Fugaku was a man who planned his future extensively. He knew fromm a young age who he would marry, his place in the clan, and the truth that he would not die of old age. He knew that of his two children, his firstborn would become clan head, and his second child, the Uchiha chief of police. He knew that there were a thousand and one ways for plans to go awry, and he had made peace with it.

Maybe the success of his firstborn made him complacent, though, because he was completely unprepared for his second child. Or, more accurately, second children in the form of twins.

The last thing she remembered was darkness, and pain and the rest of her life before. She breathed in the crisp air, felt the warm sheets wrapped around her, and opened her eyes to a tiny face peering sleepily at her. It was a baby! A dark haired, dark eyed boy who waved his arms and giggled at her. As if on cue, a woman, dark haired and dark eyed too, entered the room and picked him up, smoothing his hair away and bending down to pick her up with one arm.

Wait. Picked up? With one arm? She raised one hand to her face, noting the chubby fingers and tiny dimples. She was…a baby. What?

After passing out and a lot of crying, she was certain of three things.

One, she had died. She remembered her previous life, but the thing was, she didn't exactly know how she died. But that was the only logical conclusion, because she had been reborn.

Two, she was an absolutely adorable baby. And with a twin! Just then, her twin turned toward her and she cooed at him, making him giggle again. But all too quickly she sobered again. Her knowledge of just who he was lead to her third conclusion.

Her new name was Akira. Uchiha Akira. She was the twin of the Uchiha Sasuke. And if she was lucky, the immunity Sasuke's charms had rendered him would apply to her, but there was a real possibility of death by Itachi. The knowledge of it hung over her, tinted her every action with desperation, because she would miss every breath, every leaf, every bite of food, everything inherent to being alive. In her previous life, death was sudden and something she thought would ever happen, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

Even so, she was so, so grateful. Getting even 8 more years was now so precious to her. And it was fitting yet strange that she should be reborn in the clan whose fate she wanted to change the most.

And change it she would, she swore to herself. The worst thing that could happen was death, and to her that was not so bad. But the clan members—her clan members now—didn't deserve to die, especially not the civilians who were not involved and wouldn't end up involved even if the coup were to go through. Shisui didn't deserve to have no other option than to die, and Itachi didn't deserve to have no option than to kill.

"Aaa!" Sasuke yelled, for no apparent reason in the way that babies do sometimes, and Akira decided that her plans could wait awhile (but not too long, because she had also decided that her cinnamon roll of a twin should be protected at all costs).

Akira peeked cautiously at Itachi. He was same as she remembered from her previous life, only slightly more stressed. His was a face that didn't tend to change as time went on, gaunt cheeks and impassive expression and overwhelming sorrow. His eyes slid over to catch her staring, and Akira quickly shut her eyes. After a while, she peeked at him again. He was looking away this time, but deliberately, and a shadow of a smile lingered at the corner of his mouth. Hmm, he was so different from yet so like what she'd imagined.

But as always, when he looked at her his eyes had a hint of chill, so different from how he lit up around Sasuke. Perhaps he could sense that she didn't belong. Perhaps, with all his experience with death, he sensed it in her, too. Perhaps she was destined to die.

But damn if she wasn't going to try to survive. And she was going to take the whole clan with her, one step at a time.

Step one: learn Japanese.

Splat. The heavy head of the ink brush fell against the page as Akira attempted to copy Mikoto's smooth calligraphy. Thank goodness it wasn't all writing practice, though, and flashcards with pictures existed. Akira was progressing pretty fast, though she attributed it to Mikoto's incredibly patience. She wondered if her mother had been a jounin sensei at one time, too. Mikoto's hand shot out to catch Sasuke's wrist, just quick enough to thwart his attempt to taste the ink. Sasuke pouted and crawled away. He turned once, to give the both of them an unhappy face. Akira and Mikoto shared an adoring smile.

Painfully slowly—running out of time, a voice whispered—she graduated from picture books to short stories and then to novels and scrolls. She read everything she could, not only because she'd need it but also because it was so damn interesting. There were biographies of every Uchiha who ever lived, and all the techniques they were rumored to wield. From Uchiha Rai's battlefield range to Uchiha Naka's Izanami, she pored over each page for hours on end. Akira became a permanent fixture at Mikoto's heels as she rapid-fired questions about what does this mean and how does that work. Not even Fugaku was spared, and on occasion, she could even wrangle Itachi to stay and answer.

