Chapter Text
Sarada figures that they indeed aren’t in the same past as their past within a few minutes of gathering intel. Boruto’s silence behind her is smug and sure and it makes her want to rip her hair out. Arrogant bastard.
But, more importantly, they’re surrounded.
Minato Namikaze looks a lot like Boruto. They’ve got the same hair, the same blue eyes. Whereas Boruto’s eyes are open, round, and soft, Lord Fourth’s eyes are piercing, calculating, and narrow. It makes sense, in hindsight. She’s just surprised Boruto looks more like his grandpa than his dad. It’s in the way his jaw looks, his hair behaves, and just how blue his eyes are.
She wonders if she looks like papa’s parents.
The office Boruto very helpfully flew into via the window shattered all over the floor looks similar to Lord Ninth’s office. It’s constructed the same, but Lord Fourth’s office is strangely personal. There are tapestries hung on the wall, colored, sheer curtains, and a couch. Fluffy pillows, a rug. Pictures of what she assumes is his family placed on the empty spaces of a bookshelf. Mahogany, oak, and warm. Maybe it was Naruto’s office that was strangely barren.
He’s twirling a Hiraishin kunai, sitting behind his desk with the hat placed beside him. His white coat is pristine, flames dancing at the hem. There aren’t stacks and piles of paperwork threatening to topple off the desk, either. It’s neat, clean, and spotless.
“That was quite rude,” he says. His voice is light, and she doesn’t know enough about him to know if that’s out of character.
“He’s kind of an asshole,” Sarada responds. Boruto glares at the back of her head.
They’re immobilized, frozen, standing in Minato’s office as five ANBU point their weapons at them. The one holding a knife to Sarada’s throat has silver hair. Kakashi’s young, and one of his eye-holes glow red. A seal array sparkles under them.
Boruto could probably get out of this, but unfortunately for her, she doesn’t have magical alien teleportation skills, so she’s at the mercy of Lord Fourth and his killer ANBU.
Boruto scowls, one hand on the hilt of his sword. That makes the ANBU around him antsy, tense with anticipation, “this was your idea, y’know.”
“You’re the one who flew through the window!” she retorts.
“You said we should just talk to him, y’know! What did you want me to do? Schedule an appointment?!”
“You–!”
Minato clears his throat. They stop, fuming. She doesn’t know him at all, but she thinks he’s a little amused if the lilt of his lips has anything to say about it. He looks at her with those piercing eyes, cocks his head, and says, “you’re an Uchiha.”
Sarada can’t nod, but she hopes her fiery gaze conveys enough. Boruto mutters, with a bite, “wow, what gave that away?”
Her earrings feel hot. She blushes. Minato chuckles, then continues, “I don’t recognize you. Now, I don’t claim to know everybody from the Village personally, but I think I’d remember you if you were one of mine,” his eyes flint to her headband. Then, to Boruto, “you too.”
“Yeah, here’s the thing, gramps,” Boruto says. He’s unaffected and unbothered by the fact that he’s surrounded in enemy territory. There’s a sword poking into his side. Sarada can’t help but feel sweaty with Kakashi’s knife pressing into the skin of her throat. “We’re dimension hopping time travelers. We messed with an Uzushio seal and it brought us here.”
“Actually, you messed with an Uzushio seal,” Sarada corrects. It draws Minato’s attention to her like honey, “I said, hey, Boruto, maybe we shouldn’t mess with that, and you said chill out, you worry too much, and activated the seal. Now we’re here.”
Boruto rolls his eyes, “semantics, y’know,” he cuts off Sarada’s indignant scoff, “we’re from the future, but not your future, ‘cause in our future, you’re dead right now at this time. In our time, all of the Uchiha are dead except for her dad and her dad won’t say why, so she wanted us to stay so she can mingle with her family members and learn stuff.”
Sarada burns bright red. Minato watches them for a long moment. She tries, “I have a sketch of the seal in my journal…” a pause. He doesn’t react, but he does raise a thin, blond brow, “It’s in my pack. Black leather, with a pen in the binding.”
