Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Assignment
“Wait— so Mikoto-Kaa-san has to pop out another kid?” Naruto blurted, scratching the back of his head as he stared, wide-eyed, at his teammate.
“Keep it down!” Sakura hissed, glancing around and rubbing her temples with exasperation— a habit she picked up from Tsunade.
“Why? It’s just a baby— hey!” he yelped when she smacked his shoulder hard enough to sting.
“It’s classified ,” she snapped. “Because nothing about having a baby is guaranteed. What if they can’t conceive? It’s private. And it can be embarrassing to some people.”
Naruto’s face became thoughtful and his voice dropped to half its usual volume. “Got it. So what’s your job, then? Midwife duty?”
Sakura sighed, but the flash of amusement in his eyes took the sting out of his words. “More like I’m the full package. I’ve been assigned rooms inside the main house to monitor Mikoto-Kaa-san full-time. I’ll be handling her diet, daily checkups, and once she’s pregnant, there’ll be multiple exams a day. I’ll help deliver the baby— with Sensei— and provide medical care for the first year. Every day. All me.”
She resumed eating, pleased that Naruto was no longer shouting like they were in a market.
“That’s... actually kind of amazing,” he said, more subdued. “I’m happy for you, Sakura-chan. You deserve a break from all the... you know.”
Death . Yeah. She knew.
The hospital had become a graveyard in recent weeks. More shinobi had died in the past month than in the last five years combined. And not because of anything they were doing— but because someone was targeting medics on missions. They would spot a team, find the medic, kill them, and leave the rest of the team to make it back to Konoha. It had lasting repercussions on the leftover ninja.
Honestly, she was surprised Tsunade had signed off on this request from the Uchiha clan. But if Naruto had noticed how drained Sakura was, then Tsunade certainly had, too.
“It should be nice. Peaceful, even. I’ve always adored Mikoto-Kaa-san, and Fugaku-san’s kinder than people give him credit for.”
Naruto groaned. “Nice to you, maybe! Sofu hates me.”
“Maybe that’s because you keep calling him ‘Sofu’,” she teased, lips twitching.
Naruto grumbled but perked up a moment later. “Hey, maybe you’ll finally meet the elusive brother! He lives in the main house, doesn’t he?”
She hushed him with a sharp look, though her voice remained casual. “Apparently. Mikoto-Kaa-san says he’s always out on missions or errands. Either way, I’m bound to run into him. I’ll be living there, after all.”
“C’mon, you can’t be that uninterested! Teme left the village just to beat this guy. Don’t you at least want to know what kind of man inspires that kind of sibling rage?”
“He’s just a guy, Naruto.” Sakura shrugged, brushing him off.
She’d wasted too many years chasing Sasuke, only to learn he wasn’t running toward greatness— he was running from family. Over pride. Over something as petty as rivalry. She was done chasing boys. If any were worth her time, they could chase her instead. Assuming she ever had time for them.
“Well, I’d better get going. My things should be moved in by now, and I need to do Mikoto-Kaa-san’s first exam today.”
She stood and stretched, arms arching high above her head.
“Sakura-chan,” Naruto said, softer now.
She glanced down. His bright blue eyes were serious for once, full of concern. She smiled at him— gently, affectionately.
“I’ll be careful,” she promised. “Take care, ba~ka.”
“Yeah, yeah. You too, haaaag.” He stuck his tongue out at her as she walked away, making her laugh.
VI
“So, here is your room!” Mikoto announced brightly as she pushed open the door. “I hope you don’t mind, but I picked out a few things myself. If you don’t like them, we can swap them out, of course. Your clothes are already hung in the closet, and your shoes are on the rack just below.”
Sakura stepped into the room and blinked. Her brain stalled somewhere between stunned and speechless.
The bed was the first thing to catch her eye— a king-sized, four-poster masterpiece, draped in soft, sheer white fabric that was dappled in the afternoon light. It looked like it belonged in a princess’s chamber, not the Uchiha compound. The dresser beside it was massive— each drawer could probably fit a body. Maybe two.
She made her way to the large desk in the corner, drawn by its clean lines and polished surface. Filing drawers flanked either side, and when she opened one, she found it already stocked with ledgers, pens, and scrolls.
“That’s one of two desks,” Mikoto’s voice floated in from the adjoining bathroom. “Hokage-sama was kind enough to provide a list of everything you'd need to work efficiently. She said you’d want to keep your records private, so I figured your room would give you the best access while keeping your files secure.”
Sakura turned toward the sound and found herself facing a bathroom that could have been ripped from a noble’s estate. Gleaming tile, floor-to-ceiling cabinets, a claw-footed soaking tub deep enough to swim in— it made her old apartment feel like a broom closet.
