It was taking all of Mikoto's effort not to let her Sharingan activate.

Mikoto stood in the hallway outside the Hokage's office, her back ramrod-straight and her face frozen in a cool, Uchiha facade. Chuunin carrying varying stacks of papers did double-takes as they passed by. A few narrowed their eyes in distaste. None stayed long after she turned her freezing gaze on them.

The Uchiha had always been associated with fire. It burned in their hearts, sang in their veins, and blazed out of their throats to sear their enemies into ashes. The thought of an Uchiha in a rage always brought with it images of the red burning in their spinning eyes and the red that burned at a snap of their fingertips. But Mikoto had always burned cold.

She had brought Sasuke home first. He was a smart child, not like Itachi (there was no one like Itachi), but perceptive all the same. He had been very subdued on their way back, walking obediently by her side as he tried to sneak peeks at her face. It saddened her, a bit, that his first day at the Academy had to end so unhappily, but the ghosts of her past were too busy haunting her for her to muster enough willpower to do something about it. Luckily for the both of them, Itachi had managed to arrive home in time today. Sasuke had brightened immediately, and with a joyful crow had launched himself at his aniki, spirits and babbling renewed. Mikoto left them to it, with an admonishment to take care of each other and prepare their own dinner. She was not sure what time she was coming home today.

She saw Itachi look after her as she left, worry clear in the small tightening of his eyes. She ignored him. She did not need his or her husband's coddling today. She took a deep breath of the cool autumn air, then let it out, leeching the tenseness from her shoulders and centering herself. Today was not an issue for the Uchiha clan. Today was an issue for Mikoto alone.

The door to the Hokage's office opened. Her stance did not waver, and to an ordinary observer she did not react at all. But inside Mikoto, her fire burned.

Nara Shikaku met her eyes as he exited the office. He nodded to her in a short greeting. She returned the motion, tilting her head forward slightly, her face serene. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, and left in his customary slouch.

"Enter," said a voice, old and low but nowhere near frail yet. She steeled herself and stepped forward, her strides petite in her kimono but filled with all the power of a shinobi. She entered the room.

Sarutobi Hiruzen had not changed since the last time she saw him. It's been years since she had to venture outside the Uchiha compound, and years more since she had to report in this very office. He had liver spots now, scattered across his face like puddles on a spring morning. His wrinkles were even more deeply set, his veins standing out from his skin. But the piercing brown eyes remained the same, pinning her to the spot the way it did even when she was just a genin.

"Mikoto-san," he said, his voice rumbling in his throat. Neither smoking nor age had thinned his voice at all. "This is a surprise."

She had run a lot of scenarios in her head, practiced what she would say here. She knew that she had to stay calm, had to stay polite and avoid any chance of lowering the Uchiha further in the old man's eyes.

"You told me they were dead."

That… was not in her script.

Oops.

Sandaime's eyes narrowed. She didn't miss the sharpness in his gaze, or the minute way he straightened in his seat at the accusation.

He knew what she was talking about.

He knew-!

"You told me they were dead." Her voice didn't rise; rather, it fell, lowering just shy of a growl. She could feel her chakra rising in contrast, her agitation pushing at the tenketsu behind her eyes. She pushed it back as much as she was able, drawing on all the techniques and years of experience she had dealing with the crabby, ambitious elder council of the Uchiha and any other adult who dared to believe they could tell her how to do her job as wife and Uchiha matriarch. She could not let her Sharingan activate. (But oh, how she wanted to.)

"I assure you, Mikoto-san, any and all Uchiha deaths are reported to your husband—" he began. Her fury only rose further.

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid!" she snapped.

"Do not speak to me with that tone."

Killing Intent slammed down on her. Now all her effort was simply focused on keeping her back straight, and her face impassive. Her chakra flared, fighting back the pressure that sought to bring her down. She would not bow to this man! Not now, and not like this! She raised her head from the respectful tilt that kept her gaze on his chest and looked at the Hokage in the eye. She knew her Sharingan had finally activated out of sheer stress, and knew she could be executed for this, but she kept her chin up and her head held high. She had been a shinobi once. She may be no match for the Hokage, but neither was she just a lowly housewife to be pushed aside!