Minato thumbs his blade, throws it up into the air and catches it. It glints, “you are aware how of ridiculous this sounds, right?”
Sarada can feel Boruto glare at her. She doesn’t let it affect her to the best of her ability, “I know you’re a seals and space-time master,” she reasons, “Your signature jutsu is based on the theory that space and time are not intertwined. I know you and Uzumaki Kushina were the pioneers of Uzushio-based sealing arts in Konoha, and I know that this can’t be the most outlandish thing you can think of.”
Aliens are real. That’s a heck of a lot weirder than time travel.
“You wanted to stay,” Minato says in lieu of a response, “you two can go back, then?”
“If a seal brought us here, a seal can put us back,” Boruto says. He omits that he can casually time and dimension hop for obvious reasons, “we figured that you’d like to take a stab at it. Neither of us really know much about Uzushio seals.”
Minato smiles at Boruto. It’s a very neutral smile, “I suppose you’re my grandson, then?”
Boruto pauses, eyes widening. His reaction confirms Minato’s suspicion and he leans back in his chair, still fiddling with the kunai. His’s smile turns a little smug, and Sarada’s brow ticks at the very familiar expression.
Boruto creases his brow, “how’d you figure it out so quick?”
Minato snorts, “I’d never name my kid Bolt.” Then adds on a sly, “y’know.”
Boruto glares, and Sarada huffs out a little a laugh. Minato continues, “besides,” he twists side to side in his wheely chair, “you called me gramps, and a kid that came from my wife and I would never activate an unknown seal, nor would they make an entrance like you did.”
“It was a pretty flashy entrance, all things considered,” Boruto snarks, scowling. Minato laughs.
He points his Hirashin kunai at Boruto, smiling, “good one. I’ll give you that.” Minato turns to her, the point of his knife shining, “your turn. Now you…I have some guesses, but you’ve been pretty tight lipped. First though, Hound, can you get her journal?”
Hound shoves his hand in the pouch strapped to her thigh, knife still pressing into her throat. She wishes she could move so she could smack him right upside his stupid head. After a bit of rustling through her weapons– he’s totally making a mental note of what she has, he pulls out her journal. He flips through it lightning quick, checking to make sure it’s safe, and then tosses it to Minato.
In lands on Minato’s desk, and he rolls forward to open it. He’s flips through it leisurely, stops at a page that she knows is not the seal, and grins. Looks up at Boruto, “she thinks you’re pretty cute.”
Sarada blushes a furious red, “EXCUSE ME?!”
Minato laughs, waving his hand, “I’m kidding, sorry. It’s a recipe for strawberry cake. I might actually give this to my wife, it looks pretty good.”
She’s hot all over, practically glowing. She doesn’t know what kind of face Boruto is making behind her, or what kind of face he made behind her, and her stomach twists. His blue eyes burn through her ruby skin, and she plans to crawl into a hole and die after all of this is over.
She’s decided. Minato Namikaze is her least favorite Hokage ever. He’s the patient zero of blond-haired blue-eyed assholes.
Minato hums as he continues flipping through her book. He snickers at something, cringes at something else, and looks very thoughtfully at a few pages. A few are diary entries, a few random theory and jutsu equations. Most of it is sharingan record.
“Boruto,” Sarada starts through gritted teeth. Minato’s brows raise at an entry, and he’s trying not to laugh, and she knows it’s the one where ChoCho convinced her to shove toilet paper in her bra to impress a date.
“Yeah?” he replies, quiet.
“Please kill me.”
He chuckles from behind her. Minato huffs too, a smile playing at his lips as he reaches the seal. His expression doesn’t change at all as he drinks in all of the intricate kanji. The kunai he’s toying with makes tiny scratches across his desk.
After a few tense moments of silence, Minato makes a little noise. “Wow,” he says, looking up at them, “that is one astronomical fuck up.”
