Chapter Text
Readeshire Park smells like grass and sunshine and something flowery that Itachi's mother says is jasmine. Itachi doesn't mind it—better than the roses in front of Uchiha Hall—but he's more interested in the big stone house ahead and the echo his shoes make on the path.
Father said, "We're going to see a baby."
Itachi nodded, because he is three, and he knows to nod when Father says things. But he didn't really understand.
A baby? Like the kittens last spring? Were they going to see kittens?
He hopes so. Kittens are small and soft, and he was told very firmly not to pick them up, even though he really wanted to.
Inside, the house is even bigger. A servant with a kind face leads them to a room where the sunshine slips thin and pretty through white curtains. A lady and a man, both with dark circles under their eyes, smile so wide their cheeks round out.
"Lord Fugaku," the lady says, her voice tired but happy. "Lady Mikoto. You came."
Mother goes to her at once, taking her hand. "Of course we did, Your Grace. How are you feeling?"
Itachi stays by Father's side, though his neck is craned toward the paintings on the walls. He recognises one of the larger ones—of the Duke Readeshire with his brother, the King.
Of course, everyone knows the King.
The Duke rises, crosses the room in five long strides, and claps Father's shoulder. "Fugaku! Come, come, you have to see her." He turns his attention to Itachi. "You too, Little Itachi. She'll be your playmate when you visit."
He points to a small white basket near the Duchess, where Mother is already cooing. Father nudges Itachi forward by the shoulders. Itachi can just barely see over the edge if he stands on his toes.
Inside is… a thing.
Tiny. Much smaller than a kitten. It has a scrunched-up face and no fur at all—just a tuft of fuzz on its head. It's wrapped in a soft pink blanket and is completely, utterly still.
Itachi stares. This is a baby? It doesn't do anything. It just… exists.
"She's perfect," Mother breathes, her voice taking on that special softness it gets when she looks at miniatures of Itachi.
"She's so small," Father says quietly. Itachi looks up. Father leans over the basket too, his eyes a little wet. He looks… Itachi doesn't have the word for it yet. But it's like when Father looks at him. Only more. Bigger.
The Duchess laughs. "She's gotten much bigger. Eats like a little piglet."
Itachi frowns. Piglets are pink. This… is not. Not a very good piglet, he decides.
"Itachi," Mother whispers, making room. "This is your new friend."
Friend? This thing? It can't even open its eyes. It can't run. It can't throw a ball. It's the worst friend he's ever seen.
But Father nudges him closer. Itachi's face hovers over the basket's edge. The baby is close enough that he can see its tiny, fluttering nostrils; the crescent fingernails that look like seeds; its fragile arms covered in folds of fat.
Then—without warning—one tiny fist uncurls. Five starfish fingers wave blindly in the air. It waves once, twice, then, as if guided by some invisible string, finds his finger.
Itachi didn't realise his own hand was on the basket's edge.
Its grip is strong. Surprisingly strong. And warm. Very, very warm.
Itachi freezes. The thing has him.
He looks at its face. Still sleeping. Still doing absolutely nothing. But tiny fingers wrap around his, and they aren't letting go.
From somewhere above him, Mother makes a soft, "Oh."
The Duchess whispers, "Look at that."
Then the Duke, his voice booming but hushed: "She's got him already. Smart girl."
Father doesn't say anything. When Itachi glances up, Father looks at him, and then at the Duke, and the two men share a look that Itachi can't understand at all.
The Duke's grin softens into something else. He claps Father on the shoulder again, quieter this time. "If she's this clever already," he murmurs, just low enough for the men to hear, "we might have to arrange things early. Keep her out of trouble."
Father's mouth twitches. It might be a smile. "She'd be the one causing it, knowing her father."
They both chuckle.
But Itachi doesn't understand. Arrange what? Why would a baby need arranging?
He looks back down at the tiny hand wrapped around his finger. He supposes… it's not the worst thing in the world. It is warm. And very, very small. Maybe it needs someone to make sure it doesn't get lost. Or squished. It's so small, a leaf could probably squish it.
"Hear that, Little Itachi?" the Duke says in a deep voice. "You'll need to keep her safe. Can you do that for your uncle?"
It makes Itachi square his shoulders, just like Father taught him. He nods seriously. The movement stirs the baby. Satisfied that the baby is acceptable—if useless—he gently, carefully pulls his finger away.
