The Crow

The wind blew through the leaves barely hanging on their branches, grey clouds moving in the whistle. Fugaku jerked his head back to watch for a split second before returning his eyes to the route, it smelled of earth and moist, a rain soon to come.

He moved, gracefully, deliberately, his shadow painting the one behind him, his palm ached with the pressure of his nails digging on his skin. It was unspoken, the rule that is, were every clan head had to personally pay their respects when a new heir of another clan came into the world, a mandatory custom as old as Konoha's foundation, a gesture that ensured no animosities between the families that composed their village. A tacit promise of not returning to the old days. The rule, it seemed, was not confined into the borders of their realm nor contained by the statues on the Valley of the end, but for Fugaku Uchiha the gesture was as valuable as a cloud -forgettable on its passing, a momentary masquerade as long as a blink of an eye, of equal importance in the grand scheme of things.

The chirp of the birds made him think of all the better things he could do in such a promising day that, hunted by the prospect of a storm, only increased its present value. He was quick to scratch the skin under his lips as to adjust the most basics foundations of his costume, mildly entertaining the idea of a smile. The birth of an heir was nothing but the reminiscence of the cycle, a round table that marked no superiors, an empty chair to remember the family that had fallen, the ever-present whisper of the humdrum.

He supposed that friendship was a concept that escaped him in its entirety, his clan was not to be ruled by men reigned by their bias and inclinations, those he controlled were naturally inferior on their position and that will always hunt their interactions, while members of other clans will always seek for profit. The masquerade was mandatory not by his personal fundaments and clan doctrine, but by a general ever-present distrust that did not shake after the passing of various generations. The appearance of its non-existence was, by far, more important than its disappearance.

For that same reason, Ino-Shika-Chö was to be believed a joke whose origin seemed to root on the core of that same masquerade, turning the patterns of the original mask into something far more cartoonish.

A heavy growl passed through his lips before he could seal them in a thin line, the boy behind him awakened his pace at the sound, the pause between each encounter of his sandals with the ground became shorter. The shadow of the clan head still bathed the figure of his oldest son, who was yet to be allowed to walk alongside the man he called father until Fugaku deemed him worthy of such position. The route they choose to walk to their destination was longer and more rudimentary than the main road, but it brought the prospect of a delay that Fugaku could not let pass if presented.

What an inconvenient situation.

The shinobi world had plunged, once again, into the overwhelming peace that followed a war that lasted too long, so it wasn't really surprising that many clan leaders hadn't been sure enough to reproduce until the warlike conflict was behind far enough to give them some sort of… security. On his mind, such a belief was ill-founded, since such guarantee was just as valid as the man chosen to wear the hat that proclaimed him their protector (a validation scratching the bare minimum, solely sustained to appease the growing tension in between the nobility), and to be their leader in such a lesser extent it was laughable.

But then again, the Sandaime hadn't chosen him to wear the cloak that allowed him to stand at the top of the Hokage building with his eyes on the glass that reflected the vision before him. A vision that will lack the compound of his origins, a vision that lacked Konoha's own roots.

As it stands, no Uchiha has ever been a candidate for the Hokage's position.

The wind blew the hair on the back of his head, black strands parted to show small silver threads that had grown in the past few years that he wasn't aware of, and the suddenly cold air made him move his neck against the collar of his own, black, cloak. The Uchiha clan head furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes squinting at the sudden drop of temperature around him, the boy behind him continued at his own pace. His path was not to be the Hokage's path, there was no tower at the end of his route but a building of less importance and further distaste for those shaping the place his family helped create. It was not his path to be admired and regarded as their protector, but their restrainer.

Inconvenient.

It might be, perhaps, Itachi's path to become the one whose eyes will stand before the reflection, his route might end up on the higher tower and not on a building of below importance and higher distrust.

The one he was just thinking of coughed and Fugaku's attention was drawn towards him, the boy pursed his lips during his stop and pointed with his head to his left. When Fugaku parted his gaze from Itachi and looked towards the place in question, the home of the Yamanaka clan head filled his vision. Realizing they had reached their destination, Fugaku turned with elegance, scratched the skin under his lips as to adjust himself, and walked through the path of the Yamanaka compound until he reached the wooden doors, the floor squeaking under the weight of his feet. He was greeted at the door by a slim, tall boy with caramel hair and pupilless green eyes who -in all their masquerade manner- told him to wait for just a second while sending a little girl inside to announce his arrival.

The kid disappeared then, and Fugaku was left alone with Itachi and the boy at the door.

When, finally, the girl returned and requested for them to follow, they were guided to a big room in the central part of the house with brown wooden floor and walls and large windows that illuminated the space and allowed them to observe the interior gardens of the compound. As for decoration, there was barely any furniture around, the pretension of familiarity of a warm and cozy ambient completely dropped. Despite himself not going to such lengths to show his true beliefs on the charade as to behave in a proper manner, Inoichi didn't seem as concern in maintaining the pomposity, which -to some extent- it amused him. Four cushions were the sole objects in the entire space: three red, one white -two already occupied and, in front of them, the other two-, and a petite table with a teapot and three cups already served.

The blonde man was sitting with his eyes closed, and beside him in the little white cushion was a small bulge covered in a blanket that he kept touching with his left hand.

