ANGST! Suffering! Hurt No Comfort! At least for Sarada. Boruto gets some comfort.
Sarada might not have been able to give Boruto back the life he should have lived, but she can give him the life he could have had, if only he were to survive.
Everything was very... blurry. And slow. At least, he thought it was slow. It had to be. Because the black blur that could only be Sarada was moving at a glacial pace toward him, and he knew, for a fact, that Sarada was faster than that, injured or not.
He was so tired. The ground was surprisingly soft here. If he could just rest for a moment — no, no. He had to stay awake. He had to stay... awake. If only he wasn't so cold. His skin was clammy too, dirt sticking to his palms and fingers, like mud.
He wished he could wash his hands. That would be nice. Then he could maybe sit down and —
"Stay awake," said Sarada's voice, in a stern, sharp tone. He wondered idly if he'd hear her voice when he was dead too, like he had been hearing it in his head all these years. Are you sure about that? Don't get yourself killed. Don't be an idiot. Watch out. Come home safe.
He wanted to say something, to reassure her, but his mouth was dry. He couldn't even swallow.
No, death probably wasn't dangerous. Sarada's voice would go silent.
Though maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to hear her voice. Did dead people know what happened to those they left behind? She had a really nice voice. Soft and rich and feminine, the sound of her giggle like a dozen tiny silver bells. He smiled with a corner of his mouth.
"Stop grinning like that, you're freaking me out. Listen, everything's going to be OK. Let me just —"
Oh. She was actually here. He squinted at her, and the image came into focus.
That didn't bode well. Not that he had had any hopes of surviving this, but the absolute horror on her face told him all he needed to know.
"S fine," he croaked, making her jump.
"Yes," she breathed. Something about her was unsettling. The contrast of her black hair and her pale, almost white face, and the fresh blood on her cheek that only could have come from one man all looked too ominous.
"Mmm," he tried as she took off her jacket and wrapped it around him.
"Your mom and dad are alright. Kawaki got them out. Hima's OK too, Inojin's with her."
Kawaki. Kawaki was gone. There was a pause, then she took his hand and squeezed it. "Sumire's safe. I saw her half an hour ago, she was helping my mother with the injured."
There were two downsides to growing up with someone. One, the first things you learn about each other are the most disgusting things you'd never want another living soul to know. Two, you watch as they learn how to lie.
His whole body shivered. It was so damn cold.
Where was she? He couldn't die here if she was buried under some block of concrete or lying somewhere with a gaping wound on her head. He had to get up and find her, or so help him --
"Hey," Sarada said softly. His gaze snapped to hers, and the world slowed down just a bit, for less than a second, before it picked up pace again.
She flew them to her mother, who started working on him immediately. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a blur of purple, and the scent of lilacs.
Recovery took ages. Hospital, hospital bed, hospital food, his parents, his sister, that annoying little bitch of her boyfriend, and -- most surprisingly — Kawaki.
"You saved him?" he beamed at Sarada. She smiled menacingly.
"Yes. That's my punishment for him."
Boruto blinked at her. "Punishment?"
"To live with the consequences of his actions, surrounded by people who love and forgive him."
Sarada looked at him like he was dense. "The point of punishment," she said slowly, "is to hit where it hurts the most. The question is, how do you hurt someone who doesn't react to pain anymore, physical, or otherwise?
"I've been thinking for a long time, and finally the answer came to me. You let him drown in his own guilt. Beat himself up until there is only raw flesh left. He doesn't need me to do it; he's going to do it himself, more and better than I ever could."
Right. And she said she wasn't vengeful.
But all of it didn't matter, because everyone was alive, and they remembered who Boruto Uzumaki was. And Sumire — Sumire. His heart skipped a beat when he first saw her by his bed, smiling softly, hopefully. For the first time in years, Boruto felt hopeful too.
His face felt like it would melt off, but he reached for her hand, slim and warm. She closed both her hands around his. Boruto watched their hands for a moment, then glanced up at her.
Their eyes met, and she smiled. Boruto smiled back.
The world's most famous love story. The boy who had lost his life and the girl who remembered him through the dark years and loved him through the grey ones that followed.
