Part 5: Post-war, Gifts

Summary: When birthdays are bittersweet.

In the first year of their marriage, before they had kids, Hinata tried really hard. The first time she'd given him a gift on his birthday, she'd tried to make it special, planning a dinner she'd cooked herself.

"Happy birthday, Naruto," she'd greeted him as soon as he walked into the apartment.

She glowed when he kissed her and simply said, "Thank you."

This was officially his first birthday with the woman who had a permanent place in his life and heart.

But she seemed distracted as they ate, and he chalked it up to her nervousness because it was their first time celebrating together. Naruto was also just as distracted as her because she looked different today and he recognized that she'd gone to extra lengths because she'd put on makeup. While they ate, he continued stealing glances at her lips, glossy and pink. Her eyes, too, looked spectacular. She'd done something to them that made her look extra sexy and seductive.

He wanted to get done quickly with dinner, but he forced himself to be patient for her because Naruto didn't want Hinata to feel like her efforts were going to waste. He made sure to compliment her and was rewarded by the brilliant smile she flashed him.

And of course, that smile only activated the receptors inside him that wanted to pull her out of her chair, crush her to his body, and drag her to the bedroom. He looked at her half-eaten plate and sighed inwardly. She was still eating so he forced himself to slow down, to anticipate and savor this night so that when they eventually got to the kissing and the hugging, it would be even much sweeter.

When they were finally on the couch, his goal to run his fingers through her hair and skim his hands over her soft, supple skin, was suddenly interrupted when Hinata abruptly stopped kissing him. She popped up and ran into the bathroom right in the middle of him trying to kiss her senseless.

"Stay here!" she squeaked nervously. "I'll be right back."

Naruto had pouted and complained loudly, not understanding why she'd suddenly run away just when things were getting good.

But when understanding came, it almost knocked him out.

He'd followed her to the bathroom, only to be spun around when she came out a few minutes later and smacked into his chest.

"Argh!" she screamed in surprise.

His automatic response was to grab on to her to prevent her from falling. However, when he hugged her to him, he realized that she was wearing a skimpy little red lingerie that he'd eyed on a mannequin three days ago and had casually remarked that it would look good on her. She'd only glanced at him with a startled expression on her face and he laughed to brush it off as a joke.

But Hinata, who was intimately connected to the tiny nuances of her husband's moods, had somehow understood that secret hope in his heart that he could never say aloud to her because he was too scared. It was such a big ask, something that his shy wife might be too embarrassed to do.

Unbeknownst to him, though, she'd bought it and now wore it today, for him, on his birthday.

He set her apart at arms-length and his silent perusal made her nervous.

"Do you like it?" she finally asked when she met his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, but it didn't dim her desire to continue in the bedroom.

"I do," he responded, voice low, even as his lips sought hers. "Thank you for this gift, Hinata."

When the children came, their gifts they'd made with their tiny little hands were a mystery. It took all his mental capacity to figure out what they'd made. Since that first time, Hinata always baked a cake, something that made him shed tears of joy that he failed to hide. It was such a strange thing to have somebody make a big deal just for him, just to celebrate his life.

"Happy birthday, Naruto! I hope you don't mind chocolate cake."

He didn't and it became his favorite.

Hinata's smile, so lovely and filled with love, mirrored on the children's.

The kids' gifts were simple, often pieces of paper with bright pops of color. Hinata would usually draw the pictures, and they'd color them in.

Boruto's pictures were always a hopeless mess, and Naruto often looked desperately at Hinata so that he could get a hint from her of what his son's creation was supposed to be. None of the colors Boruto used matched what people normally saw in nature. Naruto had no idea what the giant, bat-like orange figure was on the paper. There were several black spots below it, spread apart. They looked like some kind of insects.

"That's you and Kurama," she whispered to him, nodding at the orange figure, and Naruto squinted until it all finally made sense.

Kind of.

But what his toddler lacked in expressing himself through the visual medium, he more than made up for it in the telling of the picture.

