Chapter Text
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Fugaku
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He held young Itachi’s hand standing in front of the dango vendor. His sweet four year old boy had finished his first day at the Academy and was being treated to a well-deserved desert. Itachi described what he’d learned that day, excited that his shuriken had hit the mark every time while so many of his classmates struggled with their accuracy. He was the youngest boy in his class, but he’d helped some of the older classmates.
“I corrected their stances and helped them realize they needed to use both eyes in order to aim proper and judge the right distance,” Itachi explained before taking a chomp of the dumpling.
“Very good, son,” Fugaku murmured. His detective eyes scanned the crowd for his wife. He adored Mikoto — she was the perfect kunoichi. She was strong, beautiful, intelligent, charismatic and kind. She had every desired quality to be the perfect Uchiha matriarch.
For Fugaku their union was a love match. He’d married the women he both loved and admired for the past several years now. Unfortunately, his love was unrequited and his wife agreed to the proposal due to clan politics and her strong sense of duty. Fugaku was nearly ten years Mikoto’s senior, but the difference in age hadn’t been the problem. Mikoto had fallen in love with her childhood teammate long before she crossed paths with Fugaku.
With a familiar ache in his heart, Fugaku spotted the golden haired man not too far away in the market. Then he found his lovely raven-haired wife in the company of the Yondaime Minato Namikaze. And then there was the grating sound of the unmistakable, boisterous voice of Kushina Uzumaki that filled the marketplace.
“So loud,” Itachi winced, dropping his empty dango stick into the trash and covering his ears with his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut as the commotion of the Hokage’s wife overstimulated him.
Fugaku patted his Itachi’s shoulders gently, waiting for his son’s tense muscles to relax. Itachi’s lips moved silently as he counted to ten, using the calming technique they’d practiced together to calm his racing heart. Then Itachi blinked opened his eyes and smiled gratefully at his father, his tiny face flushed with relief.
The two of them waited patiently for Mikoto to return to her family. Itachi enjoyed a second stick of dango and Fugaku scanned the crowd — the Chief of Police was always vigilant. When Mikoto finally returned to their side, her onyx eyes were darker than usual with the ever present aura of sadness that always lingered on her person. She rubbed her hand over her swollen belly, six months into pregnancy with their second son whom was due that summer.
“Mother!” Itachi hugged her waist as soon as she neared, pressing his ear against her belly. “I can feel him kicking again! Do you want some dango?” He leaned back to peer up at her face eagerly.
“Another time, my love,” Mikoto murmured.
“How is Namikaze?” Fugaku asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.
“Happy. In love with his wife. They’re expecting their own child in October,” Mikoto answered. “Kushina is glowing.” She sniffed and tucked a strand of her dark, silken hair behind her ear. “Maybe I should host a baby shower for them.”
“Is that a good idea?” Fugaku asked gently. Itachi clutched onto his mother’s hand, his dark eyes darting every which way observing passerby's. The boy didn’t miss a thing. There was a sharp flash of crimson Sharingan in Mikoto’s eyes as her temper flared, but she simply offered her husband a polite, empty smile.
As they continued to walk home, they passed by a civilian couple. A woman with short blond hair and dark green eyes spoke excitedly with her husband, her hands waving about passionately. Her husband had unusual mauve-colored hair and a baby carrier strapped to his chest with a tiny baby with wispy cherry-blossom pink hair.
Itachi lingered just a moment to stare at the family. “She’s cute,” he observed. He turned towards his mother’s pregnant belly. “Maybe she’ll be playmates with baby Sasuke one day.”
Mikoto stared vacantly at the little family, so happy and smiling. “Unlikely. Uchiha aren’t known for having playdates, especially with civilians.” She tugged Itachi along with her back towards the Uchiha district.
Fugaku tarried a few more seconds. As if sensing the detective’s attention, the pink-haired man with the baby looked over. He lifted his cherubic daughter’s pudgy hand to wave as well.
