Work Text:
Sometimes – not often, but sometimes – Sai wished he could go back to the way things were before.
Before Ino.
Before Naruto.
Before Sai.
Because life back then was simple. It was uncomplicated. It wasn’t filled with emotion and bonds and the terror that came with those parts of himself being exposed when all his life he had been trained to keep himself a secret.
And if things were the way they used to be, he wouldn’t be sitting on top of the Hokage monuments, looking at the southern half of a moonlit village, and wishing he didn’t have to go home.
He liked being home. He liked having a home.
But home brought with it a lot of complicated feelings that he didn’t know how to deal with. These were stronger than he was used to. These were more challenging than anything he had faced before.
He had his gaze fixed in the direction of home. He knew Ino would be curled up in bed by now, with a book and a cup of tea, waiting for him to return. She would want to chat, to tell him about her day, to update him on whatever was going on and how she was feeling and what the . . . what the baby had done.
The baby.
They were going to have a baby.
Sai felt a familiar tightening in his chest at the thought. This was a new and violent emotion, that suffocated at times, and sent his heart racing and his stomach twisting.
It wasn’t pleasant.
It was the main reason he wished for before.
He had already painted the baby’s room. Ino had said it would help him get used to the idea, because he was struggling with the concept. There was so much to process, to think about, to feel, and it had been shortly after Ino said she was pregnant that Sai had his first panic attack.
Since then, they had been alarmingly frequent, and all he could think about when it happened was that he wanted to go back to how things used to be, back to Danzo, back to being nameless and faceless, because if this was what it felt like to be more than a weapon, he wanted to forever be Konoha’s tool.
He shifted in place, absently raising a hand to his shoulder. It felt like a weight was pressing down on him, and the notion was so real that he needed to check to ascertain it was his imagination, and no one had forced something heavy upon him whilst he was musing.
He needed to go home. Home was where Ino was, and when he felt like this – like he needed things to go back to how they used to be – she was the thing that grounded him.
He stood from his position, and made his way silently across the village.
Ino was asleep when he returned home, sprawled in a tangle of blankets and widespread limbs. She looked bloated and uncomfortable, with her hair twisted around her. Sai didn’t want to wake her, but he wondered if he should try to move her into a more comfortable position.
She had been complaining, lately, about struggling to find a decent way to sleep. But she also complained about being unable to get enough sleep. If he woke her, he worried she wouldn’t be able to settle again.
He spent a good few minutes staring at her in silent reflection, before leaving her taking up most of the bed, and going to lie on the couch.
“Sai.”
Ino’s gentle voice woke him. He blinked his eyes open, bringing her hazily into focus. She was leaning worriedly over him, arms folded over her stomach.
“What are you doing up?” he asked.
“Bathroom. Come to bed.” She offered a hand, and he took it slowly. She led him back to their bedroom, before asking softly, “Where were you?”
“On the couch.”
“I meant earlier,” Ino pulled him to the bed. “You didn’t come home at your usual time. I was worried.”
“But you have the baby to worry about it,” Sai replied, puzzled. Why would she worry about him, when they had much more important things to concern themselves with?
“I know where he is,” Ino placed Sai down and laid beside him. “I didn’t know where you were.”
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Sai said. He lay still while Ino settled herself. He knew she was watching him carefully, wondering what was wrong. She liked it when he volunteered to vocalize his thoughts, instead of being prompted. So he took a deep breath, and asked, “Is it normal to . . . not know what I feel about the baby?”
Ino shifted in place, and her expression changed to contemplative. “What do you mean?”
“I know I should be happy . . . And I usually am . . . But . . .” He paused to recollect his thoughts. He tried again, “The closer we get to having him, the less I feel I’m ready. I feel like I don’t want a baby right now, and want to wait longer. I thought I was ready. But I’m not.”
“That’s normal,” Ino assured, laying a hand on Sai’s chest. “Doubts are normal. Being unsure of yourself is normal. There is nothing wrong with what you are feeling, okay?”
“You aren’t upset with me?”
“Why would I ever be upset with you for being honest about your feelings, and trusting me to help you through them?”
“Because . . . because it sounds like I regret the baby.”
“But I know you don’t,” Ino assured, sliding her hand up Sai’s chest to cup his cheek. “You love him already. You’re just afraid, because this is a challenge we’re both new to. But I promise you, we can face this together. We can handle this.”
