Chapter 8: Maternal Instinct

Itachi paused, and suddenly the world restarted in a blur of colour and sound.

He noted with detached surprise that his heart rate was elevated, his lungs drawing in air in shallow breaths. His Sharingan was activated – unnecessary, as the group of simple bandits he'd just taken out were no match for him. It wasn't exertion that was causing the light sweat to bead on his brow, either.

What is wrong with me? He wondered.

…Everything. A nasty voice answered. He shook his head as if to clear it. Focus, focus…

"Please, don't kill me," blubbered the terrified man – the last of the bandit group - at the edge of his blade. "I have children!"

Itachi sighed, and without a sound, reversed his favoured weapon – a plain, ANBU-issued tanto - and struck the man across the temples with the butt of the weapon, laying him out cold. He cast a quick eye around the forest clearing, but the other four bandits were also in varying states of injury and unconsciousness. None of them was dead, he noted. That was… good.

Feeling listless now, he sheathed his blade and took out some ninja wire to bind them. Had he really just blacked out for the last 3 minutes or so? How unprofessional.

"Having children changes nothing," he murmured to the unconscious man as he worked, a crease between his eyes. A slight blur marred the edges of his vision as he deactivated the Sharingan, the degeneration of his eyes beginning to affect him again. He'd delayed going to the hospital for his treatments a bit too long this time, although he could still function. He hated hospitals, almost as much as Kakashi.

This loss of focus, though, was a new problem, and potentially more worrying than a physical injury. It wasn't tiredness – he felt reasonably well-rested, for once, and he'd just started out; he was not even half a day away from Konoha yet. He reflected on the situation as he dragged the bandit group into an untidy pile in the centre of the clearing, double-checking their binds.

For a moment back there, he had been on the verge of mindlessly doing it – slicing through the man's neck and painting the forest floor red with an artful spray of blood. Even after a few years of relative peace, death-dealing was still his default, it seemed. So natural it was basically muscle-memory at this point. It would have been so easy.

He straightened and, for a moment, looked up at the gently swaying leaves of the trees. He could see a patch of blue sky. He closed his eyes and relished the silence, feeling the dappled light on his face.

It wasn't like he enjoyed killing – quite the opposite. He'd been at the forefront of the group advocating for the change in international peacetime policy and had felt a brief glimmer of hope for the future of their bloodsoaked world when new laws had been passed only a few years ago.

A council of nations had agreed that if any ninja was able to subdue a criminal (or trespassing ninja) without killing, they were duty-bound to restrain them and submit them for interrogation and judgement, and repatriation to their village of origin. Field executions were reserved only for serious international threats, like rogue ninjas, with a kill-order signed by all the Kages on the council.

Of course, clashes still occurred, and sometimes they resulted in deaths on either side, and there was always tension when the council had to meet to arbitrate over violations of the new laws… but so far, it was political in-fighting rather than territorial battle. So far, the fragile peace was still holding.

He'd run across these bandits near the border of Fire Country, and it had been the work of minutes to subdue them. Now, leaving them trussed up and ready for the next patrol to happen along, he could continue on his way with his hands no less bloody than before. That should feel good, right?

It would have been quicker to kill them.

A curious kind of despair swept over him at the unbidden thought and he shifted uneasily, looking around. Suddenly the silent trees didn't seem so comforting, and he ruefully wished for Genma's inane comments, or Hayate's quiet wit as they discussed a mission to fill the emptiness.

He was a creature born of war and necessity, and no amount of mercy could change that. He belonged to a different age; an age when killing was something you learned as soon as walking. Now, the Academy kids played in the streets instead of fought in them. He was a relic of a bloody past that was best left alone – not to be spoken of until it faded from living memory.

The world would be better without me.

He thought again of the last bandit's impassioned plea for mercy. Did the man actually have children? How naïve, to think that changed anything. His childhood certainly hadn't been protected.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Saya had said, her hand rising to cover her mouth. Her eyes wide with revulsion as she realised the depths of his depravity.

It had been a few weeks since that happened, but he still remembered every detail vividly. Her look of horror was etched into his mind as if he'd memorised it with this Sharingan.

I should just disappear.

Recently, that particular thought had started to sound more comforting than worrying.

It would be… better.

He sighed and tried to force his mind away from such dark places, and back to his mission.

Snow Country had never seemed so far away.

