Sasuke Uchiha sits at his kitchen table, tools and rags spread before him as he examines the blade of his katana. There are several nicks near the tip that have inexplicably appeared since he last used it, and he frowns, drying to decide: Sarada or Boruto.
Between his student and his daughter he’s surprised he has any weapons left in the house, let alone slightly damaged ones.
They were taught better than this, he grumbles to himself and adjusts his glasses.
(He’s only wearing them because he’s trying to preserve the strength of his dōjutsu for the next time alien ogres attack. It has nothing to do with Sakura mentioning she finds he looks ‘sexy in specs’.)
Sasuke whips his glasses off at once and stows them under a rag at his sixteen-year-old daughter’s return. At least, it has to be Sarada, judging by the not-so-dulcet stomping. She’s in her combat boot phase, which is a mixed blessing; at least it allows him time to compose himself lest he lose some of the ‘cool’ factor in her eyes.
“I hate being an Uchiha!” Sarada yells at the top of her lungs, stalking past the kitchen and down the hall. There’s another slam of the door, this time much stronger; the foundations of the house rattle, and Sasuke physically braces in case he has to make a quick escape out the window.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
When dust settles and windows stop vibrating, Sasuke muses about what drama has affected Sarada’s mostly sheltered and privileged life this time. She has been more prone to bursts of temper in the past few years, the cause of which can range from Boruto making a particular fool out of their squad to the lack of pockets in women’s clothing.
(He completely agrees with her on the latter; what role do fake pockets serve? Where’s a kunoichi supposed to store her shuriken?)
As usual, he debates the merits of going to check on her or waiting for her to seek him out. On the one hand, she’s his little peanut, and he wants to deal swiftly with anything that upsets her. On the other, he remembers Sakura at that age, and the broken bones that came along with incorrectly deciphering her tempers.
Best to wait. She’ll come out when she’s calmed.
Like her mother, she isn’t shy about sharing how she really feels about things.
And so, Sasuke gets up and boils water, then surreptitiously opens a new packet of black tea and cardamom biscuits on the table. Fifteen minutes later, as he steeps his own cup of tea, he hears the door to Sarada’s room open and her stomp—quieter now, since she’s removed the boots—as she returns to the kitchen. Her face is flushed and eyes rimmed red with frustration as she slumps to the table, sits and picks up a biscuit.
She doesn’t eat it, though, so he assumes what ails her is a more serious case than usual.
Just as he wonders if he should offer an opening line for her, she speaks.
“Dad,” she starts, not meeting his gaze and shifting uncomfortably. Classic embarrassed behaviour. Coupled with her vocal denouncement of her entire family earlier, he wonders if she’s been dealing with bullies again. And who he has to pay a not-so-friendly visit to tonight. “Have you ever…I mean…did it ever happen that…did you ever accidentally…”
He takes a sip of tea because the flustered stuttering sometimes takes a while.
The scalding tea promptly goes down the wrong tube.
Sasuke chokes and splutters in pain, eyes bugging out at Sarada in shock, because that is the absolute last question he ever expected from her.
She goes, if possible, redder than before and looks at her lap.
“I’d ask Mom, but that’d be kind of…she gets way too technical,” she trails off with a shudder. “Also, you’re the only one with a Sharingan I can ask. At least without it getting creepy because I’m pretty sure if I asked Uncle Kakashi he’d just make me read one of those novels of his. But I already have, and none of them ever has anything to do with accidentally using genjutsu when you kiss someone.” Sasuke opens his mouth, but the words get stuck. Sarada doesn’t notice and just keeps talking. “And it’s just so frustrating, because the whole point of making out is that it’s just you and the other person and your thoughts are supposed to be out of control. But the minute I let go of my control, my stupid Sharingan took over, and the minute he looked at me, it was all over, and I just…how am I supposed to control that when I’m—”
“Stop,” Sasuke rasps, holding up a hand.
He doesn’t want to hear this. He should not be hearing this. And yet, it’s better that she’s being open with him, right? And he is the only person with a Sharingan she can ask. Even if he never accidentally used genjutsu on Sakura when they were…intimate.
Any use of genjutsu was entirely planned out and consensual.
Not that his daughter needs to know that.
