Momentum Chapter 2: I Am Akira, a naruto fanfic

(Edited: 7/18/2021)

(Edited: 08/21/2020) I go back and forth between POV's (I struggle with certain scenes) so apologies if its difficult to read.

(Edited: 08/17/2018)

I'm here again
A thousand miles away from you
A broken mess, just scattered pieces of who I am

Four years ago:

The moment I arrived was a chaotic daze of confusion and fear. Instead of bone white walls and sterile stench of a hospital, I found myself in a completely different room.

My attention was brought immediately to the giant pink frog plushy sitting by a small, ivory crib. I walked further into the room, a lump in my throat that refused go away no matter how many times I tried swallowing past it.

My feet lead me to the edge of the crib. Inside was a newborn baby. They slept soundly, suckling on its tiny wrinkly thumb.

My insides melted at the sight, tears welling in my eyes. I brought my hand to my mouth, the other clutching at my chest.

Short, wild blonde hair grew out in tufts around a rounded head. Strangely, there were markings on its chubby cheeks that looked cringingly similar.

My heart was simultaneously breaking and thawing at the same time, leaving a mush of red pulp. Babies were one of my many weaknesses. Their tiny fingers, curious eyes and squishy warmth just made me crumble.

Initially, my first thought had been, 'god damn weebs'.—Who put fake fucking markings on their newborn child? Seriously. Didn't they have better things to do? Like sleep? Newborn babies raged against letting their parents sleep, right?

Sure, the baby had strangely vibrant blonde hair and… A woman with extremely long and shockingly red hair walked in, a yellow-blond man following close behind…

That was when things really got weird.

"You shouldn't be up walking, Kushina." The (goddamnbeautiful) blond man put a tentative hand at the woman's back, brows pinched together in worry.

Furious violet eyes shot up to the man, making his mouth close with a snap of teeth. When both turned to me in tandem, I held my hands up, eyes wide.

Hopefully they wouldn't notice the tear tracks running down my cheeks.

"Please don't kill me! I-I promise—I don't know why I'm here!" the words rushed out, pleading and high.

Their costumes were amazing. Flawless, even. 'Kushina's' wig was vivid and so long it probably took hours to untangle. Even the contacts she wore had to be made of high-grade materials. It was as if she actually had violet eyes.

These weebs were good.

And 'Minato'—My face warmed. His cosplayer was hot. Eyes of sky blue were surrounded by a shock of long, dark blonde lashes that would make any beauty guru envious. His wig, too, looked natural—which was weird because all anime cosplay wigs had that forced look of fabricated spikes. All of them.

"I feel fine, Minato. I just need to see her."

I blinked. Once. Twice… They were… ignoring me? An imposter in their home right next to their newborn—

As if in answer, Kushina walked right through me.

The air was forcefully sucked from my lungs. For a moment, I felt as if I were hollow. Nothing but a shell (Nothumannothumannothuman.)

When I was able to breathe again, I coughed, overcome with the feeling of choking. As if someone hand their hands wrapped tightly around my throat. My brain scrambled, trying to rationalize what had occurred with hard logic. It came up empty. There was no thinking this away.

This led to my second thought: "how fucking ironic."

But, that's the world for you, right? Ironic and shitty. Like a goddamn sewer. Or a shit plant.

It wasn't that I was in a strange dream (Naruto, really?) or even the fact I felt a void in my chest (aftereffects of someone literally walking through me?).

See, I was painfully aware I was dead. Aware of how I died. And seeing a newly born baby was by far the single most fucked up thing I could have possibly laid my eyes upon.

Why, you ask?

Because I had died giving birth.

My first child. A son. A beautiful baby boy who would grow up never knowing who either of his parents were. Sure, he would know of me. Listen to entertaining and embarrassing stories told by my mom. About how I had almost burned down the house, the first time I tried baking cookies at age twelve.

Mom would show him pictures of me, giggling together over the funny faces I made every time someone pointed a camera my way. He would grow up knowing his mother loved him, and that he was wanted by her, but was never there.

'Would my baby know he was loved?'

He'd never know his father, either, which could be seen as a good thing.

I conceived him with a married man, after all. Finding out about the life in my belly, the bastard moved as far away as possible; packed up his life with his wife and abandoned me.

Leaving behind a broken-hearted 18-year-old girl with the biggest responsibility imaginable.

I hated that man with every fiber of my being. Not because he left me, but because he left our son. An innocent, unborn baby.

At the time, I wished him an excruciating death. Maybe something fitting like being crushed by a giant dick statue. Yet, no matter how much I loathed his father, I could never bring myself to hate the life growing in my swelling stomach.

I loved that tiny peanut.

For him, I was willing to lasso the universe and name it his. With every fluttering beat of his heart on the monitor, the more I fell in love. Every kick to my stomach (and spine—ow) was like a dropkick straight to my heart.

Many, if not all, of my friends questioned why I didn't just get an abortion. To them, it was an easy concept: the father ran away, so why would I want to raise a child without his father? Just go to the clinic and poof! Everything is magically fixed.

Now don't get me wrong; I was widely known as a complete supporter of pro-choice. A woman's body was hers to decide what to do with. However, when it came to my body, which was growing my baby? I could never do that. I could barely even think about it without getting sick all over again.

I couldn't do that to the baby, and not to myself. It was selfish: I was selfish—but I never pretended to be anything but.

In turn, my 'friends' rejected me. They thought me nothing more than a money-hungry slut for wanting to keep a married man's child. For trying to tie him down, and attach to him like a parasite for the next 18 plus years.

It didn't matter if I had been raised in diapers with them. Years of friendship and getting to know a person and talking about everything and anything—all of it meant nothing after I became pregnant.

It was easy to judge someone else for his or her situation. So damn easy. But they could never have understood, and I was much too proud to explain. If they didn't want to be there for me and my baby, they didn't deserve the dog shit on the bottom of my boot.

So, I let them leave.

Thankfully, my mom, who raised me as a single mother most of my life, understood and supported my decision to keep the baby. She didn't like that I had an affair with some unknown married man, but was ecstatic to be a grandmother nonetheless.

She was with me—standing as my rock; a boundless support system and never-ending stream of love—all the way up to the moment I died. My soul stretching across universes, space and common sense, bringing me to this hell.

A hell made perfectly for me.

One that forced me to watch a child as she was raised by two loving parents, and grew in a household built on support and acceptance, when I couldn't be there for my own. I never even had the chance to name him.

…SEVEN MONTHS LATER…

"That's it, Akira! Walk toward Papa!"

I watched in apt attention as a chunky baby girl wobbled on unsteady feet toward her father. I bit at my nails, egging her on silently. Her bright violet eyes shone with determination, her face set in intense concentration.

Behind her stood Kushina, whooping and shouting with sparkling similar eyes and proud wide a smile. Her cheering was obnoxiously loud. The red-head looked close to tears in her excitement.

"If you keep screaming so loud, she'll get distracted." I snapped at the woman in irritation. If she was able to hear me, Kushina would have smashed my face into the floor.

Good thing she couldn't. Being hit sounded extensively unpleasant.

Minato was practically swooning at the look his baby girl was making. He smiled so wide, it could have eclipsed the sun and brought down stars. Pride radiated off him like radioactive sludge. Seven-months-old and already walking? It was quite the feat… I think?

I was, unmistakably, jealous of the two. While I was forced to be nothing more than a bystander— a specter to their perfect life—they were able to hold, hug and kiss the little bundle of joy that was Akira.

I had no right to feel that way, but after months of being stuck in this damn house with nothing to do; I thought it only fair to allow my envy.

From what I could tell, Akira could hear and see me. Many times, she would point at me and babble in nonsensical baby gibberish, looking from her parents to me. When she would crawl after me, I moved out of the way, not wanting to feel the emptiness that came with a human's touch.

Curious violet eyes wandered over to where ever I sat. I had the feeling she was silently asking why I was there.

I had no answer.

…TWO YEARS LATER…

I wasn't bound to the house as I originally thought. Not that I had ever tried leaving the house: too many people lay outside of its safe walls. For some reason, I was bound to the child.

Which, in hindsight, was a bad thing. The house was safe, and not having to stare at the same walls was driving me out of mind with boredom. But it was a safe boredom.

Leaving the house for the first time, I almost had a full-on panic attack—okay I totally did. It was terrible and painful.

It stood as nothing more than a reminder, a way to drive home how I was no longer in my world. That thought terrified me. Being stuck in an alien world, tied to a child that wasn't meant exist was nerve wracking. It tore at my sanity.

No human contact, no conversation, nothing to occupy my time. It all threatened to tear me apart into billions of lost parts.

And it hurt, every time. Experiencing someone walk through me, even after years of experiencing it, it never lessened the effect. As if someone was slowly carving into me like some sort of pumpkin and pulling out my gooey pieces.

The first time we ran through a large crowed, I had almost passed out. Which, for a ghost feels strange. As such, I was unable to touch anything. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat. So almost passing out? Super weird.

Even my feet never truly touched the ground. The only time I could truly feel was when a living being went through me, and even then, it was pain.

