Author's Note: For Missa and her love for the Mets -- even if I don't understand the fuss.

Handsy --

My hands are small, I know,
but they're not yours they are my own,
and I am never broken,

-- Jewel, Hands.

----

The room at first glance is like a patterned rainbow -- giraffes and elephants dance on the white walls while flowers that are impossibly tall and forever blooming cover the boring green. There's a river that flows downhill, carrying a small toy boat with it and making a little boy run after his treasure.

It's the perfect room for the patients.

He stands still in the doorway as he watches the children his own age shriek with glee and bike around the Styrofoam tracks. Some are in chairs, drawing with crayons as their crutches stand tall beside them. Others have colorful bandages covering the stumps that have taken the place of their arms. Some have no hair but sport knitted beanies.

"Come on, Sasuke." A large hand gently pushes his right shoulder and he stumbles forward reluctantly. Nobody takes notice of the kid with black hair and black eyes, and he's glad.

"This must be Uchiha Sasuke," A tall woman comes forward, looking content despite her flyaway hair and rumpled clothes. The woman behind him must've acknowledged her in his stead because she's now at eye-level and smiling. "Nice to meet you, Sasuke -- I'm Mia."

He doesn't respond and she waits. Finally he gives a small nod.

"I know you're mute, Sasuke, but you're going to have to try and interact with me regularly, okay?"

He hates her and her sun-patterned dress already.

"I'll be leaving you here, Sasuke, and I'll pick you up at three. Play nice with the other kids, okay?" His guardian hugs him, but he doesn't respond. He never has. He doesn't miss the glance exchange the two women do, either.

He's probably going to be given up again, he knows. For the past year, he's had seven families and the number is still going up. In his mind, he can recite the complaints -- too unresponsive, too anti-social, too ungrateful.

We've tried everything, but he responds to nothing! It's as if he thinks he's better than we are and doesn't need a family. I'm sorry, but we can't do anything more than give him back and hope he'll find the right people to be his parents.

They're right. He doesn't need anything or anyone.

"Come along, Sasuke." A hand grasps his clenched fist and leads him towards the center of the room, the place he knows he will hate the most. He hates attention and --

"Everyone, quiet down, please!"

Yep. She just has to go and introduce him to every little germ-being in the room so they'll want to touch him and talk to him. Adults are stupid.

"We have a new friend with us today. His name is Sasuke and he can't talk like you and I can, so I want you guys to be very nice to him, okay? Remember to share, children!"

The kids chorus an "Okay!" in reply and he has to fight not to wince openly. They are staring at him with wide-eyed curiosity and he wants them all to look away and mind their own business.

And they do, eventually.

When he's through glaring at them with intense snobbery, they lose interest and go back to their plastic trucks and bicycles and dolls. And he retreats to a corner of the room with a window. This way, he'll be able to see if anybody is approaching and if so, he can attack them before they can speak to him.

For a few minutes, he's safe between those walls and he sits quietly, looking but not really watching. Against his better judgment, his eyes begin to close, even with those brats' noises, and at the gentle touch on his sleeve, his eyes snap open.

Her hair is pink and her eyes are a sea-green -- and her fingers are pulling on his sleeve.

Immediately angry, Sasuke slaps her hand away harshly, his eyes telling her what his mouth would if it could. She simply stares back blankly until he grows uneasy. What's with this girl? Obviously she's mentally retarded.

Suddenly she moves her fingers in rapid motion and his eyes catch the latter half.

-- not happy.

His eyes rise to hers in question and she repeats herself.

You're not happy.

He doesn't fight the exasperated look that comes over his face.

Of course I'm not happy, stupid.

She smiles slightly at that and he's really uncomfortable because nobody should smile when they're called stupid.

May I give you a hug?

He's caught off guard by that, wondering if he's misread her hands. Seeing the confused look on his face, she comes closer -- making him scramble back -- and signs at him again.

May … I … give … you … a … hug?

He wants to open his mouth and scream NO at her, but it only gapes and silence is emitted. Before he can be embarrassed and angry and frustrated, her arms are around him and she rests her head on his shoulder. She smells like baby powder and anti-disinfectant. Not exactly pleasant, but he doesn't push her away.

I'm deaf, by the way. I'm so glad you can read hands. My name is Sakura but nobody here remembers it. I thought I was going to be the only person here who could sign to others but then you came along and --

Do you always talk this much?

She looks hurt for a second before plunging on.

I'm glad you're here.

I'm not. I hate this place, and that dumb teacher, and you.

Her eyes wander over his and he looks away, as if he needs to hide from her.

Two small hands clasp his right hand for a brief second and he's startled into looking back at her.

You don't need to be so bitter about your disability.

What would you know?

She shrugs. I'm deaf but I can decipher the looks everyone gives me. They pity me but I don't know why. I'm glad to be, actually -- I don't have to listen to screams and yells I don't want to hear from my parents and if I want to hear a story, all I have to do is pay attention. I get to be selective.

With an extended vocabulary (which would explain her large forehead that probably held her large brain) and a courage that stands up to the worst of his glares, Sakura is something else. An unfamiliar feeling warms over his face and stomach, dissipating into butterflies. He knows, somehow, that even when he treats her harshly and seems ungrateful, she will be the only one to stick with him.

Because even without hearing him, she can tell that he needs someone.

----

Seven years later, he tries looking for the perfect bauble that will emphasize the loveliness of her expressive hands. Her fingers are slender and quick and graceful, and everytime she speaks through them to him, he forgets that he can't speak because love overtakes bitterness. And for that he's grateful.

He points to the center of the attention, the large diamond ring with sterling silver band, and nods when the jeweler asks if he wants a velvet box with it. Nothing is too good for her, and even if that monstrosity will bring them unwanted attention, he'll somehow be okay with it.