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Sasori suspected something was afoot the moment he spotted the faint dusting of what he later surmised to be flour on her shoulder. Of course his first thought was that the substance was wall plaster--his wife didn’t cook . Not unless it involved prepackaged food like instant miso or a rice cooker. Therefore no one could blame him, not even himself for overlooking the possibility that it was indeed, flour. In his mind it was more likely to be anthrax.
Instead he’d found himself wondering what, or rather who had pissed his wife off all while bemoaning the potential thrashing he’d missed, or at least one he could have provoked with the right words. ‘I should just follow her around.’ It’d probably be more entertaining than the other various tasks he moved through each day. ‘I don’t even care about national security and I could work on chemical compounds at home...’ He’d thought, tsking at her. “You’re late.” By about an hour, but they’d both agreed--or rather he’d coerced her into a smaller workload.
If you had your way we’d both be home 24/7. Sakura had said, scrunching her nose at him when he’d asked her to be home by 4 and keep her weekends clear. Yes. Sasori had replied before pointing out that he would tolerate one additional family meal in return and after some bartering on her part he’d also agreed to keep his insults to a minimum--whatever that meant. ‘Its five now.’ It was fortunate he’d decided not to make tempura, fried foods simply didn’t keep well when left to sit. “You’re late.” he’d complained, one hand balancing a plate over her head the other circling over her waist.
“Something came up, I was busy.” Sakura said as she tried her best to peek at what was for dinner, sadly she didn’t have a prayer and had to resort to pouting. Even if he wasn’t that much taller than her, his arm currently was. “Is it tempura?” It didn’t smell like it, but she hoped nonetheless.
“Tempura is for people who show up on time.” Sasori groused, dropping a kiss against her hair nonetheless. “I hope there was at least some blood.” he’d just have to imagine it.
Sakura blinked at him and then after a second nodded. “Oh there was.” She had the Band-Aid to prove it but she resisted the urge to wiggle her pinky at him as proof.
The day after that she came home late again, he’d narrowed his eyes and Sakura had smiled sheepishly. “I had to stop by Granny Chiyo’s.” She said, and then stuffed her mouth full of noodles.
Sasori noted to himself that she ate much less than she normally would have. She had no seconds that night.
On the third day, he’d glared at her from across the table. “Chiyo’s again.” Sakura explained, frowning at the plain, grilled chicken and broccoli that was set before her. It was boring, it tasted ok but it was probably her least favorite of all the things he’d ever made. ‘I can’t complain.’ She thought, shrugging it off and picking up a diagonally cut slice of meat with her chopsticks.
Sasori had begun to suspect something foul. ‘Is she cheating on me?’ he’d wondered, studying her less than enthused face as she chewed. She smelt like her usual self, her clothes were the same ones she’d left in. In all, Sakura didn’t look like someone who was having an affair, she was too calm and carried on with the same amount of affection as she had before the change in routine. ‘What if my ability to read her has become skewed?’ That alarmed him and he proceeded to mull over what his course of action would be if she were. ‘Kill the other man obviously, but then what?’ Disappearing the body and going on as if nothing had happened seemed like the best option, he wouldn’t have to resort to begging or idle threats that way.
The fourth day, in an effort to put his mind at ease he called around to the bodyguards and spies--scouts if he wanted to use a gentler term and asked, rather nonchalantly about his wife’s whereabouts. Honorable Lady Chiyo’s they said and Sakura repeated the destination when she came back later in the evening, in reward for the truth Sasori had magnanimously refrained from dumping a modicum of hot chili oil into the stir-fry at the end. ‘Because what if she’s not and by torturing her with food all it serves to do is fulfil the very thing I feared?’ It would be something like Monzaemon or Shakespeare would have written-- and while he appreciated that in theory, he’d much prefer it to stay out of his life.
Later in the night, while Sakura slept he scratched at the substance clinging to her discarded shirt with a fingernail, attempting to suss out what it was. ‘I could stick it in a mass-spectrometer.’ That would tell him it's exact chemical makeup. ‘Yes.’ Sasori decided that was precisely what he would do.
Day five came and he showed up to his Grandmother’s house at 4pm--If there was a pattern, he’d break it. ‘She couldn’t possibly be using this house to meet with another man.’ As much as he hated her, Chiyo would never allow it and such a thing would be far too diabolical for someone like Sakura, who’d gasped, absolutely shocked when he’d made out with her in her childhood bedroom. My parents sleep in this house! She’d whispered. We can’t possibly!
They could but more importantly they did. ‘Among other things.’ But all of it had taken quite a bit of coaxing on his part. Luckily, Sasori was very persuasive when he needed to be. ‘If only I could persuade my family to die and stop sucking up air and more importantly Sakura’s valuable time.’ He’d thought, slipping through the front door.
Chiyo did not seem particularly surprised to see him stalking down her hallway like death’s wannabe incarnation. “My, my.” She said, taking the hot kettle of the stove. “If I’d known you were coming I would have prepared something.”
