Chapter 2: The First Ultrasound
The morning of the appointment arrived too quickly, wrapped in gray light and the kind of quiet that felt like waiting. Kakashi had barely slept. He'd spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, tracing the familiar cracks in the plaster, trying to find something solid to hold onto.
Sakura was curled beside him, her back against his chest, her breathing shallow and uneven. She wasn't sleeping either. He could tell from the way her shoulders kept tensing, the way her fingers would clench and release against the pillowcase. But she didn't turn around. She didn't say anything. They lay there in the dim, tangled silence, two people trying to figure out how to share a future they hadn't planned.
At six-thirty, she finally shifted. Her voice came out rough, scraped from a night of unspoken words. "I don't know what to wear."
Kakashi blinked. "What?"
She sat up, her pink hair a wild nest around her face. "The appointment. I don't know what to wear. Is there a dress code for finding out if you're actually growing a human inside you? Should I look professional? Casual? Hopeful?"
He watched her swing her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing into the cold floor. She was rambling, and he'd learned that she rambled when she was scared. It was a defense mechanism, a way to fill the silence before it could swallow her.
"You could wear that yellow sweater," he said. "The one with the buttons."
She looked back at him, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes. "You like that sweater?"
"I like how you look in it. Like you're trying to be cheerful but also prepared for rain."
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. It was small, barely there, but it was real. "Okay. Yellow sweater. I can do that."
---
The drive to the clinic was quiet. Kakashi focused on the road, his hands steady on the wheel, but his mind kept drifting to the woman beside him. She was staring out the window, her reflection ghosting across the glass, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her jeans.
"Rin's really good," he said, breaking the silence. "She's been doing this for years. She's delivered hundreds of babies."
"I know. You've told me."
"Sorry. I'm nervous."
She turned to look at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "You? Nervous? I thought you were the unshakeable one."
"Nope. Just very good at hiding it." He glanced at her, a wry smile tugging at the edge of his mask. "I'm about as unshakeable as a Jell-O salad at a picnic."
She laughed. It was a real laugh, surprised out of her, and it eased something in his chest. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously reliable. That's what they'll say at my funeral."
The clinic was a low, modern building with large windows and a garden out front. Women came and went, some alone, some with partners, some with tiny infants bundled in carriers. The sight of them made Sakura's steps falter.
Kakashi noticed. He reached out and took her hand, threading his fingers through hers, and she didn't pull away. They walked in together, their palms pressed close, a small act of solidarity.
---
Rin met them in the waiting room.
She was a warm presence in the sterile space—dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, scrubs the color of soft sage, and a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. When she saw Kakashi, her expression shifted. Concern. Understanding. A silent question she wouldn't voice in front of Sakura.
"Kakashi." She hugged him briefly, then turned to Sakura, her gaze warm and assessing. "You must be Sakura. He's mentioned you."
"Only good things, I hope."
"Mostly embarrassing ones." Rin smiled. "Come on, let's get you checked out."
The exam room was small and white, with equipment Sakura couldn't name and a chair that looked more comfortable than it probably was. She settled onto the table, her hands gripping the edges, her knuckles already pale. Kakashi stood beside her, close enough to touch, and when she reached for him, he let her squeeze his fingers hard enough to hurt.
"First prenatal visit," Rin said, pulling on latex gloves. "We'll do some bloodwork, check your vitals, and then we'll do the ultrasound. It's a lot, but we'll take it one step at a time. Sound good?"
Sakura nodded. Her throat was too tight for words.
Rin moved with efficient gentleness, guiding Sakura through each step, explaining everything in a calm, steady voice. Blood pressure. Height. Weight. A handful of questions about family history and lifestyle and last menstrual period that made Sakura's cheeks flush.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I know I should have—I didn't plan any of this."
Rin paused. Her expression softened. "Sakura, I've been an obstetrician for eight years. Half of my patients didn't plan their pregnancies. The other half planned them and still ended up surprised. You're not the first, and you won't be the last."
