Boruto tries his damnedest to spend every waking moment at the hospital by Sarada's side. The only things that pull him away are hygienic necessities and Mitsuki's funeral. It's a quiet, gut wrenching affair, that makes it impossible to say anything meaningful as he stands before the large crowd swathed in black. He does't know how to mourn the way that his parent's generation does - this is the first real loss he's ever experienced, and it hits home achingly so. It's impossible to articulate properly.

Afterwards, when Mitsuki's name is etched onto one of the three cenotaph stones at the heart of the village, he does his best to keep watch on his remaining teammate. It's the third week since she's awoken now, and the silence is starting to become normal.

"Mornin', Sara-chan," Boruto says as he stumbles into her hospital room before after hours, almost tripping over the window. In his left hand is a small bento stuffed with his mother's cooking. "Boy, you won't believe the morning I had. This chuunin came this morning to take Himawari on a date, and wooooo, dad was pissed that she tried skipping out on breakfast with everyone. Chased the bastard right off the porch. Then he lectured her on how she should do better than just a chuunin."

Sarada is sitting up in her bed, a styrofoam cup of tea in her hands. She looks up at him with those kaleidoscope eyes that he still finds frightening. But on her soft, heart shaped face, they're still beautiful, and they still call him forward. Her hair is messy and longer than she likes. He decides to ask her if she wants him to trim it, even if he knows she won't answer.

She smiles, just a bit. A flutter of hope chokes him up.

"I-I got ya some breakfast," he continued, raising the container of food he's brought. "Eggs, bacon, tomatoes- which, y'know, still gross."

Sarada takes another sip of her tea before setting it on the side table, next to one of the several large vases of flowers around her room. They're mostly from Naruto, who got sick of the gloomy atmosphere inside her room within ten minutes. The flower arrangements are definitely Inojin's mother's work, and the morning sun shines on them warmly as he takes his usual seat to her left.

Boruto shifts to the edge of his seat and puts his head down on her knees unthinkingly. She makes a face.

Sarada sets down her bento of breakfast to shove a pillow underneath his head with the same gentleness that she has whenever they're sprawled out in her living room, pouring over missions scrolls. It's part irritation and part care that is so uniquely her that he is struck with the normalcy. His eyes burn with treacherous tears. When do I get you back? he thinks heartbrokenly.

She picks back up the bento to continue eating when he blurts out, "I miss you, Sarada."

Sarada looks up at him in shock, lashes fluttering against her pale skin. There's an ache in her black eyes that he knows he can't soothe, and he fears a seizure might come. The young Uchiha swallows thickly and stares off into space for several minutes before finding herself, blinking several times in surprise.

She reaches forward to play with his hair.

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The seizures come as soon as she awakens, off and on, with nurses stationed around the clock to keep her from choking on her own tongue, and they're godawful. Boruto witnesses the first one several hours after she opens her Sharingan red eyes, talking his sensei's head off about something mindless when Sarada's breathing became audible. He was resting his head against her legs then too. Boruto had risen when he felt her thighs shake unsteadily beneath his head, and watched with mounting, narrow-eyed horror as she fell apart. Sarada's pupils danced around, unable to focus on anything. She looked around in a panic, in search of something that was not there; she began grunting and gasping and shaking hard enough to rattle the hospital bed. She clawed her cheeks face with a piercing whine as the blood started pouring from her eyes.

The agony of her stifled noises felt worse than a kunai the Grass-nin had gutted him with.

Sasuke-sensei was already in motion, sitting her upright and shouting for her mother and turning her head off the side of the bed as she made heaving noises. Sakura had sprinted inside, a grim expression on her face. Naruto had come too, but only to pull him out. Boruto hadn't protested.

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When the seizures start coming less, and the Mangekyou Sharingan faded to black, Boruto found himself seeing more signs of life. At one month, Sarada was scowling every time he got food on her crisp white hospital-issue bedsheets. At six weeks, she was going to the bathroom by herself. By the time the second month had come to a close, Sarada's parents had taken her home.