Children change everything, Uchiha Mikoto mused, as she walked through the village with purposeful strides. She smiled faintly as she thought of Sasuke's thinly veiled disapproval as she poked about in Itachi's dango package that morning.

Did he really think she wouldn't spot it at the back of the fridge? Of course, Fugaku wouldn't see it there, but it had taken her all but three seconds that morning to spot it lurking behind the yoghurt.

And then the work of only three more minutes to get a (mostly monosyllabic) retelling of the story from her youngest son. He mentioned a young civilian woman who had taken the time and risk to deliver the seemingly innocent package the previous day. That was odd enough, but it had been Sasuke's uncharacteristically rebellious (albeit half-hearted) attempt to hide the package after his father had commanded its destruction that had drawn her particular attention.

Upon pressing further, Sasuke had clammed up entirely, so Mikoto had been forced to drop the issue, at least until Itachi returned. Unless she approached the source of this mystery gift herself.

Itachi had been even more unresponsive in recent weeks – quite frankly, she was worried. He'd always been difficult to read, but it seemed like something had happened to make him shut down even more than usual. She'd thought he was just tired, or that the Clan's pressure on him to find a wife was finally getting to him (unlikely, given that it had never bothered him too much before). But in light of this new evidence, she was now convinced that something else was going on. The timing of this odd 'thank you for your patronage' delivery was suspicious. And although she could not detect anything wrong with the message itself, the wording was a bit curious and too long to be some kind of generic marketing ploy. The young woman had also undertaken considerable risk and effort to make the delivery – how she'd gotten into the compound without a legitimate reason was impressive enough.

And the young woman had a name, too, which Sasuke had volunteered, after much prodding and with some reluctance.

Saya.

So she'd stuck the letter back into the package, slid it behind the yoghurt again and set out to get the full story herself.

She paused outside the restaurant in question and looked up with narrowed eyes at the cheerful sign.

'Konoha's Finest Dango Eatery' it read, with an illustration of a burly yet cheerful chef next to the ornate lettering.

"Hmm." She strode in.

"Good morning!" chimed a cheerful-looking waitress with light-coloured hair standing at attention near the door. "My name is Fu, welcome to Konoha's Finest Dango Eatery."

The restaurant wasn't that busy, and was comfortable and cool compared to the growing heat outside.

"Please, have a seat," she gestured politely at the open booths near the front of the restaurant.

Mikoto eyed the waitress carefully. "I will, thank you, Fu. I wonder, do you perhaps know a young woman called Saya? I believe she works here."

The waitress's eyes widened, "Oh, uh… yeah, she works here… I think she's just stepped out for a few minutes."

Mikoto sat down in the nearest booth. "When she returns, would you send her over, please?" she asked pleasantly, "I have a somewhat delicate matter to discuss with her."

The waitress's eyes bulged further, but she nodded. "Sure…"

Mikoto could almost feel the curiosity burning off her like heat.

"I'll have a pot of tea while I wait." She prompted, when the young woman continued to gawk.

The waitress nodded and hastily fled to the kitchens.

Saya shielded her eyes from the hot summer sun wearily, feeling sweat bead on her brow. She contemplated continuing her slow journey back from the market with some trepidation, eyeing the two bulky shopping bags she'd put down for a moment. But chores had to be done. She also still held onto the very slim hope that her delivery had not ended up in a bin, after all. Itachi could have received it…

Probably not, though.

Thoroughly depressed now, Saya picked up the bags with a grunt of effort and continued, musing on the situation all over again. Entering the premises through the kitchen side-door, Saya glanced around. Matada seemed to have stepped out for a while himself – the freshly made dango orders were waiting on the counter, and they were having a slow afternoon.

She walked through the kitchen and entered the cool walk-in refrigerator, finally putting down her purchases on a wooden table. She began unpacking the ingredients and supplies onto the shelves. As she went, she counted and recorded her purchases neatly in the refrigerator's ledger; Matada was always meticulous with his inventory.

"Three onions…" she muttered, noting it down. I can't just leave things with Itachi like that. I'll understand if he doesn't want to see me again – but before that, I need to know he received the message.

"A bag of potatoes," She muttered, "Which is-" she hoisted the bags onto a weighted scale and paused while the needle swung, "-hm, four and a half kilograms…" Perhaps if I can get hold of Shisui-san? He seemed nice. Maybe he could pass on a message.