Shockingly enough I was able to walk through walls—something I welcomed with open arms when I found out it was possible. Sneaking behind people to enter or exit rooms had tested my patience like a motherfucker.

Going outside had its downsides that I couldn't ignore, sure. The more crowded the area, the more people ran through me. But I couldn't allow the situation to break me. It wasn't in my nature to seep in my own frivolous melancholy.

In life, I liked to think I was resilient: nothing could keep me down long. If something pressed down on me, I would adapt and concur. Persevere and come out stronger than before.

So, instead of crumbling under the pressure that came with the living going through me, I fought it. I fought tooth and nail against the crippling loneliness and emptiness that came.

It pressed down on me like a toxic cloud, threatening to sap me of any positive emotions I held on to.

After a few (sixty-six) more times of going outside, it became more of a calming experience. I'd been pulled along with the small family through a beautiful village where endless trees towered over us like skyscrapers, lucid green casting a beautiful silhouette against the blue skies.

Seriously—the trees were fucking enormous.

Birds flew around, some with little paper notes attached to their twig-thin legs. The squirrels here ran in packs, causing mayhem amongst the civilians everywhere they went. They had to be my favorite wild animal in this place. Mostly because they never failed to make Akira giggle with joy.

Unlike the world I came from, people here were loud. They bargained for goods and laughed lively with friends. It was surreal in a way I could not even begin to explain. There were no phones to occupy their time needlessly, always aware of their surroundings.

Then there was the ninja. All quiet as a mouse, much like Kushina and Minato. Their steps silent and purposeful. The first time I saw someone walking up the side of a building, I just stared, jaw slack and eyes popping out of their sockets.

It was impossible, yet happening everywhere. The ninja were also as fast as a car and could jump from tree to tree, roof-top to roof-top, as if they were puppets connected to string.

At two-and-a-half-years old, Akira was already talking in somewhat coherent sentences. It freaked me out at first, but became something I quickly came to accept.

She was born into a world where children were crafted into pocket-sized killing machines; of course they could talk almost perfectly almost three years of age. If a person could look like a shark, anything was possible.

Thus, whenever strange things occurred, that was my go-to rational excuse: 'We're in a television series. Of course that's possible.'

Akira, ever the sweetheart, tried helping me out as much as she could after she realized just how bored I was (she was extremely intuitive for a toddler), she always did her best to entertain me. Which wasn't hard. The girl was a hilarious, charming little shit.

When she played, she incorporated me in it, telling her parents I was to be her faithful sidekick.

It was fun, watching her run around, beating the shit out of Minato and Kushina with a foam sword. Her reflexes were spectacular, very ninja-like even at such a young age. She was everything her name said her to be: bright and intelligent.

And it terrified me. I knew what they did with prodigies in this world, and it never ended happily.

Those children were pushed to go through the academy faster. Sent to the front lines at younger ages as cannon fodder. It was even more real considering they were at war right now.

And, worst of all, was those children truly wanted to. Most trained their entire lives, from the time they are able to walk, to be able to get the chance to prove themselves.

It was sickening.

Akira was so pure. Full of life and innocence. To think, one day this world would take away that light, snuff it out with the blood of the village's enemies—it had me brimming with barely-contained contempt.

For as long as I could, I wanted to protect the innocence inside of the violet-eyed anomaly in the Naruto world.

To instead broaden her mind and have her think for herself. So, I told her stories. Not all were happy and filled with hero's who obtained glory as this world enjoyed making. Some were dark where the hero dies, and full of meaning I could only hope she would recognize as she grew older.

If she had a question, I answered it to the best of my ability no matter what it was. I even taught her how to cope with small things, such as the death of a stuffed animal, in order to prepare her.

In short, I taught her how to be everything I was not.

"Who is Jemma?" Minato asked after weeks of Kira going on and on about me.

I froze.

The look of confusion that crossed the little girls face was adorable. Her whisker markings scrunched up and her eyebrows came together. She pointed toward me, looking at her father as if she were explaining something simple like, say, the color of the sky.

"She's right there, Papa. Jemma has always been there." She paused, expression turning gloomy. "Don't you see her?"

Minato's shoulders tensed and he slowly looked in the direction Kira's chubby finger pointed. For a brief moment, I thought he could see me. He stared directly into my eyes. And for that passing moment, I felt hope.

Hope that maybe I would finally be able to be in the world and not just a ghost doomed to watch.

"…There's nothing there, sweetie. Is she one of your imaginary friends?"

Every piece of hope inside of my chest broke. The cracks spread like spider webs through my body until they reached my heart. It splintered and crumbled to dust.

An afterthought of anger pulsed through me as Akira began screaming and crying, trying to get her father to understand, but I knew her words would only make things worse.

I sat down, waiting for her to calm down and stared out of a nearby window, trying not to succumb to the feelings roaring inside of my mind that weren't my own.

"No! Jemma is real! She tells me stories about these things called cars that take people places like horses do, but they aren't alive! They're made of metal and use gasses to run them."

The Yellow Flash's eyes narrowed.

That night, I sat in the dining room with Kushina and Minato as Kira slept. True to my speculation, The Parents were worried. Afraid of the unseen being in their home—which was totally valid.

I was sure to them; Akira was acting like the Children of the Corn. Hearing your child talk about something you aren't able to see had to be terrifying.

"It's just a phase, she'll grow out of it." The red headed woman affirmed, trying to console her husband.

God, they were such a beautiful couple. The creators of this universe must hate us cripplingly average people to allow two lovely specimens like them to be together.

I'd cut off and sell my left foot to bang either of them—and I wasn't even attracted to women.

If Akira looked like either of them when she was an adult, she'd break many hearts.

"I'm telling you, Kushina; she thinks this 'Jemma' is real. The things it tells her are just too specific." He leaned closer, eyes shifting around, "Yesterday she told me 'Jemma' said my team consisted of 'an evil idiot and a purple tattooed dead weight.'"

Kushina raised an eyebrow. "It had nothing to say about Obito?"

Minato sighed tiredly, running his hands down his face. He really looked exhausted. "From what I gather, that comment was about him."

"Obito? Obito Uchiha? Evil?" she laughed hard, clutching her stomach. "What's that klutz going to do? Gather an army of the grannies he's helped over the years in order to take over the world?"

I let out a snort and crossed my arms. "Nope. Just a bunch of S-class criminals." Just let them wait. He was the reason for their death, alongside countless others. I looked out the kitchen window and watched as thick, dark clouds rolled across the inky sky.

Distant shapes of birds flew, riding the air currents. Free to do whatever they like. Not chained to anything but their own free will. I raised my hand to them, heart crying out to join. To share in that freedom and go wherever I pleased without the fear of pain hanging over my head.

My hand clenched together until my knuckles turned white. In my hand, I crushed those fleeting dreams. Ground them so fine they turned to dust and were carried on the same current, drifting into nothing more than a whisper of broken hope.

It began to rain. Droplets of water speckling on the window.

A loud sigh came from Minato's side of the table. "I'm being serious. It told Akira how Sakumo died and tried rationalizing it to her." The laughter stopped, cut short by the severity of the topic.

I cringed. 'Oops.'

"We'll take her to the Yamanaka for an evaluation. Maybe they can see if something is wrong."

"Inoichi does owe me a favor." Minato mumbled, hand resting against his chin in thought, "I'll talk to him in the morning and see if there is someone she can see."

Something that never seemed to change—no matter what world—was the look of a psychiatrist's office. A color scheme consisting of dulled-out colors and very few pieces of furniture, no doubt to make sure the patients didn't feel overstimulated with their surroundings.

Every psychiatric place used the same overused tactics. In wards, one wall in the room was painted in a pastel shade of greens, blues and yellows; but never reds.

Reds, while also jarring to the brain, ran the chance of setting off the patients. Made them want to hurt themselves or even trigger terrible memories.

The man across from Akira and I, Oishi Yamanaka, crossed his long legs. His clothes were shinobi standard, which confused me to no end. Not because he was a shinobi but because there were therapists. Even more, there was one for kids.

I had been under the impression Konoha, and other villages, left their scarred children to deal with shit themselves. As barbaric as this place was, I thought maybe they would just put them down. Like a horse with a broken leg.

Guess Kakashi and Sasuke never wanted to talk to a professional.

Oishi wore thick-framed glasses close to the edge of his nose, looking down at a file held loosely in his battle-worn hands. I was distantly reminded of my Gran before she died of cancer when I was ten.

We weren't close.

"Do you know why you're here?" Oishi's voice held a certain tone to it that sounded falsely warm to my ears. To a child, he may sound sincere but as an adult—one used to places like this—I could see through it. It ruffled my feathers.

Akira shifted uncomfortably on the couch beside me, shooting me sideways glances. "Because I was bad?"

"Were you?"

"I don't think so…" another glance.

"Are you uncomfortable, Akira?"

"No." was her immediate high-pitched answer. An obviously lie.

The Yamanaka wrote something down on his notepad. His teal eyes trained intently on Kira, evaluating and assessing, then turned back to the pad to scribble. "Why do you keep looking to your left?" he inquired offhandedly.

The child tilted her head, eyes no doubt steadying on his. A light tingle of challenge flickered across our bond. Was this pride I felt?

