Chapter Forty-One: The Broken Memory
AN: The inspirations for the family set-up, sexual relations, and the concept of an heir in the Uchiha Clan are drawn from the ones practiced in the Heian Period before more stringent rules were introduced in the later periods, especially the Edo Period. You'll have to do a little research on this.
Also, I have specified the ages of the characters, but I believe a reminder is in order regardless:
Uchiha Sasuke: 21, Uchiha Itachi: 29, Hyūga Hinata: 24, Uzumaki Naruto: 24, Haruno Sakura: 25, Hyūga Neji: 22, Uzumaki Karin: 25, Hōzuki Suigetsu: 25, and Jūgo: 26.
Naruto, along with Hinata, will turn 25 soon as the story (mostly) takes place in Autumn.
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Hands joined in front as if in a prayer—her Byakugan was alive. Undulating wind blew sheets of water from the lake that burst into showers of countless droplets on the desolate shore. It was strong as it swept against her, unrelenting. She held her eyes steady. The path was lost. Everything was churned to mud by her feet.
The mighty voice of thunder cracking and the rumble of rocks dropping few feet behind her gave her a start. She jumped a little in spite of having seen them fall down one by one behind her back. She was still a scaredy cat; but she had petted and patted that frightened and shivering thing a bit and pulled out a semblance of courage from her spirit.
She breathed in deep and loud, air cold like rain in her lungs, face wet and rosy. Suddenly, rain mellowed and wind relented, defeated before the weakest sun. Waves still leapt up, crashed onto the stones, created slapping sounds against pebbles and rocks. Quickly, she moved behind the cover of a thick tree when she saw men appear from beyond the thicket of trees. They were moving fast towards them—Bandits!
Neji stood a few feet from her, face tense, veins bulging around his eyes. His hair was stuck to the side of his face. Behind her stood Suigetsu. He was wearing a thick water-repellent cloak. The cowl was pulled over his forehead, his eyes fixed on the path in front, and his fingers curled tightly around the sword's hilt in his hand.
Something flew to her head, and she ducked in time: it was a blade attached to a long chain. It speared through the tree, sticking out from the other end. Her team had planned to ambush them, but one of them was probably a Sensor. She twisted her neck and looked up, her hands slipping in the mud, but there was no time!
Hinata stood up as fast as she could, her palm out, and her shaking arm stretched. She saw them all: five men armed to the teeth. They jumped and stood on the branches high up in the trees and looked down. She raised her head, her eyes catching the droplets and misting over. One of them flashed down, and damn, he was bloody fast!
Sword clashed with sword and Suigetsu's cloak floated behind him. He had a grin on his face. He swung his sword wide and sent the man flying back, and he slipped and skidded on the ground like a ragdoll and rolled slowly to stand up; but Suigetsu pinned him to the ground. He got slammed back down—blood, fresh and hot, shot up and soaked Suigetsu's face and clothing.
The man's face warped with an intense pain of death, and then the expression slightly faded: his eyes dimmed, and just like that, he was dead. Suigetsu licked his lips. His face was washed clean by the rain. He spat out pink when the diluted blood went into his mouth. His grin was widening, showing more and more of his pointy teeth.
Suigetsu leapt up and began clashing with another bandit. His sword glanced against the bandit's forehead and drew blood. His head whipped and twisted round; he stumbled back in pain but rushed at Suigetsu again. His teeth clenched together, his face a knot of contorted rage. The blade gleamed in the soft sunlight.
The man swished his blade in the air as though he was swatting flies. Suigetsu was chuckling. Neji was handling two bandits with ease. The first one foolishly rushed at him and Neji closed off his sixty-four chakra points in two heartbeats. He was really fast. He struck his heart with Air-Palm, and the man got blasted off his feet. He crashed into the tree some forty feet away, blood dribbling from his mouth. A moment later, he went completely still.
Hinata was still not used to this . . . strange life. Five years inside the claustrophobic walls of her home had made her afraid to tread too far, to venture from the place where she felt safe—a house where she, a prisoner, felt a sense of familiarity with the pots, the smell of earth as it would float in through the window at night, the soothing sound and slow rush of water running down the slopes. She, somehow, had accepted that life.