This is just…what did she say? ‘Making out?’ That’s what, kissing? Clothes stay on bodies. That’s not so bad. Unless he’s been out of the loop for so long it means something else. Then it’s bad. Then he might have to kill someone.
No, best not think of that. Sarada can do her own killing. He only has to be around to dispose of the body. On that note—
“Who?” he asks.
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
Clearly she knows his earlier line of thinking.
“So I can tell if they’ll be brain damaged by the genjutsu. Yours is stronger than most.”
“Oh. Oh!” Now she looks concerned, but for a different reason entirely. “You don’t think I broke Shikadai’s brain, do you? His mom would kill me if I did that.”
Shikadai. Nara’s kid. Decent genjutsu abilities, off-the-charts intelligence, doesn’t like cheating and, according to Sakura’s stories, has always treated Sarada with respect.
Well, it’s not as bad as it could be.
“No, he’ll probably be fine. You dispelled the jutsu?”
“After I figured out what happened, yeah.”
“He was not happy with me. As if it was my plan for that to happen? Shannaro!”
Might have to talk to Shikamaru about training him better. The kid must have been really caught off-guard if he couldn’t stop Sarada’s genjutsu.
The activity that must have caused that off-guardedness makes Sasuke pick up his sword again, but now he stares at it, unseeing.
“So how do I make it stop?
He blinks. “What?”
“The genjutsu thing. How do I not activate it…you know? During?”
“Don’t ‘make out’ with boys,” he says before he can stop himself. He almost uses damn air quotes.
Sarada looks thoughtful. “Okay. Girls it is then.”
Sasuke drops his sword and stares at her because that is not what he meant at all!
But Sarada is grinning at him.
“I’m kidding, Dad,” she laughs. “I know you mean it’s something I have to get control of so it doesn’t control me before I try again. It’s what you’re always saying, right?”
“About combat,” he grunts. Not…amorous pursuits. “This is…” He swallows painfully as a sudden idea occurs to him. “Sarada…do you and I need to have the talk?”
“Oh, gods no,” she wrinkles her nose. “You and Mom did that well enough when I was six. Unless you’ve got something to add from a non-medical perspective?”
“No,” he says. “Nothing.”
“Okay. Thanks!” she beams, popping the uneaten cookie in her mouth, before taking a handful of others and prancing back to her room. Crisis averted, apparently.
Sasuke stares after her and realises he has been tearing the oil rag into bits in his hands.
It’s been fourteen years since he made himself a very serious vow, but it doesn’t matter just now.
“I need a drink.”
He discovers the offending object completely by accident.
It’s week of the month when Sakura insists on washing and changing all the bedding in the house. Since she is home with him at the same time for once, they decide to share the chore.
(He much prefers the days when being home together at the same time involves bedding of a different sort.)
As he’s rotating the futon in Sarada’s room, something is knocked loose. Something solid and plastic clatters to the hardwood, skittering a few inches away. Sasuke blinks down at the object—hot pink, curled in on itself in a confounding manner and with buttons.
A new ninja tool?
He’s vaguely annoyed by that; Sarada has always taken after him in preferring traditional weapons to the tech most of her generation prefers. But there’s also a niggling suspicion at the back of his head, an inkling he recognises but can’t remember the name of at the moment.
Perhaps his wife will know.
“Sakura,” he starts as he enters his bedroom, where she’s in the process of arranging the pillows on their bed, “what is this.”
His wife stares at him for a moment, then at the item in his hand.
Her expression goes through several interesting changes. First her cheeks become flushed with colour and her eyes go wide with something he can’t interpret—either shock or amusement—and her mouth purses like can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. From the suppressed squeaking noise she makes, he suspects it’s perhaps both.
“That, my darling,” she says when she finally gets control of herself, “is a vibrator.”
He blinks and stares uncomprehendingly down at the device in his hand; denial is already on his tongue, even as something akin to alarm begins to mount. Besides, how could anyone make that connection? The object doesn’t resemble any of the ones he’s seen or used with his wife. Those are remarkably straightforward and—well, phallic—in appearance.
This one has buttons.
For settings, he realises at last.
The sense of denial grows, but he pushes it back; good sense tells him if he recognises it, he won’t be happy. Instead, he chooses to be is indignant. He narrows his eyes at Sakura. “And why is there a vibrator in this house that I don’t recognise?”
