Rain speckled the window in rhythmic pulses, egging Sakura on as she grunted and clattered around the kitchen under the poor lighting that diseased Kakashi's apartment. Cookbooks were strewn across the cramped laminate countertop, flour covering everything in sight with a light dusting like snow.

The pinkette whisked madly into the bowl cradled in the bend of her arm, resisting the urge to wipe at the perspiration she swore she felt beading on her forehead under her bangs. It had been a very long time, Sakura thought as she worked, since she had done anything remotely close to baking. The last memory she could recall doing such things involved a tiny version of her, barely able to see onto the kitchen table, and her mother cracking eggs into a metal bowl with a faint clang. Anything her mother might have taught her that day was lost in the adult Sakura's mind now, replaced by jutsus and years of chakra control training.

She took a deep breath and whisked the batter in desperation, begging the obstinate flour lumps to play nice with the rest of the tan mixture. The pan was already heated up and ready to sizzle; if only the stupid batter would work with her….

Finally she got most of the flour colonies to relent and give in, whilst saying screw you to the rest. Setting down the bowl on the counter and rummaging around in the drawers for a spatula, she combed the hair out of her face and glanced out the window in expectation.

Nothing but the rain and bleary gray sky met her gaze, which she was in part thankful for since her task had yet to be completed, but mostly it made her even more anxious.

Kakashi had been away on a mission of moderate importance and low risk (which meant escorting someone of relatively high standing, but minimum threat, from point A to point B safely). The exchange for less worry dealing with riskiness was that it took forever to complete. At the moment, Sakura wasn't particularly bothered by why it was taking so long; she just wanted him home. Was that really too much to ask?

In the Shinobi world, yes, it was.

She sighed as she dribbled batter into the humming pan. It wasn't like she didn't understand the necessity of working Shinobi – it made the village, and the world, in fact, go round. Call her selfish, but some lonely nights Konoha mission center could suck it.

She flipped the pancake, browned it, and flopped it on a plate, steaming delightedly. She'd love to say it was unfair how often it seemed Konoha required Kakashi's services, but it was entirely fair to expect that from him. Aside from missions, there were no real jobs for Shinobi, not really, therefore leaving the only source of income as errands of varying legality and consequence. If you didn't take missions, you didn't eat. It was a simple cause and effect cycle that had been drilled into her head since day one of ninja training, but she didn't have to like it. Back when she was single, she hadn't cared as much – as a responsible adult, she had to fend for herself, so she took missions when she could. But once she got involved in a relationship, well…priorities changed.

She would have kept signing up for missions, too, but Kakashi had grown more and more hesitant about letting her. As the man of the house it was his job to bring home the bacon, so to speak, and though she was adept and possessed the greatest prowess of her practice beside Lady Tsunade, he didn't want her out there in the field if he could help it. That was the protectiveness one feels when in a relationship, Sakura reasoned, though it had surprised him as much as it did her when approached her about it one day after she came home exhausted, but not much worse for wear.

She hadn't really thought him capable of feeling those sorts of things, but then again, she was used to the image of him lounged back, Icha Icha cracked open in his hand, without the slightest modicum of interest in his visible eye – you could only deduce so much from such a display.

The familiar creak of the front door slammed into the back of Sakura's head and her heart sprang into her throat as she jerked the last pancake off the stove, arching it so high it was a wonder it landed at its intended destination. She scrambled to fish the maple syrup she'd bought that day out of the fridge as she heard him shimmy out of his shoes and toss his freed packs onto the couch.

"Sakura?" he called, making his way into the kitchen, no doubt letting his nose lead him.

"I'm here!" she replied, swinging around to plop the stacked plate of pancakes drowning in syrup on his placemat at the tiny dining table. "Oh, you're soaking."

His soggy, flak-vested shoulders were slumped forward as he trudged to the table and collapsed into his chair. Upon her observation, the realization seemed to hit him as well, and he shook the dampness from his floppy silver locks.

Sakura appraised him from across the table with a sympathetic look gracing her face. Kakashi stared down at the pancakes, taking several seconds to register that there was anything in front of him.

"What is this?"

"Pancakes, Kakashi. They're pancakes."

"What for?"

"Sustenance."

A novel idea to him, he picked up the fork and poked the leaning stack, making it wobble with the action. He stabbed a mouthful and prodded it between his lips, where he chewed thoughtfully. His posture brightened a little and he began to eat through the stack at a steady pace.

"I had forgotten how nice actual food is," he moaned in delight and paused, eyeing her uncertainly as he held the last bite poised for execution. "You never bake. What's so special about today?"

"Well," she began, leaning back against the counter on her hands. "You came home, for starters. That's a good enough reason to celebrate to me."

He finished his devouring rampage by placing his forearms on the table and leaning his weight onto them with a sigh. The weariness regained its hold on him and his eye started to droop.

"It was delicious, Sakura, thank you. Just what I needed to welcome me back."

Sakura smiled and turned her back to him to clean up the battlefield she had made of the counter, setting the books back in their proper resting places and dumping all the dirty utensils into the sink full of frothy warm water. When she spun back around to collect his plate, she gave him a delicate half-smile bubbling over with empathy.

His ear was to the placemat, eye closed, as soft snores left him.

On her toes, she extracted the plate out from under his shoulder and slid it gently into the sink without disturbing him. Though, she figured, at this point it would probably be close to impossible to even wake him up enough to walk him four feet. She would let him rest where he lay until he could muster up the strength to get to the bedroom, properly undressed out of his wet clothes, and tucked under a thick blanket.

Gliding over to the couch, she tugged at the afghan that had been draped over the spine of it – a handmade token of her mother's as a sort of housewarming gift for when she moved into Kakashi's place with him – and swathed it around his tired form that was steadily curling in on itself.

She hugged her body to him from the side and kissed his exposed forehead with a light chu before resting her chin on his shoulder for a moment.

"Happy pancake day, Kakashi. I'm glad you're home," she murmured as she squeezed him a little. Leaving him and committing to washing the dishes in relative silence as he slumbered, she missed the tiny flutter that twitched his lips up into a smile and creased under his eyes.

Happy pancake day, Sakura.