Thoughts:

Author spent whole week cleaning up management screwups at website-maker job. Author too burned out to make paragraph of funny words. Author go drink now.

The doorbell rang the next afternoon. Mikoto dried her hands on her apron, and was about to answer it, when her husband brushed past her. He threw open the door to reveal Yuji, in his full police uniform, holding up a very pale, unsteady Itachi by the elbow. His hair was unbound, matted with rank river mud, and he looked hungover enough to make their fictional account of how he'd spent last night entirely plausible.

Sasuke came trotting down the hall, too, but Mikoto hooked a finger in his collar, drawing him back from the door. "I wouldn't get in your father's way at the moment, sweetheart," she whispered. He let her pull him back from the door frame, and peered around the edge, with one hand against the weathered wood. He was not frequently the target of his father's rage, but he, too, could smell it in the air, and heeded her advice to hang back.

Yuji cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I found him by the river, and, well...I thought it might be better if I escorted him home."

"Thank you," Fugaku said his voice pure ice. "But I would not want you to be late for your shift. You should be going."

Yuji released Itachi, who only barely remained upright. He bowed before fleeing the yard as quickly as he could. Itachi stepped inside, his eyes on the floor, and dropped down on the step to begin pulling off his shoes.

His father slammed the door shut behind him so hard the glass cracked. "Where have you been?" he roared. "You know how important that meeting was!"

"I had other commitments," Itachi said, his voice low.

"Like hell you did," Fugaku said. "Tekka-san said he saw you and Shisui drinking yourselves blind when he was on his way to the shrine. I might've expected this from you, but from Shisui? He's been a more dutiful son to me than you ever have, and now you've taken it upon yourself to poison that too? Do you have any regard for your family at all?"

"Like I said, I had other commitments," Itachi answered, and turned away from his father as he rose. It was not out of disrespect, but to conceal a grimace of pain he couldn't completely bury.

Fugaku growled deep in his throat, and, for a moment, Mikoto was afraid he was going to forget himself, and try to strike his recalcitrant elder son. Sasuke tensed, and she dug her fingers into his shoulder, to keep him against the folds of her apron.

The moment passed, and Fugaku managed to keep the lashing only to words. "That's all you have to say to me?" he snarled at Itachi's back. "Do you have any appreciation for how many times I've defended your behavior to the council? Did it even occur to you how poorly it reflects on my leadership, if I can't command even my own son!"

"No," Itachi said. "It hadn't." He staggered towards the stairs, past Sasuke and Mikoto, and without sparing them a glance.

"You're off the final mission!" Fugaku bellowed at his retreating back. "I'm finished with you!"

Itachi let his father have the final word, and did not turn around. Fugaku stalked off in the opposite direction, seething.

Sasuke wiggled free of Mikoto's grip, and took off after his brother, his small face tight with concern. "Are you okay? Why didn't you come home last—"

"Leave me alone," Itachi said, but without any of the heat that had singed the words with his father. Sasuke let out an injured sigh, and Itachi turned briefly, taking in his stricken expression. "I...I feel like I'm going to be sick," he muttered by way of explanation, and fled.

"I'm worried about you," Sasuke whispered, but stepped back to where Mikoto was waiting, and didn't attempt to follow him. "Really, really worried."

She smiled gently down at him, turning him in the direction of the kitchen with two fingers on his shoulder. "Your brother isn't feeling well. He didn't mean it. Let him rest for a while and he'll be fine."

"Okay," Sasuke said, still subdued. He'd probably never seen his father that angry before. Fugaku's temper was short, but he rarely lost control so completely as to teeter on the verge of physical violence.

"How about some hot chocolate?" she said, with artificial pleasantness.

He wrinkled his nose at her from his place at the table, where the cat was twining around the legs. It grumbled at him, begging for treats. "You know I don't like hot chocolate," he said, flicking its soft tail absently. "You always put too much sugar in it."

Mikoto clicked her tongue against her teeth. "You know, I think you're the only little boy in the whole village who complains when his mother gives him sweets." Her teasing won a lopsided, short-lived smile. "Want anything else?" she asked.

"No," he said, and chewed on his lip for few moments, while Mikoto got the cocoa powder down for herself. "Something's gone wrong," he said. "It's been wrong for a long time, and nobody will tell me what it is."