Readjusting to his new life. His endless recovery. His parent's endless grief. Their guilt. Master Sasuke, who never left the village anymore.
Himawari's dating. Kawaki's suicidal tendencies — lovingly managed by his vindictive jailor, who eventually started caring, and fell for him.
Sumire's work in the lab. Him watching her as wrote pages and pages of researched notes. Hugging her from behind, kissing her neck.
The silent days and chatty nights. His hand on her bare waist, her palm drifting down his stomach and lower.
Him suggesting that they paint their new apartment purple and yellow. Her smacking her playfully with a pillow and laughing, that laughter that could cure any disease.
Taking on his master's mantle, with Sarada as Hokage. She and Kawaki never got married — Kawaki being who he was and Sarada shrugging, "I love him, but he's not my love."
Her love was her home. They protected it, like they always said they would.
His beautiful wife, sleeping on his chest, their daughter climbing into their bed because she had a bad dream. They named her after Sumire's mother, Hakobe.
Life blurs, halts, just for a moment, then goes on.
Hakobe's upbringing in the Hyuga headquarters, Sumire's late hours in the lab, Boruto playing with the girl, cooking, shopping for the pinkest sparkly skirt they could find.
Family vacations, gatherings, celebrations. Decades and decades of happy memories, with his love, his peace, his solace. How many times had her voice led him out of hell? How many times had he taken comfort in her touch, her steadiness, her calm?
Boruto was an old man now, but Sarada still looked sixteen. They were sitting on top of the Hokage faces, watching their life's work.
"Inojin called a minute ago. They found her. She's been badly injured, but she's stable. She'll be all right."
Boruto sighed in relief. "And Kawaki?"
There was silence. "He's waiting for you on the other side."
He laughed. "Slipped through your fingers, didn't he? Damn, I bet he found a nice dark place to sleep."
Sarada didn't look at him. Boruto understood that. He wasn't the boy she knew anymore, and she wanted to remember him as he was. "Will you wake him up?" she asked conversationally.
"You crazy? Have you ever tried waking Kawaki up?"
"What's the worst thing he can do?"
The weather was fantastic. Not too hot, with the tiniest gush of wind, and the gentle spring sun.
"Take care, will you?" he said, squeezing her hand.
Her lower lip trembled. "You take care," she said hoarsely. "You're the one going into the unknown."
"What's the worst that can happen?" he said back to her.
Just as he was about to ask her to look at him one last time, she turned but remained where she was. Didn't move further, didn't try to hug him.
"It's been an honor to serve you, ma'am," he smiled.
She laughed. There were no tears in her eyes — an advantage when you're controlling the whole universe — but he could hear them in her voice.
"It's been an honor to have a partner like you," she whispered. "Thank you."
"Thank you, for the life you gave me. Tell everyone I'm sorry and... tell Sumire I love her."
She nodded. "Of course. Farewell, my — friend."
As it turned out, dead people did get something he could only describe as gut feelings about those left behind. He felt when they were together, talking about him, when they were happy and sad. He felt when Himawari got married.
That was when Kawaki woke up and said, "To that asshole?"
He felt his parents, their immeasurable grief and how it eventually got easier to live with.
Sumire, his lovely, gentle, strong girl, as she came and went, grieved and healed, moved on, changed the world with her brilliant mind.
Sarada did what she was supposed to — reunited with her family, trained, worked in the Hokage office, saved multiple people multiple times, became the Hokage. Like going through a set of motions -- a list, checking things off.
He tried pulling away, pushing back, not reacting. It didn't matter.
She finished work and came to tell him about her day. He couldn't hear her, but he stayed. Other people gathered too, sensing her closeness. Mikoto and Itachi Uchiha. Boruto's grandpa and grandma. Kagura, even.
His sense of time was greatly impaired, but he could tell that sometimes she stayed the nights.
The world moved on, and she with it, changing it for the better, protecting it, but half her soul was buried with him, and as years passed, Boruto feared that if she ever gathered the strength to unearth it, there would be nothing left to find.
Those of you who have read my work before know that I'm a hardcore BoruSara shipper, and this fic is BoruSara, in my opinion. She loves him. He loves her too, infinitely... just not romantically.
