Exhaustion has a way of settling over the vision, of staining everything with an undertone of gray and turning distinct lines into blurs. And Hiruzen's quite exhausted now. He hasn't slept since news came of Danzo's death, and he's barely set foot outside of his office in between the deluge of meetings and debriefings.
He's getting too old for this.
Now, slouching in his chair and rubbing his forehead with one hand, he looks at the three people standing across from him. Jiraiya's scribbling something in a small notebook, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. Shikaku Nara looks as tired as Hiruzen feels right now, and he sways like he's about to fall over. The ANBU commander stands a little apart, a porcelain mask concealing his face
"Inoichi Yamanaka's report was given to me this morning. It matches what Team Ro indicated in their debriefing," Hiruzen says. "They're not lying. They genuinely have no recollection of what happened."
"What kind of genjutsu-user could erase the memories of three Sharingan users?" Jiraiya says, a distracted look in his eye as he looks up from his notebook. Shikaku taps his chin with his index finger, a habit of his that Hiruzen's come to find a little endearing.
"It's likely that there were multiple genjutsu-users," he says slowly. "They wouldn't need to be individually strong if they pooled their power."
"Was there evidence that there were multiple assailants?" Jiraiya asks. It's the ANBU commander who answers this time, his voice low.
"There is no evidence at all," he says, shaking his head. "Much of the battlefield was obliterated by the massive explosion that led our scouts to the location, and the ensuing forest fire destroyed anything that the blast didn't."
"There were no chakra signatures that were detected?" Hiruzen says, and the ANBU commander shakes his head again.
"It's a sensory overload. The sensory specialist who investigated the scene couldn't pick out any individual signatures, and now that it's been a couple days, it'll be even harder to identify anything," he says. "I think it's a dead end."
"There is one interesting thing, though, that we can take from this," Shikaku says. "The members of Team Ro were left alive and relatively unharmed, pretty far away from Lord Danzo's body. Not only that, but the assailants went to substantial lengths to wipe their memories, when it would have been far easier to kill them."
"The attackers were only interested in killing Lord Danzo?" Jiraiya asks, frowning.
"It's more than that. They put in a great deal of effort to make sure that Team Ro would be unharmed," Shikaku says. "I don't think this was the work of a different hidden village. No one else would have bothered to spare them, and if they had, they would have been taken prisoner. The attackers could be from the Leaf Village."
"The body was left in a way that incriminated Lord Danzo," the ANBU commander says. "This could be a vigilante action, which would fit into your theory."
"I wouldn't call it a theory," Shikaku says, shrugging. "It's also possible that the assailants aren't from the Leaf Village. I mean, who was unaccounted for that could even pull this off?"
"It could be a good place to start the investigation. I want to know who did this," Hiruzen says. He looks at Shikaku. "Team Ro is on indefinite leave, so you'll have full access to interview them should you need it."
"One last thing," Jiraiya says, slipping his notebook into a pocket. "What are you going to do about Root?"
Hiruzen meets Jiraiya's eyes with a firm, unyielding gaze. He's been thinking about this since Shikaku first showed him the pictures of Danzo's stolen Sharingan. A sudden tingle of conviction flows through his torso, through his limbs, washing away the aches and fatigue for a moment.
"We're going to dismantle it. All of it," he says. "When his time comes, Itachi Uchiha will never have to deal with this village's dark side."
It must be nearing noon, if the sun is anything to go by. It's almost directly overhead, and in the absence of any clouds to soften its glare, it beats down on Itachi's bare arms and sweaty forehead.
It feels good.
They're near the very fringes of the Leaf Village, where the densely packed buildings and narrow streets are replaced with wide, open meadows and scattered houses. Shisui's house is on the very edge of the Uchiha district, and he seems to be doing his best to take them there in a way that minimizes the chances that they'll run into someone. Knowing that, knowing that someone cares enough to try to shield him without even being asked—
It feels really good.
"Shisui!" he calls out. They can be as loud as they like out here. It's just the two of them trudging down a dusty path, sweaty and holding boxes in their arms. Shisui looks over his shoulder, his hair damp with sweat and his eyes as bright as the sun high above them.
