Chapter 6: The Little Duckling's First Steps
The morning had been a negotiation.
Karu had woken up with a singular mission, his small body vibrating with purpose the moment his eyes opened. He'd stood in his crib, gripping the rails, and shouted the word with the kind of conviction usually reserved for religious revelations or political manifestos.
"Duck. Duck. DUCK."
Sakura had tried to redirect him. She'd offered him cereal, a banana, the stuffed rabbit he usually loved. She'd tried reading him a board book about farm animals, hoping a pig or a cow might distract him. But Karu had pushed the book away with both hands, his face crumpling into an expression of profound betrayal.
"Duck," he'd repeated, as if it were the only word he'd ever learned and he intended to use it until someone listened.
Kakashi had watched from the kitchen doorway, his coffee growing cold in his hands. He'd seen that look before—in the mirror, during his more stubborn moments. It was a look that said I know what I want and I will not be moved.
"We could take him to the park," he'd suggested, keeping his voice neutral.
Sakura had shot him a look. "We went yesterday."
"Yesterday he discovered ducks. Today he needs to see them again."
"He's obsessed."
"He's one. Everything is obsessive at one."
She'd sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was pink and wild from sleep, and there was a smear of something suspicious on her shoulder—probably breakfast, probably Karu's. She looked tired. She always looked a little tired these days.
"The park, then," she'd said, and Karu had erupted into cheers, his little body bouncing in the crib.
---
The park was beautiful.
It was one of those afternoons that felt manufactured, like the weather had been ordered specifically for them. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue, the kind of blue that made you forget the storm had ever happened. The cherry blossoms were in their final days, their petals drifting down in slow-motion spirals whenever the breeze stirred. The grass was still damp from the rain, but it was warm enough that the dampness felt like a blessing rather than a curse.
Karu had insisted on walking.
He'd refused the stroller with a vehemence that bordered on theatrical, arching his back and going limp whenever Sakura tried to set him in it. So they'd let him walk, one of his hands clutched in Kakashi's, the other in Sakura's. He'd toddled between them like a tiny drunk emperor, his head swiveling from side to side as he took in the world.
"Bird," he said, pointing at a sparrow.
"Bird," Sakashi confirmed.
"Bird. Bird. BIRD."
"One bird. Yes."
"More."
"I don't think we can order more birds, buddy."
Karu had considered this, his brow furrowing. Then he'd spotted the pond, and everything else had ceased to exist.
The ducks were there.
They were exactly where they'd been the day before, floating near the center of the pond with the serene confidence of creatures who had never known a single day of hardship. There was the mother, a fat brown duck with a perpetually ruffled appearance, and her two chicks, both of them growing into adolescence with the gangly awkwardness of teenagers. And there was the father, a drake with an iridescent green head who seemed to spend most of his time standing on a half-submerged log, surveying his domain like a medieval lord.
Karu stopped walking.
His hands went slack in theirs and he stared, his mouth falling open. For a moment, there was perfect stillness. And then he screamed.
"DUCK!"
"Karu—" Sakura started, but it was too late.
He'd ripped his hands free. The word came out in a frenzy. He was off, his little legs pumping, his arms outstretched, his whole body leaning forward like a sailboat caught in a gale.
Sakura moved to grab him, but Kakashi held her back.
"Let him go."
"Are you insane? He's heading for the water—"
"He's heading for the ducks. He won't get within ten feet of the water. Watch."
She watched. Karu's path was a zigzag, his feet catching on the uneven ground, but his target was clear. The ducks had noticed him now. The mother had lifted her head, her beady eyes tracking his approach with what looked like profound exhaustion. The chicks had stopped their preening, their heads cocked in confusion.
The father duck, from his log, let out a single, indignant quack.
The sound galvanized Karu. His joy exploded, a sound so bright it seemed to physically push through the park air. He screamed with laughter, pure and uncontained.
"DUCK! DUCK! DUCK!"
He was closing in. The ducks, with the collective wisdom of creatures who had dealt with many small humans, began to move. They didn't panic—they ambled. They waddled, at the exact speed of a toddler's top speed. A long, drawn-out tease of a pace. They gave the impression of a slow, deliberate retreat, punctuated by occasional glances backward to ensure he was still following.
