Carnations in the Cold, a naruto fanfic

EDIT!03 March 2008 - Re-wrote the beginning wedding scene.

Dedicated to:

Allurement (because that sci-fi fanfic completely screwed up, so I hope this'll cheer you up!)

Miko-chan (because I want her to get better!)

Strings of a puppet (because I've been such a bad writing partner!)

and last, but not least, my klutz of a best friend, Hellyeah07 (because she's amazing and hilarious and if you're reading it now, ilyiafw!)

The kannushi speaks, soft, wise and earnest—but to her, it's all incoherent droning. She tries, desperate in her feeble, painfully subtle attempts, to find some sort of understanding, to interpret what the priest is saying, but she just can't. Her mind isn't focused.

(and she knows, for a fact, that her mother would've scolded her, but today, in her mind her mother wasn't there, only this moment existed—it was her time to shine)

On the outside, she is slender, elegant, and stunning—her sable tresses are gathered high on the crown of her head, thick strands of sable flowing down in smooth ringlets. A thick, dusty cream headdress, with pastel carnations and pink cosmoses hanging off the smooth swooping curve of the headdress, rested on the crown of her head, soot-hued tresses hidden beneath the headdress. The stereotypical—

(yet undeniably stunning, she mused)

—white, pure silk kimono hangs off her lithe body—loose, but not too loose; tight, but not too tight. Patterns of carnation petals and leaves being blown aback in the wind have been etched into the silk fabric;

(the sheer amount of skill and effort placed into this single kimono—it astounded her, how skilful the person was in embroidery—they deserve more recognition, she thinks with slight naïveté)

—they glisten and glow ethereal silver in the bright, vivacious light of the hall.

On the inside, however, she was a completely different story—her mind was in a shambles, panic dominating her senses and any source of intelligence and coherence she once possessed.

(this was a moment she had been looking forward to for so long—sometimes she couldn't even remember when she had first fallen in love with him, sometimes she couldn't even remember why, why him of all people, when she had plenty of other suitors)

Panic surges through her—it numbs her body, causing her to freeze in any movements she was about to make.

(she inwardly curses herself for getting cold feet now, of all times—why not earlier, when she was being prettied up, like a china doll?)

Her chest rises and falls at a rapid pace; her heart hammers harder and harder, faster and faster, against her ribcage, rapping against the ribcage as though it was an inhibition, an obstacle. She bites her tongue to stop anyone from noticing her discomfort—namely, him.

(her eyes darted to his figure; she eyes him with curiosity and affection; he stands tall, proud and strong, his gaze is set straight in front of him, not directed at the priest but straight in front of him, as though he was in a skirmish with the future, facing it head-on with confidence and conviction—her panic wanes, as her eyes soften—she always admired him for his loyalty and faith, as well as other things)

Onyx eyes glance to the side—he already knew she was looking at him. He passed her a reassuring glance, and squeezes her hand, softly and heartening.

(she enjoys the feel of his calloused digits stroking her own palm; the sensation sends shiver downs her spine and leaves her body vulnerable for tremors—but even so, she enjoys the sensation of his soft, yet simultaneously hardened touch)

The warmth and sense of comfort and relief that radiated from his calloused palms left her, as his hand slowly, almost reluctantly, released her own. Inwardly, she misses her touch, but berates herself; because she'll get plenty of chances to revel in his warm, intoxicating touch in the night that'd follow.

(for a fleeting moment, she glances at him out of the corner of her eye—the sleeves of his soot black kimono, billowing in the wind—the vibrant Uchiha insignia, sown into the back of the kimono, right below his neck—calloused digits clutching onto the small cup—the san-san-kudo, she muses, eying the intricate patterns etched into the cup)

Gleaming ebony-hued orbs, lined with thick, long dark eyelashes, glance forward—another cup is outstretched towards her palm. She can hear the kannushi murmuring comforting words, coaxing her to take the cup—wooden orbs gesturing to the cup, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

(wordless and muted, she takes the cup—out of the corner of Fugaku's eyes, he notices her wrist and digits quivering, as they clutch the cup tightly—the tips of her ivory-hued digits skim across the smooth surface of the cup, memorising the small planes and curves of the complex patterns etched into the cup)

She holds the fragile cup to her lightly-coloured lips, tentative and gingerly parting her lips to take a sip from the cup.