Sakura's eyes went glassy. She blinked hard.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
---
The ultrasound wand was cold against her belly. Sakura hissed at the contact, and Kakashi instinctively tightened his grip on her hand.
"Sorry," Rin murmured. "Gel's always cold. I'll give you a second to adjust."
Sakura stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. The room hummed with a low, mechanical buzz. Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it in her teeth.
"Ready?" Rin asked.
Sakura nodded.
Rin moved the wand slowly across the gel-slicked skin, and the monitor flickered to life. Static at first, gray and grainy, and then—there. A shape. Small and fluttery and impossibly real, nestled in the dark cavern of Sakura's womb.
"Okay, right there," Rin said, tapping the screen with the tip of a pen. "Do you see that? That's the gestational sac."
Kakashi's eyes locked onto the screen. The shape was tiny, barely more than a smudge, but it was there. It was real.
"Here comes the heartbeat," Rin said. Sound filled the room—a rapid, rhythmic thumping, fast as a hummingbird's wings. "One hundred and sixty beats per minute. That's a nice, strong heartbeat."
Sakura let out a sob.
It was a raw, broken sound that emptied her lungs and shook her entire body. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to hold them back, but they kept coming. They spilled over her fingers and dripped onto the paper-covered table.
Kakashi didn't know what to do. He'd never been good at tears. But this was Sakura, and this was their child, and so he did the only thing that made sense. He dropped her hand and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She buried her face in his shirt, sobbing into the fabric, and he held her, rocking her gently, his chin resting on the top of her head.
"It's okay," he murmured. "I've got you. You're okay."
She shook against him. "I can hear it. I can hear the heartbeat."
"I know. I can too."
"It's real. It's actually real."
He looked over her shoulder at the screen. The little smudge was pulsing with life, dancing in the grainy darkness, and something shifted in his chest. Something that had been carefully guarded, carefully locked away, cracked open. Not broke. Just... split. Just enough to let something in.
"It's real," he echoed. And for the first time since she'd told him the news, he believed it.
---
Rin gave them a moment. She busied herself with the equipment, quietly printing off a few images, noting measurements on a chart. When she turned back, her expression was gentle, professional, kind.
"Everything looks great," she said. "You're about eight weeks along. Date's approximate, but we'll get a better picture at your next appointment."
Sakura pulled back from Kakashi, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Eight weeks. So I've been—this is happening."
"This is happening." Rin handed her a strip of ultrasound photos. "This is your baby. First official picture."
Sakura stared at the grainy image. It was just a blob, really. She couldn't make out a head or limbs or anything that distinctly resembled a human. But there was the heartbeat. And there was the beginning of something that would grow and change and become a person.
A person she had made.
A person she was going to love.
"Hey." Kakashi's voice broke through her thoughts. She looked up to find him watching her with an expression she'd never seen before. Something tender and fierce all at once. "You okay?"
She laughed, a wet, strangled sound. "I have no idea."
"Yeah. Same." He reached for the ultrasound photo, his fingers brushing hers. "But we're in this together. Right?"
She looked at him. Really looked at him. His mask was slightly crooked from where her face had been pressed against his chest. His hair was a mess. His eyes were warm and steady and full of something that made her heart stutter.
"Right," she whispered.
---
The waiting room felt smaller than it had an hour ago.
Sakura sat in the same plastic chair, clutching the ultrasound photos to her chest like they were made of gold. Kakashi sat beside her, his knee bouncing with nervous energy. They'd said goodbye to Rin—with promises to call if they had questions, to come back in four weeks, to take a deep breath and trust the process—and now they were just... sitting here. In this room that smelled like restlessness and anticipation.
"I never thought I'd see it," Sakura said quietly.
Kakashi turned. "See what?"
"His—her—the baby. I never thought I'd see the heartbeat, or hear it. I was so terrified that something would be wrong, or that there wouldn't be anything there at all, or that—" She broke off, shaking her head. "Sorry. I'm still rambling."
