Uchiha Sarada knows she doesn't have the most conventional of families.

Her mother is the most respected medic nin in Konoha, so she's gone a lot of the time. She still makes time for Sarada, yeah, but Sarada knows she's exhausted by the time she does manage to get home and doesn't want to push, so she's gotten pretty good at keeping herself entertained. Kind of a requirement when you're basically living on your own by the age of ten.

Her dad isn't any help in that regard. He isn't around much, never has been, so Sarada's never really expected him to be. He does come by every now and again and it's nice enough, she supposes, but awkward too.

They don't know how to talk to each other. It's not like they have a history or anything, she might be his kid but it's not—he's got history with her mom, obviously, and for some reason they never stuck but her mom is still friendly when the infamous Uchiha Sasuke comes around. Always has been. Friendly enough to give their daughter the family name of the father she never sees, and her mom's a good judge of character so Sarada figures her dad must be a nice person down where it counts.

So she has a mother and a father, and she knows that's more than a lot of people have, even if hers are both absent for different reasons.

And then there's her uncle.

He's the only member of her family she can remember being solidly there. Even from the time she was a little kid. He's present in her earliest memories, hovering in the corners of her vision.

When she was eight or so she got sick of all that hovering and finally asked him straight out.

"So who're you?"

He'd looked surprised. "You can see me?"

Sarada had rolled her eyes. "Just because I have glasses doesn't mean I'm blind. Moron."

"That wasn't what I meant," he'd said. "Most people can't see me at all, even if they do have excellent eyesight. But I suppose yours would be better than most." He'd tilted his head to the side, something sad in his eyes. "You are an Uchiha, after all."

"Haruno," she'd snapped (because this was back when she'd still cared that people gave her odd looks whenever the name Uchiha was mentioned, back when she had tried to rebel by insisting on her mother's name and not her father's, but it had never stuck). "Haruno Sarada. And you still haven't told me who you are."

He'd looked taken aback. "I'm—I suppose I am your uncle. My name is Itachi."

And that…that had been a surprise. "You're Uchiha Itachi? The Itachi?"

"'I'm not sure I'm 'the' anything," he'd said slowly, but she'd cut him off.

"We had a whole hour about you during history class. And my—my dad, he takes me to see your grave sometimes." When he bothers, she didn't say, because her father might make a point of coming around every year on the anniversary of the Uchiha Massacre but it's always been even odds whether he'll decide to bring her along.

Itachi's face had softened. "I see."

Then, "It's nice to finally meet you, Sarada."

And that was how she'd put a name to a new relative. Itachi doesn't just hang around all the time, and she's glad for that (Sarada is a girl who needs her space), but somehow he's always there when she needs him to be.

Like now.

She slams the sliding door harder than she meant to; it makes an ugly slamming noise behind her but she doesn't turn around, kicking her shoes off carelessly and tossing her bag aside. She storms into the empty kitchen and starts yanking cabinet doors open, looking for—

She doesn't even remember what she's looking for. All at once she stops, anger drained, and slumps against the counter. Blinks hard and tries not to cry.

"Sarada?"

Sarada doesn't start, hasn't done for ages, just rubs her eyes and curses herself for getting caught.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," she snaps. "Stupid."

Itachi raises an eyebrow. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," she answers.

And it is nothing. Or it should be, at least, and that's why she's so mad at herself. Her mom is stuck on an overnight shift at the infirmary because of some "incident" at Ichiraku's and her dad has gone AWOL again and she wouldn't care, except—

"It's my birthday," she blurts, and immediately feels embarrassed because she sounds like such a kid. She's—well, she's eleven now, and that's old enough to act like an adult about birthdays. Right?

So what if no one is around. She should be used to that. She is used to that. What had she been expecting?

Her eyes are hot and wet again. She feels like such an idiot.

A soft pressure at her forehead, barely there, like a breath.

Sarada looks up, startled, to see Itachi's hand retreating and a rueful look on his face. He's never tried to touch her before.

"Sorry," he says. "I don't think you realize how much like your father you are, sometimes."

It's not exactly what she wants to hear. But it makes her want to be honest, for some reason.

"I should be better than this," she mutters. "I shouldn't care. This is so dumb."

They're both quiet for a few minutes while Sarada sniffles and tries to get herself back under control. That's the nice thing about having a ghost for an uncle, she supposes—there's no chance he'll be able to blab about her crying.

"Do you like dango?" Itachi asks suddenly. Sarada squints at him through her now-foggy glasses.

"Yes," she says, suspicious. "Why?"

"Do you know how to make it?"

Even more suspicious, "No."

"I could teach you, if you like." Her surprise must show on her face, because Itachi smiles. "I was never a skilled cook, but I was always fond of dango. So I learned. Frivolous, in retrospect, but…"

His voice trails off. Sarada considers.

"You're sure you remember how?" she asks cautiously. "You've been dead for ages. I don't want my mom coming home and finding out I burned the house down."

A choked noise comes out of Itachi's throat. Sarada's startled to realize it might have been a laugh.

"My memory remains intact. I promise."

She thinks about it some more, and then she shrugs.

"Okay. As long as you're okay with me eating it all by myself."

Itachi shakes his head, but he's still smiling. "You are my favorite niece, you know," he says solemnly. Sarada snorts.

"I'm your only niece," she points out.

"All the same."

She knows she's blushing, and she hates it. Blushing makes her look like a tomato or something equally gross.

"You're mushy, Itachi-oji," she mumbles, taking her glasses off and cleaning them on her shirt. Then she straightens up. "So how do I start?"

Uchiha Sarada knows she doesn't have the most conventional of families. But they all love her in their own weird ways, so she supposes that's all right.