Chapter One - The Next Few Years
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs and plots.
There were several more excursions over the following months – playdates with Itachi occurring frequently whenever Kushina and Mikoto were both in the village, and a variety of other adventures whenever Kushina was at home and could sneak me away. It became a game for us, though most of our escapes were less stealthy than they seemed to me at the time; Kushina wasn't actually irresponsible enough to disappear with me all the time without letting anyone know she had me.
For me, life was a bright, happy thing, filled with wonder. While we were at war, it never really touched me – I was advanced enough to notice when people around me were worried and upset, but too young to understand the cause. Since most people tried to keep their fears and worries hidden from very young children, I wasn't exposed to enough of it to gain that understanding. It helped that my primary caretaker was my ka-san, who was a civilian. While a number of other people in my life would come and go, disappearing for a while when they were deployed, Ka-san and her ka-san – my bossy, interfering obaa-san – were civilians and therefore stable fixtures in my life.
My obaa-san was a woman I had no trouble despising – aside from arranging my parents marriage, she stuck her nose into Ka-san's life all the time and was intensely critical of everything, and generally had one of those personalities I can't stand. I would have made an effort to get along; due to her being family and a constant presence in my life, but she disliked me.
She felt that an intersex grandchild was unacceptable. As such, she blamed my mother for failing her, and me for failing to possess a clearly defined gender. It never stopped her from inserting herself into our lives at every turn, of course; lest we forget how disappointing we were without her there to remind us.
Kushina's status as my godmother protected Ka-san as well, then – when she was around she had very little patience for "the old hag" and refused to tolerate her verbal abuse of either of us. While Kushina couldn't always be around, she pulled in the other inhabitants of our compound and set up a rotation of variously Senju/Uzumaki ninja to visit us – ostensibly to help prepare me for shinobi life.
My shinobi relatives preferred to let me distract them from the stress of war when they spent time with me, in addition to introducing me to the variety of training methods used for toddlers. Simple things – finger games meant to train dexterity; challenge games involving stretching, rolling, climbing, jumping and tumbling that built up speed, flexibility, and agility; sing-alongs to aid in the memorization of useful concepts.
(These ranged from simple baby songs to teach words and numbers; to catchy propaganda-laden verses to instill patriotism; to more complicated pieces such as "The Flower Song" – which was all about identifying the basic characteristics of various Fire Country plants and if they would hurt or heal, or were good to eat.)
Everyone tended to place some emphasis in their stories, songs, or activities towards their own specialities, and a few of my Uzumaki relatives also included drawing exercises and picture books meant to introduce the beginnings of fuinjutsu and hints towards further Uzumaki lessons later.
With the way the war had them all rotating in and out, however, my early education was highly eclectic and varied.
My meetings with Itachi began to involve the two of us being encouraged to play various ninja games together. As we grew, it led to us showing off whatever new skills we had learned, and becoming excited to master everything the other showed us.
He was being trained by his own, far more numerous Clan members as well as his parents; with particular interest from the Uchiha Elders. We pushed each other without realising it; I subconsciously paced my development to mirror Itachi's, and he responded to the challenge by applying himself and advancing further. The positive effects of our interactions with each other on our respective skill levels silenced any potential objections to the development of a Senju-Uchiha friendship from either of our clans.
While we both met a few other children our age in the village, they were so far behind us that it was impossible for us to relate to them. It was only the existence of each other that kept us from feeling completely alienated from the rest of our age-group. Our occasional meetings were something of a relief to him, I think – I know they were for me.
It took about two more years for me to reach a point where I had regained enough of my previous identity to feel the first stirrings of what I now know was dysphoria.
Admittedly, both bathing and potty training had resulted in an uneasy feeling of something being 'not quite right' before that, and I was sometimes startled by my reflection, but it wasn't until I had regained enough of my awareness to realise that I possessed a part that I hadn't had "Before" that it started to be a problem. Together with the disorienting sensation of waking up to a body far smaller than part of me felt it should have been and the jarring way it effected me to glimpse my new face in the mirror when I wasn't expecting it, I became less and less comfortable in my own body.
It didn't help that despite most people using gender-neutral terms for me, Otou-Sama – who had always given me the suffix -kun when he addressed me at all – was increasingly insistent on my using male pronouns such as -boku, -waga, -asshi, -sessha, -yo, and -maro; as well as referring to me using -kimi and -kei rather than the genderless -kika. However the worst was probably when he started calling me musuko, and exhorting me with references to "Otoko ni naru" – telling me to "be a man".
He also began referring to me as "Tobirama" whenever we were alone, which confused and upset me. I only ever attempted to correct him once.
He hadn't been around much before that, between his disinterest in babies and his time at the war front. However my second birthday occurred at the beginning of his leave, and his presence was inescapable. The abrupt masculinization he expected from me was a startling change, and over the following weeks it began the process of turning my slight discomfort into a full-blown dysphoria.