The baby's hand doesn't follow. It just waves once, then curls back into a fist.
Itachi steps back from the basket. His duty is done. He's seen the baby. Now he wants to find an echo-y hallway. He takes a few steps toward the door, then hesitates. Not to look at his parents—they're still talking to the Duke and Duchess—but at the baby.
He can see the top of its fuzzy head. It's still there. Still small. Still sleeping.
It probably wouldn't last five minutes in the real world, he thinks. Especially with all the leaves.
He turns and pads out of the room, his shoes going tap-tap-tap on the floor.
Itachi doesn't mind travelling to Readeshire Park every spring, even though it takes a full week from Uchiha Hall. He's absolutely certain the Readeshire cook is the best cook in the world. Much better than the Uchiha cook—though the Uchiha cook is still very good. But the Readeshire cook makes the best lemon cakes in the world.
He sits on a couch in the drawing room, a small plate balanced on his knee. The cake is sweet and tart at the same time, and Ms Lang, the Readeshire's head of household, winks at him when she slips it onto his plate.
"Don't tell their Graces," she murmurs, casting a long glance at the adults across the room. "Or your mother. But a growing boy needs sustenance."
Itachi nods very seriously. He's four now and capable of keeping secrets. Especially when they involve the Readeshire cook's lemon cakes.
Father and the Duke are discussing something serious, as always. Or perhaps they're talking about Eton. But Itachi thinks not—Mother always gets too sad when Father mentions Eton, and she hugs him even tighter before bed.
Mother and the Duchess are sipping tea and laughing about something. Every few minutes, the Duchess looks over and smiles.
He's supposed to be watching the baby.
You're sitting on a blanket in front of him. You're one now, which means you can sit up by yourself. It's a great improvement over last year, when all you did was sleep. But it also means you can crawl, which is less of an improvement because you keep trying to crawl toward his lemon cake.
"No," Itachi says firmly, moving the plate higher.
You stare at him. Big, round eyes fix on him with an intensity that makes him slightly uncomfortable. Your hair has grown thicker, sticking up in different directions. You're wearing a soft blue dress that's already wrinkled from rolling around on the blanket.
A tiny finger points at him. "Bah."
Itachi doesn't know what "bah" means. He nods anyway—nodding works with adults when he doesn't understand them.
Satisfied, you pick up a wooden ring from the pile of toys beside you and put it in your mouth.
Itachi watches for a moment. Then looks at his lemon cake. Then back at you. He's fairly certain babies aren't supposed to eat wooden rings. But you seem happy. And you're not crying, which is the main thing. He still remembers his last visit when you cried nearly every moment you weren't sleeping.
Mother had asked, very specifically, "Try to keep her happy, Itachi. Can you do that?"
He can do it. Probably.
You take the ring out of your mouth, examine it with great seriousness, then throw it. It bounces once on the blanket before rolling to a stop at Itachi's feet.
You look at it. Then at him. You hold up your empty hands and make a questioning grunt.
Itachi sighs. This is the price for lemon cakes.
He slides off the couch, plate still in hand, and retrieves the toy. You grab it, smile at him—a gummy, toothy smile that shows exactly four teeth—and immediately try to swallow it again.
Across the room, Mother laughs. "Look at them. He's so patient with her."
"He's wonderful," the Duchess agrees. "She adores him. She talked about him the moment your invitation was sent."
Itachi frowns. You don't talk. You say "bah" and "mama" and "dada," and sometimes, when you're upset, a wailing sound that makes his ears hurt. You definitely don't talk about him.
But the adults look pleased, so he supposes it's fine.
Ms Lang appears again, silent as a cat. She bends down and, with another wink, deposits a second lemon cake on his plate.
"Ms Lang," Itachi whispers very seriously, "I think the baby wants my cakes."
Ms Lang glances at you. You've abandoned the wooden ring and are now staring at the plate with pure, focused longing. Your hands reach out, opening and closing like little starfish.
"I think you may be correct, young master. A grave situation," she agrees.
"Very grave," Itachi confirms.
Ms Lang straightens, eyes crinkling. "I shall fetch a biscuit for the little lady. One moment."
She disappears as quietly as she came. Itachi watches her go, then looks back at you. You've crawled half a foot closer while he wasn't looking. Your determination is impressive. And a little alarming.
"No," he says again, shifting the plate higher.
Your face crumples.
