Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

Prompt: Time together after a long and difficult mission.

Itachi could hear her breathe.

That's a good sign, Itachi thought, as he reluctantly turned his head on his very comfortable pillow to find his happiness sound asleep beside him.

Distressing, the amount of bandages she was covered in. He reached out to fiddle with one that shielded her shoulder from his view. She wasn't clad in much. Light purple and cream nondescript nightclothes that did nothing to ward against the chill. He would've heated his hand with elemental chakra to warm her up if he wasn't so sure that his body would ache in protest if he tried.

Itachi scrunched his nose at the heavy scent of oils and medicinal salves. It was particularly potent where he lay—too potent to not be coming, at least in part, from him—and as he looked down at himself, he found that he wasn't in much better condition than Hinata. Dressings around every limb, as well as his torso. As he looked at each wrapped appendage, he recalled the memories and pain associated with the injuries. His legs, where froths of sharp rock fueled by angry gales had battered them. His arm, where he'd been nicked by javelins that rose from the darkness. His torso, where a pillar of stone had slammed into him with a vengeance.

His throat…

Itachi's hand shot up to touch the area only to find that even that was wrapped. He could still imagine the burning fingers digging into the flesh. Itachi was no stranger to being choked by enemies or even friends during training. The first time he'd been choked had been by Shisui, who had terrified him when he did it as part of an illusion, but at least he knew that his cousin would abate. The enemy that had gotten so amazingly close to him had no intention of doing such a thing. Itachi remembered the sick feeling of gasping for breath only to come up short; of struggling with his arms and legs only for his body to disobey him because of the lack of air. Shaking his head of the thought, he forcefully dropped his hand. He didn't want to think about that now.

Itachi wasn't as caring to himself as he was with her, so without much thought, he tugged at the bandages wrapped around his forearm. He was exhausted—even simply sitting up was a chore—so it took a bit of time. But there was no one rushing him here. Time itself seemed to take a breath in this room. Besides, he recognized where he was, and that knowledge was what kept him from bolting to the door the moment he awoke.

They were in one of his family's branch estates. Less traditional, this one. They were in a spare bedroom to be exact, given that his room here had been converted into a library long ago. The room was unnecessarily large. It was for visiting family and friends. In any other blueblood's home, it would be for esteemed guests, but few noble visitors opted to stay with their family, and his father didn't exactly encourage guests.

Itachi looked around the room as he continued to unwind his bindings.

They were currently on a satisfyingly plump four-posted bed beside a large black-framed window. It was dark out. Rain drenched everything as far as he could see. The clouds didn't look like they'd be slackening anytime soon.

Why is it always raining here? Itachi thought, knowing Hinata would hate to see that when she woke up. As he drew the curtain, he noticed the stars. How long have we been out?

Knowing he wouldn't find the answer to that question, he inspected the rest of the room. An elegant nightstand stood beside the bed holding white candle stumps and a basin of clear water. Nearby, was an empty chair with a closed book on top—an indication that someone had visited them recently. Itachi vaguely recognized the faded pink bookmark from his childhood. It belonged to his mother. A pang of something thin and burning shot up Itachi's chest. He'd been gone so long that he even missed her nagging. The image of her scolding him entered his mind's eye, before he forced himself to look away.

To the side, against the far wall, was a large dresser and a seven foot tall mirror made of walnut wood. There was a red and black partition there for dressing. Near that, stood a slim writing desk with a stack of buttery paper. Finally, on the other side of the room was a fireplace behind an iron grating with a velvet settee before it and a thick, rich purple quilt thrown over one arm.

It was nicer than anything they'd slept in for some time. The bed alone felt like a luxury. The mattress was soft. The blankets, dense with weight. As Itachi finally finished unwinding the bandages to reveal the smooth, pale skin covered in thick salve underneath, he realized that he'd definitely been cured after their fight. So, why was he wrapped head to toe in enough dressings to stifle him? Even though he was tired, his mind still ran. It connected the dots to answer his own question.

The medics probably didn't want to overrun my empty veins with their own chakra, Itachi thought. He glared, as he opened and closed his hand to test his range of movement. His fingers trembled, but his grip wasn't exactly weak. The salves are likely meant for body aches and to encourage natural healing.

Replenishing chakra was a slow process.

Itachi caressed his temple in a circular motion, before his fingers moved upward to touch the side of his head, where a headache was beginning to form. He felt as if he'd been drained dry. Remarkably empty in a way that he'd never been before. Not light, but bare. Vacant. It felt almost like something had hollowed out his insides without him knowing.