Now, standing amidst the wilderness, shivering with something of a delicious feeling of fear, Hinata's eyes locked with the man's in a steady gaze. His eyes were hard as smooth, water-washed pebbles; she could not escape their intensity. She moved her arms and settled into a defensive stance, and the man charged. She swiveled around him and tried to hit the chakra points in his arm—she missed. He was faster than she had imagined.
He spun away to the right and whipped around with a wide, sweeping strike of his blade. She jerked her head back and hopped back and curled her fingers into fists to create Lion-Fists. Too soon to turn to them, but she had no choice! Chakra fizzled around her hands and took on the fuzzy shape of lions' heads. They looked better than last time, two gauzy and misshapen hand-puppets.
Hinata put her right fist out when she saw him coming to her. She was ready this time. She did not give him time to make a strike and did a stabbing movement, hitting his right arm. She blocked the chakra points close to his elbow and sucked in bits of his chakra. His arm went limp. A shocked expression crossed his face that quickly turned into a look of rage and shame.
He went at her again, relentless to cut off her head. With the swing of his other arm, he moved the sharp sword to sever her hand. She staggered to the side, almost slipping in the mud. A near miss! Her heart made a leap straight to her throat. It was no use. There was no time to calm her heart and feel its uncertain heartbeats become certain. Wind's blast struck at them like a great hand, trying to knock them sideways; but they held their ground.
Sounds of grunts and swords clashing did not matter to Hinata. They were overpowered by the blood roaring in her head. To stare in the face of death . . . was a surreal feeling that made her tingle with a fear most exquisite, and her little heart jumped and jumped repeatedly at its continual calls. Taking in a breath so deep, she steadied herself and slipped aside to evade his forward slash that missed her by a hair's breadth and cut a long gash into the tree.
She spun around fully and quickly landed several hits on his other arm. It, too, went limp, and the sword dropped from his loose grip, his hands trembling, his face working with a kind of panic as he stared back at her dumbfounded. She shot her arm forward and hit him with Air-Palm that sent him sprawling to the ground. He tried to get up but could not.
Hinata breathed out a sigh, and someone pushed her from behind, and she staggered forward and fell down. Her face landed into the mud. She heard a laugh from behind her. She strained her neck and supported herself on her elbows. It was Neji. He stood in the straight beams of light, smiling. Two dead men lay by his feet.
"You still have a lot to learn," he said and held out his hand. "Your Byakugan's able to see everything around you, but you don't acknowledge it. You did good."
Hinata wiped at her face and took his hand. She got to her shaky feet, a sheepish grin on her face. Suigetsu jumped down and tilted his head a little to look at the last bandit who was still amongst the living. "What 'bout 'im? Should I kill 'im or does the cold boss want 'im, a worthless thief?" he asked and moved his tongue across his shiny teeth.
"Itachi-Sama said to bring them all in for interrogation, but they attacked us. It can't be helped," he said and looked down to his feet at the contorted faces of two bandits. "Only this one survived. It's better than nothing."
"Better than nothin', eh? I ain't takin' the blame fer this. Ya better be ready fer some scoldin', mate," he said and pushed the large sword into the sheath. " 'Am so 'fraid that me flaccid cock might drop aff. Boss's a lil' mad—bloody hell, he's a fuckin' nutter. Best be prepared 'cause lil' ol' Suigetsu'll say that ya told me ta fuck 'em all in the arse." He wagged his finger at Neji as if he was reproaching him for being a disobedient little boy.
"You can, Suigetsu," Neji said and gave a slow shake of his head. "Take him to the Anbu Headquarters. The interrogation team will handle the rest."
Suigetsu gave a loud whistle and approached the man. He grabbed him by the arm and roughly pulled him up to his feet. "Don't resist, mate, or I'll cut yor head aff and say that Neji told us ta do it," he said and dragged him forward. "Come alon'. Don't be shy. Don't keep the boss waitin' and his whores' twats wettin'. He may look like a fuckin' purdy lookin' cock-blocker, but he's a nasty fella."
Suigetsu disappeared behind the rippling mist. The wind was gone; forest, suddenly silent, and the glow of rocks around them returned, a bizarre grey that made everything look bleak and dreary. Hinata took in a single breath and brought her eyes upon Neji—he was sitting down and examining the corpses.
"H-Have I passed?" she asked, hesitant.