Itachi's heart does something strange. A lurch, a twist, a sudden urgency he doesn't understand. You're going to cry. He can see it coming, the way he sometimes spots storms building on the edge of Uchiha lands.
Your eyes water. Your mouth opens.
"Wait," he says quickly. "Wait. Don't."
He promised Mother he'd keep you happy. And you cry so loudly. And the adults are having a good time. And Ms Lang just gave him a second slice for doing his duty.
He breaks off a tiny piece and holds it out.
You stop mid-crumple. You look at the cake. Then at him. Then at the cake again. Then you grab his entire hand and shove it—cake and all—into your mouth.
Itachi stares. You're stronger than you look. And stickier. His fingers are covered in baby saliva and lemon cake crumbs.
You chew—a motion more gumming than grinding—and your face lights up like sunshine. Your whole body wiggles with joy. You let go of his hand and clap, crumbs and spit flying everywhere.
"Bah!" you announce happily. "Bah bah bah!"
Itachi looks at his sticky hand. Then at your crumb-covered face. Then, at the remaining lemon cake.
He should be annoyed. You got crumbs all over his fancy clothes—Mother warned him not to dirty them. Plus, his hand is wet and sticky, and you'll probably want more, and then there'll be more crumbs and spit and—
You smile at him. That big, gummy, four-toothed smile. And you reach out, not for the cake this time, but for his hand. Your tiny, sticky fingers wrap around his clean ones, and you hold on, still smiling, still wiggling.
Itachi sighs again. But he doesn't pull away.
"You're very helpless," he tells you quietly. "You can't even eat cake by yourself."
You just keep smiling and holding his hand, perfectly content.
Itachi studies your small face, sticky fingers, and tufty hair. You're still so small. So trusting. You grabbed his hand like you knew he'd take care of you, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You're wrong, of course. He's only four. He can't take care of anyone. He can barely reach the top shelf in his room. But he supposes he can watch out for you. Just a little. Just until you're bigger and less helpless. Just until you learn not to put wooden rings in your mouth.
Ms Lang returns with a small biscuit on a napkin. She stops when she sees them—Itachi sitting cross-legged, resigned and patient. And you, clinging to his hand like a barnacle, both of you covered in crumbs.
"Well now," she says softly. "Isn't that something?"
Itachi looks up. "She likes lemon cake."
Ms Lang's mouth twitches. "I shall make a note of it, young master."
Itachi hums, watching you try to pick up the biscuit with your free hand while refusing to let go of his.
Determined, Itachi decides. And stubborn.
Later, as Itachi is being carried out of the drawing room for a nap, he hears Mother say to Father, "Did you see them? He didn't let go of her the whole time."
And Father, quiet and thoughtful, replies, "I saw."
Itachi pretends he doesn't hear. His hand is still sticky with baby saliva and lemon cake. He hopes Ms Lang will reward him with more on this trip.
The house on the other side of the river has always just... been there. Old, built of stone, with blue shutters and a garden full of flowers Itachi never paid much attention to. Sometimes he sees an old lady in the garden. Sometimes that old lady gives him very good chocolate biscuits.
Now there are carriages. And servants. And a small, familiar figure running in circles on the lawn.
Itachi presses his nose to the window of his own house, frowning. "Why are the Readeshires at the neighbour's house?"
Behind him, his steward exchanges a look with another. It's a look that means they're having an entire conversation without words.
Itachi's five now. He notices these things.
Nagato, his steward, comes to stand behind him, a warm hand on his shoulder. "The woman who lives there—that's Duchess Readeshire's mother."
Itachi knew that. Probably. He hadn't thought of it before, but it makes sense. Parents have mothers. His parents have mothers. They live far away and send presents on his birthday.
"But why are they there?" he asks. "They have their own house. It's much bigger."
"The Duchess's lungs," Nagato explains. "Saltwater air is better for them."
Itachi considers this. Lungs are inside him. They help him breathe. He knows this because last month, he'd asked his tutor what hearts were for, and the man explained everything—hearts, lungs, stomachs, the whole complicated system. Itachi was very interested for ten minutes before going off to play along the river in hopes of getting a chocolate biscuit from the lady next door.
"Does the Duchess have bad lungs?" he asks.
"Delicate," Nagato corrects. "London air is too much for her."
