Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to its respective copyrights and whatnot. I would not dare to claim propriety, ownership or credit for its creation. I am merely a fan expressing her 'fanness.'

Author's Note: This is something I have wanted to write and it's not your typical 'Naruto characters have kids' fic. I'm going to try to keep everyone in character. Since this takes place somewhere up to fifteen to twenty years later, most of the characters in this story are in their late twenties. Obviously they've matured since then so forgive a deviation or two. The title comes from a Japanese proverb: "tsuki ni muragumo, hana ni arashi" translation: "clouds over the moon, a storm over blossoms."

Summary: Uchiha Katana was born into a life on the run, always having to be one step ahead of an enemy she cannot see or understand, in a story she has only become a part of by chance. Her father is the man who keeps her to this path - HIS path - one wrought of a tragedy fueled by the revenge he swore to take long ago. Will Katana fall to the curse of being a Uchiha or reach out and take hold of her own happiness?

Hana Ni Arashi
(A Storm Over Blossoms)

By Raina

My father was never what you might call a man of great imagination. The first example would obviously be me. You could hardly blame a man, who's been a ninja for most of his waking life for naming a baby after a weapon, especially since he had no wife or girlfriend around to maybe tell him that wasn't such a good idea. He was sixteen, too young to be a dad and too stubborn to know that toting around an infant amidst flying kunai and pursuing hunter nin wasn't a great way to bring up a little girl. In his mind, he had no choice. In his mind, my existence completed one of two of his ambitions, the first one he's still having some problems with. Technically if he had his way, I wouldn't even exist.

A bastard child wasn't what he had had in mind, you see.

He had only himself to blame. That, a stupid bartender who should have checked his ID, a generous helping of alcohol, an opportunistic cradle robbing prostitute and nine months later an unwelcome burden. He wouldn't even have known about me hadn't he made the mistake of stopping at the same inn twice. Providentially this woman seized the moment to shove me under my young father's nose and simply demanded he unburden her (apparently a baby was bad for her business, if you call opening your legs to the highest bidder a business). Apparently word had circulated around about whom and what she had her last "transaction" with and was in a great hurry to be rid of the resultant "credit bill."

Nobody wants a child with a Bloodline Limit. People tend to get phobic about that kind of thing you know.

At first, being him, he flat out refused. Uchiha Sasuke take responsibility for a baby? Now? Ever? Absurd! Counterproductive! Out of the question! A bawling infant would only interfere with his ultimate ambition as an Avenger! Anyone so baka not to realize the gravity of his often weighty and obscure ambitions needed a serious reality check and no it wasn't refundable!

Then later he caught the bitch trying to drown me.

You don't fuck with a Uchiha.

So I can't say I'm entirely too ungrateful. Things could have turned out differently, or worse as I imagine. If I look back on my life I'd say I was born at the wrong time in a world that didn't know what to do with me. My father certainly didn't. To him I was another "Here I am deal with me" issue. Being a teenage boy, a squalling infant was not something he anticipated in his search for power to kill his brother. If I wasn't so undeniably his own flesh and blood and something in the long run he would want very much, he would have abandoned me. No. I was another Uchiha. I was part of his clan. I was important.

I was also a secret. If Orochimaru (some snake bastard who wanted to use my father for some sort of body-jump jutsu) found out I had been the reason he up and vanished off the Hidden Village of Sound's radar one day, he'd have had himself TWO potential containers. Nope, couldn't have that, no sir. So into obscurity he and I went and willingly. I guess it would be irrelevant to say it we became experts at it. Everyone's got a skeleton in the closet. I was just another one in my father's. Can't complain, though. Daddy was always there and as long as he was, I was happy.

There are times, when I'm so pissed off I can't see straight, I wish he hadn't dragged me into his messy life. Did I want to live like there was no tomorrow? Did he even bother to ask me? Give me a freakin' choice? I'd rather have had adopted parents and lived in some nice village than having to hide in the shadows watching him fend off enemies, always with the knowledge lurking in the back of my mind I might just be witnessing his last battle. That I would lose the only family - the only home - I'd ever known. Did he even stop for one second to decide what might be best for me? Talk about being young and stupid. Hello, this is kettle you're black. Moving along.