Sai nodded, because he didn’t feel like there was anything else he could do. There was a comfort in hearing Ino say that she trusted him. It relaxed him a bit, and he tried his best to push his doubts away and sleep peacefully.
The weight was back again. It pinned Sai to the bed, and made his chest feel tight and small.
Sunlight was beginning to peep through the curtains, but Ino was still sleeping soundly. Sai stayed very still, unwilling to wake her. He took the time to attempt to catalogue his emotions.
The closest Sai could come to describing the feeling was nauseating. Maybe, had he a wider emotional vocabulary, he would be able to clarify the feeling further. But put simply, it was making him feel sick.
He hoped it wouldn’t stay that way. It was a lot to deal with, and it was getting worse the closer they came to the baby being born.
They were in the one-month countdown, now. Less than four weeks, and there would be another body in the house, another life in the next room, another heart beating. And it was Sai’s responsibility.
It was part of him.
It was part of Ino.
It was theirs.
His breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes again, taking in measured breaths and trying to quell the onset of panic. How was he – broken as he was, damaged as he was, inhuman as he was – supposed to care for a whole new life?
Sai somehow managed to stay calm, and made Ino breakfast, and fawned over her, before leaving for work. The pressure was still within him, and there was a persistent sweat on his forehead. The air felt clammy and sticky around him.
Uncertain, unsure, he happened upon Shikamaru while the latter was hiding on the roof of the Hokage building, staring at the sky and smoking a cigarette.
Sai cleared his throat on approach.
Shikamaru glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, Sai. What’s up?”
“I am . . . having difficulties,” Sai hesitated.
Shikamaru arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“I find that as it gets closer to the baby’s birth, I feel less certain about it. I don’t think I’m ready. Or capable. I think I’m feeling everything wrong . . .”
Shikamaru tilted his chin up slightly. “Not sure I follow.”
“You are a father now,” Sai tried to elaborate. “So you know what emotions it evokes. I want to know if what I’m feeling is correct. I want to know that I’m doing the right things.”
“So, what does that have to do with me?”
“How does it feel?” Sai asked. “To be a father?”
Shikamaru looked at him, somewhat blankly. “I dunno.”
Sai pursed his lips. “Surely you must feel something.”
“I feel a lot,” Shikamaru replied. “It’s . . . hard to put into words.”
“If you were going to give it one word,” Sai tried. “What would it be?”
Shikamaru paused to think. He cast his eyes upwards at the sky, and shrugged. “Burning.”
“What?”
“You know when you get too close to fire? That. It feels like that.”
“Being burnt is not a pleasant sensation.”
“No,” Shikamaru agreed, mouth twitching up in amusement. “It’s not. But this burning is different. It’s the good kind of burn.”
Sai didn’t know of any kind of burn that was good. There had been moments, scattered throughout his relationship with Ino, where his feelings had been so intense they felt like fire, but he had found it unsettling and not at all welcoming. He mused for a moment, before asking Shikamaru, “Do you ever want it to stop?”
Shikamaru fixed him with a calculating look, studying him closely. Sai remained blank-faced under the scrutiny, and waited.
Eventually, Shikamaru looked away, eyes dropping thoughtfully down towards his hands. “Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes I need a break and want things to feel simple again.”
Sai’s interest flared at this confession. He wasn’t alone.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Shikamaru took an absent drag of his cigarette. “I love Shikadai more than anything. More than I thought I could. But sometimes, honestly,” he hesitated. “Feeling something that intense scares me a little.”
“Why are you afraid?”
“Could be the thought of losing him,” Shikamaru nodded to himself. “Now that I have him, and know how much I can love him, I want to keep him safe. He’s so helpless and the world can be so dangerous. There’s a lot riding on me,” he added. “I have to stand between Shikadai and every danger the world has to offer.”
He ruefully scratched the back of his head. “I’m not a hero like Naruto, but I need to be for Shikadai. So, yeah, the pressure can be a little overwhelming.”
He looked at Sai. “Does that help you?”
“It does,” Sai affirmed. “It helps very much. Although, I question what you said about loving your child more than anything else. I already love Ino more than anything else. I don’t see how it would be possible to love someone more than her.”
“Give it time,” Shikamaru said, with a crooked smile. “You’ll see.”
Sai sat in the baby’s room, in silence, and tried to figure out what he was feeling.
It was hot.
It was uncomfortable.
It felt like the burning Shikamaru had mentioned. But Sai didn’t know how it could be a good thing – it was nauseating. He wasn’t ready to be a father. He wasn’t qualified to be a father. He didn’t know the first thing about being a father, or being a good person, or looking after another tiny person.
