Another short one, but I am expecting the next one to be extra long. :)

Chapter Title: IX. The Hermit
Chapter Warnings: Language, suicide

believe, beLIEve, believe

The man stares out over the cliffs at the place where his journey began. The sun has set and it is dark now. Along the way he has become jaded, but the lantern he holds lights the path before him in the way that only wisdom from experience can.

believe, beLIEve, believe

Itachi rests his head back on the blank wall, staring at the ceiling and lost in thought. His left hand idly traces patterns in the plush carpet. He'd always loved the carpet in his younger brother's flat. It was soft and the most inviting shade of cream. His eyes trailed towards the center of the living room where two black suns bloomed against the cream.

The cleaners had done a decent job, but the carpet would have to be replaced nonetheless.

His grip tightens on the neck of the bottle of vodka he'd brought with him, and he brings it to his lips, having done away with glasses days before. The bottle was half empty, and he checks his watch only to realize with a start that he'd been here for almost four hours-it was nearly noon.

Itachi's thoughts turn to Naruto briefly. He'd returned to his house drunk that night. Rather than attempt to engage him in conversation about what went on between him and Suigetsu, Itachi had opted to tuck him into bed and wait for the morning. But, as they had been since the last time he had entered this house, his nights were sleepless. He'd tossed and turned in his bed for hours before finally putting on a coat and pants and going for a drive. That drive had landed him here.

Technically he isn't supposed to be here. The landlord has already begun the process of cleaning and getting the place ready for its next tenant, but they had not yet changed the locks, and so there he is. He wonders what he is looking for by coming here. Closure? Or something else?

The day before, Shisui had done him the favor of going through Sasuke's things, which were now sitting in neat boxes in Itachi's hotel room, to be taken back to his place in Suna after the funeral. He is beyond grateful to his cousin for that. After all, it had only taken him hours of tears and alcohol to pen the obituary.

The message is short and simple. "Sasuke Uchiha, age 26, was born on Saturday July 23rd, 1988 and passed away Thursday, October 16th, 2014. He is survived by: his partner of nine years, Naruto Uzumaki; his father, Fugaku Uchiha; and his brother, Itachi Uchiha. He is preceded in death by his mother Mikoto Uchiha. He will be missed dearly. A memorial service will be held in his honor at 3:00PM on Thursday, October 30th at Gates Funeral Home." But still, that simple paragraph, almost straight from the template, is the single most difficult thing he has ever had to write.

He closes his eyes, wanting to picture Sasuke here with him. But all he sees are those gaping wounds and those deep blue bruises. Over and over again he relives the night in his head.

believe, beLIEve, believe

Itachi has had a rough work day. He is flustered, still on the phone with his agent as he walks up the stone pathway to Sasuke's front door. He switches to holding his cell with his left hand and knocks with his right. He makes a face of mild confusion as he receives no answer. He checks his watch, swearing under his breath as he realizes how late he is for their meeting. He had planned to be here an hour ago. But alas, business and traffic had failed him.

He glances to the window, noting that the light is on. He knocks again and for good measure gives the doorbell a ring. Still no answer. He turns away, figuring he was too late and that Sasuke had gone out, although the fact that he left the light on does not sit well with him.

On a whim, he tries the door handle before leaving.

The door is not locked.

Even before he opens the door, Itachi knew that something was wrong. Sasuke may occasionally forget to turn a light off, but never would he ever forget to lock the door. After all, when he had first moved in here, after finding out that the place only had a lock on the door handle he had installed a deadbolt and chain.

Tentatively, he opens the door. He is unnerved by the stillness, the heaviness in the air.

"Sasuke," he calls out hesitantly, moving the phone away from his mouth. The television is on, and the laughtrack of some sitcom eerily breaks the quiet. The house phone is off the hook, dangling over the kitchen island counter. It takes him a moment before he notices the blood. Ruby pools, drowning him, stealing his breath away. "Oh my God," he whispers as he takes in the form of his brother lying face down in the middle of the floor.

"Itachi, are you okay," comes his agent's voice from the cellphone, dropped and forgotten on the floor.

Panic, fear, terror, rise in Itachi's throat like vomit as he catches a glance of a tiny silver razor blade on the floor near him. He drops to his knees, not caring that the blood is soaking his pant leg, reaches out to shake his shoulder, roll him over.