Karu pursued them across the grass, his laughter growing more hysterical with each step. His legs were moving faster than his balance could sustain, his arms pinwheeling as he tried to stay upright.
"He's going to fall," Sakura said.
"Absolutely."
"And what do we do when he falls?"
"We pick him up, kiss the boo-boo, and send him back in."
"You're not taking this seriously."
"I'm taking it exactly as seriously as it deserves." He paused, watching Karu stumble over a root and recover, his momentum carrying him forward toward the duck's slow retreat. "He's learning."
"What's he learning?"
"That sometimes, the thing you're chasing won't want to be caught. And that's okay. Because the chase is fun anyway."
Sakura opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat. Karu, her beautiful, obsessive, duck-chasing son, had just crossed the distance to where the father duck had been standing on his log.
The log was empty, the ducks having moved into the water with a series of quacks and splashes.
Karu stood at the water's edge, staring at the ripples. His chest was heaving, his face flushed. He was silent for a long moment, processing what had just happened.
Then he turned, his face crumpling.
"Gone."
"Aw, buddy." Kakashi crossed the grass in a few long strides, crouching down beside him. "They went for a swim. Ducks like the water, remember?"
"Want duck."
"I know you do. But they'll come back. They always come back."
Karu looked at him, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Then he looked back at the pond, where the ducks had regrouped near the center, their silhouettes bobbing gently on the surface.
"Back," he said, pointing.
"They're right there."
"Back later?"
"Probably. They live here, buddy. This is their house."
Karu considered this. He seemed to be weighing the information, turning it over in his small mind. Then his expression cleared, and he pointed at the log.
"Sit," he said, and toddled over to it.
He sat down on the log, which was slightly too tall for him, his legs dangling above the ground. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the ducks with an intensity that was almost unnerving.
Waiting.
---
Sakura joined them, lowering herself onto the grass beside the log.
Kakashi sat next to her, their shoulders brushing. Karu remained perched on the log, a tiny sentinel, his eyes fixed on the water.
"I can't believe he's just sitting there," she said.
"He's patient when he wants to be."
"Who is he? He's got a one-year-old's attention span."
"He knows what he wants." Kakashi watched Karu with an expression she couldn't quite read. "And he's not going to let it go without a fight."
---
The wind shifted. A petal from a cherry blossom drifted down, landing on Karu's head like a crown.
He didn't notice. He just kept watching the ducks.
"Dadada," he said, not looking away.
"Yeah?"
"Sing."
"Sing what?"
Karu turned to look at him, his face serious. "Song. Duck song."
"There's a duck song?"
"You sing."
Kakashi looked at Sakura. She shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
"I don't know any duck songs, buddy."
"Sing. Bouncy."
He meant the lullaby. The one Kakashi sang when Karu was upset, the one he'd hummed during the storm. It had a bouncing melody, something old and half-remembered, and Karu associated it with comfort.
"Alright," Kakashi said, clearing his throat. "I'll hum it. You watch your ducks."
He started, the melody soft and low. Karu turned back to the pond immediately, listening with his whole body. The ducks, as if responding to some unspoken cue, drifted a little closer to the log. Their heads tilted, listening.
Kakashi kept humming. Sakura leaned into him.
The sun was warm, the breeze was soft, and Karu watched the ducks.
---
The ducks never came back to the shore while they were there.
But Karu didn't seem to mind. He sat on that log for a solid twenty minutes, humming along with Kakashi, occasionally pointing and announcing "duck" to no one in particular. He was a tiny, stubborn statue, a monument to determination.
Finally, his eyelids began to droop. His head nodded, and he caught himself, shaking it vigorously. He was fighting sleep with the ferocity of a soldier at his post.
"Karu," Sakura said gently. "Ready to go home?"
"No," he said, immediately, but his voice was already heavy with exhaustion.
"Your ducks will still be here tomorrow."
"Stay."
"We can come back. I promise."
He looked at her, his blue eyes bleary and resistant. Then he looked at the ducks, which had settled into a cluster near the lily pads, dozing in the sun. His shoulders sagged.
"Carry?" he asked, holding up his arms.