Why had he and Ino thought this was a viable idea?
And – more troubling – what if Ino realized that he wasn’t able to do this and she left him?
He didn’t want to be alone again.
The thought of it made his blood run cold, and the abrupt change from the previous heat made his skin shiver and he closed his eyes with a low groan. There was a lot to feel.
There hadn’t been anything to feel before, with Danzo. Then the world was simple.
He missed that comfort.
“Sai?” Ino’s voice was calm. “Are you okay?”
He opened his eyes to look at her. She had her arms folded over her swollen belly, hair loose. On days when she didn’t intend to leave the house she had been foregoing her usual make-up. He liked the way she looked without it – the pale pink of her lips and the curve of her eyebrows and the colour of her cheeks.
He thought she looked gorgeous when she was just herself.
“I’m fine,” he said, the words feeling mechanical.
“You don’t look fine,” she came closer, with soft barefoot steps, and the simple motions of her strides towards him set the cold aside and relit the fire in Sai’s chest.
He closed a hand over his shirt, over his heart, shifting uncomfortably in place. “There’s a . . . there’s a heat here. Like a fire. When I think about you and the baby. I think it’s supposed to feel good but it doesn’t for me.”
Ino started to crouch down to his level, thought better of it, and settled on his lap instead. She took his hand in her own and gently detached it from his clothes. “Can you tell me more about this feeling?”
“It hurts. I don’t like that.”
“You know that feelings can hurt,” Ino said. “Remember our wedding?”
“Yes.” That had hurt too – his chest had ached at the sight of Ino, at the vows and the words and the promises and the future. But there had been an exquisite sweetness to the way it hurt. It had cut like a knife but sent tremours down his spine that bloomed to the tips of his fingers and toes in delicious twists of warmth, like the steam curling off a cup of honey tea. “But . . . this feeling only hurts.”
“Does that worry you?” Ino looked deep into his eyes, at the pools of uncertain obsidian, and caressed his cheek with a soft palm.
“Yes. Because why does loving you feel good, but the thought of the baby hurts? Am I feeling it wrong? Is something wrong with me?”
Ino hummed thoughtfully. “Wrong? No, there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s harder for you to get used to the idea of a baby because you haven’t met him yet.”
“Neither have you,” Sai pointed out.
“Yes, I have,” Ino laughed. She took Sai’s hand and laid it on her stomach. “He kicks when we’re together, and he moves when I see you. He sleeps when I work in the flower shop, and he sits on my bladder to get me off my ass so I don’t spend too long sitting down and getting fat. So I know he looks out for me. And I know he loves you already.” Ino smiled. “I know him. I know him perfectly. We share heartbeats and blood, and he’s been part of me for months. But you,” she kissed him briefly. “You need to wait until you see him, and hold him, and then you’ll know him too.”
“But,” Sai’s voice was suddenly hoarse. He swallowed, and tried again, “It takes so long to get to know someone . . . What if he hates me?”
“Sai,” Ino breathed. “I promise you, from the moment you see him, you’ll know him. And he’ll know you. And then everything will make sense.”
“How did you feel when Boruto was born?” Sai had cornered Naruto, who went everywhere these days with bright eyes and a perpetual smile on his face.
The question made Naruto pause, expression sobering. Not for long, though. The smile burst forth, and Naruto said eagerly, “Amazing. Like, it was the best thing ever, you know? I smiled so much my face hurt.”
Sai nodded, considering.
“And I felt like air, and there was a weird tingly feeling in my ears, and then everything went fuzzy, and I passed out, and I landed on my face and broke my nose, and I-“
Naruto nattered on, and Sai tuned him out to think. Naruto’s description was different to Shikamaru’s. They felt different things. But, without a doubt, both loved their sons.
Sai wandered off while Naruto was still talking, to consider this new information. If everyone felt things differently – and Ino assured him that was normal – maybe Sai’s feelings towards his baby were supposed to hurt. Maybe they were supposed to burn, and maybe the burn wasn’t supposed to feel good. Maybe Sai was meant to go through life hurting.
Things never hurt before, before he was Sai, so maybe with the name and the emotions there was also the price of discomfort.
Maybe hurting was what Sai was made for.
Ino was pressed up against Sai’s back. Her breathing was slightly laboured. It worried Sai, but she had told him that it was nothing to be concerned about. He could feel the bump of her belly against his spine, and she had one leg thrown over his hips.