"Hm?" he says, coming to a halt.
"I've been to your house plenty of times. We've never gone this way before," Itachi says, looking around them. A gentle breeze hisses through dry grass, and a couple swallows loop lazily through the sky.
"Oh. This is a shortcut," Shisui says, eyes following the birds. Itachi's lips twitch as he suppresses a smile at Shisui's feigned nonchalance.
"I'm going to run into my father eventually, Shisui," he says gently, nudging Shisui's heel with the toe of his sandal. "I appreciate you trying to protect me, but it's going to happen eventually."
"I-" Shisui starts to say, then falls silent. He looks a little sheepish at first, but then his mouth turns down at the corners. His eyes flick up to meet Itachi's for a moment before looking away, and he looks conflicted and frustrated and miserable.
He's not smiling anymore, and Itachi finds that strange, because Shisui's always smiling. Even in the middle of the night, even in the midst of battle, even when he's swaying with exhaustion, there's a wide smile playing over his lips, and without it, the world seems a little dimmer.
"That doesn't mean you have to run into him now," Shisui says in a small voice, sounding a little petulant, and Itachi feels a sudden pang of something in his chest. He's not the best at feelings, not the best at expressing himself, but he—
He wants to be. He wants to tell Shisui how thankful he is that the other boy is here, how happy he is that Shisui doesn't hate him after everything that's happened.
"Thank you," Itachi says, looking down at the ground. There's a line of little black ants marching over the dry, fine dirt underfoot, and it's much easier to stare at them instead of meeting Shisui's eyes.
"Of course, 'Tachi," Shisui says quietly. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."
And when Shisui says it like that, when his voice is all serious and low and filled with ironclad, zealous certainty, who can doubt him?
Itachi sure as hell can't.
The walls around the Uchiha district cordon off the side of the district that borders the village. But the western edge of the Uchiha district borders nothing but empty fields and scattered groves of trees, buildings giving way to open lots and unpaved paths. The cramped streets and lively atmosphere of the Uchiha district fade away and grow less concentrated, less distinct.
It was out here that Shisui's parents had bought a house when they got married. It was so far out that it was practically in the countryside; it was quiet and spacious, lazy and idyllic. Ren loved taking long morning runs through the fields, and Asami loved the way deer and rabbits would roam through the backyard under the silver moonlight. And they were happy.
Then came the Third Great War.
It was a dark time for anyone living through it; the daily fears of loved ones dying, of coming under attack, of losing everything perpetually hung over every head in the Leaf Village. Ren was gone more often than not, sent off to fight in the war. Asami was not a ninja; she worked as an assistant at the Academy, watching over children she knew would be sent off to fight eventually.
But even in the midst of misery and ruin, there is happiness. Whenever Ren would come back, on leave, he'd walk up the front path of their house and surprise Asami. She'd grab him by the collar of his jacket, dragging him into a kiss. They'd eat in the backyard during the summer, on blankets spread over cool grass, trying to find animal-shapes in the clouds drifting through azure skies. In the winter they'd sit at their tiny dinner table, and Asami would always scoot her chair so she'd be next to Ren rather than across from him. In the walls of their little home, just for a moment, the war would cease to exist.
And eventually, there was Shisui. He was a terror, of course, a frightfully energetic child with a mad cackle and a brilliant smile, and Ren would give him piggyback rides through the tall grass and wildflower-studded meadows while Asami would laugh and watch.
Then, one day, it wasn't Ren who walked up the front path. It was Fugaku Uchiha, holding a battered Konoha forehead protector in his hands as he told Asami how very sorry he was.
The walls of that little house couldn't keep the war out anymore.
"Mom!" Shisui yells, pushing the door open with his knee. "We're home!"
Itachi sets the box he's holding on the porch, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders as he looks around. It's just as familiar as it's always been. The same set of wind-chimes still hangs from the roof of the veranda, the same pair of wicker chairs flank a small table, and the same faded railing planter blooms with meticulously-cared-for flowers.