Boruto glares, and Sarada’s vindicated. She puffs up with pride, and Boruto hears the I told you so in her frozen body.
Minato closes the journal and looks up at her, “all right then, little lady. Introduce yourself.”
Her flush still hasn’t quite faded, “sir. Uchiha Sarada. Main house.”
Minato laughs, “Sarada? Salad? First Bolt, and now Salad?”
Sarada glares at him as she colors harder. So much for pale skin. Boruto snorts behind her. She swears an ANBU giggles, too.
“Main house,” Minato continues, analyzing her features. “I have to say, you really don’t look Main house at all. You’ve got a round face and cute red chubby cheeks. That’s not very Uchiha.”
At this rate, she’s going to pass out with how much blood has rushes into her head. At least now she knows that sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a porcelain nose is trademark Uchiha. She’s always looked more like her mama. Until she glares, and then it’s all her papa. Sarada needs to know if her penchant for becoming a literal tomato is Uchiha-related or her-related.
Speaking of, “that glare, though,” Minato says, unbothered with how he’s embarrassed her. He stands, and walks towards them. Boruto stiffens, and in turn, so do the ANBU. “It’s got Uchiha written all over it,” and pauses next to her. Minato is tall, and piercing. He reaches behind her head and rubs the tails of her headband between his fingers before undoing the knot. It falls free, and so does her pixie. “So,” he chirps, cocking his head as he flips it over and inspects the back of the nameplate, “is it your mom or dad? Who’s not from the Clan?”
Sarada can’t turn to face him with the seal locking her in place. Her throat bobs, “my mom.”
He hums, tosses the headband on to his desk and addresses Boruto with a wave of his hand, “I’m not going to hurt you two. You’re telling the truth, the Uzushio seal proves it. I can’t have you walk around my Village all willy-nilly though, so–” he pats Sarada on her shoulder with a friendly smile. “–I’m just going to mark you guys.” He pauses, stares at her. Then grins, snaps his fingers, “you’re Sasuke’s kid! I knew I recognized that chakra from somewhere.”
He doesn’t wait for Sarada to confirm or deny it, and walks up to Boruto. He’s taller than him too. He pats his cheek in an affectionate way before slipping his headband off and flipping it around.
“There,” Minato says, bright as the sun. He tosses that one next to Sarada’s, “now, if you do anything weird, I’ll be able to kill you faster than you can say Yellow Flash, okay? I can feel if you try and tamper with it, too! You’ll get your headbands and general items back after a brief period of supervision.”
“You’re throwing us in a cell,” Boruto says, flat.
Minato shakes his head with an easy smile, “you guys can stay in a room here for a teensy bit while I talk to some people and figure out a rough gameplan. No need for theatrics! Fall back.”
The ANBU disappear, and Sarada can breathe again. The tense line in Boruto’s shoulders relax. In an instant, the seal array underneath them dissolves, and her skin tingles. She inhales. Exhales. Boruto is at her side faster than she can blink.
“Theatrics,” Boruto repeats. Raises a blond brow as Minato watches, “you’re pretty arrogant, y’know.”
Light as a feather, “you get it from somewhere, don’t you?” laughs, “though, I have to say, I didn’t think Kushina’s verbal tick would carry through two generations.”
Boruto doesn’t respond to that. Sarada doesn’t know what to make of it.
Minato walks back over to his desk, picks up her journal again, and says, “Hound, can you oversee them? There should be a conference room open, somewhere. Check with my secretary.”
Kakashi appears, then disappears just like that. Minato sits back down on his chair and puts his feet up, cracking open her journal. He pulls the pen out of the binding rings, too, and starts writing. After a few awkward moments where no one moves, he pulls the book down and raises his brows, “do you two need a formal invitation? Shoo.”
Sarada glares as his hand makes quick, dark strokes in her personal journal. Kakashi escorts them out, and then the door slams shut with a bang. Kakashi disappears again, and Boruto stretches, and then Kakashi reappears.
He’s making her motion sick.
“Follow me,” he says. His voice is distorted under the mask.