Kakashi scooped him up without hesitation. Karu's head immediately dropped to his shoulder, his small body going limp.
"Sing," he mumbled, his voice already slurring.
Kakashi started humming again, the same lullaby. Karu's breathing evened out before they'd made it ten steps.
Sakura appeared at Kakashi's side, her hand finding his free one. They walked in silence, the three of them, across the green grass and under the falling petals.
"He's stubborn," she said quietly.
"He's perfect."
"You're both impossible. You know that, right?"
"I've been called worse."
She squeezed his hand. In his arms, Karu slept, his dreams full of ducks and sunshine.
---
They made it back to the house as the sun was beginning its descent.
The kitchen was warm, and the light through the windows cast long, golden shadows across the tile. Kakashi laid Karu in his crib, tucking the rabbit under his arm. Karu's hand found it immediately, a quiet instinct.
He looked down at his son—this boy who had come to him by accident, this boy he hadn't known he needed—and felt the familiar ache in his chest. It was a heavy, expanding warmth, a feeling he'd spent his whole life avoiding. He’d built a world of distance to keep himself safe, and now, two small hands were dismantling it brick by brick.
Back in the kitchen, Sakura was making tea. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"He's going to be unbearable tomorrow," she said, pouring the hot water. "He'll want to go back the second he wakes up."
"I know."
"And he'll want you to sing that song again."
"I know."
"And he'll fall on his face chasing those ducks and get back up and do it again and again until we physically have to drag him home."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to her jaw. "And we'll be there for all of it."
Sakura set the teapot down. She turned in his arms, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. Her eyes were bright, reflecting the dying light of the afternoon.
"You're good at this."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it keeps being true." She paused. "I was so scared to tell you about him. I thought—" She stopped, swallowing. "I thought you'd leave. Like the other one did."
"The other one was an idiot."
"He was." A shaky breath. "But you didn't leave. You stayed. You sang to him during the storm, and you take him hunting for ducks in the park, and you..." Her voice cracked.
"I love him," Kakashi said, simply. "And I love you. It's not complicated."
"You're not supposed to be this good at this. You're supposed to be emotionally unavailable."
"I got distracted." He smiled, a quiet tilt of his lips under his mask. "Someone with pink hair and a very loud son moved into my life and made everything complicated in the best possible way."
She laughed—a wet, shaky sound. And then she kissed him, soft and warm.
They stood there, wrapped around each other, as the sun finished its descent outside the kitchen window. From the bedroom, Karu's breathing was even and steady.
The house was quiet, and they were together.
The weekend arrived with a clarity that felt almost conspiratorial.
Saturday morning broke bright and cool, the kind of day that made you want to be outside before the sun got too ambitious. Karu had woken up in a mood that could only be described as electric—bouncing in his crib, babbling about ducks and birds and something that sounded suspiciously like "penguin," though he'd never seen one.
"Did you teach him that word?" Sakura asked, her voice still rough with sleep.
Kakashi was already dressed, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee. "I may have mentioned they exist."
"You told him there are birds that swim like fish and wear tuxedos."
"I told him there are birds that fly through water. He was very interested."
"And now he's going to spend the whole day asking for them."
"Good thing we're going to the zoo, then."
Sakura paused, mid-reach for her hair tie. "We're going to the zoo?"
"I got tickets last night. Thought it might be a good change of pace from the park." He shrugged, the gesture deliberately casual. "There's a penguin exhibit. He'll lose his mind."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she crossed the room, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her face into his chest.
"You're ridiculous," she said.
"I'm delightful."
"You're both," she said, and kissed him.
---
The zoo was busier than they'd expected.
Families were everywhere, strollers clogging the pathways like a slow-moving river of chaos. The air smelled like popcorn and animal musk and the particular funk of hay that had been sitting in the sun. Karu was in the stroller, but he was leaning forward, both hands gripping the bar, his head swiveling from side to side like he was trying to process all of existence at once.
"Bird," he said, pointing at a peacock.
"That's a peacock, baby."
"Peacock. Peacock. PEA-bird."
"Close enough."
They made their way through the exhibits slowly—monkeys first, because they were closest to the entrance. Karu pressed his face against the glass, his breath fogging the pane as a pair of spider monkeys swung past, shrieking with what sounded like genuine joy.