He's been coming here since he was six years old, and sometimes it feels more like home than his own family's house.
Shisui attempts to squirm through the half-open front door, stubbornly refusing to set the box he's carrying down, and Itachi rolls his eyes and pushes the door open for him.
"You're so dumb," he says to Shisui, his fond tone taking the edge out of his words. Shisui throws him a disbelieving look, as if he's never been accused of being a dumbass, and scowls.
"You're the dumb one," he says, brows scrunched in a frown as he glares over his shoulder.
"Shisui! I didn't raise you to be rude to our guests, did I?" a voice calls out from further inside, and then Asami Uchiha is stepping through an interior door and poking Shisui's arm.
"He started it!" Shisui says, setting down his box beside the door and wrapping his arms around his mother. He's taller than her-has been for a couple years now-and Itachi can see his shoulders relax as she hugs him back. "I missed you, Mom."
"I was worried when they told me you were in the hospital," she says, squeezing Shisui until he lets out a breathless chuckle.
"You'll send me back there if you keep that up," he says weakly. She lets out an amused snort, letting him go as she smiles at Itachi, and Itachi remembers that Shisui's bright, sunny grins are clearly an inherited trait.
"It's been too long, Itachi," she says warmly, stepping closer. He only has a moment of warning before he's enveloped in a crushing hug of his own. And as the breath is forcibly expelled from his lungs, some of the tension leaves his body too.
"I saw you just last week," he manages to gasp, and Asami grins evilly as she lets him go and musses up his hair.
"You know, when you were like eight, all you wanted to do was garden with me," she says, a wistful look passing over her face as she looks between Itachi and Shisui. "When did the two of you get all grown up?"
"I'll garden with you!" Shisui says, now sitting on the box he set down earlier and swinging his legs. Asami looks over, raising an eyebrow.
"You set my tomato plants on fire last month," she says mildly, and Shisui sighs.
"It was an accident, Mom..." Shisui starts to say, whining, and then they're off. Itachi watches them, a little amused, a little awed. He really should be used to them acting like this by now-he's been a witness to it for over ten years-but it never fails to catch him off-guard. The easy bickering, the casual affection, the abundance of sincere laughter…
They don't act anything like his own family.
A breeze flutters through the open door, tugging at Itachi's shirt and sending delicious streamers of cold air over his sweat-speckled arms. It brushes through Asami's hair, and she turns slightly, looking a little embarrassed as she realizes Itachi's still standing in the doorway.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she says, shaking her head. "Come inside! Let's get you settled in. Shisui, can you grab the box from the porch while I take Itachi upstairs?"
"Sure thing," Shisui drawls, reaching up and stretching like a tomcat in the sun, his fingers nearly brushing the low ceiling. Itachi opens his mouth to ask where he's staying-he knows this house better than his own, and there's only two bedrooms-but Asami grabs him by the hand and drags him along.
"I want you to make yourself comfortable, Itachi," she says as they ascend the steep, narrow staircase. "This is your home just as much as it's mine or Shisui's, okay?"
Itachi doesn't know what to say to that, and there's a lump in his throat anyway, so he just swallows and nods as Asami grins at him.
"Bet you remember this room," she says, pushing open the door to Shisui's bedroom, and Itachi pauses at the threshold. His gaze roams over baby blue walls, a half-dozen dumbbells peeking out from under Shisui's bed, and the ratty old couch (that Shisui loved for some inexplicable reason) crammed against the far wall. Nothing's changed since those days where Itachi would sleep over, those June nights when they'd crack open the window and talk until the sun came up. It's cluttered, it's full of life, it's so Shisui.
"This takes me back," Itachi says eventually, once he's able to find his voice, and Asami chuckles. He hears the tramp of feet stomping up the staircase, and then Shisui's nudging him forward, pushing the box he's holding against Itachi's back.
"Lemme in," he says, and Itachi steps aside. "So, what do you think, 'Tachi?"
"What do you mean?" Itachi asks, confused. "I've seen your room plenty of times before."
"Well, yeah, but I bought those dango-themed bed sheets for you," Shisui says, setting down the box and gesturing proudly. Itachi shakes his head, his eyes widening.
