rating: K

disclaimer: i don't own naruto.

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36. sign

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There is a hawk in the air and Sakura, busily airing out the dirty laundry, is obligated to dismiss it, under the assumption that it's on its way to Naruto's office instead. After all, it's not often—or even anymore—that she gets hawk mail. Hospital notices, summons, memos; now those were common to Sakura.

The shadow of the bird doesn't simply vanish or become a gradual small dot; the hawk flies downward and begins to land, opting to use the clothes line for its perch. She's aware of whose hawk it is—those markings along the feathers and neckline are something Sakura's seen before whenever it delivered something to her. It seems to have a letter for her, the envelope slightly scarred from its talons.

Confident that Sasuke's hawk was trained well enough to not tear the contents apart, Sakura's fingers begin to pry it open after hastily pinning up the last blanket to dry off. She doesn't expect much—Sasuke doesn't really say much, she knows more than anyone, but she's always looked forward to anything he sends her regardless of word count.

Prioritizing his mission, he had made it clear that he would seldom seek contact or communicate. He had to play it safe, and stay subtle. Even though not many details were disclosed to her, she is clever enough to deduce that it would have her husband up and moving on his feet often. There wouldn't be time to stop and write. So perhaps, maybe today, he caught a break.

Sakura begins to let her mind dawdle in her thoughts, thinking about where he could be if he had time to consider sending home a letter for once. But perhaps, saying letter is something too unusual. He often left notes, not letters. He writes things like Congratulations than just a blunt Happy Birthday. Because he's Sasuke and Sasuke's always been a little cryptic when it comes to words.

By her side, Sasuke's hawk makes a noise, and whether it either wanted to leave or wait to see her response, she hasn't a clue. Or maybe it's hungry—

It squawks at her.

She's rather tempted to stick out her tongue, to show it who's boss around here, but she pointedly decides not to because she doesn't want some ruffled bird tearing off her tongue. "Cheeky," she tells it and that's where she leaves it at, eyes beginning to make out the inked words on the parchment she slides up from the envelope.

I'm fine. Don't worry.
There hasn't been any uproars here, but I'm going to look further into it as a precaution.

A sigh is already erupting past her lips as she glumly rereads the words again, yet, when she pulls the whole piece of paper out, Sakura notices one more line at the very bottom.

Sorry.

Her chest painfully constricts for a moment upon reading it, and it doesn't anymore. Maybe it's because she's used to this feeling already—it's just like him to apologize to her via paper when he knows, fully well, that she misses him everyday. Sakura's not sure why he would. Shinobi must fulfill their duty first: it was taught to everyone back at the Academy and Sakura's insightful memory always remembered every single line about the shinobi code that Iruka always liked to read to them.

Maybe he's sorry that he couldn't be there for…

Her head shakes, then her shoulders sink forlornly.

Sarada was always curious as to why he was never home, and Sakura could never really blame her for it. But that was when the girl was still a baby: full of wonder and innocence and naivety. The more she grew up, noticing the lack of mentions about her Papa and never once hearing anything from anyone about him, and this in turn would lead Sarada growing up with bitterness. Sakura has quietly observed how her eyes would always dim whenever they pass by fathers and their children whenever Sakura needed to go to the markets.

Sakura slips the paper back into the envelope, bends backward a bit, and looks at the sky.

It feels like yesterday that Sarada was excitedly asking her about her love story with Sasuke. Her little child eyes would beam brightly and her smile would be bright like a hundred suns. Sakura misses those simple times.

Some time in the midst of her thinking, Sasuke's hawk had flown off.

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"Mama, what are you doing?"

Sakura's hand immediately stops, the pen in her hand slowed to a halt, the tip resting on the paper. "Oh, Sarada…" She takes note of the messy hair Sarada seemed to have, and of course, her lack of glasses. "It's late. Were you having trouble sleeping?"

"I should be asking you that, Mama," the girl merely says back, arms crossed upon her chest as her eyebrow keenly arches up. "Are you writing a report for the hospital? You shouldn't overwork yourself."

It's almost laughable how Sakura could see herself in those dark eyes in that moment. "No, I'm not. And don't worry, I got off my shift on the usual time today, so no overworking here!" Her pen is set aside for the time being lest Sarada would come over and snatch it and force her to bed rest.

She begins to lean against the threshold of the room. "Then what are you doing?" Then, as an afterthought, she goes to include, "I was up because I wanted to drink some water. I'm going back to sleep after this."

Relieved that her reason didn't involve nightmares, Sakura hesitates just a bit. With some bravado mustered, she begins, "I'm… writing to Papa."

"Papa?!" Wide-eyed, Sarada loses composure for a moment. "Did he contact you?"

"Today, when I was airing out the laundry," Sakura informs her, softly. "He says that he's fine and that he's carefully overlooking things wherever he's at right now." And he wants to tell you sorry. Sakura does not say it, and it stings. Sarada wouldn't take it well, Sakura knows.

"That's… good." It looks as if she wanted to hear more, and Sakura has to remind herself that she cannot tell her. "At least he wrote to us for once. I'm happy to know he's doing okay. Let him know for me?"

Sakura smiles. "Of course. Anything else you want to tell him while you're here?"

There is a lot going through the girl's mind—it shows in her eyes the more Sakura looks at her, and not even the dimmed lights could cast it away that easily. "No, that's all." Sarada turns on the heel of her foot and marches away, practically tromping down the hallway and Sakura feels sympathy as the door to her room clicks to a close.

Ever since the Shin incident, Sarada took great care to watch her mouth when it came to Sasuke. Sakura hadn't seen what had transpired between the two (with Naruto, and then she has to wonder why ChouChou, of all people, was there too?) while she was bedridden, but there had been a conclusion and she was there for that and that's all that really matters to her.

When Sarada had told him goodbye and Sasuke poked her in the forehead, Sakura knew things would mend eventually. And really, that's all she would like.

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Dear Sasuke-kun,

Everything's okay here, and so am I! I know things must be busy for you but I know you'll finish the job, safe and sound. Naruto said that it was a miracle when I told him that you wrote home. I hit him for you.

I'm glad that you're fine and I never doubted that. I hope you can come home again soon—Sarada looked a little lonely today at home. When you come back, I'll cook your favorites!

Love, Sakura.

PS. Sarada is happy to know that you're fine too.