Chapter 9: A Cruel Mistress

The sky was muted with gray when Arata walked through town with his mother, holding her hand tightly. Though he was a boy of six, he didn't feel much shame in reaching for her for comfort due to his fairly-reclusive upbringing.

The streets were fairly busy for a Sunday afternoon, the people moving quickly with their heads either down or their eyes straight ahead.

His mother's shoulder accidentally brushed against a young Hyuuga man's, lightly pushing him out of the path and very near a puddle, and he immediately glared at her, sizing her up in thinly-veiled disgust.

"Watch where you're going," he sneered, brushing off his sleeve. "This is worth more than your life."

"My deepest apologies, Hyuuga-sama," she murmured to him, deferentially keeping her eyes lowered. "I didn't mean to offend you in any way."

He simply shook his head, turning and stalking away.

Arata watched him go with wide eyes, before turning to the blonde woman. "Mama… why was he so rude?"

She quietly sighed. She couldn't even answer him. Instead, she smoothed down his hair and patted his head. How was she to answer that in a way that wouldn't leave him asking more questions?

She gently tugged his hand, pulling him on. They had to make one last stop at the produce stall, as Mebuki was planning on bringing apple dessert to his cousins later.

The aging woman running the stall, affectionately called "Nana" by the local children (and young adults), gave them a weary smile as they approached. "Miss Mebuki, always nice to see you. And you brought your son!"

"Hello, Mrs. Akagi." Mebuki returned the kind look, reaching out to take her wrinkled hand. "We'll be taking a parcel of apples today, as well as three peaches."

"Oho, special occasion?" Nana chuckled. She grabbed the parcel of apples and handed it to her. She grabbed three juicy-looking, delicious white peaches and put them in a small paper bag, handing it to Arata. "Okay dear, that'll be 3500 yen."

Mebuki brought out her purse and counted her money for a moment before frowning. She pulled out her coins and apologetically smiled. "I'm so sorry, I'm afraid we're fifty short."

Nana's smile faded a little, but she nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry dear. I would offer you a discount, but... well, I need every coin I can get. Would you like to take away a peach?"

Mebuki gave pause, and turned to look at Arata. Her eyes looked guilty, but she didn't speak.

Arata knew what she was asking. With a little shrug (and pushing down his disappointment), he nodded and handed back the bag. Mebuki took out a peach and handed it back.

"That brings your total to 2500."

His mother paid for the fruits, handed him back the bag, and bade Nana goodbye. Patting his head again, she gave him back the bag of peaches.

When they were far enough away that he figured Nana couldn't hear, he asked, "Mama, are we going to go without eating because of the peaches?"

She shook her head, smiling softly at him. "Not at all, honey. We can afford the basics, but I don't think we'll be buying peaches again for a while. The shop isn't getting in as much money as we thought it would, so we'll have to cut back on luxury items for now."

The boy nodded. He didn't fully understand what she meant by 'luxury' items, but he figured that some things were expensive enough that his parents didn't want to eat them anymore. With that thought, the bag of fruit weighed more heavily in his hands.

By some coincidence, they walked past the same Hyuuga man again, and Arata found himself eyeing the man's crisp, fresh shirt with envy.

It wasn't fair. How come their family was struggling to make ends meet while so many others were enjoying new clothes and nice food on the table? How come his family had to make large batches of food to ration over several days while some of his friends were able to have a new meal every day? How come he only had a few things in his lunch while the other kids had full bento boxes every day that they went to school?

Why were they so poor while other families hardly struggled at all?

He must have been making quite a face, because his mother gasped quietly and turned his head away from the man's direction to look at her. She gave him a concerned frown. "Honey, please don't glare at strangers. You could be beaten!"

He blinked, and the sudden hardness he felt in his gaze softened. He looked down with a guilty frown. "I'm sorry."

She simply clucked her tongue, running a hand over his cheek. "It's okay, Arata, but please be careful. What if someone had seen?"

