Daylight

Sundown

A/N: So much dialogue... the Uchiha couple have a lot to talk about. 

Their hands stay clasp together on the hospital armchairs as they sit beside their daughter, with only machinery and the tiled floors separating the distance between parents and child. He wakes every so often, wanting to be the one with tender eyes his wife first sees, the one to comfort her and to brush her tears away. But alas, it is her thumb he feels stroking his knuckles as he awakens to her touch. He wanted to be the first... but even there he has failed her. 

His groggy eyes meets her emerald; they have dulled and there are flecks of black mascara and grey eye bags that sit under her mesmerising irises. But he notices there is still a speck of flame burning in there, and it only grows slightly larger as she forces a smile at him. "Sasuke-kun..." she forced out of her lips, her voice restrained. "Sarada, she... she's okay. I'm sorry I made you worry." 

He adjusted himself in his seat so he could look at her properly, and squeezed her fingers. "No, I'm sorry, Sakura," he contested. "If I didn't... If I hadn't... If I had only listened, and not... We could have been in Konoha earlier, and it might not have become...-"

He blamed himself for wasting time for his own selfish desires. By tempting her to make love with him, they had lost sight of the mission. If he had only had his own emotions in check, then maybe they could have been by their daughter's side earlier. How could he have fallen so blind to lust?

"Don't," Sakura began. "Please don't regret loving me. And it's not your fault. There's no way you could have known. This whole situation had nothing to do with you, so you don't need to blame yourself." Sakura smiled reassuringly at him, and he knew it wasn't forced. "It's BECAUSE of you we were able to get here on time, even though you wouldn't listen to me tell you the risks of of a dojutsu user activating their abilities so soon after they had caught the virus... You risked yourself for Sarada, and for that I can only thank you." Tears threatened to spill and her hand trembled as she brought his hand to her lips, showering him with gratitude. Her voice finally broke as she cried out, wavering, "I'm so indebted to you, Sasuke-kun. I thought I would lose one of you last night, if not both. I was so afraid, I-"

He hushed her by plopping himself off his seat, and standing over her as he awkwardly hugged her with his stump caressing her back. She teared up into his arm, leaving wet patches on his dark grey shirt. He hushed at her, "You don't need to say anything. She's fine now. We're fine." 

She used her own palms to wipe away her tears, before looking up at her husband, clearly exhausted. "I'm so sorry Sasuke-kun, I ruined your shirt. You should go home and change. Rest while you're at it-" She attempted to get up from her seat, intending to check up on her daughter and run a few tests if necessary "-I'll stay here and watch over Sarada-" But his hand slammed her back down onto her seat as he gripped her shoulder. 

"No," he stated, looking down at his wife, his brows threaded close together. "You go home."

"But-"

"No 'buts'. You need to rest. Don't worry, I'll stay with Sarada. If I notice anything I'll give the other doctors a call." 

She sighed, defeated. "As you wish. Thank you, darling." 

He watched her leave, leaving a kiss on their daughter's forehead on her way. 

He could still feel her lips on his jaw that she left as she had propelled herself up from her seat; it tingled him, warming him as if he had finally found a fire amidst a freezing tunnel. He stood over his daughter and stroked her stray hairs that had fallen over her eyelids, tucking it behind her ear. He lowered his lips to her forehead, and planted a soft kiss where his wife had left hers. The three of them were connected. Hearts that beat as one. Before he knew it, the angelic face that lay before him was once again shrouded in splotches of droplets. It took him a while to recognise that he was the culprit. He used one finger to brush his leaks away before using his sleeve to relieve his child from his fears. He never wanted her to face heartbreak like that. He wouldn't be able to bear it. His whole being shivered violently as he let out a straggly breath. He crouched down beside her, until his face was to her level, and whispered stories of his travels to her resting form. He continued to do so until his words tired him out, and he ran out of appropriate stories to tell a worn out two-year old. He rested his head perpendicular to hers, his protective arm cradling her head, as if threatening any other molecular threat to back away.