Epilogue

The best day of Naruto's life (so far) wasn't remarkable.

It wasn't the one with the moment where he started gasping in air again, ears-ringing-crowd-surging-cameras-clicking in a too-hot, too-crowded courthouse, not quite able to believe he'd heard what he thought he heard, though Jiraiya pounding his back in relief and triumph and a glimpse of his dad's face all wet with tears he wasn't even trying to hide sang with the echo: not guilty. Plea of self-defense upheld: Not Guilty.

Free.

It wasn't the feeling of the ankle monitor he'd worn for fifteen-and-a-half months unclasping.

It wasn't the one where Sarutobi Hiruzen personally welcomed him back to WoF, and the entire hockey team was there with a surprise party that went on for a solid seven hours of increasingly silly celebration. Shino sang karaoke. Shino. Singing. So that was a pretty dang good contender—but not it. Not even close. Not even top ten.

The day he carried Mirai wrapped to his chest in her favorite baby-sling and together they grinned and waved and cheered like crazy as Hina-hime found her pace on the ice again—that was top ten.

Kakashi asking if he would be best man at his wedding, still so confused at his luck over Rin calmly suggesting he marry her—then panicking and asking who in Team Seven would be willing to help him pick out a ring (Sakura, duh)—that was top ten.

Sakura winning MVP in for their championship hockey season—that was top ten. The championship itself, skating into a decisive win and from there right into the middle of his parents' giant to-tight-to-breathe-sandwich-glomp, Mom's voice all hoarse in his ear because she'd cheered it into oblivion, Iruka-sensei wearing a jersey with Naruto's name and number and screaming that's my boy and not even caring about Dad's jealous death glares—that was up there.

The day he ambushed Sasuke after months of being avoided and punched him in the mouth because Don't you even miss me? I miss you so freaking much you freaking bastard, how many times do I have to say I'm sorry— and Sasuke punched him back twice as hard and then they just went for it—that was close. It happened in the parking garage of Itachi's apartment building and was horrible and beautiful, the way they shattered against each other. Hissed breath and real anger and real hurt and then—then, at the end—You shouldn't have done it, Naruto, how could you—you knew—if you'ddied—if—

Sasuke cried. Naruto was crying before he threw the first punch, so it's not like the bastard should have been as embarrassed about it as he was. But in the end—in the end, butts and backs just about frozen stiff from the arctic cement they were too exhausted to peel themselves off of—in the end it was everything. Everything Naruto needed to get up and face another day, all the days, to keep fighting the awful gravity of the ankle monitor constantly pulling him down. He always tried not to think about what would happen, when the final verdict dropped. Tried not to turn every soft moment into something he couldn't bear to lose.

He always failed.

Not for those minutes. Not sprawled together against the garage wall, shadowed and shining in the weird yellow light of the security bulbs, sweating and shaking and bleeding. Because Sasuke meant home. Safe. Strong enough to take the worst Naruto could give, strong enough to give it right back. Broken enough to understand. More than anyone in the world, Sasuke understood.

That was a good day, even after Itachi found them and was too angry to talk and called Naruto's parents to come get him and then everyone else was upset and pained and that sucked, but Naruto was elated. All the way to when Sakura and Kakashi found out and yelled at them, too, and Naruto snuck a glance at Sasuke, fighting a grin because—because Sasuke was there, Team Seven all united and right and there was this smile tugging the side of Sasuke's mouth and he caught Naruto's glance and they both—lost it. Laughed so hard he felt it in every freaking ache on his body, and damn were there a lot of them.

That was a good day.

There was this one Big Breakfast with like half of Konoha. Mom invited Hyuuga Hiashi ("He's the prickiest prick of all the pricks, but he's Mirai's grandfather, which makes him family, and we welcome family, Naruto,") and Naruto made sure every single one of Hinata's friends—which included all of his friends, Gaara and Sai included, for extra special intimidation factor—was there so they could, at the very least, outnumber the crazy grownups. Which was a feat, because Dad invited Jiraiya-sensei and Jiraiya-sensei conned Tsunade-baba into being there, which meant Shizune-nee was also there. The entire security team showed up, as they were wont to do. Kakashi-sensei had a scheduled waffle-eating competition with Gai-sensei, with Asuma-sensei and Kurenai-sensei there to serve as co-judges, and Konohamura came and brought his grandpa along so there were three Sarutobis, plus security detail. Rin was late. She dragged Obito in with her. How she convinced him to come, no one knew, but after disappearing into Dad's office with him and getting cursed out by Kakashi, things went...good. Pretty dang good.