"Rambling is fine. Ramble all you want."
She fell silent for a moment, staring at the photo in her hands. Then, in a voice so small it almost disappeared beneath the hum of the vending machine, she said, "Are you going to resent me for this?"
Kakashi's heart stopped. "What?"
"Resent me. For tying you down. For—for trapping you, I guess. This isn't what you signed up for. You just wanted to have coffee with a cute girl, and now you're—you're here. With a pregnant woman and a baby on the way and a future you never asked for." She swallowed hard. "I wouldn't blame you if you woke up one day and decided it was too much."
He turned in his chair, facing her fully. His eyes met hers, and she saw something in them that made her breath catch.
"Sakura. Look at me."
She looked.
"You didn't trap me. You didn't tie me down. You didn't do anything wrong." His voice was low and steady, each word weighted with meaning. "When you told me you were pregnant, I had a choice. I could have walked out. I could have said 'not my problem' and never looked back. But I didn't. I stayed. And I'm staying because I want to, not because I have to."
Her lip trembled. "But—"
"There's no 'but.' You could have done this alone. You were about to. You stood there in my living room, shaking, and you told me you were ready to raise this baby by yourself. You never asked me for anything. You were prepared to carry this entirely on your own." He reached up, cupping her cheek in his palm. "Do you understand what that says about you? You're the strongest person I've ever met."
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "Kakashi..."
"I didn't plan this," he continued. "I didn't plan any of this. I wasn't looking for a relationship. I definitely wasn't looking to become a father. But life doesn't care about plans, does it? It just throws things at you and dares you to catch them." A smile curved beneath his mask. "And honestly? I'd rather catch this with you than miss it entirely."
She let out a sob that was half laughter. "You're impossible."
"I've been told that more than once."
She laughed again, pressing her forehead against his. Their breath mingled in the small space between them, and she reached up, finding the edge of his mask. She gently pulled it down.
She didn't kiss him. She just looked at his face. At his exposed jaw, his scar, the vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.
"You're beautiful," she whispered.
He blinked, caught off guard. "I—what?"
"You're beautiful. All of you. Mask or no mask, scar or no scar, you're the most beautiful person I've ever known."
He opened his mouth, but no words came. So instead, he pulled her into a fierce hug, burying his face in her hair, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.
"This baby," he said, his voice muffled. "This baby is already mine. Not by blood. Not by obligation. But by choice. I'm choosing this, Sakura. I'm choosing you."
She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.
---
The drive home was different. The weight that had pressed down on them all morning had lifted, replaced by something lighter, almost buoyant. Sakura held the ultrasound photo in her lap, occasionally glancing down at it, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"You know," Kakashi said, pulling into her apartment complex, "Rin mentioned that the baby's the size of a raspberry right now."
"Raspberry?"
"Supposedly. Around eight weeks, that's the comparison they use. I don't know who comes up with these things, but apparently we're having a raspberry."
Sakura laughed. "I'm carrying a raspberry."
"A very important raspberry. With a heartbeat and everything."
"That's so weird." She looked down at her still-flat stomach. "There's a person in there. A tiny little person, and it has a heartbeat, and—" Her eyes welled up again. "Sorry. I can't stop crying."
"Don't apologize. Your hormones are probably going crazy."
"You're too understanding, do you know that?"
"Perk of being a literature teacher. I've read enough tragic romances to know when to support the heroine."
She laughed, wiping her eyes. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously reliable," he reminded her.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him fully. "Kakashi. Thank you. For today. For the ultrasound. For sitting with me in that waiting room. For not running."
He reached out, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. "Why would I run from you? Running's a terrible exercise routine."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "I'm serious."
"I'm serious too. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, Sakura. I mean that."
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, just below his eye. When she pulled back, her gaze was steady. "I'm going to call her Karu."
Kakashi blinked. "What?"