“I’ve stayed at the Daimyo’s palace,” Sakura murmured in awe, “and even that didn’t have a bathroom like this.”
Mikoto grinned. “Just wait. Through this door is the medical room we had converted from a spare bedroom. I did my best with the setup, but I’d like you to go over everything and let me know if I missed anything. I’m an Uchiha, not a medic.”
“Your clan can’t be perfect at everything , Mikoto-Kaa-san,” Sakura teased, falling into the nickname naturally.
Mikoto beamed. “Just ‘Kaa-san’ is fine. You’re going to be here a long time, Sakura-chan.”
The medical room was pristine. Tile floors replaced the polished wood from the rest of the house, and a drain sat discreetly in the center of the room— just in case, apparently. Three surgical tables lined one wall, scrubbing stations gleamed beneath soft lighting, and rows of cabinets were already stocked.
Sakura opened one and immediately frowned at the pre-made bottles inside.
“Ano... did Sensei provide these supplies?” she asked, eyeing the familiar standardized contents.
“She gave me a list of ingredients,” Mikoto explained. “When I brought it to the apothecary, he recognized what you were planning to make and offered to save you the trouble by providing the finished medicines. I thought it would be helpful— but is something wrong?”
Sakura hesitated. “Not wrong, exactly. Just... different. I can’t do my best work with mass-produced items. The way Tsunade taught me, every ingredient matters. The proportions, the freshness... I’ve improved several standard ointments, but only Sensei and I know the exact recipes.”
Mikoto tilted her head. “You make them all yourself?”
Sakura nodded. “I do. Each apothecary in the village tends to have their own specialty. The family-run shop east of the canal? Best oil-burn ointment in Konoha. The one near Ichiraku? Amazing for deep lacerations. But their salves are made for civilians. Mine are... let’s just say, stronger.”
Mikoto smiled, clearly impressed. “Does our apothecary have a specialty?”
“Excellent chakra-burn salve,” Sakura said instantly. “Probably because of how common fire-style accidents are during training in your clan. But your pain tinctures?” She gave Mikoto a sly look. “Worse than civilian-grade. My guess? Clan pride. No one wants to admit they’re hurting.”
Mikoto laughed, settling into the rolling chair. “You’re not wrong.”
“I’ve treated every clan in Konoha at this point,” Sakura added, sorting through the next cabinet. “The Nara are the only ones who admit to pain without a fight. They have some pain tinctures that would knock you on your a— achem. They’re very powerful.”
She turned back toward Mikoto with a wink. “I’ll handle the supplies from now on. But first, I need you to change into this.”
She handed over a hospital gown. Mikoto took it with a flush of her cheeks but disappeared behind the screen in the corner to change without complaint.
Sakura pulled out a clipboard from the cabinet marked “New Patients,” selected a blank intake sheet, and clicked her pen.
When Mikoto returned, she handed her the form. “Standard new patient file. Pay close attention to the allergy section, please.”
A few minutes passed in comfortable silence until Mikoto looked up, sheepish. “Ano... I’m not really sure about my weight, height... or my chakra rating?”
“Easy fix.” Sakura motioned to the scale. “Step on and I’ll measure the rest.”
Once the basic numbers were recorded, Mikoto returned to her seat. Sakura’s hand lit with gentle, glowing blue chakra— her signature 'healing fire.’
“If you would activate your chakra in any way. Doesn’t matter how— I just need it to be steady,” she said softly as she rested her palm on Mikoto’s abdomen.
Mikoto’s Sharingan flared to life. Sakura closed her eyes and let her chakra slip into the older woman’s system, wrapping around her coils, feeling the slow pulse of chakra drifting upward to Mikoto’s eyes.
She gently pressed on the coils, watching for resistance. When it came, she noted the strength, withdrew, and jotted the chakra rating in the file.
“You can deactivate it now.”
Mikoto blinked back to normal. “What does a chakra rating have to do with anything, Sakura-chan?”
Sakura chuckled. “Still working on that. But last year, I participated in a preliminary study. We were investigating chakra fluctuations during pregnancy, and how they might affect fetal development.”
She kept working, slipping a cuff over Mikoto’s arm to check her blood pressure.
“In one case, I watched a fetus go from perfectly healthy to having stunted coils after the mother suffered a chakra depletion event. She took a soldier pill, her chakra surged too high, burned through her reserves, and... well. The fetus suffered for it.”
“That’s... terrifying,” Mikoto murmured, hand drifting protectively to her stomach. “Is there anything that helps?”
