Today's mission called for a more somber demeanor than was expected for most D-Ranks. The task wasn't high on the risk list, and therefore did not pay much, but it was a service that genin teams were always called to fill.

Cousin Kaede's team did this not so long ago. Teams went on rotate to make sure the cemetery's "perpetual care" policy was exactly that. Her group had replaced dead flowers for fresh ones and applied poison at locations where ants were spotted.

Fugaku's team had expected to do the same thing, until the caretaker handed all three children a shovel. "We'll be receiving more boxes of cremains at the end of the week," the caretaker explained. "There was a great loss on the eastern side…"

The ground was cold and hard, still clinging to the last throes of winter, and they had approximately one hundred and twenty holes to dig: forty apiece. For once, Nawaki didn't turn it into a contest to see who could dig the most in the shortest span of time.

"Guys?" Mitsumi meekly held up a long, lanky arm. "Is it alright if I take my lunch a little early? There's someone I want to visit."

Considering they'd be out on the grassy plain, the initial plan was to have the team join together for a picnic at the edge of the cemetery, eat the contents of their bentos, and then return to work. However, Fugaku could venture to guess what was going on with his teammate.

"No one's stopping you, Shinohara," he told her. "If you're hungry, go ahead. We'll eat later."

He turned toward Nawaki, curious to see if he wanted to eat now. The Senju boy shrugged and kept digging.

"One hundred and twenty of us came home in little wooden crates, Nawaki. That's just…I don't even know where to begin. I wonder if our families knew any of these people. Another team will place the memorial stones tomorrow, but it's so many holes." And not just in the earth. That was so many holes and so many families.

And judging from where Mitsumi was going, some of those holes were never properly refilled. Some stayed empty.

"I agree that it's a big number," Nawaki remarked as he continued to dig, "but it's less than it was even for our parents' generation. I know my history. Back in my grandpa's day, most of the casualties were little kids. Some were even younger than us and fighting those wars beside their parents: dying for causes they didn't fully understand. I'm sure most of the people who died in this battle were adults. They lived longer lives."

"Just because they made it to adulthood, that doesn't guarantee they died feeling fulfilled. Look." Fugaku tapped the Senju boy's shoulder and nudged him to look in Mitsumi's direction.

Mitsumi was a few acres south of them, out of earshot, but he could see she'd packed flowers in the picnic basket for one of the graves. She had her bento at her side and placed the orange at the headstone. That had to be where her mother was buried.

"Parents can die, too."

Not his mother, though. Fugaku was convinced Kazusa would live to be ninety or beyond just to spite everyone.

She'd always been the obnoxious sort of person who showed up to work even when she was sick or injured. Sanjo once told him about a time where Kazusa broke her arm and the bone broke past the skin. Instead of leaving to get medical attention, she taped it together, continued until the end of her shift, and then proceeded to seek treatment at Konoha General.

She lived on a diet rich with ginger, soybeans, lean meats, and green tea during cold season. And despite her problem with being unable to turn down a cat in need and watching the house suffer as a result, Kazusa kept herself very, very clean. Nothing short of a near-death experience would slow her down.

Nawaki's nose wrinkled at Fugaku's remark. "I know that. My dad's buried out on the far left side. And my sister's out on the battlefield right now." He dug another hole, going at it a little harder and angrier than before. The ground fought back, so he had to stomp the shovel to make the earth comply. He silently wondered who would eternally rest inside it once it closed. "I'm worried. What if one of these holes is for Tsunade?"

Fugaku could already see the boy's lip quiver. He put down his own shovel, patted Nawaki on the back, and suggested they eat their lunch together after all. "It's one of the things we have to deal with as shinobi, Nawaki. Death happens."

Nawaki slowly nodded and plopped down on the cool earth. "Well, when I'm Hokage, I'm going to find a way to reduce the number of casualties. I'll train more medical ninja. I'll promote some of the smartest people I know to help me with better strategies. I'll–wait a minute. You aren't gonna fight me for the title, are you?"

"Why?" Fugaku smirked. "Are you worried that I have a better shot at it than you do? Relax. They'd never name a clan head as Hokage again." Not after Hashirama. "I don't mind being your right-hand guy and helping you achieve that dream of yours." He already knew his future. There was no point in wishing for more. "Just don't end up in a box, okay? Hey, Shinohara!"

His voice seemed to echo. Mitsumi glanced up.

"Take as much time as you need. We'll finish the job."

…

Tsunade wasn't the only one handling a mission abroad. Sarani accepted a hostage rescue mission and wouldn't be back for another two weeks. The house felt quieter without his loud music playing through the radio in the mornings. And Fugaku saw so little of his mother. Whenever Sarani got called away, Kazusa drowned herself in work to keep her mind and body busy.