"The baby. If it's a girl." She touched her stomach. "Karu. I've been thinking about it for a while. It's a good name. Strong."
"And if it's a boy?"
"Same. Karu works either way."
He looked at her for a long moment, this woman who had upended his life in the span of six weeks. This woman who carried a raspberry-sized human in her body and had already given it a name.
"Karu," he said, testing the word. It felt right. It felt like a beginning.
Sakura smiled. "Karu."
And when she walked inside, turning to wave one last time, he felt something settle in his chest. Something that had been scattered for years, finally gathering into place.
He wasn't worried about the future anymore.
He was ready for it.
The months unraveled like a slow, deliberate thread.
They dated through the end of autumn, through the first frost that turned the city's windows into frosted glass, through the holiday season that Sakura spent with her feet propped up and a perpetual craving for pickles and peanut butter. Kakashi learned her patterns—the way she fell asleep during documentaries but stayed awake for terrible reality TV, the way she hummed off-key when she was concentrating on a design, the way her hand would find his in the middle of the night, seeking comfort without words.
He grew used to her warmth beside him, to the sound of her breathing in the dark, to the way her body was slowly changing, rounding, becoming something new.
They never talked about the future in grand terms. They talked about paint colors and baby names and whether Karu would inherit Kakashi's silver hair or Sakura's impossible pink. They argued about cribs and car seats and the merits of cloth diapers. They laughed when the baby kicked at the worst possible moments—during a parent-teacher conference, during a client meeting, during the climax of a movie they'd been waiting months to see.
"Your kid has terrible timing," Sakura said, wincing as another flutter rippled across her stomach.
"Our kid," Kakashi corrected. "And they get it from you."
She threw a pillow at him. He caught it with one hand, grinning behind his mask.
---
Winter faded into spring, and the search for a home began.
They looked at apartments first, but everywhere felt too small, too temporary, too much like a place to pass through rather than a place to build a life. Then they looked at houses, and something shifted.
It was a small place on the edge of the city, tucked at the end of a quiet street lined with old oaks and overgrown gardens. The siding was a faded blue, the porch sagged slightly, and the kitchen had a crack running through the tile that the owner promised was "character."
Sakura fell in love with it immediately.
She stood in the empty living room, her hands resting on her swollen belly, her eyes tracing the crown molding and the high ceilings. The afternoon light poured through the windows, catching the dust motes in slow, golden swirls. She turned to Kakashi, and he saw something in her face that he'd never quite seen before—a quiet certainty, a vision of the future taking shape.
"This is it," she said. "This is where we're going to live."
He didn't argue. He just handed the realtor his checkbook and started measuring the walls.
---
The move took three days and required more boxes than either of them had anticipated. Kakashi developed a deep and abiding hatred of packing tape. Sakura discovered that being nine months pregnant meant she could supervise from the couch with a glass of lemonade, occasionally shouting directions.
"You're putting the bookshelves in the wrong room," she called from her nest of pillows.
"This isn't the office?" He looked around at the half-unpacked boxes, the layer of dust coating every surface, the single lamp casting a sickly glow over the chaos.
"Kakashi. You're in the baby's room."
He looked at the crib in the corner, the changing table draped in a blanket, the rocking chair that had been his grandmother's and still creaked in a familiar, comforting rhythm.
"Ah. So I am."
She laughed, the sound warm and worn from a long day. "Come sit with me. We'll finish tomorrow."
He crossed the room, stepping over boxes and bubble wrap, and settled onto the couch beside her. She leaned into him, her head finding its usual spot on his shoulder. Her hand drifted to her stomach, and she let out a long, tired breath.
"I'm scared," she admitted quietly. "I keep thinking about what happens when they're actually here. When they're real and breathing and depending on us for everything."
"We'll figure it out. One day at a time."
"That's easy to say now."
"Doesn't make it less true."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I think we should paint the nursery yellow."
"Yellow?"
"It's supposed to be calm. Encourages focus and creativity." She paused. "Also, it matches Miso's eyes."