"No-no I can't kick you out of your own room-" he says, and now it's Shisui's turn to look confused.
"Kick me out? What? I'll just sleep on the couch while I'm on leave," he says. Itachi looks at the old, brown couch, noting the way the cushions sag and how it leaks stuffing onto the carpet.
"I can't believe you still have that," Itachi says drily, and Asami sighs theatrically.
"I've been trying to throw it out for a while now, but he won't let me," she says, crossing her arms. Shisui gasps loudly, clapping a hand over his heart and looking absolutely scandalized.
"We," he says deliberately, "are not throwing out Couchy. He's family."
"You won't even let me mend it," Asami says mournfully, looking at the stuffing scattered all over the floor. "It's making a mess."
"Couchy adds character to the room, Mom," Shisui says impatiently, waving a hand in the air. "We've been over this."
They're arguing again, in that special, playful way of theirs, but Itachi isn't paying attention. He's staring at the new sheets Shisui bought for him. He's noticing the vase of fresh flowers on the bedside table Asami must have picked for him. He's glancing at the back of Shisui's neck, shining slightly with sweat, because Shisui had taken it upon himself to both invite Itachi into his home and help him move with zero hesitation.
"Thank you," he says quietly, and the other two turn to look at him with some surprise. "I don't-I just wanted to thank both of you for letting me stay with you."
"Of course, honey," Asami says, her eyes softening. "You can stay here for as long as you want. You're family."
"Just like Couchy," Shisui adds in, giving Itachi a lopsided smirk. The ring of a cooking timer echoes from downstairs, and Asami's head snaps to the door.
"I almost forgot!" she says, rushing out. "I have something in the oven. Shisui, help him settle in?"
" 'Course," Shisui says easily. "You need help unpacking, 'Tachi?"
Itachi lets out a slow breath, looking out the window and into the backyard. His heart's beating furiously, the lump in his throat's getting bigger and bigger, and he's feeling out of breath.
No, he wants to say. No, you can go. It's fine. But something's strangling his words as they rise, and all that comes out is a little gasp.
He wants to be alone, because he sees the casual affection on Shisui and Asami's faces, and he knows he doesn't deserve it. Because all he can think about right now is that cramped little hospital room, and all he can see is the grief and disappointment on his father's face.
Would you have taken up arms against the clan?
Itachi knows what his answer is, and it makes him sick.
He imagines Asami and Shisui butchered, laying in their own blood, their vacant and accusing eyes fixed on him. He imagines Sasuke, still and pale, and that's when the dam breaks. That's when the guilt under the surface rears its ugly, ugly head, and Itachi screws his eyes shut and clenches his fists.
"Itachi!" he hears Shisui say, his voice dripping with concern and affection, and his stomach turns. He doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve this, to be welcomed with open arms, to have affection and care lavished upon him.
Because Itachi Uchiha is a traitor. He's a liar, and a traitor, and he would have been a murderer, too. He's sure of it. If it really came down to it, if it had been something he had been ordered to do—
Danzo had started dropping hints. Whenever Itachi or Shisui would finish giving the council their reports on the progress of the coup, Danzo would glare at Hiruzen and talk about 'pre-emptive action' and 'the ultimate penalty for treason'.
Would you have taken up arms against the clan?
Shisui's arms are around him, and Itachi pushes against him weakly. He doesn't deserve affection, no, all he deserves is mistrust and hatred, and his father is right to hate him—
"I'm a monster," Itachi whispers, lips against Shisui's shirt and forehead pressed against Shisui's collarbone. "I'm a traitor, Shisui. I don't-I don't deserve this…"
"Hey," Shisui says, his breath warming the top of Itachi's head. "You're not a monster. C'mon, 'Tachi, it's fine now-"
"Is everything alright?" Asami says, her voice coming from the direction of the door. Itachi stiffens, trying to slip out of Shisui's embrace, but Shisui's arms tighten around him and hold him in place.
"It's fine, Mom," Shisui says softly. "Can we have a minute?"
