Those Who Were Blessed.
There was a baby girl born before Sasuke, born without cries and without breath in her tiny, pale, lifeless body. Mikoto never saw her and she never knew if Fugaku gave her a name, or if she was to become another nameless stat of the Uchiha clan, alongside all the dead babies the family had.
Mikoto tried to convince herself as she put the baby's clothes away that she never held dreams of braiding a little girl's hair or buying her kimonos and teaching her how to cook because she knew, right from the start of her pregnancy, that the baby's blood was strong and that it'd be able to use the Fire Jutsu from the family, and she tried to convince herself that she hadn't had any dreams for her baby at all, because as an Uchiha she knew the chances for losing the baby.
Every Uchiha woman knew when she was going to bear an Uchiha baby who'd be blessed with the Sharingan. Those pregnancies were always the hardest, the deliveries the more painful; it was also painfully frequent for those pregnancies end in miscarriages and stillborn babies.
Fugaku never told her what he had done with the body of their baby daughter and Mikoto tried hard to convince herself that it wasn't important, that she didn't spend nights awake in the room that would've been the baby's trying not to think if her baby's body was buried somewhere, or if Fugaku had done something with their little girl's ashes.
Itachi was growing stronger day after day and that was the most important thing, a heir for Fugaku and for the Uchiha, a genius in their family, a calm and serious boy that would make the Uchiha name shine.
When she knew she was pregnant again and the terribly familiar fever and cramping started, signaling another Sharingan blessed baby, Mikoto prayed and prayed, trying not to think of the tiny glimpse she had gotten of her dead baby, of the silence that had filled her room as the midwife wrapped the baby completely even as Mikoto cries replaced those that the baby should've given, that her tiny baby girl hadn't been able to give.
She put her hand over her stomach every time the pain started, whispering to her baby to be strong, to be strong like his father and like his big brother Itachi, to be strong for mama and papa and for himself, too. Whenever the pain increased, she whispered her prays, hoping she wouldn't feel blood between her legs, that she wouldn't feel contractions start.
When they did start it was eight weeks too soon (just like her little girl) and Mikoto clenched her jaw and tried not to sob, whispering to her baby their prayer – be strong, be strong, baby, be strong – between contractions, trying also not to notice the grim look the midwife had.
There was silence, again, and Mikoto's heart broke when she saw the midwife shaking her head, moving to wrap the baby into the soon-to-be soiled blanket.
"Is the baby…"
"Not yet, but soon. I'm sorry, child…"
"Wait!" She asked, moving to sat down despite the tears and the pain inside her body. "I want to see the baby…"
The midwife sighed, reaching for the blanket to wipe the baby's face from blood, eyes grim.
The baby was breathing despite not having cried and it - he - was shivering, so small and pale and alive. Mikoto gave a tearful laugh, cradling her baby against her chest tighty; the baby did cry then, louder than Itachi had cried when he had been born.
"It's too small, child," the midwife said, but she didn't stop her when she moved her hakama away, offering her breast to the newborn baby, standing up to go and inform Fugaku that he had another son, even if she was certain he wasn't going to last long. "It won't survive more than a few days."
She carefully held the baby close to her, feeling her little baby feed of her breast and she allowed her grief to ease. The midwife was wrong. The baby in her arms was strong, more than strong enough to survive; she could feel it by the way he was feeding of her, by the way his tears remained.
Her little Sasuke was a survivor. She was sure he was going to survive.