After a mental health evaluation ordered by his father, Boruto's put back on the missions roster. He leads teams of chuunin on escort missions for important clients, and hardly sees any action. Unfortunately, all he can think about is the incompetence of the shinobi he's teamed with. They aren't as smart, as fast, as brutally precise with their ninjutsu as Sarada is. They aren't as blindingly fast, as inventive as Mitsuki. The comparisons won't quiet in his head, and he hates it. It makes him miss his best friends even more.

"Just send me on some solo missions," Boruto pleads his father after dinner. They wash dishes together in uneasy silence. "I'll be able to handle it."

Naruto purses his lips as takes too long to dry a with a wash towel. "It's not that simple, Boruto. There are jonin older and more experienced than you that are used to solo work," his father explains. His face twitches into a bit of a smile. "Not to mention you don't have nearly enough A ranks under your belt."

"You know I'm capable."

"On a training field, sure."

Boruto rolls his eyes as he hands another a rinsed plate to his father. "It isn't fair. Everyone I work with is just...not what I'm used to, I guess," he says, going quieter. "I hate it."

He means for it to come off as arrogant, but it doesn't. His words are a croak, a wish for the past instead of the disjointed future he sees before him. Naruto dries his hands on his pants with a quiet sigh and pulls him into a hug, and the action pulls a trembling gasp from him. For the first time since coming home, he finds tears in his eyes, and they're hot, blurring his perfect vision, making his throat ache.

"I'm sorry, Boruto," his father mumbles.

"Boru-nii?"

Boruto and his father look up to see Himawari holding a stick of dango in one hand and a large pillow in the other. She's dressed in her pajamas already, with sashimi print shorts and a t-shirt that's two sizes too big. Boruto feels a cold shame sliver up his spine as his younger sister watches him. He turns away and rubs at his eyes roughly. The tears keep coming.

Before he knows it, he's being tackled into a hug. It takes just a second for him to embrace her back, smell the sugar and the kunai oil that always follows her around. Their father's arms cradled them both, and Boruto stands in the arms of his family as he sobs.

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Boruto goes over to the Uchiha household as often as possible. Half the time he ends up sprawled out on Sarada's floor, or asleep in the guest bedroom. Sakura and Sasuke are unsurprisingly accommodating with him. Sakura insists on him staying for dinner as often as possible, and Sasuke complains about having to feed another mouth. Then they argue about who's turn it is to cook.

It's those moments that he cherishes the most. Sarada will smile softly, and he'll reach out to squeeze her hand. She squeezes back and doesn't let go.

(Her parents don't say a word on that. He's grateful.)

It's one freezing December afternoon that Boruto falls asleep on Sarada's bed while she methodically sharpens her kunai and shuriken on a small mat laid out before her. For a while, he watches her, and goes on about the things he did before he came to see her, and retells another of Shikadai's ridiculous stories from Suna, before falling asleep. When he's awake, the weaponry is cleared away, replaced by large stacks of pictures.

He gets excited - his parents photo albums are always filled with the coolest pictures, from his parents dates to his father's inauguration into office, and especially group photos of all their friends. The pictures he sees before him are no different.

Sarada holds one picture in her hands, holding it delicately, as if it might crumble within her grasp at any second.

"Yo, is that another Team Seven picture?" Boruto asks blearily, scrambling from over the sheets to lean over the bed by his stomach. "I haven't seen this one before."

Sarada ignores him as she stares on. The picture shows Kakashi standing behind his three students in his Hokage robes, the rest of them dressed in their Konoha uniforms. They posed with their hands behind their backs. Sai, of course, is expressionless. His father's eyes are fierce and joyous, though he keeps the rest of his expression mildly neutral. His sensei stares into the camera with pride, chin up, shoulders back, seemingly fighting his own excitement. Sakura does not bother with hiding her smile, and she puffs out her chest as she stands between her boys, several inches shorter than them.

"Man, do they look young," Boruto mumbles to himself, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. "I've never seen them in the standard uniform before...or this calm."