I had a hazy understanding that sometimes people's bodies didn't match what they were, and that it was okay from Before. I also knew that even if it wasn't okay that I still should have been able to be girl, because I had a vagina in addition to a penis. I wasn't quite sure how I knew that or exactly what it meant, however; it wasn't something a toddler could articulate anyway, even one as advanced as I was.
Not to mention that children generally want to please their parents, fear disappointing them, and are typically and unfortunately easy to bully into conforming during their impressionable years. Having the subconscious expectation that disappointing my father would be Very Not Good already ingrained from my first life, I was very much afraid of the consequences if I told him I felt more like a girl. His reaction when I had objected to being called Tobirama stayed with me for a long time afterwards. It only served to re-enforce my fear; assuring my compliance and confirming the wisdom of keeping my silence on my own feelings.
That was only increased by his palpable displeasure with how much I had advanced – despite everyone else acknowledging me as a genius (which to be fair, my new body was), he expected me to be a reincarnated genius from this world; one who already knew how to do everything I was learning, even if only subconsciously. He didn't realise that the language, culture, activities, and expectations were all foreign to me – I was learning at an accelerated rate, not remembering.
Most people were impressed by the progress I'd made in learning to read and write by my second birthday – he was annoyed that I was still learning. My remarkable progress in my shinobi studies was still far behind his expectations. His disappointment and frustration scared and bewildered me.
I began doubting myself, struggling with increasing feelings of defeat and inadequacy. Having often been praised in this life and allowed to progress at my own pace, the harsh criticism and unrelenting demands for improvement were a such a stark change that I was floundering in uncertainty. I had never had any reason to be unhappy with myself before; the constant affirmation of others had given me no cause to feel discouraged by my progress or dissatisfied with my intelligence until now. Now I felt helpless, and acutely aware of my weaknesses.
Shame and insecurity became my constant companions. It was a state which was both familiar yet foreign – I could not recall ever having felt this way before, but something in me recognised it and considered it both inevitable and normal.
That familiarity was strongly flavoured by hints of resentment, bitterness, and unwilling self-hatred, which I shied away from acknowledging. They carried undertones of resignation, hopelessness, futility, and depression; varying apathy and despair, guilt and failure, leading up to an overall sense of fatalistic worthlessness and inescapable uselessness that terrified me. I cowered away from the possibility of giving in to them; instinctively repulsed by the thought of indulging them. I had no words for any of my feelings, having never been exposed to such dark emotions and never hearing them mentioned in my presence. I only knew, with a soul-deep certainty, that if I gave them a foothold they would consume me utterly; I held a grim belief that in such an event I would never escape them.
Therefore the uneasy fear that accompanied their intrusion into my mind regularly inspired such panic that it served as an unusually efficient distraction from brooding on them. While this managed to keep me from falling too deeply into full depression, it did nothing for my nerves, and I began to be rather anxious more often than not.
I only kept Otou-Sama from noticing my increasing problems with anxiety by utilizing the lessons he taught me in emotional control. The end result was that I began to appear blank and emotionless more often than not; while anxiety was another old enemy of mine, Tobirama himself had been rather high-strung. His genetics did me no favours there; and what Otou-Sama assumed was Tobirama beginning to regain his old demeanor was actually me unknowingly adopting the same negative coping mechanism he'd used himself.
He started me on a strict training regimen, straining my growing body and chakra to their limits, while criticising me relentlessly. He was harsh and unforgiving of failure, and unmoved by tears. Furthermore, his derision of my weakness whenever I broke down prompted me to learn to hide my emotions and hold back my tears until I was alone – a process that involved some level of conscious dissociation which he encouraged.
It wasn't simply conscious dissociation where I remained somewhat aware – it was a conscious, functional dissociation; where my emotions were entirely separate from the rest of me while my mind and body were fully engaged. It was both comforting and disconcerting – while I couldn't recall detailed memories of Before, the feeling of dissociating was familiar, but after spending so much time learning not to fall into that state or to bring myself out of it once I recognised it I was painfully aware that it was Very Not Good. I might not have known why, but I knew that it was bad for me.
He tested me in a variety of ways, checking my affinities and trying to gauge my potential in various areas, and finally seemed to be pleased with the results. While confirming all of the talents I had inherited from Tobirama-ojii-san calmed him down some, he was deeply frustrated by the fact that I would need to learn everything from scratch. In the face of such an already tense situation, I bit my tongue and accepted that I would never be able to tell anyone that I was a girl.
While I got used to the penis, it still felt weird. Having it might not have bothered me so much if I had been allowed to identify as a girl, since I hadn't been bothered by being treated as non-gender until Otou-Sama began to force me to identify as a boy. Then it bothered me, because the only person who assigned me a gender was using the wrong one.
