Lazy Saturday Mornings



Otousan was always hard to wake up the day after a mission, but to wake him up before lunch the day after a mission was near impossible.

Kisho looked dismally at the bundle of blanket lying comatose in front of him and gave it an experimental jab. Nothing happened, so the next poke was delivered with an extra dose of sharpness. A muffled grunt answered from the depths of the sheets and Kisho shuffled up to the shock of raven hair that appeared at the top of the bed.

Judging the still-shut eyes gravely, Kisho weighed the pros and cons of a belly-flop on his blissfully snoozing Otousan and as usual, decorum barely put up a fight. This time, his efforts earned a satisfying oomph sound and when Kisho pried open his father's eyelids, he was pleased to see two bloodshot eyes glaring back at him.

"Good morning, Otousan." Kisho chirped, inwardly congratulating himself on his accomplishment. "There's someone here to see you."

His father growled and tried to turn away as much as one trapped under a small body could. "Geoff me," came the muffled command, and filial as ever, Kisho obediently moved a few inches to the right.

"Otousan… there's really someone waiting for you." The reproach went unheard as the dark head moved out of his pulling and defiantly buried deeper in the tangle of sheets. It was, Kisho reflected, not unlike how his younger brother responded to his morning calls, just that it was much easier to sling his Otouto's wiggling body over his shoulder to drag him out of bed. He prodded his father's side dolefully and blew the dust highlighted in the stream of warm light pouring from the window. The golden specks flitted wildly out of the bar of light only to be replaced by new ones. "Otousan…"

"-st ged your mard'r"

"She brought Haru to the doctor because he wasn't feeling well," Kisho recited dutifully. "And she wants you to remember that Naruto-san is coming over this afternoon and you need to be up by lunch. And she wants to know if you forgot to buy the milk again."

There was a vaguely interesting stifled swearword, then Kisho literally watched the dust settle on the bed while the movement beneath the blankets stopped. "It's almost two hours to lunch already," he added by way of bribing. "And the man waiting for you isn't Naruto-san- he has black hair."

His Otousan didn't respond. Apparently he had fallen asleep again. Kisho gave the blankets one last poke, sighed a little too theatrically, then slid off the bed and ambled his way into the living room where the guest was waiting. He found the man patiently standing where he'd left him, still engrossed in studying their family photos on the mantelpiece.

"I'm sorry, but he's still sleeping at the moment," said Kisho politely. "Would you like to wait till my Okaasan comes home?"

The stranger looked up from his examination of their home, and dark bangs fell across his face as he shook his head. "No, thank you." The man smiled faintly. "I didn't think I'd meet them, anyway. But I would like to talk to you, if you don't mind."

Gratified, Kisho nodded automatically, though not without a hint of suspicion. It wasn't that no one paid attention to him of course- quite the opposite, considering his heritage- but it wasn't every day someone went out of their way to talk to him. "No, I don't mind. My name's Kisho- Uchiha Kisho." He added redundantly. "What's your name?"

The man barely hesitated before answering. "Itachi. Just Itachi, for you."

Kisho nodded gravely, storing the name away. It seemed familiar, somehow. Then he remembered his manners. "Would Itachi-san like something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I'll be going soon." The man paused, his dark eyes studying him intently. Kisho had the uncomfortable feeling those eyes missed nothing, and pulled at his clothes self-consciously.

"You're quite special, you know." The guest said finally, his tone musing. "You must be the first Uchiha to have anything other than dark eyes."

Ah yes, the eye colour complex again. Almost everyone commented on the little genetic peculiarity, so Kisho wrinkled his nose and shrugged nonchalantly. "My Otouto has green eyes too, but his green is brighter. But Okaasan says it might be because he's still young."

The man looked blank for a moment, then Kisho thought he saw a flash of wistfulness cross his face before the half-amused, half- pensive expression slipped back. "Ah yes," the stranger was murmuring now, "I almost forgot you had a little brother. How is he with you?"

"He's fine, thank you." The formula was already out of his mouth before Kisho realized the question was different to the usual drill. He hesitated at the strange wording and thought carefully before answering again. "I mean… he's alright with me. He's…" Kisho struggled for words to describe his clingy little brother. "He's my little brother. We don't fight or anything. Otousan's always telling me to take care of him. He's just always there." He ended lamely.

The man smiled abstractedly, eyes turned inward. "I see." For a split second, Kisho saw the lucid image of his father was smiling down at him before the stranger turned away, leaving Kisho gaping at his back.

"I should be going now- I can feel your mother returning. Take good care of your little brother."

Kisho's mouth dropped open inelegantly and he barely made it to the door before the guest could slip out of it. "Wait! Aren't you going to wait for her to come back? And my dad might wake up soon, if I try again." Actually, he just wanted to compare his father's face to the stranger. Itachi-san looked amazingly alike to his Otousan, though much older, and his curiosity was gnawing at him.

The man named Itachi looked amused, one hand still on the doorframe. "I think it'll be better if I go. I'm an old friend of your parents and the reunion will be… tiring. It's a pity your brother isn't here- I wanted to meet you both."

Kisho tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. "But why don't you stay just a little while longer. I can try to wake Otousan up now…"

There was a strange expression on the stranger's face when he titled his head and ruffled a squirming Kisho's hair. "I'm sorry Kisho, maybe next time," he murmured. Kisho had the distinct feeling he wasn't really the one being spoken to, judging from the man's distant eyes again, but he was more preoccupied with the man's words.

"But don't you want to spea-"

"Give my regards to your father for me," Itachi-san interrupted smoothly. "And congratulate your mother for me."

Kisho's shoulders drooped in defeat, and he gave a half-hearted accusing glare. "Alright. He's not going to wake up soon anyway," he grumbled.

Itachi-san looked thoughtful. "Poke him," came the unexpected prompting. "It always worked, when he was young."

"I can try again, I guess," Kisho said doubtfully. "Maybe it'll work this time." Then green eyes brightened hopefully. "You can stay and see if it does, too!"

The half pensive smile answered him, and even though Kisho watched the man's back till he rounded the corner, he never once turned back to look.

A short while later, Kisho was sitting on his father's bed watching gold flecks settle on the slumbering form. After making up his mind that the stranger really did look like his Otousan and to question his Otousan relentlessly about the man, he flopped down on his stomach to trace his sire's features with one clumsy finger and tried to remember how the guest looked like. His Otousan rumbled his annoyance, but continued snoozing on so Kisho let his thoughts drift to the Itachi-san's parting gesture.

To his surprise, when he poked his father in the forehead in a poor imitation of the gesture, his Otousan reacted quite differently to what he expected.

Kisho thought he never saw anyone wake up quite so fast.



I think I want long hair too



An uninspired little piece. Spent quite some time on it, but I think I did a wrong take on it. Also, I'm getting a little more than tired of writing Uchiha pieces, methinks. Did a few different variations/perspectives harping on the same idea, but didn't like them. Still don't like this one and cut it short on counts that it was longwinded with no point in sight. But at least I get to try my hand at using those tricky jap honorifics and terms.

Lisa dear, I'm dying for FMA. >