(the pungent, bittersweet flavour of the saké soothes her nerves, calming her body partially, as she continues to sip, graceful and elegant)

The fragrant, intoxicating aroma of the sandalwood and chamomile incense enters her nostrils, soothing and pleasant to her senses and mind, partially lulling her senses. The pungent taste of the saké lingers in her mouth, as she outstretches the cup towards the kannushi.

(out of the corner of her eyes, she sees him watching her intently—orbs of chipped obsidians dipped in thick ink bore into her, instigating shivers ripple down her spine—a sudden, intense gust of wind blew at her, the skirt of her kimono fluttering—the cool breeze chills her skin)

She can feel the supple, smooth curves of Fugaku's arm brush against her own, but even so, her facial expression remains devoid of emotion, though her eyes said differently.

(warm, rushed breaths fanned the smooth surface of her forehead, as his body loomed over hers—his skin glistened radiant bronze in the fluorescent light, shimmering with perspiration)

"It's alright." It was quick and rushed, but she still caught it. His voice was resonant and sharp, protruding her soul, thoughts and inhibitions like a kunai, but even so, she was still able to sense the warmth within his voice, even if it was well hidden.

(from the first moment she heard his voice, all up to the moment when her mother told her of the news, she knew she was lucky that she would be able to marry to such a man—maybe it was love at first sight, maybe it wasn't, but right now, all she knew—)

"…I know."

(—was that she loved him more than the sky, moon, sun and seven heavens)

Carnations in the Cold
And every night I'm gonna bring you back to life.

UNE; PROLOGUE

'I've never felt so alive before,' He muses, shell-shocked and flabbergasted by this alien feeling of want, of need. Because in all those days in the past…

…he felt like a puppet.

5 months later, November

He let out a soft sound of fatigue and contentedness, hoarse and raspy, before twisting the metallic faucet—

(he catches a quick glimpse of his face—he looks tired, his skin looks worn out, as though he has been living for all eternity, when tonight truly was the night he had been alive)

—quickly, his grip tough. The water soars out of the faucet, hitting the tap harshly and roughly. His hand moved away from the faucet immediately and stuck with his other, side by side—he held his two hands beneath the small rivulet of fresh water, the water hitting his hands like a waterfall.

The water felt wonderful against his palms—refreshing—cleansing, in one aspect.

He brought his hands to his face, the water hitting his face, hard, but still refreshing. A droplet of water slowly dripped down his forehead, trickling down his long, slim nose.

He twisted the handle—the miniature waterfall came to an immediate standstill, and as it did, the whole world did.

Another soft, throaty sigh left his mouth, as he rubbed his hands through his hair, partially aggravated.

(it had only been 5 months—but it still felt so long ago to him, that moment where he said those two words that would forever change his life, whether for the worst, or the best—)

"Is there something wrong, dear?" His head bobbed up immediately, charcoal eyes glistening with alarm, as his head whipped to his side in caution and surprise—shock, that she had managed to pass through his walls and guards unnoticed.

(but then again, she always was quiet and light-footed)

He gazed at her for a few moments—onyx irises stared at him, softly and tenderly, yet curious and intense; her long, smooth tresses of sable had turned to a tousled mesh of pitch black; her skin was clear, radiant ivory, smooth and sleek; her long, cream muslin nightdress swayed slightly from side to side, as she wandered closer towards him, making the gap between them partially smaller.

"…Iie," He stated, indifferent and aloof, as usual, though his voice still possessed that undertone of pride and dignity.

Her charcoal gaze rested on him, scrutinising and sceptical; she took another few steps towards. Her irises were clouded with worry, this much he knew.

(she was always worried—worrying about the smallest and pettiest of things, even if she refused to show it; sometimes, for a few fleeting moments, he'd wonder why she worried so much)

"Don't lie to me, Fugaku," She said, her voice soft and hushed, but he knew very well that if he didn't tell her the truth, she wouldn't be afraid to show him the true potential of her anger.

(it had surprised him, in the first few weeks of their marriage—how she wasn't afraid to get angry, how she wasn't like the wallflower he had originally thought she would've been; it annoyed him, at first—)

Now he loved her for being so different—so unlike his predictions.

