hellos and we-should-meet-ups that lead to nowhere, anyhow—with him as Hokage and her figuring out her life and future. He feels familiar and different all at the same time, but awkward is the word that springs into the forefront of her mind. She smiles to herself as he tries to fit his frame into the too-small swing beside her. Gawky. A contradiction. He makes small talk, gloved hands fiddling with the wide brim of his Hokage's hat—awkward-awkward-awkward—until he straight-up asks her how she's feeling about her mother's death.

(She appreciates the straight-fowardness of it; she's tired of weaving around the subject, tired of hiding from it. Kakashi gets it, she thinks, because they've both gone through it, as shinobi, that realization that any time spent on pleasantries and ambiguity and social etiquette is simply precious time wasted.)

"Hollow," is the word she utters. She feels hollow and empty, even though she knows her mother lived a good life. She's got millions of happy memories with her mother but now all she can think of is the pale, slack face in the coffin. Kakashi waits, and she caves. Keeps talking. "Scared. Like I'm going to forget about her. Like every memory I have with her is disappearing and I can't hold onto them. You know that feeling?"

She lifts her head, because even then, Kakashi doesn't reply. Say something, she thinks. Anything.

"Kaka-sensei," she whispers. Pleads.

He stiffens slightly at the title. Oh yes, he doesn't like to be called that anymore. "Yeah," he says finally, voice gruff. "I know what you mean."

And she lets out a breath at that because he does know what she means; he's seen much more death and experienced far more grief than she has. He gets it, and that means the world to her. Her lips curve up in a silent, grateful smile as they go back to a comfortable silence.

"Your words," Kakashi says slowly after a few minutes. "What do they mean to you?"

She's confused at this turn of conversation. "Hate them," she mumbles, because they're fucking annoying when she wants to wear short sleeves out with Ino; she hasn't been able to cover them up entirely since the explosion of words during the war and—

He lifts the hem of his robe slightly, and Sakura's about to reprimand him—pervert hangs on the tip of her tongue—when the word comes into view.

Friend. His leg is covered in black, profanities tripping over one another but Friend stands out stark clear, small as it is, right on the little bump of his ankle, neat as can be. She stares at it, understanding dawning.

"I like them," he says slowly, "because they stay there, even after the people who said them are gone."

Daughter, it says on her sternum, a fusion of her parents' handwriting. It's small—compared to strong these days, letters marching across her upper arm for all to see—but it's kept its intensity through the years, easily the darkest imprint on her. Love is another, the strokes of the characters flaring, wrought by countless hands, but underneath it all is the first person who had uttered the word. Sakura, my daughter, my love. Tinkling laughter, a warm, tight hug. The smell of her mother's perfume lingers in the recesses of her mind, envelopes her and gives her strength.

She stands up, and the pressure's alleviated, at least a bit. "Thank you, Kaka-sensei." He opens his mouth to say something, automatic, but she places a finger on his masked lips. His eyes go wide; hero stretches. "I know," she says with a small laugh. "Kakashi." It feels strange in her mouth.

She leans in and kisses him on his left cheek, lips brushing fabric, just below the word.

"Goodnight, Kakashi."

He sits there for hours after she leaves, cheek burning.

Burning almost as hot as the word sensei on his hand, a branding.

::~::

In the morning, he learns that she's left for Sand.

"An alliance between the hospitals," he's told much too late. The medical system, the medic explains, being entirely separate from other forms of governance, meant the decision had rightfully been made without him.

"How long?" he demands, not knowing if he's grateful for or dreading her absence.

The medic shrugs.

yeah ok part III will be the last I promise