Obaa-san was not helpful; I understood her vitriol in ways that I hadn't when I was younger, and it made me feel even more wretched and ashamed than the dysphoria had. I may not have been a boy, but I wasn't a thing. Her terms of address for me were not just unspeakably rude; they didn't even acknowledge me as human. I was -sore, -sono, -sonomono wa, -mono, and b-uttai. To her, I was an It; a That; Itself; and Thing.
The fact that Ka-san never said anything against it wounded me in ways I did not expect – while I could see that Obaa-san was cruel to her as well, the fact that she was not even willing to insist that I was a person shattered something in me. I still loved her, but I had lost faith in her. I never really trusted her again; even when I was mature enough to understand that Ka-san's acceptance of her mother's treatment of me was exhausted and resigned – she had given up trying to convince Obaa-san to at least be civil. She was too defeated and broken to fight for anyone – not even me, and certainly not herself.
While I approached her when Otou-Sama first began to push masculinity on me, I couldn't quite understand why it bothered me so much; only that it did. Since I couldn't offer her a better explanation than, "I don't want to," or "I don't like it," she just told me to listen to him. Further protests had her chiding me for disobedience and disrespect, and insisting that I focus on making Otou-Sama happy.
My other relatives were largely absent, as Kajima didn't want anyone to interfere with his training. Kushina-ba-chan was deployed at the same time he had returned, and in her absence no one took me to visit the Uchiha compound; so any and every possible source of comfort or reprieve was lost to me. I had never felt more alone or isolated in my new existence, and it had a long-lasting negative impact on my mental health.
I became increasingly withdrawn and unhappy as time went by; even the end of Otou-Sama's leave didn't help me very much. I continued my training even when I was alone, being far too afraid of disappointing Kajima to slack in any way. Everything I did was automatic – I worked hard, but there was no joy; no passion in any of it.
The closest I felt to any kind of positive emotion during that time was when I blankly informed Obaa-san that if she didn't leave me alone I would tell Otou-Sama she was interfering with his training plans for me; I stared at her with a frozen expression as I speculated in a cold, dead way about his likely reactions to her hindering my progress as a shinobi. The effect of my ominous words and my expressionless appearance was made all the more chilling by the unsettling disparity between my toddler voice and my detached tone, utterly devoid of emotion.
The way her face drained of blood and she shuddered, unconsciously shrinking away from me filled me with a kind of dark, satisfied pleasure. Managing to instill fear in my life-long tormentor gave me a heady sense of power, which was as welcome as it was unexpected. I could see the horrified realization in her eyes about exactly what sort of "Thing" I was becoming; she abruptly understood precisely what kind of "Mono" I was meant to be. Finally, she began to consider what it might someday mean for her to establish herself so firmly as the enemy of a future shinobi.
I had not actually set out to inspire fear; only to discourage her from continuously making demands on my time with a variety of chores, tasks, and other excuses to command my presence and reassert her dominion over me in Otou-Sama's absence. That's not to say that I was displeased by those results, especially when they proved so effective. It put an end to her many contrivances and manufactured reasons for seeking me out – merely a flimsy cover for excuses to lecture, berate, and insult me; with the added bonus of frustrating my desire to follow the new schedule I had set myself.
She became much subdued around me afterwards, too wary of provoking me to approach me. It pleased me to be free of her bullying, but even that was a grim sort of pleasure; a cold satisfaction sitting in my chest.
It was never my intention to escape chores entirely – all of my shinobi teachers had insisted on their importance, after all.
Self-discipline, respect for authority, and absolute obedience to one's superiors were much-desired traits in a shinobi; meaning that being required to tidy after oneself, clean one's own messes, take part in household responsibilities, and be helpful and considerate of one's elders were regarded as an effective method of training young shinobi to instill an automatic expectation of such practices in their daily life. Developing those habits was also hoped to result in a sense of personal responsibility; along with the willingness to notice and correct one's mistakes without prompting, or without objection should mistakes be pointed out to them. All of these traits could then be carried over into shinobi life more easily.
My misery had spiraled into depression, and even the lack of male pronouns being flung around me didn't change it. The dysphoria was now too deeply ingrained, and Obaa-san invaded our lives whenever Otou-Sama wasn't around like a particular toxic burr. It felt like every word from her mouth was specifically designed to be as hurtful as possible.
When Kushina returned from the war front, she was startled by the change in me. I was only three, but I had always been such a happy child that the difference left her incredibly worried. She tried repeatedly to cheer me up, but I remained listless. Finally, she snuck me out for a visit to the Uchiha compound, hoping a visit with Itachi would be more effective.
I buried my face in her hair as she ran, closing my eyes and breathing in her scent. She was so bright; colourful and vibrant and loud, and I was so tired. At the same time, she was safe; the one person I felt instinctively I could trust completely, who made me feel accepted and loved and never allowed anyone to be cruel to me. I wanted to talk to her; but everything just felt so big, and I was just so small. Trying to explain everything that happened and how it made me feel seemed like such an overwhelming prospect it made me want to cry.