"Are Mother and Father all right in London?" Itachi asks, suddenly concerned for his own parents' health. They're constantly in London, leaving him at Uchiha Hall for months at a time.
"Yes, Master Itachi, they're fine. You must remember that Duchess Readeshire's family aren't from here. They only arrived in England when the Duchess was your age. She likely still hasn't acclimated."
"Like how our Great-Grandmama came from Japan?"
Itachi turns toward the corner where his cousin, Shisui, is supposed to be reading with his tutor. Shisui is three years older. He'll be at the local school in the fall, leaving Itachi alone at Uchiha Hall.
"That's right, Master Shisui," Nagato confirms.
Itachi looks back out the window. The small figure on the lawn has stopped running and is now apparently talking to a flower. He can tell it's you, even from here. You move differently from other children. More... flaily, though you never actually fall.
"So she'll be here all summer?"
"Off and on," Nagato says. "The Duchess is still required at certain society events, but it's likely the little Lady will be staying here."
Itachi nods slowly. Then a thought occurs. A very important thought.
"Will I have to entertain her?"
Nagato laughs. "You don't have to do anything, Master Itachi. But your parents did send a letter saying it would be good to visit the Readeshires while they're here."
Itachi considers this. "Did they bring the Readeshire cook?"
Nagato's face crinkles with a smile. "I believe so, Master Itachi."
He thinks of the very good chocolate biscuits and the best lemon cakes in the world. Though he also thinks of you—two now, probably louder than you were at one, and faster, and significantly more likely to put things in your mouth that aren't food.
But the lemon cakes are the best in the world. And the chocolate biscuits are very good. And Duchess Readeshire is always very nice to him.
"All right," he says, which is his way of saying yes.
"I'll send word to Ms Lang to expect two Uchiha boys for tea."
Shisui cheers from his corner before being shushed by his tutor.
"You may go only after you're able to translate ten passages of ancient Greek, Master Shisui."
Shisui groans loudly.
The house on the other side of the river isn't as grand as Readeshire Park. But it is nicer than Uchiha Hall. This doesn't entirely make sense to Itachi. Nagato explained that the Uchihas are Viscounts, while the lady who owns this house holds no title. But Nagato also said she's wealthy, which is why the Duke ended up marrying the Duchess.
Itachi still doesn't understand why money would matter in a marriage. But he supposes he'll learn these things at Eton, alongside Shisui, who can barely keep still.
The Duchess smiles when he and Shisui are announced in the drawing room.
"Little Itachi, thank you for visiting," she says, her voice croaky and delicate. "And this must be Little Shisui. Lady Mikoto speaks fondly of you."
They both bow as they were taught. Itachi bows deeper than Shisui. Father says he'll be Viscount one day, which means his manners must exceed those of Shisui, who will remain a gentleman.
"It's such a wonderful day. I've had the servants prepare a picnic outside."
"Will the little Lady be joining us?" Itachi asks. It still feels strange to think of you as a Lady, but he supposes a Duke's daughter is exactly that.
The Duchess smiles. "Not just yet. She's resting in the nursery, but she'll join us after."
Itachi glances at Shisui, who's already drooling at the thought of lemon cakes. Itachi told him repeatedly that they're the best in the world. He tried to save Shisui a slice after his last visit to Readeshire Park, but the cake went hard, and Mother grew angry when it stained his clothes green after a week in his luggage.
The Duchess takes both their hands. It reminds Itachi of Mother's warmth, but the Duchess's fingers are very bony. He hopes you're gentle with them.
She leads them outside, listening as Shisui answers her questions about his studies and whether he's excited for school.
"Uncle says my studies are important, but he wants me focused on making friends most of all," Shisui says.
Itachi listens to the birds and the river babbling softly. The grass is soft underfoot, uneven in places. He's impressed that you never fell when you were running around earlier.
"That's correct, Little Shisui. As a gentleman, you'll need the right social circle in the future."
"That's what Uncle says too! He says Great-Uncle Madara was kind enough to pay for my schooling, so I need to make sure I take advantage of the opportunity."
Itachi stops listening when the river comes into view. The picnic is wonderful. A gingham blanket is spread over a long table. There are plates full of sandwiches he can eat in four bites. And two cake trays, three tiers each, full of every kind of confection.
"Please eat as much as you'd like," the Duchess says kindly.
