and the scarry skies above


into the dark


For the second time this week, it is the feeling of another presence in his room that rouses him to consciousness and puts his senses on high alert.

When a hand lands softly on his shoulder, he grasps it, turns his body violently. In a flurry of motion he slips out of bed, spins to avoid having his arm twisted, shrugs off an attempt at being pinned down. The short struggle ends abruptly, with strong fingers curled around both of Itachi's wrists, poised to break the fragile bones, and Itachi's kunai pressing against the throat of the other person, ready to cut.

"Trained you well," the low voice of Uzumaki Naruto rumbles through the silence.

Under the cover of darkness, Itachi scowls. "What are you doing here?" he asks instead, as cold as the metal resting unerringly against Naruto's jugular. The other man's hands fall away and he takes a step back, out of immediate reach. His sigh echoes heavily.

"I thought you might be the best person to fetch… It's Sakura."

Immediately, Itachi tenses even more. "What about her?"

There is no answer, merely a rustle of cloth that indicates Naruto is moving closer again. Itachi lets it happen. The soft clink of metal and then something cool and small is pushed into his free hand. His heart sinks.

"I'll be waiting outside."

Like a shadow Naruto slips through the window and Itachi is left alone in the dark, clutching a weapon in one hand and a necklace in the other.

Suddenly, he feels very, very tired.

When he touches down on the ground outside, fully dressed and armed, Naruto is waiting. In the pale light of the moon, his blue eyes almost seem to glow as if lit from within, and in them Itachi finds a level of concern and sadness that renders him unable to feel more than a slight twinge of resentment towards the man.
"Thank you," Naruto says, low and earnest, and Itachi suppresses a shiver. There is something lurking behind these words, the lightest note of something strong, and dark. Something ancient. Up this close, for the first time he notes the faint thrum of chakra that emits from the other man, like an ocean rippling right beneath his skin. Quiet. Patient. Waiting. "Let's go."

Wordlessly, he follows, and they cut through the Uchiha district at a clipped pace. They don't take care to stick to the shadows, don't avoid the night watch when their paths cross. There is no reason to be stealthy today. The need for secrecy has died away.

On their way to the main gate, Naruto looks around, at the elegant houses and porches that still carry the smell of freshly cut wood. When his gaze meets Itachi's, his blue eyes are flashing. He shakes his head. "This is wrong," he mutters, continues down the streets. Itachi doesn't answer. There's nothing he can say.

Clouds roll in front of the moon, and for the longest time they follow the streetlights. Then they turn off the road, beneath a stained wooden arch, and navigate by memory alone until their eyes adapt.

By now, Itachi knows where they are going. The air smells loaded and heavy, carrying with it the promise of a storm.

Fitting, really.

Even against the darkened sky the cenotaph towers stark and foreboding, cutting up into the night like a black knife.

At this point, Naruto falls back. "Thank you," he murmurs before turning and walking away – retreating, more like. His gait is that of a soldier who knows he has lost, that there are no more battles left to fight that he can win – and Itachi thinks that the words sound just slightly bitter. He doesn't say anything, though. He's not quite sure how to continue from here, how he comes into play where Naruto fails, but Sakura's presence permeates the night like a heady perfume and soon becomes his one focal point.

Her laboured breaths, broken by voiceless sobs, meld into the distant grinding of thunder.

As he stands and listens and tries to pick the whirlwind in his mind for the right words to say – or any words, really – he is struck by the sudden realisation that he can count the people who truly care for him on one hand. He fiddles with the necklace. Flexes his fingers. Bends down one.

When he finally gathers the courage to approach, startled into action by a cold drop of water falling on his head, his movements are slow and he is dragging his feet. The clouds break open and for a moment he can see her clearly, huddled in front of the memorial stone, hair wild and spilling down her back in a rare moment of abandon. She looks smaller than he remembers.

He sits down next to her and doesn't say a word. The rain picks up.
"His name's not even on the cenotaph yet," she whispers. "And yet I'm already here."