I ended up dissociating lightly to deal with it, since I couldn't think of anything else to do and it kept me from getting more upset. I was aware when we arrived, but didn't bother to move my head – not even for a chance to admire the beauty of the young Uchiha matriarch.
Mikoto was alarmed by my condition, and upon confirming that I wasn't sick she agreed to see if Itachi might be able to pull a reaction from me. She appreciated my ability to connect to her son in ways that others could not, and thought that the reverse might be true as well.
I was unresponsive as Kushina-ba set me down, docilely taking her hand and following them into the house. It wasn't until I caught sight of Itachi that anything changed.
For the first time since we'd met, I realised Itachi was a boy.
I'd always been aware of it, in an abstract kind of way; but this was different.
He wasn't just called a boy and he didn't just look like a boy; he thought of himself as a boy and he felt like one.
I realised that his Otou-Sama had no reason to be disappointed in him – he was comfortable being a boy and had no desire to change that. An irrational surge of jealousy and resentment filled me, a burning almost like hatred; I was so startled and bewildered by the swift intensity of my reaction to him that I burst into tears.
The adults froze, unsure about what had caused my sudden breakdown. Before they could react, however, Itachi was already moving.
"Saya-chan? What's wrong?"
He laid his hand on my arm and stared at me with big, dark eyes so earnest and concerned that the harsh feelings within me abruptly drained away. He was even making eye contact, which I knew he found disconcerting. All I was left with was sadness, and an aching guilt that I could have felt so uncharitable towards someone so undeserving of it. I promptly threw my arms around him.
"I'm sorry!" I wailed. I clung to him, sniffling and weeping apologies and requests for forgiveness into his shirt.
Poor Itachi flailed slightly, unsure how to respond to my sudden display of tears. He stiffened, offering me an awkward pat on the back. Kushina smothered a giggle at his panicked expression.
"It's alright!" he assured me. "Please don't cry!"
His face twisted in bewilderment as I went on, and he pulled back, trying to catch my eyes. "Saya, why are you sorry?"
The uncertain lilt in his voice was one I recognized – not a reassurance; but a request for clarification. Social interactions and the differences between acceptable and unacceptable behaviour often frustrated Itachi, who struggled to recognise social cues and non-verbal expectations outside of shinobi situations.
It was almost strange how things he grasped almost instinctively in a shinobi context could leave him so confused outside of it; but his affinity for the Shinobi arts was unreal. There was a structure and purpose to every interaction in ninja contexts that he understood; while more casual interactions seemed so random and arbitrary to him that he found them genuinely upsetting.
He honestly couldn't understand the reasons for things like nonverbal communication; unlike with ninja where it involved a form of sign language and signals being used to avoid being noticed or overheard by enemies, nonverbal communication in a casual context was unstructured, and seemingly optional and superfluous. There were no specific codes he could memorize, no set rules or proper guidelines for circumstances and reasons they might be used. As such, he struggled to recognise them.
He had learned to trust that I would never react badly to his missteps; never made him feel bad for them, and never hesitated to explain things in a way he could comprehend if he indicated confusion. I also shared some of his struggles to a lesser degree; not wholly, but enough to give me the insight to relate to him in ways others could not.
I turned away, ashamed to look at him. I wrapped my arms around myself and swallowed. I wasn't completely certain how to respond to him, but I knew that I felt guilty for the way I had reacted to him. Both my upbringing in this life and my subconscious habits of the former ensured I tended to be overly-apologetic. I had always been somewhat socially awkward, and preferred to err on the side of caution when it came to apologies.
"I – when I first came in, I was angry with you," I whispered. "It was mean and you didn't deserve it, and I feel bad now because it's not your fault I'm upset."
He still looked rather puzzled, his brow furrowing in thought.
"But you didn't say or do anything mean to me, so you don't need to apologize," he reasoned.
I shrugged, the listlessness from before creeping back in now that my brief crying jag had ended.
Itachi frowned at me.
"Why are you upset, Saya?"
When I didn't answer, he put his hands on my shoulders and manually turned me to face him.
"I can't fix things if you don't tell me what's wrong, Sayanoma-chan," He said, with all the solemnity and seriousness a three year old prodigy can muster.
My shoulders hunched, and I teared up again.
"You can't help, though," I said miserably. "No one can do anything!"
"How do you know?" Itachi asked. "Have you told anyone?" His voice was soothing; tone calm and understanding, and eminently reasonable.
I grimaced, reluctant to discuss my problems with Ka-san.
Itachi stared at me, determined not to let things go. His unique blend of social obliviousness and soft-hearted caring meant that any discomfort or displeasure I displayed with the conversation would be ignored; since he was aware that I was upset, he was unlikely to be distracted until he learned the reason and did his best to help me.
It is perhaps the height of irony that the most compassionate person I've ever known struggled so much to process empathy.
"But Otou-Sama will be angry," I admitted in a small voice.
"Well you don't need to worry about what your grumpy tou-san thinks right now." Kushina's voice startled both of us, and we jumped. She knelt down beside me.
