A perhaps slightly less dramatic chapter than the last, but hopefully no less entertaining (and updated more quickly, if nothing else!). I hope anyone out there with real medical knowledge can forgive any inaccuracies regarding Sasuke's treatment or recovery process—I have no training in that area myself, so I confess I'm pretty much just going with what's convenient for the plot.

Many thanks to all you lovely readers for your support!

CHAPTER 10

Awareness slowly crept up on Sasuke. He could hear a distant beeping—annoying—and feel a light pressure on his hand, in addition to a sharp ache in his abdomen. He tried to move his fingers, and the pressure increased.

"Dad! Dad, can you hear me?" a voice exclaimed excitedly. "He's waking up."

Dad...that could only be Sarada. Sarada! His eyes snapped open. There had been a man with a knife, lunging at her—

He calmed slightly as her face swam into view. She looked healthy. In fact, she looked downright wonderful as she leaned over him, her dark eyes big and anxious, her lips moving as she spoke rapidly. He marvelled, not for the first time, at the fact that he and Sakura had managed to create something so incredible. She was the best of both of them, and more besides. Sarada was...beautiful.

He must have murmured the word out loud, because she looked around uncertainly, as if not sure what he was seeing, then turned to her mother and asked with concern, "Mom, what kinds of drugs is he on?"

Sakura laughed lightly, standing behind her daughter. "Just some painkillers, sweetheart, nothing to worry about. I think your dad is just...appreciating his awakening."

With an effort, he turned his head on the pillow so he could clearly see his daughter. She looked all right, but he had to be sure. "Sarada?" he rasped questioningly.

"I'm fine," she reassured him instantly, although tears swirled for a moment in her eyes—they resembled his in colour, but took on the vivid expressiveness of her mother's during moments of high emotion. "You...you saved me."

His fingers were squeezed again, and he realized that it was Sarada holding his hand in her smaller, paler one, her forearm resting on the bed. That brought on a wave of nostalgia; it had been well over a decade since he'd last held his daughter's hand. In fact, it felt like a long time since she had really touched him at all.

"The attacker?" He licked his lips; his mouth was obscenely dry.

Sakura noticed, stepping forward to carefully hand him a cup of ice chips and pressing the button to raise the head of the bed at the same time. "He's in custody," she said. "The police will want to talk to you when you're feeling a bit stronger, but there were plenty of eyewitnesses, so there should be no trouble putting him away." Her usually warm voice turned icy as she brought up the man who had threatened her family.

Plenty of eyewitnesses—including his daughter. Even if Sarada hadn't been injured herself, Sasuke knew it was a trauma that would stay with her forever. He felt sick for reasons that had nothing to do with the drugs he'd been given.

"Why did he do it? What did he say?" he demanded, suddenly desperate for a reason. Those few minutes right before the attack were just a nightmarish haze in his brain; he couldn't remember what exactly the man had said before drawing his weapon.

"Sasuke, we can talk about this later," Sakura said, calmly but firmly. "What matters is that everyone's all right. For now, you need to focus on relaxing and recovering." He met his wife's clear green eyes, catching the glance she darted toward Sarada. His daughter obviously remembered what the attacker had said, from the shadow hanging over her features. But her mother was right to intercede; Sarada had no doubt relived the horror often enough already over the course of however long he'd been here, and it would be beyond insensitive to ask her to give a play-by-play now. He knew he could be hard on his only child, but he had never had any desire to be actually cruel.

A couple of sudden loud knocks at the door preceded the entrance of two familiar blonds. The Uzumaki men poked their heads into the hospital room, wearing remarkably similar expressions of mingled hope and concern. Sasuke hid his surprise. Somehow it didn't seem that odd that Naruto would be hanging around—the man was among his oldest acquaintances, after all, and it was normal to take an interest in the health of your biggest rival anyway—but why would he bring his son here?