And just like that, the Killing Intent stopped, as suddenly as a kunai yanked out of a tree. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips, or the way her body shuddered in relief. A tear slipped down her face, but she didn't raise a hand to wipe it away. She kept her gaze on the Hokage's face.

He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked older, all of a sudden, the strength and power he emanated before receding. Where the Hokage sat, Mikoto now saw an old man, working past any respectable age and thankless in the job.

"Mikoto-san," he said at last. "We accomplish nothing with this." He dropped his hand and gazed back, his eyes still sharp but older than she had ever seen. "I assume you are talking about Uzumaki Naruto and Minako?"

Mikoto inhaled, taking in the names and engraving them in her heart. Naruto and Minako. She breathed out. Those were the names Minato and Kushina had chosen for their children.

Kushina.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered. "You let me think they had died with their mother! I could have taken care of them! I could have taken them in!"

"You cannot," he said, tired but sure. "Stop for a moment and think, Mikoto-san." He straightened, placing his withered hands on the table. "You are the matriarch of the Uchiha clan. Tensions are already high between the village and your clan. If the other clans heard of you taking in the vessel of the Kyuubi, there would be a riot."

Incensed, she stepped forward. "I'm their godmother! I have every right to take care of them!"

"It does not matter. No matter who took them in or whatever right that person had to them, any clan that takes those children in would cause the others to rise up and rebel. The power imbalance would be too great." The Hokage laced his fingers together. "They are safer where they are."

"Safer? Where? With whom?" The Hokage's lips thinned. He said nothing. Mikoto had to fight the urge to laugh. "Do you mean the apartment they stay in? Are you talking about the chuunin that mans the desk?"

The Hokage's eyes narrowed. Killing Intent rose again in the room, softer, quieter, like the low roar in your ears that could easily rise up and drown you. "Is that a threat?" His voice rumbled, almost mild with the anger that filled it.

Mikoto did laugh then, a short, breathless chuckle of disbelief. A threat? Just how far gone was the Hokage's trust in her clan? Far enough to suspect the care a mother would have for her best friend's children? To completely ignore it? "Have you even seen them recently?"

She hadn't even had to pick up her rudimentary tracking skills once more. It was easy enough to pretend to be a civilian Uchiha woman and ask around for the twins. People were always eager to gossip, whether they were shinobi or civilian. Several in particular took care to tell her in the vaguest terms possible to avoid the children, circumventing the Law of Silence in the easiest and most damaging way possible.

"Have you even seen how the civilians treat them?"

She managed to catch up to the twins, and watched from a distance as they struggled to find a place to eat dinner. Streets she would usually have trouble passing through suddenly cleared. Shop doors slammed closed. She listened to every false apology the manager spouted as they blocked the way into their stores.

"Restaurants refuse them entry. Parents pull away their children. When they walk through a street, the crowd parts around them."

She had watched as Minako fought to keep Naruto smiling even as she struggled to keep her own smile in place. What had been a happy day ended badly as they made do with yakitori from a food stall that didn't have the luxury of sending them away.

"You didn't leave them with anyone, Hokage-sama."

She remembered the way Minako had looked at her, and the way she had glared at those who dodged back as they passed by.

"You left them alone."

The Sandaime set his wrinkled brown gaze on her. "I hid them, Mikoto-san." His expression was unreadable, his face shadowed by the symbol of his office. Smoke curled from the mouth of his pipe, rising until it hung like a cloud above him, then dispersed. "Because I have hidden their identity, I have saved them from the manipulations that comes with being in a clan. They are free of outside influence, and from the politics of the village. They will grow strong and learn independence and survival. I'm keeping them safe."

"You're losing them, Hokage-sama." She spread her hands, like an invitation, or a challenge. "They are independent. They are strong. But they are alone. The villagers hate them. The children are told to avoid them. They barely even know how to take care of themselves!"