Charcoal irises gazed at each other, drowning in a double-abyss of eternal darkness. He stared at her a few fugacious moments—he inwardly sighed.

"…We have been married for five months now…and it feels as though we've lived through a whole eternity," He came to a sudden stop, his eyes radiating with confusion and bewilderment—he was at a loss for words.

(and why now? He thought, frustration building up within him—usually, no, always, he would be blunt—he would never beat around the bush—yet here he was, standing in the bathroom with his wife, still and speechless)

She gazed at him, her eyes softening; it was almost as though her eyes were urging him to go on.

Slowly, he swallowed, and continued.

"And…it's been so long…and still…nothing has…" He was trying to find a way of saying it without feel a sudden surge of heat in cheeks, "Nothing has…you haven't…" He came to an immediate stop, when he heard her soft, airy yet resonant voice—she was laughing, chuckling to herself.

And even then, he still felt his cheeks become warmer.

"Fugaku…you may be a respectable and honourable man, but you're still so bashful," She let another airy giggle when his cheeks turned to a colour akin to a tomato, "I understand what you're trying to say."

She paused for a few moments, while Fugaku's cheeks slowly, but gradually returned to his original, healthy and radiant bronze glow.

"But…" She made another hesitation, wondering how in the world would she be able to put this into coherent words that he would be able to decipher.

(it had shocked her and rendered her completely stupefied, when she first discovered she was pregnant that single month ago)

"…I…" Her eyelashes lowered for a few, fleeting seconds—he gazed at her. Long dark eyelashes rested against a pale, porcelain face—she was beautiful, strikingly beautiful.

Charcoal eyes lifted to face him.

"I am pregnant."

Maybe it was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his entire, 22 years of existence. Maybe it was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Maybe it was a bad omen—Maybe it was a good omen. Maybe—

But at that exact moment in time, he had forgotten all of the "Maybes" and "Ifs". All he knew was that this was the start of something—the something he had deserved, after all those years of being used and thrown away, only to be picked up by the same person. This was the dawning of the two children, the two Uchiha children, who would make history.

Only Fugaku didn't know they would make history for all the wrong reasons.

When those few, three simple words left Mikoto's mouth, everything suddenly felt a lot more complicated. He was shell-shocked—taken aback. He had virtually no idea as to what he should say or do, at that.

(he didn't whether to be happy, sad, angry—all he could be was surprised, for the current moment)

"…." Mikoto gazed into his charcoal orbs for a few moments, scrutinising—almost as though she was searching for something in a sea of clouded onyx.

(and somehow, he never knew how, but she always managed to find that something—)

Her eyes softened, her gaze full of sheer, unadulterated affection and sincerity, only for him—a small, light smile graced her features.

(she knew that this had come as a complete shock to him—after all, it had been a shock to herself as well)

Slowly, she walked towards him, her steps and movements graceful and fluid, elegant. He gave her a silent, scrutinising glance—she smiled, knowingly and wise. He raised a slender eyebrow, as she continued to walk towards him, before stopping right before him.

Fugaku could already feel his cheeks heaten up slightly from their proximity—her whole front was literally brushing against his, almost in a mocking manner. Almost.

(he cursed himself for being so embarrassed—for being like a bashful, love-stricken schoolgirl, even after they had consummated their marriage)

Slowly but steadily, two lithe arms wrapped around his waist; her grip was loose, but still possessive. Then, slowly, she got upon her tiptoes and leaned towards Fugaku's right ear. It was apparent only then how nervous she was—her breathing was soft, but quick, most likely from anxiety, tickling Fugaku's ear.

"If you don't know what to say….then say nothing." She murmured lovingly—her affection for Fugaku was literally pouring out of her.

And even after all that had happened, her words still managed to shock him—

(her words always did manage to accomplish that much)

—and he gradually complied to what she was implying.

His muscular arms outstretched, long but muscular—they slowly, but steadily encompassed Mikoto, wrapping around her shoulders tightly, possessively.

(the two of them were seen as not only the most elegant, honourable couple of Konoha, but also the most possessive)

8 months later, June

It was the middle of the night.

Stars twinkled and dappled the midnight veil—the moon glistened, radiant and tinting with grey, silver and cream. The black contrasted with the moon greatly and harmonized with it.

