As the show played on their small living room TV, Sarada wrinkled her nose in frustration. The actor on the screen was presenting the actress with a bouquet of flowers and as their hands intertwined, a gentle passion flowered between them. It was a chemistry that could be felt beyond the confines of the tiny electronic box. It was a chemistry that Sarada desperately wished to see between her parents.
From where she sat on the couch, she could catch glimpses of her parents—a flash of pink here and a dash of black there—in the kitchen as they prepared dinner. Not a sound filled the silent air as they maneuvered around each other. Sarada felt her heart lurch when her father inched past her mother's back on his way to retrieve a dinner plate from the cabinet, but she was saddened to see the distance between them.
It had only been two days since she met her father again and the gleam of his sword pointed at her head still burned in her memory. Now that he was home, for the time being at least, she yearned to see the connection between her parents. She was desperate to witness the bond that Lord Seventh described between them and that her father had acknowledged when she asked.
But she was only disappointed the more she got to know her father. Yes, he was cool and stronger than any other shinobi she had ever seen—even better than her uncle Naruto—but there was a part of her that wished he was a little different. A part of her wanted him to be more talkative, more affectionate. She wanted to see her parents walk hand-in-hand in the marketplace the way she had seen her Aunt Ino and Uncle Sai do on numerous occasions. But the only scenes she saw were her parents silently focused on their own tasks; no spoken words and no indication even of the affection they claimed they had.
"Sarada, can you please set the table?" Sakura called from the kitchen.
The young genin called back in acknowledgement as she stood to turn off the TV and head towards the direction of her parents. Once she reached the kitchen, her father handed her a stack of bowls and three sets of chopsticks, his expressionless eyes barely even meeting hers. She couldn't help but feel a pang in her chest at his nonchalant demeanor.
As the Uchiha family sat and began to eat, Sakura continued rambling about her day at the hospital while Sasuke chewed his food slowly and deliberately. Now that they were sitting side-by-side, Sarada could see how different they truly were. Her mother, animated and cheerful, dropped grains of rice on the table as she flung her chopstick in her dramatic story-telling. Her father, quiet and solemn, was even neat in the way he ate as Sarada watched the way he carefully placed each piece of meat only in one corner of his bowl.
"Oops!" Sakura exclaimed suddenly and the sound of clattering chopsticks on the floor followed shortly after. As her mother leaned out from her chair and under the table to retrieve her utensils, Sarada's eyes widened at what she saw.
Her father had placed his chopstick down on the table and hovered his hand at the edge of the dinner table, right above her mother's head. His eyes were trained on her and there was a gentle gleam that she had not noticed before.
"Got it!" Her mother announced as her torso straightened up from where it had previously disappeared from under the table. As Sakura's head rose up, it hit Sasuke's hand, the only thing keeping her from suffering a knock of her skull to the table's sharp edge.
Touching her head where it collided with her husband's hand, she smiled sheepishly, "Thank you, darling."
"Aa," was his only reply before he plucked his chopsticks from where they rested and returned to his meal.
As Sarada chewed on the end of her chopstick in thought, her eyes darted between her parents. What was that? She asked herself, completely unsure of the exchange she just observed between them.
As if on cue, her mother began to launch into her story once again, her bowl of rice barely touched since the family sat down to eat. Just then, a second thing happened that left Sarada gaping openly at the scene before her.
Her father fished some meat from the plate in the middle of the table and gently placed it into her mother's bowl before nudging her side with an elbow. Their eyes met—jade and onyx—and seemed to settle there for several moments. Sarada swore she could almost hear the unspoken words that flowed between them, communicated only through a simple gaze. And suddenly, her heart was full.
She understood it now; the bond her parents shared and the type of love her father gave. It was subtle and fleeting, and would be missed if you didn't know what to look for. But it suddenly dawned on Sarada the depth of the connection they had, so sincere and genuine that they did not need to speak aloud to say a thousand words to each other. Lord Seventh was right, she realized, that type of bond could never fade no matter the distance and no matter the time.
"What's so funny, Sarada?" her mother asked curiously as she watched her daughter stifle a giggle.
"Oh nothing, Mama. I'm just happy that Papa's here with us."
Her father hummed in reply as her mother beamed between them.
To her surprise, her normally silent father spoke next, a small smile playing on his lips as his gaze moved from his wife to his daughter, "Me too, Sarada. Me too."