Neji looked up at her. The freckles, of desert sand colour, looked so apparent on his white face now. "I think you have, Hinata-Sama," he said, a gentle smile upon his lips.
At his reassurance, a smile fought with the edge of her anxious lips, nearly winning. "Will I be promoted?" she asked and put her hands to her breast.
"That's up to Sasuke-Sama," he said and dropped his eyes to the headband of the bandit. "He can promote you if he thinks that your progress is satisfactory."
Hinata felt a pleasant gust of wind upon her face, like something cool was sliding down over something warm. She had not seen him for weeks. Had he forgotten her? She bit her lower lip and turned her face away. She did everything he had asked of her and still . . . still he was distant. Why? She wanted a place in his heart—a tiny place. Was it too much to ask?
She had given him all her heart—every little piece. She wanted his love, wanted to feel . . . loved. Almost thoughtlessly, she lowered her eyes. She desired him so much the way she had never desired anything before. It was almost child-like. Yes, around him, she was a girl-child; and he, her favourite folktale prince. She wanted to play with him whenever her heart wanted; it was selfish; it was no lie. When the ache consumed her, she wanted him to satisfy her passions, yet . . . he played hide and seek with her, always. He was not being fair.
"Where is he?" she asked in an uncertain voice, head down, eyes hidden behind her hair.
"He got injured during a mission and broke his arm and ribs. He's recuperating. He should be back in a week," he said and raised his head to meet her wide eyes.
"Is he a'right?" she asked suddenly, her voice a little loud.
Neji smiled. "He's all right. I visited him last night. His arm is still a bit broken. He won't be able to leave the manor because of the Head ceremony, but he's all right," he said and looked curiously at her. That smile was still upon his lips.
"A-All right," she mumbled and looked down to her fingers, clasped together nervously. "Is Itachi-Sama taking over the Head Seat?"
"Yes," he said and wiped his face on his sleeve. "It's not a surprise. He was the most suitable candidate for the seat. Some clansmen wanted Sasuke-Sama to lead, but he's too young and Itachi-Sama wouldn't have allowed it." His voice faded in the patters of drizzle, and then he went about his business of examining the corpses again.
"Can he force him like this?" she asked, her face tightening in something of a scowl. She truly hated Itachi.
He let out a soft laugh. "He's the eldest son of the Uchiha Clan's Head. Fugaku-Sama passed away, but all his power and authority went over to him. His vote matters a lot in all Clan affairs. It carries so much weight. He can forbid Sasuke-Sama from becoming a Head and he won't be able to do a thing about it. He can put all kinds of restrictions on him. His position gives him the right, but Sasuke-Sama can't do that in return. It's just the way it is amongst the Uchihas. With this new position, his political power has greatly increased in and out of the clan. Our Clan works a little differently, Hinata-Sama," he said and his smile lessened without disappearing.
"Please, don't—don't use that honorific. You're no longer the Head of a Branch Family. It doesn't exist anymore. I don't like it. Call me by my name," she said, and her face suddenly flushed. She averted his eyes and felt his shocked gaze burning over her face. He did not say anything for several seconds, and that silence made her nervous.
"Thank you, Hinata," he whispered and got to his feet. "We only needed one vote from the Head family and you came to my aid. I'll always be grateful."
Hinata heard the wind whistling, and the mist dispersed for a moment as if lifting the curtain of distance between them. She saw his face clearly now. The memories had long since faded, but it did not seem right to bury and forget them. Her heart pulsated, and she felt longing and sadness wash through her. It would have been better had her father wedded her off to him, but it was all in the past. It was no use thinking that way now. The thought brought a sigh to her lips, and she surrendered to this fate—the only thing she could do.
"That was the only thing I could give. I'm sorry that I couldn't be of any more help. I . . . " she paused, breathing in to find her wind of courage, ". . . I'm sorry. If Sasuke—Sasuke-Sama hadn't asked me, I wouldn't even have known about it. I-I've been so selfish. I hope you forgive me …" Her eyes suddenly glistened with tears, and she looked down.
"Hinata, it's not your fault. I have—"
"But it is," she cut him off, cheeks red with emotions. "It is, Neji. I could've talked to Otō-Sama, but I was always chasing after Naruto-Kun—always worried about myself. I never asked you about your worries. It was selfish. I admit it. I should've done it a lot sooner. You didn't deserve this. I hope . . . I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me . . . " and she spoke no more and turned her face towards the mist that hid her away.