"I'm your godmother, Saya-chan; and that means I'll always look out for you, dattebane!" She wore a familiar stubborn expression on her face, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a tiny bit of hope.
She seemed to sense it, because she smiled at me.
"Just tell me what the problem is, and I'll do my best to fix it for you, 'ttebane!"
I swallowed, and gathered my courage.
"Otou-Sama wants me to be a boy," I told her, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "But I'm not."
My lip quivered and I felt myself shaking.
"He- he calls me with -kun, and says I'm his musuko, and– and he makes me feel like there's something wrong with me! He keeps telling me "Oromo no naru" – but I'm not! I'm a girl!"
Now that I'd started, it was like I couldn't stop – I found myself pouring out all of Otou-Sama's corrections to my grammar and speech, his instructions to make me more masculine; my voice gaining in strength and volume as I went on.
"I'm a girl!" I sobbed, distantly aware that I was nearly shouting. It simply felt so good to finally say it, that I couldn't hold it in anymore. "He keeps trying to make me talk like a boy and dress like a boy and act like a boy, but I'm not! I'm not a boy, and I don't want to be!"
My voice broke, and I couldn't stopped the tears from falling. "I'm a girl," I said, weeping from the sheer relief of acknowledging it. "I'm a girl."
"Oh, Saya-chan," Kushina said, looking heartbroken. "Of course you're a girl; you're a beautiful girl, and no one should say different!"
"Then- then why..?" I sobbed, barely able to keep speaking. "Why can't Otou-Sama just let me be a girl?!"
"I didn't know he was doing that, Saya-chan. I swear I didn't know, 'ttebane; I didn't know!"
Kushina pulled me into her arms, and I went willingly. She shushed me, and rocked me, holding me tightly. I clung to her just as fiercely, soaking in her love and acceptance.
"There's nothing wrong with you," she said. She pressed a firm kiss to the top of my head, and took a deep breath to continue. I interrupted, unable to stop the confessions now that they'd started.
"Obaa-san doesn't think so," I whispered. I closed my eyes, seizing the edge of her sleeve in my fists as I huddled into her. "She calls me sore; sono or buttai."
Kushina-ba stilled.
My voice was hushed as I continued; shame and hurt making it so I could barely force the rest of the confession out.
"She talks like… like I'm not really a person." I swallowed thickly, tears caught tight in my chest. "She hates me."
Kushina drew in a short, sharp breath, tightened her arms around me as she snarled, "Kimi's a kami-forsaken idiot, and a bitter, dried up, old hag!"
She shook with the force of her rage, squeezing me so tightly it hurt. She fumed into my hair, muttering insults and imprecations under her breath, and some of them were so ridiculous or shocking I burst into slightly hysterical laughter.
She refocused her attention on me, loosening her embrace and patting my back to calm me down. "Gomen, Saya-chan; I forgot myself for a minute."
She offered me a weak smile as I hiccupped.
"You leave Kimi-san to me," she said. "She's a terrible person, but if I knew how bad she was treating you I never would have tolerated it. I promise – I will be dealing with this; and she's not gonna get away with it anymore."
I nodded, exhausted and not trusting myself to speak anymore.
She sighed, running her fingers through my baby-fine hair.
"We'll come back to that later," she decided. "Because it's serious, and we need to talk about it so that I know everything that's going on there. For now, we're gonna talk about your tou-san, since him treating you like a boy was what you were saying upset you first."
She hesitated, considering where to start.
"When your ka-san was expecting you," she said, haltingly. "Your tou-san was convinced that she was having a boy. He was so convinced he told everyone he was having a son, even though the doctor wasn't certain."
She pursed her lips, then let out a sigh. "I guess he's just not very good at admitting when he's wrong."
Her arms tightened around me. "But he is wrong, and I'm gonna deal with this, dattebane!"
I peered up at her, eyes widening. "You are? How?"
She shot me a grin. "Did you know, when you were born, your tou-san tried to name you Tobirama?"
"What?!" I gaped at her. Otou-Sama talked about and compared me to Tobirama-ojiisan a lot, and he might have taken to calling me Tobirama; but I hadn't realised he'd tried to make it official.
Kushina-ba ruffled my hair.
"Your ka-san and I set him straight – he was talking like you were a boy, so we put a stop to it!"
"Really?" I squeaked. "Ka-san did?"
I found myself sceptical, given Ka-san's lacking defense of me now.
"Absolutely, dattebane!" Kushina's voice was firm, and my gut twisted. I turned my face away, unsure what expression I might be wearing. I couldn't decide if I felt pleased or betrayed by the revelation – probably a mixture of both.
"Saya-chan?" Kushina prodded me gently, reading me far too well. "What else has been going on?"
She settled me back into her arms, letting me take comfort from her presence while I struggled to find my words.
"I tried to- I talked to Ka-san," I admitted, the words tumbling out haltingly. "She just- she told me to obey Otou-Sama."