His power still hummed, low, but insistent in his veins, so he knew that it was still there. But he also knew that it would be sometime before he would be at his peak again.

Itachi knew that he needed to leave the room to find his Shisui, his brother, or anyone that could fill him in on what happened, and more importantly, what was going on now. He knew that he needed to tell them about the powerful ninjas they'd encountered. He knew that he needed to find a medic, preferably Tsunade, to look at them one more time, while he was conscious, so he could ascertain for himself that they were both okay. But here, in this bed with Hinata asleep beside him—

He was perfectly content.

For so long, Itachi had been strained beyond reason, given vague commands that he was expected to carry out, as well as hurt and stitched back together enough times to know that contentment was a fleeting thing. So, for now, here in this room, he decided that he would allow himself the feeling.

He'd been drifting in and out of consciousness for so long that he couldn't even begin to fathom how much time had passed. He remembered blurred moments. Shouting desperately at Hinata for her to wake, before passing out himself from a mixture of pain and throbbing exhaustion. The crumbling blackness all around him, as a fledgling light shined to take its place. Familiar figures running in his direction. Screams and water rolling down cheeks. His brother's hands upon his torso, unable to heal him and looking every bit like the troubled boy he was.

Itachi sighed, as he finally turned to look back at Hinata. His hand reached out. Months of travel, of bleeding, of his veins being stretched and drained of all their worth—all of it so easily smoothed by Hinata's smaller presence, her hand limp in his own. The slow rise and fall of her chest reassured him in ways that he would never be able to adequately express. He felt her pulse, taking solace in the repeated thump against his fingers. He didn't know how long he spent staring at her, just thinking about all that had happened since they embarked upon this strenuous journey, but the rainclouds had scattered and, without his knowledge, he fell asleep.

By the time he woke up again, sunlight, dim-grey, but still thick, bled light through the windows foggy panels. It pierced the annoyingly light curtain that he'd drawn the night before. He glowered at it, as if that might miraculously make it heavier.

Luck had finally decided to grace him with a glance because no one had come to bother them yet. He could tell by the undisturbed book on top of the chair beside their bed. Itachi didn't bother getting up this time either, despite how thirsty he felt. He simply sat up and waited. Minutes ticked into nothing, while he moved the curtain to look out at the snowy plains below. It was quiet. Most of the servants in this faraway estate were likely still asleep.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard Hinata stir.

Itachi turned just in time; he had the good fortune of watching Hinata's eyes open. She blinked a few times, as if unsure of her surroundings and trying to ascertain that she wasn't caught in a dream, before her vision focused at last. Her heated gaze settled upon him like nothing else in the world might ever matter again. A wild rush of joy swelled so swiftly in his chest that he breathed deeply—a noisy in and out—just to compose himself.

"Itachi," was the first word that left her lips.

Affection skittered over his skin.

Her voice was rough, as if she'd screamed her throat raw. A thin, breaking thing. Little more than a shadow of itself. But it was hers. He'd rather hear her lost whisper than the strong, booming shouts of another.

Itachi didn't particularly have anything that he wanted to say to her in that moment. He'd just been waiting for her to wake, giving no real thought to the conversation that would ensue. But even then, he hadn't thought that he'd be totally choked with the inability to speak. His throat constricted, too tight to form words. He swallowed twice. When his voice finally managed to escape his lips, it was a mess of worry, terror too real and too strong to hide, and relief so outrageously unbearable that he felt the emotion spear all the way down to his toes and knock bruises against his ribcage.

"Hinata," Itachi called, still anxious by how fragile she appeared in that instant—even though he was sure that he didn't look much better. A part of him feared she'd wince if he spoke too loudly, so he settled for a soft, "Hey."

She blinked repeatedly again as he leaned closer, one arm braced by her side, so he could get a better look at her pale face. Itachi tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her hand sought his, seeking purchase in reality. Hinata's hands were warm. Always so frustratingly warm. Her wrist fell limply into his palm, and his digits travelled up to grasp hers with a firmness that anchored her to him. Itachi didn't care if it hurt. He wanted to reassure her—reassure himself—that they were both actually safe after all that had happened. Itachi could only truly do that while she was conscious and giving him her undivided attention.

She looked like she wanted to ask him something—where they were, perhaps? But the question died in her throat as she looked at him. Hinata didn't need to ask where they were or if they were safe, his eyes said it all.