“Minato-sama better not be messing up my equations,” Sarada grumbles under her breath. She’s got a tick in her forehead as they walk down the hallway, “those took me hours, Boruto. Hours.”
Boruto rolls his eyes, “the Fourth Hokage has your personal diary, and you’re worried about your jutsu equations?”
She sputters, “what do you think I’m writing in there?!”
“I don’t freaking know? Old man yaoi?”
The Tower looks the same, all finished wood and smooth tiles. Kakashi leads them to a door that says Conference Room C-1, and twists the doorknob to let them in.
“Why do you think I’m some sort of pervert?!” Sarada whisper-yells.
Boruto shoots her a look, “doesn’t ChoCho write fanfiction of that TV romantasy series? I’m not gonna believe that all of that is PG, y’know.”
“You– that–” she blushes a horrific red. ChoCho very rarely writes anything PG, and Sarada unfortunately knows first hand, “her activities have nothing to do with me!”
“Uh huh, yeah.”
The room is dark, and lets slivers of sunlight in through the large windows. It’s surprisingly modern for the era they’re in, and the sun sends it’s last rays of light emanating from behind the horizon. The moon is visible, and Boruto turns away from that.
There’s a long, round, wooden table in the center of the room. Chairs placed around it. A table pushed up to the far wall, with a few cups and an empty pitcher of water sitting on top of it. A chalkboard. A clock in the corner.
Kakashi stands at the door and does his best to become a statue.
Boruto watches him for a moment before grimacing and turning to Sarada. She stops admiring the view of Konoha, stretching long and wide with colored rooftops and glimmering lights. No more flashing buildings, no hum of the Thunder Rail.
“Well,” he says in the silence, “we’re not in a cell.”
“Yeah,” she replies, “guess I was right.”
He rolls his eyes, turns to lean across the window, crossing his arms. His sword clinks, and the moonlight illuminates his profile. Sarada takes a few steps back, pulling out a chair and sinking into it.
She leans back, tipping her head, “that seemed too easy.”
Boruto shrugs with a shoulder, “isn’t he supposed to be a super genius? You’re obviously an Uchiha, and I’m obviously related to him, y’know.”
“Still,” Sarada says, looking at the ceiling. She counts the tiles, “he didn’t even ask to see my sharingan. I mean, what if we were like, evil, or something?”
“Kakashi is right there, Sarada,” Boruto says, dry. Hound just stares at them, and Boruto continues, “besides, we’re not evil. Besides besides, he’s got a seal on us, now. There really isn’t any other contingency better than a mark from the Yellow Flash himself.”
“Chakra cuffs,” she suggests, “the kind that–”
“Are you trying to give them ideas?” Boruto snaps.
“No!” Sarada retorts, lifting her head to glare at him, “I’m just saying! If I was Hokage, I’d take more precautions.”
Boruto scoffs, “well, you’re not.”
And that stings.
Sarada doesn’t respond. She lets her head flop back down on to the back of the chair and continues staring at the ceiling. Her gut turns, and her chest tightens. She laces her hands together on top of her stomach.
They’re shrouded in silence. She passes the time by wondering what the Uchiha are going to be like. She wants to meet her papa and mama as kids, too. She wants to meet her uncle, and their cousins, and her grandma and grandpa. She wonders if she’ll like them. She wonders if they’ll like her.
Papa had a lot of stories. That’s all her family ever was.
Boruto groans a little bit after fifteen minutes passes. He’s antsy, and he blurts, “are you mad at me?”
Her mood sours, “why would I be mad at you?”
“Can you just answer the question?” he whines, walking over to her. He leans forward until his head blocks her sight and she’s left looking at his blue eyes and dangling hair. They ripple like the tide, “that means you are, y’know.”
Sarada sighs, “can you just leave me alone?”
Silence falls again as Boruto pulls away and walks around the room. His boots make rhythmic clunking sounds, and she focuses on it. Like drops of water every step he takes. Thump, thump, thump.