He looked surprised, silent, and did not know what to say. They stood in the rising mist, and she felt something move in her, and she did not know why . . .
# # # # # #
The same dimly lit room, and the same people—he could see every wrinkle, every twisted hair, every shadow on their decrepit faces. The drooping eyes of one such man, who fixed upon Sasuke his eyes when he glared up at him to return his Sharingan's aggression with a mightier one of his own, which was enough to put his to sleep, found their peace; but it was not as though it even mattered, not as though he was here of his own free will; so he sat in forced silence and looked at the light of the only lantern in the room, soothing men and moulding dark. It was like these men loved the dark, but loved the crow more. It was a cover for them—an act of deception.
Two large pots were placed in front of Sasuke and Itachi. His older brother was quiet, dressed in a traditional kimono and hakama and a black haori. The cloth was embroidered with coloured threads to create the fan symbols close to each sleeve. He was forced to wear one; it was an important day, after all. He wanted to scoff. He had no desire to come to this ceremony, yet he was made to . . .
Finally, another man cast the vote into the pot and exited the room through a sliding door on the right. A steady stream of clansmen came in and went out. It was a silly way to cast votes: one pot for yes and one pot for no. Yes, it was that simple. Time went by and darkness came running into the room that was no less welcoming, now that it bore more of night. It was almost pitch black behind the partition screen: its bright colours were but a faded tale in the shadows. He could see nary a thing around the altar behind the Elders' backs.
His grandmother, Rao, sat opposite Itachi. Her small eyes were bent upon his brother's face, and he saw warmth in them. Sasuke knew she loved Itachi dearly for he looked like her oldest, Mafuyu, a perfect image of him save the tear lines that highlighted his vicious nature, that something had gone amiss during his Re-Birth; and there was nothing more precious than an un-talking dead man. She would love and love and love, and, in her heart, he would love her back, always: he would say day, and it would be day; he would say night, and by the Sage, it would become night for her eyes; she favoured Itachi so much—like his parents. With her in the Council, and a long line of powerful dead-kin behind her, Sasuke knew he never had a chance at the Head seat. Frustration faded from his face and gave way to sadness, bitterness. Suddenly, he wanted to fly out of the room. Sitting so close to his older brother . . . it was making him nauseous.
Trapped inside his own thoughts, he had little idea when the last vote was cast. A swell of murmurs disturbed the air, anchored by the deepest silence, and one by one, every single man left. Now, Sasuke, Itachi, and Rao were only ones left in the room. Sasuke parted his lips to let out the anger rising when the door slid open and Izumi toddled in. She brought with herself a sharp smell of perfume and he coughed—foolish woman!
Sasuke's pupils thinned into slits of red, his Sharingan pulsing. He always disliked her and her wicked ways. He watched as she sat down beside Rao and lowered her eyes and head in shyness; and he could barely stop himself from mocking her. His eyes cooled off on their own. His brother gave no indication that he saw her come in; his eyes, focused on the fan patterns on the pots; his face, completely expressionless.
Time slowed down to a finishing brush stroke, and he wanted to leave behind the claustrophobic confines of this room. "Is it done? Can I take my leave?" he asked in a harsh voice, and his jaws clenched. That arm was still hurting him. It was secured in a cast from his shoulder to the tip of his still-broken bones, bent in an L-shape to mend the bones. He felt a sharp pain invade his body's domain whenever he moved it a little.
"Cast your vote and you may leave," Itachi spoke softly, turning his head a little to look at his face, shrouded in darkness. Itachi's Sharingan re-surfaced, swimming up like an ugly red fish, and Sasuke knew that he could see him very clearly in the dark.
Sasuke looked down. A small paper was still lying in his lap. He raised his head, and his expression changed. He was angrier now. "Why does it matter what I do? Most voted in your favour. Obā-San's here, so they were always going to. Why do you need my approval?" he asked, his tone grating, rough.