"Hey, is Sasuke awake yet?" Naruto wanted to know. Upon spotting the Uchiha sitting up, he blinked and continued with his usual sensitivity, "Oh, finally. I was wondering when you'd get tired of sleeping, you lazy bastard." But his bright grin seemed more sincere than mocking.

"I was stabbed, not napping, you moron," Sasuke pointed out scathingly, but although the acerbic response was a reflex, it was hard to be truly annoyed; today, Naruto being Naruto was less a provocation and more a simple reminder that he was still alive, and lucky to be so. After all, lame insults from his rival had been a custom for so long now that he could barely picture a life without them.

Sakura shook her head, commenting with dry fondness, "It's good to know that even a near-death experience can't make you two get along even for a minute. Unless 'bastard' and 'moron' are terms of endearment between you, which I have to say I've always secretly suspected they might be."

Naruto grimaced in undisguised revulsion. "Ugh, can we please never use the phrase 'terms of endearment' to talk about me and the bastard again?"

Sasuke seconded that sentiment wholeheartedly (much as it pained him to agree with Naruto about anything), but he kept quiet, noticing that the lighthearted exchange had lifted some of the darkness from Sarada's features.

Boruto, lurking behind his father, took the opportunity to clear his throat and comment seriously if awkwardly, "Uh, I'm glad you're okay, Mr. Uchiha."

Sasuke managed to give him a curt nod of acknowledgment. Anything more was beyond him when just the sight of the younger Uzumaki's face made him flash back to what he'd seen Boruto doing with his daughter at the Gala, a memory only slightly less traumatic than the experience of being stabbed.

His well wishes expressed, Boruto stepped further into the room and moved to Sarada, dropping a hand to her shoulder. Well, Sasuke would have preferred to think of it as him just placing a hand on her shoulder—that was something that even just a casual acquaintance might do—but in actuality it was more like he put his hand on her neck, high enough that he was almost cupping her face, then gently slid it down her skin, over her bare collarbone, until it finally reached her shoulder. Sasuke saw the fabric of her shirt bunch up as Boruto squeezed her gently there. The urge to slap the offending hand away from his daughter was strong, and Sasuke silently cursed the ache in his midsection that warned him that extreme pain would ensue if he tried to sit up further on his own.

The urge only grew stronger as Sarada turned at the touch, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand as she met the younger Uzumaki's eyes. It did recede slightly, though, when she smiled genuinely at Boruto and Sasuke saw the sharp lines of anxiety in her face smooth out, the tension in her body relaxing under his hand. At least Naruto Junior was good for something.

The Uchiha patriarch felt his own level of tension mount again, however, as he read their body language more carefully. They were clearly leaning into each other, Boruto bending over to get a better view into Sarada's face, and they seemed to be communicating silently, the blond looking deep into her eyes for a few seconds before obviously finding reassurance there and grinning back at her. Even when he let her go reluctantly and stepped back, her gaze stayed riveted on his for a moment or two.

"Everyone except the moron, leave us alone for a minute," Sasuke ordered suddenly. "We have something to discuss."

There could be little doubt as to whom he meant, and despite mild confusion at the strangely timed request, no one in the room could deny something so simple to a hospital patient who had just narrowly escaped death. Everyone besides Naruto filed out obligingly after another squeeze of his hand from Sarada and a quick kiss from Sakura (in addition to a strict warning: "I know you two will fight because it's all you ever do, but keep it a low-stress fight, or I will make you both sorry"). Sasuke's eyes narrowed as he saw Boruto rest a hand on the small of Sarada's back as he followed her out of the room.

As soon as they were alone, Sasuke's attention snapped to Naruto, who had dropped into the chair Sarada had vacated, and he hissed, "Why is your son even here?"

"We heard about the attack on the news," Naruto explained neutrally enough, although his hackles had begun to rise at the other man's tone. "They didn't say who exactly had been injured, so Boruto was worried it might have been Sarada."