Iruka-sensei was there to supervise Sai, and possibly to flirt with Genma. Gaara presented Hinata and Mirai with his latest crocheted baby blazer. Hyuuga Fucking Hiashi spent most of the time looking like he'd stepped on empty air where he'd expected another step down, and hadn't had a chance to catch his balance. He did catch his granddaughter, who was just learning to walk.

(Her very first steps were from Hinata's outstretched arms—right into Naruto's.)

Good days. Such good, good, good days.

(And the dark ones—there were so many awful hours—court days, the days before and after court days, all the days Sasuke wouldn't see or talk to him, the day he looked up and read the names of every Uchiha the Nine-tails had murdered. The press of reporters and protestors everywhere he went, the time he caught Raidou painting over a murdered lives here! graffiti on the garden wall, the eyes of family members of murdered Uchiha who came to court to beg for Naruto's death. Finding out that some parents had pulled their children out of WoF when they learned that Naruto would be re-admitted. The day he tried to meet and apologize to the policeman he'd stabbed, and the man spat on him, and wheeled his oxygen tank away—there were a lot of dark days.)

The best day of Naruto's life started before the sun was up. He wasn't sure what woke him, but he was in his bed, and he was warm, and he couldn't remember what he'd dreamed but—it was warm too. There were a whole bunch of birds making an unearthly racket just outside his window, because it was spring and they started getting all excited about the sun a good two hours before it was up. He'd started sleeping through that months ago though.

He slept through lots of things he'd never imagined he could sleep through. He'd never slept so much. Let your body grow, Mom said. It has a chance. It has a chance, at last. Grow grow grow, Naruto.

He'd noticed, all of a sudden, that he was taller than her.

The house quiet. He passed rooms full of people he loved, resting and safe, and bit down on his cheek, just enough for the pain to make all the good things feel real.

He didn't turn on any lights, but the kitchen was already glowing, and there at the bright table were Dad and Mirai and about a hundred books. They must have been up for a while, then.

"A bunny?" asked Mirai, sweet and bold and high, and Naruto could hear his father's smile as he bent his pale head over her dark one.

"Yes, a bunny! The bunny goes hop hop—"

"Hop hop! An' baby bunny—"

"And baby bunny. Does baby bunny hop?"

"Baby hop! Baby hop hop!"

The book they were reading was probably pretty high up on the list of Most Boring Books Ever Written, but Naruto leaned into the door jamb, ready to listen forever.

Mirai was getting really into the hopping, and hopped off Dad's lap right onto the table. She didn't know how to jump yet, but had definitely mastered the world's cutest knee-bends. Dad's hands opened and hovered, ready to catch. Naruto got his first clear view of his face, tired and open and smile spread wide.

"Nao!" Mirai saw him, shrieked joy, rushed across the table, Dad lunging after her—"catch!"

Naruto moved as fast as he ever had in a fight, panic rising, but then she was in his arms, giggling like the crazy risk-taker she was. Dad was sprawled halfway across the table, one hand fisted in the back of her pyjamas. He and Naruto's eyes met, and Naruto had a very, very rare moment of certainty that—despite everything—they understood each other perfectly.

"Good morning, and good catch," said Dad, laughing a little as he pushed himself back upright, rubbing a little ruefully at the place his rib cage had jammed into the table.

"When did you two get up?" asked Naruto, between automatic kisses to the top of Mirai's head. One little arm wrapped around his neck, the hand of the other finding its usual hold on his T-shirt collar.

"Sometime after 2:00, I think," Dad said, stretching and yawning. "What do you want to eat?"

"I can get it. You going back to bed?"

"No hope for it—had two coffees already. Baby or food prep, choose one."