Itachi was silent. Sasuke waited for him to say something; yet when Itachi chose silence, he got to his feet and scrunched up the paper in his hand. His face showed nothing but the deepest contempt, which he had nurtured since that night in the forest. He would never forgive him for what he did to him. He loathed him. The cast of his gaze drew nothing but disgust from his every piece, every bit of his heart. Sasuke stared down at Itachi's seemingly calm eyes with a ferociousness so terrible that it surprised him that he ever loved him—looked up to him.
"I'm not casting any vote," he hissed, anger raw and rough in his voice, and threw the paper down at him. "You do as you please. Take this cheap harlot as your wife, too. I'm sure there will be plenty more waiting in line." A harsh, mocking smile broke out on his sallow face and it stayed there.
A frown, indistinguishable from his white skin's texture, creased Itachi's face, but he did not look angry. "Sasuke, do not speak that way in front of Obā-San," he spoke calmly. Sasuke's anger was having little effect on him; and, suddenly, Sasuke wanted to get a rise out of him, break his calm, shatter that fake mask of care and love he wore upon his face like a kabuki-theatre actor—daily. Itachi was a charlatan, and he was no longer fond of his games.
"Why, do you dislike my honesty? Do you want lies, Itachi?" he asked and watched, with nigh child-like satisfaction, as surprise went flickering across his brother's visage. His grandmother gasped behind her quivering, old hands. He had abandoned that barrier of respect; he had never spoken to his brother without an honorific—never.
"What is the matter with you? I am not asking you to vote in my favour. Do you have to behave in this manner just to get back at me?" he asked in disbelief and slowly got to his feet, and Sasuke hated it when he saw that he was still shorter than he . . . short enough to carry the heavy feeling of his shadow upon him. It felt as though he could not breathe under its weight that crushed and bowed his back, and he wanted to be free. Free of him. Free of everything.
Sasuke's lips started to tremble and he spoke without much restraint: "you're not my brother. I damn what you do as a Head, or as a keeper of this easy whore to spawn more of yourself." Sasuke turned his face to her and saw her eyes widen with shame and shock. "Look, how eager she is to spread herself wider for you. Eager to rut and eager to lay—a fitting woman for a slippery man such as yourself. You couldn't have found a more suitable match," he said coldly and without shame, returning his eyes back to him.
Sasuke's fury had redoubled at the sight of her tears. He wanted to say more. He wanted to hurt him more, shame him more . . . so when Itachi raised his hand to strike him, he did not flinch; he did not blink. He wanted to feel the sting of his slap on his face without fear this time. He wanted to break away and tear apart what they shared. It did not matter to him—not anymore.
Itachi curled his fingers. He did not hit him. He kept looking down at Sasuke's eyes, and the fury burning down the blacks to ashes in them. He lowered his hand and moved it to touch his face. Sasuke pushed his hand away and stormed out of the room. Itachi moved to try and stop him but turned around at the sound of Izumi's whimpers. He looked on as her lower lip shuddered, and she made an awful face before she started weeping. Quickly, she picked herself up and rushed out of the room.
He let out a heavy sigh and sat back down. Raising his eyes to his grandmother's face, he saw a hint of a mischievous smile upon the lips. "She is foolish and sensitive," he spoke and picked up the scrunched up paper. "Did you not tell her that he was angry? If that is all it takes to make her weep, she will not last a day in my house." He created a mildly irritated look on his face but quickly schooled his features into the expression of habitual indifference.
"You could have disciplined him, Itachi, but you do nothing," she spoke in amusement and stretched her arm to stroke his hair.
"I am not going to hit him over something so trivial when he is already ill and frail. He is angry with me. It will pass," he spoke and put the paper down on the tatami mat. The shadows stretched out before him and fell like delicate vestments on his grandmother's aged face.
"And if it does not?" she asked, her voice small and soft. That smile was in place as she saw him look back at her with a glimmer of unwanted emotion in his young eyes—his eyes that hid so many of his secrets. He never wanted to share them.
Itachi held his gaze for moment more and then turned his eyes away towards the lantern's flame. "As long as he is safe, then it is . . . all right. He can hate me if he desires," he spoke with honesty and rose to stand upright. "I will go and speak with him. If he still does not want to cast his vote, you can tell the Elders the truth. It matters not." He bowed before her and turned around. Then he took a few steps and opened the sliding door, but the sound of his grandmother's voice stopped him:
"Will you be able to bear his hate?" she asked, looking at his back. "It is easy to speak of things, Itachi, but it is difficult to bear them, to live through them. He has lived many years alone with you and sees you in many forms—father, brother, a mother even. He may not know it, but it is true. He is still a child and children do not want to share. They want to be loved the most. Can you truly let him hate you, ruin his love for you, knowing that you can tell him the truth and end this quarrel?"