"Miso is a cat."
"Miso is family."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips brushing her skin through the gap in his mask. "Yellow it is."
---
The nursery came together slowly, piece by piece.
Kakashi painted the walls while Sakura directed from a folding chair, offering commentary on the evenness of his strokes and the quality of his taping. She picked out curtains with little stars on them and a rug that was so soft he wanted to nap on it himself. They assembled the crib together, arguing over instructions that made no sense, finally figuring it out through sheer stubbornness and a lot of swearing.
When it was finished, they stood in the doorway and looked at it.
The room was small but warm. The yellow walls caught the light, making everything glow with a soft, honeyed haze. The crib sat against the far wall, lined with sheets printed with moons and clouds. A mobile of paper cranes hung above it, each fold precise and deliberate, a project Kakashi had worked on in secret for weeks.
Sakura stepped inside, her hands trailing over the crib rail. "When did you make those?"
"Little by little. I had a lot of study hall periods."
She turned to look at him, and her eyes were shining. "You made cranes. For our baby."
"They're supposed to bring good luck." He shrugged, the gesture more casual than he felt. "I figured Karu could use all the help they can get, having me for a father."
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. The baby bumped against him in protest, a sharp kick from inside, and they both laughed.
"He's going to love you," she said. "They're both going to love you."
"How can you be sure?"
She looked up at him, her green eyes bright. "Because I know you. And I know love."
---
The weeks that followed were a slow dance of anticipation.
Every night, Kakashi read to Sakura's belly—poetry, mostly, and the occasional passage from the books he loved. He talked to the baby, too, telling them about the world they were about to enter: the way rain smelled on asphalt, the comfort of a well-worn book, the warmth of a hand held in the dark. He was half-convinced it was ridiculous, that the baby couldn't hear him, that he was just talking to himself in an empty room.
But then Sakura would smile, and the baby would kick, and he'd keep going.
"I think they're listening," she said one night, her voice heavy with sleep.
"Or they're just kicking me for being boring."
"Is that what you call it? Boring?" She laughed, a soft, tired sound. "I thought you were being poetic."
"I'm being a teacher. It's a cross between poetry and discipline."
She hummed, her eyes drifting closed. "Whatever you call it, keep going."
So he kept going.
---
The labor started at four in the morning.
Kakashi woke to Sakura's hand gripping his arm, her fingers digging into his skin with surprising force. Her face was pale, her brow slicked with sweat, and she was breathing in short, sharp bursts.
"It's happening," she said. "The baby's coming."
He was out of bed before his brain caught up, grabbing the bag they'd packed weeks ago, fumbling for his keys, guiding her gently toward the door. She moved in slow, deliberate steps, pausing to breathe through each contraction, her hand white-knuckled around his.
"You're doing great," he said, because he didn't know what else to say. Because the only thing he knew for certain was that she was the strongest person he'd ever met, and he needed her to know it.
"I'm in pain, Kakashi." She gritted her teeth. "I'm allowed to be pissy."
"You're being brave," he corrected. "I'm allowed to be impressed."
She laughed, a sharp, surprised sound, and the laughter melted into a groan as another wave hit.
---
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and rubber-soled shoes. Kakashi signed papers he didn't read, answered questions he barely heard, and kept his eyes locked on Sakura the entire time. She was in a wheelchair, then on a gurney, then in a room that smelled like antiseptic and latex, her hand clamped around his like a lifeline.
"I can't do this," she gasped between contractions. "I can't—"
"You can." He knelt beside her, pressing his forehead to hers. "You're the strongest person I know, and you can do this. Just keep breathing."
"What if I can't—"
"You can." He squeezed her hand. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
---
The hours stretched, distorted, twisted into something that felt both endless and impossibly fast.
Sakura screamed. She cried. She told him she hated him and then begged him to stay. She crushed his hand so hard he thought the bones might splinter, and he didn't pull away. He just held on, whispering words of encouragement, watching her body work to bring their child into the world.
