Itachi closed the bathroom door before flipping on the light. It was late, way past Sasuke's bedtime, and in a few hours the sun would rise and his family would awaken. He took off his headband and set it down on the sink. His body stilled when it made a quiet clank. He waited a few moments, listening to make sure he hadn't woken anyone, taking a few shaking steps to the tub.
His hands fumbled with the knob to turn on the water. Itachi leaned against the edge and caught his breath, then steadied out his hands, and turned the faucet on. Once the water felt hot enough, he scrubbed the blood off his hands the best he could. He blinked when he felt the first tears slide down over his cheeks.
Killing. He wasn't made for this, and yet he did it so well. It had been so easy to slide his kuuni into the other man's heart once all other options had been exhausted. Did that man have a family? Someone he loved? Did it even matter?
He needed a shower to wash away the madness. Itachi stood up, peeled off his sweat-soaked and dirt-stained clothes, and climbed in. He almost slipped on the bottom of the tub, but stifled a cry lest he wake Sasuke. His little brother didn't need to see him like this. Mission after mission and he still hadn't gotten used to this.
The brightness of the white tile made splinting headache behind his eyes worse and caused his stomach heave. Itachi doubled over. Nothing but yellow bile came up and quickly swirled down the drain as if it had never been there. He hadn't eaten anything in a couple days. Eating before a mission would mean more to cleanup after a kill so he had learned early on to forgo food a day or two beforehand.
Tears now flowed freely, dripping from his chin and onto his chest. They were silent as always, a dirty secret he kept only for himself. Itachi tried to wipe them away, but no matter how many times he wiped his hands across his eyes and cheeks, new ones readily took their place.
Ninjas didn't cry. Uchihas were supposed to stand tall, proud of their abilities. That's what everyone expected of his clan, of him. Somehow he hadn't turned out the same as the rest of his family. Itachi wanted no parts of the ninja world. He wanted to be somewhere quiet and peaceful where killing or maiming wasn't the norm.
Leaving was what he wanted most, but he had Sasuke to think about. And Konoha. War was far worse than killing and S-Class Nin or sweeping away one of the Elder's dirty mistakes. Effortlessly ridding the world of a few people proved more favorable than allowing the village to be devastated again no matter how much he hated his blood-soaked hands.
Itachi slid down into the tub. He grabbed his knees and pulled them in, letting the shower wash away the rest of the blood and cover his tears.
He could do this.
He had to do this.
He would let go of all pain and doubt. He would lie to himself and become the perfect weapon.