I blinked back tears of remembered frustration. "She-she said- she just said I had to listen to him!"
I closed my eyes, hating the way my chest ached all over again. "She never says anything against obaa-san, either."
Kushina's arms tightened, and she was silent for a few moments before she dropped her chin onto the top of my head and sighed.
"Nana never goes against Kimi-san," She murmured. There was a weight to her tone that I couldn't identify; an underlying meaning that I couldn't catch.
"Kimi-san raised her alone, and she… made sure that your ka-san would never cross her." She paused. "Nana doesn't agree with her; she just doesn't know how to say or do anything against her.
"You know that your ka-san is a civilian, right, Saya-chan?" She spoke slowly, cautiously; wanting to comfort me without misleading me, to explain without belittling my hurt. I nodded against her chest, and waited for her to continue.
"Well, your ka-san… she's a very timid woman." I waited out her pause slightly impatiently, giving a short, sharp nod to indicate that she should continue.
"See, she's always been like that – afraid of conflict, flinching whenever there's disagreements. Afraid to speak up; never wanting to upset anybody. She didn't even choose to marry your otou-san; that was all Kimi-san. Your obaa-san was thrilled to be able to arrange such a prosperous marriage for her daughter, she never stopped to wonder if it was what Nana wanted." She huffed, scowling slightly.
"Not that what Nana wanted ever meant anything to her to begin with," she muttered. She shook her head. "The problem with the match is, that even though she married Kajima, Nana's afraid of him.
"I'm not saying he's hurt her," she added hastily, realising the implications of her previous statement. "Nana's just not comfortable with ninja in general; not even kunoichi, and Kajima's not really… He's not a very warm man; he intimidates her whether or not he means to."
She rubbed her face with one hand, letting out a heavy sigh.
"I'm not trying to gossip, or talk bad about your parents," she said, sounding strangely tired. "I'm just explaining why your ka-san won't ever go against your otou-san by herself."
Slipping a hand underneath my chin, she tilted my face up towards herself. "But it doesn't mean she doesn't love you, or want what's best for you, Saya-chan." She caught my eyes, making sure I could see how serious she was before she continued. "That's why she made me your godmother."
I blinked up at her, confused. She snorted at the look on my face, her lips tugging into a grin. Smoothing my hair back over my forehead, she elaborated, "Me an' Nana aren't really that close, dattebane. In fact, her asking me to be your godmother was the first time we ever spoke."
My eyes widened again. "But…" I trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
Kushina seemed to have no problem interpreting my uncertainty, however. Her smile gentled as she spoke.
"She's a civilian, and uncomfortable around ninja; and even though we live in the same compound we aren't actually related 'cept through marriage - I'm a full-blooded Uzumaki, and she's the granddaughter of a Senju without any Uzumaki blood – so we never had a reason to interact. Even after she married my itsuko, Kajima; I avoided her 'cause he's a teme an' he pisses me off a lot." Her tone grew a bit sheepish towards the end, and she offered me a one-shouldered shrug.
I held back a giggle at her clear distaste for Otou-Sama; but the slightly smug expression she wore informed me she had noticed my amusement and had no intention of scolding me for disrespect.
"But Nana talked to me about all this when she was pregnant; she was so scared, but she'd already lost babies, and it was really hard on her. So once she knew that she was gonna be carrying you to term, she was feeling pretty protective. An' she knew that once you were born she wouldn't be able to protect you."
I opened my mouth, and she touched a finger to my lips, to keep me quiet.
"Nana told me that she wanted me to be your godmother because she admired me; but most of all because she knew she could never stand up to Kimi-san or Kajima-teme, and she knew that I could. And that if I thought it was best for you, I would.
"She wanted you to have a strong female influence to balance your otou-san growing up, and it needed to be a female shinobi influence that could tell if your otou-san was crossing any lines. She was also worried about Kajima's reaction if she had a daughter, since he was so insistent on having a son – she wanted someone to be there for you if he wouldn't. And she wanted it to be someone your obaa-san couldn't intimidate or over-rule, to keep her from hurting you."
She slid her hand to the side of my face, cupping it and stroking the top of my cheek with her thumb.
"I agreed to be your godmother because in the end, I admired her courage. Your ka-san might not be brave in the traditional sense, but what she asked me for took a different kind of strength. She's been hurt pretty badly, and she didn't want the same thing for her baby. She recognized that she couldn't fight for you herself, so she wanted you to have someone that could. She didn't want me to be your godmother – she wanted me to be your champion.
"I was pretty honoured and impressed, 'ttebane. She was honest with me about her weaknesses, her reasons for seeking me out, and her only goal in all of it was looking to protect you – and she was prepared to make sure I had the tools I needed to do it. She didn't just make me your godmother, Saya-chan – she made us family. We were already related on your otou-san's side; but she choose to give me the legal right to make decisions for you by signing over her rights as your mother.