Step two: control chakra.

It was again Mikoto who introduced her to her chakra. It was a welling, nebulous thing, and liked to hide away. Akira flopped to the grass as, yet again, it succeeded in getting away.

"Akira! Dinner!" called her mother from the porch.

Too comfortable to get up, she rolled towards Mikoto until she bumped against the wooden stairs of the deck. Smiling cheekily, she raised her arms in the universal message of I'm cute, so pick me up. Mikoto smiled with exasperation and conceded, brushing blades of grass from her hair. The heady aroma of food reached Akira and her stomach cheered loudly. The chakra issue could wait.

But when she and Sasuke pressed against Mikoto's side for stories, it uncurled and stretched into existence, content to be with familiar chakra signatures. It did the same thing around fires, and around sunlight, and heated mugs of tea, like a tiny cat. And on one cold winter morning, with Akira buried under three blankets and toasty-warm—finally!—it listened and stuck the blanket to her hand. It was mischievous too, because it finally let go after an hour of pulling and panicking, only tempted by the rising sun outside. Akira shut her eyes and prayed for patience.

Step 3: going incognito.

Fugaku and Mikoto were good people, but like all Uchiha, they wanted to show off their children. Whether it be Itachi's ninja skills or Sasuke's chubby cheeks, they liked to present it to the world, as if saying, look! My child is awesome!

They were also chronic worriers. Akira didn't begrudge them; they had to be. In a world of killers and mind-walkers, they wanted their children to grow up quickly, to protect themselves. So any sign of intelligence would be taken and nurtured, the news spread to anyone and everyone because in Konoha, the strong receive the most in hopes of them repaying the village. But like Itachi and Shisui and even Sasuke, they would be taken advantage of and manipulated. She didn't want that. Plus, staying under the radar was good, and from what she'd seen of the anime, staying under Danzo's radar was especially good.

So Akira developed normally, a few steps behind Sasuke (always), but normally. She was quiet and kept to herself, fading in the background of Sasuke's exuberance and Itachi's prowess. She was content with what she had.

Something Akira loved about this world was how trusting shinobi were of their kids. Toddlers just a few years old were permitted to roam around, and Akira inhaled the scent of rain as she dangled her feet over the Naka River. She tilted her face toward the water, watching it flow swiftly toward around a bend and disappear. The rain was light, each drop disappearing into the water. The river was murky and deep, and Akira shivered as a chill wind pushed through her hair. It reminded her of what little she could remember of Shishui and of her death—the consuming darkness and remoteness.

Standing up abruptly, she decided she wanted to go home. But her sandals couldn't find purchase on the rocks, now slicked by rain. She threw out her arm, trying to catch the edge, to hold onto anything.

In an instant, she slipped off the edge of the ravine and into the water. She cried out, but only the roar of the water answered.

There was no one to hear her. No one to see her.

In the end, again, death had come earlier than she'd ever expected. She hoped, then, that her family in this lifetime wouldn't be too sad. Maybe she could linger on a bit more after death, just a while longer, and she could wait for Shisui, and she could tell him that everything would end up okay, and as clansmen they would go together.

The sound of rain, of water gradually faded away. Everything did, really. But when Akira opened her eyes, it was to the same sky—now clear—and to the bank of the river.

A/N:

Guess who's back with another fic?

I should explain why I'm working on this fic and not When the day grows dark. I've never really liked my writing style, I think it's too verbose and I struggle with conveying emotion, but once in a while I have some good ideas plot-wise, and I have the overwhelming urge to put them down, even if I have to force myself to do so sometimes. As you can see, I use complex sentences every chance I get, for reasons that are unknown even to myself. But I think I really need to hone my writing skills so that I can give back to the fanfiction community for all the masterpieces I've read over the years.

I love any kind of feedback, so please tell me what you think about this! And if you see any ideas you like, don't hesitate to use them in your own fic—but please let me read it because I love seeing others' interpretations of my ideas.

Thanks and happy fic reading!