"I was looking at Jemma."

Oishi hummed aloud, raising a thin brow. "And what is 'Jemma' doing?"

She looked at me again for a moment, this time assessing. "Glaring. Mostly at you." Violet eyes turned back to the man. Her testy behavior made me chuckle. All the way up to the point until the man began writing again.

My eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Couldn't he at least try not to make it look like he's writing down everything you say?" I growled. It was easy to be miffed at the bleach-blond man.

Was it so hard to remember everything said in a session? If he could control other people with his mind, he could easily write things down after so Akira could be more comfortable talking to him.

"Interesting. Does this 'Jemma' have an issue with me?"

The little ball of sunshine giggled. "She's mad you're writing everything I say."

I winced at the insinuation as Oishi sat up fully in his seat, alert teal eyes narrowing to look my way but not at me. "Is it because…she doesn't want documentation of our time together?"

She shook her head in the negative, "I don't think so. More like she wants you to pay more attention to me instead of writing."

Pursing his lips, the Yamanaka put his notebook onto the table next to his seat. "Is she happy now?"

Blooming of laughter fell from her lips, instantly making me feel light as air. I looked to her, watching the mirth dancing in her eyes. She was adorable. "I don't think Jemma is ever happy."

'Well… You aren't wrong, kid.'

"And why is that?"

Akira's laughter stopped abruptly. Her cute little nose scrunched up, a foul look crossing her expression. "You ask a lot of questions. Have you tried yoga? Jemma told me it makes a person more flexible." The way she spoke sounded matter-o-fact in a way only a child could possess.

I rolled my eyes, noting that the look she had sent him probably mirrored a face I would pull. A smile tugged at my lips. Just seeing reflections of myself in her made me feel that maybe, just maybe, I existed.

That I was real and could, in some twisted way, help this child.

The man must have felt the same amusement because his lips twitched. When he spoke, it was warmer. "And why would I need to be more flexible?"

Akira let out a lofty sigh, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch. "How else would you get that stick out of your ass?" her hand flicked out at the wrist, violet eyes rolling in boredom.

I laughed. Akira shot me a look with a sly smirk on her face.

Oishi seemed pissed.

I laughed harder.

Yeah. It was definitely pride I felt.

I stayed behind after Oishi sent Akira out of the room with a scowl and called for her parents. Instead of sitting on the couch, which currently held the couple, I stood by the window, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed.

A squirrel ran across the green grass, digging into the soil.

Squirrels were everywhere in this village. Sometimes they were even in the goddamn shops.

I guessed it was fitting: when I saw shinobi jumping from tree to tree in the distance, they looked a lot like the fluffy tailed rodent. The damn animals even traveled in packs the same way, in groups of three or four.

Kushina was the first to break the silence, voice tinged in worry. "So? What's your prognosis?"

From the reflection in the window, I could see Oishi take off his glasses and rub his fingers at the bridge of his nose. "Everything seems perfectly fine. Akira is in great health both physically and mentally. In fact, she is rather…intelligent for her age."

"We already knew she was smart, 'ttebane! What about 'Jemma'? Is it her imagination or what!?" by the end of her rant Kushina was standing up, fist waving threateningly at the psychologist. Her hair waved in tendrils around her head in a crown of flames.

I blanched.

Damn that woman was scary.

Minato smiled stiffly, calmly pulling the raging redhead back down in the seat beside him, hand absently rubbing circles on her back. She seemed to settle down, if only slightly.

"What my wife is trying to ask," he said, abandoning her back to pat Kushina's hand. She huffed, looking moodily off to the side. "Is if there is anything we need to worry about?"

Oishi looked disturbed by the red-heads behavior. Afraid, even. Was it possible he went to the academy with her? He didn't look young enough. Maybe he was aware of her status as a jinchūriki…? Eh, who knows. There was a reason that woman was a feared kunoichi, Kyuubi or no.

"As you know, since she is so young, I was unable to look into her mind. It would be too dangerous for someone with an undeveloped chakra system.

As for 'Jemma'…" The light blonde man gave the two a very serious look, bringing his hands together in front of his mouth. He took a deep breath before he spoke, "…Have you tried talking to a Shaman?"

Hearing enough, I walked out of the room through the closed door. On my way out, I heard Minato let out a, long tired sigh.

'Me too, Minato. Me too.'

If the mind invading Clan of the village couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on, there was very few that could. Maybe that old tree bastard would know? Madara was smart, he had to know at least a little about what was going on, right? Ghosts from another world couldn't be a one-off thing.

Eh, too bad he was bat-shit crazy. Hot in his prime, but crazy nonetheless.

"Why does no one believe that you're real?" Kira questioned, voice as small as she was as I entered, catching my attention. I walked further into the waiting room, ignoring the looks the receptionist sent her way. It would do nothing to glare at them if they couldn't see.

I crouched down in front of her, thinking of what to say. A way to make her understand. "Because… They are adults. If they can't see, touch or sense it, they disregard it."

"Oh… What does 'dis-re-gard' mean?"

A smile spread across my lips. The Yamanaka had commented on her intelligence. Part of me felt as if I were at fault for her understanding of complex thoughts and ideas (as complex as a three-year-old could get).

The child had an unsatiable thirst for knowledge. There was no doubt in my mind she received that trait from her father. Everything I told her, she absorbed like a dry, water-starved sponge. And, since she was the only being I could actually talk to, I answered without hesitation.

"Hmm, it means they don't pay attention to it. Ignore it instead of accepting it, in this case." Kind of like how I ignored just how I ended up in this world, attached to a strange child that had no business existing.

"Oh. I think I get it!" Akira smiled, showing her tiny gapped teeth. She lost one a week ago via running face-first into the coffee table.

I smiled back, pushing away any thoughts of existential issues aside.

It scared me how much I had grown to care for this child. It fell in a realm beyond the fact she was the only one that was able to interact with me. There was something about her, something unseen, which just drew me in.

Her pain became mine: the same with her happiness. And she had so much happiness in her heart that, sometimes, it was blinding. To witness that sort of dazzling purity, I would gladly walk through the dark alone and scared.

(Much like her parents, I became another planet in the solar system that revolved around her.)

~END OF PAST JEMMA~

I tried so hard
Thought I could do this on my own

I stood on a stool positioned in front of the bathroom's cabinet mirror. The large violet eyes of a child glared back at me, hard, determined and unflinching.

It was progress. For the past 3 months, I was unable to perform even this small accomplishment.

Seeing a reflection that wasn't my own was just another reminder of what had happened. What I had done. Each time was just as jarring and repelling.

When the face looking back at me wasn't my own, replaced by someone I had grown to adore, I felt a paralyzing amount of revulsion. For myself, and for the entire world.

There were times, though I knew it was a form of self-punishing behavior, I would peek just to remind myself:

'You did this.'

'This is your fault.'

'You're the reason she isn't here.'

My thoughts would wander to dark places. Areas of my mind so awful, it could take days to break out of.

When the thought of ending my life ran through my mind, I knew something had to change, and soon. The thought of taking my life was beyond atrocious in my position because I wasn't in my own body.

To the world around me, I wasn't a depressed woman, I was a distressed four-year-old. One who had been hit by lightning, drowned and flat lined for a full minute—and while I missed Akira with my whole fucking being, I needed to move on.

I couldn't stay stagnant like this for the rest of however long this lasted, even if it was driven by my own selfish desires—because there was always that traitorous part of me that thought this was my second chance at life.

Somehow, I had stood against death and lived to tell the tale.

No, it wasn't fair to the people around me. To those who loved the real Akira. Akira, who was an innocent caught in the crosshairs of my (our?) disastrous luck. Nu-uh. From where I stood, nothing would ever make this better; nothing would ever make this fair. But when was life fucking fair?

To these people, the once happy, energetic child they grew to know became reclusive and pessimistic. Unresponsive for months, flinching whenever someone touched her.

Which sucked because all that was, was just my personality and the after-effects of being a ghost shining through.

All of the effort I spent trying to mold Akira into someone better than me was lost. Now, instead of preaching, I had to act on those words. I had to be better.

Yes. Normally I would look into the mirror and want to scream. But not this time. 'Not the next time, or any other time after this,' I decided. 'I need to be strong.'

I stood in front of this goddamn mirror as a warrior.

My nose brushed the thin plane of reflective glass, leaving a small smudge on its clean surface.

I was sick and fed-up of being so fucking sick and fed-up.

Air entered my lungs, deep and full. 'I can do this.' I released the breath slowly, momentarily fogging up the mirror.

"I… am Akira."

Tears burned the backs of Akira's—no, my eyes. My eyes that were the same beautiful shade of violet as my mothers. Kushina. Kushina Uzumaki was my mother.

"I am Akira…"

Minato Namikaze, future Hokage and God among peasant men—a tear fell, for less than innocent reasons—is my Papa. Papa, not father, not D…daddy.

A fierce blush crept over my (my) cheeks.

Gods, my previous world fucked up my head when it concerned that term. How was I supposed to act normal around a man I thought about boning on more than one occasion!? He already thought I (me, Akira) hated him!

