One Too Many Lies
Itachi moved around a lot. It was a necessary part of his lifestyle. Akatsuki were rarely able to stay still for long. They were almost always searching for jinchuuriki or avoiding the hunter nins of the five nations.
He was currently sitting in a dingy tea house much like a hundred other greasy spoons he'd frequented over the years. In the background, Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song played on the jukebox, rubbing his already frayed nerves. Itachi tried to vary his traveling habits as much as possible, careful to avoid becoming recognizable to the staff of local restraints on his travels. As a result he often ended up in cruddy dives like this one – a backwater dump even the locals looked down on. Itachi paid attention to such details, because little mistakes like being recognized by a waitress could get a missing nin killed.
He opened the stained menu and grimaced at the predictable offerings. He wasn't a picky man, but once in a while it would be nice to have a small amount of comfort. He was surprised to see cake on the menu. It was a rarity in the five nations to find cake on any table.
His mother had brought back a yellow-cake recipe on a rare mission outside the five nations, and her whole family loved the dessert. Soon the entire Uchia clan was nuts for cake. The secretive clan hid the recipe from the rest of the village. That secret died with all the Uchia secrets the day Itachi killed his family.
He still cringed at the memory, pushing it back far into his mind to fester. He preferred to remember his mother happily baking in the kitchen.
The waitress approached. "What can I get you, hun?" She drawled.
Hun? he thought, resisting the urge to teach her to respect an Uchia properly.
"Cake," he said.
"That all?" she asked. He was beginning to feel a real dislike for her, but since he disliked most people that wasn't surprising.
Itachi remembered the last time he'd had cake. It wasn't a happy memory. He'd been sitting in the Hokage's office late one night surrounded by council members. He reported his family's clandestine activities. They were planning nothing short of a coup, and he was the only person who could stop them. He dragged himself home late that night, and steeled himself for his duty.
As he entered the kitchen through the back door, his eyes fell on the kitchen table. As all ninjas did before him, Itachi kept his emotions hidden from those around him. Even his family rarely knew what he was thinking. He had feelings though, and they ran just as deeply as anyone else's emotions.
He loved that table. Before he had been obligated to distance himself from Saskue, he had helped his brother with his written homework at that table. Their father was always too busy with his police work to help his youngest son, but Itachi didn't mind. He would grumble just enough to maintain his coolness and flick Saskue on the head, but he loved those quiet moments. They were an oasis in his violent life.
On that ugly night, there had been a single piece of cake that was carefully covered with Saran Wrap. A note beside it said, "Saved a corner piece for you. Know those are your favorite. Love- mom."
"Love," he thought bitterly, "is a lie." He sat down and unwrapped the cake, consciously postponing the inevitable. He thought about all the cakes she'd made over the years; big gaudy ones for birthdays that were decorated with names and shurikens, cupcakes with tiny sharingans on top, and normal yellow-cakes with chocolate frosting. She made cakes with ginger root, fruit, chocolate, and cinnamon, but his favorite was plain yellow-cake. Once she had brought lychee fruit from oversees and tried to use it whole in one of her cakes. The result was disastrous. His father dutifully ate a piece and pretended to enjoy it.
As he joylessly ate the last piece of cake his mother would ever make he thought to himself, "family is a lie."
He didn't recognize the odd concoction the waitress placed on the table. It was brown and grainy and full of brightly colored candied fruit globules. It looked more like bread than cake. He poked at it with his fork took a taste and barely avoided gagging. Only his perfect Uchia manners prevented him from spitting it out.
He pushed the plate back with a sense of disappointment. It was just a dessert, right? No, it was a symbol of all the things he'd loved and lost – all the things he'd put his misplaced faith into.
The waitress approached with the check. "Something wrong hun? You don't like the fruitcake?" she asked.
"Yes, something is wrong." he said as he drew his katana and activated his Sharingan. "The cake is a lie."
Those were the last words anyone in the restaurant ever heard.