"That brings me to my next question: what the hell does he think he's doing?"

Immediately understanding what he was referring to, Naruto snapped back, "Don't you think you should be asking your daughter that?"

Sasuke glared. "I thought we had determined that they were doing this just to spite us."

"That was pretty much our conclusion, yeah."

"Then what did I just see, just now, and at the Gala? That didn't look like spite. It looked like...real feelings," Sasuke spat with unconcealed distaste.

"I'm not sure you should be the judge of any real feelings, bastard. Do you even know what those are?"

"Shut up, I'm serious," came the snarled retort. "Your son. With Sarada. He looked like…"

"...he really cares about her?" Naruto sighed, his hostility suddenly fading into resignation. "Yeah. I thought so too. And you didn't even see him in the hallway with her earlier. Or when he first heard she'd been involved in an attack. He freaked when he thought she might be hurt."

Both men lapsed into a grimly contemplative silence, until Naruto, much subdued, asked, "What about Sarada? Do you know how she really feels?"

"It's hard to tell," Sasuke admitted. He'd always felt it was an important and worthwhile skill to be able to conceal one's feelings, but it was a hard pill to swallow when it made him incapable of reading his own daughter. "She's an Uchiha; unlike some people, she has the sense and dignity to refrain from shouting her feelings from the rooftops. But she was very defensive when I...questioned her taste in men at our dinner together. She almost seemed honestly disappointed that I didn't approve, when I had previously assumed that my disapproval was the whole point."

Naruto rubbed his face. "I mean, even if they are into each other, what can we really do about it but let them figure it out themselves? They're adults now. And to be honest, I don't really want to interfere in Boruto's life in any way that will make him resent me even more than he already does."

Sasuke frowned, disagreeing. "They're still just kids." Sarada and Boruto teaming up to annoy him and Naruto was less than ideal, but he could work with it; it was essentially just an exceptionally intricate childish prank. Sarada and Boruto embarking on a real, adult romantic relationship, he didn't know how to begin to deal with. He suspected that Sarada and Boruto didn't know how to deal with it either.

The blond man sighed again. "I think Hinata was right at the Gala. We're just gonna have to trust them at some point."

Sasuke scowled—never appreciating those moments when Naruto appeared to be acting more sensible than he was—and growled, "If he hurts her…"

"My son is the one in more danger, if you ask me," Naruto retorted. "From what I hear, Sarada can take care of herself. You know she was the one who took out your attacker after you were down, right?"

The Uchiha patriarch had suspected as much, and he felt a thrill of simultaneous pride and terror as he thought about his daughter confronting a man with a knife. He'd never wanted her to ever have to defend herself like that, but it was good to know that she was capable of doing so. "She's a fighter," he acknowledged quietly.

"Well, so's Boruto. And I'm thinking this is one battle we might just have to let them fight on their own."

With that, Naruto let out a heavy breath and rose. "Hey, get some rest, bastard. If this goes on much longer, Sakura's gonna come back and kill us both. Your wife is way scarier than you, you know—and it looks like your daughter is shaping up to be the same."

Sasuke snorted, but didn't deny it. "Whatever, moron. Get the hell out, then."

Sarada's cell phone chirped as she leaned back into the seat of the taxi currently transporting her away from the hospital. Ignoring the sound for a moment, she let her head drop against the window in the kind of show of weakness she normally wouldn't have indulged in while in public. The past day and night had been far from normal, however, and although the waking nightmare of wondering if her father would live or die was over, she had a feeling the other kind of nightmare would be dogging her sleep for a while. She'd only left the hospital because both of her parents had firmly ordered her to, and even then only because she knew it really was what her father preferred; he'd never liked people hovering worriedly around him, always resenting the implication that he needed help from anyone. Anyway, her mother was working at the hospital and would be around to check on him.