So thin. So frail. Naruto's shorts were too small. Minako's shirt was too big. The colors were faded, or stained. They looked ready to be knocked over by a breeze, or carried away like a kite.

It just made their eyes stand out all the brighter.

"Do you know how Minako looked at me when I first saw her?" Mikoto asked the old man seated in front of her. "She looked at me with anger, and suspicion. And I had done nothing except to stare."

Mikoto had taken one look at the red hair and known. Her breath had caught in her throat, her body frozen in place. How could she forget such blazing color? Not after the foreign Uzushio girl had managed to drag her into a clawing, hair-pulling, honest-to-goodness catfight that should have been below any Uchiha. Not after growing into a full-blown rivalry that both of them refused to admit to, from their Academy days until they made chuunin. Not after a trembling, fidgeting, scared teenage girl accosted her one afternoon, in the midst of a war, and begged her for help on what to wear to her first date.

Not after they promised to take care of the other's children, if one of them never returned from a mission.

"This isn't about politics. It's about two children in desperate need of care. But if it helps, Hokage-sama, think of it like this: At the rate things are going, there is nothing that will keep your jinchuuriki loyal to the village."

Silence fell in the Hokage's office. The Hokage said nothing, just staring at Mikoto. She had no idea what he was thinking. His eyes were perfectly impassive. Well, two can play at that game. She smoothed her expression into porcelain, blank as a fragile doll. If there were two spots of color on her cheeks, then it just made her look even colder, like a painter had taken two dabs of a red brush in a desperate attempt to keep her from looking lifeless. Her anger was iron behind her obsidian eyes.

The Hokage spoke. "That wasn't the argument your husband gave me when I told him of the plan."

And just like that, her anger shattered. More effective than ice water on molten steel, the old man ripped the floor from under her with just one sentence. She had to hand it to him, even as her knees locked together to keep her upright. He could not have chosen a better way to kick her to the ground.

There was no denying his words. She could neither deny that Fugaku knew nor that he would not keep something like this from her. He probably did. And he already does.

Any trace of color in her face was gone. She didn't bother with questions, protests, arguments. She bowed, her waist bending at the exact height appropriate for the Hokage, and no more. "By your leave, Hokage-sama," she said, her voice hard. She didn't wait for his permission, but left the room, her geta on the wooden floor the only sound left behind.

If she saw the sorrow in the Hokage's eyes, it was buried under the anger and shame bringing the color back to her face full force.

By the time she got home, Itachi was busy trying to enforce Sasuke's bedtime and the dishes they used were neatly stacked by the sink. She didn't pause, leaving her shoes at the genkan and heading straight to the kitchen. Soon the house was filled with the sound of a knife cutting through vegetables. It was a far cry from the satisfying thunk of metal through wood, and the feel of shuriken leaping from her fingertips in a perfect arc towards the target she marked out herself. It was too late for the Uchiha matriarch to be training. Besides, even if she went out to train she was too angry, and her cold fury thunk-thunking against the wooden posts for all to hear would be unseemly.

Unseemly. The word echoed around her head, jarring against the confines of her mind. Her kimono felt suffocating, the stiff collar flat on her shoulders and brushing the back of her neck like a threat. Her wrists were free but her ankles were not. The obi felt like a chain, not a support.

Any Uchiha woman who activated the Sharingan were forced to retire early. There was truly no retiring from the life of a shinobi, of course, barring loss of life or limb, but they stopped taking missions and were only called to action during emergencies. The Uchiha bloodline primarily ran through the males, so the women who had it were all the more precious, along with the children they would bear. They were not allowed to venture into the deadly battlefield or stay there long, leaving that to the men. Mikoto herself had been lucky; the elders had allowed her to rise as high as tokubetsu jounin. She was the clan head's bride to be. To marry a chuunin or lower would behoove the representative of the clan, and therefore the clan itself.

Thunk, thunk. Thunk.