“Someone with perfect chakra control can intervene— absorb the excess, balance it before damage occurs. It’s like blood sugar, really. Highs lead to crashes. And crashes hurt more than anything.”
Sakura’s voice had gone soft, professional, but there was warmth beneath it.
Mikoto looked at her with admiration. “I’m very glad I chose you.”
Sakura paused. “ You chose me? I thought the elders picked me because I was Tsunade’s student.”
“They did. But I had final say. It’s my body, after all. I told them I wouldn’t be ordered into anything.” Mikoto gave her a mischievous little smile. “Still, the clan does need an heir. And I’ve always wanted a girl. Unfortunately, Itachi won’t lead, even if they’d allow it.”
“Too much responsibility?” Sakura asked, her chakra now flowing down Mikoto’s arms.
“No. He wants to marry for love.” Mikoto’s eyes sparkled. “Turns out I raised a pacifist— and a romantic. As a matriarch, I should be disappointed. As a mother? I’m ridiculously proud. He’s a good man.”
Sakura smiled. “Sounds like conflicting job descriptions.”
“You have no idea,” Mikoto said with a huff. “So, Sakura-chan. What’s the news?”
“Do you want the short version or the detailed one?”
“I’d like to know why it’s been difficult for fifteen years.”
“You’ve only got one functioning ovary,” Sakura replied gently. “That means you only ovulate every other month. I can temporarily correct that with chakra manipulation, but you might experience some discomfort— especially if you’re prone to painful cycles.”
She pulled out a small bottle. “I found this in your apothecary’s stock. It’s technically a decongestant, but one of its side effects will help regulate what we need.”
Mikoto brightened, laying back on the table. “Let’s get to it, then. I’m not getting any younger!”
VI
Sakura made dinner that evening after firmly insisting Mikoto take it easy. Still, the older woman sat at the kitchen table with watchful eyes, ready to intervene should Sakura so much as fumble a knife. The pink-haired kunoichi appreciated the oversight more than she let on.
While Sakura was no stranger to kitchen work— her seasoning skills were solid, and she had a surprising talent for baking— raw meat still made her squirm. Thankfully, stuffed chicken wasn’t hard— just a little messy. And there was a lot of it.
"You know," Mikoto said gently, watching Sakura shift her weight from foot to foot, "if you bring the ingredients over here, I can help. You told me to take it easy, not to be helpless. I’d be sitting."
Sakura paused mid-stuff, frowning down at the quarter-filled tray. “You’d think standing in one place wouldn’t bother me.”
“Standing still is far worse than fighting a battle,” Mikoto said with the dry wisdom of someone who knew. “Give me something to do.”
Sakura huffed a laugh and began moving bowls and utensils to the table. “At least the pounding part’s done.”
“I’ve never seen anyone tenderize meat that fast!” Mikoto exclaimed, reaching for a toothpick with graceful fingers. “That strength of yours must come in handy.”
Sakura blushed faintly. “It does. But I had to be really careful not to shatter your counter. Or turn the chicken to ground chicken.”
Mikoto smiled but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she worked in silence for a few moments, expertly folding and sealing the chicken with practiced hands. Then, without looking up, she said, “I wanted to speak with you about your mission. I thought now might be a good time.”
Sakura straightened slightly, setting down a toothpick. “Of course.” She was grateful Mikoto had brought it up. Tsunade had warned her that the full scope of the assignment would come directly from the matriarch.
“You already know about the daily examinations for me and— eventually— the baby. But while you’re here, I was hoping you’d also oversee the rest of the household’s medical care. Nothing too strenuous, just making sure everyone is in good health and encouraging them to see you if needed.”
Sakura nodded slowly. That made sense. Many clans avoided the hospital unless absolutely necessary.
“And... if things go well,” Mikoto continued, a hint of hesitation in her tone, “if you enjoy your time with us... I’d like you to consider something more permanent.”
Sakura looked up, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
“I’ve been considering building a medical ward within the Uchiha District. A small one— discreet, private. We need someone to run it. Someone we trust. None of us are particularly skilled in healing, and most are reluctant to let outsiders see them when they’re vulnerable.”
The idea hit Sakura like a warm breeze.
A private practice. Less pressure. Fewer corpses. More time to care .
She’d always enjoyed her work at the hospital— except for the days the morgue overflowed. And lately, those days have come too often.
It would mean working with introverted, stoic Uchiha, of course. But Mikoto was offering her more than a job. It was a place, a purpose, and— maybe— a bit of peace, while still helping people.
“I’ll need to make patient profiles for everyone living in the house,” she said slowly. “Assuming they’re actually here.”
Mikoto laughed. “Itachi does come home, I promise. Kami, you’ve been visiting me for eight years and never met my eldest! He has the worst timing.”