That's why it caught him by surprise when he saw the lights on and silhouettes of people inside the house. Typically, his mother would leave a note on the refrigerator if she planned on inviting company over.

Considering Fugaku spent the vast majority of his day digging graves, his brain immediately jumped to the conclusion that his father died in combat. And if it wasn't Sarani, then it was somebody else in the clan. Naka or Naori, probably, considering how many voices he heard downstairs. Dread made his heart pound so heavily that he felt it in his throat, sore and throbbing.

Gingerly, he opened the door and stepped inside. About six KMPF officers were present, most of which he recognized. "He's home," Lieutenant Naka commented, turning his tired eyes toward Fugaku. This guy was his mother's right hand on the force, despite his terrible reputation in the last war. "Kazusa-taichou fainted at work."

"I did not," Kazusa snarled from the floor. "Stop lying, Naka." Her face was red, a wet washcloth was on her brow, and someone already helped her out of her uniform. "I'm–" Before she could lie and tell people she was fine, she broke into a loud and wet coughing fit. "Let me go back to my office, you bastards. My shift's not over."

"Why does she always do this?" Yashiro grumbled to Sanjo, keeping his eyes on their captain. Sanjo's response was to shrug. "No. I mean it. Any theories?"

"Hell if I know," Sanjo retorted. "I just know she never calls in sick." He pointed at Fugaku, thinking the boy didn't notice. "She probably would've gone into labor at the station if Sarani-sama hadn't talked her out of it."

"Were you around for the time she broke her arm and only went to the medics after she clocked out?"

The conversation didn't go any further than that, mostly because Fugaku stepped nearer the two teenagers. They bit back the other choice words they carried for his mother.

Kazusa didn't have a history of fainting, and Fugaku had only ever seen her sick a couple of times. Both times, his father was there to take care of her and convince her that a little bed rest wouldn't kill her. Today, she looked so weak: not at all like the proud and powerful hellcat he was used to seeing.

"What happened?" he whispered, kneeling down to where she was. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright." She stifled another cough, but Fugaku took note at just how hot his mother's hand felt in his. Even some of the cats wanted to come forward to check on her. "I'll be back at work tomorrow." In the background, Fugaku saw several officers shake their heads.

"Fugaku," Naka ordered. "Do your mother a favor and make sure she stays home for a few days. I think my wife and I can take care of things while she recovers. If she or you need anything, you know where to find us."

"Yes, Naka-taichou." But even as he said it, he heard his mother groan. "So…can we get some air? Can everyone leave?"

…

Pertussis. When a medical ninja from Konoha General stopped by to check on Kazusa, that was the diagnosis.

Fugaku glanced over the prescribed medicine, making sure he gave Kazusa the antibiotics at the proper time and in the correct amount. Sometimes Kazusa coughed heavily enough to vomit, but her son was there to clean up the mess and watch over her.

He'd apologized to Mitsumi and Nawaki in advance for having to take some time off from missions, but they understood. Mitsumi sent a get well soon card (with a cat on it) and some flowers. Kazusa greatly appreciated the gift and wanted to send Mitsumi something back, but Fugaku talked her out of it.

Nawaki actually showed up, bringing crackers and miso soup mix. While it was a well-intended gesture, Yashiro saw a random Senju kid standing outside his clan head's front door and ended up shooing him away.

Once a day, Fugaku stopped by the station to pick up reports so Kazusa could at least keep her mind busy and work from home. The more he watched her go stir-crazy, the more worried he became. It never dawned on him before how tired she always appeared, with such dark bags under her eyes. Without the dark glasses to cover that up, her exhaustion couldn't be hidden.

"I'm making a soup for dinner," he offered. "Maybe with some chicken. Think you can–" Another loud, wet cough. "Can you handle that?"

"I can handle going back to work," she groaned. "I'm barely coughing anymore." Bullshit. There was blood in it last time. Fugaku eased in to give her another wet washcloth. Kazusa flinched. "You know what I want?"

"You aren't ready to return to work until a medic says so." And that was final. He wasn't going to budge on this. Even if he had to ask one of their neighbors to help him subdue his mother if she tried to sneak out again, he'd do it. She didn't have to test him to know he'd do it. "I'll draw you a bath, though, if you want one."

Slowly, she nodded, stifling another cough into a stained rag. Few things could relax her better than a long aromatherapy bath. Considering he felt guilty for keeping her away from her routine, he'd at least do this for her. As stubborn and adamant as his mother could be, it didn't change the fact that he loved her very dearly and wouldn't trade her for anyone else.

He could have had a mother like Naho-oba: a strong dragon-woman with ice water for blood. Or maybe someone like Nanami-oba: permissive and loving, but absent and borderline negligent. Or someone like Nawaki's mother: overprotective, constantly depressed, and unable to hold down a job because her grief was too much to bear.