"Oh, of course," Asami replies, her footsteps already receding. "Whenever you two are ready, come on down for lunch."
"Shisui-" Itachi mumbles, trying to pull away, but the other boy stubbornly holds on.
"Quit squirming," Shisui says, squeezing Itachi once. "Just go with it, okay?"
So Itachi goes with it. It's just the two of them, alone in the room where they've spent countless hours talking and wrestling and playing. The window's cracked open, and snippets of birdsong drift through. Itachi can barely hear it over his own ragged breathing, or the sound of Shisui's heartbeat, so he stills until the melodic chirping fills his mind. He closes his eyes, leaning into his best friend.
It's just the two of them, swaying slightly in the sunlight. And if a single, traitorous tear slips out from Itachi's closed eye to soak into the fabric of Shisuis's shirt, well—
No one has to know about that.
The door to Team Ro's room flies open with a bang, and Tenzo barges in. He flops down belly-first on Kakashi's bed with enough force to make the bed frame creak, propping his chin on his fist and looking at Kakashi expectantly.
Kakashi turns the page of the book he's reading at his desk, not looking up. Tenzo sighs.
"You don't pay enough attention to me," he whines, rolling onto his back and letting out a breath. Kakashi looks up, shaking his head.
"I've found that it only encourages you," he says, setting down his book. "What's up?"
"Where are we going for dinner? I'm kind of in the mood for barbeque," Tenzo says, rubbing his hands together.
"I was going to eat at the cafeteria here," Kakashi says. "You're welcome to come-"
"What?" Tenzo yelps. "We're on leave. That means we can leave this godforsaken hole in the ground, and you want to stay?"
"Where would I even go?" Kakashi asks, a puzzled frown on his face. Tenzo snorts.
"Uh, how about your apartment? Gods, you're a dumbass sometimes," he shoots back, muttering the last part. Kakashi raises an eyebrow.
"Did you just call your superior a dumbass?" he asks mildly, crossing his arms. Tenzo sits up, an insolent smirk on his face.
"I'm sorry. Captain Kakashi Hatake," he purrs in a breathy voice, fluttering his eyelashes. "Will you please escort me to dinner, you big-"
"Holy shit," Kakashi says, making a show of clapping his hands over his ears. "Shut up. Fine. We can go, just never do that ever again."
Lengthening shadows, stretching like long, dark fingers over the streets and shops and homes of the Uchiha district, mark the progress of the setting sun. Fugaku's no stranger to working late and long hours, but the past few days have been longer than most. He's exhausted and drained and resigned and he just—
He just unlocks the front door with a click, pushing it open, standing in the darkened foyer with the lights off and the door ajar behind him. For a long, long moment, he stands still in the gloom.
Mikoto must have heard him arrive, because the lights turn on and she's standing there. She smiles gently at him, the expression not quite reaching her eyes, and steps up to him.
"Welcome home," she says softly.
Home.
What a strange word. This is his home, his family's home. They've lived here for years. Mikoto had told him she was pregnant with their first child in this very spot. Itachi took his first steps through this room. Fugaku had carried a newborn Sasuke over the threshold behind him.
But all of those memories can't dull the pain of what's gone.
Home is a strange word, because this place can mean so much, but without the people that once filled this place, it means nothing at all. No, it's worse than that, because all he can see when he looks around this house are memories of what once was, of how Itachi used to be.
How their family used to be.
Mikoto takes him by the hand, leading him into the living room. He lets her, stumbling after her like a drunk, senseless fool. He's always been a warrior, a prodigy, the fearless leader of the Uchiha. But it's Mikoto who's strong, not him; he's a taut wire, tension pulling at every fiber of his being until he feels like he might snap. Sometimes he feels like Mikoto's voice, her touch, the way she looks at him-it's the only thing keeping him sane.
She's always been able to take care of him like that, always been so caring and so kind to him. She'd held him as he mourned his father, cradling him after the clan head succession ceremony. She'd held him at his brother's funeral, when the world felt cruel and its barbarity made no sense to him. He wants nothing more than to let her hold him again, to let her rock his head until the anguish and the pain goes away.
