Drip. Drip. Drip.
It stopped three years ago, she thinks. Her time. His time. Their time. It stopped three years ago on top of the wide wide roof of the hospital (and wasn't it so funny that she spent most of the past three years there) when she was still a fumbling ninj-girl and they were young and burdened and oh so troubled.
But it's started again.
Ten. Twenty. Fifty. One hundred miles. One thousand miles away maybe. But what does it matter?
It's started again.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
In a way, she muses, her borrowed time has ended. And isn't that right? All this time, hasn't the time she has spent been grabbed, scrounged, stolen, from others? This time protected time and time again from bigger, scarier shinobi, this time barely saved (but really stopped she thinks) from two idiots who held the weight of their world on their shoulders, this time given from one of the few people who acknowledged (because all this time she's been left behind hasn't she? cast away, forgotten, of no importance) her.
Given. Taken. Stolen.
What does it matter?
It's borrowed time. Time she must finally give back.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
None of them expected this surely.
He had probably envisioned a happy, wonderful, ecstatic time that the next time the three were together, he'd have kept his promise, he had come back, and they would all be together again.
He had probably envisioned a time of final fulfillment and redemption. And maybe somewhere, deep deep down somewhere, he envisioned a time where he would finally walk back into the light.
She had envisioned that maybe—just maybe—she would be happy again.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
No. No one expected this.
No one expected that when they raced towards each other again that their stopped time would start again. That once again she would run run run across that empty field in between. That this time there would be no sensei to come rushing in and saving her. That this time there would be no rescued damsel in distress, no lecture on hurting your friends, no relief at the safety of their comrade (left behind, always left behind, but comrade nonetheless).
Instead there is a pause. A pause where ever drip of blood can be heard—drip drip drip. And then there is blood. There is the rush of noise as if a play button has been hit. There is screaming.
Uzumaki Naruto screams in agony and denial. Their Sakura-chan cannot be hurt. The body he just cleaved with his Rasengan cannot be their Sakura-chan. The blood splattered across his face cannot be their Sakura-chan because damnit this was their Sakura-chan and he swore he'd protect her and she couldn't die she couldn't she couldn't shejustcouldn't.
Uchiha Sasuke does not scream. Instead his eyes widen and he stumbles and releases his Chidori and remembers unanswered confessions and curses and fuck Sakura you fucking idiot you can't fucking die now not here not now not like this shit wake up and open your eyes and whyareyousmilingyou'rehurtfuckingshit-
And then there are people.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Even in the darkness she can hear. She can hear her beloved shishou (open your eyes you stupid stupid girl I'm your Hokage listen to me goddamnit) and the friend she had once cast away over a love that would never be answered (Forehead stop joking around get up get up) and the second teammate who left her behind (Sakura-chan you're going to be okay I know it everything is gonna be ok) and the teacher who never taught her (but he doesn't speak but isn't that to be expected—he's lost so much so much already what's one more except a longer trip to the memorial stone) andhim.
He is mumbling obscenities and expletives (and she can't help but feel happiness bloom across her chest because isn't this what she had always wanted he cares he cares he cares).
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Yes. Their time has started again. Maybe now, maybe they can take a step forward now because didn't she take that one first step everyone had shied away from?
Yes. If she were to be honest, then she would have many regrets. Regrets over never being able to best her shishou, to never argue with that pig until they were old grannies, to never see him become Hokage, to never see that lazy sensei be on time (and to never hear her words from that day reciprocated even if that's just a mindless, hopeless, piece of wishfulness she has crushed since that day in the snow when she—).
But it's okay. This time. Her time. It's been extended for the last time. Under the bright green glow of Tsunade's chakra, Haruno Sakura dies.
Drip.
In the end, even if this wasn't envisioned it was never, never, unexpected.
AN: hi there! this is my first fanfiction ever and I thought I'd have a bit of leniency when it came to overused and cliche prompts and ideas and yeah... ;w;
unbeta'd and unproofed because I really didn't want to go back and edit this monstrosity ;w;
reviews and contructive criticism please? (especially the latter ohmygodthelatter)