Lately, Naruto had these weird urges to—parent his parents. Two coffees before 6:00am? Really, Dad? You're going to make yourself sick if you don't sleep more—

"Nao read," announced Mirai, reaching towards the stacks of books imperiously—Naruto caught his dad's eye, and they both huffed a laugh.

"Bagel sound good?"

"Sounds great," said Naruto, throat closing suddenly on the warmth bubbling up inside him. It happened a lot. More of his sentences got swallowed by gratitude than not, some days. "Which book first, Baby-chan?"

Later—after bagels with Dad, after Big Breakfast with not-everyone (but still fourteen people squished around the giant table, and Naruto loved every single one of them) Naruto met up with Sasuke and Sakura to settle street hockey scores with Shino, Kiba, and Chouji. Shikamaru showed, with a lawn chair—hauled out a plastic recliner from Kiba's deck all the way to the empty lot they were playing on—and opted for watching the clouds and making occasionally ref calls rather than play. The air and sky were heavy, promising rain, and when the first fat drops fell, they called the game. Tied. Getting goals past Chouji was a near impossible feat, these days.

Kiba grabbed him in a hug before he left. It was something he'd noticed, slowly—everyone touching him more. Like they had to make sure, over and over again, that he was really there.

Naruto was glad. Half the time, he wasn't sure he was there. That this was real. That he wouldn't have to wake up again. Wake up cold in too-close walls with no windows, nothing but him, him and that smell—

Sakura's arms' tightened around him from her seat on the back of his motorcycle, and he went back to breathing. Breathing and driving and less thinking. Sasuke peeled along behind them, still riding the old scooter he and Naruto used to share, though it was considerably faster than it looked, now. Mom had seen to that (after extracting the promise that Sasuke's mom would never, ever trace it back to her).

There was the half-second press of Sakura's face to his, raindrops splashing their cheeks, as she said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek in front of her house. Sasuke didn't get a kiss because he didn't take his helmet off for one, the dumbass. He did loop one arm around her waist and pull her close for, like, almost three seconds. There was hope for him yet.

Naruto jammed his helmet back on and they were off through the rain, racing a little on the empty suburban streets, shouting insults that couldn't quite be heard past wind and helmets. They veered off towards Sasuke's mom's house—what was Sasuke's house these days, Naruto didn't even know; he was as likely to sleep over at Naruto's or Itachi's as he was to go home—found Itachi's car already in the driveway. Naruto braced on his bike, knocked fists with Sasuke, laughed as his friend looked halfway ready to turn back and take off on his own bike again, because his mom and brother were spilling out of the doorway already mid-fuss over Sasuke riding in a bit of rain.

"You'll come in too, Naruto, change into dry clothes and have lunch—Itachi will give you a ride when we're done—" called Sasuke's mom, and Naruto's heart quailed a bit at the thought of not immediately obeying her because she really sounded like she should be obeyed, but—

"Thank you, thank you so much, but I have a date! See ya, bastard!" And jammed his visor down and took off before he had to say no twice.

The ice rink parking lot was halfway full—it was Sunday afternoon, and A rink was open to the public. He found Tenten's car and parked next to it, grabbed his duffel and rain cover from under his seat, covered his bike, ran inside.

The lobby was full of people—couples, families, groups of friends—pulling on rented skates, taking quick rests, grabbing snacks from the vending machines. He ducked his head and hurried through to B rink, shrugging out of his wet jacket as he went.

His breath caught when he saw Hinata. The way she moved on the ice—

"NAO!"

"Hi, Baby Girl!" He ran to the boards, face bursting with a smile that couldn't have been stopped if the championship depended on it. Mirai had a hand each of Neji and Tenten's, and they had no choice but to glide her over to the boards on her tiny skates.

She looked up at him, proud and deeply, deeply serious. "I 'kate!"

"Look at you!" cheered Naruto, while Neji gushed, "You skate very very well, yes you do—"

And there it was again, that glowing, disbelieving, aching goodness, filling him up all the way to the top and spilling over, stealing his breath and his words.