Rin was there, steady and calm, guiding her through each stage with a quiet authority that anchored them both. When the final moment came, when the room filled with the urgent rhythm of monitors and the sharp commands of the medical team, Kakashi positioned himself behind Sakura, bracing her, holding her upright as her body gave everything it had.
"One more push," Rin said. "You're almost there. One more."
Sakura's face was contorted with effort. Her scream tore through the air, raw and primal. And then—
A cry.
A tiny, furious, indignant cry that cut through the chaos like a blade. The sound filled the room, filled him, filled every hollow space he'd ever tried to ignore.
"There's your baby," Rin said, and her voice was soft, almost reverent. "There's Karu."
They placed the baby on Sakura's chest—a small, squirming creature covered in fluid and blood, with a shock of dark hair and fists clenched tight. Sakura's sobs turned into something broken and beautiful, and she cradled the baby with trembling hands.
"Kakashi." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Look at him."
He looked.
And the world shifted.
Karu was small. So impossibly small, with wrinkled skin and a scrunched-up face and tiny, perfect fingers. His eyes were closed, his mouth working in small, reflexive movements. He was here. He was real. He was theirs.
Kakashi reached out, and Karu's hand closed around his finger with a grip that was startlingly strong. The only thing stronger was the feeling that flooded his chest—a wave of protectiveness so fierce it stole his breath. He felt the weight of it settle into his bones, felt it root him to something deeper than he'd ever known.
He looked down at Sakura, her face streaked with sweat and tears, her hair plastered to her forehead, her eyes shining with exhaustion and joy.
"Thank you," he said, his voice rough. "Thank you for giving me this."
She smiled, a small, wan smile. "You make it sound like a favor."
"It is. It's the greatest one I've ever been given."
---
Later, when the room had quieted and the visitors had gone, Kakashi pulled a chair close to the bassinet. Karu slept, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His fingers twitched occasionally, his mouth puckering, his eyebrows knitting together as if he were contemplating something deeply important.
Kakashi watched him. Watched the rise and fall of that small chest, the flutter of those impossibly long lashes, the way the blanket was already slipping from his shoulders.
"You're going to be trouble," Kakashi murmured. "I can already tell."
Karu made a soft sound—not quite a cry, not quite a sigh—and his fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
He reached in and adjusted the blanket, his hand lingering over Karu's head. The dark hair had dried into a soft fuzz, and Kakashi found himself running his fingers through it again and again, marveling at the texture, at the warmth, at the absolute miracle of this tiny person.
"You've got your mother's stubbornness," he said quietly. "And probably her temper, too. That's going to be fun when you're a teenager."
Karu shifted, his face scrunching up briefly before relaxing again.
"But you've got my timing. You waited until we'd just finished the nursery. That's very considerate. Most babies would have gone for the chaos."
He fell silent, watching his son sleep. His son. The words still felt foreign, impossible. He'd spent his whole life believing he wasn't cut out for this—fatherhood had always felt like something other people did, something he'd missed the manual for. But here he was. Here they were.
"Hey, Karu." His voice dropped. "I don't know what I'm doing. That's the truth. I've never done any of this before. But I promise you—I'm going to figure it out. I'm going to be there for all of it. Every scraped knee and broken heart and terrible decision. I'm going to be there."
Karu's eyes opened.
They were blue—a deep, startling blue that Kakashi had never seen before. They were cloudy and unfocused, but they seemed to find him anyway, seemed to settle on his face with a recognition that couldn't possibly be real.
But it felt real.
"Hey there," Kakashi whispered. "Welcome to the world."
Karu blinked. His tiny hand opened and closed, reaching for something, and Kakashi offered his finger. The small fist closed around it, firm and certain.
And in that moment, with the hospital room quiet around them and Sakura sleeping in the bed nearby, Kakashi Hatake understood something he'd been missing his whole life. He wasn't just ready for this.
He'd been waiting for it.