WE'RE CANON. FINALLY. *throws confetti*
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She knows he's coming when his so familiar chakra spikes in the corner of her self the moment he enters Konoha. 'Long enough,' he had said, and long enough it was: seventeen days.
For her to look forward to staying in his arms once again; to watch his face turn into one of warmth whenever he sees her (them); for her to crave his touch, his words of affection.
Long enough—soon enough—for her to miss him.
And when she stands up, and reaches for the living room—the door she'd been waiting to open for long, dragging and exhausting days—her daughter understands, and closes the book she'd been reading.
Her little hurried footsteps pass by Sakura and she doesn't think she has seen Sarada so content and happy in her life. Ever.
Then again, Sasuke had never left for such a long period of time before.
Sakura sighs.
But soon she is watching the door slide open and a more masculine, grown copy of her daughter is lifting the little girl up without much trouble. Sakura opens her mouth to protest—his new arm is still healing, he shouldn't be forcing it to do much work—but instead closes it again at the feel of her stomach fluttering inside with tinges of happiness.
Her daughter's beautiful, melodic voice makes her smile all the more. "Papa!"
She's hugging him and giggling and it's the most gratifying—and cutest—thing Sakura has ever witnessed.
Because Sasuke is smiling.
It's not a bright, whole-hearted and large gesture. It's not an open smile. But she can still see, from the spot where she's standing, the corners of his mouth turning upward by the second with the smallest of hardships. It is a smile.
She still notices how his arms come to rest on her back—the other one holding her bottom, so she doesn't fall.
He flashes a look into Sakura's direction and nods in a silent prayer.
"I'm home," he breathes; he states. Casually but with so much meaning.
She knows.
Sasuke had been through so much; had endured so much pain, hatred, and loneliness at such a young age; had had to kill countless of men and women—and children—to get to where he wanted to, then; had to watch as everything he had ever held dear to him fall to the ground, killed with his own hands; had to hate on his village; had attempted to kill his best friend.
Had attempted to kill her. Three times.
And, although she can't really understand, and although she won't ever be able to feel the same way he once did, she forgives him. She forgave him. She'll always forgive him.
"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun," she replies back with her own big, bright smile.
Sakura finds that, after all that has happened in their lives, not one day since he returned has been full of pain, hatred, or loneliness. The young, broken boy from the past has already said his goodbyes, and now he's long gone. The man in front of her is way more than that.
Seeing the "happy" Sasuke here, now, and every day he returns from his eventual trips, gives her so much hope.
For the future.
Their daughter comprehends what she can—what she is capable of. Sakura knows that, even though she sometimes wishes he could stay every day of the year with them, he has to leave. He needs to. And, maybe, one day he will come to his new family. To stay.
Sarada hugs him tighter, enveloping the feel of the heat radiating off his body, and he represses the urge to close his eyes at the grand amount of peace he finds in the action.
Instead, he looks at Sakura and his eyes—involuntarily—soften.
This is what he has. This is his; his little princess. This is his heritage; his first child. This is Sakura, his wife—the one person who loved him until the end—and his family and this is Sarada, their kid. This is what he had always wished for, and what he has now. And he couldn't be more grateful at the woman a few meters away from him, smiling softly at the sight. This is all he's ever wanted.
Thank you, he thinks.
She can't understand all of his past suffering, but she understands his silent words of gratitude.