"Hey," she said back instead. There was an entire world of emotion knotted in the sound, in the space between as he leaned forward to dominate the full ambit of her vision.

"You slept too much," he muttered. "I've been waiting ages for you to wake up."

A complaint, if she'd ever heard one, but he was looking at her so affectionately that she had a difficult time accepting it as such. Hinata laughed, high and delighted, when he let his weight fall down on top of her, fitting his head snugly into her collar.

"You make waking up feel like a gift," she whispered in his ear.

His heart thumped—hard. Heat colored his cheeks as he took in the words.

They laid there in silence for a few minutes, as Itachi mastered himself enough to fight the uncharacteristic surge of heat dusting his face. Hinata didn't push him away, fully content to lay back and run her fingers through his hair. It had gotten longer. More unruly. There was more light in the sky now; the world not so gray as it once had been. It pierced their room at just the right angle to flare on a few of his dark strands, scalding them brighter.

"You've gotten better at saying things like that without blushing," Itachi said when he gathered his wits. He lifted himself just high enough to shoot her a pointed frown.

"Do you always need to tease?" she asked, even as she gave him a soft, but insistent kiss. "Hush, Itachi."

When she pulled away, his stare had eased, but his frown hadn't. Not even by the slimmest margin.

"Are you feeling better?" he questioned.

"I don't feel worse."

"Hina."

"I'm okay, Itachi."

"Really?"

"I can bear a lot. You know that," Hinata asserted, though she grimaced at how easily she could feel the contours of his body pressed against her own. They were both freezing, and it was taking entirely too long for either of them to warm up.

"Why are you making that face then?"

"I'm in a slip. A thin slip."

"… Glad to see all of those blows haven't slowed you down."

She tugged his hair in warning. "I don't like it."

"You can change later," he said, as he pulled the blanket closer around them to help with the chill. "I'm sure someone will come by soon to reapply our salves, if not to check if we're awake."

"Has no one come yet?"

"Not yet. No one was here when I woke the night before either." Itachi settled back down beside her. He rubbed the furrow between her brows with his thumb. "Don't worry so much. We're safe here. This is my family's estate."

"I'm not worried, so much as curious. What do you think everyone at home is up to?"

"Who knows," Itachi answered, uncharacteristically flippant. "I'll only admit this once, so listen well… my muscles are sore beyond belief. My eyes feel strained from overuse, and I can barely move my arm without wanting to put it back down. So, I want to ignore everything going on out there for as long as I can. No one is bothering me for once. I didn't realize what a blessing that was until this moment."

She smiled, fond. "So what then? Will you just lay here?"

"Yes," Itachi said, as he twined their fingers together. He turned her question back at her. "And what about you? Will you just lay here?"

There was no hesitation or staggered draw of breath to lengthen the quiet.

"Of course."

Itachi looked at her, hair in disarray and pale skin sticky with ointment. Her eyes were sobright. Tenderness given form. She smiled, and he found himself mirroring the motion. It didn't take long for his reservations to lose to his affection for her, to the need to reach out and feel her with his own two hands. He clutched her fingers with his own. Itachi raised each digit to his lips for a brief kiss. He placed his other palm over her chest, where her heart beat out a solid rhythm—

Alive.

They were both alive, well, and in each other's arms. He didn't want anything else, didn't need anything else other than the satisfaction of this single moment.

In the distance, shafts of sunlight dribbled down as the sun rose at last. It seemed brighter than it had ever been. The smell of bread wafted into the room from the kitchens down the way. Birds flapped their wings, causing weightless sprays of snow to shatter into the air.

Between the clamor and the unmistakable movement of the world around them as it finally stirred, carrying on as it always did, Itachi muttered a quiet promise to her. A pledge of devotion for the unknowable future ahead. Hinata listened silently. Warmth rose in her cheeks at his attention. When he caught sight of the blush, a small smile formed on the corner of his lips, before he laughed under his breath. The sound made her blush grow, and she turned, as if that might shield her from his attentive gaze.

"Hinata," he called.

She turned to him, unable to resist the sound of her name in his voice. Her cheeks were puffed in faux annoyance. The only thing he could think of as she turned to face him was—

Oh, how he loved her.

In that dying instant, nothing else mattered.

A/N: I told myself I wouldn't write again for this pair, but here we are. I wish I could just be paid to write fanfiction.

Please review.