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Summary
“I do not see a thief, Tajima-sama,” she says, her voice syrupy sweet, like she’s speaking to someone especially stupid. “I see an Uchiha and if you and your clan do not want to claim him, then Rachi-chan seems to gladly want the pleasure.”
Tajima snorts, an ugly sound. “I cannot simply give a bastard half-breed to your child.”
“You’re right,” Nami agrees cheerfully. “You cannot give anything that was not yours in the first place. My son and I have claimed this man as a friend.”
Or
Itachi fades away with his forehead to Sasuke's only to wake up in the Warring Clans Era to a little boy with his otouto's face and familiar, bright blue eyes watching over him.