"Monkey," he said, the word reverent.
"Monkey," Kakashi confirmed.
"Swing?"
"They're swinging, yeah. They do that a lot."
Karu watched them for a solid ten minutes, refusing to move even when Sakura suggested they see the lions. He was entranced by their movement, their tails, their constant motion. A small boy next to him was doing the same, both of them pressed against the glass with identical expressions of wonder.
"Mine," Karu said, pointing at the monkeys.
"I don't think they're yours, buddy."
"Mine."
"Okay. Yours."
---
The lions were less interesting.
Karu glanced at the massive sleeping cat, blinked, and said "dog?" with such profound disappointment that Sakura had to stifle a laugh. The elephant exhibit got a slightly better reaction—a long, drawn-out "waoooow" that drew approving smiles from a group of elderly women nearby.
But nothing prepared them for the penguins.
The exhibit was a long, curved tunnel of glass, designed to let visitors walk through the middle of the habitat while the penguins swam overhead and around them. It was dim inside, lit only by the blue glow of the water, and the temperature was noticeably cooler. Karu, still in the stroller, went silent when they stepped inside.
"These are the penguins," Kakashi said, his voice low. "The birds I told you about. The ones that swim."
Karu said nothing.
A penguin—a large emperor, sleek and torpedo-shaped—glided past the glass directly in front of them. Its body moved like it was flying through water, wings pressed close, its trajectory impossibly smooth. It twisted, reversed direction, and swam past again.
Karu's eyes went wide.
"Mama," he breathed.
"Yes, baby."
"Mama, look."
"I'm looking, sweetheart."
The penguin was joined by another, then a third. They swam in synchronized arcs, their movements effortless, their black-and-white bodies flashing through the blue water like living arrows. Karu was on his feet in the stroller, his hands pressed flat against the glass.
"Flying," he said.
"Swimming. But it looks like flying, doesn't it?"
"Flying. Bird. Flying."
He watched, utterly still, as the penguins circled the exhibit. His face was a study in concentration, his small body radiating a pure, focused joy.
And then, without warning, he broke.
He scrambled out of the stroller before Sakura could stop him, dropping to the floor with a thump. He landed on his bottom, but he was up in an instant, his legs moving. He ran along the glass, following the penguins as they swam, his voice rising in a triumphant shriek.
"PENGUIN! PENGUIN!"
He chased them. He ran with his arms outstretched and his head thrown back, his laughter echoing through the tunnel. The penguins, on the other side of the glass, seemed to oblige him—they swam faster, arcing along the curve in a playful game of keep-away.
"PENGUIN! PENGUIN! PENGUIN!"
Kakashi was right behind him, his hands ready to catch him when he inevitably went down. But Karu's legs were steady, his balance holding. He ran the length of the tunnel, his tiny feet slapping against the concrete, and he didn't fall once.
"Karu—" Sakura started, half-laughing.
"MAMA! LOOK!"
"I'm looking, baby. I'm looking."
He reached the end of the tunnel and spun around, his chest heaving. The penguins had gathered near the other side, their heads cocked, watching him. One of them—a younger one, with a patch of fluffy brown on its head—pecked at the glass where his hands had been.
"Friend," Karu said.
"Is that your friend?"
"Friend. Mine."
---
They stayed at the penguin exhibit for nearly an hour.
Karu ran the length of that tunnel at least a dozen times, chasing the penguins back and forth until his cheeks were flushed and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He was relentless. He was determined. He was absolutely, completely in love.
"You did this to me," Sakura said, watching him from the bench near the exit.
"I simply mentioned the existence of penguins."
"He's obsessed."
"He's one. Everything is obsessive at one."
She laughed, the sound soft and warm. "I can't believe you got tickets."
"I can't believe they have a tunnel. Best twenty bucks I've ever spent."
Karu was at the far end of the tunnel, his hands pressed against the glass. A penguin was swimming alongside him, keeping pace. It was an odd pairing—the tiny, flushed toddler and the sleek, indifferent bird—but they seemed to have reached an understanding.
"Hi," Karu said.
The penguin swam past.
"HI!"