Is she trying to tell him something? He always believed their sex-life was more than fulfilling, but if she needs something else, he imagined she’d at least discuss it with him. Indignation transitions into hurt and a tinge of anger, but Sakura gapes at him in disbelief.
“Are you serious?!”
“It’s a legitimate question.”
“It’s not mine,” she insists. “If I had one of those, you’d be the first person I’d tell. Trust me.”
“Then why…?” he begins, and the alarm at the back of his mind whirs exponentially louder. An impossible, horrible idea is taking shape, while his own denial roars in the distance. “…No.”
“Well who else could it belong to? Think about where you found it,” Sakura tells him slowly, and a bit patronising, as if talking to a child.
Sasuke doesn’t have to think about it.
His cursed eyes captured the moment when the offending object tumbled to the floor. From beneath his daughter’s bed.
Sasuke drops the device like it’s a white-hot iron. He might be making a choking, gasping noise, but he honestly can’t tell at this point.
“Oh, darling,” Sakura sighs, and through the sudden dizziness and wrong-footedness, he senses her helping him to sit. He barely notices the bed beneath him or her patting his shoulder. “I’ll speak to her about this.” He manages a tight nod. “Besides, I want to make sure she knows how to keep it cleaned properly if she’s going to use it.”
Sasuke gapes up at her, unable to keep his jaw from dropping because…what?
“Don’t look at me like that. We’re not going to pretend we don’t know about it,” Sakura huffs. “She has to understand that she can talk about this sort of thing with us.”
No, she doesn’t. No, she can’t!
“And we don’t want her to get an infection or accidentally clean it with some chemical that could hurt her. There’s nothing wrong with sex toys, but you know as well as I do that they have to be maintained properly, or—”
“Stop,” Sasuke manages. “Just…stop.”
Sakura offers him a sympathetic look. “I get it. She’s your little girl, but she’s also a healthy young woman. Would you rather she not be comfortable with herself and her body until she’s been with some boy who only uses her for his needs?”
“No! Yes! I don’t—Why are we having this discussion?!”
“You brought the vibrator in here, darling, I just live here,” his wife chuckles, and reaches for the offending object.
Sasuke can’t manage more than a garbled expletive. When he and Sakura agreed they would take a more modern approach to parenting, including being open about discussing sex with Sarada, he didn’t expect it would lead them here.
He peeks over at his wife, noting that she hesitates a second before picking up the vibrator. She holds it between two fingers.
“You’re not fooling anyone. You’re as rattled by this as I am,” he accuses her, more peevish than he intended.
“Maybe. But for once you’re the one freaking out, so I have to stay calm in case you faint,” she replies, making a face before dropping the vibrator into the pocket of her apron.
The apron she wears for him.
He’ll never be able to look at her in that again, knowing it’s been sullied by their daughter’s…
He can’t even finish the thought, let alone the word.
Unaware of or unbothered by his difficulties, Sakura heads out of their room.
“If it makes you feel any better, if she’s using this, she’s probably not in a relationship where there’s actual penetrative intercourse involved,” she calls over her shoulder.
Which—aside from the word penetrative—does make Sasuke feel better. A little.
Also, there’s the bonus of him not having to kill anyone. He suspects the half-wit running the village might have a thing or two to say about that. Murder is generally frowned upon when not mission sanctioned. And Sakura said she’d take care of this whole fiasco, so it’s not like it will happen again.
That hope falters the minute he hears his wife’s voice add, “But I’ll remind her where the condoms are, just in case! I need to get some more for us, anyway.”
And he’s back to the dizzy, vaguely nauseous sensation in his gut.
Next time, he tells himself as he falls back on his bed in surrender, I will keep my damn mouth shut and pretend I didn’t see anything.
It’s only coincidence that Sasuke is near Kiri when he gets the phone call.
Sarada’s voice is low and trembling, and her reversion to her childhood name for him causes him immediate concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I…I think I might have killed someone.”
He doesn’t ask if it was sanctioned or unsanctioned—she wouldn’t be permitted to tell him if it was the former anyhow. Instead, anxiety rises in memory of his family’s Curse of Hatred. Sarada has never shown signs of being susceptible to it, but it’s dangerous to take anything like that for granted. Instead, he wants to know, “Who?”
He blinks at the name, experiencing the first prickle of genuine concern. “The Seventh Mizukage?”