These conflicting feelings of resentment came to me when I hit the prodigal age of twelve. By that time I was just as good a ninja as he had been then. Of course, to be a Uchiha is to be elite. According to some weird alleged god only my clan seemed to worship, I was supposed to be amazing. Or so I've been told.

We'd checked into some roach infested inn in the arse end of nowhere; the farther out in the sticks the better. To my eternal dismay, I discovered I was on my last tampon (do NOT get me started about my entrance into puberty, I found out about my body changes out of a book and several dubiously reliable secondhand sources). In frustration, I wound up punching half a hole in the tile wall, while growling a few choice unladylike phrases under my breath. The thoughts that ran through my head at this exact moment went like this:

I am so stupid, how could I forget to check, got to be the dumbest person in the world, I would have remembered if those goddamn asshole robbers hadn't attacked us three days ago, I might have gotten some from that roadside diner on the way here but noooo they had to keep insisting they were a bunch of pathetic bad asses even though Otosan beat the crap out of them the first two times, you know I wouldn't have minded seeing a few dead bodies, why does Otosan have such a problem killing people in front of me? Damn it all to hell, my life officially sucks!

Stewing a bit, I stared hard at the stained linoleum before coming to the reluctant conclusion brooding and causing structural damage wasn't going to increase the number of sanitary resources in my travel bag. Straightening up, I yanked up my black Capri pants and swept my sleeveless dress over it, short and split down the sides for increased mobility and a deep navy blue which made it easier to blend in with my surroundings. Stealth. It had been my first adept skill, even before I learned hand seals.

Procrastinating before the cracked mirror, I contemplated my appearance. A shower would be nice, I decided. I pulled out the senbon needles that were keeping my hair pinned up, allowing the black waterfall to tumble across my shoulders down to the small of my back. Absently I ran my fingers through it quickly, tucking it behind my ears and sweeping the rest of it behind my shoulders. Then I stared at my reflection again. Otosan once told me - only once and never again - I reminded him of his mother. Well, I never knew my grandmother, never seen her to compare, but without a doubt I could see by no long shot in the dark, I was definitely his daughter. We both had the same narrow onyx eyes the same hard set of the mouth and we were both as pale as any two people who called the shadows home sweet home could be.

Not for the first time, I wondered if I was what would be considered pretty. If this is what it meant to look attractive. Baka. I made a couple of faces and stuck out my tongue Pretty, ugly, what did it matter? A ninja didn't worry about such stupid things. Boys . . . dating . . . girlfriends . . . they were for other girls. Girls who had planned lives, a certain, optimistic future, girls who didn't have to think too much about their prepaid, preset lives where everything just fell into place. Me, I didn't get to have that. Me was never an option.

My eyes stung. What the hell am I here for? Aw crap, I was going to start crying again, wasn't I?

A spot of wetness appeared on my hand. Absently I wiped it away. "Shower," I muttered and quickly stripped for the activity. Taking my time, I enjoyed the hot water on my back and in my hair, watching with unveiled pleasure as the day's dirt and filth spiraled down the drain (along with one or two cockroaches, whose watery demise I watched impassively). I unwrapped the bandage from around my leg where a bandit's kunai had sliced it that day, allowing the water to wash it out, watching the blood go down the drain after the doomed household pests. When I was finished and dried off, I sat on the toilet lid and trussed the wound once again before getting dressed. Next I tucked in a few choice weapons under my clothes that wouldn't poke me while I slept with them. Finally I picked up my pack and boots with two fingers and exited the bathroom, my still damp hair a black curtain around my head.

Standing uncertainly on the threshold, I scanned the hotel room. The lights were off. Only the pale moonlight filtering in made anything visible.

Otosan was sitting by the window. It was where he'd been when I'd gone into the bathroom and where he'd remained when I emerged. At twenty-seven, he was a handsome man - that I drew from my own opinion and the giggling twinkle-eyed women who smirked at him from behind cupped hands, appreciating his dark eyes and almost feminine features. It wasn't right for a man to be that good-looking, I'd overheard someone say once. Any man who looked that perfect either was lying to the world, or hiding something sinister. His aura of omnipotence was lost on me. He was just Otosan. Whatever he was to the world, in the end to me he was just my father, someone I simultaneously loved to death, couldn't stand and didn't comprehend one single bit.