Sasori eyed the two cups placed at the table, Ebizō was not currently in residence, he’d gone fishing along the coast a few days prior. “It seems to me that you already knew you’d be having company.” Across the wide counter was strewn a variety of ingredients and implements. “Planning on a late dinner?” The wheels in his head began to turn all the harder.
“More of a snack, I was thinking tea biscuits...scones perhaps.” Chiyo hummed and measured out a good dose of loose leaf, jasmine tea into the strainer.
“You should be careful standing around open ovens.” Sasori advised after folding himself into a nice dark corner, it was the perfect place to sulk and anyone entering the room would not see him at first. “Someone might mistake you for a witch and shove you in.”
Chiyo gave a good natured cackle. “I’ll worry myself about that when there are children to fatten up toddling around.”
It wasn’t a minute later that Sakura came shuffling into his sight, feet bedecked in those silly Black-Cat slippers his grandmother had bought for her. “Okay, I’m here!” She was in the middle of pulling her hair back, tie clenched between her teeth. “Lets get c-”
“Just in time dear, you should grab yourself a third cup!” The old woman said, cutting off anything else Sakura might have said.
Sakura’s brow furrowed for a moment, before as if prepossessing some sort of 6th sense her eyes skittered to the exact corner her husband was lurking. “Oh!” She exclaimed. “What are you doing...standing over there?” She laughed, somewhat nervously.
“Am I not allowed to visit my own grandmother?” Sasori seethed, eyes thin. He hated secrets, the only one who was supposed to have them was him and he especially hated not knowing what Sakura was up to. ‘That's alright,’ He excelled at founding out the things people didn’t want him to know. ‘It won’t be long.’ He’d put the substance in the mass-spec and sometime tomorrow he’d have the results.
“Of course you are.” Sakura forewent collecting herself a cup to sidle up against his side, nuzzling against his shoulder like an affectionate cat. “In fact I wish you’d visit her more! She’d probably enjoy that too.” She was all smiles like nothing was wrong.
“Yes, I’m sure she’s eager to get in a few more hours of torture for the week--Its not as if she has much else going for her.” Betrayal. That was the only word to describe what his body did in that moment because Sasori had not willingly relaxed. His body didn’t seem to care if his mind was racing with a thousand possibilities, it just liked the feel of her pressed against him and the way that she smelled. ‘What if this is all some ploy to make me spend more time with the old bag?’ That made more sense than an affair. ‘What an absolutely infernal plot that would be…’He was not sure if it warranted a spiteful sort of respect or not, it wasn’t as if he disliked Sakura’s mischievous side but he certainly didn’t appreciate the turmoil or the idea of being tag-teamed by her and his grandmother.
They ended up sitting at the table together, drinking from the same cup as the old woman puttered around the kitchen. ‘Odd’ Sasori thought, watching as she carefully measured each ingredient. “Have you finally gotten so senile you’ve forgotten the correct ratios?” She’d made them so often their method was practically engraved into her grey matter.
Sakura pinched him in the thigh for that one. “Be nice.” She mumbled against his neck, breath warm and fragrant from the tea. Given the angle, he could be forgiven for missing the look of intense concentration on his wife’s face. ‘I can memorize this.’ After all, It had to be simpler than remembering all the bones and muscles in the body
‘Be nice.’ Sasori thought bitterly as he refused to give into his leg’s urge to flinch. ‘There is a conspiracy afoot and I’m supposed to be nice.’ It was an awfully tall ask, no matter how good it felt when she snuggled against him.
“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be precise. I thought you’d appreciate that best of all.” Chiyo tutted and then after a turn or two of the cookie batter she beckoned Sakura. “My arm’s just not as good as it used to be, but yours are nice and sturdy. Be a dear and make sure it's all mixed up.”
Sakura was more than happy to lend a hand much to his disappointment. The side she’d been pressed against felt cold as she lingered by the stove even after she’d finished her assigned task. Watching with rapt, green eyes as small parcels were spooned out onto a baking sheet. Sasori simply assumed that she was hungry and wishing they were done already. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t ask to have some of the dough.’ He frowned on her doing that and usually set aside a mixture excluding the eggs simply for safety purposes.
“Shouldn’t be long.” Chiyo said after they were placed into the oven. “350 for 12 minutes.” She shooed Sakura back into her seat.
Repeating the numbers and measurements in her head, Sakura nodded, refusing to be distracted by the smell of baking sweets. “Right.”
Sasori attempted to discern what the two of them had been meeting for over the last few days. ‘Of course it could be nothing at all.’ He watched as Sakura attempted to nibble at a still hot cookie, blowing on it when it stung her lips. She liked his grandmother and vice-versa, they could sit in silence and be perfectly content. ‘Or chatter about the old times.’ Whatever that might constitute; his youth, Sakura’s or his grandmother’s.
“What exactly would you like for your birthday?” His grandmother had asked as they were preparing to leave. “It’s tomorrow, in case you’ve forgotten.”
‘That's right.’ Sasori usually did his best to forget the passing of another year. ‘The fact that one is another day closer to death has never seemed particularly celebratory to me.’ Still, there was really only one thing he could think of wanting in that moment. “Just Sakura, alone.”