He was uncomfortable and wanted to move, but he didn’t want to wake her up. So he stayed as still as he could, staring at the wall, and listening.
There was a faint nudge on his spine. He craned his head back, trying to get a glimpse of Ino’s face. All he could see was a mass of blonde hair, but he was certain she was still asleep.
“Are you awake?” he whispered, as softly as possible.
No answer was forthcoming. As carefully as he could, Sai eased himself over, supporting Ino’s leg at the same time. When he was facing her, he let her knee rest on his hip again. Now her stomach pressed firmly against his. He was used to Ino’s belly being soft and supple, but there was a tension to it now, a rigidity that awed him every time he felt it.
Ino shifted in her sleep, letting out an inelegant snort that made Sai smile. He dropped his eyes down, looking at their middles touching together. The faint nudge came again.
That’s our baby, Sai thought. He had thought that many times, with each and every kick, ever since the first time Ino held his hand to her stomach with a smile like a sunrise and eyes like stars. That’s our baby.
That’s my baby.
The weight returned, nearly crushing in its force, and Sai gulped in a desperate breath as his chest constricted.
He was going to be a father.
He was going to have a baby.
And that baby was going to grow up loved and lucky, smiling and happy, with friends from the first time his eyes opened. And a family. A family, the kind Sai had missed out on. The kind he didn’t think was real, before, before with Danzo, when the world was dull and every day felt the same.
There would be a baby waiting for him when he came home, in a few weeks.
This baby.
His baby.
Sai felt the burning start in his chest, sparking behind his breastbone. The heat sent his heart racing, the fire flooded down to his stomach, raged up to his face. It hurt, it hurt in the most exquisite way possible, and the terror he had felt melted away.
Sai couldn’t help it, a low chuckle escaped him. A happy, bubbly, genuine sound. The heat was scorching, and it licked under his skin, but it didn’t hurt anymore. It was a racing anticipation, a fiery need to meet this baby, to hold him and show him what the world had to offer.
Oh, god, it was an amazing feeling. It was akin to staring into the sun but only feeling it’s warm and brightness and never needing to look away.
Ino stirred, letting out a querying moan. “Hm? Are you awake? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Sai whispered. “Everything is fine.”
“Okay.” Ino yawned widely, and stretched her leg out straight, before curling it back around Sai’s hips.
Sai measured his breathing, trying not to shake. “Ino, beautiful?”
“Hm?” She closed her eyes, wriggling to press her forehead to Sai’s chest.
“I can’t wait to get to know our baby.”
She smiled broadly. “I can’t wait, either.”
Before becoming Sai, things didn’t hurt. Everything existed in the same state of dullness.
But when Sai became a person, became himself, he found that the world was full of colour and sensation. Before Sai, he never noticed when the sun was warm on his skin. Before Sai, he never cared that the flowers were in bloom. Before Sai, he never felt anything.
Before Sai, he thought the only burn was from fire, and it was all external.
And before Inojin, he thought he already knew how to feel.
But he was wrong, and Inojin sparked a wildfire in Sai’s chest, a need to protect, to cherish, to savour every breath. The type of burn that ran through his veins in hot streaks and reminded him that he was alive and he was here and he was Sai.
Sai was a father.
Sai was more than a weapon.
Sai learned that love can burn and he welcomed every flame.
Inojin was a tiny thing in a soft blanket, just a squirm of limbs and a scrunched up face, with mewling yells.
“He’s so small,” Sai marveled, voice breathless with want and need. “He’s so perfect.”
The fire in his chest was no longer a weight, but rather filled him with a lightness that was nearly dizzying in its presence. It was a shocking contrast to the heaviness of the last few weeks, and it pulled a wide, sincere, achingly tender smile from him.
“Hello,” Sai said softly, looking at the sky blue of Inojin’s eyes. “Hello, little one.”
Inojin’s wails covered up Sai’s next, whispered sentence, “I love you.”
Sometimes – not often, but sometimes – Sai wished he could go back in time to the way he felt when Inojin was born. Back to the before – before he knew him, before he first saw him, to relive that feeling that escaped description and made the entire world shift into an entirely new perspective.
But mostly, Sai was content with the now.
Because now the world was bright, and he was warmed from the inside by Inojin’s existence. Now there was a glow in his chest, a mix of pride and protectiveness, a spiral of love and want.
Now, he knew that not all burns were bad, and there was more than fire to warm his soul.