If she really harmed a leader of an allied nation, this could definitely be trouble.
“There was…um…a mission,” she says, and he notes that she’s still speaking quietly, as if worried she’ll be overheard. “I was sent as a diplomatic envoy and…well, I had to meet with the Mizukage and…Papa, he won’t wake up!”
“I’m on my way,” Sasuke says, already summoning chakra to power his Rinnegan.
“I’m near Kiri. You’re in the Mizukage’s office?”
He frowns at his phone as the portal opens before him. “Then where are you?”
“I’m…sort of…at Kagura’s house?”
Instantly he knows he’s not going to like this.
And it’s not because of the possibility of his daughter accidentally killing a public figure and causing an international incident. That’s something easily handled, a bit of false evidence and he can easily pin it on a dissatisfied faction within Kiri. He’s had to do it before on his ANBU missions, and Suigetsu owes him a favour anyhow.
No, the reason for this sudden certainty, is that there’s no reason for Sarada to be at the Mizukage’s home at this hour, especially if she was simply on a diplomatic mission. Except…
Don’t think too closely about it.
But his advice to himself doesn’t work, of course. Judging by the lack of guards prowling the area, Kagura’s people were aware he was…entertaining.
How did this become my life?
As soon as Sasuke enters the room and takes in the sight, he knows his suspicions are true. Sarada paces back and forth, wringing her hands the same way Sakura does when she’s feeling guilty. Several feet away, a young man with ash coloured hair and a facial tattoo lays devoid of life. A sheet has been drawn up to his neck.
“What happened?” Sasuke asks, crossing the room to examine the young Mizukage.
“Chidori,” Sarada replies nervously. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to—but he went limp and fell backward before I even realised. I had to use CPR, and he’s breathing, but he won’t wake up and—” Sasuke kneels beside the young man, intending to check for signs of internal bleeding. “No, wait, Dad, don’t—!”
But he’s already lifted the blanket, exposing the…already exposed.
Trousers and underwear tangle around the unlucky man’s ankles, and the pattern of an electrical burn radiates upward from tip to torso. There’s also a very visible imprint of teeth he wishes to every extant god that he hadn’t seen and which he knows will haunt him until his dying day.
“—look,” Sarada finishes lamely.
Sasuke doesn’t need to see her face to notice her expression of mortification. He’s rather certain it’s well-reflected in his own, because this is not something he’s supposed to see.
Eyes closed and drawing the sheet up enough to cover the Mizukage’s appendage, Sasuke takes a grounding breath and counts backward from thirty. Then he proceeds to examine the—
Body. Think of it as a body.
“So, you electrocuted him,” he says eventually.
“I didn’t mean to! I was surprised and just…reacted. He pulled my hair, and I—”
“I don’t need to hear,” he grunts, cutting her off her explanation. “And he’s not dead. Just passed out. He probably used all of his chakra to keep his innards from being electrocuted. You’d have realised that if you’d bothered to check.”
“Oh, excuse me, I was a bit busy freaking out!”
“A shinobi is in control at all times. Even when…engaging in other pursuits.”
“Oh, I’ll be sure to tell Mom that!” Sarada hisses, her waspish tone suggesting her attitude is breaking through her panic. “Can you just…help me fix this?”
She gestures uselessly at the unconscious Kagura.
“You’re eighteen years old. If you’re old enough to perform fellatio, you’re old enough to clean up your own mess.”
“Oh, gods, never say that again!” Sarada squeaks. “And my messes don’t usually involve international murder charges!”
“Everyone learns sometime,” Sasuke replies, standing up to leave. He pauses and glances back, not really wanting to keep talking about this, but knowing Sakura will have his head if he doesn’t. “I’m disappointed, Sarada. You were taught better.”
“Your mother and I have both explained why it’s important to use protection. Diseases can travel orally.” Hell, her mother has a fresh box of condoms in every bathroom of the house. Granted, they’re mostly used by himself and Sakura, but Sarada has known where they are ever since they gave her the talk (which, technically, Sakura carried out while he nodded and grunted at the proper places). “It’s important that you and your partner are protected, and not just by oral contraceptives.”
And he has never been so glad that all kunoichi are put on birth control the minute they start away-missions.
Sarada hangs her head, shoulders slumping. “I wasn’t thinking…”
“Also, considering the rubber content in most condoms, it might have protected him somewhat from the electric charge.”
