Analogous

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It is one of the many nights when Sasuke wakes from the noise of his own strangled yell to find his head in her lap, her fingers running soothingly over his scalp as his breathing regulates again. It was only a nightmare, she tells him, and he closes his eyes to fight back the sting of tears he has only ever shed in front of her; her delicate fingers never cease in their movements, and for this he is grateful because it makes it easier to forget with her here with him.

Her actions are soothing and comforting and the image of his dead family is slowly replaced by a picture of cool green eyes and soft pink hair. He wonders, as sleep fogs his brain and his breath grows deeper, how he has ever managed without her.

He hears her soft intake of breath and tries to stay conscious long enough to hear what she is going to say to him. When she does speak, her voice is soft, tentative, curious:

“What was your mother like?”

And in an instant his eyes are peering questioningly up at her, sleepiness forgotten with her words.

They remain like this for quite some time, serene green blinking tiredly down into pools of black, before Sasuke breaks the contact with a small frown, staring out the window near their bed to gaze unseeingly at the dark sky.

No one has ever asked him this question before, and he wonders how he is expected to answer. He had been eight years old when he walked into that dreadful room to find her sprawled beneath his father, both still warm but recognizably dead.

What little he could remember, however, was good, he supposed. Though he had always sought approval from his father, he had always gravitated towards his mother when he needed comfort. She had always known exactly what to say to him, had always held him when he needed it.

His frown deepens, and in the dim light of the stars he looks old and tired. Not for the first time that night, he curses his brother for depriving him of a loving family. His hands ball into fists beneath the sheets, and he closes his eyes, trying to let go.

Mikoto was beautiful, he remembers. It had often been a joke between his aunt and uncle that a woman that looked like her had married a man like his father. She was cheerful, always smiling. Friendly. She was helpful. She was caring and loving. She was…

“Sasuke?” asks the woman above him softly; he wonders how long he has been quiet, if she thinks he has fallen asleep. He opens his eyes and contemplates the face of his wife for a moment before the corner of his mouth twitches upward slightly in what he knows she recognizes to be his best attempt at a smile, and he answers.

“She was a lot like you.”

She smiles down at him and kisses him softly, and he wonders if there really are things like second chances out there.

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Sweet? Hopefully? Maybe?
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Dani-chan