Rating: T

Warnings: Unabashedly a fix-it, kid fic, mom!Orochimaru, questionable morals, ninja parenting, pining, angst, humor, etc.

Word Count: ~2000

Pairings: Sakumo/Orochimaru

Summary: Morality and logical limits are not Orochimaru's strong point, even as a loyal Konoha shinobi. Thankfully, it seems that parenting actually is.

Disclaimer: Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto was smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

Notes: This was prompted by someone on Tumblr, but I've gone rather sideways with the idea and twisted it without mercy, oops. I have no regret, since I've been wanting to write Mitsuki in a fic since he was introduced. Chapters are going to be short, sorry—this fic is self-indulgent more than anything, and updates may be sporadic.

my bones are shifting in my skin

Chapter 1

It's a whim.

It's only a whim.

(That's all it ever is, isn't it?)

Orochimaru sees him at twilight, near the edges of the market, alone amidst the crowd. Except he isn't alone, not at all, because he's laughing, beaming at the child in his arms, and the crowd parts around him like the sea before a weathered rock, veteran of storms. The child reaches up, laying small hands against his face, eyes on him alone, and smiles back, unpracticed and so breathtakingly honest.

Never before has Orochimaru even considered liking children. He's never cared one way or another, never had cause for his eyes to linger, never dwelt on children as anything but future adults not yet fully formed. But something about the sight of Hatake Sakumo with his newborn son is enough to stop Orochimaru in his tracks, freeze him there still and startled as a snake before a stampede. He can't take his eyes off them in the stretching sunlight, can't take another step on the way back to his lab. There's not even any saying just what stops him, only that it does.

He can't quite catch his breath, and for the first time in his life, Orochimaru is captivated by another person.

The crowd shifts, reforms. A woman carrying a stack of boxes jostles Hatake from behind, making him step out of the way, and like golden glass shattering into dust the moment is gone. The woman apologizes, Hatake laughs kindly, and with his son cradled in one arm he turns and disappears down the street.

It takes several more moments for Orochimaru's feet to remember their motion. There's no danger of anyone coming close to him, no one to push him forward. Just a street that may as well be empty, a heart that's beating just a little too fast even though nothing happened. It is…confusing. Unsettling. Hatake's face is in his mind, as is the child's, and Orochimaru can't shake them away.

Tsunade would understand, if she were here. Tsunade would know exactly what to say to make sense of this. Jiraiya would laugh at him, and mock him, but he'd try to explain with broad, terrible metaphors and too many hand gestures. They did it for him before, after all—

But that matters little now. Orochimaru closes his eyes, takes a breath, and forces his feet forward.

Tsunade and Jiraiya have been gone for years, and Orochimaru is petty and hurt and resentful; he will never try to mend those fences first. Let them approach with hammer and nails, and he'll accept, but even if he tried to send a letter now he has little idea what he would—could—say. They made their choices, after all.

He doesn't go to his lab in the Research Division, as he had planned. Instead, he moves past it, headed for the Forest of Death with its rusted-over chain-link fence. By now the sun is almost completely vanished behind the mountains, the shadows stretching long and growing darker. The beasts here are largely nocturnal, but no threat to him—he came here as a child, before everything changed, and used to watch his mother dance among the trees. It was her favorite of Konoha's many training grounds, and Orochimaru has inherited her fondness for it.

Moving through his katas usually clears his mind, gives him clarity. Not so much today. There's an itch in his chest that's almost an ache, a strange, unsettled edge to his mind. He trains until his limbs are heavy with exhaustion but still can't shake it free. And when he finally sinks down onto the ground, shoving his long hair out of his eyes and trying to catch his breath, that image is still there.

Distantly, Orochimaru is aware of the specifics of Hatake's life. His wife died in childbirth almost precisely a year ago. He's a jounin, and one of the best in Konoha, eyed as a potential successor to the Hokage's seat. Sarutobi likes him, and Dan liked him, and Nawaki thought he was cool. His parents are long since dead, and he has no other family besides his infant son—the Hatake Clan, like so many, is a victim of the Clan Wars' routes. Orochimaru's own Hebi Clan suffered much the same; the small, powerful, insular clans were always favored targets.

Altogether it means Hatake is almost entirely alone in the world. Like Orochimaru, his family has dwindled down to one. But—

He sees that smile again, warm in the thick sunlight, wondering and so loving, and closes his eyes.

I want that, he thinks, and it's almost a surprise. His hands curl into fists in his lap, long nails cutting into skin, and he tips his head back to rest against the wide bole behind him. I…want that.

For a moment the memory of Nawaki is all too clear. Orochimaru had been so proud to be assigned his own genin team, the first among them to be granted such. And to have Tsunade's beloved little brother as well—he'd been happy.