With a snort of amusement, Fugaku quickened his pace to catch up with his own family.
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The month of September had started out with crisp, clean fall-like weather on summer’s tail end. Sasuke was six weeks old and his dark eyes followed his beloved older brother everywhere. Itachi was Sasuke’s whole world and it became apparent, that the feeling was mutual. It was Itachi that carried young Sasuke everywhere inside the baby wrap over his shoulders.
Itachi was the one to sing to baby Sasuke, bottle fed him, change his diapers and put him to bed at night and for naps.
Fugaku’s weary heart felt profound paternal joy at the interactions of his sons. He did his best to be supportive and caring for his children, but between the police force and his wife’e failing health — he was grateful for Itachi’s presence.
Mikoto suffered from a condition the doctors called postpartum depression. She was prescribed a medication to help treat a chemical imbalance, but Fugaku found the pills she’d been spitting out and her moods simply worsened.
She’d nursed Itachi for nearly two years, adamant that mother’s milk was the best for her precious baby. Fugaku had been prescribed formula by the doctor since Mikoto wasn’t interested in nursing her youngest son nor was it recommended with the medications she’d been prescribed.
The latest formula seemed to upset Sasuke’s sensitive stomach — he’d begun to suffer from colic through the nights. Mikoto seemed unbothered by the baby’s wailes, but Fugaku had grown gaunt with the sleepless nights. He’d ordered Itachi to stay over at his friend Shisui’s house at night — refusing to affect his elder son’s health.
The doctor simply prescribed another formula and while Fugaku and Itachi went to the pharmacy to pick it up, they’d crossed paths with that family with the pink-haired baby from a few months ago.
“Oh dear,” the blond-women worried, dragging her husband along with her towards Fugaku and Itachi. The husband had the pink-haired, chubby little girl in a front-facing carrier, her big green eyes wide and curious as she watched the trio of Uchiha men silently.
“Hello,” Itachi greeted shyly.
“It sounds like colic,” the blond-haired mother observed. “Are you picking up formula for him?”
Fugaku nodded. “His mother is unable to produce. The doctor keeps suggesting different formula, suspecting food allergies or sensitivity — or something.” He ran his hand in soothing circles over Sasuke’s frail back, feeling his own anxieties make his chest tight.
“We’re the Harunos,” the pink-haired man answered. “I’m Kizashi and this is Mebuki and our little one is Sakura.” He nuzzled his nose over the crown of his daughter’s hair. “We brought extra milk, Honey. Maybe we can see if the boy can drink it?”
“We couldn’t possibly,” Fugaku protested feebly, but when Sasuke whimpered weakly and Itachi glared at him, he cleared his throat. “Couldn’t possibly thank you enough,” he finished.
“Oh, well, I’m an over-producer,” Mebuki said. She shifted the large canvas tote around her shoulders and pulled out a capped glass bottle. “It’s better if we could warm it,” she murmured.
“Allow me,” Itachi offered holding out his hand. With a puzzled look in her dark green eyes, the woman handed the young boy the milk bottle and they all watched as he warmed it with his chakra enhanced palms. He uncapped the bottle, dashed a few drops on his forearm to test the temperature and then placed the nipple at Sasuke’s parched lips.
Fugaku breathed a sigh of relief when the first time in a week, Sasuke gulped down the milk, his dark eyes wide and alert.
Mebuki laughed. “My mother and her mother were both wet-nurses. I know it’s not really a thing these days, but I have quite a stock pile of milk since we’re starting to introduce our Sakura to pureed foods now. You’re welcome to it.”
“That — would be amazing, thank you,” Fugaku smiled self-consciously. He was told his smile was more scary than comforting.
“Of course,” Mebuki said reassuringly. “Parents have to help each other out. We’re all in this together! Maybe one day our children will be friends.”
Itachi bowed deep at the waist suddenly. “Haruno-san, we owe you for your generosity in helping our beloved Sasuke.”
