Title: Sample Size

Prompt: July 6th / Quarantine

Note: This is probably relatively inaccurate. In fact the entire series is probably, but let's say this takes place in a universe where it is like this.

I'm a bit proud of this one, inaccuracies aside.

Summary: Her world shrinks until it's only her and the microscope, the scent of iron filling the stale air.

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...

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The glass clinks as she carefully places the slip on the slide, pushing firmly so no air is trapped. Dabbing the edges slightly with a paper towel, she slides the specimen under the microscope, the settings already in place for her.

A red sight greets her when she peers through the lens, adjusting the magnification till she could see the individual cells.

She remembers ninth grade, the sharp smell of vinegar and the quiet curses as yet another slide broke. No one knew how delicate they were, how easy it was to break the glass with the microscope. She broke three herself, subtly tossing the pieces into the trash when her teacher wasn't looking.

Now she can't risk it, can't risk the chance the sample could be lost. Her nimble fingers slowly turn the knobs and where there used to be the soft chatter of classmates there is now only the tapping of pencils and hum of the generator.

-x-

She spends days in the blood clinic, days peering through small holes and writing notes of disappointment. There are others with her in this quiet affair, all searching and marking down who is safe.

All marking down who is lost.

No. Sakura shakes her head, a pink lock escaping her bun. No, not lost. Just infected. There was still time to find a cure, still time to save people. One of these samples could have the antibodies needed, the natural chemical mix that was hard to duplicate.

She removes a glove and pins back her hair. The others around her are still bent at work, a uniform mass of white.

And, though she does not like to think of it, uniform in diminishing hope.

-x-

"Sakura?"

It's the smell that hits her first, a tang of orange that cuts through the iron she has no longer noticed. Looking up, she sees dark blue and soft lavender and a face she now knows as Hinata.

Her throat feels thick, her voice hoarse. When was the last time she spoke? She swallows the dryness before managing a word. "Yes?"

There is something undeniably sad in the other girl's face. "He's infected."

Something in her face must give, some unconscious spasm. Hinata only looks sadder, her hand pointing to her left.

"Sasuke's in room 1329."

And she doesn't give a second thought as she freezes, dropping the slip on the floor. It shatters—and she remembers a hot classroom, a vial of indigo, dark hair, and bright blue eyes.

She remembers and starts to run.