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completed: 9/20/06 __ One fine summer day, Uchiha Mikoto realized her youngest son was gay and went out to buy him a dress in celebration. "He's three years old," her husband said later that afternoon, a look of mild horror and wounded male pride on his face as Sasuke trounced about the family room in his new navy-blue-with-lace-trim frock. She'd badly wanted to get him something in bright yellow or at least baby blue -- dark colors just did not go with his complexion -- but the Uchiha were so particular about their color scheme that she decided not to chance it. "Honestly dear," Mikoto said, exchanging her kunai belt for her apron, “Age is never an excuse to not support your children’s alternative life-style. Besides, he likes it.” "...he's three years old," Fugaku repeated, a hint of desperation stealing through his stern exterior. Mikoto looked at her husband very seriously and thoughtfully while she tied the apron strings in place. “Sweetheart,” she said, “I think we need to discuss your discomfort with our son’s non-gender specific behavior. Remember you had that same problem with Itachi and the doll house.” “I still hold by that decision,” he said firmly, folding his arms and taking a wide legged stance; as immovable as only the single-minded and tradition bound could be. “Think of how much healthier he would be,” she lamented, “How much more nurturing.” “Itachi is a perfectly capable and skilled ninja, who is doing his best to proudly uphold the family honor and traditions,” Fugaku said in righteous defense of his oldest, “That is a lot more than can be said for others in the Village.” Just then, in perfect counter-point to his words, Sasuke spun around and his skirts flared out around his hips like an umbrella, showing the frilly bloomers underneath. He fell over with a joyful squeal, beribboned socks kicking at the air. Fugaku’s expression displayed a deep internal suffering. Mikoto pinned her hair up angrily, still remembering past injustices. “You know that incident with the hamster would have never happened if you’d only listened to me,” she said, half-muttering. Fugaku pinched the bridge of his nose. “The clan will never agree to this.” She rolled her eyes. He always said that when he was loosing an argument. “Well, then the clan can take it up with me,” she said and went to pick up Sasuke, “I will be happy to explain my decision to them.” She actually already had several pamphlets prepared for that eventuality. Not that she really cared what ‘the clan’ thought when it came to raising her son, but one of the first things she learned about the Uchiha clan was that they really, really loved paperwork. It could keep them distracted and content for months. Fugaku followed her into the kitchen, where she set up Sasuke with some pots to bash around and got started on the evening meal. He was clearly building up to say something big, most likely a declaration of his patriarchal decision that she fully intended to ignore. Deep lines of thought formed on his forehead and the corners of his mouth. She wished he wouldn’t frown so. He was such a handsome man when he smiled. “Mikoto—“ The side door into the kitchen opened and his words were drowned out by Sasuke’s excited cry of “Brother!” “I will not be joining you for dinner,” Itachi said quietly, not looking at either of his parents as he went to the fridge to remove one of the pre-packed meals. Sasuke rose unsteadily to his feet and toddled toward his sibling with grabby hands. Itachi spared the boy a glance and then paused, consideration clear on his young face. “Itachi, this isn’t what –“ Fugaku hurried to explain, though what he thought to protect Itachi from Mikoto couldn’t begin to guess. “That isn’t his color. It’s too dark,” Itachi interrupted him without change of tone, “Excuse me, mother, father.” He inclined his head respectfully and left, oblivious to Sasuke’s frustrated whine and the broken, resigned look on his father’s face. Mikoto smiled smugly. Tomorrow, she would pick Sasuke up something in pink. //end.file
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