It was something between a spar and a dance. They both knew the steps well, and it's scripted to a point. Itachi's unerringly polite, difficult to pin down unless one uses both speed and force. It reminds Fugaku heavily of interrogating repeat offenders or long time informants with their own agendas and secrets. It strikes Fugaku that his son is not a child anymore, nor has he been for many years.

"It," Fugaku says at last, not bothering to hide his pause. "Is old. Old things do not particularly need anything to happen to them to need maintenance." But Fugaku doesn't think Itachi's ever had to manage a house and make sure it's sealed tight for the winter.

Fugaku wonders, really, what his son knows about maintaining things. Keeping difficult machines that break themselves down running, managing unpleasant tasks simply because no one else will do them.

"If you do not have time, I can ask someone else." Fugaku looked to the slackening rain. "I understand that you are busy."