Status: Incomplete
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Come fall, Kizashi took her to The Armory. It was Yutaka (his cousin's cousin) who'd told him it was the best place in Konoha to get kunai. Yutaka worked there part-time and promised them twenty percent off the merchandise in exchange for less time in the fields.
"It's rare, you know? Good quality gear," Yutaka said, temper cooling now the bartering was done. "Expensive too. Maybe…too expensive for someone who's going to…"
The man trailed off at Kizashi's steel gaze.
"But...if you're serious about—"
"Yes," Kizashi said. "We are."
It was a Wednesday afternoon when it was decided Kizashi would take Sakura to go and buy them.
Only…to get to Kizashi, Sakura would have to go through the market with Misa. Their father had left for work early that morning to prepare the tofu and work the grain.
He normally did this anyways, but his assistant Naoki was still ill from her cold and so Kizashi had to go earlier if there was any hope of getting it all done on time. Suzuna was out in the fields all day again—she'd been working twelve-hour shifts for the factories—and Mebuki had to help her cousin Sango with a birth that had begun to take a little too long.
Sakura choked on her rice when her mother declared she would go outside—and what's more—without Kizashi or herself. Misa would accompany her instead, taking over work at the lunch hour so their father could take Sakura to The Armory.
Misa, next to her at the kitchen table, became silent and withdrawn at the news. But Sakura, so excited she could barely sit still, never noticed.
"There are rules you will follow," Her mother interrupted her soaring joy. "Or you will not go."
The thought of losing the chance to explore the village had Sakura settling in her chair faster than ever before. Her mother almost looked amused. Almost.
"You will not look anyone in the eyes," Mebuki said. "And you will not speak to anyone. Only Misaki or Papa. Understood?"
Sakura nodded.
"You will hold Misaki's hand, and you will not let go until you are with Papa," Though her mother's gaze was measured, strident, Sakura couldn't help but watch the frantic beat of her heart against her throat.
She wanted to reassure her, tell her it would all be okay, but Sakura had a feeling it would not help much.
Mebuki paused, squaring her shoulders, "After…you will come straight home."
"But—!" the words leapt from her mouth before Sakura could stop them. It would be the first time going anywhere that wasn't school or the library or the backyard, and though she loved her sisters, and she loved Honey, couldn't she just go and look just for oncepleaseplease—
Mebuki's jaw flexed, "Do we have to wait for Suzuna to come back and go instead of you?"
"No! No, Mama," Sakura's stomach lurched, eyes widening to look pleading, "I'll do as you say, I promise."
Her mother said nothing for a time, watching her. She gripped her knitted coat tight, knuckles whitening, her mouth bunched up so much that Sakura thought she might take all her promises back—
"Mama, Sango-ba's waiting for you," Misa said, strangely gentle.
It was like a spell had been lifted. The sounds of the kitchen were loud again; the soft gurgling of the beef stew on the stove, Honey's shuffling attempts to hack up the backyard with her talons, the sound of the big clock ticking on the wall.
A sunbeam fell on Sakura's head and her hair, already bright, shone a gilded, petal pink. Mebuki seemed unable to breathe. Sakura tucked her hair behind her ears and widened her eyes more.
Misa continued, "You know Ba-san wouldn't ask you to come unless it was urgent, Mama."
Their mother blinked, twice, before clearing her throat and turning away, "Yes…yes, I…"
"It'll all go well, Mama," Misa said. "We'll be back home in no time at all."
Mebuki tucked her hair behind her ears, staring at the door.
"Yes," she said, voice thick. Then she moved to the door, not looking back. "Sakura, I expect you to…to behave for your sister."
"I will!" Sakura said, a little too close to a shout. "I promise."
Mebuki hesitated, "Good."
Misa wouldn't meet Sakura's eyes for a long time after she had left, and Sakura wondered if tonight they would eat in silence again.
It would be the first and only time one of her parents would bring her to the shinobi districts.
…
It turns out to be a quick affair, this buying-of-the-kunai.
Her father's face is stony when Sakura and Misa arrive at the shop. He speaks only to her sister in a low, hurried way which Sakura knows not to interrupt. He watches carefully as Misa's fingers peel away from Sakura's wrist and offers hands her arm over.
As his grip lands on Sakura's wrist, Kizashi says, "Suzu's friend Bunko will come to get them both lunch at noon. Give them yesterday's tofu and fried rice."
Misa nodded and then their father is ferrying Sakura away, his grip on her unbreakable.
By the time they reach the shop, Kizashi's eyes are flinty, his brow bright with sweat. He twitches every now and again, jerking at unfamiliar noises and feet that step too close.
The shop is tall and shiny. Two stories high. Sakura never knew buildings could be big like this and she wants to stare at it forever, memorize the pretty signs and trace the grooves in the wooden details.