He glanced at me quickly when I'd opened the door and gone back to watching the outside as if nothing had happened. The night was quiet, abstract and desolate. Not unlike the man watching it. My father's mind was an unfathomable thing to me, comprised of his own private inner hell that had begun at age seven and one that had cost him everything.

Except me.

Moseying quietly to one of the double beds, I sat down on it, watching him still.

"You can use it now," I murmured, drawing back the coverlet. "I'm finished."

"Aa." He didn't move.

Silence. "Um," I began, casting my gaze downward. "I need more . . . you know. Can I . . . "

"On the chair."

Shutting up, I went over to the chair near the door. There was a small box. Opening my mouth, I looked back up at him.

"There was a dispenser down the hall."

I see. I didn't need to say my thanks. Stowing it away quickly, I dropped my pack next to his on the floor and went back to my bed. I crawled under the covers and turned with my back to the wall, too exhausted to sleep and too tired to stay awake. Damn, I finally get to sleep in a bed for the first time in two months and I can't even do it. I stared into the distance for a long time, cursing inwardly.

"You should get some sleep."

I blinked, a bit startled. Shifting my weight, I slung one arm under the pillow and supported it, half-hugging it to my body. He took note of this and gave me his full attention. It was a silent cue: spit it out.

I sat up a little, bit my lip and looked away for a minute. His gaze bore into me.

Unable to bear it, I looked at him again. There was no way I could hide the deep contempt, despite my efforts to gentle it and mask it. You can't hide what you feel forever.

His reply was soft. "I know."

My eyes narrowed.

My father didn't reply immediately. "Tell me."

"I want . . ." I trailed off. "I want to stop." I sighed, pausing. "I want you to stop too."

Weary exhalation. "You know I can't."

Yes. Nothing could stop him. Not until That Man was dead. Not until Itachi, the unseen puppet master was cut of his strings and lying dead on the godforsaken ground, the last victim in his self-made theatre of tragedy. We'd had this conversation a million times, in different orders and spoken in different ways. But they were the same words. The same, bitter sentences belying the calm surface we strove to project. Shields fail and so do our defenses.

Usually at this the conversation stopped. However I was feeling bold tonight, a little self-righteous and PMSy. I wanted more of an answer, a reason, and a fucking REAL reason this time.

"Isn't it enough?" I began tentatively, steadily growing more confident. "I mean, you said so yourself, we haven't seen him for three years now since you last fought him. No trace, no trail. Maybe he's dead, maybe . . . maybe it's over." Dare to dream.


Damn it, he's a steel door. "Otosan," I persisted. Hearing the demand, he focused on me again. Undivided, I almost shrank away but held my ground admirably. Say it, girl, say it. Finally and for all SAY THE WORDS!

"I-I want . . . I want what's best for me," my voice faltered, "I never . . . this thing you want . . . I don't - it's not . . . " I took a deep breath, quaking. Goose pimples prickled my bare arms. None of this was coming out the way I wanted it to. "I run and I run and I don't know why I'm running anymore. Orochimaru doesn't know about me . . . and I just want . . . I just want to know where my next meal is going to come from. I want a place where I can walk in and turn the lights on. And if - And if you can't do that then le -" A sob rose in me. Could I say it? Could I rip out my own heart and expect him to do the same? "Please."

Okay. There. Said it. Unloaded three years worth of pent up frustration in one pathetic incoherent speech. Now what? I silently challenged my father. It's another "here I am deal with me" issue with your daughter. Good luck deciphering it.

There was a soft sound, silent footsteps and suddenly my father was sitting beside me. Childishly I squirmed away, averting my gaze and gritting my teeth hard behind closed lips. Nothing I did hid the standing tears and even if he couldn't see them, he knew they were there. I waited for the comforting hug I never got. My father was not an affectionate man; he did not know how to be a parent except when it came to training me and teaching me how to be self-sufficient. He knew nothing of girls and their emotions. At least, I thought he didn't.

"This is what you want."

Nodding, I bit my bottom lip. How ridiculous I must look to him, a normally cool, collected girl on the verge of a full on breakdown. How disappointed he must be. My face burned.