Shisui doesn't wait. He tears through the spread, grabbing everything he can carry in two fistfuls. Itachi is more polite, taking a plate and carefully filling it. Ham sandwich. Cucumber sandwich. Two chocolate biscuits. And three lemon cakes.
He eats beside Shisui, who attempts to speak to the Duchess in French. She listens, only interrupting to correct his pronunciation. She reminds him of Mother. And Itachi thinks you're lucky to have her around.
The picnic is peaceful. Afterwards, the Duchess allows them to play by the river. The river has excellent stones, and they make a game of picking up the largest ones they can find and plunking them into the water.
Mother would never allow him to get wet. But the Duchess only watches with a smile.
Itachi decides he'll like having the Duchess around. Though he'd still like it if Mother were around more.
The sun is still high when you emerge from the house. Your grandmother is holding your hand. He watches as you toddle across the uneven ground, Ms Lang hovering behind. You're wearing a yellow dress, your hair tied in two tiny pigtails that stick out like antennae. You look, Itachi thinks, like a very small, determined insect.
When you see him, your entire face transforms.
"Tata!"
Itachi goes very still. The sun beats down on him. So does Shisui's gaze—because Itachi had forgotten the tail end of his last visit, when you'd attempted to say Itachi and settled instead on Tata.
"Tata?" Shisui repeats, eyes wide and already threatening to burst into laughter.
But before Itachi can correct you, your attention shifts to the Duchess.
"Mama!" you yell, the sound carrying across the grass and startling a bird from a nearby tree.
You're running—or trying to. Your legs are still working out the mechanics of speed. You lurch toward her in a wobbly, uneven sprint, arms outstretched, pigtails bouncing.
"Mama, mama, mama!"
You hit your target at full force, which isn't very forceful because you're small, but it's still enough to make the Duchess wobble on her chair. Your arms wrap around her legs, beaming up.
"Up! Up! Up!"
Your grandmother rushes over and pulls you gently away. "Your mother is delicate, darling."
Itachi watches your face crumple. Not the beginning of crying, exactly, but confusion—you don't understand.
"In fact, it's time for you to go back inside, my dear."
Itachi recognises that tone. It's the same one your grandmother uses on him sometimes, when he's lingered too long in her kitchen after eating an entire tier of chocolate biscuits.
"Of course, Mother," the Duchess says. She rises, smooths down your hair, and presses a kiss to your forehead. "You behave for Grandmama and the Uchiha boys, won't you, my darling?"
"Mama!" You grip onto the strings of her bonnet.
The Duchess must be stronger than she looks, because she uncurls your fingers with more force than Itachi's ever managed. You stare at her retreating back. Your eyes water. Your chin trembles. Itachi braces for the storm.
But your grandmother whispers something to you, and whatever it is, you seem to understand.
She sets you down, and for a moment you hesitate. You look at the ground, and Itachi doesn't like how sad you appear. Mother isn't here to remind him, but he's five, and he remembers his promise.
Father and the Duke are best friends. Mother and the Duchess are good friends. Sometimes, the Duke and Duchess tell him to call them Uncle and Aunt when no one else is around. Itachi doesn't quite understand, but he thinks that makes you his.
And he'll be a Viscount one day. That means he should be better than a gentleman.
"Come here. I saved you a lemon cake," he calls, extending his hand.
You look up. Your eyes—large and round and slightly less unsettling than they were at one—find his. The sadness on your face melts into recognition.
"Tata!" Both hands stretch toward him as you wobble closer. He expects to take your hand, but you ignore it and wrap your arms around his legs instead.
"Up!"
Itachi looks down at you, blinking. "Up?"
"Up!" You smile—less gummy now, more teeth.
"I think she wants to be carried, Tata," Shisui teases.
Itachi stares at you, still looking up at him like he's the only thing in your world. He sighs. He still doesn't understand, but Mother would be upset if he made you unhappy. And the Duchess isn't here, but your grandmother is watching him with that look adults get whenever you're concerned.
"Fine. But only for a moment." Itachi picks you up. "You're bigger than a piglet now," he mutters, carrying you to the table, where Ms Lang signals for servants to bring more refreshments.
"And bring out the chocolate cake, now that the little lady is awake."
Itachi and Shisui exchange a look.
Chocolate cake.
"If the baby means chocolate cake, I'll help you take care of her," Shisui whispers.
Itachi holds you a little tighter. Sharing, he decides, is highly overrated. Especially when chocolate cake is involved.