Author's Note: Hello. College is killing me. I hope you understand why I don't update my stories as often as I did when I was semi-home schooled. None of them are discontinued and will be updated once I find a break from responsibilities, obligations and part-time job because we pre-ordered a Ninja Storm 4 without a console. Sniff.
You have no idea how much I miss writing about things I actually like instead of… research… papers. But because it's flu season and half my teachers are sick, please accept, as a peace offering, my son and granddaughter sobbing happily in each other's arms. Happy Love Day!
This Fire Burns Bright
"Sarada?"
Sarada stiffened, rubbed the back of a hand against her eyes. "P-Papa." He looked mildly distorted from the moisture left on her glasses. She stretched her lips upwards and tried to hold them steady.
He sat next to her on the veranda, sighed peacefully before facing her.
"Got something in your eye?" he asked, pulling off her glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. Almost happily, Sarada watched how he observed his new fingers' movement from beneath the cloth, artificial joints barely a week old. Her budding grin faltered. "Thank you, Papa. That's very sweet of you."
"Hn."
He put them back on her, tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. She turned away and adjusted her glasses, scooted closer as was expected of her, but didn't lean into him like she always did.
It was a midsummer's eve but Sarada's tense shoulders felt cold. She tried to watch the fireflies swimming about their cherry tree laden courtyard but the air was to heavy to hold her head erect in. "Mama wants to know why you didn't kiss her goodnight."
Papa's tone was cool, almost nonchalant – cooler and closer to being nonchalant than it usually was. Sarada swallowed.
"It… must have slipped off my mind." She bit her lip and felt him watch her. It never did, her skin whispered uncomfortably. "Is she in bed already?"
Yes. That was correct. She had never, in her whole life, missed the chance to show her parents affection yet. Not before…
"Aa." She could practically hear the sudden smile in her father's voice – "She and the baby needs lots of rest."
The baby. Sarada gritted her teeth. "Yeah. I knew that."
A long silence followed, one that almost ached. Then, "Boruto's been telling me you've been acting strange these days. Said he and Mitsuki's been having a hard time talking to you without getting their heads bitten off."
Sarada tried to make her scoff sound as effective as her father's always were. "Boruto exaggerates. He always does, although I don't think he even means sometimes. And Mitsuki's sorta prone to riding in on everything he says. Haven't you noticed yet, Papa?"
He just kept looking at her earnest gaze, her twitching smile. "He's been telling me this –and his complaining has been growing progressively frequent – since we learned your mother is pregnant."
Damn it.
"R-really? That's odd-"
"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"
Sarada found she couldn't look at her father anymore.
Three months. That's how long she had been keeping silent about it. And she wouldn't, couldn't, deny that she loved the sight of her Papa simply loving her Mama since the day she broke the news and drove him to tears – moments when he shut up Mama's every argument against letting him and Sarada do the chores by kissing her or doing something equally flustering so she turned as pink as her hair and desisted, or how he needlessly carried her up and down the stairs whenever she had to traverse the steps and he was home, or how he would find and act upon every single excuse to touch his wife, embrace her, place his hands or ear or lips to her stomach, smile at her with that smile he never shared with anyone else, not even with Sarada.
But still… but still.
"Are you… jealous?"
Sarada sucked in a breath; his guess was dangerously close. "N-no, of course not! I know Mama needs all the care and attention we could possibly give her now. Besides I- I'm sure we'll get to spend more time together again once the baby is out." She tried not to pant too obviously from her rushed words, tried not to let loose the others itching to break free from her chest…
"But that's not why you're upset, isn't it?"
His hand, the one with bandages, enveloped hers with a strange warmth that was still somehow unmistakably his. She couldn't meet the reassuring gaze he gifted her with.
"Papa… might hate me for my answer."
He just smiled. At least, she thought that was what she heard in the tone of his next words "I don't think that's possible, Sarada."
Her heart throbbed prettily, surprising her, and for a reason other than being confident in his words, she blurted, "I… don't… I don't want Mama pregnant."
There. She had dragged it out at last, set the source of her discomfort free. An inexplicable burst of forbidden bliss crept up her lungs, dragged its way up her throat. And she tried so hard to stay sad – it was better, easier than being angry after all – but with every second, the floodgates gaped wider and a quarter of a year's worth of suppressed fury slowly took the shape of taut, trembling girl.
Why should this child, this parasitic chain of tissues barely capable of movement in her mother's bloated stomach send the whole family settling down at long last in her father's ancestral house? How could this… thing convince her father to finally have his right arm, gone for nearly half his life due to sheer guilt alone, back?
Why couldn't she, Sarada, their firstborn, her father's clan's heiress, do that?
"Why not?" If it was anyone else who had said those words, Sarada was sure she would have had heard distinct shock in them. She felt her face grow tighter.
"I just don't want another kid in the house. That's all."
"Wouldn't you want… someone to play with?"
"Not really. I like being an only child."
