100 Themes fics

Title: Shichigosan Festival - Family

Pairing/Characters: None, Sakumo and Kakashi

Rating: G

Warnings: WAFF, Angst, One-shot, COMPLETE, no sexual content

Summary: Growing up is about letting go of our own selfish desires for those precious to us.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto and given my own threats of doom and damnation over the current story issues



Note* Akiko means Autumn child or Bright child and I felt it suited Kakashi and his Dad seeing as I see her as being their warmth and light.



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Sakumo frowned, biting the thread to cut it loose from the spool. This was his last hope and he wasn't quite sure that it would work. The last time they had gone to the Festival Akiko had still been alive and Kakashi-kun hadn't yet even entered the academy. Now, much to his heart's consternation they were both gone, her to the grave and their son on missions. It pained him more than he was willing to let others know.



He had hoped they could go to the festival if just so that he could hold onto those memories that were so dear to him that the ache they caused had not faded in the nearly two years without her. However, when he had taken his son to the store to choose a kimono the young boy had scowled and sulked and refused all offers of help in choosing something. In the end they had left the store empty handed and he, at least, disheartened.



So, in what he felt would be a futile attempt, Sakumo had declined to take any missions for the last few weeks. And instead, had spent those hours sitting here beside her, the cool black stone at his back, sewing. Perhaps she would guide his clumsy hands in the task and it would truly be from her. Thus far, he'd ruined several bolts of fabric in his well meaning attempts. The masks, that he had made for his son a few years back, had stretched his abilities. And this new task, he had no doubts, was beyond them. Still, he refused to give into the despair and admit failure.



---



Kakashi didn't miss the details. The precise stitching was clearly his fathers, his mother's had flowed with a grace that was unmistakable even from a distance, like her. He decided that it had something to do with their spirits. She was warmth, and it flowed through her like sunlight. Her grace was not merely the practiced grace of a shinobi but that of a dancer. And, his father was like the cold steel of the sword, his movements precise in the way only a truly determined heart could be.



Biting his lip to supress the initial desire to tell his father he was not some child easily fooled, Kakashi looked from the kimono to the man.



"I tell you, it was here when I woke up this morning," Sakumo offered lightly. The fear in his eyes was evident only to his son.



The realization struck him then that he was being a child. In his seeing only his own desire to hold onto his mother in his own fashion by simply refusing to replace her, he had overlooked things. Turning away again, he kept his thoughts to himself and reached out to touch the soft material laid out before him. There were things he was aware he didn't know. But if his father, who was far from a skilled tailor, had put so much time into this... it was important to him.



Perhaps there was a little grace to the stitching, a little warmth in the soft hues... Kakashi smiled. It was probably his imagination, but right then it was as though a part of her was there. So, pushing aside his own selfishness, he threw his arms around his father. He politely ignored the silent tears dampening his hair.