Sarada’s eyes brighten in speculation. “You think?”
Realising he may have inadvertently given her another misguided idea, he scowls. “No.”
And walks away.
Sarada says a word they both know Sakura would not approve of, and demands, “Are you seriously just going to leave me here?”
Sasuke sighs, looking heavenward.
Kakashi always used to joke that Sarada was the best of Team 7, inheriting qualities from all of them. It’s always been clear that she inherited her parents talent and strength, but he thinks somewhere along the line, she somehow absorbed Naruto’s severe lack of judgement.
He shakes his head.
“No,” he tells her at last. “You’re going to keep an eye on him, and I’m going to go have a conversation with Chōjūrō.”
Hopefully Kagura’s predecessor has a sense of humour about this and doesn’t decide to retaliate by taking a page out of the Fourth Mizukage’s book.
Then he adds, “And you are going to be the one telling your mother about this.”
If possible, Sarada looks more terrified at that prospect than facing a legion of Kiri assassins.
Sasuke returns home from a tedious and troublesome parlay in Oto around midnight. Orochimaru is as bizarre as always, megalomania tempered only slightly by his years being a parent. Mitsuki is just as weird, but Sasuke would like to think his friendship with Sarada and Boruto saved him at least the homicidal tendencies.
By the time he returns home, Sasuke is tired and hungry and desperately wants to fall into bed and sleep for a week. Not that it’ll happen, since his wife and daughter are both usually up at the crack of dawn and incapable of being quiet, but a soft mattress is still a nice change from the base of a tree.
He lets himself into the house and heads for the kitchen to fix a snack—something to tide him over until breakfast at least. There’s a note on the table from Sakura to Sarada mentioning a difficult case she’s handling and that there are leftovers in the fridge. The note ends, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch or supper. We can go out! Love Mama’ .
Obviously neither of them was expecting him back yet. He shrugs, knowing it’s his own fault; he should have called, but he dislikes using mobile phones unless he absolutely must. The latest models have too many features on them and he’s already set three of his on fire in his frustration at simply trying to dial a number.
He’s in the process of removing a plastic container of stir-fry, when he hears it. A sound coming from the direction of the bedrooms.
That sounded like a—
He hears it again and tenses.
That was a moan.
All of his muscles lock into place and his gut tightens against a looming sense of dismay. Why is there someone in his house moaning? Sakura is at work, which means—
Horror shoots through him at the exact moment his brain connects the dots, remembering the discovery he and Sakura made two years ago and the ensuing conversation. If his daughter is in her room doing that he needs to be elsewhere right the fuck now and—
This time the moan that echoes through the house is not the sound of his daughter, but decidedly male.
There’s a brief instant where Sasuke exists within a total void of sensation. And then he sees white, absolute rage suffusing his body and making his fingers twitch toward his sword. He’s actively contemplating ten different ways to commit murder, before his good sense returns.
Alright, maybe not good sense, but his prudent sense at least.
Murder is not the answer.
However, Sarada’s behaviour does need to be addressed. It’s one thing to be having intercourse—he clearly can’t stop that from happening and it is her decision. But this is his house. He is not comfortable with her using it for secret trysts that take advantage of him and Sakura not being here. He’d never even consider such behaviour when he was her age.
Granted, he lived alone, and he and Sakura didn’t have to find a place to have intercourse when the time was right. But still. He would never have thought it was alright to seduce her in her parents’ home. Whether they were home or not! Mebuki would kill him and make it appear like a terrible accident. His own murderous machinations pale in comparison to what she might do.
(He’ll never admit it to Sakura, on the off-chance it gets around to Naruto, but he’s terrified of his mother-in-law.)
Sarada’s…partner should know better.
Sasuke decides to have a few words with him, and once he learns the kid’s identity, he’s going to have a sit-down with his parents, too. He’s sure it will be more effective coming from him; Sakura is too open and friendly with matters like this, and might make lighter of the situation than he would.
And once that’s done, he and Sakura and Sarada are going to have a pointed conversation about boundaries.
He’s never looked forward to a conversation less.
Now the only question is…is it more effective to walk in on them now, or wait until they’re finished and covered?
