The Uchiha Compound is as massive and ancient as ever when we arrive. There are a pair of Uchiha guards standing on either side of the cast iron gates, and after a brief, creepy once over with their blood red eyes, they crack them open for us. They both bow as we enter, murmuring twin 'Good evening, Sasuke-sama's to our retreating backs.
Sasuke glares murder at me, but I can't help the snicker that slips out.
...
We set off into the heart of one of Konoha's greatest clans, our destination on the other side. Apparently, because he's the head of the clan, Sasuke's dad's house is at the farthest end of the compound from the gates. Don't ask me how that makes any sense.
The place is actually a lot friendlier than I thought it'd be. People walk around from house to house, shop to shop, talking and cracking jokes and laughing with one another. Shinobi or civilian, it makes no difference. There's a sense of ease in the air, as opposed to the heavy uptightness I would have expected from my dealings with them outside the compound. That could just be because everyone here is an Uchiha, though.
We make it through ground zero of the compound with nothing but a few curious glances, and all too soon I find myself looking at the large, ornate house that can only belong to the head of the Uchiha. We head up the steps onto the spotless white porch, and before I can knock on the door- or beside it, I guess, since it's one of those fancy sliding paper doors- Sasuke slides it open with a sharp rap and walks inside.
I step into the mud room, a boisterous greeting on my lips. Then I see Sakura, and I almost drop my ramen.
She's wearing a white civilian dress with flowing pink cherry blossom designs flowing across the bottom half of it that stops just above her knees. Her hair has been released from the tight ponytail she always keeps it in, instead flowing down her back in curls, and she's clutching a box of chocolates with one bare arm. She smiles at the other woman in the room, a lady with long dark blue hair and solid black eyes that can only be Sasuke's mom, saying something about tea as she plucks off her dainty white civilian shoes. I glance over at Sasuke, who's in the process of kicking off his own sandals.
Sasuke's mother is also wearing a dress, this one a long indigo that goes a few inches past her knees, with a white sash wrapped around her waist. A necklace with the Uchiha crest attached to it hangs from her neck, and is that... makeup?
"Sasuke," I hiss, catching his attention as he slips on a pair of wooden geta. "Why didn't you tell me your mom is a fox?" Luckily, Sakura and Sasuke's mom break off from their small talk before Sasuke can give me the brutal verbal kick in the balls I can see him itching to hit me with.
"Hey guys!" Sakura greets us, and I wave weakly in return. Man, she looks pretty with her hair like that.
"Hello Sasuke," Sasuke's mom says warmly. "And you must be Naruto. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
I grin. "Yeah, you too, uh..."
"Mikoto," she says, smiling. "I have the tea all prepared in the living room. Sasuke's father is busy with some work, so he won't be joining us until dinner. Shall we?"
While I hurry to get out of my sandals and slip on the indoor alternatives, Sakura bows to the Uchiha matriarch, holding out her box of chocolates. "Why thank you, dear," she says, taking the box with a gracious smile. "A very good choice, too. It's been so long since I've hosted someone with taste."
I manage to get the stupid sandals on, then, and step up besides my blushing teammate. Sasuke stays by the door, content to wait this little gift exchange out. "I thought we could have something to snack on until dinner," I say, holding the plastic takeout bowl out to her. She takes it, a slightly puzzled look on her face, and pops the lid.
She blinks. "Ramen?"
"Best in Konoha," I assure her.
"Well, I'm sure it'll be delicious," she says after a moment's hesitation. "Come, I'll show you to the living room. Sasuke, would you let Itachi know our guests are here?"
Sasuke doesn't answer, brushing past me and disappearing down the hall. Mikoto watches him go, sadness clear in her eyes. She sighs, brushing a strand of hair behind her hair.
"What a brat."
I nearly trip over my own feet.
"I go to all this trouble making the house presentable for his teammates to visit," she says, exasperated. "I make his favorite meal even though Fugaku can't stand tomatoes, and I even hide all the embarrassing pictures of him we have around the house so you two don't tease him. And that's how he thanks me." She shakes her head ruefully. "Sometimes I wish the Kyuubi had eaten him."
This time I do trip.
Sakura manages to catch me before I fall flat on my face, my awkward wooden footwear doing me no favors in processing this phenomena of an Uchiha before me. I give her a little nod in thanks while said Uchiha laughs. It's light, tittery sound.
"Ah, I'm just kidding of course. Forgive my tongue." With that said, she turns and walks down the hallway. "I really must insist we get to that tea, though. There's nothing worse than cold tea, and I imagine cold ramen is no different."
… Right.
I watch her disappear into the house, then turn to Sakura. She looks back at me, looking about as bewildered as I feel right now. "You heard that too, right?" She nods.
The end of the hallway opens up into a large living area, a low table with all of the proper materials for a tea drinking ceremony on it sitting off to the right. Mikoto is shifting some things around to make room for the Ichiraku's, and gestures for us to have a seat on the high quality Uchiha fan pillows while she does. Then she disappears into what I'm assuming is the kitchen, returning with bowls, chopsticks, and a ladle in hand.
Sasuke walks in a few moments later, a neutral expression on his face. That's progress, at least. He takes a seat beside me, accepting the ladle from Mikoto and dishing out bowls of ramen while his mom pours out tea.
Tea time is a lot more enjoyable than I thought it'd be. Itachi is silent for the most part, decked out in his ANBU gear as usual, and Mikoto and Sakura control most of the discussion. What have our missions been like, is our sensei nice, that kind of stuff. I keep to my ramen and monitor Sasuke, for the most part. Though he doesn't seem as furious as he was earlier, he still looks tense as hell, and it's making me nervous as a result.
A bell goes off somewhere in the kitchen, and Mikoto jumps up. "Ah, that's dinner! Itachi, would you mind grabbing your father?"
"Yes, mother."
Sasuke grits his teeth. "Follow me."
We go down another hallway and emerge into a comfortable dining room with a much larger table, though it stands no higher off the ground. A couple paintings that don't look like much of anything to me hang up on the walls, and a pair of windows sit on the far side of the room, giving me a clear view of the Hokage Mountain in all its glory. Sasuke sits us down on a row of three cushions, Sakura on the left, me in the middle, and him on the right.
On cue, Mikoto whisks into the room with a huge dish cradled in her hands. She sets it down in the middle of the table and is out of the room again in a flash, leaving me to inspect it. Pasta, with what looks like stuffed tomatoes in place of any meat. Figures.
Sasuke tenses beside me, and I look up.
A man that can only be his father stands in the entrance to the room. He's about as tall as Itachi, with shoulder length black hair and the same onyx eyes as the rest of his clan. He's wearing a dark blue kimono with the Uchiha fan printed on the right shoulder, and has what looks like a perpetual frown on his face.
His eyes sweep over the three of us, and it might be my imagination, but I get the feeling they linger on me for a moment longer than my teammates. "My name is Uchiha Fugaku. I'm Sasuke's father."
"Hey, I'm Naruto," I greet. Sakura, on the other hand, stands up and bows.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Fugaku-sama," she says. "I'm Haruno Sakura." He nods to her, giving me a piercing look as he takes his seat at the head of the table, next to Sakura. The farthest seat from Sasuke.
I'm beginning to get a bad feeling about this.
...
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