(the moon was beautiful, she remarked—beautiful, but a bad omen—and she could only hope that on this night, they wouldn't be affected by any bad luck)

She stared out of the window for a few, fleeting moments, her gaze partially wistful partially contented.

(she was feeling mixed emotions—one half of her was happy were she and Fugaku currently were, living on their own without any children—another half of her, her more pensive and emotional part, yearned for offspring—and most of the time, this half tended to dominate her senses and mind, though she hides it skilfully)

Her eyelashes lowered, long and slim spikes of charcoal casting a shadow over pure, pearl-hued flesh. She gazed lovingly at the still figure of her husband—his eyes were shut, expression peaceful and contented.

(she notices the ghost of his former, small smile upon his face—and in turn, she smiles)

The corners of her lips lift upwards, her cheeks bobbing up. A tender twinkle resided in her charcoal orbs, her eyelashes still lowered.

Slowly, yet steadily, she lowered her face, the smile still embossing her features—she placed her soft pink lips against his forehead, smiling into his soft, radiant bronze skin.

(and she thinks, this is what I've been wanting all these years)

She continued to smile, until her face twisted in pain. She felt a throbbing pain within her lower body—she immediately lifts off from him and rubs her stomach, in hope that the kicking will stop.

(and she can't help but hope to herself, that he won't be this violent in reality)

Her eyebrows furrowed, as the kicking intensified—she let out a soft, guttural groan, unable to mute herself.

Fugaku's eyelids immediately lifted, revealing started, cautious onyx irises. In a flash, he was holding her in his arms, holding her back with a loose, yet strong grip—his other palm stroked her face, his calloused digits caressing her face, softly, tenderly.

"Mikoto…" He began, his voice cutting through the silence like a sharpened dagger. The silence reigns for a few moments—the only sound audible is the joint breathings of Fugaku's barely there, soft breathing and Mikoto's exhausted, ragged breathing.

"I-I know…" She inhaled loudly, her strength waning, while she felt a strange feeling course through her lower body. Not from the pain, but from something else.

"It's time…" He said uneasily, voicing it as both a statement and a question—she looked up at him with wide, shocked onyx eyes.

(he can sense the excitement, yet surprise and shock within her—he knows what she will say next)

"My water's—broke."

It was dawn, 5 'o clock, to be precise, when Mikoto had given birth.

She gazed at the young baby in her exhausted arms—he was light, like a feather—a pleasant surprise, for she knew that if he had been heavy, her arms would've collapsed completely.

Clouded, grey orbs bore into deep charcoal eyes—the two were gazing at each other, deeply and tenderly, on Mikoto's behalf, while the baby stared at her in naïve curiosity.

(his skin possessed a pink tint to it, the flesh around his eyes wrinkled—he wasn't used to the light, she mused)

She continued to stare into the baby's eyes, shell-shocked and flabbergasted. It had come as a shock to herself—for she never knew this day would come, where she would have the opportunity to cradle a "bundle of joy". For she never knew how wonderful it would feel, to know that you and the one you have loved could have conceived something so beautiful, something so…ethereal, all out of your sheer affection for one another.

The baby merely stared back at her, curious and partially cautious.

"Congratulations, Uchiha-san," The nurses and doctor bowed to her out of respect, murmuring complements of the baby. She said nothing—only staring at the baby.

"Fugaku…" She began slowly, pronouncing the syllables with care and caution, as Fugaku, too, stared at the baby.

(even though his dignity and name refused him to show his shock, he felt the same as Mikoto did—he was shell-shocked, flabbergasted, just as much as she was—he never knew this day would've come so early—and most importantly, he never knew this feeling would feel so much better than the feeling of satisfaction after defeating a strong power)

"Aa?" Fugaku grunted—and to his surprise, she didn't berate him for using phrases akin to those of a Neanderthal. She only hesitated, before speaking softly.

"…What should we name him?" Names flicker through his mind for a few fleeting moments.

(Kenji, Daichi, Hajime, Keiichi, Ichiro—dozens of names flashed before his mind—each and every one of them he deemed unworthy for someone so beautiful, someone so slender, someone so fragile and ethereal such as this fragile baby in his wife's arms)

He tries to think of several more names, the flesh around his eyebrows furrowed in thought and slight irritation. Every name he thought of, every single name…

…none of them suited his child. None of them were worthy of his first child.