"This is Tou-chan, beasty! Kakkoiitebasaa!" Boruto yelled excitedly, his eyes brightly blue as he hopped up and down, flapping his arms in the air and adding a few fist pumps. "Pow! Bad guys down! Fox-puuuuunch! Hayah!"

Oh! Those insect things were bad guys! Naruto thought with relief. "Thanks, Boruto! It's an awesome gift!"

Eventually, Boruto's drawings improved.

Slightly.

Another year, after they'd sung the birthday song for him, the children grabbed his hand and sat him down in front of the cake. They'd look on excitedly while Naruto pretended to blow the candles but failed to do so.

"Tou-chan! Cake, cake!" Boruto exclaimed impatiently while Himawari would watch wide-eyed with her toothy grin.

"I can't do it, Boruto. It's harder than it looks," Naruto would say, regret in his voice, while he shook his head. "I need your help."

And he would make room for Boruto on his lap, making sure he wouldn't get burned, and watching the little boy eagerly blow out the candles on the cake that was meant to be for Naruto.

After that was done, the children would toddle away and grab the little gifts they'd made for him while he'd been at work.

Unlike Boruto's, Himawari's drawings were already a masterpiece even at such a young age. Sure, the colors blended together and weren't within the lines of Hinata's drawings, but he smiled appreciatively at her, because at three, she still struggled to hold the crayons properly. But Himawari was an observant kid with an eye for detail. She knew her father because yes, at the top, she'd colored in the right shade of his blonde hair. And there, just below, his blue eyes popped with color, and Naruto could easily imagine his daughter gripping that crayon, her face frowning in concentration as she rubbed that crayon over the paper until the pointy part of it was flat enough to stand on its own.

When they were older, Himawari eventually took over the birthday cake duties. Naruto guessed it was only natural to see Hinata's chocolate cake give up its place at his celebratory dinner for the strawberry shortcake that Himawari excelled in making.

"Papa?" she asked as she looked on anxiously while he took his first bite. "What do you think?"

Naruto smiled at her. "This is delicious!"

She beamed at him, and then at her mother, who looked on with pride.

When they were teenagers, the kids still expected him to blow out the candles, and even though Naruto was becoming embarrassed because men his age probably shouldn't be doing this anymore, he did so fondly, remembering the days when first Boruto and then Himawari did it for him.

Kawaki, hiding his own eagerness because showing that would be so uncool, of course, would just encourage his adoptive father to hurry up with the blowing of the candles so they could finally eat the cake.

"Nanadaime!" Kawaki would then protest each time Naruto would slide the biggest piece of the cake onto his plate instead of his own.

Naruto would just grin and say, "I ate too much. You need to help me finish this."

To which Boruto always smiled mischievously before swiping a small piece of it with his own fork, causing Kawaki to growl, hitch his shoulders, cradle his arms over this piece of treasure protectively, and move it out of his brother's marauding hands.

But the party, the celebration, would continue when they presented their father with gifts that they bought for him with money they earned from their shinobi work.

Gradually, it became a tradition for Himawari and Hinata to alternate baking his cake. Himawari guarded the custom of celebrating his day with a fierceness that belied her sensitive soul, a trait she inherited from her mother. She often insisted that on their father's birthday, her brothers be home from their respective missions no matter how busy they were. Himawari, too, would insist that her mom take a day off from the work she did as the Hyuuga heiress. And she made sure that her father, in whatever form, whether shadow clone or the original, was home for his birthday dinner, cake, and gifts.

It was the perfect way to remind Naruto that despite the day of his birth originally being forged in tragedy, it eventually became a day of joy, something that he always looked forward to.

And on the days when work was too hard and too tough, when the balancing act of being Hokage, father, husband, and shinobi wobbled, teetered precariously towards hopelessness or despair, Naruto would pull out his drawer and look at the last birthday drawing he'd gotten from Himawari, of the one she'd made of the family, of everyone holding hands, their happy faces indistinguishable and blending into one.

His family.

His gift.

His life.