Sitting with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, Fugaku listened to the sound of the sliding door closing, and opened his eyes.
His own room. He was sitting cross-legged, looking at the alcove where the seat of honor was set on his right, his back turned to the wall of the right side of the room. It was his own son opening the sliding door that led to the hall, and showing his face.
“Did you need something, Father?” His too-talented son made no attempt to warm the recent, excessive chill in his voice, as he stayed outside the door.
“Come in,” Fugaku urged.
Itachi finally, reluctantly, stepped over the threshold to the room. He closed the sliding door behind him, and sat down properly on his knees before his father.
“I heard you went to the park with Sasuke.”
“I did.”
He had seen the two come home covered in sweat, and called Itachi in after his bath. His younger son was sitting at the table, and talking with his mother.
“I have to prepare for my mission tomorrow. I’d appreciate it if you could be brief about your business,” Itachi said, face stiffening, clearly on guard against his father.
It was no wonder. Recently, they hadn’t had any semblance of a conversation. About the only opportunity they had to hear each other’s voices was at the regular meetings. And with all eyes on him, Fugaku couldn’t put on a fatherly face there. Given that they had nothing but formal contact with each other, like strangers, it was only natural that a distance would grow between them.
“Don’t speak so stiffly,” Fugaku said, and smiled. It was the best smile he could muster. In general, he rarely smiled. As the head of the Military Police Force, as the man who pulled together all the young people of the clan, he felt that he must not show reckless emotion.
No … When he thought about it, he had never really smiled, not since he was little.
Which reminded him. When had he last seen his son smile? He couldn’t remember.
My son and I are alike … A strange joy rose up in his chest.
The delight Fugaku felt at that moment was different from the simple emotion of a parent at their child resembling them. His son was the genius of the academy, passing his chunin exams on his own, the first Uchiha posted to the Anbu. And Fugaku’s joy came from the fact that such a storied ninja would resemble him.
It was fairly twisted for a father to see his own son as an object of aspiration. Fugaku himself was very aware of that. Which was why, sometimes, he found his son unpleasant. As a man—rather than as a father—he was forced to acknowledge the fact that he had lost. This led to the cool attitude he adopted toward Itachi. He knew it was foolish as a parent. But his pride as a ninja simply could not rejoice in Itachi’s advancement in the world.
And now his son was starting to move away from him.
“How is your work with the Anbu?” he asked, still smiling.
Itachi looked at him with wary eyes. “As long as I am putting into practice the things I’ve learned since graduating from the academy, there is no how.”
It was a model answer. Apparently, his dispassionate son had the idea that at that moment, he was interacting with the man who governed the young people of the clan, rather than his father.
“Yashiro and Inabi aren’t here,” Fugaku remarked, trying hard to keep his tone gentle. “I’m your father, and you are my son. Those are the only people in this room.”
Itachi was a clever child. All Fugaku had to say was that, and the boy seemed to understand his father’s thinking. Still, Itachi did not immediately become open and straightforward, the way he had when he was five or six. His guard relaxed slightly; that was the extent of his heart softening. Even so, his eyes became much calmer than they had been. “Things haven’t changed, really, from when I wasn’t in the Anbu.”
“You’re not doing any difficult work?”
“There is some of that,” his son murmured. And then he lowered his eyes for an instant, before looking straight at his father once more. “Given that I’m in the Anbu, no weakness can be tolerated.”
“That’s my boy.” His favorite thing to say. When he was praising his son, those were always the words he used. But at some point, it started feeling like he was saying it to bolster himself, rather than his son. Trying to keep his talented son beneath him, he bound him with the words “my boy.” That’s what he felt like.
Saying it was already a habit. When he wanted to praise his son, the words came out before he even had the chance to think, so that after he said, “that’s my boy,” a sharp thorn would stab into his heart. And again that day, Fugaku felt the pain in his chest.
“Don’t worry about things at the meeting,” he said, as if to push aside the uneasiness in the area of his solar plexus.
“What?” His son looked surprised at his words. He was likely assuming Fugaku would rebuke him for the exchange with Yashiro and the others at the meeting. Itachi was surprised at having that expectation betrayed.
“It’s not as though everyone in the clan thinks the same way. I have no intention of forcing our thinking on you. Rather than a stone drifting along with the strong current, I want you to be a man, like a rock that stands against the current, and pierces it.”
“Father …”
“You do not need to yield in your own thinking. If you cannot accept what Yashiro and the others say, then you can stand up, and proudly assert your own ideas.”
“But it doesn’t seem like they would tolerate that at the meeting.”
“It is indeed as you say.” A sigh slipped from between Fugaku’s lips. “The young people are moved by passion, and they lose sight of themselves. And they expel those who don’t agree with them, charging forward toward what they believe to be lofty.”
“Father,” Itachi murmured.
“What? Say it.”
“All right.” Looking as though he had resolved himself, the boy began to speak. “Do you have a different opinion than they do, Father?”
“I do not,” Fugaku asserted. “My feelings are the same as theirs. I am simply not so young as to cast out differing ideas.” His son’s disappointment was so clear, he could almost pick it up in his hand.