Heart heavy, Itachi stares at the blank piece of slate in front of them that, in a few days time, will carry the name of his friend. "Was it an accident?" he asks, because he somehow can't seem to stand not knowing.

"No," she answers, and sounds so broken he would have reached out for her if not for the cold dread settling in his stomach. "No, it was planned."

And when she tells him, about how they set out to hunt down the Kyubi, how Tetsuo had offered to use the Reaper Death Seal in order to restrain the Biju long enough for her to re-seal it into Naruto, and how she watched from the sidelines as Naruto sat next to him when he breathed his last, Itachi feels only a light twinge of despair. The pain seems dull and faded, like the pages of a book he has read far too many times in his life.

"The Sharingan could have held it, I'm sure," he says, more to drown out his confusing emotions than anything else.
"They didn't want any Uchiha on this." "Why?" "They think it likely the fox was controlled by one of your clansmen when it attacked the village. They wouldn't let you near it."

Itachi closes his eyes, her words a confirmation to his suspicions when he has not even voiced his question yet. He asks it anyway, because he needs to hear it.

"Is that why the clan had to relocate?" "Yes."

He is silent for a moment, considering. Then, "Why not send a larger squad? Enough shinobi could have held it down." "There are too many eyes on Konoha just now. This needed to be done quiet, and it needed to be done quick, before somebody else got around to it. Three-man squads don't usually go after Biju. We chose the most efficient route."

Itachi frowns. This would be a proper moment to grieve, he thinks, and mourn the death of his friend. But there are too many questions, too many feelings, too much anger suddenly bubbling up inside him.

"You mean, it was chosen for you."

Sakura exhales, a long shaky sigh. "Yes."

"And Tetsuo volunteered."

"Yes." A pause. For a moment, all he hears is the rain dripping down around them and suddenly he's thirteen again, curled up against his sensei's side with all the trust in the world, and his only fear is never finding the path home again. In a way he finds, as he thinks back to the unfamiliar house he shares with his parents and cousin, the smell of freshly cut wood that still now wafts through the newly founded Uchiha district, and the modern houses being erected on his clan's former grounds, the child's fears have proven true to some extent.

Because how do you go about returning to a home when it no longer exists, is what he wants to know as he looks as Sakura from the corner of his eye, but the words taste like bile in his throat and so he plays it safe.

"Should you be telling me these things?" he asks instead.

"No. But honestly, right now I don't give a flying –" She stops, voice breaking, and curls in on herself, fists pressed against her eyes and face scrunched up in fury. "… fuck," she whispers, and it sounds so raw and broken Itachi cannot help but lean into her in a silent show of support. It is all he can bring himself to do, just now. Because he hurts at seeing her like this, torn open and bare, but what she told him tonight hurts even more. Her body is frigid, and the coolness of her skin seeps through his clothing.

She must have been sitting like this for a long time.

"You didn't cry when Mamoru died," he says after a while, latching onto the first thought he can that is not tinged with betrayal, resentment, bitterness.

"You don't need me to be strong anymore," she answers, words almost swallowed up by tears.

Suddenly, Itachi feels very alone.

Turning his face to the side, he presses his forehead against the crown of her head and breathes, just breathes, until everything he just heard, all the anger and fear and despair drain away with the rain that slides down their bodies, and, for this one single moment, everything but her fades away. Closing his eyes, he once more lets himself fall back to that one moment years ago, when, for the first time since they met, it was only her. Only now there is no shared blanket that smells of herbs and tea, and no reassurance in the quaking shoulder that digs into his ribs.

There is no fire, and no peace, and Itachi is cold and tired and lost.


A/N: Soo, I hope this chapter cleared up the ominous hints in the previous ones. You guys seemed all so confused, and I felt really bad about that. Please tell me it makes more sense in hindsight. But still, thank you so much for taking the time to drop a line. It is much appreciated!

Not quite Friday yet, but I don't think I'll have the time to post tomorrow, so here you go! I am so looking forward to next week, you guys. That chapter has been finished and ready to go for months.

Lots of love,

planless