"That doesn't mean she didn't love you, or want you; or change the fact that she's your mother," She added, swiftly moving to cup my face between both of her hands as she reassured me.
"She just made a very difficult decision, and coming to me for help was the hardest thing she'd ever done. But she wanted to make sure you were protected in ways she couldn't do herself. Giving me the official, legal authority to make decisions for you like a parent fixed that; but she's still your mother. She just made an incredible sacrifice to keep you safe, and I admired the bravery it took for her to do that."
The implications of the conversation made me dizzy. I licked my lips, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain how to respond.
"What," I faltered. "What does that mean?"
"What it means," she paused, and looked me in the eye. "Is that I have the legal right and authority to keep Kimi-san away from you. I have the right to interfere with Kajima trying to raise you as a boy. I have the right to do whatever I have to do to keep you safe – even when the danger isn't physical."
I felt a smile stealing across my lips. "Really?"
She nodded, smirking. "Now that I know what's been going on, Kajima-san and I are gonna have a little… talk."
She cracked her knuckles, and I couldn't hold back my giggles. Her smirk got bigger, and Mikoto giggled as well.
I was abruptly reminded of our audience and flushed. I tumbled out of Kushina's grasp, straightening myself up only to lower my upper half into a bow, carefully positioning myself to indicate sincere respect and regret.
"Gomen-nasai, Mikoto-Tenshi-Hime! Watashi o yurushite!"
I was incredibly embarrassed at the way I had forgotten my manners. My face burned at the thought of what she must think of me.
Ka-san always stressed the importance of manners to me, but I found the various social rules and expectations confusing enough that I often defaulted to formality. It was a trait I shared with Itachi – we both took comfort in formal behaviour, since the guidelines were fairly rigid and therefore clear.
Manners were a vital part of our culture, but my subconscious expectations for polite behaviour were based in a society that didn't exist here. I lacked enough familiarity with Japanese culture to respond appropriately, and struggled to adopt the new social cues and understandings necessary to make the transition.
Traditional Japanese formality was complex and demanding, with little room for error – but the strict guidelines offered a frame-work for acceptable behaviour that was clearly defined.
Politeness was important; but when you tend to be rude without meaning to or even noticing, having a way to ensure you aren't accidentally offensive is a relief. Keeping silent unless you were expected to speak; carefully choosing your words to use the most polite language, spoken as formally and carefully as possible; and guarding yourself against indulging your impulses or deviating from formal behaviour were the most effective ways we found to avoid being rude.
While it often came across as precocious and adorable because of our current ages, it could also be very stiff and off-putting; especially when we maintained formality despite no one else around us doing the same. Itachi took it further than I did – I tended to get caught up, or excited, and forgot myself at times, but he was more strict about maintaining it. Part of that was because the Uchiha maintained their status as one of the Noble Clans, and therefore had more traditional expectations of behaviour for their children; the rest of it was simply Itachi's perfectionist nature not wanting to slip up.
So upon realising I had acted unthinkingly, I offered a formal bow and apology. I simply needed to reassure myself that I hadn't been rude, or could make up for it if I had been.
"Maa, don't worry about it, Saya-kika." She reached out and helped me straighten myself up, and I smiled shyly at her in thanks. "It sounds like you had cause to be upset."
"Hai, Mikoto-tenshi-hime; " I nodded firmly. She gave me a gentle hug of her own, and I enjoyed the affection for a moment before she released me, giving me one of her sweet, gentle smiles.
Biting my lip, I turned back to my friend.
"Arigato, Itachi-kun," I said, offering him a grateful smile. "If it wasn't for you, I might never have told anyone! Then I would never know that Kushina-ba-chan could make Otou-Sama stop!"
He looked pleased; with a small, shy smile, and the tops of his cheeks slightly pink.
"I'm glad," he said, his eyes fixed just slightly to the left of my face. "You're my friend, and I don't want you to be sad."
His own face turned serious at the end, and he was just so adorable I couldn't help glomping him. Luckily, Itachi had grown used to my occasional demonstrativeness over the course of our friendship, and adjusted himself to catch me. The first few times I'd pounced on him, I'd knocked the poor boy over. I was fortunate that he had the patience of a saint, and had inherited his mother's fondness for hyperactive, chatty friends.
While I wasn't really conscious of my reincarnation yet, subconsciously I recognised that Itachi wasn't just unimaginably advanced – he was also a heart-stoppingly cute toddler with a very sweet disposition and a gentle, caring heart. At the time, it simply translated into random upwelling of affection accompanied by a sporadic urge to cuddle him, which I indulged in without shame. He tolerated my enthusiastic displays of affection even when they confused him; while not always certain of the correct response, he never outright rejected me, even when he wasn't completely comfortable with it.
I did my best to return the favour by learning to recognise when he was having a "no touch" day or mood, and respecting his boundaries. When he was in a more receptive mood, I offered him as much physical affection as I could without crossing the line into making him uncomfortable. He relaxed around me as a result, in a way he did with no one else.
