She was pale after the birthing; washed out like the sheets she'd hung up to dry yesterday afternoon. She was thinner, older in the lines of exhaustion around her eyes, but alive and glowing all the same.

"Itachi," she said, gesturing him forward with one wane hand, "Come see your brother."

The baby, by contrast, was flushed red; an even blush over face, fingers and arms, not splotchy like other infants. He was strong too, kicking and waving his arms in the blankets; black eyes open to narrow, mostly blind slits.

"You can touch him, don't be afraid."

The tiny pink fingers gripped firmly, flexing and pulling and standing out starkly against his own pale flesh. How strong would this child get? How quick, how clever, how talented? How much faster would Itachi have to run to keep ahead?

Or would he even have to bother?

"See, he knows you're here. He's going to look up to you, depend on you to help him."

Itachi leaned in closer to the quiet round face; brushing his thumb over miniature fingernails. How big would he get? How far would he throw shuriken? How much would those eyes?

"Siblings need each other to grow strong."

Hold tighter, he mouthed silently at his brother, I can't drag you with me if you don't hold on tight enough. A cool hand cupped the side of his face, turning it up to view his mother's gentle smile.

"My beautiful boys."

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