Another pass.
"HI. HI. HI."
Kakashi watched, his chest tight. There was something about this—about the way Karu greeted those birds like they were old friends, about the way he kept chasing even when they wouldn't stop—that made his heart ache.
---
A woman approached, a toddler of her own perched on her hip.
She was maybe thirty, with short brown hair and tired eyes. She smiled at Kakashi, a hesitant, friendly gesture.
"He's adorable," she said, nodding toward Karu.
Kakashi blinked. "Sorry?"
"Your little boy. He's so cute. He's been chasing those penguins the whole time—my daughter's been watching him instead of the birds." She laughed, a low, warm sound. "You and your wife are doing something right."
Wordlessly, Sakura moved to stand beside him, her hand finding his. "Thank you," she said, her voice a little rough.
"I mean it. He's got so much energy. You must be exhausted."
"We are," Kakashi said.
"Worth it, though, right?"
Worth it. The words landed somewhere in his chest, a soft, settling weight. He looked at Karu—still chasing, still yelling, still absolutely radiant—and nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Worth it."
---
The mothers kept coming.
A woman with twins commented on Karu's enthusiasm. A grandmother told Sakura that her grandson had been the same way at his age. A young mom with a baby strapped to her chest asked if Karu was always this focused, and Sakura had laughed and said "only when he's passionate about something."
It was strange. The entire time they'd been parenting Karu, they'd been so focused on the hard parts—the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the constant vigilance. They'd never stopped to consider that other people might see something good in what they were doing.
"He's just himself," Kakashi said, when another woman had moved on. "We haven't done anything special."
Sakura looked at him. "We've done everything special."
"I just sing bad lullabies and chase him around parks."
"You show up. Every day. You show up."
He didn't have a response to that. He just stood there, his hand in hers, watching their son perform for a crowd of penguins.
---
Karu finally tired out around one.
He'd made it through the entire penguin tunnel twice more, then insisted on seeing the sea lions, the otters, and the flamingos. He'd chased the flamingos along the edge of their enclosure, his legs wobbling, and had nearly fallen into the pond before Kakashi scooped him up mid-stride.
"Okay, buddy," Kakashi said, settling him on his hip. "I think that's enough for today."
"Birds."
"You've seen so many birds. Look at them." He gestured at the flamingos, who were now preening with visible disdain. "They're right there."
Want to watch them."
"You can watch them some other day."
"Some other day outside?"
"Tomorrow we can go to the park."
"The ducks?"
"Yes, the ducks. The ducks will still be there."
Karu considered this. His eyelids were drooping, his body going slowly limp against Kakashi's chest. The adrenaline was leaving him, and the exhaustion was settling in like a warm blanket.
"S'okay?" he mumbled.
"More than okay, buddy."
"Penguins tomorrow too?"
"Penguins are at the zoo, not the park. We'll come back another time."
"Promise?"
Kakashi looked at him, this small, fierce boy with his wild black hair and his bright blue eyes and his stubborn refusal to ever slow down.
"Promise," he said.
Karu nodded, satisfied. His head dropped to Kakashi's shoulder, and he was asleep within seconds.
---
They made it back to the stroller, and Kakashi carefully lowered Karu into it.
The boy didn't stir. He was sprawled across the seat, one arm flung out, his mouth slightly open. The stuffed rabbit had fallen to the floor, and Sakura picked it up, tucking it under his arm.
"He's going to sleep for hours," she said.
"Good. He deserves it."
"He had way too much fun."
"There's no such thing as too much fun, just not enough naps."
She laughed, softly, and they stood there for a moment, watching him sleep. The zoo was winding down, the crowds thinning as the afternoon stretched on. A family walked past, their own kids exhausted and whining, and the parents shot Kakashi and Sakura a look of commiseration.
"Ready to go home?" Kakashi asked.
"Almost." She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Thank you for this."
"For the zoo?"
"For knowing what he needs." She looked up at him. "And for knowing what I need, too."
He pressed his forehead to hers. "I learn quickly."
"You do."
They stood there, in the fading afternoon light, at the edge of the penguin exhibit. Their son slept, dreaming of birds that flew through water.
And for a moment, everything was exactly as it should be.