While I was Kushina's godchild, Mikoto had become extremely fond of me as well. Part of it was my blatant adoration of and admiration for her; in part because she came to genuinely care for me for myself; while the rest of it was due to my relationship with her son. I was quite obviously devoted to Itachi, which pleased her because Itachi was less obviously but no less devotedly attached to me as well.
While neither of us enjoyed the occasional attempts of our parents at encouraging social interaction with our peers, it was markedly more difficult for Itachi, in ways that often baffled his parents. His response to failed social interactions was to become more and more withdrawn, and despite his advanced vocabulary he became increasingly silent. He was uncomfortable with physical affection at times, and was independent enough that his parents withdrew from offering it more often than not.
As a result, he had little-to-no physical contact with anyone other than me outside of sparring, and my friendship was one of the only things keeping him from becoming touch-starved. Kushina was always more than willing to offer affection, but she was enthusiastic about it in ways that sometimes left her godson distressed. She hugged too hard and too long, and shouted too loudly – not to mention her compliments and terms of endearment frequently made little sense to him. Her snatching him up and carting him around, squeezing tightly and yelling excitedly upset him, subsequently worsening his tolerance.
Part of me recognized that Itachi was special beyond being a prodigy. He was a genius, and incredibly, almost unimaginably gifted. For the most part, I simply accepted the idea that Itachi was special because he was Itachi; yet a part of my mind was always dedicated to cataloguing his idiosyncrasies and habits, and learning to read his moods. I had no trouble accepting all of them as things that made Itachi into Itachi; but subconsciously I was beginning to recognise that my friend was not quite neurotypical.
However, the many things which I simply accepted about Itachi often caused problems with anyone else. Even his parents frequently unintentionally hurt him, because they would assume his advanced intelligence meant he could understand why they rebuked or disciplined him for certain things when he couldn't. He was already becoming very silent, blank-faced, and controlled; utilising his shinobi lessons constantly to avoid crossing lines of behaviour or conversation he couldn't see. While it kept him from being reprimanded, people felt even more put off by the appearance of such a tiny, emotionless soldier. Fugaku and the Clan Elders responded by treating him more and more like the shinobi he behaved like, and increased his training accordingly.
Mikoto was distressed by the changes, feeling as though she was losing her baby far too quickly, but didn't know how to reach out to him. His occasional discomfort with physical contact forced her to withdraw from him physically, uncertain of her welcome. It was only her observations of my interactions with him that encouraged her to keep trying – taking note of the cues I picked up on instinctively that had me giving him space or snuggling, and she adjusted her behaviour accordingly.
While he was still very passionate about his interests, I was really the only one he dared to ramble to about them anymore. Mikoto would have almost thought he had no interests outside the Shinobi arts anymore if she hadn't seen him interacting with me with his guard down.
This led her to try and reconnect with him through them, saddened that he'd felt the need to conceal them from her in the first place. She was beginning to understand that he hadn't always understood why he'd been punished for indulging those interests at length – only that he had, and was rebuked for not training instead. While on occasion he'd skipped out on other lessons he was less interested in for his own pursuits, his parents had unintentionally given him the impression that he wasn't allowed to have other interests at all.
It was part of why Itachi was so attached to me – the fact that I considered him my best friend, understood him so well, and accepted him so completely gave him a life-line he wouldn't have had otherwise. He still struggled to understand the way neurotypical people thought and reacted, but he was better-adjusted than he would have been without my influence.
So he simply sighed and resigned himself to my acting like a limpet for the next few minutes until his touch-tolerance began to wear thin.
Mikoto and Kushina whispered overhead as Itachi hummed to himself, lost in thought while I snuggled him. I automatically detached myself before he could become uncomfortable, and he stilled.
Abruptly, he stopped his humming, saying, "It's a good thing you're a girl, Saya-chan; now when we're grown up I can marry you."
I blinked at him, wide-eyed.
"Why?" I asked; not upset, only confused. Unlike Itachi, who had heard much on the subject of his future duties as the Uchiha Heir, the concept of marriage relating to myself had yet to enter my head at all.
"Because I have to marry a girl someday, and you don't annoy me," he explained. "You understand me, and we're friends, and I think you're the best person I know. So I'd rather marry you than anybody else."
Put like that, it seemed very reasonable to me, and I immediately agreed.
He tilted his head, examining me.
"Plus you look very different, and it's pretty," he added, rather bluntly.
I blushed, pleased to be complimented.
"You're pretty, too, 'Tachi," I said.
He nodded, accepting it as the compliment I meant it to be.
Kushina and Mikoto stifled giggles as they caught our conversation; but at the time we were oblivious. They exchanged glances; silently agreeing that we were adorable, and not wanting to burst our bubble by explaining that such a marriage was unlikely to be allowed.
We were just shy of being four-years-old, after all; they were certain that any baby-crush we might form on one another wouldn't last long enough to be an issue.