Any time he came around, held or even talked to me; I tried my best to get the fuck away. It was stupid, really. I was stupid. So what if he was attractive? I was a four-year-old! Irrelevant things like that shouldn't matter to me. That was for puberty.

Another tear fell. The voice in my head became high pitched and stressed. 'I'll have to go through puberty again.'

My hands formed tight fists against the porcelain of the sink. God dammit, focus!

"I am Akira!" I growled to my reflection, a single finger raised, poking at my reflection threateningly. "Minato Namikaze is my Papa!"

'And you will deal with it!' I added in my mind, eyes narrowing into little slits.

After another breath, I backed away a little, lowering my head down to stare at my hands on either side of the sink. I closed my eyes, whispering, "I am Akira."

"Uhm… Akira, sweetie… What are you doing?"

The intruding voice of Kushina was enough to make me lose my grip on the slippery porcelain, thus my forehead smacked against the mirror, leaving an even larger smudge. The scream that released from my lungs could've made normal human ears bleed.

Thankfully (resentfully), I was forced into a body that happened to live with two ninjas as parents, and they were far from normal. Kushina cringed in pain, but her awkward smile still stayed on her lips.

My existence had become something… strange. And that's saying something to a woman who lived four years as a ghost.

Being four again came with many changes. However, most of those 'changes' could be that the real Akira was still somehow inside of me.

…Yeah.It was as terrible as it sounded.

After a particular, err… Lapse in judgment about having to eat my vegetables, I held a sneaking suspicion that her and I had somehow merged. It was the only thing that could explain away this bullshit.

(Or was that what normal, healthy people called 'coping'…? Real questions being asked, here.)

A lot of the time, I couldn't control my emotions. Imagine PMSing 24/7, if you will. And if you happen to be male, think of existing (why are you guys so angry?)

The next example was how I felt the persistent desire to play with toys. They were just so cool and fun. Not even my adult brain could counter the urges I felt when I saw a fluffy stuffy. It was as if I had to play with it or squish it to me and squeal.

My adult-self would have rolled her eyes at a pile of blocks, but not anymore. Those goddamn blocks had better be stacked and stacked high, motherfucker.

Finally, my last example that I was correct was the fact I'm living in the world of Naruto. If that is possible, so is the idea that my separate essences of life somehow mixed. No one could convince me any different.

And let me tell you, fooling other people around me to believe I was a four was hard. All of those fanfics I read must have lied through their… Words.

It was all I could do to not let my actual personality shine through like a professionally waxed turd. I would be the first to admit my attitude lacked any sort of childish tendencies that could aid me in this endeavor.

In my old life, I was an asshole. A bleached, pink and puckered asshole.

I had an affair with a goddamned married man for fucks sake. That in itself should showcase just how horrible I had the potential to be. While I felt somewhat bad for his wife, my heart lead my vagina and well… Babies.

The first time my parents released me to the village and team Minato after the change, they had looked at me pityingly. It pissed me off so much I bit Kakashi. Literally bit him. Like one of his crazy puppies.

Don't ask why, he just set me off. I was a bomb ready to explode and just thinking of how he treated Akira in her last moments of life (my fault) made me loathe him to a degree.

I hoped the wound scarred, too.

My next obstacle had been that Gods-damned joke of a psychiatrist, Oishi. The real Akira didn't like him (which in hind-sight was probably my fault, too) so there was no love lost there.

Our mutual distaste made it easy to be around him. Any time I did speak up, it was to correct him on his job, or to tell him I dreamt of rainbows and kitties (a complete lie. I did that a lot).

He had me tested, too. Fucking tested. Apparently, being electrocuted, drowned, seeing a dead body and being dead for a minute was cause for concern. So, what did that genius think of? To give me a test. And not your normal "on a scale of one to five, how sad are you" test. Actual school-like questions.

I just… Who? What? I couldn't take him seriously.

When the idea had been mentioned to me, I thought it a good opportunity to fail. Prove how much of a four-year-old I was, y'know? Draw some flowers on the pages or some shit. But when he put the small stack of papers in front of me and said some condescending shit, shit I didn't even remember anymore, about 'trying my best' it lit a match against my combustible ego and exploded.

The math was basic and the language simple (I still refuse even think about how I can comprehend a completely new language. Nope). The geography was just matching symbols to villages was laugh-worthy.

But OF COURSE it was easy. The test was created for a CHILD.

I scored 100 percent and was dubbed some sort of a genius. It terrified my parents and put me into a two-week depression.

All I had to do was fail; something I was actually good at, and had still somehow fucked it up.

Others wanted to do more testing, but all four of us, including Oishi, rejected the idea. There was no way I was going to make another mistake like that again.

It was silly, really. Four years of age and people were already expecting so much of me. They called me a prodigy. A carbon copy of my father.

Overall, I was coming (forced) to accept my new self and new life. I got over the mountain-face-sized bump of being in the Naruto world years ago when I arrived here after I died in my original world (where everything made sense).

I turned around as fast as I could without falling, clutching my throbbing forehead. A huff of irritation exited my lungs toward my new bodies mother. How was I going to explain this? "Oh, I was just convincing myself I'm really the child whose body I snatched. Nothing to see here!"

Riiight.

"I was… Practicing." All great lies have a seed of truth in them.

Confused worry turned into amusement. "Practicing? Why would you need to practice saying who you are?"

Gotta be careful with what I say next. "For uh, making friends…?" It came out like a question, but I stuck with it like crazy glue, nodding my head. Kushina watched me with a careful expression—still amused so I was safe.

This woman, like many of the people I met over the years as a ghost, could be extremely intelligent. So smart in fact, who's to say one of these assholes might figure out I'm really a 19 (22?) years-old woman in the body of my four year-old reincarnation!?

… Okay, I will admit it was a far stretch; but these fuckers walked up walls and breathed fire!

I had seen them do it with my own eyes!

Kushina smiled widely and flicked my nose. She, as usual, ignored my voiced distaste for the action. Still, a special place in my heart warmed at the strange show of affection.

I missed my old body's mom and the bond we had.

"If you wanted friends all you had to do was ask your darling parents, 'ttebane! We can get you a friend in no time!" she punched a fist into her open palm, determination settling on her features as she ran out of the bathroom.

I stared at where she once stood for a beat, then turned back to the mirror, terrified of what I had just done, but not ready to consider the ramifications.

Minato and Kushina were young parents. They had Akira—me—at 18, making them around 21 or 22. They had gotten pregnant at the same age my old self, Jemma, was when she was pregnant.

I had to admit; the two had very impressive amounts of patience, but Minato truly took the cake. He had this natural way of reading people and anticipating what they would want or need, which blended into his position as a father.

Between them, I he was my favorite hands-down. He was my shining star of information. Not that I had shown it. My old emotions and the emotions of my new body were much too jarring.

I'd never known what it was like to have a father figure, but I grudgingly found I quite liked it.

Don't get me wrong, Kushina was great, but I'd already had a motherly figure. It was hard not to compare the two.

I looked back to the mirror. My once brown, wavy hair now a mess of blonde. And much like Minato's, it wouldn't just lay down. Violet took place of brown—which was super strange. They didn't come in that color where I came from unless you had contacts or a rare genetic mutation.

I closely resembled Minato in every aspect—right down to the over-all shape of our eyes. The only things that distinguished us was the color of said eyes and the fully, pouty lips of Kushina. Thankfully, though, I (me. Akira.) retained more feminine features.

It was a blessing to have such a feminine looking dad, I guessed.

Looking like a boy would have been a total bitch to deal with when I began school. No one wanted to deal with bullying and shit. I wouldn't even know where to begin if that happened to me.

With a deep breath, I went back to my morning mantra with renewed determination (I looked like Kushina).

"I am Akira."

I've lost so much along the way

"So, Akira. Have you seen Jemma recently?"

You have no fucking idea. "Nope."

"When was the last time you remember seeing her?"

Every god damn day, because I am her. "When the enemy ninja attacked me."

I sat across from Oishi, comfortably sprawled out on the couch and looking out the familiar window of his office. He was still an insufferable bastard. Since the war was in full swing, our appointments became more and more spaced out. Which was fine by me.

The less time I had to spend with him the better.

Ever since the first time Akira had met with him, he had been extremely careful to take his notes after our sessions. It amused me to no end—and no, that feeling wasn't tinged with fondness.

As if reading my mind, I watched as Oishi's hand unconsciously moved toward his notebook, fingers twitching. My eyes narrowed to slits.

"Don't even think about it."

He sighed, defeated. It made me smirk.

"How are the nightmares?

The smirk fell.

Then I'll see your face
I know I'm finally yours

(Flashback/dream)

I stood alone in a field of yellow flowers. The overwhelming, sickeningly sweet floral scent clogged in my nose, making my eyes water.

The wind blew calmly over the petals, shifting them back and forth in lazy arcs. It was a phantom wind, I knew, since I felt nothing.

Birds sang in the distance, growing bigger with every moment that passed. They were circling over a small bundle laid out on the ground.

Heart in my throat, I ran toward the unmoving mound. It took all of my concentration and will to force my legs to move. The world around me shifted, the once blue skies turning into a spiraling vacuum of reds, oranges and browns.