"You're up late." Startled, she jerked, almost stabbing the hapless carrot in a wonky half. Mikoto turned around, coming face to face with her husband. The shadows lurking beyond the light of the kitchen draped themselves over his face. He looked as stern as the picture on the wall of the Police Headquarters, a picture she had seen less than the amount of fingers she had in one hand. There was a slight pinch to his wrinkled eyes, shadowed with exhaustion.

Had he always been like this? Her mind presented her with the image of a smooth-faced man, stern, yes, but with a small smile hidden for the times the elders were not looking his way. It felt faded, distant, almost as if it was a figment of her imagination. Fugaku shifted, stepping further into the light, and the lines on his face softened with the illumination, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Welcome home," Mikoto said, a slight stammer to her voice. Sloppy. Sloppy. Four years, five years ago, she would have known Fugaku was home before he set one foot in the house and said "tadaima."

As though reading her mind, his lip quirked up slightly. "Did you not hear me call?" he asked.

Kushina had never understood why she put up with Fugaku, and looked at their arranged marriage with the expression she reserved for nonbelievers (i.e. people who were not overly fond of ramen but did not particularly hate it either). But then again, Kushina had never been able to read nor had the opportunity to see her husband's microexpressions. It warmed Mikoto somewhat, knowing it was quite possible she was the only one who had.

She shook her head, her hands twitching towards her bound sleeves, then falling back to her sides. "Forgive me. I was preoccupied."

His little smile fell. "Does this have to do with your impromptu visit to the Hokage?"

Her head snapped up—an instinctive reaction. She did not feel surprised. There was only a small rock resting in the bottom of her stomach, bitter and heavy. Of course he knew. The Uchiha were far nosier than their far-sighted cousins, though the red-eyed clan would accuse them of the fact. They were the police, after all. It was their job. They were trained for it, even. And he was the head of them all.

"I saw Kushina's children," she whispered. Fugaku twitched, his eyebrows rising then drawing together in a frown. No more dancing around the subject. They were beyond that, here.

At least, she had thought so.

"What did the Hokage tell you?" No denial. No surprise. Was this an interrogation? The walls were closing in on Mikoto again. She thought the walk from the Tower would remove the feeling. Now it came roaring back. She clasped her elbows, trying to keep herself together.

"He told me you knew."

The crickets were not very active this time of the year. Mikoto found herself listening for the sound, anything to fill the silence that seemed to last longer than a heartbeat.

Fugaku took her hands, his hands hot around her cold fingers. She realized, all of a sudden, that she felt cold, despite the thickness of her kimono. She did not curl her fingers around his.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you would worry." His voice was low and dark, like oil dripping onto her skin. It used to warm her, in the morning and in the night. Now she could only close her eyes. "The Hokage took them away, would not even let me see them. Despite the fact that we had the right, no, the duty to take care of them, he would not hand them over. He didn't want them to be under any clan's influence."

She wanted to scream. She wanted to rail against him, to throw her fists against his chest and say, we could have done something, we could have left them with a civilian, we could have watched over them!

I am not a weak-willed housewife!

But she could only close her eyes.

He laughed, low, mocking. Angry. She almost missed what he said next. "I should have known it would be the start of Konoha's ungratefulness to the clan."

"What?" Her eyes snapped open. This was the first she heard of this. "Ungratefulness?" She looked up at her husband, her eyes wide. She could see him withdrawing again, that warm gentleness in his crow's feet smoothening into honed steel. She held on to his hands, holding tight, keeping him from pulling away, figuratively and literally. "What are you talking about? What ungratefulness?"

"It's none of your concern." He unraveled her fingers from his. She was no longer caged, she was in a space. The kitchen yawned around her, the small step her husband takes back feeling like a canyon at their feet. What else didn't she know? What else were they keeping from her?

What else did she leave behind when she put her hitai-ate away?

"Fugaku, please." Not husband, not beloved. Fugaku.

He stopped.

"I need to know. I'm a—" Shinobi. "—an Uchiha too." She raised her head, chin held high.