Instead, he had a woman who fiercely and proudly carried enough strength to support not only her son, but her entire clan. Sometimes Kazusa was bullheaded, short-tempered, and impossible to reason with, but she poured her heart and soul into being the best leader she could be.

He had a mother who helped his grieving teammate fill some of the holes in her heart, giving Mitsumi an open ear when she needed it. She even warmed up to Nawaki, despite her hesitation and distrust toward the Senju Clan. His mother couldn't bear to see an animal starve or a cat stay homeless. She'd give anything to help.

Few people loved as deeply as Uchiha Kazusa. Her heart was far larger than the world realized. And the least Fugaku could do for that kind and overly generous heart was make sure she recovered and returned to a job she poured her passions into with every tired, worn out breath.

Stepping downstairs, he stifled his own cough. It started a day ago with a faint tickle to the throat. There was no need to worry her. When the medic came back, he'd have himself examined to rule out whooping cough. "Your bath's ready," he called out. "Are you–"

'You've got to be kidding me.' The door was wide open. Fugaku took a deep breath, holding back another tickling cough, and charged after his mother. "The hell is wrong with you!? You're in quarantine!"

Sometimes she wore on his every last nerve with her pigheadedness. Inwardly, he secretly prayed that his future children wouldn't be anywhere near as stubborn as his mother. It wasn't that Kazusa was going terribly fast, but the fact she'd–wait…

She was only going outside to watch the sunset. Kazusa's sharingan matched the same shade as the fat, swollen sun and her pale and clammy face caught the golden light upon the dewy beads of sweat.

"I'm sorry," he found himself apologizing, sitting next to her. "I thought you were trying to sneak out again." She didn't laugh. She didn't say or do anything, aside from glance toward the sunset. "I just want you to get better, okay? If I'm coming across as kind of hard to deal with, then–"

She wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him next to her. Fugaku could feel her breath: still ragged, but also shaky. It wasn't a cough. Up close, he noticed the way her eyes caught the sunlight, too. They were wet. "Okaa-san…?"

"You know I heard them, right?" she murmured. "When they told you about the broken arm and the other stuff? I've only taken off work a few times." Was this a pride thing? Why was she working herself up over it? "The whole reason I hate being sick and at home is because I don't want to get you sick."

…

Kazusa didn't end up taking the bath. All she wanted to do was sleep. There was no point in letting the water go to waste, so Fugaku slid into the water, soaking in what his mother confided to him. It answered questions he'd never had the heart to ask.

"Nineteen years ago, your father and I both caught a bad case of the flu. Neither one of us were fit for duty and ended up staying home."

Nineteen years ago, his mother would have been twenty-five and his father twenty-eight. She was a sturdy forty-four now with tiny traces of iron gray beginning to build in her roots. And yet she still wanted to pretend she was young and full of life.

"The two of us were young, sick, and stubborn. As ill as we were, we took turns caring for each other. One of us would go out for supplies, even though we could barely move. The other one would lie there and try to recuperate. Your auntie offered to look after the baby for us until we felt better."

His experiences with Naho over the past eleven years left a bad taste in Fugaku's mouth. Nothing about that woman struck him as all that maternal. Despite that, he knew how deeply his mother trusted her.

He also knew he wasn't Kazusa and Sarani's first child. The clan seldom discussed the first son, mostly because he didn't survive infancy. Between the dead son and Fugaku, there were a string of failed pregnancies, both male and female. His mother was thirty-three by the time she held another living child in her arms. He knew the baby's name, though.

Keita: their little blessing.

"A few days later, your father and I felt well enough to eat, sleep, and fend for ourselves. I thought we'd beaten it, and I asked Naho to give me back my son."

What happened next in the story would make it difficult to sleep that night and quite possibly for several more. Even nineteen years later, Fugaku heard the anguish in his mother's voice. She swore up and down that the greatest pain one could ever experience in life was the death of a beloved child.

As he sat in the water, feeling ill and damp inside his own lungs, he tried to process what Kazusa confided to him. The baby caught the same fever, but his immune system wasn't strong enough to fight back.

At least, that was what Naho conveyed to Kazusa. Judging from the tone in Kazusa's voice, it didn't feel like she believed her friend.

So now he knew. He grew up as an only child because of this incident. All the times his mother smothered him with medicine and care over something as menial as a cold now made too much sense. She worked to stay away.

As he came back downstairs, he noticed Kazusa fell asleep on the patio, a feverish cheek pressed to the cold hard wood. Cautiously, not wanting to wake her up, Fugaku reached for a blanket and placed it over her, gently stroking her back. A muffled cough came out.

'Don't worry about me, okay? Haven't I proven my strength to you enough?'