Sakura smiled, folding the corner of a napkin between her fingers. “As for the offer… if it’s still open after the mission ends, I’d be honored if you asked me again.”
“Oh, I will,” Mikoto said warmly. “You’re the only one I want for this, Sakura-chan. And by the end of your stay, the clan will know you. They’ll trust you. You’re the only one for the job.”
Sakura didn’t respond right away. But her smile lingered.
VI
A week passed before Sakura even realized it. The days blurred together in a haze of routine— daily checkups, paperwork, and carefully curated chakra treatments. Fugaku had come in for his in-patient exam— quiet, dignified, and clearly mortified by the whole affair. Sakura, of course, had kept her professional mask on. Mostly.
And then, on the seventh morning, it happened. A flicker. A flutter. Barely there, but unmistakable— life. Nestled deep within Mikoto’s chakra network.
Sakura didn’t mention it. Not yet. She knew better than to offer hope before certainty.
That night, restless and peckish, she padded into the kitchen in soft socks, her hair twisted into a messy bun. She was halfway through scanning the fridge when the softest shift of air behind her set her nerves on edge.
"I'm pretty sure burglars usually go for jewelry over leftovers," a smooth, unfamiliar voice commented from just beyond the fridge door.
Sakura didn’t even flinch.
The voice came again— closer, edged with something darker. "What are you doing in my house?"
Cold metal kissed the skin beneath her jaw.
"If you’re Itachi," she said flatly, unimpressed, "then Mikoto-kaa-san has a very loose definition of pacifist."
With a sleepy sigh, she reached into the fridge, pulled out a pudding cup, and disappeared in the blink of an eye. When she reappeared, she was leaning against the counter across the room, a sleepy scowl on her face and dessert in hand.
The kitchen light flicked on, flooding the room in too-bright light. Sakura winced and rubbed her eyes with her free hand.
"Too freakin’ bright," she muttered.
Standing at the light switch was an ANBU, tall and composed in full gear. His cat mask hung from his hip now, the painted smile mocking and eternal. His gray uniform clung to his lean frame, every line of him sharp with restrained power. A captain, by the looks of the weapon on his back.
He looked her over without shame, blue-gray eyes dark enough to pass for black. Sakura propped herself against the counter, the cool marble pressing against her bare back. The black pajama bottoms that she had stolen from Kakashi two years ago hung low on her hips, while her short tank top did nothing to protect her chest in the cold air.
"Drawer to the right of the sink has the spoons," he offered calmly. "Sakura-san, I presume?"
“Yup.” Her eyes lit with sleepy triumph as she found the spoon. “Hah. That helps. Thanks.”
She turned back to face him— and this time, she saw the man behind the mask. Not just the infamous prodigy. He was… handsome, in a dangerously quiet way. Calm. Measured. Alert.
“You must be Itachi,” she said, prying off the pudding lid. “Nice to meet you. I was wondering if you were a myth.”
His gaze remained steady. “And what is Sasuke’s former teammate doing in my kitchen at this hour?”
She licked the spoon with exaggerated slowness. “Living here. I’m the medic your mother hand-picked. Speaking of which— ” she pointed the utensil at him “— I still need a patient file from you.”
His body tensed, just slightly. “A medic? For what? Is Okaa-san unwell?”
Gone was the measured indifference. His voice sharpened with concern.
Sakura’s posture softened, just a bit. “She’s perfectly healthy. But you really should talk to her. A lot has changed since your last visit.”
She moved toward the hallway and stopped in front of him, expecting him to step aside.
He didn’t.
“I encountered him ,” Itachi said suddenly, voice low.
She stilled. Her spoon hovered just before her lips.
“I was on a mission. Sasuke is targeting medics .”
Sakura’s eyes narrowed, cold and calculating now. “That’s... disturbing.”
He said nothing.
“It has nothing to do with me,” she added coolly. “So if you’ll move aside— ”
“You were trained by the Hokage,” he said, cutting her off. “You’ve surpassed her.”
Her jaw ticked. “And I’ve left the village exactly three times in the last five years. All because I used to be his fangirl . I’m done with his drama.”
Her chakra pulsed sharply, flaring just enough to give the warning weight. “Excuse me if I’m not thrilled to hear you crossed paths with him. And I like even less what you’re implying, teme .”
She shoved past him with chakra-enhanced force, knocking him off balance. Her feet padded down the hall, steps quick and clipped.
The bastard had no idea who she was. No idea what she’d survived. He saw her through Sasuke’s eyes— naive, emotional, unworthy.
Little did she know, she had peaked his interest.