As he weighs whose embarrassment of higher priority—his own or his daughter’s, because he honestly doesn’t care about the other male party here—there’s another moan that makes him cringe.
But then it cuts off into a scream.
It’s not the sound one makes in the throes of passion, either, but a scream of complete and utter agony.
That’s not a good noise. That’s a really, really bad noise.
“Oh, gods, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Let me help, what can I--?!”
“Gaaah! Don’t touch it, don’t…fuck…don’t look at it...!”
Another howl of anguish which trails into sobs.
Concerns and logic tossed to the wind, Sasuke has his sword drawn and flash-steps to the door of his daughter’s bedroom and throws open the door.
The room is a disarray of haphazardly thrown clothing and bedsheets, a box of condoms spilled open on the floor as if ripped open in a hurry. (He shudders at this). There’s a familiar figure with blond hair sprawled across his daughter’s bed, tears of pain streaming down his face as he howls through gritted teeth. Sarada is crouched beside him in a panic, torn between checking on her partner and scrambling to find a sheet to cover her bare skin.
Sasuke barely notices her cry of chagrin, too focussed on the teenaged boy’s sheer suffering. And the obvious reason for it.
Because it’s bent.
In the middle.
She broke Boruto’s bone.
It would be amusing if it wasn’t his daughter doing the breaking or his student being the one broken.
“Dad, it was an accident!” Sarada insists in a high voice, panicked tears running down her cheeks. “We were…and I just…and then I heard this pop, and he—”
Sasuke forces himself to think; once more he is torn between competing inclinations. Get his tearful daughter out of the room and calmed down. Kill the dobe’s idiot son. Call Sakura and demand she handle this because he really doesn’t want to.
Help the poor bastard because there is no more painful injury for a man to have.
Sasuke grinds his teeth.
Just because his conscience is right, he doesn’t have to like it.
“Cover up,” he says. It’s not clear if he’s asking for Boruto’s sake or demanding it for Sarada’s, but either way, both requests are met. Sarada is in a long t-shirt and tosses a blanket over Boruto, because there’s no way he can get dressed in his condition.
All the while, she is muttering manically under breath.
“I give up…never again…no more boys…shannaro...!”
Once Sasuke would have rejoiced at that notion if only because he’s always been over protective of his daughter. However, in light of recent events, he begins to wonder if he’s gotten it wrong all these years. Instead of protecting Sarada from potential paramours, he should be protecting them from her.
Sasuke evaluates the situation once more, trying to decide the best way to move the little idiot who is writhing back and forth, in danger of knocking loose the sheets. Taking mercy on him, Sasuke catches his eye and sticks him under a genjutsu; Boruto goes completely limp. It won’t take him long to break out of it, but it should offer him brief relief. Once all of him is covered, Sasuke lifts him up and heads for the window.
Luckily, they live close to the hospital. Normally he’d use a portal, but he decides in tonight’s case, the brat deserves a little jostling, even if he only feels it when he wakes.
“Call your mother at the hospital, let her know he’ll need help,” Sasuke tells Sarada.
“Right,” she agrees faintly, her training kicking back in as her panic recedes.
Sasuke pauses. He should contact Naruto; if something had happened to Sarada, the dobe would send a rain of toads to get Sasuke the message. Sasuke owes him at least the same courtesy. And then there’s being able to see the expression on Naruto’s face when he finds out the root of all this.
Of course…Sasuke would enjoy that expression a lot more if he didn’t have to explain exactly how the Hokage’s son came to have a broken penis.
It seems another solution would be better.
“And then you’re going to call your Aunt Hinata and her moron husband and tell them their son is in the hospital,” he concludes firmly.
Sarada goes pale. “What? No, I can’t—!”
“They have a right to know their son is injured. And if they ask how it happened, you will tell them. Consider it a recompense for your…overzealousness.”
“No way! I can’t…I can’t talk to them about this!”
“You can, and you will.”
“But they don’t…they don’t know about us. And Boruto says they don’t, you know, talk about this stuff over there.”
Sasuke narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that something you should have discussed before you decided to have intercourse? On the off-chance that you broke something?”
“Oh, like Mama never broke anything of yours!” Sarada protests, frustrated.
“Never my penis,” he replies, which effectively stuns her into silence. It might be his exhaustion and absolute doneness with the whole situation that prompts the snide remark, but it gives him the opportunity to slip out the window.
