Chapter Text
Sparrow had never learned how to read.
It was an inconvenience, sometimes; all of her reports had to be given orally, or signed in the standard Anbu code when her throat was too unused to language. If she was given leave, she would have taught herself - for as long as she could remember, she'd been gathering information and various skillsets, and this seemed like a glaring oversight.
But it was a calculated one, so she would not argue.
She had worked a wide variety of missions, the majority of which were undercover; she had been in small farm-towns and large, bustling centres and seedy brothels and the occasional palace. She was not of the calibre of her peers, and doubted that she might ever surpass them.
(It didn't hurt to think about. It was more fact than feeling.)
But sitting outside the window of the Academy, looking down at the unfamiliar words on the pages below her; Sparrow, against all of her training, felt almost inadequate.
(She would never acknowledge the emotion out loud, but there was no purpose to denying it within herself.)
Her mission: follow Team Seven on their first expedition outside the walls. It was simple, at least; her superiors did not trust the unstable Copy-Nin with the safety of the last Uchiha, the Jinchuuriki, and the Hyuuga heir. (Or his ability to ensure the safety of everyone else around them.)
Sparrow wasn’t particularly surprised when she scouted out the Demon Brothers, and she let them attack her charges without interference. Hatake Kakashi - hopefully - had a plan.
And he did. The Brothers were after the bridge-builder - really? No way, Sparrow thought dryly - and Hatake, at least, was aware of how their mission had changed.
She smothered her flicker of irritation in a practiced move when the Jinchuuriki shoved a kunai through his hand, because dramatic declarations apparently took precedence over common-sense self-preservation. The last Uchiha didn’t do near as well in hiding his, and Hatake only looked on, amused.
The Hyuuga heir was a stuttering, blushing, concerned mess. Well, at least she was trying.
Sparrow crawled silently through the mist as Hatake held an impromptu lesson, and easily ignored the bridge-builder’s attempt to guilt the young shinobi into continuing their mission. Pointless, Sparrow thought, because they were obviously foolish enough to follow through even without his sad form of subpar persuasion.
Momochi, unfortunately, was a threat she couldn’t ignore. The Kyuubi’s chakra was already standing on end from the waves of killing intent emanating from the infamous nukenin.
Even more unfortunate, he was too close to the group to eliminate him from the shadows.
Mist flooded the clearing, and Momochi began listing organs- Sparrow thought that was rather original, not - before she decided to step in.
She didn’t bother to unmask her chakra. With a quick henge, perhaps Hatake would believe her to be an anonymous hunter-nin.
Probably not, but a kunoichi could hope.
Sparrow could not read, but she could smile.
Zygomaticus major. Zygomaticus minor. Risorius, levator labii superioris, levator anguli oris. One at a time, seamlessly connecting into a twitch of her lips. Orbicularis oculi; the corners of her eyes crinkled. The challenge lied in bringing the necessary emotion to the forefront of her mind, but she was practiced.
Momochi's body layed dead at her feet, already cooling on the hard ground. He did not look near as powerful, in death. (People rarely did.)
"Who are you?" The Jinchuuriki demanded, gripping his kunai with trembling hands. His teammates stood beside him, stances strong and eyes scared.
"I've come to collect Momochi's body," Sparrow said. Her voice was carefully modulated behind her mask.
"That doesn't answer the question." Uzumaki's blond hair flared behind him, caught by the wind. Sparrow debated; she was not given a cover, this mission, and such things were rarely left to her. But she would have to make do with what she had.
"I'm formally considered a hunter-nin," replied Sparrow smoothly, and the Jinchuuriki, inexplicably, softened. Hatake demonstrated the opposite response, though he was quick to hide his suspicion. Sparrow recognised the technique.
"A hunter what?" Uzumaki asked, and it was the Hyuuga the answered, voice soft and stuttering and satisfyingly-informed.
Of course, it was then that Sparrow was caught off guard.
Several cold senbon - ice, perhaps? - pierced into her neck and back, momentarily paralysing her before she had a chance to move. She regained autonomy only seconds later, but a small figure was already darting towards her charges, ice and metal gleaming in the air.
(It was anticlimactic, really. The figure had a hole in their chest almost before she could blink.)
"Zabuza's friend, I imagine," Hatake said dryly. "Well. Not so much, anymore."
Not so much.
"Hunter-nin," Hatake addressed Sparrow, "do you have a name? Village?"
In a single, terrifying moment, she made a calculated decision of her own, and let her mask slip. Sparrow was the one to look up, letting them see her features, make their own judgments.
Sakura, rather, was the one to smile.
(They wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a false smile and a true one; not when she was the one in control.)
"My name is Sakura, of Konoha," she said, then turned to face the genin. "Hatake and I will escort you back to the village," she told them, and they did not argue.
They made it back to Konoha with little fanfare. Sparrow spoke in short, clipped sentences; Uzumaki seemed to take it as an enthusiastic interest, and she did not complain as he happily talked for the both of them.
Sparrow would have preferred the quiet, but she could humor a lonely boy.
"- And then Sakura came, see, and she fell out of the tree like whoosh and grabbed Zabuza and -"
"Naruto," the Hokage said calmly, and the boy fell silent. "Kakashi? I expect to see a written report on my desk by the end of today. I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to. Cat will show you out."
"Yes, Sir," replied Hatake Kakashi.
Sparrow, standing in the shadows, withheld a wince.
"Shinobi, report."