"Two melons…" But what would I say? How would I even find him?

"Five oranges." It was useless – it's not as though members of the Uchiha clan would suddenly start pitching up at the restaurant, after all…

Fu burst into the kitchens. "Oh good, you're back!" she exclaimed, catching sight of Saya. She flounced over and pushed into the refrigeration room, grinning excitedly. "You'll never guess who walked in and wants to talk to you!"

Saya's heart soared – could it be? "I-Is it Itachi?" she stammered, heart hammering. A kiwi fruit rolled away from her nerveless fingers and she hastily grabbed at it before it could fall onto the floor. "Well?"

"No, no, of course not," Fu said dismissively, flapping a hand, "I said you'd never guess, silly!" she seemed entirely insensitive to the emotional rollercoaster she was putting her friend through. "It's your boyfriend's mother."

"He's not my – wait, WHAT?"

Fu snickered at Saya's somewhat panicked expression. "You heard me. The matriarch herself." She sighed dreamily, "She's so elegant and pretty, too, just like the rest of them…"

Saya grabbed her shoulder and gave her a little shake, "Fu," she demanded, "Focus – explain!"

"There's nothing to explain!" Fu replied blithely, eyes widening, "She just walked in and asked for you by name. I said I'd send you over when you got back - I was hoping you could explain, actually. What did you do?"

"I – nothing! I have no idea what this is about," Saya said, only being slightly dishonest - she was confused. She assumed this had something to do with her visit to the compound, and the delivery… but what could Itachi's mother possibly have to do with an innocuous dango delivery?

That family is really weird.

"What are you going to do?" Fu asked eagerly. "If you wanna make a run for it, I'll cover for you-"

"What are you talking about?" Saya frowned, "I'm not running away!"

"Why not?" Fu shrugged, "You know, I doubt she's here to give her blessing for you to continue seducing her son, you know-"

"I'm not seducing-!" she spluttered, feeling a headache coming on. "Ugh, nevermind."

Itachi's mother… this was the woman who'd sent her son off to war while he was still a toddler. And here she was, drinking tea in this restaurant like nothing was wrong…

Saya carefully put down the kiwi fruit she'd been holding onto the table, before she crushed the delicate fruit into a pulp. She stood a bit straighter.

"Where is she sitting?"

"Table 6. Are you really going to talk to her?"

"Of course." Saya said shortly, "Whatever this is about, it shouldn't take long."

"It was necessary," Itachi had said, his eyes hollow and traumatised, "We were losing the war. We needed every capable fighter…"

She didn't know what this was about, but she did know that she didn't want to be in that woman's presence a second longer than was necessary.

"You look… annoyed." Observed Fu.

"Of course I am," snapped Saya, "I've got work to do, and I don't need any more damn Uchihas causing more drama in my restaurant," she growled. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

She grabbed her waitress' apron off its hook on the wall and tied the bands with purpose.

Fu patted her shoulder. "You sound just like Matada-san," she said admiringly, "Go get her, champ."

Saya strode out of the kitchen with fire in her eyes.

Mikoto was sipping her third cup of tea and gazing out at the street patiently when the swinging doors to the kitchen burst open.

She looked around at the abrupt noise and immediately locked gazes with a set of expressive brown eyes which narrowed slightly with recognition.

Mikoto blinked, surprised by the immediate hostility she sensed from the young woman striding over. It was practically steaming off of her.

The young woman (Saya, Mikoto assumed) was quite pretty – not beautiful, surely, but she had proportionate features in a homely type of face. The type of face that seemed more suited to smiling and laughing than frowning, although she didn't look very friendly right now.

She was a little on the short side, and had a petite build, with a certain softness to her figure that accentuated her hips and chest in a way that most lean and muscled ninja woman had to use illusions to create, when necessary.

She stopped at the side of the table. Mikoto noticed her jaw tense, and she gave a very shallow bow of greeting. "Uchiha-san," she said stiffly. "I believe you wanted to talk to me."

Mikoto raised a slender eyebrow at this weak attempt at civility, but decided to let it pass until she understood the situation a little better. She couldn't spot any fear in the young woman's bearing; either she had a strong backbone, or she was a fool.

Perhaps both.

"And you must be Saya-san." She greeted, matching the young woman's coolness in her tone. "Perhaps you have guessed at my purposes here."

