Warning: unnamed character death
The first thing Sakura is aware of when she wakes up was not the warmth beside her, it is not the lovely orange tint to the morning sky, or the weight draped over her abdomen. It is the pain. As her mind sharpens the pain worsens, her lower back feeling at once inflamed and atrociously bruised. Heaving herself out of bed, she resists the urge to wretch, stumbling with as much grace as she can muster towards her bathroom. It was only when she braces herself over the sink that she becomes acutely aware of the sticky fluid coating her legs.
Taking a shaky breath, she places a glowing green hand to her stomach, sending the same healing chakra waves she sends whenever her time of the month comes (although thanks to her superior medical skill and birth control, it's really more like 6 months). It's early, she thinks, and as the healing chakra does very little to help, she counts back in her head. No. Not early. Late. Then, with horror, she focuses on her abdomen, praying to every god she's ever heard of that she's wrong.
No. No. Not possible. They were so careful. Beyond that, she would have know. She must have known. She could never have missed that. Nor could Itachi, for that matter. And-
Oh god. Oh god, she is bleeding too much.
Bracing herself against a wall, she slides down, painfully conscious of the blood pooling around her.
She knows what to do, she must know what to do. She's a fucking medic she has to know what to do.
And she does. There is nothing, at this point, nothing that can save whatever had been inside of her. She is crying by now, water mixing with the other fluids on the linoleum.
It isn't her leaving the bed that wakes Itachi, though it does stir him, nor is it her muffled sobs. It is the smell of blood. Their home is always so clean and sterile and safe, their gear shoved in a washing machine the moment it leaves their bodies'. No hint of the carnage they witness is in their home. Until now. The smell of copper is pungent now, and his eyes snap open, focusing immediately on the puddle of red on the sheets beside him.
He's always been very understanding of her at these times, frustratingly so, Sakura would say. Very accommodating, to the point that she must remind him that she has been dealing with it for years without his help. Because of this, he knows when there is something truly out of the ordinary. His ears pick up the sound of her crying, and he bolts down the hall, unsure of what could have caused such a reaction.
He freezes when he sees her, crouched in a pool of - dear god how much blood was that? - looking haunted and tear streaked. She still hasn't looked up at him, and his eyes flash to her hand, and in a moment of sudden, horrible realization he discerns what has happened.
He approaches her slowly, kneeling to her level and pulling her hand away from her stomach, her other out of her hair. Gathering her in his arms, he brings her to him, tucking her head under his chin. He knows some healing techniques, and he gently sends pulses of chakra through her, desperate to do anything he can for her. Pulling her onto his lap, desperately ignoring the blood, he reaches around her to draw a bath. It's the only thing he can think to do. He lifts her up and sets her gently on the counter, where her arms circle his waist. He holds her for a moment and lets what water rise. When it's several inches deep he untangles her from him, looking at her as she looks away, still not speaking, still barely aware of her surroundings. He feeds her arms through her shirt, helping her to get it off. He repeats this process with her shorts, now horrifically stained, and once she is divested of all her clothing he lays her in the bath. Sitting next to the tub, he takes her hand and she lays her head on his shoulder. They sit that way for a while, and finally he rolls up his sleeves and helps her clean herself. He leaves her for a moment, and goes to the bedroom to strip the sheets, remaking the bed without that dark red reminder. He goes to her drawer, the one that she keeps her sleepwear in, and takes out an old tee-shirt of his, one he knows is her favourite, and a clean pair of underwear. Coming back to the bathroom he helps her to dry and get dressed.
They have no words for each other.
There are so many reassurances he wants to give her, so many curses she would like to scream, but at the moment, all they can bring themselves to do is this. Instead, he does what he has never done, what neither truly thought they would ever need, Itachi takes care of Sakura.
He has seen her grow, all these years, and it was one of the things he came to admire the most about her, how she would not allow herself to rely on anyone, at least not in the form of crippling dependency that had held her back for all of her youth. But the shock of this has rendered her incapable of processing what she needs, and so the duty falls to him. It reminds him, acutely, of taking care of a young Sasuke, and with that thought the image of a younger, softer, pink-haired child takes hold, because his actions now are the closest he's ever felt to a caregiver. A parent.
He takes her back to bed, lies with her, both still silent, until she drifts to sleep. He helps, just a little, by putting her in a light genjutsu, nothing she couldn't break in a heartbeat, but something to give her some sense of calm.
He leaves her, then, to clean the floor. It is only when the last trace of blood has vanished that he realizes what he's done. He has erased their child. The child neither of them knew about. He knows neither had desired the pregnancy, they were no more ready to be parents they had been the moment they met, but the fetus (he can't decide if it's better or worse to call it that) had been a part of them. The first real physical manifestation of their commitment to each other. In a different life, in a different time, they could have loved that child. Could have seen it grow and flourish and live.
When Sakura wakes up, Itachi's arms around her, she tries to speak.
"I didn't- I tried"
He says nothing, doesn't even try to interrupt, and just holds her tighter as her tears cascade.
He won't tell her he understands; he doesn't. He won't tell her anything.
But he will hold her, he will hold her up and back from whatever darkness she feels herself spiraling into.
They never forget this day. And when it comes to this they will always be at a loss for words.
Thank you so very much for reading this, and reviews (good or bad) are greatly appreciated.