Grey, lifeless eyes stare at the ceiling, head lolling unresponsively to his touch. No pulse, no heartbeat, no breaths from his slightly parted lips.

As he fumbles for his phone, hangs up on his agent without a word and dials 911, shaking all over, feeling sick to his stomach, he thinks to himself that this sight will haunt him for the rest of his life.

From there, everything is a blur. From the EMTs declaring him dead, carting him away, giving him drugs to help calm him down to lying in his bed at home, staring at the wall for hours on end.

believe, beLIEve, believe

The only thing that pulls his thoughts away from those dead eyes is the sound his cell's ringtone. He checks his caller ID, expecting another call from his agent that he will ignore as he had every one previously, but is surprised by a number that he does not recognize. Grateful to anything that will keep his mind preoccupied, even for just a moment, he answers.

"Hello," comes a cheery female voice from the other end. "I'm calling from White River Therapy Center. Are you Itachi Uchiha?"

"Yes," he says slowly, confusedly, "that's me."

"Let's see… your brother, Sasuke Uchiha, currently has a chart open with Dr. Hatake. He missed his Monday appointment on the 20th and hasn't called to reschedule; he requested that we contact you in the event that he is unable to be reached. Could you please tell me how we can get in touch with him?"

Itachi hesitates for a moment, mouth hanging open in shock. Sasuke? Therapy? "I… no. No, he… passed away… last week," he stutters.

The woman is silent for a moment. "Oh my-my apologies, sir. I'm very sorry to hear of your loss…" she says finally. Itachi feels as if he is on autopilot as he gives the woman the information she needs to close his chart, and hangs up, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

believe, beLIEve, believe

Itachi paces the room, staring intently at the two men seated at the coffee table. Naruto rubs the back of his neck as he fills out the hiring paperwork for the club. Suigetsu twirls a pen in his hand, bored, his eyes following Itachi's pacing suspiciously.

He rounds on them suddenly. "Did you know that Sasuke was seeing a therapist?" he blurts.

Naruto's brows furrow as he answers in a surprised negative, while at the same time, Suigetsu answers his question affirmatively, lifting an eyebrow.

Itachi and Naruto turn to him, giving him incredulous looks.

"What? You guys really didn't know," he asks, surprised by their surprise.

Naruto grits his teeth. "No! Why do you know?"

"Because… I talked him into it. He started going a month ago…" he says slowly, trailing off, leaving the morbid observation that therapy had clearly not worked unsaid.

Naruto's brow furrows deeper, a hurt look in his eyes. "How… how could he not tell me this…?" The pieces click into place. Sasuke waking up at 10:00AM, rather than his usual 2:00PM on a Monday morning. The extra $600 missing from their joint bank account that he'd been unable to place.

"Why?" Itachi asks Suigetsu softly.

Suigetsu looks away. "Are you kidding? He was depressed. He needed help," he snapped. In truth, the reason had been much more specific though he can't bring himself to say it, and the words come out a bit harsher than he had intended.

Itachi says nothing. He supposes that Suigetsu is not wrong, although he had never really thought of his brother as being depressed. Even now that they were both well into adulthood, when Itachi thought of Sasuke the image that came to mind was that of the kind, smiling little boy he had been in his childhood. Years before he had begun to grow up, facing the harsh realities of the world they lived in. Sasuke was sad. He had trust issues. He had a hard time making friends. But, never had he thought of Sasuke as being sick, affected by mental illness that needed to be assessed by a professional.

His thoughts turn to the memory of white, parallel scars trailing up and down his left arm. Scars that would remain with him a decade later. For a moment, he forgets that Sasuke had not taken his own life and he hates himself for not realizing quite how much pain his little brother had been in. Why hadn't he done something more? Could he have done something more? He tightens his fists, knowing then what he is going to do.

Later, when he is alone, he redials the number for White River Therapy Center from his personal cell, his heart skipping a beat as he gets a different receptionist. "Hello," he says, masking the nervousness in his voice at the magnitude of his situation as best he can. "This is Fugaku Uchiha with the Konoha Police Department. I'm calling for some information regarding the investigation of the death of one of your clients."

believe, beLIEve, believe