She had carefully avoided mentioning Boruto after he and Naruto had left, not wanting to stress her father in his condition, and not sure how much of their conversation at the restaurant he even remembered. For his part, he hadn't tried to grill her on her "boyfriend" anymore either, although she suspected some of the brooding silences he'd sporadically fallen into might have been devoted to that subject. She knew he hadn't lost interest and they would definitely be discussing it further, but she felt, and probably he did as well, that it would be healthier for everyone involved for them to wait to do so until he was closer to his usual strength and she wasn't so emotionally exhausted.

Her phone chirped again, reminding her she still hadn't looked at the text, and she pulled it out of her purse. It was from Boruto, unsurprisingly. He'd been messaging her every half-hour or so since he'd left that morning shortly after her father had woken up, asking how she was doing and sometimes sending her funny pictures or links. (She found it both slightly annoying and quite touching.) This time he'd sent her a simple Hey sup.

I'm on my way home. Finally leaving the hospital, she texted back. There were two kinds of people in the world: people who still paid moderate attention to proper grammar while texting, and people who didn't. Sarada belonged to the first group, Boruto to the second.

She jumped when her phone rang a moment later. She accepted the call and was greeted by Boruto's enthusiastic, straight-to-the-point "Hey! You should come over to my place."

"Right now?" she questioned, taken aback.

"Yeah! Instead of just going back to your own sad little apartment. I mean, nothing against your apartment," he said in a rush. "It's just, I know if it was me, I wouldn't really want to be alone, not right after...after leaving the hospital."

She was silent for a moment, both embarrassed and warmed by his concern, though no longer especially surprised by it. If there was one thing she'd learned over the course of their partnership so far, it was that underneath Boruto's mischievous, thrill-seeking surface lay a deep foundation of compassion and easily given affection. She still wasn't entirely sure what to do with that compassion and affection when they were aimed at her, though.

"I need a shower and some clothes; I haven't changed in almost thirty-six hours," she finally objected practically. "And I won't be alone. Chocho's meeting me at my place."

When she'd heard the news of the attack, Chocho had offered to come to the hospital. Sarada had told her not to bother, assuring her that she just wanted to spend time with her dad anyway, but her friend had insisted on at least coming over to be there for her when she went home.

"I own clothes too, you know," was Boruto's prompt rebuttal. "I can lend you some, and I have a shower you can use. And just tell Chocho to come to my place instead. The more the merrier! Besides, Mitsuki wants to see you too. He's been worried about you. He even wanted to bring one of his snakes to the hospital to give to you and your dad as an emotional support animal. I had to Google the hospital's policies about animals on the premises and show them to him to convince him he really shouldn't."

She was pretty sure he was just making up the part about Mitsuki to make her smile. Pretty sure. (Either way, it worked.) But his arguments were undeniably persuasive. The more she thought about it, the more appealing it seemed to go feed off the warmth and positive energy Boruto always exuded, listen to his and Mitsuki's offbeat but endearing banter, be surrounded by people she cared about. At some point soon she would likely just want to collapse and sleep, but right now she was still too keyed up, and it would be reassuring to have some lively company around to keep her mind off all the horrible what-ifs.

"...Okay, I'll come," she finally conceded. "See you soon, then."

She was still smiling slightly as she ended the call and leaned forward to give the cab driver new directions, but she sobered suddenly as thoughts of what had happened in the days before her father's injury popped up for the first time in a while. Specifically, thoughts of what had happened between her and Boruto. She wondered if he'd forgotten all about it too in the aftermath of the attack, or if he'd been thinking about it the whole time and just hadn't wanted to bother her with it. It was probably for the best that she go see him now, she reflected.

There were things they needed to talk about.

A/N: What kinds of things are they going to talk about, I wonder? Only the next chapter will tell ;) I'm happy to be somewhat back in my comfort zone with this lighter chapter. Some writers gravitate toward angst and grand drama, and I admire that kind of ambition, but my heart will always lie with humour, I think. Thank you so very much for reading!