Saya's brow furrowed slightly, but Mikoto could read no sarcasm or artifice in her bland response, "I really can't."

After a pause, Mikoto decided to test the waters further. "My son, Sasuke, mentioned your name to me just this morning."

The young woman had no response to this, but continued to wait, somewhat expectantly.

"You were at the compound – at the doorstep of my house - just yesterday." She prompted, with a note of impatience.

Saya folded her arms. "Are you seeking a confirmation of these facts, or are you asking me a question, ma'am?" she said tartly.

Mikoto stared at her, marvelling at her audacity. As the Uchiha matriarch, she was usually treated with as much respect as her husband, and as much deference. "You don't like me very much, do you?" she asked, bemused.

She watched several emotions flicker behind the young woman's eyes, and saw her throat work as she swallowed whatever her first reaction might have been. After a moment, she kept her expression impressively bland as she replied, "I don't know you at all, ma'am. I simply want to understand how I can help quickly – I have other customers to attend to."

Mikoto glanced around the quiet restaurant. There were two other occupied tables, and the other cheerful waitress, Fu, was bustling between them and seemed to have everything well in hand.

"Perhaps you can spare another few minutes to indulge me." Mikoto said mildly, a hint of steel in her tone. She indicated the booth opposite. "Please – sit down so we may talk. I promise I won't impose for long."

The younger woman paused, then reluctantly sat down, her posture somewhat tense.

She clasped her hands in front of her. Mikoto noted the dirt on her hands, the dried sweat on her brow – she wore no makeup, and her hair, though clean and neat, had not been done up with any particular care. Not exactly the simpering 'fangirl' type Mikoto had somehow expected. Time to test that theory further, she decided.

"You seem like the type of person who appreciates directness," she started, "Is that so?"

"I do." She grudgingly agreed.

"Then I'll get to the point," Mikoto continued, "It appears to me that you have some sort of… connection… to my son, Itachi."

She noted a brief expression of discomfort – no, was it guilt? – flash over Saya's face at the mention of his name. Hm… interesting.

"I wish to understand how this came to be," Mikoto continued, "And also make my sentiments known."

"Then this will be a short conversation," Saya replied still disproportionately feisty (in Mikoto's opinion; so far she had been unfailingly polite with this young waitress). "Since my connection to your son is simple and wholly unremarkable." she gestured at their surroundings. "I work here and he comes to the restaurant to eat dango, on occasion. Since he's a regular, and I hadn't seen him in a while, I made a delivery to the compound – admittedly, it turned out to cause more of a scene than I intended. But that's all, and I fail to see the significance of your 'sentiments' to the matter at all."

Mikoto's eyes narrowed. There was definitely more to the tale – she was sure of it! – and she was starting to lose patience with the girl's impudence. "I am his mother," she hissed, "And as such I am very protective of my son. There are many who would seek to take advantage of him. Surely you can understand th-"

"Wow," the young woman interrupted. "That's incredibly hypocritical."

Mikoto's words died in her throat. "What?" she managed, utterly taken aback.

"You talk of 'taking advantage' of Itachi? He's a grown man." The girls voice was suddenly impossibly cold. "It's not like he's a child that anyone could use and manipulate. Not anymore, at least. And from what I've heard, he never had much of a childhood anyway."

Crippling guilt suddenly ripped through her. But... how did- Mikoto's mouth was dry. "... What you've heard? Did Itachi speak to you of this?"

He never spoke of his childhood (or lack thereof) with her - his own mother! - no doubt wishing to spare her pain. Because he always put others before himself...

So how could this plain, rude, civilian waitress know of it?

She looked away from Mikoto's intense stare now, and chose to side-step the question. "It doesn't matter - I shouldn't have brought it up. But, anyway-" the girl continued, "I consider him a friend, that's all. If you were hoping for something more scandalous, I'm sorry to disappoint. Now, if that's all, perhaps you'll excuse me-"

Mikoto frowned, trying hard to make sense of everything, but understanding hovered just out of reach. "Wait," she said, "One moment."

She sank back into the booth, looking irritated.

Mikoto thought she did at least have clarity on one thing – this girl cared for Itachi. And it wasn't some attempt to infiltrate the Clan – if it had been, she would have been a simpering mess in front of his mother, trying to impress her. This was basically the opposite of that. So then…

"Are you… are you really his friend?" she asked, pressing her hands into her lap to keep them still.

