Warning: This story is mpreg. Not in the most traditional sense (if mpreg could be considered traditional, seems like an oxymoron, but really I just wanted to type that word) - it's really more of a twisted transsexual story. But still. Warning. Here. If you do not like the idea of man-babies, please navigate back to the main page and find more cool stuff to read. There's heaps. Really. We're also in AU territory, which means that just after the war, all the things that happened didn't.

One last thing: This story is written in a non-linear format. Dates and years (I've used the Chinese Zodiac system because the Naruto world doesn't have specified years as far as I could find and it seems more in the style of the world) are added to help get a sense of when and where the events happen, but be aware that we're going to go back and forward in the story line like a DeLorean outta time. Ha, references. All good? Right-o.

The Makeweight.

[meyk-weyt]

n. Anything added to supply a lack.

After the fourth ninja war, after Kaguya's destruction and Sasuke's proclamation to destroy the existing Shinobi regimen, thus creating a new world order, Uzumaki and Uchiha clash again in a battle to end their eternal sibling rivalry. In an unexpected twist of fate, Naruto defeats Sasuke, stealing back the majority of his borrowed power and sparing his life in return for his surrender. Though wounded, weakened and close to death, Sasuke is able to use Naruto's mercy as a means to escape and flee, finding shelter in the mountains beyond Iwagakure. With the Earth country being desolate and vastly uncharted, Sasuke considers his hiding place completely safe from any pursuers - the perfect place to recuperate and plan his next course of action. What he doesn't realize is the possibility of worse things hiding away in the mountain caves. Things that would have made incarceration by the Leaf little more than a nice holiday by comparison.

Uchiha Sasuke's war against the world has ended. And the world is not an elegant winner.

The Name.

Konoha, 6th March.
Year of the Hare.

He named her Mikoto because it was her Grandmother's name and it was Right. Whether someone had mentioned the tradition to him once, or he'd read about it in a book somewhere, he couldn't remember, but at some point Sasuke had decided that his first child should venture into the world with a gift from the past. It would be something to treasure, to remind her of her ancestors; a gift of protection and of remembrance. He had nothing on him at the time when she was born, nor even for many months thereafter - none of the inmates were able to keep any personal items, let alone gift them to their output. But he did have his name. And he had her name. Which, he decided, was probably one of the most precious contributions he could offer.

Mikoto. Uchiha Mikoto. A new version that was small and soft and filled with infectious delight that seemed to bloom from her like perfume from a flower. She didn't know how she was conceived or who her father was or even where she was born and he would never let her. She was his now, she carried his name only, not his burdens. If it were up to him, and it was, she would never know that weight.

At six months old, she was almost crawling (staggering near-steps that ended with an "uh-oh" and a face-plant into the dirt/grass/carpet, closely followed by an enormous shit-eating grin of triumphant pleasure) and talking (a language of pigeon-speak, squawks and coos along with the occasional monosyllabic exclamation). She boasted a crown of thick, unruly dark hair that had already championed a vast number of brushes and combs and she had a smile of gaps and gums that was wide and friendly. Dark eyes, fringed by long, dewy lashes, were often found fixated upon shiny objects, or following the movement of someone's lips as they spoke. She had baffling attraction to most things that were rooted in the ground; flowers, weeds, grass, there was no need for further differentiation, and for almost anything four legged and furry. Cats were an unparalleled delight.

If his mother had still been alive - if she'd become her Grandmother - she would have been able to tell Sasuke how much Mikoto was like himself as a child. How her development mirrored his own - perhaps a little of Itachi's as well. They proved their intelligence at a young age, being fast to imitate and quick to learn. And despite addled and uncertain beginnings, Mikoto had swiftly become a keen observer, paying close attention to the world around her as she began to find her place within it. She didn't speak as much as Sasuke had, didn't seem particularly interested in calling attention to herself as most toddlers were. But she was deeply attached to her mother - a bond that ran so instinctive and so strong that at times Sasuke found it almost frightening.

He had never thought he would be able to form bonds like that again, not after the war, not after Naruto. Not after Team 7, or Taka, or the loss of his brother. He had tried so hard to weed out the ability to form those unseen attachments, but she had drawn them through him again, like tiny webs of need and succor. A push and pull he'd long forgotten. He still didn't know if he could live with it, with her. She'd formed the threads of attachment inside of him as she grew and once she was out and she was there, he didn't understand what to do with them. It wasn't her fault. His situation wasn't orchestrated by her, his humiliation, his pain - no part of her forced conception was her fault. But that nagging, that bottomed-out fear, it was growing. It sat, cold, on those threads, promising a clean, painless severance, if that was what he wanted.

But Mikoto also looked like his mother. She laughed like her, she was full of joy and promise just as his mother had always been. And he knew that if he named her after someone he'd loved so unconditionally, then he could never find it in his heart give in to that soft, sinuous voice and that promise of calm. He knew he could never hate her, although some days his therapist told him it was all right. The woman - bespectacled, stodgy and plain, but with a sharp wit like a terrier on scent - encouraged him to speak out. To be honest. He could say it sometimes; just in that room, just to her. Not because it was a good idea or because it should be, but so that he could feel the words on his tongue and know their bitterness. Know that it was normal to be confused and that hurt was better voiced than kept inside.

Ha. Sasuke would nod, biting hard on his tongue until blood tainted his mouth and he would agree with the woman, even though his entire life proved otherwise. Sasuke had wanted revenge: first for his family, then for his brother. Sasuke had sought power and thirsted for death, pain, suffering in others that would mask and sate his own. He did not want a toddler. He did not want breasts that leaked or his near limitless abilities reduced to absolute zero. But it had happened. He didn't want to be back in Konoha, relying on a system that exploited him, surrounded by people who distrusted him and a team that couldn't even look him in the eye, let alone consider forgiveness. But that happened too. He'd wanted everything to change, and yet despite his grandiose efforts, the only thing that had changed was him. Mikoto didn't deserve him. She deserved someone better to be a mother to her; someone who desired children. Someone who was born a woman, or even wanted to become a woman would have been a good start.

He wanted to hate it all. Leave it all. Fill his bag full of sharp objects and run just like he had when he was younger and cloaked in moonlight. He wanted to scream his rage out into hurtful words with few letters and become that shell again, feeling nothing, wanting nothing save destruction. He didn't want therapy sessions. He didn't want check ups and sterile paper benches; play dates and check boxes and toys that hummed and sang when he trod on them in the dark hours. The ticking clock in the room only emphasized the time bomb of anger that lay so thinly checked beneath his skin, its composition a grave mixture of hurt, fear, frustration and pain. Hate her. Hate it all. He knew he couldn't tell anyone how sweet those words almost sounded and how guilty he felt acknowledging that.

But as he lay back on the grass outside the psychiatrist's office and the wind tossed his hair and his thoughts around in his head, the sound of that ticking grew fainter. Mikoto, singing sweetly to herself, dug another flower out of a clump of squat, white daisies and handed it to him as though it was her most precious possession in the world. And when she lay her head on the bump in his middle where her brother slowly grew and he knew that the rage and the screaming could go away for a while. He could ignore it. One day it might consume him, perhaps. One day, he could be in danger of losing his mind. But for now, he had to stay strong for them. For now, he stroked her hair and thanked her for the daisy, looking up to the sky to count the passing of clouds as she curled up beside him.

And if he really wanted to lie to himself, he could almost have called it happiness.

But that was now. Beforehand, before this, the sky, the therapist, the rules; things had been much easier. Worse, horrific, violent. But easier.