"What do you mean?" she said, shooing the cat away, and kneeling beside him.

"That's just it!" he said testily. "You already know, and, no matter what I say, you're going to do that mom thing where you pretend to listen to make me feel better, and don't answer any of my questions."

Mikoto sat back, tucking her ankles under her. His accusation wasn't groundless. It hurt to lead him around like she had been, but he was much too young to be told about the resistance. "There's no point in lying, I suppose," she said, preparing to skirt the truth so widely she might as well be. "You know this all started since your brother joined ANBU."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Do you know what ANBU does?"

"They take the hardest missions protect the village. They're the best. Everyone knows that."

"That's true. Only the best shinobi are chosen to enter ANBU. But the hardest missions to complete aren't always the ones that take the most skill. They have to make very difficult decisions to protect the village as a whole. Sometimes, even hurting the people they love is an unavoidable part of their missions. For someone like Itachi, who's so young compared to his teammates, and still lives with his family, it's especially hard."

"So what father said...it's not true?" Sasuke asked in a small voice.

"No," she said gently. "Itachi cares about his family very much, especially you. It's just that he and your father disagree on what this means, whether his family or the village should come first. Your father is Clan Head, and it's his job to take care of the Uchiha first. That's why they haven't been getting along lately."

"I think I understand a little better now," Sasuke said contemplatively, and then pursed his lips into a frown. "But that still doesn't tell me why he didn't come home last night, and didn't go to the special meeting either."

"Well..." she said, as if considering the question. "I know he wanted to talk to Shisui about something—you know his father's been very sick, and he died a couple of days ago. Shisui is probably having a pretty hard time right now, and your brother is one of his best friends."

"Oh, right," Sasuke said. "That makes sense, I guess. I just wish...I wish things could go back to the way they were. It makes my chest feel bad when I see Father and Itachi fight like that."

Mikoto put her arm around him, and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I know." Sasuke huffed, and rubbed it off with the back of his hand, clearly trying to prove he was much too old for such things. "Why don't you go see if Naruto wants to play? Keeping him out of trouble might take your mind off things here."

"All right, I'll do my best. It's like practice for being in the police—I've got to track down the suspect, and make the arrest, before he strikes again," he said, getting to his feet. "I hope he hasn't given the Shodai Hokage a makeover again."

"We can only hope," she agreed. "And Sasuke...I'm sure they'll work it out soon, one way or the other."

-ooo-

After the last reverberations of the argument faded away, Mikoto padded quietly to Itachi's bedroom door, and slid it open a fraction. He was in bed, with the shutters closed, and turned away from her. The borrowed clothes lay in a heap in front of it, marring the otherwise immaculate cleanliness that was the usual condition of his room.

"Can I come in?" she asked softly.

"Mmm," he grunted, already awake.

He opened his eyes, and tried to sit up, but his face went taut with pain. He lay back against the pillows with a barely audible gasp.

She adjusted the tray in her hands, and pushed the sliding door open. She stepped over the lintel, closing it with her heel. The clothes she kicked aside, making a mental note to return them to Yuji when she had the chance. Itachi's bloodied garments had already been disposed of, along with the rest of the evidence of his fight.

She put the light dinner down on the bedside table, and sat down beside him. He still looked exhausted and ill; prolonged sessions of chakra-assisted healing put a great deal of strain on the body. He was shirtless, and the sheet had slipped down to his waist in his abortive attempt to rise. Ishimaru and Kaito had done a spectacular job. Although the internal injuries weren't fully healed, the skin had been mended without even a scar to betray him.

"I brought you some soup," she said. "Do you think you could hold it down?"

His eyes narrowed, irritated by these belated attempts at mothering. "I'm not hungry."

She picked up the bowl, and held it out to him. "I didn't ask if you were hungry. Your chakra is severely depleted. Unless you think you'll throw it up, you need to eat something."

"Is this necessary?" he said coldly.

"If you eat, I'll leave you alone."

He made another attempt to sit up, more carefully this time. Mikoto put the bowl back on the table, and pulled the pillows up, to give him something to lean against. He swallowed the food mechanically, and handed the empty dish back, clearly annoyed at her for treating him like a child...and probably even more annoyed at himself for giving her a reason to.