"…I don't know," And, for the first time in his life, the intelligent Uchiha Fugaku truly did not know what to do.

2 weeks later

It is the summer—the sun's glare is heated and harsh, giving no mercy.

The deep azure blue veil of day, dappled with soft blue, contrasts with the golden glow of the sun, complementary and harmonious—the sun's glow fades into the deep blue.

Uchiha Fugaku sits by the small table, cradling his son in his strong, protective grip. The baby's flesh is a lightly tanned, peach colour, healthy from the exposure to the sunlight—charcoal grey eyes glisten in the light dappling in the small gaps and spaces from the branches and leaves on the weeping willow.

His long, dark eyelashes are lowered, creating a shadow over the light bob of his cheekbones—his flesh glistens bronze in the light, healthy and radiant. He watches his son with charcoal eyes, letting his tender, calm gaze rest on his son.

(tiny, little fingers wrap around his own calloused, toughened fingers clumsily and gingerly—a secret smile graces his lips—a smile no one except Mikoto will ever see)

A tender twinkle resides in his onyx eyes, orbs glistening vivaciously, as his son plays with hands.

(he let out a soft, resonant chuckle, smiling softly and tenderly at his son—this was what he had been searching for, all those times in the past—this what he needed; this sweet sensation of relief, of happiness, of contentedness—the satisfaction of a father with his son)

He smiles softly at his son, and holds his palm against his son's palm.

(small, fragile, lightly-tanned fingers rest against a tanned, calloused palm, Fugaku's digits stretching outwards—the baby gurgled, a curious glint residing in his eyes, as Fugaku smiled softly at his son)

Dark, charcoal eyes watch them, filling with tender affection and joy—Mikoto glances at them every once in awhile, letting her gaze linger on them for a fugacious moment, before moving back to pouring tea in the china cups.

(the glass chime by the door tingles, swaying in the soft, humid breeze—together, unified, the wind and chime sang an incoherent lullaby, sweet, soft and resonant—the melody brought back memories of nostalgia, when she was a young girl and would run to the kitchen to gush to her mother about him

"Kaa-san! Kaa-san! I saw him again today," the young child, facial features porcelain perfect, gushes to her mother, a soft blush tinting her cheeks, while her mother gazed down at her, half-amused, half-affectionate.

Her mother bends down, the smell of exotic spices tickling the young girl's senses—her mother's apron brushes against her nose, leaving a trail of flour upon her nose.

"You mean Fugaku-kun, ne?" The woman giggles like a gleeful child, while the young girl's cheeks redden, almost akin to a tomato.

"Don't say his name!" The young girl berates in a hiss—the woman laughs, carefree and happy)

A nostalgic smile, soft and tender, graces her lips, as she gingerly lifts the teapot and pours the boiling liquid into the tea cup, her movements fluid and elegant—steam arose from the cup, lingering in the air and tickling Mikoto's both exposed and hidden skin.

The scent of ginger, chamomile and sandalwood lingers in the air—the mixed aroma is pleasant, sweet and mild, calming and soothing.

(it was so scenic—picturesque, her life as it currently was, even if it was only just the beginning of her new life as a mother, and as a loving wife)

She lifts a slim, supple hand, outstretching it towards the cupboard—her digits wrap around the handle, as she pulls it open and takes out another china cup.

She breathes in the scent of the kitchen, enjoying the sweet, contenting yet mild aroma of the mixed incenses—she lets out an airy, contented sigh.

(she feels a shot of fatigue, tempting her to sit and lie on the ground and rest her aching limbs, but she refuses to give in)

Supple digits set the cup on the kitchen surface, immediately moving away from the cup towards her face, pushing a few wavy strands of sable behind her ear to meld with her mesh of wavy, curly jet black tresses.

Fluid and fast, she moves her hands to the teapot and pours the tea into the cup—the sound of liquid rushing down into the cup enters her ear, soft and strangely rich in sound, resonant.