The infant girl reached out her pudgy hand and grabbed a fist-full of Itachi’s dark hair. Itachi looked up and smiled at her while the girl babbled at him happily.
It had been too long since Fugaku had seen his eldest son at peace.
“Thank you, Sakura-chan, for sharing your bounty with my precious brother,” Itachi said solemnly.
“Please, follow us to our home. We have a generous supply in our deep freezer you can take back for sweet Sasuke,” Mebuki said, brushing her hand gently over the baby boy’s dark curls. “How about a dinner once a week? You can pick up a fresh supply and Sakura and Sasuke can have play-dates.”
“I will ask my wife,” Fugaku murmured. He was the Head of the Uchiha clan, the Captain of the Police Force. Would it really be proper to share a weekly dinner with a civilian family? Though, this generous family may have just saved his son’s life. He pulled the empty bottle back from Sasuke and then before he could shift the boy to his shoulder for a burp, the babe belched quite loudly, a dopey-milk drunk expression on his pale face.
“We’ll be there,” Itachi answered.
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Fugaku, Itachi, and Sasuke started weekly dinners at the Haruno household. Mebuki politely declined, but expressed she was grateful about the donated milk. She still didn’t feed Sasuke herself.
Itachi would lay on his belly on the living room floor playing with the two infants and Fugaku had never seen his stoic little boy so content.
Then one night in the middle of October, a great tragedy befell their village — Minato Namikaze and his wife Kushina Uzumaki died, leaving behind their orphan child whom now hosted the very demon that destroyed part of the village and killed his parents.
The night she learned of Minato’s death, Mikoto lost it. She’d gone into their family’s shrine and broke every single one of their statues and knocked out the glass panes over the framed photographs. Then, two weeks later when Sasuke was barely three-months old, she’d suggested they have a picnic by the Naka River.
“This is your very first picnic, little brother,” Itachi cooed, brushing back Sasuke's dark, fine hair. The curls had already straightened into a thick mass of tangles.
The small baby yawned and then snuggled against Fugaku’s chest as he adjusted the baby carrier. Fugaku chuckled and patted his baby’s bottom. He wore a fresh cloth diaper and he’d been fairly confident that he’d secured it appropriately. He wasn’t quite as adept as Itachi when it came to diaper changing — his eldest son truly was a prodigy at practically everything.
“Okay! Let’s go!” Mikoto called out, wearing a lovely white gauzy sundress that was more appropriate for summer, but given the warm weather wasn’t an unusual choice. She held a wicker picnic basket over the crook of her arm. “Let’s go boys! The weather is lovely!”
“Today is the perfect day to enjoy the annual butterfly migration,” Itachi said, glancing between his parents with a shy smile. “I heard from a classmate that the butterflies are a vibrant blue and black color.”
“The Oakblue,” Mikoto suggested. “They are small butterflies and their wings are somewhat iridescent. When I was a young girl, my mother once had a kimono in black and blue iridescent colors to represent the butterflies. One of my fondest memories with my mother, had been a picnic to watch the migration when I was your age, Itachi.”
Fugaku’s arm around baby Sasuke tensed. Mikoto’s mother had died when she was very young. Itachi was a sensitive boy and he worried that their family outing would be cast under the effect of a bad omen with such negative memories.
“That sounds lovely, Mother,” Itachi mused.
They settled near the cliff that overlooked the Naka River, a lovely view to be certain and one Fugaku would have vetoed if Sasuke had been mobile. He trusted Itachi to be safe — the boy had immaculate chakra control. Mikoto and Itachi spread out the red and white checkered blanket and then the picnic was laid out.
Fugaku offered Mikoto if she wanted to feed Sasuke, but she demurred as usual.
Little did Fugaku know that hours later, he’d be widowed and his eldest son would have activated his Mangekyo Sharingan and his barely three month old baby activated the first tomoe of his own Sharingan.
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