"You should know...your aunt Uruchi found Shisui's body while she was out gathering mushrooms at the riverbank. Someone will be coming to question you soon." She unfolded the unused napkin to reveal two pale blue tablets, and held them out to him.

"What is that?" he asked, eying them with distaste. He'd never liked taking analgesics, even as a child. The amount of unmitigated suffering he was willing to endure was frankly frightening.

"For the pain. Please take them, to keep the officers from becoming suspicious, if nothing else."

He grudgingly accepted the pills, and swallowed them dry. Mikoto collected the tray, and stood once he'd lain back down. He turned his head away; pulling the blankets back up around his shoulders. This conversation was obviously finished.

She shut the door behind her, letting her fingers slip down the frame, and balling them into a loose fist. He may have survived the confrontation, if only barely, but what he said under questioning could mean the life—or death—of every Uchiha loyal to Konoha.

They'd rehearsed his answers a dozen times before the confrontation with Shisui, planning for every eventuality. Itachi accepted this one with his usual cool indifference. It had settled like snow, to cover the ugly wounds beneath. Had any of them ever healed? The pain of every life he'd ever taken, never shared, all the remorse locked beneath the ice?

-ooo-

A couple of hours later, someone knocked smartly at the door as Mikoto was heating up some leftovers. She herself had hardly any appetite, but appearances needed to be kept up. She turned off the stove, and threw of handful of utensils in the sink, using the delay to feel out the details of their chakra presence. One was radiating suspicion; the other, grief and a throat-constricting trepidation. She let out a long breath to steady herself. It looked like at least one of the loyalists had talked his way into conducting the investigation. That would make this easier. She padded to the front of the house, and slid the door open.

"Oh...Kon-san, Inabi-san," she said deferentially. "Please come in. If you're looking for my husband, I think he's in the garden." In her head, she said a short prayer of thanks. Uchiha Kon was a respected, if not exceptional, detective, just a hair too young to start thinking about retirement. He had considered her father something of a mentor, and that bond had been enough weight to tip his loyalties to her side instead of Fugaku's. For an Uchiha he was unusually levelheaded and methodical. If anyone would be able to reign in someone as volatile as Inabi, it would be him.

"We need to talk to Itachi. Get him out here," Inabi said, blunt as always. He wasn't a bad sort, but, when he was agitated, his lack of decorum made dealing with him extremely annoying. And he obviously suspected the events of last night had not been accidental. No matter how thoroughly the Hokage's men had extirpated the evidence of the murder, the timing was too suspicious to ignore.

"I'm sorry, but...he's asleep. He's feeling really sick to his stomach, so I'd rather not—"

"No excuses. Find him."

His suspicions would have to be expertly unraveled, before they entangled anyone else. Inabi had always been envious of her eldest son, of his power, his position, his fame. His partner knew this better than many, and glanced over at him, eyes narrowed. "What is wrong with you?" Kon said sharply. "This isn't some drug bust in Otafuku Gai. Mikoto-sama...I'm sorry, but there's been an accident. We need Itachi-sama to answer some questions about what he was doing last night. As far as we know, he was the last person to see the victim alive."

Mikoto placed her hand loosely against her lips. "The victim alive?" she repeated, stunned. "Who?"

"Uchiha Shisui."

She let out a muffled cry, and backed against the wall, as if too weak with shock to stand. Kon took her by the elbow, and eased her down on the steps. "Find Fugaku-sama ,and explain what happened," he ordered Inabi. "Just the facts, and for god's sake break it gently—if I hear any more of your paranoid ranting, I swear I will skin you alive when we get back to headquarters. I'll be there in a moment."

The younger man glared at him from beneath his long hair. "Yes, sir," he said, a little stiffly. He turned, and walked out of the door, towards the gardens that ringed the house.

When she judged him far enough away, Mikoto let her feigned sobbing trail off. "The tox-screen was dealt with?" she whispered.

"Yes," he answered in the same almost inaudible tone. "The medical examiner turned it in positive for extremely high blood alcohol, and nothing else. The bridge is clean too, no signs of a struggle. You know how Inabi can be...it's a murder until proven otherwise. He's never liked Itachi, and I think I can convince most of the department he's a nutcase nursing a grudge. Do you think Fugaku will...?"

