Chapter Text
Fugaku doesn't expect to open his eyes, not now, not ever again.
The last thing he felt was overwhelming dread when he heard the pitter patter of his youngest son's feet. Sasuke shouldn’t have been home so early. A cold fear rushed down his spine.
He shouldn’t see this.
Fugaku remembers as he knelt beside his wife, and waited for death. The grief washes over him, sinking into his bones. Even if they had been disloyal, they didn’t deserve to go like that. As clan head, Fugaku knew it all would lay at his own feet.
He didn’t want his family to be punished too.
For a long time, Fugaku has been prepared to die. He hadn’t wanted to die, but as a shinobi he has long been prepared for it.
Nothing could prepare him for Mikoto to also die in front of him.
She was too strong, unmoveable, and yet she remained by his side.
The ache burns and boils deep within his stomach. He shakes, and tries to stop. Tears build, but Fugaku refuses to let them fall. He’d cried enough. There’s no solving things through crying.
The Uchiha clan died with their leaders. It’s his fault , even with so much out of his control. Fugaku felt every flicker of chakra being extinguished. He hadn’t thought the village would be so cruel.
Why kill them all ?
Were the Uchiha all Madara in their eyes?
They thought Itachi had orders for them, just them. That made the most sense. Historically, killing the head family would be enough. Sasuke would be spared if not from their begging they hoped his age would help. Itachi loves him. They both believed that wholeheartedly that Itachi wouldn’t kill his brother.
How could the Hokage send their son?
When Itachi was born early, Fugaku rubbed his small fragile chest to help him breathe.
They sent his heir, their son. Fugaku wants to tear out his hair. He can’t control his own shaking.
Why couldn’t they send anyone else but him?
Fugaku felt his ribs snap and break as his son's sword thrust through his chest. The pain was immense as his blood pooled around his feet. It spread across his body like a shockwave until everything went numb. It hurt even more as it was pulled out, and that same bloody sword was turned on Mikoto.
Itachi swung his blade with those small delicate hands.
Knowing that hurt the most.
He remembers dying, and nothing after that. It felt real. Fugaku feels his chest, but there’s nothing there. There is no gaping bloody wound, just skin, more unblemished than it’s been in a long time. When he rubs that spot on his chest, he can still feel the sword. Fugaku doesn’t quite know where he is.
Fugaku knows why Itachi was given the order. It couldn’t be anyone, but him. The others would have hesitated to strike. Fugaku pleaded with Mikoto to spare their son. He couldn’t do it himself, but couldn’t stand to see it stain his wife either. No matter how much she claimed she would, Fugaku still doesn’t know if she could’ve brought herself to fight him either.
He should be dead. It wasn't a dream. It couldn't be.
Pinching his skin does nothing. His attempts to break any genjutsu prove fruitless. His sharingan activates, but it finds no tricks.
For all intents and purposes, his mind is convinced this place is real.
This bed, this room, is not his own. It's strangely familiar, for all he doesn't recognize. The moonlight streaming through his window gently lights the room. The trees outside are distinctly from Konoha. He’s dressed in a soft yukata that looks like one he lost before the war.
For whatever reason,the god’s saw fit to pull him out of his worst nightmare.
That doesn’t make things any more clear.
Fugaku sits up, looking around the room. There’s a tapestry that shouldn’t be there. His great aunt stitched it, but Fugaku distinctly remembers it burned when the Kyuubi was released.
It feels like his childhood bedroom. That’s impossible since that compound had long been destroyed.
He doesn’t know what to do next.
This is an impossible situation, that can’t possibly be real.
Mercifully, he isn't alone for long. Mikoto silently climbs through his window. He can’t do anything but stare at the sight of his wife looking at least twelve years younger. She quickly crawls into his bed. Her sharingan whirls, as she studies him. Her bangs frame her face, making her slender face look rounder and more like her sister’s. Mikoto grew those out after Itachi was born.
She says, “It’s you…I know it’s you.: Her fingers hesitate to touch his face, “tell me I’m not alone here.”
His clan died. Fugaku died beside his wife. The Gods couldn’t be so merciful.
This can’t be real.
He doesn’t deserve this.
All he can say are apologies.
“I'm sorry…” Fugaku whispers, “I'm sorry I couldn't be better for us…so it didn't have to come to this.”