Sarada smiles softly as she picks up another picture.

This one is much less professional. The future Hokage is pointing a finger in Sasuke's face, screaming bloody murder, and the then-young Uchiha is gripping him by the front of his flak jacket with blurry red eyes. Sakura is in between them, one hand balled into a glowing-green fist that looks plainly dangerous. She shuts her eyes and glares, as if counting to ten inside her head. To her right, Sai pats her head as if she were a small child, mouth open, probably saying something rude.

Kakashi is, of course, reading his nasty orange book, hat tipped low over his eyes.

"Ah, this is more like it," the young blonde says, his smile sharpening into a smirk. "They looked way too cool in the other one."

"Mama says this is when they were prompted to jonin together," Sarada murmurs.

Boruto goes still, blinking away the tiredness left over in his eyes as he stares at his teammate. The dark haired girl ignores his sudden rigidity in order to stare fondly at the picture. His eyes burn with tears and his breathing goes uneven and his heart falters inside of his chest at the sound of her quiet, smoken-laden voice, rough with disuse.

Oh fuck, he thinks. Is it possible to miss the sound of someone's voice this badly?

Deciding to play it cool, and desperately wishing to hear her speak more, Boruto points at his father with a blunt nail. "T-that makes sense," he stumbles out. "Dad still doesn't have that scar on his nose. He got it after he became Hokage."

Sarada squints, bringing the picture closer to her face, but it's no use. She's still not wearing her glasses.

"Hmm," she says. "I think."

Boruto trembles. Sarada sets down that picture and picks up yet another one that makes her grin childishly. The sight of it draws him closer, leaning further off the bed until he has to hold himself up by both arms.

This photo is more worn than the others, faded around the edges, with creases that dissect it into four parts. It's been folded over several times over the years, he thinks. Her parents are making out openly, Sakura bent back just a bit, her arms flailing outwards in what he knows is shock. Only her father's self satisfied smirk is visible between the two of them. Sai's face is transformed with happiness, face flushed with exertion, and he laughs with his mouth opened wide Kakashi is holding up Icha Icha Paradise shamelessly, eyes shut in a wide smug. Naruto's stolen his hat, and wears it as his own, arms tossed around his former teacher and pale teammate. The blonde tilts up the billowing Hokage hat with a spectacular grin that still puts the sun to shame.

"I don't think they knew the photographer was still taking pictures of them," Sarada whispered to him, glee in her voice. "I just found this Papa's closet while I was cleaning last year."

Clearly, his sensei took this embarrassing little snapshot of his team with him on his travels away from his family, and has done so for longer than he'd rather admit. Boruto wonders where the other pictures of Sasuke have been hidden, and decides to ask his father if he can give some to Sarada.

"Bet this would've proved who your parents were real quick, huh."

"Definitely. They look so...in love."

"Not as in love as my dad is with that hat."

Sarada giggles, and Boruto physically can't help himself. The blonde surges forward and wraps both his arms around her. He holds himself up by her shoulders, and focuses on calming his breathing. She takes a minute to hug him back, slender arms pressing into his back, enfolding him in warmth. He's quaking consistently now, the force of his sobs rattling his bones.

"Boruto," Sarada murmurs, pressing her head into his thick hair. Unable to respond, he hiccups just a bit. It's his turn to keep quiet now.

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The next day, he finds Sarada in the training yard. A crowd of academy students huddle a safe distance away from the onslaught. He flits around her, into the trees far away, wanting to watch more inconspicuously. She breathes giant fireballs into life, cracks the earth under her fists, back flips into intricate kata effortlessly, runs through three different training dummies with chidori, and even firing off a few new suiton that he hasn't seen before.

Boruto sighs like a love struck teenage boy.

He's missed this.

If Mitsuki was here, he'd make a sly comment about his female teammate's abilities going above and beyond their heads. Boruto would have snapped that she couldn't touch him, which Sarada would have heard, which would have definitely started a fight. They would have beat the hell out of each other, Mitsuki would have dusted them off, and dragged him to get burgers.