She had pulled her hand away from his by this time and was trying to distract her chakra into flowing elsewhere lest her fist started producing sparks. Maybe, if he didn't say anything anytime soon, maybe if he gave her time to breathe, she would succeed…
"Sarada-"
"I don't want-! I can't have-! No one should-! It has no right- no right to be loved all its life while I've never even spent a whole fucking year with you!"
She had risen now, not caring if she might have left a dent on the wooden surface of their engawa. There was shock in his face as she glared down, at him and perhaps if she didn't focus on the chakra writhing disturbingly beneath his skin, she would have noticed the pain behind his eyes. And then, right before her eyes, the energy fluctuations smoothed as he constructed his mask, the one that had been the stuff of her nightmares since they met – the same one he wore the first time she tried talking to him, the one she regarded worse than the sight of his back to her as he walked away without a word.
All he said, coldly, was, "Be quiet. You'll wake Sakura."
Sarada only started shouting.
"I tried, I'm trying to be perfect for you, Papa, I really am. I decided on becoming the Hokage so that no one will ever have to go through what you did, I train my ass off and do my best in missions everyday to eventually achieve that and impress you, I try to figure out what makes you smile because you just couldn't talk about them like Mama does! Because- because, Papa! But no, I'm not enough for you, no matter what I do and no matter how hard I try, you just had to go and have someone else who will hopefully turn out better than me, s-someone who would be worth your time and attention! Or maybe, maybe you just want to experience what it's actually like to be a father now that you're ready instead of running away from the responsibility like you did when I was-"
"Sarada."
His eyes were shining crimson and there was anger in his features, a sight that had made Sarada tremble helplessly every single time she had ever seen it directed at someone else. But rage smothered all the fear in her subconscious and she stared him down with the same glowing eyes until, to her surprise, scarlet faded to black and ringed lavender and he just… looked… sad.
"I- I-"
"Is that what you really think?"
Sarada suddenly sat back down, weak and breathing hard. She brought her knees up against her chest, tried to rub warmth back into her sweating skin.
"I just… don't want… anyone else… to share my Papa with."
The same painful pounding in her chest returned, this time also squeezing the air off her throat by the time she had finished her confession. Sarada's tears felt painful on her cheeks as she brooded over how she would do anything, anything, to snatch back her words and bury her face into her father's chest.
"I miss you, Papa. I missed you everyday when you weren't here, I miss you everyday even if I could reach out and touch you anytime I'd like, now. And now I'm not your only child anymore, I… I feel like… I'm not… enough for you to-"
She looked away to cry, not bothering to stifle the soft sounds she made. Once or twice, in her little ocean of misery, she thought she might have heard mother in the distance, rustling the sheets in her sleep, but she couldn't be too sure.
The fireflies looked like dying stars every time she tried to peek.
It seemed like a lifetime before Papa asked, "Sarada. What's the earliest thing you remember?"
Her glasses, now dripping wet, failed her for the second time that night. She cleaned them as an excuse to continue averting her eyes from him, sniffing.
"You were helping me walk… my first steps I think. With Mama. I remember holding your hand but not seeing your face."
He didn't speak, not until she'd tried to clean her face with a hand, not until she'd put her glasses back on, not until after all her failed attempts to look at him again. And when Sarada succeeded at last she regretted seeing the look on her father's face.
"Sarada. Look into my eyes."
"Wh-why?"
"I'm going to show you… things. With the Sharingan."
Sarada blinked. She knew of the things her father could do with his eyes and though she was pretty sure he would never do anything hurt her with those powerful orbs, she still voiced out, nervously, "That's not very reassur-"
Him drawing her close to him, so close that she nearly lost her breath, shut her up, her planned breaths falling still and her hands curling over his shoulders on instinct. When he pulled away to look at her, all the anger she had left vanished at the sight of his expression.
"Please forgive me," he whispered, red eyes shining brighter as a watery film overcome them. He slid her glasses off slowly, giving her time to look away.
And then…
And then…
Papa laughing because of something she said or did was the handsomest Papa of all, second to when she happened to wake in the morning next to him before he did, when he smiled as she kissed him awake. He tried so hard to look grim and not grin instead when she cried over the vines that might crawl out of her stomach the first time she mistakenly swallowed a tomato seed, and cheered with her mother then bought her ice cream when she graduated out of her training wheels.
Mama would often say they ate the same way, walked the same way, washed the dishes the same way, brushed their teeth the same way, but that was only because she tried so hard to be just like him, because maybe if she was more like her father, she would marry someone who looks at her the way her mother did with him someday.
Papa always brought home the prettiest things from his missions but his scent and warmth while she was in his arms after weeks without seeing him was always her favorite present. His kisses on her bruises and scratches were always enough to get her through until Mama made them go away for good, and she would always fall asleep against him in the bath at the end of a day of ninja training.
She looked for him when Naruto-oji became Hokage through a thousand legs; he'd told her earlier on he had volunteered to head security because Naruto-oji was his best friend – even though nearly all the stories he told her about her favorite uncle was always funny and embarrassing – but she still felt upset because the view was never as nice on Mama's shoulders.