"Yes," the girl said obstinately, without hesitation or fear, "And I don't care if you have a problem with that." She suddenly slammed a clenched hand onto the table resolutely. "It's quite frankly ridiculous that everyone seems to have opinions about this – So what if he comes here sometimes! I mean, let the poor man like dango if he wants to!"

Mikoto blinked. "Well, that's not th-"

"No, listen!" Saya interrupted, wagging a finger in the air. "Sure, I'll acknowledge that if you eat too much dango it might make you pick up weight or develop some kind of nutrient imbalance-"

Mikoto closed her mouth and looked – really looked – at the girl for the first time in the conversation.

She's… strong-willed for sure, but also... incredibly kind.

"- but the Akimichis have already proven that that's no problem for ninjas! Itachi trains so hard anyway and he's always being run into the ground for missions as it stands-"

Itachi visits after training and missions.

"- so, in my opinion, he could stand to put on a bit of weight, d'you know what I mean? What with all the travelling he does without a break, and always being run ragged between all the bullshit with the Clan plus all his ninja work –"

He's confided in her.

"- of course he should eat well! He usually too polite to ask for second helpings, but that doesn't fool me. He deserves all the dango he damn well wants, and this establishment is honoured to have him here whenever he wants to visit."

This place… and this girl… are important.

"And I'll tell you something else" Saya said with an air of finality, "It's got nothing to do with him being an Uchiha, either – I couldn't give a fig about his creepy eye magic-"

Mikoto choked.

"- And I have no intention of getting mixed up in any of your weird clan's politics. So there."

She finished with one last withering glare, and refolded her arms resolutely.

Mikoto stared for a moment, lost in thought, before realising the outburst was over.

"Well." She said, struggling to articulate herself for a moment, "Well, I uh…"she muttered, "I think I might understand, now."

The younger woman's forehead furrowed slightly. "…Understand what?"

Mikoto gave a huff of laughter, "Oh, nothing – just talking to myself. I'd like to thank you, for expressing yourself so fully and honestly."

Saya seemed surprised by the sincerity in her tone, but some of the tension left her posture - she seemed to realise a fight might not be on the cards after all. "Oh. Um… sure?"

Mikoto rose gracefully, leaving some coins on the table to the tea. "I'll leave you now." She glanced around. "This really is a charming establishment."

Saya stood as well, confused.

Mikoto paused, then stepped closer and took the young woman's hand, covering it with her own hand. "Although I know you don't need it, I wholeheartedly give my support to your… friendship… with my son, now that you've explained it."

Saya stared with wide eyes at this abrupt turn of events. "Really?"

Mikoto smiled gently, but there was pain behind her eyes. "I don't know the reasons for your dislike of me, but perhaps I can guess. Regardless of my choices in the past, right now all I want is my sons to find happiness. Recently, Itachi has seemed… out of sorts. More than usual. I had wondered if that had something to do with you-"

Again, she noticed the brief flash of guilt on the girl's face-

"But I am satisfied now that you wish him no ill." She continued. "Whatever happened between you, I'm sure you can make it right." she patted her hand and released it. "I'll make sure he gets your message when he returns."

Mikoto found herself mildly entertained by the rapid emotions flashing across the young woman's face: surprise – confusion – disbelief –

"You will?"

Mikoto nodded, and Saya deflated, sagging slightly with relief.

"I… thank you."

She's so expressive, she'd make a terrible ninja, Mikoto mused.

"There's only one condition," Mikoto said, with a sly smile. She pulled out a leather rectangle with the Uchiha crest emblazoned on it. She always had a spare visitor's pass with her while shopping, in case she needed a delivery made. "Next time you visit the compound, use this to get through the gates."

Saya took it with a stunned expression.

Mikoto smiled. "Farewell, Saya." She said warmly. "I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

And with that, she swept out of the restaurant and headed for home. She had been a terrible mother to Itachi – always putting the Clan first, sacrificing her own son in the process. It was unforgivable - and she didn't think Saya opinion of her would change just because she admitted to it.

But maybe it wasn't too late for Itachi. Maybe this strong, passionate, uncomplicated girl could bring him some measure of happiness.

The Clan would never accept it, of course, but that was a war she would not regret fighting in. This time, she knew which side she would be on.

Author's note:

Mikoto is always portrayed as a good mother, which is just... not right. But in my fic she's at least trying to make amends :)