Boruto's chest aches something fierce as he imagines his dead friend again, commenting on their inability to act like adults. He slumps against the tree and feels tears again.

I'm such a cry baby, he thinks miserably to himself. Tousan should have kicked my ass by now.

"Boruto!"

The blonde looks up, squinting into the distance to see Sarada standing on the head of her enormous slug summons, Hatsu. She'd crouched onto one knee, and in her right hand is a handful of shuriken glowing blue with chakra wires. Her the tomoe of her Sharingan are spinning, beautiful and fierce and wholly familiar. He feels his face flush with warmth at the sight.

Boruto flits through the thick foliage until he's standing on a branch, clear in view. More academy students have gathered now, and he spots a couple of their peers mixed in as well. He can just barely make out Shikadai and Inojin placing bets, placing handfuls of ryo into Chocho's awaiting hands.

"You're creepier than that annoying Aburame kid, you know," Sarada drawls. He swallows thickly as the winter wind whips their clothes sideways. "Only perverts stare at girls while they work."

Boruto goes red again.

Just to be a show off, he front flips high into the air, biting down on the knuckle of his thumb until he tasted blood. Mid air, he stared into those perfect red eyes with a smirk, and he sees it reflected on her own face. Boruto lands and slaps a hand to the ground, hand seals woven to perfection. After a smothering burst of smoke, Boruto is standing on an enormous violet and yellow toad.

For a moment, he allows his mind to wonder what Akira, Mitsuki's building-sized snake summons was doing, and if it knew that the boy it adored so much was dead now. He wondered if anyone would ever summon him again.

"Jeez, kid, it's freezing out here," Daichi mutters underneath him.

"Tell me about it," Hatsu sighs, eye stalks swaying against the cold breeze.

"You talk a lot of mess for a girl who can barely watch kissing scenes in movies," Boruto called back, ignoring their summons and slipping out his tanto from behind his back. It glints in the faint afternoon light. "And after I kick your ass, I might just give you the privilege of taking me out to eat."

Her laughter is high and clear. "Privilege, or punishment?"

Boruto's trembling all over again. He feels warm and manically delighted, but he also feels just a tad slighted. Just to fuck with her, he drops his voice a few octaves. "That depends on you, doesn't it? I always reward good girls," the blonde drawls."But I like to punish them even more."

Sarada's face and ears turn scarlet. There, he thinks. Just like old times.

"I didn't bet a hundred ryo on you to watch this get kinky! Get on with it, Boruto!" Shikadai shouts from below, hands cupped his mouth. Chocho is giving a flustered look to the Inuzuka girl beside her, saying something under her breath with a chagrined voice. Inojin, right behind them, looks like he's in pain.

Chocho suddenly remembers herself. "I've got three hundred ryo on you, Sarada!" she shrieks up. "Kick his skinny ass!"

"What the fuck?" Boruto snaps, blushing all over. Sarada sighs, but throws her shuriken forward. He deflects the shuriken with his tanto, and within a moment, they're flying. "Why does she have so much more on you!?"

"A future Hokage should inspire faith and loyalty in her people!" Sarada shouts.

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.

They're meditating on the balcony of her room one day, for whatever terrible reason. Boruto naps a bit, holds back several sneezes, and takes off his shirt in an attempt to break Sarada's steely focus. It becomes a hopeless endeavor when the Uchiha refuses to open her eyes, and it's stupidly cold outside, so he focuses on keeping himself warm with his chakra instead. It's a good exercise for control - too much, and he begins to sweat, but too little, and he feels nothing at all. His chakra control will never be as good as Sarada's, so this is turns out to be excellent practice.

His best friend breaks his concentration with a strangled gasp, and for a single moment, he's back in that clearing, up against a tree trunk, her body collapsed against him.

Boruto's eyes fly open to reveal Sarada bent over on her knees, choking, shaking, struggling to get air in her lungs.