She bows her head again at the sharp look her father wears.
When the shopkeeper remarks on her hair, the air becomes stifling.
"Beautiful," she says, admiring. "She's like something out of a fairy tale."
It makes Sakura want to preen; she's never been called beautiful before. She thinks she might like it before Kizashi's grip goes so tight Sakura has to bite down on her lip. The blood in her mouth makes her slightly nauseous, but her father's voice is what knocks her into dizziness.
"Your sharpest kunai, please," the words are curt, more forbidding than she's ever heard him before. Even on the evenings when she overhears the neighbors' laughter at the Haruno's reputation for locking their daughters away from the world, he is not so sharp.
Sakura stares at her shoes and promises never to risk this voice again.
They pay and the shopkeeper calls out once more, enticing, "When you come back again, I'll be sure to remember the cute little ninja with the pretty hair!"
Her father is almost running when he takes her back to the shop. Misa's face, which had softened into a familiar look of calm determination, turns ashen at the sight of them.
Sakura still hadn't looked at their father's face once.
"Straight home," Kizashi says in that sharp voice, "Curtains closed."
They never speak of The Armory again.
…
It is a week before she is supposed to start at the Academy. A week before Sakura is allowed to leave the garden again. In a week, Sakura will be a shinobi.
A month ago, she would have been bouncing off the walls, smile permanently etched into her face. A month ago, Sakura had still not heard that sharpness in her father's voice, did not know the dullness in her mother's eyes as she tells her to pick up the kunai and throw it again.
"Sakura," her mother called. Mebuki is sitting on the backyard steps, knife in hand as she peels the potatoes for dinner. Sakura had harvested them that morning. "Why did you stop?"
She's trembling, even as she holds the stance her mother calls kata. Mebuki had read it in a book in the library and written it into The Notebook. There are many things in The Notebook. Things about chakra and sealing and basic fighting stances.
Sakura is supposed to learn all of them before she starts. The day after Mama started filling up The Notebook, Sakura's eyes had gone hot, her fists curling and stomped up to her room when her parents said she was going to start practicing every day.
As she cried into her pillow about the unfairness of it all—the other kids don't have to do this, they'll learn it at the Academy and I'll be weird, aren't they going to protect me anyway—Suzuna goes very still.
"Sakura," Her eldest sister has never been one for scolding. Silence, avoidance, yes. But never once confrontation. "You are going to be a shinobi. If you don't practice…"
Her sister trailed off as Sakura raised her head out of the soggy pillow. Something flickered in Suzuna's face at the sight of her. Then it was gone. So was the harsh slant to her mouth.
"You will practice," Suzuna said.
It was not a request, Sakura knew better. Suzuna did not make requests. She simply told you; this is what is going to happen, and you are going to do it.
Sakura hadn't eaten dinner that night, unwilling to brave the silence which increasingly defined the home she used to call warm.
Sakura flicks her hair out of her face to better answer her mother, "I reached…one…hundred Mama. Like you…asked…"
Her hands hurt. Everything hurt. Sakura knew she was still not good enough. She'd only gone halfway through The Notebook. Mama and Papa thought she couldn't hear them hissing to each other late in the light. They thought she couldn't hear a lot of things, lately.
Mebuki was staring at her hair.
"Mama?" Sakura called, knowing she did this sometimes. The staring wasn't what bothered her really, it was the look. Mebuki looked at Sakura like she was a ghost some days; like she didn't know whether to hold her or put her to work.
Misa was better at handling it. Better at bringing their mother back to herself. For Sakura, it brought her back to thoughts she was not allowed to speak. To things like secrets and silence and Mo—
"We are going to cut your hair," Mebuki said, sitting up very straight. "It is…too long and…and…it will hinder you."
Sakura's stomach lurched. She liked her hair. It was pink, her favorite color.
"But—"
"You are going to be a shinobi, Sakura," Mebuki interrupted, "Long hair will hinder you. I read it, at the library."
She had spent a month swallowing protests. A month bleeding and sweating and practicing. No one told her stories at night anymore. Mama and Papa were busy filling The Notebook and Misa and Suzuna were working every day in the fields now.
"Mama, I don't want to—"
"Sakura," Kizashi had come to see what was happening as Sakura's voice rose. "It will only hinder you."
Standing in the cooling garden, face red from the sun and exertion, Sakura felt something break in her chest.
She had thought—hoped—they would stop this hardness—she hadn't brought up that person again, had done everything they asked and still, still, still they did not look at her like she was—like she was still—
Her eyes burn as she sits a step below her mother.
Mebuki shears the long, shimmering locks down to her scalp.
The sun is gone, and her ears are cold. She couldn't remember the last time they'd called her Sa-chan.
Posting twice? In one day? And people think miracles are sparse.
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