I’m getting too old for this, he sighs as he disappears into the night with the hapless victim of his daughter’s monstrous strength.
“Are you going out?”
Sasuke pauses in the act of slipping into his shoes and glances up at Sakura, wandering down the hallway and buttoning her tunic the rest of the way. “Yes. One of the officers at the police station says he found some of my family’s old files. He wanted to know if I wanted the hard copies.”
“Well that was nice of him. What are they, old case files?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, call me if you need anything,” she tells him, and as usual there’s the implicit reminder that if it’s too hard for him to do on his own, she’ll be there in an instant. He nods, grateful, but doesn’t take her up on it.
“Since Sarada’s apartment is along the way, would you take her that basket of vegetables in the kitchen?” Sakura asks as she shrugs into her coat. “It’s all fresh from the garden. You know what those girls are like. Leave them alone long enough, and they’ll live off of cup ramen and poki. I’d take it myself, but I’m already late, thanks to a certain someone.”
“You weren’t complaining an hour ago,” he answers mildly, but heads to the kitchen anyhow.
“I wasn’t late an hour ago,” Sakura replies, straining up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek as he passes.
They leave the house together and part ways on the street, Sakura heading to the hospital and Sasuke to the police station.
“I’ll see you tonight, if there are no world-ending crises.”
It’s been quieter around the house since Sarada moved out, even if she was never a really loud child. Aside from her her rough teenage years and occasional temper, she was rather like Sasuke as a teenager; perhaps less prone to vengeance fuelled vendettas. Sasuke misses having her around even though she lives within walking distance.
It’s not exactly commonplace for young people to move in with roommates in the village; at least it wasn’t when he was younger. Most people lived at home with their parents until they got married though it doesn’t seem like Sarada is planning on that anytime soon. Still, as much as he disliked the notion when Sarada brought it up, he has to admit that her having her own place has made their relationship better.
Though she is ever the light of his life, there are certain aspects of their life together he doesn’t miss.
Such as dealing with awkward situations or information that a father should not be privy to when it comes to his daughter. He doesn’t have to worry about her safety because Chōchō and Wasabi are as brash and protective of Sarada as he is. And she hasn’t had another boyfriend in a year which is also a relief.
None of them are good enough for her anyway, and if she intends to be Hokage, she shouldn’t have more distractions than necessary. She’s already going to have to work harder than before because Naruto is still a bit ticked off about his son’s broken penis (even though it’s been ages since it’s healed). He and Sasuke have come to literal blows about the whole matter, considering Boruto was just as involved in causing that injury as Sarada was.
Eventually the dobe will get his head out of his ass about the whole thing; maybe if he spent more time at home with his family, his kid would have known how not to get injured during intercourse.
As for Sasuke, without Sarada living at home, he and Sakura can have relations again whenever they want instead of waiting for their daughter to be away on a mission or at a friend’s house. He’d be lying if he hasn’t been waiting twenty years for a return to that status quo at least.
Reasonably speaking, there’s no downside to the arrangement.
When he reaches Sarada’s apartment, he dutifully knocks and waits for a response; as far as he knows, she isn’t scheduled for any missions this week so she should be home.
Which is why he frowns when he doesn’t get a response.
Basket in hand, he considers for a moment simply leaving it outside the door, but discards it a moment later. Any co-tenant or stray animal can get to it here, and he doesn’t like the idea of Sarada living off ramen any more than her mother does.
Naruto has had way too much influence on his daughter.
I’ll go through the window and put it in the kitchen, he decides, knowing this course of action won’t take but a minute.
It seems the most simple idea, and it’s nothing to slip into the kitchen and place the basket on the table. He considers leaving a note for a moment, and then—
“Oh, yes! Right there!”
A chill like ice creeps up Sasuke’s spine at his daughter’s voice echoing from the living room.
No. No, for fuck’s sake, this cannot be happening. No. Not again.
In a panic, he seeks an easy exit, at the same time castigating himself for such an amateur mistake. This isn’t a covert mission to steal documents, it’s a visit to his daughter’s place of residence. He should have called ahead. And knocked. And announced his presence.
Possibly with a bullhorn.
He’s about to make his escape, when the relative silence is broken by a familiar crack, followed by a girl’s sharp yell of pain.