He half-turned, his face rigid in the wind flowing in through the open door. "He does not need to know a thing. He is a child. Do not ever speak of it to him. You will only get him killed. Is that what you desire—to end his life? I would be left with nothing," he spoke, a trace of anger in his voice.
Rao only smiled. Her lips quivered, smile wavered, and fresh tears rose in her eyes. "You will only push him further away. Your lies will kill him. He will end up dead. He will not stop. You know this. You know, child. You have always known of his nature. How long will you keep on punishing him—how long? Tell him. He will understand, for he loves you. He will forgive you," she spoke, her face anxious and anguished. "My child, my beautiful child, you cannot be so naïve. You cannot be.
"You know this will destroy him. You are destroying him, and if something happens to him, it will truly ruin you—destroy you. You will never be able to heal from his death. It will drive you mad, and I know madness. I have seen it—lived through it. Tell him. Lift this burden from your shoulders. It is a thing of the past and it has spiraled out of control. You—"
"That is not your decision to make," he cut across her and left in silence, closing the door behind him . . . leaving her alone in the darkness to weep . . .
Itachi searched for Sasuke in the manor, but Tanaka told him that he never came home. He roamed the Uchiha Village till he saw him sitting under a tree, a stone in hand. Thoughtlessly, he was turning it around with the fingers of his good hand.
Sasuke heard the crunch of the dry leaves under his brother's sandals, and irritation came to his face. "What do you want? Leave me be," he said and his voice was still harsh and bitter. His face was turned away from Itachi, and his back was pressed against the tree.
A cool wind rushed past Itachi, and he smiled. "I came to see if you were all right," he spoke and drew closer.
"I'm not an invalid. I can take care of myself," he said and threw the stone to the stream a couple of feet from him. It made a big splash and sank down.
Itachi looked up at the moon: it was weak and murky behind the grey. It would rain soon. "You can stay angry with me, but there are precepts and we have to obey them. Desires do not matter in such affairs," he spoke and watched Sasuke as he turned his face up to him. His black eyes were a little wide, and there were anger and confusion living in them.
"I don't care about your precepts, and I don't care about your damned seat—to hell with you! Do what you please. This pretend-play of yours bores me," he said and raised himself to his feet.
Itachi's smile had not faded. It widened—warm and soft—eyes glinting with delight and mischievousness. "So angry . . . you child," he spoke softly and watched Sasuke's face contort and work with more anger, "and you claim that you have grown up?"
"You are always mocking me. Is it something Otō-Sama loved in you? I could never understand him. He was strange like that, loving a wicked boy like you," he said angrily, bitterly, softly, and a pulsing vein, throbbing like a little heart, rose to the surface of his throat.
"Why would I mock you?" he spoke and moved his hand to touch Sasuke's brow and brush his hair to the side. "You are my child and no father mocks his child." And he was smiling, and his smile was not cold.
Sasuke was silent. He wanted to say more, but anger stopped him. His curious eyes forgot the anger for a moment and watched Itachi, making sure that it was not another trick, as Itachi brushed the dry leaves off his shoulders. He pulled few out of his wind-blown hair, too.
"You do not want me to take the seat? Cast your vote. It would not matter to me," he spoke, stroking his head. "If you do not like her, I will not accept her as my wife. Tell me what your heart wants."
Sasuke sucked his cheek in a way as though he was chewing on a piece of bitter lemon. "Why are you asking me?" he asked, his voice still rough that Itachi could not help but create a full smile on his lips.
"Obā-San wishes for me to get this matter out of the way. When the girl gives me a son, there is no need for her to be in my house," he spoke, meeting Sasuke's intense gaze. "Sasuke, you are my child. Do not forget. No one can take your place . . . even if it is my son. Do not be so angry. Look what you have done to yourself in anger. Cool your heart. I am not your foe." Itachi's face was sober, and his black eyes were searching his face, his mind.