Chiyo smiled so widely her eyes turned into crescents. “I see.”
“I’m surprised that you do given your advanced age.” Sasori sniped. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you one day mistake your reflection for Ebizō and start trying to converse with it.” His wife sighed in the background. “Girl, It's not as if I’m insulting her, I’m simply describing her.” It wasn’t his fault there wasn’t anything nice to say.
“Sometimes I’m amazed that he managed to crawl out of the dungeon and get married in the first place.” Chiyo chuckled. “I suppose I owe you an apology for not using stronger chains, but it can never be said that he lacks tenacity.”
Sakura groaned at the both of them and shook her head, one last cookie caught between her teeth as she mumbled her farewells, bending to hug her in-law.
“I always treasure the time I don’t spend with you.” Sasori said in parting and effectively dodged the pinch Sakura had aimed for his arm. ‘Once a day is more than enough.’ he thought, wondering if there would be a coin sized bruise on his leg by the time they got home.
There was.
On the 6th day--his birthday as his grandmother had so graciously reminded him, Sasori showed up at her house expecting his wife to follow as she’d done the previous days. “Shouldn’t you be at home?” Chiyo wondered after a long period of silence had passed, blowing the steam over the rim of her cup. “I thought you wanted to be with Sakura, alone.” She practically mocked him with the smile on her face. “If I’d known you wanted to spend the day with your granny I would have made cake.”
Sasori looked to his watch for the 7th time. ‘Its five.’ And she wasn’t there. His teeth grit. “I’ve had perfectly wonderful evenings. This was not one of them.” He said, rising from his seat.
“Seems a bit early to be making that judgement.” His grandmother said, wiggling her old, likely arthritic fingers at him in parting.
He went home, skipped parking in the garage and went directly in through the front, slamming the door shut behind him. In the midst of his pique mood it took Sasori about ten seconds to realize the house smelled like someone had been cooking. ‘If I walk into that kitchen and there is another man cooking...’ Another man in his apron for that matter...well, in that moment he just didn’t have words to describe what he would do other than red. ‘Lots of it.’ He paced across the floor silently, keeping an ear out for any unfamiliar noises.
“Oh, ow!” Sakura squealed from somewhere behind the kitchen door.
Sasori swung the door open abruptly and practically pounced into the room. It was a mess. There was flour everywhere, dishes strewn in the sink. His eyes flitted over the room until he caught sight of Sakura standing by the oven, wearing his apron. “Ah.” The synapses in his brain fired away and all became clear. The tense muscles he’d been plagued with throughout the week finally gave way.
Gasping at the sound, Sakura nearly dropped the baking sheet she’d been holding and turned with her burnt hand still pressed against her mouth. “Happy birthday?” She offered the creations she’d been laboring over with a timid smile.
Flour was splashed across her cheek and down the front of her borrowed apron and the cookies were far from perfect. They were about 3 shades away from being scorched, more brown than golden. ”This is what you’ve been doing all week?” Sasori was more than relieved at the realization, thoughts of murder and suicide laid to rest for the time being.
“I wanted to make steamed buns--The lotus ones. I know you like them...but the process is way more complicated than cookies.” Sakura explained, gnawing at her bottom lip. “But if you give me more time, I’ll keep practicing. Next year for sure.” She just needed the right teacher, one with enough patience for her mishaps.
It didn’t particularly matter to him if they tasted good, or they tasted like charcoal. What mattered to Sasori was that she’d spent days on end trying to make him something. “I don’t doubt it.” He said, tapping one of the confections on the sheet, testing its temperature. Finding it cool enough he risked sampling a bite. “The taste isn’t bad.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Then why are you frowning like that?” Sakura pouted as she scrutinized his face, sliding the rest of the tray onto the counter.
“This is my normal face. You should know that by now.” Sasori insisted, but the truth of it was he now had a new concern. ‘What if she gets so good at cooking she doesn’t need me anymore?’ He simply couldn’t have that. ‘That,’ He decided as he checked over her hand, frowning at the red mark he found. ‘Is a concern for another day.’ Pressing his lips against her palm, he gave a relieved sigh and a heartfelt sigh. “Thank you.”
Sakura thought he was thanking her for the cookies. “You’re welcome. It's the least I can do when I’m so very frond of you.” She teased, borrowing her father’s use of puns.
Sasori looked her dead in the eyes, face still pressed against her hand and vowed with a perfectly stiff face. ”I only have pies for you.”
Later that evening the phone rang. “It's some intern for you.” Sakura, half asleep and draped over him held out the phone as she yawned.
Annoyed at the interruption of their rest and respite he took the phone, pressing it to his ear. “Speak.” A second passed and then Sasori rolled his eyes. “Of course it's flour you dimwit.” And hung up the phone, tossing it somewhere across the room.
“What was flour?” Sakura wondered, nose nudging against his ear.
Sasori decided not to answer that, it wasn’t as if he could say it was nothing important. She’d made him cookies with that flour and they were very important.