The smile on her face frightens him.

It's hard to hold back his sob as he brings her towards him, shifts her onto her side as the heaving starts. She grins through it manically.

Her mother's instructions echo inside of his head almost robotically as he holds onto Sarada, rubs her back as she vomits violently onto the balcony floor. Boruto controls his own shivering by the skin of his teeth. It's cold again, and he doesn't think it's because of the weather.

The triumph leaves her face. Sarada whimpers, sobs quietly, curling up on herself as she finishes. As the shaking stops, and her breathing evens out, he relaxes. The blonde shifts her into his arms and stands, arms around her body, anchoring him to her. It's a soft, enjoyable burden, and he presses her further against him with each tremor he feels. They slip back into her room, and Boruto lays her out on her bed.

Sarada is still crying as she opens her eyes, Mangekyou Sharingan spinning wildly.

Boruto opens his eyes, fear freezing him into place. The dark haired girl breathes deeply as she blinks once, twice, as her dojutsu fades into black. He doesn't breathe until she pulls at the blankets to wrap herself away.

"What-what happened?" he murmured, crouching low and reaching out to touch her.

"I-I was- I was...," Sarada strumbles, swallowing thickly before saying, "I was practicing Tsukiyomi."

His anger comes easily, violently. "Excuse me?" he hisses. "What's wrong with you? Why would you use that- that fucking-?"

"-that jutsu that saved our lives," the girl intones, flinty steel inside her voice. He winces at her words. She knows he can't deny that.

"Okay, sure, whatever. But it- Sarada, it hurts you. "

"It won't be able to if I learn how to control it properly."

Boruto doesn't know what to say to that, and all he knows is the agony when he watches her pain. He doesn't like it. Instead of speaking to a blanket that refuses to even look at him, he shuts the doors to the balcony, resolving to clean the mess when he can coax her into a nap. He pauses as he feels the chill of his toes and decides on stealing a pair of her socks. The pink and white stripped knee-high socks that lay out on top of her dresser are mildly embarrassing, but he's more scared of searching through her draws and finding her underwear, or pictures of their team.

He goes back to sit by the bed, struggling into the half-a-size-too-small socks. It's probably more embarrassing than the stripped socks.

"If I could have unlocked the Mangekyou sooner, Mitsuki would still be alive."

Boruto freezes, trying to his stripped sock over his left ankle.

"W-what- don't say something like that!" the blonde snaps, disregarding the socks. He sits up and yanks away the blanket angrily. Sarada makes a sharp, whimpering noise at the action, reaching to cover her face, Sharingan bleeding something fierce. He doesn't stand for it. "Don't you dare!"

"It's true, Boruto."

"Just shut up!"

Sarada's whole body goes rigid, and she looks up, something heartbreaking about her expression. The blonde can only speak faster, more emotionally, as he feels a good cry coming on. "Mitsuki died fighting! He died trying to protect me," Boruto ground out, grabbing onto Sarada's wrist. He realizes his stumble too quickly. "Pr-protect us. We wouldn't have lasted as long as we did without him. You- don't take that away from him. Don't. He- died like a good shinobi. The best. Fighting for his friends."

Sarada bites down on her lip hard, a trembling mess all over again, and he expects another seizure to come. Instead, she lets her Sharingan then.

"But I-I couldn't fight for him," Her voice cracks, doesn't get through all the syllables without tears leaking through again. The salt water mixes with the blood, separates it. "I'm supposed to- what's the point of this technique if I can't use it to protect everyone, what good is it? What good is going to come from this bullshit?"

He doesn't know what to say to that, so he just keeps quiet, letting go of her wrist to clasp their hands together. Boruto squeezes comfortingly.

With a deep, lasting breath, the Uchiha sits up on her side, elbow holding her up. Boruto has to look up at her now, and the sight takes his breath away. Her hardened expression, pale face stained with blood, dark eyes, and wispy hair is sharpened with grief, with strength.

