Ikari did not have the demeanor of an Uchiha. Maybe it was because she hadn't been taught etiquette in her prior bed-ridden state, but she was not stoic by nature nor did she put on any airs to hide her weakness. If she was tired, she would show it. If she was happy, sad, or angry it would be known. Her emotions were practically written on her sleeve, a terrible, terrible habit to possess if captured by enemies…
"Father, look! I'm doing well."
No. Not even close. It was far from meeting the standards of the clan elders or even their father's.
Ikari was flaunting her physical gains on a rare resting day. Rather than out of kindness, this was done out of necessity. The body needed a period of time to recover outside of active use, and pushing it beyond its limits would sooner destroy it than mold it into a lethal weapon.
She was showing off that she could now do 'hopscotch,' some arbitrary dexterity training game she came up with by drawing patterned squares she'd have to land her feet in. Compared to how bedridden she'd been before, the fact she could now play like a lethargic child was a marked improvement.
It's too slow. She'd still be dead on the field.
Regardless, Ikari was beaming at their father who had watched her demonstrate her improved mobility from the main family porch. Her head was bowed low, her bangs shadowing her face, but she would intermittently shoot glances at their father's stiff expression.
She looked stupidly hopeful.
Madara made a face, one of distinct unease despite the exuberance in his sister's voice. She wanted praise. It was clear as day, but at the same time, she wanted praise from their father.
It might just be because she believed that she had a mother that hated her or never came to see her, but her parental attachments belonged solely to one.
Even now it baffled him and his brothers about how Ikari could consider their father as 'doting' or some odd thing called a 'tsundere,' unable to ever see the full picture for what it was.
His father was a strict and unbending man, but even he had times when he grew soft.
"P-Praise her, you praise my baby right now Tajima."
Mother was pleading with father again, clasping her hands over his own and begging him. She was a proud Uchiha of the utmost standing and elegance, but all that meant nothing when it came to love. Her cool features crumpled, her doleful gaze growing more and more warbled as father looked like he was fighting a war with himself and the clan's interests as enemies.
Clasping father's hands, mother stared at father in silence, tears trickling down her face.
Madara cringed. What was happening right now was probably the real reason Ikari could view their father so warmly.
"..." Father opened his mouth, coming to a decision, but he promptly closed it when mother insisted again.
Just like Madara, mother had seen father try to resolve himself. Strictness was another type of blessing for a child to ensure they grew without excess spoiling, but for mother, it was all she could do for Ikari. To have others interact in her place.
"E-Even if she thinks I'm never there, or will never know the warmth of my embrace, let her live knowing she still has a parent that cares for her." Mother tightened her grip on father's hands, conveying the trembling of her fingers. "You could be strict with Madara and the others because they had me, but Ikari only has you. Please dear."
Father's resolve took a sudden blow. I-If he lowered his expectations, Ikari's improvements were indeed…commendable, but he also understood the clan elders' stance to apply pressure to prevent complacency.
"You have our sons," mother wiped the tears on her face, her lips quivering. "Leave me our daughter."
Father was a strong man, but he was also weak.
Madara watched as his father's silence finally broke, his gaze focusing on Ikari who had begun fidgeting in the long silence.
"...Hn." Father grunted, turning away before anyone could see his expression shift. "You truly impress me, daughter."
The way Ikari's expression lit up despite father turning his back to her was priceless, but the overall contrast was too miserable.
/-/
A brother's melancholy.
A father's struggles.
And a daughter, who would never know of the guardian angel that watched over her.
P a treon. com (slash) Parcasious