Unfortunately, he knew. There had been one afternoon when he'd been walking with Miss Ino, and they came across a young woman, hardly looking older than seventeen, in a standoff with an Uchiha guard. She was red in the face, though her voice was only raised in warning. The guard taunted her before attacking. He disabled her in one movement, slamming her face into the ground. Miss Ino ushered him away as he heard her screams. That night, he eavesdropped on his parents talking about the incident, and it was mentioned that her nose was most likely broken, and all because she had dared tell him to move out of her way.

He simply shrugged his shoulders and kept walking with her. He didn't know of many of his poorer friends that weren't terrified of the guards, and he was no exception. They always had a steely look in their cold black eyes, even when looking at children. He never saw the police force look at anyone with compassion unless it was to their own, or even to clans of slightly lower ranking. The fact that they could do anything, to anyone, without much conflict… it scared him so badly, he could hardly sleep at night.

He looked back at the Hyuuga again, only to find that he was gone. Instead, he looked down at his own clothes, the worn fabric slightly faded in color, yet they were clean and warm. It was one of his father's old shirts, slightly repurposed for his skinny frame. While Kizashi Haruno had been hale and healthy in his time, Arata Haruno was too small to even be put in ninja academy.

As much as he dreamed of going with the other boys to become a soldier, his parents had been adamant of him refraining. "Your sister had wanted the same," his mother had mentioned once with a grave frown. "They would have put her on the front lines, given her expendability. They'll no doubt do the same to you."

His father had agreed with that and had added that many of their own relatives had perished in the profession. Given his chakra nature of fire, they were extra afraid of sending him in - though they wouldn't tell him why. Given the way they exchanged weird looks whenever he asked about his birth parents, he had the sinking feeling it had to do with them, but they never denied or confirmed it.

Arata just quietly exhaled, glancing up at the sky. He wasn't envious of the other kids for what they had. He wasn't.

"Yo, Sasuke." Naruto approached the boy, munching on fruit. He offered one. "Peach?"

Sasuke glanced up from the window before waving his hand. "No thanks. You know I hate peaches."

"What's on your mind?" He simply shrugged, taking a bite of the sweet fruit. He followed Sasuke's eyes and frowned, momentarily pausing. "Are the troops really being deployed again?"

"Father said it was urgent," came his short reply. "He said they were needed at Morino for a few days."

Secretly, he did wonder why - none of their family had been to Morino in months, and as far as he knew they didn't have any problems. It was once their favorite vacation town, aside from Yugakure. Well, before that incident , at least. It was still a very nice place, with little to no trouble from the locals.

Still, Sasuke hated it.

He could recall a time many years ago, a time when he would think of the place in excitement. Now he only thought of it and shivered with revulsion. Not from the people nor the place, no, but because of the horrid memories it brought. Memories of a beautiful sunny day, marred with explosions and rebels murdering, and losing a dear friend.

He could still see her strawberry hair moving slowly in the water, her neck splotched with ugly purple-black bruises that stood out strikingly against her pale skin. She was wearing the same faded red dress she'd worn in the last time he'd spoken to her, although it was then stained with blood.

His throat closed, and he swallowed hard to try and will the rising tears away. Even though it'd been nearly ten years, it was still very challenging to think about. Naruto certainly wasn't over it.

He blinked a few times before looking over at said boy. He was already halfway through the peach, gazing down at the troops with an unreadable face. When he realized he was being watched, he looked over and smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.

Once he swallowed the peach chunk, he asked, "You were thinking of it too, weren't you?"

"Hm?"

"Castle Point." Naruto clarified.

Sasuke looked away. "No, I was just… thinking about why Father would have such an interest in Morino again. I mean, it's been months since we've even visited, and as far as I recall, they haven't done anything notable."

Naruto raised an eyebrow at him, but shrugged loosely and turned back to the window.

Sasuke's eyebrows dipped low into a frown, and he stared at the troops once more.

Not fair.

None of it was. None of this mess was supposed to be happening right now. It was not fair.