Lava bubbled up from the ground around me in thick pools, promising death.

I tripped on some unseen forced and fell flat on my face.

Slowly, I looked up to angry violet eyes that pierced into my soul.

Akira's lips moved. Her words harsh and spoken in a million ageless voices, "You lied to me."

In this plane of existence, I was forced to speak to the demon, no matter how much I wanted to run away in silence.

"I always lie." It was the truth. Or was it? I was so deep in my own lies that the truth felt foreign on my lips. My tongue stung as if a bee had given up its life in order to punish me.

The thing wearing Akira's face grew bigger, towering over me like a skyscraper. "You took my life away from me."

"It wasn't my fault, I'm sorry." A lie, and both of us knew it. It always knew when I lied.

I had told her she would get to see her mother and father, but instead took over her life. Put on a mask and played pretend. My desire to live again destroyed her. Pushed her out of her own body and took over our soul.

"Hell has a special place waiting for you, I've made sure. You will beg for mercy and it will fall on deaf ears."

Good

Her eyes widened in hatred; hatred meant only for me. My soul was condemned either way. Dirty and falling through the cracks of the earth, weighed down by that of an innocent life.

The Demon multiplied by the millions, all of them screaming in agony as their eyes melted. Lava fell from their empty sockets, dripping down whiskered cheeks like tears and revealing the bone beneath.

'It's my fault,' I wanted to scream. To beg for forgiveness from her. To the world, to myself.

"YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGIVEN!" the monsters wailed as one.

'I would do it again.' A shadowed part of me whispered in my ear as I watched my oncoming doom. 'I would sacrifice her again and again: because I deserved to live.'

The lava swept me away, down, down, down—hell was waiting for me, souls howling in agony. Skeletal, splintered fingers clawed at my skin as the damned pulled me into its burning embrace...

… I stood alone in a field of yellow flowers. The overwhelming, sickeningly sweet floral scent clogged in my nose, making my eyes water.

The wind blew calmly over the petals, shifting them back and forth in lazy arcs. It was a phantom wind, I knew, since I felt nothing.

Birds sang in the distance, growing bigger with every moment that passed. They were circling—

(end dream)

A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. I forced a smile, "…What nightmares?"

I find everything I thought I lost before

I scanned my surroundings, uneasy and unimpressed. To stave off the cold of winter I wore a big, puffy neon yellow jacket that clashed with my hair. My boots and pants were thick, sturdy, and black.

I looked like a goddamn bumblebee.

True to her words, Kushina was determined to help me make friends. So there we stood at the edge of a playground, the redheaded woman holding me grinning like a puppy awaiting praise.

It was unnerving—who knew one innocent half-lie would lead to this.

Children ran around in groups; playing tag, kick-the-can and some just huddled together quietly looking around in just as much fear as me. The sun shone on the reflective red metal of the monkey bars as some of the older kids swung back and forth.

They too wore heavy jackets to thwart the biting wind. None wore something as obnoxious as I did, sadly. I was a honeybee in a land of neutral tones. At least I would be easy to spot in a crowd—which no doubt was Kushina's thought process.

Winter in the Land of Fire was surprisingly cold. In the early mornings, frost covered the grass, making it shine under the rising sun's glow. The stillness that surrounded the waking moments of the world was dazzling in a way I had never seen in my old life, born and raised in Florida.

The experience made me feel in harmony with the shitty world in which I found myself. Spring would always be my favorite season, though. Jackets were too stuffy.

"I'll be sitting right over here if you need me, okay?" Kushina said sweetly, placing a kiss on the top of my head.

I glanced her way as she walked off to see exactly where she would be, then turned back to the children in cool detachment. This was the last place I wanted to be. Out in the cold in the company of loud, obnoxious kids on a weekend.

I'd rather be sitting in my warm home, holding an oversized mug of cocoa and reading with my Papa.

Alas, I voiced none of my dissatisfaction. Instead, I walked further from my safety net at a lazy pace, into the boring world of childhood.

This was for my new parents, I had to remind myself. They worried far too much about my continuously changing mental state; and if making a friend would give them piece of mind, I would walk through this hell-scape (half) willingly.

When I stood in the center of the chaos, I once again sent a glance back to where my mom sat on a bench, leafing through paperwork. It was easy sometimes to forget that Kushina was, in fact, a seasoned shinobi.

A deadly kunoichi with a nine-tailed beast locked inside of her.

Most times I thought the hyperactive red-head was a complete moron. Oftentimes her mouth flew faster than her brain—which could be entertaining when the woman's thoughts bled into words blurted out she didn't mean to say.

Yes, Kushina was an idiot at times.

But then there were the moments where she was terrifyingly astute. As if a switch was flipped, changing her into someone that resembled a put-together adult.

It didn't take long for me to accept the strange woman as she was—Kushina was my mother now, after all. A part of her was my own.

A poke brought my attention to a male child who was around my age as he jabbed a surprisingly pointy finger at my fluffy coat. His hair was a tawny brown, eyes red-rimmed black.

Oh god, was he sick?

"Hewoaw. Do you wanna pway?" sniffled the boy.

Revulsion spread through my body at the sight of shiny boogers that hung from the kid's red nose, and grew to full on offence when his chubby fingers wiped across those boogers—fingers that had touched me. I was going to vomit.

He was sick, I was sure upon a closer inspection of his hazy, watery eyes.

"No." was my blunt answer, the word laced with disgust. If I had it, I would've sprayed him with disinfectant spray. He needed to be home eating chicken soup, not spreading his germs to the kiddy populace.

There was no way I would subject myself to that much torture. I said I would walk through metaphorical hell, not live there.

If I was to make a friend, they would have to be—at the very least—smart. Not as smart as me, considering my (debatable) mental age out-classed all of them; just smart enough to care about things like spreading diseases.

At my seemingly harsh rejection, the little boy's face crumpled. Fat teats gathered in his eyes, falling like stars, catching the sun in a way that made them twinkle.

I recoiled as he bawled out, garnering the attention of more children. Then, as if they were an animal planet documentary of hive-minded wildlife, they began surrounding me, pointing and speaking all at once.

"She made Daigo cry!"

"Why you such a meany?"

"Your face has weird marks!"

"You a butt face!"

Lost in a sea of cubby, angry faces and whiney voices, I couldn't think. This was too much like my dreams—a small child screaming in numerous voices.

They pushed me around verbally, their yells unintelligible to my overwhelmed ear canals. It echoed endlessly until merging into one voice: You will never be forgiven—

I screamed, wailing out for one person, "MOMMY!"

Kushina came running, scooping me into her warm arms and holding me close. Other parents glared, sneering our way as their own kids cried out into their chests.

I trembled in my mom's embrace as she swiftly took us away, my tears endless.

We didn't go back to the park for a while after that incident.

You call my name

"Happy birthday, Akira!" Obito called out with a megawatt smile, a lollypop clutched in his outstretched fist. It was apple flavored, my favorite.

I tried return his smile in thanks, fighting the discomfort I felt at his presence. It must have shown as much because the Uchiha visibly shrunk, shoulders dropping and lips turning down to a familiar hurt smile.

Even though I had been living as Akira for months, Obito's presence always left me conflicted. How was I supposed to look into the eyes of my parents' murderer and act as if nothing was wrong?

Pretending to be a four—now five—year-old was difficult enough. Hell, it was downright dehumanizing. I had to take baths with Kushina, for fucks sake.

It wasn't the nudity that made me want to escape the awkward bath-times, but the act of being washed by said naked woman that made me feel like a cat dropped in a tub of water. And embarrassingly enough, I would claw and hiss much like a cat, too.

Then there were the, the weird sensations. Take that moment for instance: the way Obito's entire demeanor fell from the distance I forced between us… Feelings leaked in from my stomach and bled through my body until it reached my heart and squeezed.

Gods, what was this? My chest felt heavy and gross.

It couldn't be… that I felt…bad, could it?

Shit.

Fuck.

Piss.

I was distressed about being mean to Obito. A person I should hate, and with good reason. He was the main reason I would become an orphan in the future.

No, he was someone I did hate—but it was another version of him. One who wore a mask of death, instead of the teenager before me that giggled at fart jokes.

Someone strike me down and end me, I thought.

With a deep breath, I accepted my fate and tried again. I shuffled up to him, taking his offered gift and hugged his leg. It was nothing like how the real Akira would have: knocking them both to the ground with joyful laughter, but it was a hug nonetheless.

His resulting grin was blinding.

I backed away with a flat look (but melting heart) and did was any child would to someone they loved (it did wonders to my parents) and raised my arms in the air in the universal 'hold me' sign.

With startling ease, Obito lifted me up and I held on like a koala bear. I unwrapped the lollypop and popping it in my mouth. The sweet taste of apple burst on my tongue. (I held in a moan of satisfaction.)

The others were looking on and it felt as if a collective breath left everyone in the room.

My birthday was today. It was a small get together (I had yet to acquire the friend I had decided to find) with team Minato and my parents.

Everyone began chatting with each other and I allowed myself to get lost in dark thoughts revolved around the child's life whom I had stolen. It was unfair, to the both of us.