"You have a way with words," Sasuke said and he did not look any less angry, unmoved by his brother's words that he thought to be charmless. "They all like what you tell them, but I know—I know that you're a little liar. You always have been." His face shivered, and a soft angry smile clung to his lips the way red sake does.
Itachi did not speak. It was better to leave him be for now. Moments passed and Sasuke spoke again, his voice softer now: "I want to visit the Police Force compound. That day is coming. I want to pray where I was found. It would be—"
"What are you speaking of?" Itachi cut him off with a changed voice and gaze.
Sasuke looked up and found confusion and a little anger in Itachi's face. "What do you mean? I want to visit the compound. Even that isn't allowed under your eye? The votes haven't even been counted yet, but look at you—full of yourself already!" he said firmly; he was quick to anger over the matters that were closest to his heart.
Itachi considered Sasuke for a moment, fixing him with a strange look. "Sasuke, you were not found in the compound," he spoke and tilted his head a little to the left. Softness faded from his eyes, and he looked quite cold again.
"Why do you act like this? Do you find these tricks amusing? I don't," he said with a hiss, and his cheek-muscles tightened in fury.
"What have you been brewing up in your head?" he asked and moved closer. "Show me." And before Sasuke could protest, he was inside his mind. It was night, and he was not wearing one sandal, his tiny foot bare whilst he sloshed through blood that was black as his brother's scroll-ink. He fell down to his knees when his eyes fell upon someone's face, and everything turned to black.
Itachi withdrew from his brother's mind and blinked once, his shurikens spinning quite obediently in his eyes. "You child," he spoke, and his words hurt like the snow, "how I stop you from dwelling on this for too long, yet you do not listen. You are so fixated upon this that you are tampering with your memories. Is this how you want to live your life, pushing yourself to the brink of sanity?" He grabbed him by the arm and jerked him forward. He was so angry now.
"Is this another one of your stories? I haven't read anything like this. You're lying. I don't believe you." Sasuke looked back, face locked stiffly by his eyes' intensity.
"Not everything related to the Sharingan is made available to a boy child," he spoke, and his lips trembled into a smile that released anger's surges into Sasuke's eyes. It boiled his blood. "Who knows what troubles you will create with Kin-Jutsus in your reach, let alone any other details of the Sharingan—" he stopped and slowly shook his head, "—still a disobedient child. You are creating another mess for me, but you do not care as you told me in the forest. You do not owe me a thing, as it is, somehow, my duty to keep cleaning up your messes. Does this not terrify you—do you not fear insanity?" Itachi's face was hard and angry, his eyes two bright rubies in the dark.
Sasuke was silent; his eyes were wide whilst he tried to pull away, but Itachi's grip was too tight for his present strength. That anger rose back up to the surface, his cheeks red and hot again. He searched his mind, but he could remember nothing from that night other than that broken memory. Suddenly, Itachi let go of his arm, and Sasuke took a step back and lowered his eyes to escape his accursed gaze.
"I will take you to the compound, but on one condition," he paused, a hard look still present in his face like something permanent and eternal, "you will not go there for another year, and you will come to me every night to fix this. I cannot bear another burden, not with a new responsibility upon my shoulders. You are creating a great trouble for yourself. If someone catches wind of this—you child." He clenched his jaws and looked away.
"I don't understand. I . . . " Sasuke fell silent. He dropped his gaze to the ground, his eyes looking at the red flowers quivering under the caresses of the autumn breeze.
"You were lost deep in the forest," he spoke, and his voice drew Sasuke's gaze to him, "you went after autumn moths that were floating to purple lilies. You pursued them. You were a small child. It took me hours to find you. I thought—" he stopped, but his voice did not falter and he continued, "—you perished in the massacre, but you had collapsed in the field of lilies from exhaustion when you could not find your way back home. You never saw anything. Do not do this. You will ruin yourself . . . and me."
Words eluded Sasuke. He knew his chakra was strong; he knew Uchiha chakra leaked into the brain. Was he really so consumed by vengeance that he was meddling with his own head, his memories? A part of him did not believe Itachi, at all. (You never should trust a liar!)
Itachi turned around to walk away, but he stopped and spoke as coldly as he had before: "I will cast your vote and consider it a no, but you are honest," he paused and looked over his shoulder, "it matters not." And then he walked away, leaving Sasuke outside in the night's air . . .
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