“Wasabi?” Sarada cries a moment later. “Wasabi, are you alright?!”
“My hips…they…ow!” the other girl gasps. “And I can’t…can’t feel my legs. Ah, stop moving!”
“I’ll fix it, just let me get out from under—”
“No—ow! Don’t move—”
“I can’t help you when I’m lying on my back, so let me—”
“DON’T MOVE, IT HURTS!”
There’s a sharp, panting gasp of someone trying to breathe through the pain.
Broken pelvis, Sasuke decides, wincing out of empathy. He’s had that particular injury before, and from similar circumstances. Except, lucky for him, he was on the bottom and it was the work of a minute for Sakura to fix it.
“If I don’t move, we’re both going to be stuck here!”
“Stop…talking…!” the other girl growls through the pain. “It’s making it worse.”
Sasuke sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Why? Why is it always me? Why is Sakura never on hand when Sarada gets herself into situations like this?
A mental image pops up of his wife furiously reminding him of her miserable nine-month-morning sickness and a ruined vagina.
Though, personally he doesn’t understand what she’s complaining about (he has no issues with her vagina as it is), he can acknowledge that she went through the most difficult bit of bringing their daughter into the world. Perhaps this is the universe’s way of balancing karma or something.
He considers this and reflects he might have preferred to be the one to give birth. At least it would have been over with in less than a day…
There’s utter silence in the next room.
“…Dad?” The word is timid and questioning, hope mingled with humiliation. “Are you there?”
Sasuke lets his head fall against the hallway wall in defeat.
“Yes. I was dropping off vegetables from your mother,” he says eventually. “Do you need help?”
Panicked silence, the sound of Sarada whispering and Wasabi snaps, “Yes we want his help!”
Well, at least this one has sense. If they don’t break up over this incident, she can teach his daughter a few lessons in the common kind. “Are you both…decent?”
“Sarada, if you don’t get your old man in here now, I will bite through your jugular and—!”
The rest of the diatribe is cut off like a record hauled off the turntable; there’s a rustling sound and eventually Sarada squeaks, “Come in.”
Cautiously, Sasuke peeks around the doorway to assess the situation.
The girls are still in a tangle of limbs, but Wasabi is unconscious—Genjutsu. Hmph. Well, at least she’s learned something after all these years. The other woman is a heavy burden draped across Sarada’s (mercifully hidden) body. His daughter has somehow managed to arrange a quilt and a discarded shirt to cover any flesh that he doesn’t want to see, but she’s still trapped underneath her—
Roommate? Girlfriend? Partner?
If he focuses on questions like that, he doesn’t have to focus too much on yet another embarrassing situation.
“We’ll move her carefully so as not to do any further damage,” Sasuke tells Sarada; decades of marriage to Sakura have taught him enough about fractures to be wary. Then he adds conversationally, “Have you considered becoming a monk?”
She scowls at him, blowing a lock of Wasabi’s hair out of her face. “Monks don’t have sex.”
“Exactly. And they lead perfectly fulfilling lives and don’t injure anyone.”
“Or you could tell me how you and Mom managed it all this time.”
“No,” Sasuke say, leaving no room for discussion. That is a conversation for her and her mother, one which he doesn’t want to know of if it ever happens or not. That is where he draws the line.
Yes, he gets the irony in that, considering he’s trying carefully to move his daughter’s—paramour? Lover?— off of said daughter without injuring her spine or any internal organs. But really, at this point, enough is enough.
“If I had my time back, I’d have insisted your mother train you in medical ninjutsu,” he tells her. “Clearly learning better chakra control would benefit you more than wielding a sword.”
“Very funny,” Sarada grumbles, tugging the quilt across her torso a little tighter as Sasuke starts to move the other woman off her. “Or I could always date someone invulnerable. Then it wouldn’t be a problem.” She ponders this for a moment, and her face brightens in speculation. “Come to think of it, Mitsuki—”
“No,” Sasuke cuts her off, shifting the other girl enough that Sarada can get out and closing his eyes tight. “Now get dressed and help me stabilise her so we can get to the hospital.”
He hears her moving around the living room, grabbing articles of clothing; a second later, he senses her presence right beside him and feels a quick peck on his temple.
“Thanks for rescuing me again, Papa,” she tells him solemnly, and hurries from the room.
It’s not easy being the ‘dad’ …