Who cared if Akira was my reincarnation? Why some God would allow something so cruel to happen to such and innocent was unfair. They should have followed every other reincarnation fanfiction and had me born here.

Obito walked us to the table where a cake with five candles sat innocently. It was a creation of my mother. It was carefully (sloppily) decorated with white piping on lilac frosting.

A week prior, she had asked what kind of cake I wanted. It caught me off guard until I realized the significance of the upcoming date.

To everyone else, it was a day of celebration. Of course, it was; Akira had been born. But to me it was a dreadful reminder of my death—of the son I was unable to touch.

Mom hurriedly lit the candles, almost vibrating in elation. Once finished, she held the cake up to me with an excited, "Make a wish!"

I wish for the strength to get through this alive.

I blew out the candles. Everyone cheered.

I come to you in pieces

There had to be some greater power at work. Somehow, in some very distant past-life, I had fucked up big time. Maybe my past self was Cesar? Dracula the Impaler? Wait, why would I only be a male?

Cesar or not, no one deserved this.

Apparently, the many stops at the playground which always ended in disaster wasn't enough to deter my mother to abandon the whole 'friend' thing.

Instead of dropping it, she increased the number of times we went out on strolls and trips to different playgrounds—ones with only a few children. If it was overcrowded, we went somewhere else.

It was exhausting.

According to mom, my reluctant friendship with Obito (something I secretly hated myself for doing) wasn't good enough. He was older and couldn't spend time with me outside of the rare times I managed to convince Papa to let me tag along to training. And even then, he had to train. It wasn't his job entertain me.

Anyway, to sum up my experience with other children, I'd have to say they were all little ass-munching brats devoted to piss me off.

As it turned out, I was actually halfway decent at most things. Which took a lot of getting used to considering how terrible 'Jemma' was at everything besides baking. Put a ball in 'Jemma's' hands and she'd trade it for a book as fast quicker than someone could say, "fuck that."

That fact made me to reflect on some shit. Mostly how different this body felt. You know, aside from the whole 'turning-into-a-four-year-old-after-being-an-adult' situation.

Instead of constantly feeling like a potato, this body felt made to be active. I wasn't able to stay still for long. Running was as easy as breathing, or baking. My tiny legs could go for hours if I wanted to. It was like being shot up with adrenaline twenty-four-seven.

Things I had found strenuous in my past life didn't affect me nearly as much. And as a bonus, I actually rather liked it. I had always wanted to be like those health guru's in my old world. The ones who went to the gym and post pictures of their abs on Instagram.

Running was the quickest way I had found to clear my mind of the (many) possible ways I could (and probably would) die in this world. The thought was that as long as I could run fast, I would be able to get away from bad guys and have a chance of living.

My mind tried slipping to the memory of a wicked smile and the sharp smell of blood, but I cunt-punched that shit outta my mind-space and into my favorite chained up box labeled "Nope."

Nobody got time for that 'repressed memories' bullshit I had acquired when plopping into this body.

Shit… That only reminded me of how my parents were going to die in a few years.

Well. That thought was aptly labeled as "fuck nope" now.

I'd decided long ago not to fuck with all of these people's lives. It wasn't my place to chance fate and put myself in the way of danger. I was already pretending to be someone else; I didn't want the moral dilemma that came with deciding who got to live or die.

Then again… That sounded badass.

No. Bad thought, self. I won't play God with those around me no matter how cool it sounds.

I was fine living in denial for the rest of my life.

Of course, being forced into the actual story as Akira, all of my past decisions meant jack.

The traumatic experience Akira went through right before we switched made my sudden change overnight a bit more believable. Acting like a normal child was hard and at first, I thought I was doing okay. Until the night after my birthday when Minato had told me that it was okay to cry and that I didn't have to shut him out.

So, I did as he told me to do and cried. I cried all night, wrapped in the arms of two parents that I was starting to think of as mine. It felt good, even if the sudden changes had startled them a bit.

I acted more mature—to a point—and became more reserved. I tended to be asocial to those around me (except Obito. He snuck himself too far into my heart for me to stand getting rid of the poor fool) at times, but always attempted to show a more childish side to them (sometimes not of my own will).

Eventually, I had become a tad happier. More open to social situations instead of fearful.

…but I digress. I was getting off topic. Where were my thoughts before the tangent?

OH YEAH.

Karma.

Kushina was leading me to my incoming doom.

The dirt road, densely packed into stone from years of feet treading along it (and probably some earth jutsu), scraped under my sandals. Great Hashirama trees stood tall and proud amongst various buildings, branches sawing gently on a cool breeze.

It became obvious why the place was named 'The Village Hidden in the Leaves.'

From my place on the ground, I could see ninja traveling across rooftops and trees alike at incredible speeds. It no longer shocked me. Instead, random thoughts would appear in my head, like how the roof business here must be booming.

"Now when we get there, I want you to be on your best behavior." Mom spoke up, jarring me from my thoughts.

The only answer I had for her was an acknowledging hum. When her shoulders slumped, I felt a pang of regret. After Kushina and Minato took notice the abrupt change in my behavior, they had become overly concerned.

Now, after I woke up from the glance at my soul and in the wrong body many months ago, I'd admit to falling into a depression of sorts. I'd skip meals, ignore everyone around me and all-around make my distaste for the world a very well-known subject.

Thankfully—silver linings—as stated, everyone around me had chalked it up to trauma from seeing a dead body and being attacked (dying). –A body that died while still smiling, surrounded by a puddle of sticky red blood—Into the box you go.

While I was, indeed, fucked up and traumatized at seeing death first hand and briefly grazing it (not poking that damn box!)—who wouldn't?

Nonetheless, every time I heard good ol' mom and dad chatting about me, they made it pretty clear how they wanted to break the (protective) shell I had wrapped tightly around myself.

It was hard. Seeing the sadness in their eyes. The confusion and fear (because what if I never got better?) they swallowed for my benefit. So, for their sake, I went along with everything they came up with in order to 'cheer' me up.

All of that I could deal with. Easy-peazy.

But this!? I was legitimately close to shitting myself.

Before I knew it, we were at a door. The Door. The door that would probably lead to my (second) premature death. Mom knocked.

It opened.

"Hello Kushina!" For a second, I was dazed as a beautiful woman replaced the demon door. Her hair fell around her shoulders like liquid silk, straight and so black; it shone with blue hints where the light hit it. Her eyes were dark as night and held nothing but warmth.

I felt myself relaxing in her presence. She seemed like one of those people who couldn't help but be genuine. And no, I wasn't put at ease just because of her beauty. Nope. Nu-uh.

"Hey, sorry we're late." Mom acknowledged, "Thank you so much for this!" she gave a sloppy bow.

I wanted to roll my eyes at how dramatic she could be. Instead, my eyes were drawn to the smaller figure hidden slightly behind Mikoto. I froze, previous relaxation fading away.

His lighter black hair hung straight around his head, bangs framing his childishly round (feminine) face. Though his eyes were the same color as his moms, his were closed off and intelligent. There was this knowing in them that didn't belong on the face of a four-year-old.

Mom nudged me forward with an elbow and hastily hissed a, "Introduce yourself!"

Immediately I complied and bowed forward, keeping careful watch on the boy in front of me. "Hello. I am Akira Uzumaki-Namikaze. It's a pleasure to meet you."

My name was always such a mouthful, but Kushina wanted to make sure Minato's name lived on while also allowing me to feel a belonging to her own Clan.

The little boy bowed forward, eyes never leaving mine. "Itachi Uchiha. Please take care of me."

So you can make me whole

Both mothers were grinning widely as Mikoto invited us into her home. I entered cautiously. Not that I expected to be attacked in a Clan Heads household—this was the Uchiha we were talking about, they saw everything coming a mile away—but one can never be too careful.

It was a nice place. Big, yet clean and organized—just how I liked it. The scent of apple pie filled the air, causing my mouth water. I paused. What were the chances Mikoto knew my favorite dessert?

What if this was a tactic to make me feel more welcome in unknown territory, thus creating a false sense of security?

Just as quickly as the thought crossed my mind, I tossed it away because apple pie!

"Is that apple pie?" I blurted out; ignoring the warning look mom sent my way.

Mikoto let out a feminine laugh behind a bashful hand and nodded—I was once again taken aback by her delicate beauty. "Yes, it is. You're welcome to have some as soon as it's finished cooling off."

I was quick to nod, blissful at the thought of homemade apple pie. Mom was a great cook, there was no doubt about that, but her baking abilities were lacking.

Then again, I was a dessert slut and helped another lives mother run a bakery. I tended to be a bit critical of others.

"Now now, Akira," mom lectured, crossing her arms, "we didn't come here just for pie. How about you and Itachi go play while we adults catch up?"

Again, this wasn't fair.

I'd howl at the moon if I could. The last thing I wanted to do was spend time with the future Clan Killer! One that grows into an emotionally stunted mass murderer who fucked up his little brother's mental state! What kind of demented things would he try to do to me when the time came?

Would he try to make me his minion of evil?

Stop that, I berated myself.