Briefly closing his eyes, he imagined - dreamed up an image of what his life would have looked like by now. Shisui would be alive and a part of the secret ops branch, like he'd always talked of. Izumi wouldn't have married that damned councilman; likely, she would have successfully gotten through to Itachi and they would have been married. Itachi would have taken the crown (as he rightfully should, he begrudgingly thought to himself), Naruto's parents would have still been alive and well, and Naruto himself would have been his right-hand man. Hinata would still be alive and well, perhaps engaged to Naruto after he finally realized her romantic inclinations towards him.

He would have become one of his father's generals; he'd always been so interested in the art of war, and politics were, at times, confusing and boring. He was born for the fight, as his mother had once told him.

And Sakura…

His frown deepened, and his hand clenched into a fist on the glass.

Sakura… wouldn't be dead. She would be alive and well as well, perhaps working with her family in the palace once more. Perhaps he could have persuaded Itachi to bring her uncle in as a guard again, and she could serve as a junior council member for the civilians' chamber along with Shikamaru. She was always so intelligent, clever, possessing a mind to stick out a situation and navigate any and every possible way out. She would have been perfect for the position.

There wouldn't be this agonizing heartbreak… no unavoidable pain of watching your loved ones die. There would be no roundabout investigation into missing family as the council thought up ways to stall and mislead you until you couldn't stand it anymore! He wouldn't have had to be forcefully separated from his older brother in such a painful way. He wouldn't have this festering hatred burning inside, sick and infectious, eating away at his heart the longer he focused on what he'd lost. He wouldn't have been cursed with these eyes, twin pools of blood that forever branded him a monster, a glass cannon only capable of hurting those he loved, weaponizing said emotion as further fuel for his inner fire until he consumed all in his path.

It wasn't fair.

Just once, he wanted to be treated as any other person - not the royalty he was born into, not the 'special young man' elders praised him as - but just Sasuke. Just eighteen-year-old, soon to be nineteen-year-old Sasuke, a boy who just wanted to find out who he wanted to be, not who he was destined to become.

Briefly, he felt a bloom of shame well up as he realized he was thinking like a petulant child being told 'no' to a second piece of pie. There were hundreds of those more unfortunate than he, yet he dwelled and brooded over his past and agonized over his future, all the while crying to himself that none of his life was fair.

He recalled Naruto on the night that he learned of his parents' death, his cerulean irises wide and stunned in the drizzling rain, his face blanched and cold and afraid. At the age of only eleven, an orphan - and his only protection being Sasuke's sympathetic parents taking him in because they already viewed him as a third son.

The council had fought like hell over the decision, arguing that he would never be considered a true Uchiha son by the clan, let alone the people, that it would be too detrimental to house an orphan, an Uzumaki, they'd hissed, when the Uzumaki had once upon a time ago sworn loyalty to their sworn enemies, the Senju. They had nearly lost that fight, but in the nick of time, a savior - a fallen angel, really, judging by his dark robes and mysterious demeanor - arrived and managed to sway (or threaten ) the council into accepting it. Naruto would never bear the Uchiha name but would remain an Uzumaki, a black sheep in the eyes of purists and old-fashioned elders who turned their scornful eyes on him like a spotlight. Every action of the boy's was scrutinized and judged… as if they needed any more reason beyond his parentage to detest the blond.

Life had dealt them a heavy hand. Fate, as Neji often said (when he was around), was a cruel mistress, delving pleasure from both giving and taking away your luxuries at her discretion. And nothing showed that fact more than the present.

"Sasuke," Naruto's voice broke him out of his inner monologue, and when he glanced over he saw the boy with sky eyes give him a smile. "It's about time that you get to your lessons."

Ah yes. His mood soured nearly instantly once more at the thought. Another pathetic attempt he'd make at getting his father's attention and praise, all through boring political studies that he had no mind for.

He gave a sigh, gesturing with his hand. "Lead the way."

If only he were a normal civilian. It just wasn't fair.