Kurenai-sensei was there, and Kakashi and Rin, because Kakashi liked to crash Naruto's activities while inviting Rin along and pretending it was a date. Well it probably really was a date—they looked lovey-dovey enough, gliding along, holding hands—and he did already get a whole two-plus hours unsupervised while playing street hockey. He was going to complain anyway, but then Hinata was right there, eyes shining and cheeks bright and her smile and yeah, he had no breath for complaining. Or talking. All he could do was grin and wave, stupidly, and rush to get his skates on as quickly as possible so he could join her.

He wasn't entirely used to figure skates yet, but he was getting there. It was the kind of thing he could learn quickly. Kurenai-sensei spent most of their lessons swinging between exasperation over how poorly he understood spoken instructions and disbelief when his body figured out what to do and did it perfectly every time after that. Once Neji was manipulated ("Mirai will be there!") into spending some time demonstrating so Naruto could imitate, things sped up an awful lot. Sometimes Neji hissed at him in disgust, for things like landing a jump it had taken Neji eight months to learn to land, but Naruto watched close and Neji's eyes were always warm and clear in the end, so—so it was okay.

It was okay.

He hadn't warmed up off-ice, so he accepted Hinata's hands and gladly followed her in lazy loops of the rink, stretching and extending as they went. Kakashi asked if Mirai wanted to go to the other rink—"Yeah! Go! Go all people are!" And they went.

"They're pretending your kid is theirs again," teased Tenten, sliding up next to Hinata as they returned Mirai's enthusiastic bye-bye waves. "Then again, I'm totally guilty of doing the same..."

"Perhaps you should get your own," said Neji, and then his brain seemed to work past the adoring daze he was watching her through, and he dissolved into a sudden coughing fit, pale face flushing pink.

"Perhaps I should," said Tenten calmly, a wicked glint in her eye as Neji swallowed hard. "...In ten years or so. For now, I'll continue adoring this one. If that's okay with you, Hinata—? I could definitely understand it bothering you, all these people wanting Mirai all the time—"

"It doesn't," said Hinata, watching her daughter disappear down the tunnel with a face so soft and happy Naruto immediately set about memorizing it. Hinata, Happy, he added to his secret mental photo album. He had lots of Hinata, Happy memories in there. There would never be enough.

"Maybe if she would sleep anywhere but literally on top of my heart I could get jealous, but—it's nice to get breaks, and, I mean—can there be too much love? If every baby in the world had half so many good people to love her—" Hinata glanced sideways at Naruto, all her wishes for him in her eyes, and his fingers found hers, folded all my wishes came true! warm around them.

"You know you're her favorite," he said, sliding in close, catching her eyes and smiling softer. "Mine, too." And he had to kiss her. He just had to. Not meeting those lips with the best he could give of his was not an option—not in that moment.

Neji cleared his throat, and Naruto broke the kiss with a grin and stared a dare over the top of Hinata's head, but Neji just rolled his eyes, Tenten smothering a laugh.

"I think we're all sufficiently warmed up," said Kurenai-sensei dryly, and they began.

They didn't know what they were preparing this routine for. There was no competition, no specific performance they were going for—it was just something Naruto had asked to do, hoping to help ease some of the grief Hinata was working through as she faced the realities of how much pregnancy and childbirth had changed her body, the realization that she could never skate quite the same way. Not that she could never be as good, or get better; Kurenai-sensei assured her that much—but her body was different, and her skating needed to change with it. This was—an helpful step on the way. Naruto hoped it was helpful, anyway. It felt good. It was hard. They had fun.

Kurenai-sensei got this speculative look in her eyes, sometimes, when Naruto managed to pull off a piece of choreography she'd originally categorized as too difficult. She'd spring some performance for them to work towards the moment she thought they were ready, Naruto was sure, but for now—for now, it was just—part of who they were. A way to keep breathing. Hinata and Naruto.

"Let's run the first 40 seconds," Kurenai decided, poised to cue the music. "We'll know out what to focus on from there."

Hinata breathed in, breathed out, floated to center ice. Naruto didn't have to think to follow.

They had a lot of stories, Naruto and Hinata. This story—three minutes and sixteen seconds of music and muscle and ice—this one hurt, honestly, though he hadn't (wouldn't) admit that to anyone. In real life it started in a hospital. Started with days where he couldn't stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, couldn't remember where he was half the time, didn't always know who had died and who hadn't, when he was safe and when he wasn't. In real life, he'd cried. A lot.