She may no longer be a shinobi in all but name, but she was still an Uchiha. They owed fealty to the village, but they had been around before Konoha was born, had helped built the village that housed them now, and would continue after the walls crumbled and fell. They had sworn to serve the village above all else, even the clan, but with the Hokage's attitude earlier, it felt more and more like putting the clan before the village was the right action to take.

Fugaku looked at her, dark eyes to dark eyes. He nodded.

"The Hokage denying our right to the children was only the first in the list of the many grievances we would soon be receiving. Less and less Uchiha are being sent out on missions, or being promoted. More are being relegated to the Police Force, when we have more than enough people there already." He reached up to rub one side of his nose. It was a rare show of weakness, one he only allowed himself around Mikoto.

She felt her dread return, heavier on her shoulders than before. "Have you spoken with the Hokage about this?" The moment the words left her lips, she shook her head, realizing how meaningless they were. Of course he had. "Surely the council would have something to say on this," she said instead.

Fugaku exhaled, a strong, soundless huff that expressed his frustration more than the stress lines on his face. "When I try to speak in the clan meetings, I am constantly rebuffed or ignored." He dropped his hand and shook his head as well. "We are alone in this." He hesitated, then spoke lower, in a whisper only for her. "I fear the village is turning against us," he confessed.

Mikoto's eyes widened. Wordlessly, she took his hands, a reverse of the comfort he tried to give her earlier. Fugaku's eyes flickered to meet hers. His lips twitched, the smallest of smiles in gratitude. He covered her smaller hand with his, enveloping their joined hands.

"The civilians grow fearful, and our comrades watch us with jealousy or distrust. I…" He trailed off. Even Fugaku had a limit to the confessions he could make.

Mikoto's heart went out to him. She brought up their joined hands and pressed her lips to his hand, soft and gentle. Fugaku loved the village, with the strength and passion only an Uchiha could have. But he loved the clan even more. Everything he did, he did to serve both, even if it meant losing time to spend with his own children. His wholehearted dedication to service was something he expected of everyone around him. It made him the leader everyone respected, both within the clan and outside it. And that expectation could not be seen more than his expectations of his genius son. He had given Itachi to the village he loved, to serve it and protect it.

Her thoughts turned once more to another child, this one with red hair and deep blue eyes. She thought of Kushina's children, living alone and left to fend for themselves by an old man pulled out of retirement and long, long past his prime. She could feel her anger grow again, that cold fire flickering to life in her womb and spreading throughout her body. She looked her husband in the eye, letting the red swirl of her bloodline speak for themselves.

"I stand with you," she said, her voice fierce as the fire in her gut. "Whatever happens, whatever you do, I stand with you." Her hands tightened on her husband's. "This kind of treatment is unacceptable. If the village cannot take care of their Hokage's children, what of the clan? What of its people? We cannot let them continue like this."

Fugaku's eyes widened, then softened. He returned her grip, twining their fingers together and holding tight. "We'll find a way," he agreed, his own eyes burning red. He drew her into an embrace.

The next morning, Mikoto had to remake her sons' bentos from scratch. In the end, it turned out to be a good thing. She considered the two wrapped boxes before her. Her eyes narrowed. She nodded resolutely, and brought out two more.


A/N:

edited: 01/14/2020

Wow, it took me less than half a year this time. Whoopee? :P During the periods of writing throughout those months, half of them were spent cursing out Uchiha Sasuke and all his relatives. Mikoto felt too dramatic. Itachi would not leave Wangst Land, the lil shit. I pretty much vowed I wouldn't write another Uchiha POV outside of Sasuke's after this. Then I remembered I had at least one other chapter planned for Itachi. Argh.

The first time I uploaded this, someone reminded me that canon Mikoto has jounin for rank. I put the reasoning behind sticking to my choice on my blog. If any of you catch any more deviations from canon, or have any other questions you want to ask, please, go ahead. I love constructive criticism just as much as I love hearing about how you enjoyed this story.