A gut-wrenching cry shattered the quiet of the night, and the tears streamed down her face.

"I'm being… torn… open…!" She struggled to breathe through grit teeth, her chest heaving in difficulty.

"C'mon, you can do it," another woman, an older one, coached her, soft dark eyes scanning her trembling legs. Her lips set in a line when she noticed the head appearing, christened with a halo of blood, and she gripped the woman's hand tight. "Deep breaths, deep breaths! They're almost here!"

"I- I can... do it," she panted, squeezing her eyes shut and grunting loudly. "Please…!"

She pushed again, and the face appeared, the chill in the air making the infant's face screw up in discomfort.

The young woman's eyes flew open and she gasped a name desperately, the force of that name giving her the strength to push one last time.

The older brunette let go of her hand and caught the body as it fell into her arms, and a shrill cry splitting the air hailed the tumultuous birth of a boy.

The mother fell back against the log with a painful huff, her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Strong lungs," the woman remarked with a chuckle. "Reminds me of someone."

"Just like… his father," the mother weakly nodded.

Working quickly, the older woman cleaned the child to the best of her ability and wrapped him in a blanket, gently lying him on his mother's bosom.

She tiredly heaved a mirthless laugh, cracking her eyes open enough to gaze at her child, beginning patches of what would surely be deep brown, nearly black, hair crowning his pale head. "He… he's…"

"...You knew?" The older woman appeared surprised as she rinsed her bloody hands in the river.

"Mother's intuition… or whatever that saying is," she chuckled once more, adjusting her cloak to expose her bare breast to the infant. "Besides, he always… wanted a boy."

"Ah, is that so? Do you have a name, then?"

The young woman paused for a moment, her gaze softening when her boy opened his eyes for a moment, revealing black irises just like her late husband's. "... Kaito."

The woman gave her a knowing look, and she smiled tiredly. "I feel that he would be honored if his son were to be named similarly to him."

She watched her for a few moments as she guided the baby's mouth to her breast, and when the child was finally nursing she looked up, bloodshot eyes soft with concern.

"What will you do with him?" The older brunette asked, a whisper, afraid to break the present quiet.

There was silence between them for a while. The older woman had looked away for a moment, but after a minute had to look back, worried that the mother had fallen asleep.

Her eyes were closed, but her face was set in a frown as she weighed her options.

What would she do? When she chose this life, she hadn't even known she was pregnant. When she did find out herself, it was too far along to be a safe termination, and she honestly... didn't want to abort the fetus. For once, she'd wanted to be selfish - this child was one of the last links to her previous life, and even though she could never go back… she felt a link remaining to her husband. This baby was the culmination of all that they'd wanted - a family, an extension of themselves to love and raise the way they had been with gentle care. When he married her, he'd expressed his want for a large family to share with her. If it meant bringing their dreams with her, she vowed she would protect this being as if he were already born.

A rather stupid venture, she now realized as the emotional tumult of pregnancy was leaving her. When she'd found Mimei, she'd thought she'd find a place to settle down in a village somewhere, perhaps with a company of women who could help her raise the baby. But as the weeks grew closer to her due date, that dream fell apart and she was forced to accept the reality that there would be no easy settling.

The life of a rebel was not one for a child, let alone a newborn. From what she knew from the women in her life, babies were tough, especially for a new mother, and especially when she had no older married women to guide her. When she first found out she was pregnant, she recalled feeling so terrified - both for the being inside and for her own life. How would she care for the child? How would she keep the child safe? How would she raise her son in such a turbulent environment? How could she adequately keep him safe from enemy shinobi?

Ayame-sama was generous, yes, but she wouldn't tolerate such a handicap for long. That pained her above all else, knowing her child to be a handicap to Mimei.

Finally, she opened her mouth, and in a quiet voice, replied, "... I don't know. All I know is that I cannot care for him… with things the way they are."

Her expression falling, the woman nodded, wrapping a cloak around the mother.

A/N: Please tell me what you thought!