He naively believed the children would be spared. They did nothing. They knew nothing.
The village will think of him as some power hungry madman. He served loyally, even with whispers of coup. Fugaku loved his village, and wanted to stay and fight for it. It was a doomed plan from the start, but it was all they had.
He loves his family more than the village, and he failed them.
“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t even care why it happened.” Mikoto says quietly, “I’m just too happy. I didn’t want to die…I still don’t.”
“I heard you fall first.” Fugaku says, “ I couldn’t look.”
The village sentenced them to death. Their plans for a coup had been found out, and the village sought a solution. They're not supposed to be alive.
Mikoto speaks even as her voice shakes,“I'm enraged. I am so angry and I don't know who to be more angry at.”
They lay beside one another, so close, Fugaku can feel the heat of her breath against his cheek. She presses his forehead against her own.
“How can I know this is not just a comforting dream?” Fugaku asks.
Fugaku had heard the brain can conjure fantasies and hallucinations to ease the pain before death.
“It was real. I know it was real…but when I woke up I was surprised to be in my old room.” Mikoto says in disbelief, “This is the old compound before the Kyuubi attack….my parents are still alive. Everyone who died in the war…this is so strange.”
Fugaku can barely begin to wrap his mind around that. It doesn’t make any sense, but he can’t even bring himself to think hard about it right now.
Mikoto is alive. His wife, the mother of his children, his best friend--- was killed by their eldest son. He doesn’t know how his son could do something so savage to his own brother.
That’s the only thing that matters.
Now, Mikoto is here beside him.
They’re both alive.
Fugaku replies, “I…I really don't want to think about it right now.”
“We both seem closer to twenty. I suppose there’s no reason for this to make any sort of sense.” Mikoto muses, “well then, my love, perhaps I should show you something you would have not seen at that age.”
She climbs into his lap, her hair falling around his face as she leans down to kiss him. Their last days had been tense and distant. Every long night at the station, he missed her. Perhaps he should’ve told her that more. Mikoto still tried, even when he couldn’t tear his mind away from the pit they’d found their clan drawing in.
“If this is a dream, let it be a long one.”
She looks down at him with those dark sensual eyes, “Help me forget for the moment then.”
Her thighs straddle his waist. Mikoto ventured out into the night in only thin pants and a tank top. She's more muscular than what he had gotten used to, still an active shinobi. Her arms still wield a sword each day and show it in firm biceps that he wants to run his mouth over.
“If this is a dream.” Fugaku says, “I hope it goes on forever. That is how long I’d want to remain by your side.”
“I'm afraid you are no longer my husband. At least not at this age.” Mikoto cradles his face, “won't you still allow me to spend the night, Heir Uchiha?”
He does not want to think of the past or more accurately their future. Just for tonight.
“Of course, you are my beloved wife. Regardless of anything.”
Fugaku runs his hands across her taut stomach. This body has not bore two sons. She's still just beautiful. The thought isn't---unappealing, but they can discuss it another time. Fugaku can't believe, even when given a second chance, that she would choose him again.
His hands wander. Fugaku grips her soft supple ass in his hands.
Her eyes shine with surprised delight, “darling!”
Gods be good, they're both young. His body responds quickly even just to the sound of her voice.
She would've never called him that at this age.
Fugaku never told her how much he loves it. It never fails to make his chest feel warm. Hearing the word cross her lips feels more like home than the new compound ever did.
For just a moment, Fugaku can feel the weight of his name ease off his shoulders.
There is no clan to lead with his mother and brother alive. They have no children to care for. They're not even technically wed.
Even if it's arranged, even if it's an order, Fugaku will gladly marry her again and again. Her body is warm and firm against his own. It's more unscarred than it's been since the war. The war is yet to happen here.
It feels like he's burning as she deepens the kiss. Their lips moisten as they're tongues tentatively touch. It's been a while since he's been with her. Fugaku would even guess this body hasn't even been with anyone , let alone one of the most beautiful women in the Uchiha clan.
He wants to touch her everywhere. Fugaku wants to feel for himself the proof that she's alive.
He doesn't deserve her.
Fugaku asks,“Could you forgive me for my failings?”
He couldn't kill Itachi. As much as he couldn't bear to kill his eldest son, he still watched his wife die.
He couldn't save her .
“We will overcome them together.” She replies.
It will be different this time.
It must be.