In real life, he had to learn to walk again. Think again, trust again, not give up again and again and again. In real life, it wasn't just him and Hinata. It was him and his parents and teachers and friends and doctors and guards and lawyers, and it had all been too much. Too hard.

Hinata's hand reached for his.

In real life, Hinata reached. Reached when her body was still bleeding from childbirth, when she'd had no rest and little comfort, when he didn't want her there because she deserved something—someone—better, someone who could walk without physical therapy and talk without crying, who didn't want to give up, someone who didn't have an ankle monitor and twenty-four hour guard, someone with a future—

They scraped across the ice, breathing to the music and each other, all their angles exactly matched. The first jump—

In real life, Naruto got better.

—perfect landing.

It took a long, long time. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to remember.

Hinata came into his arms. Naruto lifted. It took every part of him to do this right—the strength and balance and judgment of every muscle, heart-brain-core-limbs—keeping her safe, steady—letting her fly.

He brought her back down, back into his arms, curled around her for a desperate selfish moment, feeling the rise and fall of her lungs and his. The 40 seconds were done, the music cut off, and Kurenai was coming in close, smiling. He let go, a little reluctantly, and Hinata turned just enough to respectfully face Kurenai-sensei, one arm firm around his waist.

"You know what, let's just go on from there," she said.

Forward. Forward. Yes.

.

.

Later—after joining Mirai on the public rink because she begged them to, after mostly-successfully ignoring the whispers and stares and scattered glares as people started to notice and recognize him—he rode home through the rain. He could have gone in a car with the rest, gotten a ride to pick his bike up later, but he needed...space. When he was on his bike, he could turn. Any time. Any street. Go find Iruka-sensei, visit the cemetery, drive all the way to fucking Suna.

Sometimes, he couldn't breathe until he felt the rush of those possibilities pushing into him with the rain and the wind—he got cold and wet and breathed really deep, and went all the way home.

Dad was waiting for him with a scowl and a towel, and once he wasn't in danger of dripping all the way there, ordered him straight to a hot shower. Naruto went meekly. Dad would never really make peace with the motorcycle, he knew, but he tried so damn hard that it wasn't asking much to keep his own irritation at bay. Most of the time, anyway.

He showered fast and put on socks so that Dad would be happy that his feet were warm and then he went to the kitchen and ate a huge lunch. Leftovers from breakfast, leftovers from the takeout they'd ordered for dinner the night before, a cup of instant noodles for good measure. He cleaned the kitchen, then set about wandering the house until he found someone to not be alone with.

Just like in the morning, everything was quiet. Mirai had fallen asleep in the car; Hinata had carried her to bed to continue the nap, and they were both fast asleep when Naruto peeked in on them, Mirai clamped like a snoring starfish to Hinata's chest. Dad had come to the kitchen to make sure Naruto was warm and dry and eating and then announced his intention to go nap, too, something he should have done much earlier, and Naruto told him as much. Sasuke was coming over later for an Ultimate Ninja Storm rematch, but for now, it was just Naruto...and his family.

The warm-ache was just starting to turn into irrational-fear-pain when he thought to check the smallest family room—and found mom, wearing toe socks and brandishing a crochet hook like a switchblade as she shouted advice to the contestants of the cooking show blaring from the TV.

"Naruto!" she said, too loud, still in shouting-at-chefs mode. "How did practice go? I saw Hinata-chan for a moment, she looked happy!"

"Yeah," he said. She had an arm out and open, reaching for him, and he went gladly into it, bowing his head down to fit in the curve of her shoulder for a moment. He got a faceful of her hair and it smelled amazing, like it always did, and the pain in his chest dissolved completely.