This was for mom and papa's sake. I couldn't burden them with worry any longer. Itachi was one of my only chances at making my parents act their normal, jolly selves again. I couldn't fuck this up. I wouldn't fuck this up.

Therefore, instead of begging mom to please go home, I Sashayed Away after Itachi, going further into the house. Compared to where we lived, this was a mansion, and our house wasn't tiny by any means.

The Uchiha Clan must be considerably wealthy.

I wondered if that meant Sasuke was extremely rich. He would be the only living Uchiha that could inherit a fortune, after all. Whoever he married (Sakura) would be set for life. Something to think on later.

Then I mulled over how long I would have to subject myself in the presence of a semi-sociopath. Not that I had anything against the kid now, he was only four, but what if I did something that fucked up the future?

My only saving grace was the fact he couldn't be too bad if he was a toddler. Right? He was no doubt groomed to be a great host, even if he was only a kid.

"Here we are." Itachi's soft, disarming voice said. Even his damn voice was trying to trick me!

We stood in front of another door. It wasn't marked in any special way, just your average Japanese-styled screen sliding door (shoji?). I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

There was nothing he could do to me. We were both children, and our mothers were just down the hall. He was a child like I was.

As I looked to Itachi again, I filled myself with determination instead of fear. I deflated slightly at the look of confusion he was sending me. Was there something on my face?

After an awkward pause where I rubbed at my cheeks, he seemed to gather himself with a shake of the head. He then opened the door.

It was… A playroom?

Oh. Well. That wasn't so scary. Actually, it was pretty fucking cool.

There were toys. So many toys. Blocks, puzzles, books, animal figures, BOOKS—I was so interested in all of his cool stuff I barely registered when he moved past me to go further into the room.

He sat regally at a child-sized table and motioned for me to join him.

There were two chairs set up on either side and on top was a blue porcelain tea set. As I made my way over to him, I could see steam rising from the teapot. I raised my eyebrows.

"Your parents let you handle hot water?" I asked, genuinely curious.

He only spared me a quick glance, too focused on his task. "Yours don't?"

"Not since I spilled a pot of boiling water on myself. After that, Papa has been adamant in keeping me far away from stoves and hot liquids."

"Hn. How long ago was that?"

Small talk it is. I took the empty seat across from him, and placed my folded hands on the table.

"About two years."

"That seems a bit much."

I waved a hand flippantly. "He's overbearing at times, but I know it's because he cares." I watched as his expression changed to one close to sadness, but it quickly changed as he set back to the task of pouring us tea.

Without further niceties, I cut to the chase. "Listen, I can see you don't want to be spending any time with me just as much as I don't want to spend any with you."

"How do you know that? Maybe I am enjoying our time together."

My 'r u srs?' face must have done the trick because he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. I continued.

"My parents think the only way to 'fix' me is for me to make friends in the hopes I will stop being a recluse." I took a sip of the hot tea and hummed in approval. The kid could make some good tea. I sighed, forcing myself back on track. "So far I've been subjected to whiny brats that can't stand losing at simpleton games. And while I understand them, I refuse to lose just to make a connection with someone who will later go on a different path than myself.

"So I'll give you a choice in the matter, since you seem to be less of a barbarian than those other idgets." I sat back in my seat; arms crossed over my chest.

"…You use a lot of big words."

"Did you not hear a single thing I just said!?"

He took a long sip of his tea with narrowed, analyzing eyes trained directly to my own.

I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Was it how Sasuke would eventually see Naruto? Inferior and useless? Probably. Clans tended to think that way.

My own Clan was annihilated only for the fact they were feared.

Fear bred hatred, and hatred, resentment. That was why I couldn't make friends with the other kids. They thought my being better than them at silly games was a threat to whatever hierarchy they set up long before I came to the playground.

At the end of the day, those children only wanted to put me down and make fun of me. Just for being, and looking, a little different. For being me. As if it were my fault I was good at kick-the-can.

Hell, even I didn't know why I excelled at such a strange game. As 'Jemma', I would have hissed at the mere concept of going outside.

"What is this 'choice' you are giving me?" If I didn't know any better, I would think Itachi was almost amused at my behavior, if not a bit reluctant and confused. That last one was impossible. He was a genius.

I leaned my head into the palm of my hand, resting my elbow on the table. My other hand raised with a single finger on display, "Choice number one: I leave here and tell my mom I'd rather befriend a stray cat, thus both of us would be free of friendly obligation. Or choice number two," another finger joined the other, "we go play or do something cool while pretending to have a fun time and my parents can get off my back about not having enough nor any friends."

Itachi mirrored my relaxed position and tilted his head to the side. "That seems like a lot of trouble to go through just to get your parents 'off your back'." I shrugged, looking at my reflection in the tea. A moment passed. "What's in it for me?"

A snort escaped me. This guy. "As if your mom set this play date up for only my benefit. I'm not blind; she's just as wound up as my parents. Consider our acquaintanceship a win-win situation."

After my final speech, I brought my mind back to myself. I glanced back up to Itachi and could practically feel myself sweat-drop as I had seen so many times in anime. The dude was staring into the windows of my soul.

Honestly, I was sort of waiting for him to admit he saw dead people or some creepy shit like that. He could totally get a star role in Children of the Corn, that was for sure.

Unable to help it (though if asked I would swear it was because of my new younger age), I began fidgeting under his intense gaze. I looked anywhere but his endless black eyes, instead finding my hands much more interesting

"…"

"…Want to train?"

My mind drew a blank. "Train what?" my voice was bland. Those black eyes looked back to me just as dully, making me shift in my seat again. Its because I'm five, that's it.

"I do not know. Maybe kunai throwing." He shrugged as if it were normal to casually ask such a thing—and his speech was so proper.

Well… I had given him a choice. I just never expected him to accept.

"…Sure."

I've come undone

Being a woman in a child's body (damn it never got less disturbing to say) did not help with how unbelievably wary I was of the boy beside me. If anything, it made me even more so.

I couldn't pin-point if it was because I wanted to impress him, or because my five-year-old brain thought he was cute. (So fucking weird.)

When we got outside, as if in reflex, I took in the area.

There was a rack of wooden swords and other interesting training weapons neatly placed under the awning of the house. The Uchiha main house was very traditional in Japanese terms with its sliding paper doors and roofed walkways.

To the left of the expansive back yard, attached to rather small tree, was a simple circular target ringed in red with dot in the center. There were marks from past abuse scattered all over the board, most of them rounding close to the center.

The sound of trickling water came from a cute little koi pond on the far right, which I noticed with barely contained glee. Koi fish were so adorable! I wondered absentmindedly if I would be able to feed them…

Itachi stuck his arm out my way, causing me to flinch slightly. (he raised a hand—A blinding light shot from his fingers—) Stop. Deep breaths.

Itachi looked at me with an insistently raised brow. I glanced down…

"Those are real kunai, Itachi." I commented plainly, as I looked back up to his endless black eyes, playing off the flinch as nothing. Which it totally wasn't. Just hanging out with an armed future murderer.

No big deal.

"Yes, they are." He informed simply.

My eyebrow twitched in irritation. "You're four and I'm five… shouldn't we play with something more, I don't know, safe?" Seriously. What was he thinking? We were children!

For the second time since my arrival at the Uchiha main house, emotion crossed Itachi's relatively blank face. It was a mixture of pure confusion and amusement. "You agreed to training. Are you afraid of hurting yourself, Akira?"

Was that a challenge? It sure sounded a lot like a challenge. He had even smiled a little. Did that mean he wanted to be friends?

Friends or not, my eyes narrowed. If I were to look further into this situation, it could have seemed as if he were baiting me. And goddammit I was falling for it hook, line, and sinker. Like one of the damn koi fish.

I took one of the kunai from his hand with my chest puffed out. "I'm not afraid of anything, 'ttebane! Just watch, I'll hit the bulls-eye no problem!" With an air of superiority, I walked toward the target.

Unfortunately, during the short walk, I realized three Very Important Things.

One: I had never held a kunai before, let alone thrown one—holy shit what if I stab myself? What if I stabbed someone else?

Two: Our moms were watching in amusement from the kitchen window, nudging each other. Did they think this was cute? This was war, dammit!

And finally, Three: I was way out of my comfort zone holding this sharp object. The way I held it was similar to how a newbie held a loaded gun.

Newbies normally shot themselves on accident.

Itachi was a Gods damn prodigy; he was going to make me look like a goo-goo eyed baby. Sure, there were whispers of me being a prodigy, but only I knew that it was all false.

The only reason they thought that was because I was a (debatable) 22-year-old woman in the body of a fucking child. My mind was sharp, but my ability to do anything else a child solider could with relative ease was lacking.

Compared to other children the age of my body, of course I'd seem to be something special.

Was it normal in this world to allow four-year-old's to handle such sharp equipment? And most importantly why was no one stopping us? At this rate I was going to hyperventilate.

I came to a stop when I stood a few steps from the damned target (being closer gave me more of a chance of at least hitting the board.) I could already feel my face heating up. The very last thing I wanted to do was embarrass myself in front of someone like Itachi Uchiha.

He didn't seem the type to let go of something like this, especially after all of my previous macho-talk.

