Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, otherwise it would make sense. Nor am I making any money off this.
A/N: This collection of ficlets will probably never be finished. But I've written one or two good ones for it, and I would like to get them out. Just wanted to be upfront about it. Also, this was betaed by the beautiful Adi1, even though she hates betaing, because she's an amazing human being and the resident Uchiha expert. I'd highly recommend her fic Best Days.
Uchiha Mikoto is about to die.
She's not afraid, not really. As an Uchiha, fear is not a part of her world view, but she is both hurt by and hurting for him. How could he? And what did she do wrong?
She remembers the day he graduated Academy. She was so proud—six years old and already making a name for himself. Her husband stood next to her near the fence of the building, both watching as Itachi walked towards them carrying books nearly the size of his torso. Although Fugaku-san's face was carved out of stone, she could see his approval in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin. It was only fitting that the greatest leader of the clan should have such a son. She felt honoured to have given birth to him, to have contributed
That night, while lying in bed, both of them on their sides, her husband had put his hand on her shoulder from behind her. "He is going to save us," he had said, and although her back was to him, the determination and certainty in his voice was so clear that she could picture his expression, down to the creases around the corners of his mouth. She had nodded once. Itachi would save them.
Fugaku's blood flies through the air, splattering the walls, floor and Mikoto's face. She blinks it out of her eyes and is only dimly aware of it running down her face in warm rivulets as she watches her husband's kneeling form crumple onto the dojo floor, a pool of blood slowly spreading out underneath him.
She looks up at her son. His face is hidden in shadow, but the blood on his sword seems black as it glistens wetly in the moonlight in an odd contrast to the cold, hard gleam of the sword itself and his ANBU armour behind it.
She remembers the first time he put on that armour. He and Fugaku had argued the night before. In hindsight this should have alerted her, or at the very least worried her. But because he had wanted something for Sasuke she had thought that his priorities were still in order, that he still believed in their cause and was still sensible to the honor being bestowed on him. After all, what showed more dedication to one's family than concern for one's brother? Now, at the end, she realizes how hollow her reasons—her excuses—sound. She was just persuading herself because it made it easier for her to ignore the way his face closed up and the frigid distance in his eyes, which in turn made it easier for her believe that they didn't hurt her. She wanted this above all else for him, which should have made her pain immaterial. After all, what could be more important than dedication to one's family?
Now, kneeling on the floor, her husband's blood on her face and seeping into her kimono, she can no longer ignore it. He steps towards her and his face moves from shadow to moonlight. His skin practically glows and his eyes are endless black pools. Somewhere in trying to absorb every detail of her last moments alive, Mikoto distantly registers that he has turned off Sharingan.
His movements are quick and clean—he is every inch the shinobi she raised him to be. The blade hums slightly as it slices through the air. Every inch the shinobi, and not at all an Uchiha. She realizes too late that she did it all backwards. She should have taught him to be proud first, proud of his roots and his clan. The blade is cold for a split second and then the pain is overwhelming. It sears white hot through her brain until she can't take it any more.
Uchiha Mikoto dies.
Please, please R&R. Concrit is especially welcome.