.For letting go is what he has always done.
.
.
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1. Innocence (Matter of perspective, he thought.)
Kirigakure wasn't called the Bloody Mist for nothing.
At the young age of five, Kisame entered the ninja academy and, like all others, made friends. For all of his blueness and shark-like appearance, nobody seemed to mind as long as he studied diligently. And well he did. He climbed on top of his class in no time, and while his classmates looked up at him, his teachers took pride in him.
Kisame must admit that he had enjoyed his life then, like a child should.
So when he, along with several other children, was ordered to kill his own peers in order to graduate, he knew he would have to let go of his innocence. The Bloody Mist didn't tolerate compassion. Something as fragile as innocence would only be scoffed at.
Kisame looked at the bloody ground, the corpses of people who only a week ago had been his friends, and the abandoned weapons stained with human flesh, and tried to understand why he felt so hollow.
The hollowness, though, was fleeting. He then stared at his blood-stained hands and laughed.
2. Honor (he bet no shinobi could claim they had this kind of fancy thing at the end of the day.)
In the ninja world, there was only one type of honor: sacrificing oneself for the sake of the village.
Kisame was a ninja; a tool for Kirigakure, a killing machine, a blood-thirsty monster. He had long since traded personal gains for duties. He grew stronger and stronger, determined to make himself invincible so that he would never have to be tossed aside like trash.
However, being invincible also meant being feared. And when people became afraid, they tried to eliminate the cause of the fear in every way possible. Therefore, Kisame wasn't surprised in the least when his own village turned against him so as to get rid of an imminent threat.
He chose freedom in place of honor because betrayal was not something he could forgive. Several years later, until his very last breath, he realized he had not once regretted his decision.
3. Dignity (who was he to judge?)
Most people often got confused between honor and dignity. Kisame wasn't most people.
He had his own definition of dignity, and it was something only he could decide for himself. Even after having committed several crimes against Kirigakure and the whole ninja world in general, Kisame still deemed himself dignified. He had yet to feel disgusted with who he was. So he had a fetish for slashing down the enemies in the bloodiest way possible. Big deal. So he liked killing off his own partners if they proved to be untrustworthy or weak. Big fucking deal. He just couldn't care less.
(Because somehow his ex-partners had never failed to lure Samehada to their throats; he simply thought he was doing them a favor, granting them an early death before they went insane and ended their own lives. And somehow he felt the need to force that red liquid out of their bodies as fast as possible lest they got back to haunt him with those unfocused, soulless eyes.)
He didn't think too much about whatever dignity he had left. Kisame was nothing if not a proud, sly and dangerous shark – he weaved his way through the roughest waters as though he was the king; never let anyone else defy his glory after each battle (bloodshed, more likely, and he was just glad the blood wasn't usually his at all), never lowered himself for the sake of a mission (he would succeed anyway, so why shouldn't he hold himself high while he was at it?). For some reason, he managed to maintain his dignity (by his own standards) without even trying.
Until he was forced to kill a little girl because he couldn't afford being seen in the area.
The little girl, with eyes so full of emotions – shock, fear, resignation, and whatever feeling it was he couldn't name – that it made him sick to the stomach, staring at him like some sort of monster (which he was). Many months later he would still dream of her bloody corpse and wondered why he hadn't been more careful with his surroundings. He didn't want to know the reason for the nightmares, but he sure as hell wasn't going to boast about all the (innocent, unnecessary) deaths he had caused.
(Because deep inside he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself after that, although he would never, ever admit. You are a monster, a voice in the back of his head yelled, and he bitterly let go of the last bit of dignity he should never have cared to have in the first place.)
4. Purpose (what purpose?)
Somewhere along the way, Kisame forgot what exactly he had been fighting for. Living for.
The goal of Akatsuki was clear. At first, he joined them because he had mastered (and enjoyed) the art of killing (he was still a shinobi above all else), and they needed him because of his ability and abnormally large chakra reserve which can rival a Bijuu. However, after some years spent chasing after the tailed beasts, he soon lost interest and began to wonder what would eventually happen to him. To them. To the world.
He wasn't that nice to long for peace, however false it was, but he wasn't that thrilled about the prospect of war either. Sure, he liked engaging in battles, but a full scale war? He didn't want to pick sides, didn't want to be used, and certainly didn't want to die for anyone else. He would like to choose his own death, thank you very much.
The days seemed to stretch longer and longer, and Kisame had somehow lost count of dates and hours. Missions were a blur and he could no longer recall any detail of them after handing Pein the reports.
Meanwhile, people looked at him – his sharp teeth, his scales, his gills, his skin, his sword, his frightening grin that promised death – and thought of him no more than a demon in their closets.
Kisame didn't know what to think of this, because as far as he knew, he no longer had any reason to care. Thus, he did what he always excelled: ignore them all and continue to exist, waiting for the day he would finally lie down and close his eyes for good.
5. Something more than friendship (but in the end he didn't know what it was. And this will forever remain in parentheses, but he treasured it nonetheless.)
"It's been a pleasure being your partner, Itachi-san."
The Uchiha gave him one last glance, Sharingan flashing red (warmer than usual, Kisame mused. Gratitude, maybe? Or perhaps he was just hallucinating, but he refused to realize it), then leapt towards his final destination.
Itachi didn't say anything, but Kisame knew they would never see each other again.
He watched his partner's – ex-partner's – retreating back, and remembered nights spent in caves waiting for the storm to pass, days travelling through forests and rivers. He remembered shivering cold and blazing hot. He remembered the rain and the snow and the sun and the moon. He remembered charcoal eyes and gentle touches. He remembered velvet voice and soft lips, pressing against his own in their tent of loneliness when it all had become too much to bear.
He remembered everything, and they came crashing down on him not too long after.
They would never see each other again.
He wanted, so bad, to reach out and pull that fragile (vulnerable, like a broken porcelain doll) body back into his embrace, to hold him until the end of time, to bring him to their safe haven and stay there till they perish. But Kisame was anything but selfish, and Itachi would forever be Konoha's Itachi, Sasuke's Itachi. Never his to begin with; never his to hold, to caress, to treasure. Never his.
Never had been, never was, never would be.
He just let go of someone he had never had, but then again, letting go was what he had always done.
Kisame picked up his Samehada and walked away.
.
.
.
.But it always hurts more than it should.