(as she sets the teapot back on the surface, her eyes dart to face Fugaku—he is chuckling softly, the corners of his lips and eyes crinkled, onyx eyes glistening with affection and joy, while the baby gurgles and laughs gleefully, wrapping a small digit around Fugaku's—she smiled softly, her eyes possessing a tender, loving glimmer to them—and she thinks, maybe, just maybe, Fugaku's softer, kinder, warmer side could be brought out by him)

She smiles broadly at the idealistic thought and begins to hum a soft, incoherent tune, mixing the tea within one cup with a small teaspoon of sugar, before glancing out the window to face them.

(Fugaku continues chuckling—her son coos and laughs, charcoals eye locked and filled with joy—she continues to smile, until she notices the bushes beside Fugaku furrowing)

She puts the spoon down and looks out the window, gingerly gazing at the bushes. They were still furrowing—and she knew, from intuition, that it wasn't the wind.

Raising a digit to brush away lone locks of sable, she focuses her gaze on the bushes—they continue furrowing, and for a fleeting moment, she notices a flicker of brown; dirty brown. She blinks in surprise, shocked for a few moments before shaking herself out of her reverie—she focuses her gaze on the bushes again—there it was, another flash of brown.

She continues to focus her gaze on the bush—the dirty brown continues to flash and flicker before her abyss gaze. Then, she notices it.

A small, deadly thin body creeps out of the bush—a weasel, she realises.

(sharp, jagged claws glisten magnolia cream in the dappled light; thick, dirty brown fur sways in the breeze; eyes are set straight on Fugaku's figure, to Mikoto's shock)

Mikoto gasps loudly, shocked and surprised, before running out of kitchen. She ran outside onto the patio, panicked and anxious—the ground of the patio feels strange against her bare feet, as she continues to run.

"Fugaku!" She screams, running towards him. He immediately catches her shocked voice, and whips his head towards her—his eyes bore into her for a few moments, curious and surprised, before finally realising what would happen.

(the weasel had already closed the gap between them and was right behind Fugaku)

Charcoal black eyes narrow—his body moves away in flash, his figure flickering through Mikoto's panicked gaze.

(and, in that very moment, she wished to the lord, to the heavens, to the stars above for her husband and child's safety)

It all happened in a mere matter of seconds, in a flash, too fast for her to see—her son was lying on the grass, the weasel lay still, away from the baby, a rivulet of blood gushing out of from a fatal wound, Fugaku remained in his fighting stance, clutching the kunai tightly in his digits—his hand was coated in a fresh layer of blood.

Mikoto let out a noise of relief and ran towards Fugaku and the baby, running with a speed she wasn't even aware she possessed.

(and as she ran, she was thankful—for the safety of her family)

Fast and rapid in speed, she quickly encircled Fugaku in her lithe arms, her grip tight and possessive. Still shell-shocked by the sudden attack, Fugaku gingerly wrapped an arm around her, equally possessive—the kunai slowly slid out of his digits, hitting the ground with a soft crash.

(and in the background lay their child…the child they would ignore for all the future years…though the irony of it all is, that they will focus their attention on his achievements, but not him himself)

A/N: 4720.…words.

ohmyword, this is the longest amount of words I've got to have written)

Seriously though, I've never written anything this long (though 'The Week' comes quite close). Anyways, there was quite a bit of symbols and little hints about the future (I hope everyone got the hints ;)

And YES, I know—the summary said "SasuSaku" and there isn't any SasuSaku so far, but you'll have to wait for them to be born :DDD So, for now, I hope you like the FugaMiko (it's my first time writing FugaMiko, so I hope it isn't too OOC)—it's pretty fun to write. And I hope you enjoy the fluffiness and cuteness of this chapter :)

Oh yeah—and for those of you who don't know some of the Japanese words, I've put the meanings below:

Iie: No

Kannushi: The name for a priest responsible for look after a jinja (A Shinto shrine).

San-san-kudo: (translates into 3x39) a ceremony that takes place in-between a wedding. The groom and bride drink sake from 3 different sized cups—small, medium and large. They take three drinks from each cup—hence the name 'san-san-kudo'. Also, the row of numbers, 3, 3, and 9, are a happy number and represent 'Heaven, earth and humanity', which basically means that 9 is the happiest number (…?) according to Japanese culture and whatnot.

Hope the meanings helped you (had to do lots of research!)

Review please!