When the mission went wrong, he was the one to carry Nawaki's body back to Konoha, the only whole body he could find amidst the massacre. The image of Tsunade's grief from that moment has never left him, and sometimes he thinks, What if I had—

But there's nothing. A thousand, a hundred thousand times he's played it out, and the facts never change. Orochimaru wasn't enough to save them, to save him. He couldn't keep Nawaki alive. He failed.

Hatake Sakumo's smile comes to him again, the child in his arms, peace in his eyes, and Orochimaru is on his feet before he even knows where he intends to go.

His feet know. His feet trace the path right back to his lab, dark and shuttered now that midnight has come and gone. No one else is here, and no one will even enter the main building for hours. For now, Orochimaru has free rein.

It will take some doing, he thinks, pulling out thick files of notes and deactivating the traps on them. So much experimentation. Those halfhearted thoughts he had given Danzō's offer of joining his elite division are no longer viable; besides, boredom was his main motivator in accepting, and that's no longer a factor. Not that Orochimaru minds—he always does best with a problem to occupy his mind.

He'll need another source of DNA, though. His hands pause in the middle of flipping through a file, and he frowns, leaning back. His long hair rustles the papers beneath his fingers, and with a huff of irritation he gathers it between his hands, twisting it up into a high bun.

If he's going to go to all the work of creating a child in the first place, he should be certain the child is powerful enough to survive. Orochimaru has lost enough in his life; he doesn't want to create a life, raise it, and have it taken from him once again. Thankfully, Konoha has a glut of strong shinobi. It should be easy enough to just pick one of them. No need to ask permission—it's not as if they'll ever discover the child shares their blood. Orochimaru is a greedy man, and not about to share his child with another person, even if that person unknowingly provided genetic material.

He thinks, briefly, of Sarutobi, who is undoubtedly the most powerful shinobi in Fire Country. However, his mind shies away from the thought, because Sarutobi may as well be a second father to him. Beyond that, the Sarutobi Clan already has two children. They don't need more. Perhaps one of the dojutsu clans? Orochimaru has always had a fascination with the Sharingan and the Byakugan, largely because Orochimaru's family has long told stories about being descended from the same progenitor, Ōtsutsuki Indra. There's no way to give credence to the tale, which Orochimaru regrets, but perhaps the shared DNA would be enough to allow the child to awaken a dojutsu.

Except, Orochimaru thinks with a faint grimace, an activated dojutsu would give the Hyuuga or Uchiha solid grounds for taking the child from him. Sarutobi would likely take his side, but the Clans have influence, and the shared blood would be obvious. Better not to risk it.

For a moment, Orochimaru hesitates over the idea of Jiraiya; one can't argue that he's strong, certainly, and it wouldn't exactly be difficult to secure DNA, seeing as Orochimaru has the key to his apartment. But Jiraiya is also a fool, and Orochimaru thinks with a faint snort that he's already subjected himself to Jiraiya as a child once; no need to do it again.

And—

Orochimaru's mind keeps cycling back, like a skipping record, to Hatake Sakumo in the market, laughing.

His tapping pencil stills. Orochimaru stares down at the files, now spread out, and breathes carefully. It is…possible, isn't it? And relatively risk-free, given that the Hatake Clan's main trait—their white chakra—is easily overlooked. Beyond that, Hatake has the same white hair and dark eyes as Jiraiya, and there are enough facial features in common that if any questions are asked about the child's other parent, Orochimaru can easily offer up enough misdirection to throw the questioner off. Jiraiya certainly won't advocate to have the child taken from him—he wouldn't know what to do with a child if he tried. He might not be happy with Orochimaru, but he won't protest if he thinks it's his.

Hatake is strong, as well. His clan is known for breeding leaders, clever, intelligent jounin with high chakra levels. Combined with Orochimaru's own abilities and genius, it's exactly the sort of edge that will let a child survive this world.

The Records Office has DNA from every shinobi, past or present, on file. Several samples, even, to be used in the case of paternity tests or for identifying unrecognizable remains. Their security is tight, of course, but Orochimaru may as well be the snake his clan is named for—it will be simple enough to slip in and take what he needs.

Orochimaru drops his pen, curling his fingers around the edge of the table. This is…not like anything he's done before. Sarutobi won't be pleased with him. The village as a whole fears him already; this could turn that hatred on whatever child he creates.

But, of course, Orochimaru is a selfish creature at heart. He wants a child, wants that brightness, so he'll make one. Consequences are for later. Orochimaru isn't one for second thoughts, and he won't have them in this of all things. He wants a child, so he'll make one.

Lonely, something that sounds like Tsunade whispers inside of him, but he pushes it down, shuts it out, and starts laying out his formulas.