He had always been so fascinated by her hands.
They were soft, so unlike his calloused pair, scarred at the tips of his fingers from repeated summonings. Hers were creamy coloured with a pink tint, protected from sunlight by her neat black gloves. They were loving hands, able to gently rub a grieving mother's back with such assurance. They were brave hands, the way they wrapped around her kunai without hesitation. Strong hands that could move mountains when accompanied by that fierce determination.
They were caring, healing hands. Hands that had been taught to kill in so many ways, and yet there was this inherent feeling of lovethat remained. They were the hands that kept him company in the damn hospital, their healing charka knitting his wounds and soothing his mind. Hands that had entwined their fingers with his. Hands that had brushed her hair away from her face as she laughed.
Yet they were so desperate now, moving quickly, spattered with blood, rain and tears, tearing at his front in an attempt to get at the deep wounds piercing through his cold body. Pink hair filled his vision, swimming in and out of focus, the colour so bright against the greys and browns of the night. It would have been almost blinding had he not been so attached to the colour. She always had lit up his world.
The rain fell on his upturned face. Some of the droplets were warm. Salty. Those confident, caring, certain hands trembled as they glowed blue, so determined to fix him, make him as good as new. No such luck. It wouldn't happen, because he was fading and he knew it as well as she did. Her desperation was turning into terror, her hands losing their poise and control, shaking so much that mustered the last of his energy and he grabbed one. One of those beautiful hands.
Her eyes couldn't possibly widen more, but seemed to manage it. He let himself smile at her, and something in his eyes must have told her that he had made peace with himself. Hers filled with love as she choked back a sob and stroked his hair away from his face, her hands gentle once more, conveying more love than words could ever describe, tracing over his features so gently.
He would miss her. Everything about her. Especially the way that her hands carefully, affectionately, tenderly let him lay back again, one supporting his head and the other still entwined with his, immersed in the puddle of blood that refused to stop flowing from his chest. He shut his eyes and tasted that salt again, hearing her faltering sobs above him, and ran his thumb over her knuckles gently.
After all, he had always been so fascinated by her hands. And of course, the woman herself. Not that he'd ever admit it, or even had the chance now. She probably knew. Women are generally quite wise about this sort of thing.
The last thing he felt was her hand gently squeezing his. That hand so unsuited to this job, and yet so perfect as a medic, a woman, as those healing, loving hands.
Her hands.
So I didn't expect my other fics to actually get read "
This is Sakura based, obviously, but you can feel free to insert your own choice of male. Personally, I was thinking Kakashi while I wrote it, mainly because of hospital hate and the summoning comment, but really choose whoever. Oh, and nearly-angst is fun to write! XD
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