"Come on, they're gonna eliminate Marina this round but that's 'cause they're totally stupid, everyone knows Brad is the one who needs to go—how he made it past the second round—can you believe he used a braising pan for this dish? What an idiot—"

Her crochet project was tossed aside, the arm she'd reached for him with still firm around his shoulders, and he settled into the couch and her side, breathing carefully so he wouldn't start crying. His body could do things like figure skating just fine, but it must not be completely healed, because it did things like—like producing tears when he wasn't even sad, when there was no reason in the world to cry, and all the control he'd bruised in and bled for when he was half the size he was now just...didn't apply.

Not anymore.

"Naruto, have you ever seen the sea?"

"What, like—the ocean?" The sentence stretched over a yawn. His eyes refocused idly on the screen, where some ad featuring a some dude using his phone to take pictures on a beach made the sudden question make sense. More sense, anyway. "Nah. Unless you guys took me when I was small…"

"We did." Mom's voice was small. Naruto straightened up, shifting away a little, familiar regret twisting. Mom yanked him right back. "Let's go again."

Oh. They could do that. They could. He could find out if the ocean tasted really salty or if people exaggerated that, hear what waves sounded like—"Yeah," he managed, barely, around the hope and wonder thick in his throat. "Yeah, that would—that would be cool—someday—"

"Someday? Your Spring Break's in like, two weeks. We'll go then. Ask your friends if they can go, if you want. I'm texting Hiashi. Can you imagine him in board shorts? I'll be needing sunglasses for sure. We can also just make it just us—the three of us. Or five of us. Or seven. The whole damn village. Whatever sounds good, baby. Hang on—they're announcing the next challenge—"

Barely two minutes in to the return of the cooking competition and his eyelids were failing him, falling shut when even as his brain turned around this new possibility, which flickered into what was starting to feel like and infinite trail of related possibilities—he was free to travel, he had legal ID, he could go anywhere…

"Here," said Mom, tugging and prodding at him until he gave in and lay down, head on her leg. "My shoulder was falling asleep, you great lug. And I need both hands to crochet." She didn't pick up her hook again, though; one hand settled on his arm, a warm gentle forcefield, and the other moved to smooth his forehead, brush through his hair.

Naruto shivered, then settled, melting into the couch, the touch, the ache in his throat.

When he woke up, Dad was there, voice very soft. "—told him to go ahead and get the game set up and I'd get Naruto, but waiting a while longer won't kill him."

The words didn't make much sense at first. He was too warm and too comfortable to figure them out, or move, or even open his eyes. He'd been dreaming about airplanes. But he'd been waiting—waiting for something, or someone—

"...S'suke?" he mumbled, slowly twitching into consciousness. "Sasuke's here?" Dad's face blinked slowly into focus. He looked more rested. He was smiling.

"Sakura too. They're in the game room. You getting up, or should I leave them to Mirai? I think she kept Sasuke busy playing dragons for at least twenty minutes last time."

Both excellent options. Naruto considered, limp and lazy, but he was already awake. He stretched and rolled and was barely a step away from the couch before Dad had stolen his spot.

"Have fun," Dad said happily, one arm already wrapped around Mom, attention turning expectantly to the TV. "Did they wise up and keep Marina? No? Damn. What are we going to watch now?"

Naruto watched them for a moment, leaning into each other in a little pool of lamp- and screen-light. Set off to find Sasuke. Something smelled really good when he passed the kitchen, and he stuck his head around the doorjamb to find Hinata and Raidou, congratulating each other on a perfectly seasoned stew. They were just waiting for the bread to come out.

There'd be time to digitally kick Sasuke's ass at least twice before that. And ten times that after dinner—even more if Sasuke was sleeping over—and he could tell him about the trip to the ocean, find out if there was a chance he could come, maybe mention some of the other things he wanted to see. Mountains so tall they kept snow on all year round, bridges that spanned the distance between countries, waterfalls taller than skyscrapers and places where you could look and walk and scream and run in every direction and just see—like trees and grass and shit. No buildings, no people, maybe not even roads.

Where do you go, if there aren't any roads?

Anywhere, he thought, standing still between rooms full of people he loved, Sasuke's fearsome dragon-growl and Sakura's "Careful! She's so fast, I almost didn't catch her—" and Mirai's delighted screams spilling through the closest door, and his parents easy and laughing in their circle of light, and his own lungs bursting with home, home, home—

I can go anywhere.

He had time.