Mikoto exhaled shakily, on the verge of real tears this time. "He doesn't want to believe Itachi is capable of something like this, but…he's Chief of Police. A suspect is a suspect."

She would do what she could, but the crucial first words to deflect suspicion away from Itachi were his to speak. He had been among the first of the police officers her brother had contacted. He was loyal, he was intelligent, and there was nothing she could do but trust him.

"I understand," he said. "For what it's worth, you have my condolences. Shisui was a good man—on the wrong side—but still a good man."

"Mom?" Sasuke called from the inner staircase. "Did you get the door? And is everything okay? I thought I heard someone crying."

"Go," Mikoto whispered to Kon. "I have to see to Sasuke...make sure Inabi doesn't ask any smart questions."

He rose, and followed his partner into the garden, where she could just hear Fugaku's voice rising in tones of disbelief. She didn't know what this would mean for the continuation of the rebellion. Without Shisui, there was no one the clan council could install as Hokage. It would be too much to hope for that they would back down after such a setback. Her husband was too stubborn. Perhaps he'd even make himself Hokage.

Sasuke trotted down the stairs to find her still limp against the wall of the foyer. She made a show of dabbing at her eyes and nose before turning to face him. "That was two of your father's detectives at the door. There was..." she swallowed hard. "There was an accident. Shisui's body was fished out of the river this morning. He was seen drinking with your brother yesterday. Kon-san thinks he passed out on his way home, and fell over the rail of the Nakano Bridge."

"Oh," Sasuke said in a small voice. In his eyes, Shisui was part of her generation, already a shinobi when he was born. They hadn't spent that much time together over the years, but Shisui had always been affectionate with him, in some ways treating him with more warmth than his own brother. "Did they...go tell Itachi?"

She nodded. "They will. Don't bother them. They need to ask him some questions about what he was doing last night."

His eyes went wide. "They don't think Itachi pushed—"

"No," she said quickly. "No, of course not, Shisui is his best—" she began, her tongue catching on the present tense. "Was his best friend." She pulled herself up, brushing her apron smooth. "Why don't you go finish your homework? I'll bring you some dinner when it's warmed up."

"No, that's okay. I'm not really that hungry," he said, sounding slightly dazed, and withdrew obediently upstairs.

Some moments later, Kon slid open one of the screens. "Would you tell Itachi-sama we need to speak with him now?"

"This way, please," she said, and led them up the stairs. Itachi was sitting up in bed, looking rumpled, as if he'd come awake to his father's voice below the window. Every nuance of his posture was deliberate; for once, he looked as young as he truly was, and, if not harmless, certainly not a murderer.

"I heard my father shouting," he said, hesitant, his voice rough with sleep. "Did something happen to Shisui?"

"We were assuming you could tell us," Inabi said, locking his arms over his chest. "Mikoto-sama, I'm going to have to ask you to wait downstairs."

She nodded, without speaking, and withdrew. Itachi was the best liar she had ever met. He knew how to worm his way through an interrogation, all the techniques to deflect even the judgement of a sharingan. He'd be all right. He had to be all right.

She made her way back to the kitchen, and pulled some fish from the stewpot for the cat, to occupy her hands. It set to nibbling daintily on the small plate she set before it, unconcerned about the apprehension striking sparks against the rest of the family. After about ten minutes, the two detectives descended the stairs, and let themselves out. Mikoto rose, silent on her bare feet, to listen against the screen.

"Fugaku-sama…he was lying. He knows something," Inabi said. "The rest of the council is convinced we have a traitor in our—"

"And you think it's Itachi, of all people?" Kon interrupted. "There's no evidence! It was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident, but an accident nonetheless. There were no marks on the body, no signs of a struggle at the bridge, no nothing. Judging by the condition Yuji-san found him in, and the BAC we got out of Shisui's remains, he would barely have been lucid enough to put one foot in front of the other by the time they left the bar last night."

"Which makes it likely he had accomplices," Inabi added triumphantly.

Mikoto swallowed. A long time ago, when she had still been a little girl, Konoha had suffered a cold snap the likes of which the village had never seen. Under the supervision of the eldest children, the younger ones had thrown themselves into the marvelous whiteness with abandon. Covered with a layer of pristine snow, Mikoto hadn't been able to see the banks of the frozen pond that, in the summer, she knew well to avoid. She only realized her play had taken her over water, and not land, when the ice beneath her feet began to crack and groan.

