Pink Carnation - A mother's love. One of the most popular flowers given during Mother's Day.
She is home.
For a while, this was the only thought that echoed on her mind as she stood before the familiar outline of their house. This was what she fought for—what all of them fought for—a chance to return home.
The thought only grew stronger when she caught the sweet scent of the various flora that lined their garden. It was a point of pride for her father, having the most beautiful garden amongst the Yamanakas. He would spend countless hours cultivating it, and in return the flowers bloomed dutifully for him. Whatever his father plants always flourished.
At the thought of him, Ino's chest constricts, but there was an inexplicable numbness that pervaded inside. Which was strange, she thought, because emotions came at her like the wind on one's lungs. Perhaps the battle hasn't worn out its effects. She was still the composed Ino, the one who didn't—who couldn't—crumple even after her own father's death. Not when thousands of shinobi needed her.
She exhales shakily and pushes open the front door. Her mind expects to see two sandals lined up, one bigger than the other, but her eyes sees only one, and she sighs.
She removes her war-trodden sandals and takes tentative, delicate steps inside. All the while, her eyes wander around the inside of the house, noting how everything looks...the same; pristine, well-kept, as if nothing has changed.
As if nothing has changed.
It's as if it was mocking her, Ino thought, as she half-expects her father to show up in the corner and welcome her, garden gloves in tow. He would ask her about her day, as he always did, and would tell her a little bit about his day in return—believe it or not, the talkativeness came from the Yamanakas—or to go help out mom, see if she needs anything.
She closes her eyes and whisks away the image.
As she stumbled to the kitchen to get a glass of water, she sees a figure—brown hair, which was perfectly kept in a bun, and an emerald dress, clean and impeccable. The person stood near the shelves, with her back facing the kunoichi. Cradled in her hand was a lone picture frame—a marriage photo from long ago.
"Mom..." a whisper escapes Ino's lips unconsciously, and the figure caught it swiftly, turning around to see its source. No tears marred her mother's face, but the daughter could see deep lines that made her look older than she seems, and a shadow—something she cannot put a name to, perhaps grief, perhaps longing.
Ino then realized she didn't say 'I'm home' when she entered the house, which explains why her mother had that look of surprise on her face. The look quickly turned into a searching one, however, as the practiced eye of her mother quickly scanned her daughter's body for injuries—something that she developed especially when both her husband and child are active shinobi. When she saw that all of the wounds—at least the physical ones—are either on the road to recovery or has been well-patched, she visibly relaxes and breathes a sigh of relief.
Ino resembled her father in almost all aspects, and this frequently translated to clashes with her mother. More than once, too, has it been pointed out how diametrically opposite she was from her mother; Ino was loud and boisterous while her mother was mild-mannered and refined; she was a storm and her mother was the calm of the ocean. But in the face of sorrow, their differences dissolve—at that moment, there was only a mother and a daughter left jagged and raw from the loss of a loved one.
A beat passes, and Ino struggles to form a coherent sentence to say.
"...Mom..." she tries again, but her tongue can't seem to go past the first word. What can she say? What should she say? When the air of loss and grief between them is so palpable that she could drown on it, what words are there left to say?
But when she lifted her eyes to meet her mother's, the inner turmoil stopped. Her mother's single gaze held all the missing words, and at once it overwhelms Ino in the intensity of love and tenderness that it held. I understand, it says, you don't need to say anything else.
Her mother then stretched out her arms to her, inviting, and Ino runs to it without a second thought. In her mother's embrace, the Battle-Ino—the composed, collected Ino—recedes, and a flurry of intense emotions rushed in and violently pulled at her, like a dam opening and flooding the inside of her soul. She cried like never before as she cried a war's worth of tears—the loss of her father, their final fight with Asuma-sensei, her injured and equally-broken friends, the innumerable deaths—and her mother was there to catch her when her knees gave away, and she soothed her hair and kissed her temple at every hitch and whimper. Ino knows that her mother's heart is breaking as well, but the latter keeps her eyes dry, and she lets Ino cry for the both of them. This makes her cry all the more.
They stayed like that for a long while, each holding on to the other until the rain from Ino's eyes have stopped. Her mother then gently placed her hands on the sides of Ino's face, breathing out her first words since her daughter's arrival.
"Welcome home, dear."