I tried hard not to flinch when he took my chin in his hand and bade me to look at him. What I saw astonished me. There was a resignation in his face I had never seen before. No need to say it. Both of my eyes widened. Stunned I was too speechless to move my tongue for a few seconds. I brushed at his hand absently and he lowered it.

He nodded slightly. "I should have done it a long time ago," he sounded a tinge guilty, a tone he would never take if he were speaking to anyone else. "You do deserve better."

Hesitating, I sighed. "But. . . I want you to have it too." Forlornly I looked into my father's eyes. "If it means never seeing you again, then I don't think I want it. Parents are supposed to stay with their kids." God, I sound so stupid! I admitted this to myself while closing my eyes and lowering my head to my hands.

"Katana." He waited for me. "I'm a missing nin. If I'm caught, then I will be killed. You know this."

Too well. "Yes."

"You also know that wherever you will live, because of the Sharingan, people will know who and what you are. You won't be able to hide it and I won't be there to protect you from it."

"Yes," I whispered.

Assured somewhat, Otosan seemed to go a little distance away while he spoke his next words, in another time and place. One I wished I could see.

It easily dawned on me, so clearly. I breathed. "You would leave me. But if people would know, they'd question me. What would I say?"

"The truth." My father exhaled through his nose. "You won't be punished. But I won't be able to see you." This caught my attention. "Perhaps never."

The insides of my body froze. Never seeing my father again. The thought was unthinkable. Unacceptable. Simply impossible, my brain refused it utterly, spitting it back out like nasty cold ramen. Torn, I leaned forward and rested my forehead on his arm. My father or a safe life: this is what I was being forced to choose and I couldn't have them both. This was messed up in so many ways I couldn't even begin to count. Could this be marked not thought out enough any more obviously? Kami, I could be so stupid sometimes. I felt him stroke my hair before he gathered it behind my shoulders so it wouldn't veil my face. Gradually I did something I rarely did - something he rarely allowed me. I slid both arms around him and held him for a moment before drawing away again.

"I don't know," I confessed at length. "I want a normal life. But you can't have it. It's not an easy thing to decide. I'm not sure if it's even right." Half of my mouth turned upward in a humorless, rueful smirk. "Guess this would have been easier if I hadn't been born, huh?"

Never did I remember in my whole life my father looking as fierce as he did then. It was frightening. He gripped my arm, firm enough to hurt, not enough to injure. "Don't. You were not born when it was 'convenient' for me but that does not mean you were not wanted. Yes, it would be easier. I won't lie to you about that. But it's by no means your fault. I shouldn't have to tell you this."

No, he didn't. I was just a stupid girl letting herself be controlled by her emotions.

He let me go. For a moment, he seemed to fight himself. I could feel it lash like a venomous viper sitting right next to him. At length he put an arm around my shoulders and drew me in. I was surprised but I let him do it.

"You're going."

What? I drew away and stared at him hard. Right there, I sensed it, scenting it like blood in the water. "You've already thought about this haven't you? Even before I opened my mouth! You knew!" Accusation laced heatedly in my voice. Vehemently, I shook my head, fury rising with my voice. "No, no you can't just - !"


"It's not fair! Why'd you ask me if all you were going to do -"

Abruptly cutting me off and closing my mouth with the simple movement, my father stood and returned to his side of the room. "Get some sleep. We have a long way to go tomorrow." He spared me a glare that informed me under no uncertain terms that the matter was closed. Closed, stamped, and delivered. The rock dropped down the gorge and got swallowed by the river below.

Numbly I sank beneath the sheets, letting the anguish twist in my gut like a kunai. You brought it on yourself, dobe, I thought using a word I'd heard my father use once. You woke the beast and now you have to tame it. You can't put it back to sleep and you can't let it go. Even though you have to. Even though you don't want to.

Burrowing into the mattress, I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears making the fabric pressing against my face damp. At times like this, I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream it to his face. I wanted to make him see how everything inside hurt so much where getting up in the morning was the most heroic thing I did every day. I wanted to blame him for every single unfair thing in my life. I can't. I won't. He already knows and he hates himself for it. In his eyes, I see his wars and lost battles; the vengeful soul of a man who made all the wrong turns and made them willingly. To hate him would require too much of me. So I did what any daughter would do with such a father.

I loved him.