Then, as now, she could feel everything supporting her buckling, a helpless panic burning up her legs, her belly, her chest. Someone had saved her then, but...

"He's my son!" Fugaku cried suddenly, livid. "My son!"

"Sir, I only meant that we should consider the possibility—" Inabi said, stumbling back into the formalities he'd so casually tossed aside before.

"Get out of my house," Fugaku said. "That is an order. Out."

Two sets of footsteps beat a hasty retreat out of the front gate. Mikoto slid down the support beam until he knees struck the floor, and stayed there, panting.

Then, as now, it had been Uchiha Fugaku that had saved her life.

-ooo-

It was nearing midnight. The door to his study was open a fraction. He had a single glass, and what had been a mostly full bottle of shōchū on his desk. She inserted her fingers into the gap, and pushed the sliding door open wide enough for her to slip inside.

The dull desolation in his expression sparked into annoyance. "What?"

"With Shisui gone...what are we going to do?" she asked.

"Do I look like I know?" he snapped. He drained what was left of the glass, and brought it down hard on the desktop. "What could he have been thinking?" he muttered under his breath. "Selfish, disobedient child..."

"He was grieving. Please don't hold it against him."

"I meant Itachi!" he barked. "This is his fault. Everything has been his fault. Shisui's dead. We have no one to place in the position of Godaime Hokage. The clan's fragmenting. The rest of the council think I'm a sentimental fool for defending him for so long and they're..." he trailed off into a low growl.

He knew. He knew exactly what Itachi had done, and had become, and yet, at least for now, the part of him that was a father held at bay the part that was an officer. The entire rebellion had been, at its heart, for Itachi's sake. He demanded nothing less than perfection of his children, but in return meant to give them the world.

"Maybe...this is a sign," she said quietly. "To call off the coup….Without a strong Uchiha Hokage we won't be able to hold against Iwagakure. Try resuming the talks with the village council. The Hokage may—"

Without warning, he slung the empty glass at her face. She withdrew behind the door with a gasp, and it shattered against the beam. "Don't you dare," he snarled. "We'll move ahead as planned if I have to take the Hokage's mantle myself. Get out."

Mikoto bowed her head, and slid the door shut, the glass grinding against the runners. It was nothing more and nothing less than what she had expected.

-ooo-

Shisui's funeral was held three days later. It was well attended, but the mourners seemed eager to pay their respects to his mother, and leave as quickly as possible—no one expected the most powerful of the Uchiha to die piss drunk at the bottom of the river. Itachi endured their stares and whispers in stiff silence. As Shisui's only student, he was given a place of honor before the altar, but declined to say a word beyond halfhearted murmurs of thanks in response to the condolences offered by the rest of the clan. His father, very conspicuously, gave his to Shisui's mother alone.

From that day forward, the tension in the house was so thick it was difficult to draw a breath when father and son were in the same room together. They didn't speak, except out of necessity. They barely even looked at each other. Itachi was no longer invited to council meetings. His place as leader of Assault Team 1 was quietly passed to his second. Itachi avoided the house as much as he possibly could. He no longer even ate his meals with his family. In short, Fugaku had disowned his elder son in every way, short of signing the legal documents that would remove him from the inheritance of his father's title.

All of the care and attention her husband had spent on Itachi he now gave, unreservedly, to Sasuke. He began asking for his class standing and his weapon throwing averages. In between meetings of the Jōnin Council, and the preparations for the action on the Niidaime's birthday, he carved out time to train Sasuke personally, in ever more advanced katon jutsu. The little boy blossomed under his attention. It inspired him to succeed in a way that Mikoto's own encouragement never quite reached. He cut short his play time with Naruto to spend yet more hours training at the edge of the pier, returning late at night with his lips scorched and his chakra so drained he could barely put one foot in front of the other.

To him, it seemed as though all his dreams for his father to finally recognize him had come true. Every time Mikoto had smiled and said 'yes, of course your father loves you'...it was tangible now. Mikoto had never seen him so happy.

But every one of his smiles left a bitter taste on her lips, because soon, very soon, the man was probably going to die.