"Uchiha," Inoichi greeted them without standing, "please." He pointed to the remaining cushions.

Both black-haired men settled into their seats without speaking, and Itachi offered his father one of the teacups.

Fugaku, out of habit, rejected it and Itachi, following his father's example, left his own on the small table. Fugaku saw the way his son's finger contrasted against the white porcelain, and it wasn't until then that he noticed the dirt on the nail of his thumb. He glanced at Itachi with a pointed look. Blushing, the boy covered it between his robes.

Inconvenient.

"I believe that congratulations are in order." Fugaku finally said, looking straight at the face of the other leader, Inoichi's lips curled up a little bit, and he slowly opened his eyes.

"Yes, I believe so," the blonde answered, caressing carefully the small bulge. Itachi's eyes followed the movement under the blanket. "She's sleeping."

"Ah, so it's a girl then?" He asked, not really concealing the bored tone in his voice.

He liked Inoichi in the sense that the man was enough of a good liar to pretend he cared for Fugaku's visit, but familiar enough with everyone's way of thinking not to bother in even trying.

"Yes." He answered, a heavy pause following. His turquoise eyes looked at him unblinking, like expecting him to laugh. "Her name is Ino." There was that pause again, and Fugaku felt slightly uncomfortable, but Inoichi glanced at Itachi then, and the feeling went away. "I'm glad to see you, Itachi," he said, acknowledging the child's presence. "Would you like to meet her?"

Itachi looked questioningly at his father with a raised eyebrow, receiving a sole nod as a response.

The little boy got up and walked the short distance between his place and Inoichi's, who picked up and held the little girl in his arms. Her face was mostly covered by the blanket, but Fugaku could still see a thin blond lock that crossed her face. Ino's eyes snapped open and Itachi smiled, vaguely, carefully. And then, in less than a second, Itachi's expression of calmness and curiosity turned to horror, the realization of what was about to come piercing everyone's ears.

She started to scream and cry, her tiny pink hands trying to reach something belonging to her mother that wasn't there, her most basic instincts and needs unfulfilled.

"I think she might be hungry," Fugaku said, narrowing his eyes at the rude baby while Itachi got back to his seat.

"Ah-" Inoichi started when, suddenly, the shöji door of the room flew open, and an old lady in a green kimono entered the room. Fugaku didn't deem her worthy enough of his remembrance. She bowed and reached for the baby.

"Let me take her, Inoichi-sama," the woman said, before bowing again and disappearing with Ino in her arms.

And really, how they were supposed to keep a conversation about a newborn when the newborn wasn't even there?

"I heard that your son has just started the Academy and is already on top," Inoichi provided, pretending that Ino's outburst was just a slight inconvenience and not the thing that literally ended their meeting. His hand reached for his Kimono as to fix its collar, previously wrinkled by his descendant.

"Yes." He replied shortly, but decided to add something for good measure. "He's our pride."

Inoichi nodded, "I presume." He looked at Itachi, "I'm sure you will be a great ninja, Itachi."

"Thank you, sir." He answered, looking at the floor.

"Konoha is always in need of more people like you, that is, strong ones, with a strong Will of Fire." He smiled, "I'm sure you will be an amazing asset to the police force."

Fugaku narrowed his eyes.

"Ah- I guess."

"Of course! If you are this good with only five years, I can't imagine how excellent you will be when you're old." He looked up to Fugaku then, "Konoha is getting a lot of prodigies lately."

"Mh." He conceded, blinking at the sudden topic of conversation but not surprised, after all, the Yamanaka clan wasn't particularly known for having harvested a large number of prodigies on their lines, if they ever produced any, so of course when Fü Yamanaka showed signs of being one they were going to presume him.

"Yes," Inoichi nodded to something no one said, probably just to reassure himself.

It was a common ground, not comfortable and not something that entertained him, but it was a known topic for him, it was just a regular conversation.

Until Inoichi glanced at his son once more, his smile still the same, but shinning with something else. Such a shame that look appeared to say, what a waste, it echoed on his mind.

And for a split second, Fugaku saw red.

Uncomfortable wasn't the right word to describe that situation.

Infuriating suited more his tastes.

If Fugaku had been alone, or in a situation that did not require him to control tightly his emotions, he would have bitten his lower lip until it bleed, he would have chewed his nails like he used to do when he was little, or he would have punched Inoichi's face through a wall. Instead, he contented himself with biting the inside of his cheek and scratching the skin under his lips until it hurt enough for him to stop.

He heard the footsteps of his firstborn behind him on the dirt road and sealed his lips in a thin line. Itachi, the pride of his family. A prodigy, his own son was a prodigy and was to grow to become a mighty leader who'll lead the Uchiha to the higher steps of this decaying excuse of a realm, which was more, so, so much more Inoichi could say about his daughter or about his precious Fü. So what was the reasoning behind that look on his face?

Why the fuck was that look on his face?

It was with the pass of time that he understood its meaning, the realization pouring down on him like rain in the second his beloved protegee sliced his throat. It had been a warm night up until that point when the ambiance around him suddenly froze, the lukewarm of his blood bathing down his collar making the temperature bearable.

Oh, Inoichi, he thought with the remaining of his strength, a small smile grazing his lips. This is all your fault.