Realizing I was just standing there, I dug deep down into myself, harnessed my Inner Ninja™, and took a stance I may have copied from a TV show.

I took a deep breath in—trying to calm myself and rushing thoughts—and on the exhale, threw the kunai with as much force as my little body could muster.

It arched in the air in the general direction of the plank…and plopped to the ground two feet away from said target.

I dropped, falling to my hands and knees. I'd failed.

The God in charge of my reincarnation must have been one of misfortune: throwing a person like me into a ninja world when I had absolutely no skill to account for.

My mom would probably never let me live down the humiliation, and Papa would surely disown me all together. He was one of the best shinobi in our village, renowned for his skills and placed in bingo books all around as "Flee On Sight."

He was the future Hokage, for petes sake!

Then there was me. His daughter. Can't even throw a kunai, never practiced ninja arts and can only win at kick-the-can.

What sounded like barely contained laughter echoed from behind me, filling up the once quiet empty space of the backyard. Chancing a glance back, I was met with the sight of Itachi doubled over; clutching his stomach as he shook uncontrollably.

He peeked up at me for a moment, paused, and then promptly broke out into gawks of laughter.

Oh God.

If only the ground would swallow me up and spit me in hell where I belonged. Then again, maybe this was hell. Sure did seem like hell. I was being laughed at by a little brat.

Tears swam in my eyes when Itachi continued his laughter, no stop seemingly in sight. He even had the gull to fucking point at me while he laughed. Rude.

Something deep inside of me, something immature and unrefined began filling with anger at the blow to my ego. I thought back to the other children, pointing and yelling.

"What're you laughin' at, ya little twerp!?" I shouted at him, jumping straight to my feet. Heat overtook my face and body. At that point I was convinced even my damn fingertips were blushing.

So… this is humiliation.

"You… You could have just said you never threw kunai before." He spoke between haughty sniggers. The way he said the word 'kunai' had me puffing my hackles up like a pissed off cat.

My small pale hands balled into little fists. He was the one that wanted to train in the first place! Train. Instead of something fun like blocks or Save the Princess! Why was he being so cruel? It wasn't like every child's parents wanted them to become some sort of super ninja.

Not everyone was strong.

Hopped up on anger and embarrassment, I threw myself at him. He fell beneath me with a huff of air and my balled fist connected with his cheek, hard enough to make even me cry out in pain.

Faces were hard.

I let out an undignified squawk as the world flipped. Itachi easily switched our positions and hit me back, right in the mouth. I felt as my lip split open. It kind of felt like a paper cut—If the paper was attached to a fuckin' rock.

Being hit was just as terrible as I had previously thought.

I wiggled and bucked my hips forward, fighting as hard as I could to get him off. And I did, to my great surprise. After what felt like an eternal struggle, I was able to wedge my foot between our bodies and with all of my mini-might fury, pushed into his stomach: successfully shoving him off.

In the time it took me to accomplish that small feat (no pun intended), Itachi hit me again; this time near my eyebrow.

I felt something tickle down my temple, wet and smooth. Confused, I brought my shaking hand to the sensation and felt wetness. I pulled the appendage back and my mouth dropped open. He made me bleed!

Pain shot through my brain.

(There was a strange smell in the air. It reminded me of coins. I swallowed past the lump in My throat. If I didn't have that terrible stench in my nose, I could almost convince myself the man was sleeping. The red liquid that surrounded his body was enough for me to understand—)

I shook my head, breathing desperately to get the images out of my mind. A cold sensation slithered its way through my chest. I pushed it down as far as I could.

Before I could jump back on him and rock his face like a fuckin' monsoon, hands tucked under my armpits and plucked me up and away.

Of course, I fought the grip, practically frothing at the mouth like some rabid animal (maybe a raccoon—you know; considering the shiner Itachi no doubt placed on my eye).

"Akira! What the hell!"

"Itachi, control yourself!"

"She started it!" was Itachi's brilliant reply.

"And I'll finish it too, 'ttebane! Let me go Mom, my foot has a playdate with Itachi's ass!"

There was a deep intake of air, and that was the moment I knew; I fucked up. My eyes widened in fear.

"Akira Uzumaki-Namikaze! I know I did not hear that word come from your mouth!"

"But mom-" She put me back on the ground and shook her finger in my face. I went cross-eyed in an attempt to keep up with the waving appendage.

"Don't you but mom me, little missy! I think it's about time you were met with a nice bar of soap, 'ttebane!"

The blood leave my face at the thought of yet another sudsy mouth. Then, I was staring at her through eyes squinted into little slits.

I folded my arms over my chest in defiance. "…Can't discipline me if you can't catch me!" I blur out, taking off with enough force to kick grass up in my wake.

I did not make it far.

But you make sense of who I am

For some ungodly reason, Itachi invited me over to his house to play again. Whenever I asked him why he would still want to be my friend, he would just shrug.

"You're not like normal girls." I ignored the haunted look in his eyes. Did he already have Fangirls?

Part of me couldn't help but be a little flattered any time he stated that. The other part seriously considered asking him if he was a masochist. I tossed that thought aside. He probably didn't know what that was and I'd get in trouble again if I explained.

But he had to be one—a masochist. Who in their right mind wanted to be friends with a girl who hit them?

Which was something I admittedly did a lot. Whether it was a punch to the arm or a smack to the back of his head when he was being a snob.

Did he see something in me that inclined him to be my friend? Sure, people around me would coo and say how adorable and perfect I was, but Itachi was actual perfection. He was also in a higher social class, from what I knew.

Yet…

Okay. So maybe the Clan Killer wasn't terrible.

I mean, wasn't the reason he did it because his Clan was plotting against the Leaf and doing so would have created an internal war? That Danzo guy, he'd given him false orders, right? And something about his brother… Eye implants… Wasn't he still technically a Leaf shinobi? I tossed those thoughts aside.

Those things I worried about, that was for the future. It didn't matter now.

He even apologized for hitting me and making fun of me, vowing to teach me how to 'not to be so pathetic.' So, all day long on our second play date, Itachi taught me like some mini-sensei.

First, he showed me how one properly throw a kunai. He stated my stance wasn't terrible, it was the way I handled the weapon and threw it. When we grew tired of tossing things, he showed me a few fighting stances.

It was fun, I found. Learning how to protect myself. There was also the added bonus that I wouldn't be completely helpless if someone attacked me again.

By the time our shoulders became sore and our stomachs rumbled, we were called back into the house.

Mom and Mikoto made us egg sandwiches and gave us big slices of pound cake after we were done (the apple pie was gone, sadly).

I babbled on and on about how talented Itachi was and begged my mom to let me spend more time with him. His resulting blush to my praises made his mother smile fondly and my mother coo. It didn't bother me.

We were cute as fuck and I knew it.

Now at first, it was going to be an act. Something to silence the worry of my parents and occupy my time. Yet somehow, I grew to mean every word I spoke.

If I had to pinpoint the exact moment my heart began mending, I would have to say it started the day I met my best friend.

Like puzzle pieces in your eye

~End~

Extra:

"You sure have been thinking a lot since Akira left, Itachi." Mikoto took a sip of her lemonade, eyeing her son with interest. "What's on your mind?"

Itachi's face scrunched up in confusion against the icepack on his cheek, eyes shining in childish curiosity. "What does 'acquaintance' mean?"

His playdate with the older girl left him sore and dumbfounded. She had flung out words he didn't understand, pretended to know how to throw a kunai and shouted a Forbidden Word.

He didn't know what to think. If he were honest, he just went along with it and brought up something to do that he was comfortable with: training. It wasn't his fault she had made a fool of herself, no matter how funny he found it.

Mikoto paused, lips twitching up in humor. She closed her eyes and spoke in a nonchalant manner, "It is the stage between knowing someone and friendship."

"Friendship…? Akira wants to be my friend?"

"I believe so."

His eyebrows drew together. "Then why did she hit me and call me names?"

The older woman hummed in thought, "She was embarrassed, Dear. The Uzumaki can be rather... brutish when it comes to their emotions.

From what her mother told me, Akira has been having troubles since someone from another village bypassed the walls and hurt her." Mikoto paused, tilting her head, "Akira looked rather excited to practice with you. Maybe you could teach her how to throw a kunai?"

Itachi thought of the way Akira had treated him. It was different from all of the other kids he had met. Instead of being nervous or reverent, she treated him the same as everyone else. Like an equal. There wasn't a single formal 'Uchiha' anywhere to be heard, either. Instead, she had first called him Itachi.

She wasn't even like any of the girls he had met before. They all refused to get their clothes dirty, only wanting to play house where they would fight over who would be his wife no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

But not Akira—she had punched him. Him! The Heir of the proud Uchiha Clan. Over him laughing about what she did. Had he said something wrong to warrant being hit?

Maybe it was when he pointed at her? That was rather rude of him…

The Clan Heir thought of spending more time with the brazen, foul-mouthed blonde with strange markings on her cheeks and the weird expressions she made: to become friends with the newest oddity of Konoha.

"Friends..." Yes. He quite liked that idea. The warmth in Itachi's smile could have heated the village for years. "I would like that."

End~

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Pieces by: Red