“You’re close, y’know,” he says after five or so minutes. “Dad just wants someone older.”
Sarada exhales an irritated sigh and shoots up in her chair, “he keeps telling me I need more experience!” her nostrils flare and she bangs her fist on the handle of the chair, “I don’t know what that means!”
Boruto shrugs, “just means you’re too young.”
“That’s bullshit!” she cries. “I’ve done all of the stuff you’re required to do before you become Hokage! I’ve gotten all of the relevant promotions, I’ve hit the mission quota, I’ve done all of the clerical training too. I’m certified to practice law, goddamnit! He’s going to pick Konohamaru-sensei over me, I just know it.”
She’s heaving by the end of it, expression twisted. Her emotions fill her torso and leave her fists blanched. They clench her jacket. The fabric creases, dark. Boruto keeps his eyes down and walks. Kakashi, in the corner, doesn’t do or say anything.
Sarada swallows, then continues, “Lord Fourth became Hokage at twenty-two, and Lord Ninth at twenty-seven. Why can’t I be his successor, and then inaugurated once I get older? I’m strong enough, everyone knows I am!”
“You’ve got time, y’know,” Boruto says, shuffling. He’s never been good at the feelings stuff. Being raised to be a weapon and then being that weapon has probably stunted something in him, “you’re not gonna drop dead at thirty. Konohamaru-sensei taught you, so they probably want you for eleventh.”
“But I’m good enough now,” Sarada says. She’d be pleading if she had any less sense of pride. He looks at her.
Time doesn’t mean anything to him, nor does space. If he was mortal like she was, perhaps he’d understand her desperation better. Maybe that’s not the case. Sarada’s always fought like she had something to prove ever since Sasuke started coming back at semi-regular intervals. Maybe it’s just that.
Her eyes are black. Not black like coal, or stone, but black like darkness. Black like the ripple of raven wings. They framed with lashes as equally black.
“So is Konohamaru-sensei,” Boruto says. It’s not the answer she wants to hear, but it’s the truth. They both appreciate the fact that neither of them ever sugarcoat anything. He knows, she knows, and he knows that she knows he knows. “You’re only seventeen, Sarada.”
She looks away, rigid. It’s only after a few tense moments that she exhales, and melts back into the chair. She doesn’t say anything further, and Boruto slides a chair out and sits as well. He puts his feet up on the table.
“Do you have a book?” Sarada asks Kakashi. He’s still, before he reaches into his pouch and tosses her something.
They pass the time like that, until the sun is gone and the moon shines brilliant white. Konoha’s clear, tonight, and Sarada abandons her reading halfway through to admire the stars lighting up the sky. This Konoha’s light pollution isn’t as bad as their Konoha’s, so it’s easier to name constellations in the sky. She can see hints of red peek through the dark, whispers of nebulae and distant galaxies.
It’s not that the book Kakashi’s given her is boring– far from that, really. She looks past the ten page sex scenes and dives into the complex relationships and passion between the entourage of characters. The writing style is a little more old-timey than she likes It’s still a good story.
It’s just that the Village is beautiful, and it’s filled with people of her Clan. She wishes papa were here. He’d be able to see his loved ones again. She’ll tell him all about it when she gets back.
Boruto dozes in the chair across from her. His chest rises and falls, head turned to the side so that he drools on his shoulder.
Sarada watches him. Not in a creepy way. She supposes she's keeping watch. It's late, past their bedtime, and Sarada has never felt tired missing sleep until halfway through the next day where she just powers down. Boruto is not like that. He gets grouchy and drifty and takes naps whenever he can.
The hairs on her arm stands, and her heart pounds. She kicks Boruto awake just as three sharp knocks sound on the wooden door behind where Kakashi stands. Boruto wakes suddenly. He was asleep a second ago, and now he’s not, and his blue eyes are bright and alert.
He wipes the corner of his mouth. Kakashi opens the door.
Minato enters, waves, and smiles in that cheery way of his, “hope the stay was comfortable!”