But he doesn't have that luxury.
He tugs on her hand, pulling her back to him, and they stand close together. Mikoto's eyes are a little wide, but she relaxes against him as he strokes her cheek. And slowly, making sure his voice doesn't waver or betray him, Fugaku speaks.
"Itachi was discharged from the hospital this morning," he says. Mikoto raises her index finger to her lips, gesturing over her shoulder. In the dim light of a lamp, Fugaku can see little Sasuke curled up on the couch, fast asleep.
So Fugaku drops his voice to a whisper, and tells his wife how their son won't be coming home to them tonight. Maybe not ever.
Mikoto's eyes drop to the floor, her hand curling around the nape of his neck as she leans into him. And Fugaku hates it, hates when she looks like this, but for once, there's nothing he can do. There's no one to fight, no enemy to vanquish, no way to save the day. No, there's just the mistakes Fugaku made, and the actions Itachi took.
"Have you eaten?" Mikoto whispers, taking a step back. Fugaku shakes his head.
"I'm not hungry," he replies quietly. Mikoto steps into the kitchen anyway, making him something, and he doesn't have the energy to tell her to stop. He sits on the couch instead, watching Sasuke sleep.
It's been a while since he last saw his son, really saw him. It's been a busy couple of years; he's been worrying about the clan, about the coup, about Itachi. And somewhere in that time, he realizes he forgot all about Sasuke.
In his mind, Sasuke's still a little toddler who loathes being separated from his brother. Fugaku can relate to that sentiment. But now he's looking at how long Sasuke's tiny legs have gotten, how his facial features have become more prominent, and how he's not quite the little boy Fugaku remembers.
"When did you get so big?" Fugaku murmurs, brushing Sasuke's cheek tenderly with the back of his hand. He's trying to be quiet, but his youngest son stirs, his lips twitching and his nose wrinkling. Then Sasuke scrambles to sit up, eyes blown wide open and mouth hanging open with surprise.
"F-father," he stammers out. Fugaku lets his hand drop to his side, and gives his son a tired smile.
"Hello, Sasuke," he says.
"Can Itachi come home yet?" Sasuke asks, trying unsuccessfully to mask his excitement.
"He's going to be staying somewhere else for a little while," Fugaku says awkwardly. He's never been good with this-it was always Mikoto who always knew how to make Sasuke smile, how to cheer him up-but he reaches out with one hand and rests it on his youngest son's shoulder.
"Why?" Sasuke asks, looking confused and hurt and sad. And Fugaku doesn't know what to tell him, he doesn't know what to fucking say, because how can he tell Sasuke what Itachi came close to doing? How can he destroy his child's world like that?
If it came to it, would you have taken up arms against the clan?
He can still see Itachi as a child, face contorted with effort as Fugaku taught him how to mold his chakra. He can still see Itachi in his mind's eye the day he joined ANBU, standing in his grey-and-black-uniform, and he remembers telling his son how proud he was. And he can see Itachi's face, pale against the hospital sheets, the truth hanging between them like an iron curtain.
Fugaku wonders if Itachi would have spared Sasuke, or if he would have killed him alongside his parents.
Maybe if Fugaku were a better man, a better father, a better leader, they wouldn't be here now.
But he's not a better man. He's just himself, and that has never seemed more inadequate than it does now.
And now he's looking at Sasuke's face, tilted up and trusting and open, praying feverishly that he doesn't fuck up again, that he doesn't drive another son away from himself. Hands shaking, heart pounding, palms sweaty, he reaches forward and presses a gentle kiss to Sasuke's forehead.
"I love you," he says, the words alien and awkward on his tongue. "Sasuke, I-I love you so much…"
He didn't think Sasuke's eyes could grow any wider, but they do.
"I love you too," he says in a small voice, his hands coming up to grab Fugaku's shirt. And maybe everything outside is wrong, maybe everything else feels awful and fucked up and desolate.
But this, right here, feels amazing.
So Fugaku hugs his son for the first time in a long, long time, not caring how clumsy or undignified he looks while doing so.