"That's why- I can't let-...I will protect you, Boruto," she promises. He doens't think there's a person in the world who wouldn't believe her now. "I'll- I'll become Hokage, and protect you, and protect everyone. Even Papa. I'll learn to use these eyes properly, and stop having these- these stupid seizures, and get stronger, and...and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you. Something's gonna come from all this trouble. It has to."

He's silent. The blonde doesn't feel the tears falling down his own face. Boruto isn't sure of what to say, can't think of anything that won't seem flimsy and meaningless against his life oath.

Boruto contents himself to wiping away the blood from her face, and pressing a chaste, dry kiss to her knuckles.

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He's never been sure what he's felt for Uchiha Sarada. Sometimes she's an infuriating rival, sometimes she's a partner in crime, but mostly she's his best friend. He knows that he adores her, and respects her, and wants to make her dream of becoming Hokage come true. Before the mess the Grass-nin made of their lives, he would dream of her as Hokage, haori billowing in the wind behind her like a goddess of supreme justice. Boruto would be at her right. Mitsuki would be at her left.

He doesn't have such pleasant dreams anymore.

It's a conflict of interest, to say the least. Boruto loves girls as much as he loves training or spending time with his family, but he's always been hesitant to cross that line with her. Not everyone ends up as happy as Sasuke and Sakura Uchiha.

And, of course, the girl was terrifying. If he ended things with her the way he usually ended his relationships, he might just wake up castrated.

Not to mention his sensei.

Being a shameless flirt is much more safe. And fun, if he does say so himself.

His pupils still dilate when she smiles, and he still blushes when she looks at him too long, too closely.

It's not the least of his concerns, but not a very practical one. His stomach still falls out of his chest when she is tossed into the throws of another seizure. He still thinks they will mourn their best friend, however quietly they do (there are still impromptu silences, trembling whispers, that tell him they are far from being healed, and it's frightening, how how bad it can still hurt, because he knows it's just as easy for a cut this deep to fester with infection instead of scar over.)

Sarada will pass her mental evaluations, get through her mandatory probation, and conquer Tsukiyomi, however long it takes. She'll start going to lunch with Chocho and dinner at the Uzumaki's. She'll help her father in his vegetable garden and dance to radio songs in the kitchen with her mother. They'll still talk shit and spend mornings at the cenotaph and look at old photographs of their parents together. They'll be thrown out on the field as a pair instead of a squad, and they won't- they will compensate, somehow. He'll make it happen.

Boruto has never been sure about what he's felt for Sarada, but knows it doesn't matter. He knows she'll keep saving him - again and again and again.

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.

The Hachidaime stands before the ruined gates of Konoha, between the enemy and her precious village. The forest is lit aflame, and the smoke invades his lungs. The army behind her has stilled in anxiety, and somewhere far off, he can hear the beginnings of her mother's monstrous taijutsu wrecking havoc on the attackers. He knows their fathers will join her soon.

Sarada's kaleidoscope eyes spin menacingly, and her haori billows about, just like in his dreams.

"What a day," Boruto mutters, forming a single hand seal. Three clones burst into life all around her, and they arm themselves with kunai, a flourish of backwards twirls. "I bet there isn't a single kage who ever had to deal with an invasion on the day of their inauguration."

"There isn't a single kage who has my luck," Sarada says, unsheathing her chukoto. The piercing birdsong of chidori surrounds them. "Ready?"

"Always am," Boruto replies. He slips his tanto from behind his hip. "Watch my back, anata."

"Always am." The smile clear in her voice.

.

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Uzumaki Boruto is twenty eight, an ANBU captain six years into his position, and still as wild as the whirlpools from his grandmother's ancestral lands. And, like those turbulent waters of death, he's always ready to fuck someone up. He's got the best eyes in the world watching his back, after all.

So when he faces the fire storm with his wife by his side, he isn't afraid.

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A/N: I just...really liked this idea...and I really love BoruSara even though I keep saying I hate Boruto...basically I'm fake as hell. And I'm not sure if I'm gonna keep going.