Mama had been angry the first time Shino-sensei called her in after class because Sarada punched that boy who teased her because she was 'such a baby' for having her Papa walk her to and from school even though she was already six, but only now did she understand why her father looked so close to crying the next day, when she led him out the house by the hand anyways.
Their house broke soon after that and her Mama won't stop crying and for the first time, Papa was crying too, crying as he told Sarada silly things, like leaving for a long, long time on a secret mission without being able to visit, or video chat, or call, or write to them, or even send one of his snake and falcon friends to say hello…
"Oh, Papa," Sarada sobbed now, overwhelmed by such startlingly familiar bits and pieces of perfect bliss, such a startlingly familiar stretch of intimate pain. Why are you leaving, Papa? What about me and Mama? Don't you love us anymore? Papa, don't go! Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave-
"It would have been easier for you to believe we've never met," Papa muttered, no longer looking at her. "Besides, I didn't want what might possibly your last memory of me to be one where we're both in tears." He chuckled, bitterly, and Sarada had never heard a more pained sound in her life.
Horror seeped through the very stuff of her bones. "But Papa- It's not f- Papa, how could you make me forget about you like that? How could you… stand not existing to your own child all her life?"
Her Papa regarded her thoroughly, cautiously, maybe even hesitating. Then something like pride ghosted over his features as his lips formed a bitter smile: "And what kind of a father would I be, if I do not spare my daughter from whatever pain I could take in her stead?"
Sarada stared for maybe a minute, finding it rather hard to digest what her father had just said. Then she clutched at him, attempted to occupy the space he took up, shameless and desperate and she sobbed once more.
"I'm sorry, Papa. I- I doubted you again, that's all I've ever been doing but- but you love me, you love me, so, so much, and I shouldn't be, and I, I don't deserve to be your chi-"
"Don't say that. Don't you ever say that, Sarada."
He effortlessly lifted her unto his lap, the same way she remembered him doing countless times before, and the top of her head couldn't quite fit below his chin anymore, but she could rest it very comfortably on his shoulder instead as he held her tight and stroke her hair and back and for Sarada, that was enough.
"Stop crying. Please stop crying, don't apologize. Don't- all my life that's what I've been making my precious people do." His voice sounded strained as if he was struggling against something in his throat.
"Papa? Promise me… please promise me you'll still love me when the baby comes?"
For the longest time, she just sat there, memorizing the way he felt with her arms around him, his arms around her. She could feel him chewing his words, mincing them until he was brave enough to set them free – just like she did when she was expected to speak with a heart full of emotions. This thought inexplicably comforted her, braced her for what was coming:
"Your brother, or sister – they are important to me, and soon they will be as important to me as you and your mother are. And I will love them with all of my heart and strength, unconditionally, until I die. Just like I do with you two now."
Sarada felt the world beautifully brighten for her unborn sibling, and then everything ached gently. His response - that sort of response, a secret, a promise - was to be expected of him. But what about…?
"But Sarada," Her father drew back so that he was looking up into his daughter's eyes, her face cradled in his hands. "You were the one who taught me to love the way your mother does with me, with us both: purely, without reserve and no regards for past sins and imperfections because all that matters is you grow up knowing you are loved no matter what in a world such as this… although I'm pretty much hopeless when it comes to expressing it, unlike her." Sarada unwittingly giggled through salty lips and almost missed his smile.
"I love your mother. But I could never love her without being selfish. And I've hurt her too much to believe truly deserve her, no matter how many times I repent and am told I am forgiven. But you, as my daughter, my first child… that is the gift you've given me. The opportunity to love and perfect the act of loving – just loving – and I am grateful that of all the children there ever was and ever will be, you are the first I got to…"
Love. You are the first I got to love.
Sarada felt her whole being hoping frantically, like he was her last chance at living, and her hands clung to both his larger ones. "Truly, Papa?" she whispered, not trusting herself to breathe or cry once again. "I- I did that?"
"Truly. And I owe you the rest of my life for that." If Sarada's heart was made of lights, she was sure she would be glowing brighter than all the stars in the sky, than the moon, than the sun.
He touched his forehead to hers, then kissed her there. "Sarada. Thank you."
He was his daughter. She was important. He needed her. And she…
She was his Sarada.
"Papa… Papa." She kissed him softly on the lips, immersed herself in his warmth, held on to him as he did to her. She had started crying again, this time out of a completely different.
"No matter how terrible I am at showing it," he murmured to her, holding her gentler, closer to him if that was possible, "no matter how many times I fail you, no matter how undeserving I am to have you for my daughter… I will always be your father."
But Sarada knew what her Papa wanted to say, as she kissed him on the cheek: I will always love you.
…
Itachi, your Sarada-nee-chan will always love you.
fin
I've wanted to make sense of how weird the post canon timeline is – Sasuke left only after Naruto became Hokage but wasn't present during his best friend's inauguration, everyone makes weird faces everytime Sarada says she's never met her father. Also, I want it to be Sasuke behind Sarada's decision to become Hokage, although Naruto should certainly have been the one to start the first sparks of her ambition.
And I am aware that the quality of this one isn't as high as I'd like it to be but it's been months so what did you expect.