Mágoa (n): A heartbreaking feeling that leaves long lasting traces, visible in gestures and facial expressions.

Itachi had not always been a quiet child. Fugaku could recall a time when smiles came easy to the boy, and he would ramble about anything that caught his interest, asking question after question until he was satisfied. He had always been both observative and inquisitive.

But not quiet. Never distant.

After bringing his son back from the frontlines of a battlefield (after his son had taken his first life, his face devoid of emotion) Itachi had asked only one question- Why?

"Because this is war." Fugaku had answered, willing Itachi to understand that this was a harsh life, and people were cruel, unforgiving creatures.

He had always worried about his first born child- it was plain as day that the boy had a bleeding heart. Mikoto would coo whenever he would save his own dinner to feed the stray cat that would lurk in the tree out back, or gush when he would stop to scoop up a ladybug crossing a crowded pathway to ensure it wouldn't be found underfoot. He had even witnessed the child take a wilting flower and prop it up against a tall rock, so the burden of its heavy petals would not force it to the ground.

But these traits were dangerous for a shinobi- one hesitation could cost your life. Empathy was a weakness that could be used as a weapon against you.

So he had hoped Itachi now understood when he witnessed his boy cut the throat of the enemy shinobi that had leapt up to cut him down. No hesitation found in the quick movement. No remorse apparent on his face.

But a shadow had fallen over his eyes, and it stayed well after that day.

Itachi became withdrawn, quiet. Still very aware of his surroundings, always watching, always observing. But he didn't ask questions anymore. His smiles were scarce. Conversations stilted.

He pondered about death, how easily it could come and claim anyone. On any day. At any second. His young heart mourned for the man he had killed, for the friends and family who would feel the void of his loss. He warred within himself, arguing it would be his own family in pain if he had refused to raise his kunai, and be cut down instead. Was his life worth more than that man's? …Was a life worth anything, if it only lasted for but a blip of time in the span of the entirety of existence?

Itachi was shaken- straight down to his core. What meaning did anything have, if it could all be taken in an instant?

At the tender age of four, Fugaku had to admit that something had changed within his son; he no longer fed stray cats or straightened wilted flowers.

It broke Mikoto's heart but Fugaku felt that in the end, this was a necessary step in the right direction.

xXx

When Sasuke was born, a new light birthed in Itachi's eyes as well. He was an older brother, and as such, he believed himself to be wholly responsible for Sasuke. For his safety, for his attitudes, for his happiness.

He ensured his baby brother's survival during the attack of the Nine Tails. Often he would sneak out of his own room to lay beside Sasuke when he could hear him having nightmares through the walls. They would stay up late most nights as Itachi recanted some of his favorite stories of heroic shinobi and their adventures- Sasuke's small warm body tucked into Itachi's side, dark eyes wide with interest. He would always sneak his little brother his own tomatoes when they were both sure their mother wasn't looking. Although Itachi suspected she always knew.

With Sasuke, Itachi learned to worry less about the ever looming presence of violence and death, and instead focus on the things that were before him. He dove into his studies and his training, coming out as top of the class. Eventually he was promoted early into a genin team for his unmatched performance, and praised as the genius of the Uchiha clan. It made him proud to make his family proud- but nothing compared to the admiration sparkling in Sasuke's eyes as he boasted about his older brother.

Nothing could come close to the secret look they would share when someone would complement one of the boys on their aim, stance, or technique. It was like one's growth prompted the growth of the other. They were connected, intertwined, each pushing the other to progress. Itachi pushing Sasuke out of pure adulation and desire to follow his older brother's footsteps. Sasuke pushing Itachi to be faster, stronger, more agile so as to be better equipped to protect his precious people.

But then Tenma Izumo was ruthlessly cut down before his very eyes by a madman with wild hair, and there was nothing Itachi could do but stare as his comrade's still warm blood pooled on the floor, reaching towards his sandaled feet. He hadn't been fast enough to stop the murder- much less anticipate it. He hadn't had the skill necessary to protect his own teammate. And now Tenma was gone- his existence snuffed out in an instant, his name a void in any conversation it appeared in. He was no longer a person, just a memory. And when those that knew him stopped remembering, he would become nothing.

Suddenly Sasuke's adulation and praise seemed empty- the young boy was naïve. He knew nothing of the world, of life. Of death. He worshipped Itachi like he was infallible- otherworldly.

But he was a false God.

He wasn't worthy of Sasuke's admiration.

If he couldn't protect a teammate, how could he be confident that he could protect his younger brother?

Shisui had been the one to pull him out of such thoughts with a little tough love.

"You don't think you're strong enough to protect your precious people?" He had questioned one day after Itachi had confided his insecurities with his cousin. Shisui was always the one person he felt he could truly be himself around.

"Then get stronger. Nothing is stopping you but yourself, Itachi." Those simple words and a brotherly pat on the back was all Itachi needed to realize he was right. After all, Shisui was one of the strongest people he knew, but he had grown up in a broken home- his mother lost in the war and his father lost in the drink. He had been dismissed by both his father and by the clan, assumed to have little talent or drive when his grief overshadowed his motivation in the academy. But he had pushed through it, and used his tragedy to propel himself forward. He had found his strength in speed, and didn't slow his pace until he was known throughout the five Great Nations as Shisui of the Mirage.

Shisui was untouchable. And this simple fact was the foundation for Itachi's attachment to him- no matter what came his way, he would flicker his way through it with grace and style that only the jubilant Uchiha could pull off. That's how Itachi knew he could make it through anything, for Shisui would always be at his back when needed. Through his losses, through his uncertainty, and even through the turmoil within the clan.

"I know it may be hard to see, but sometimes loss is a gift." Shisui had said softly, his dark eyes swimming with empathy and understanding.

Indeed, Tenma's death had gifted Itachi with something: a new weapon. He immediately dove into perfecting its every nuance without mercy to his own body.

When his father found out Itachi had awakened his sharingan, he praised him. Praise without any regard to the sacrifice that had birthed the Dojutsu. The words of admiration left a sick feeling in Itachi's stomach. The sickness churned with more ferocity as the clan meetings began to take an even darker turn; now that the heir was able to access their bloodline, the clansmen pushed for him to use his prowess to climb the ranks within the village.

He dutifully did so.

The late night bedtime stories with Sasuke abruptly stopped, replaced by intense training and life threatening missions. Sasuke's nightmares were drowned out by Itachi's own, and Itachi's presence became so scarce at the dinner table the youngest Uchiha had to become content with his own meager portion of tomatoes.

Long lines slowly began to etch down Itachi's face, making him appear deathly tired even on the rare occasions he did get a full night of rest.

They made Sasuke uneasy. Paired with shadowed onyx eyes, it gave the illusion that Itachi had just finished crying- or was very close to starting. And he had never seen his big brother cry.

Sasuke had certainly sensed a shift in his older brother, and desperate to bridge the distance growing between them, he constantly asked to accompany him to train. It was the only thing Itachi ever did anymore- when he was not on missions- and Sasuke didn't want to get in the way of what was obviously important to him. But he still yearned to spend time with his older brother.

Most often than not, he was denied. But when Itachi did allow him to tag along, the training was different. Itachi no longer stood right behind him, correcting his aim with a gentle hand or puppeting his body to demonstrate the proper technique.

He stood off to the side, distant and aloof, offering only words.

Any physical connection between the brothers now was in the form of an admonishing tap to Sasuke's forehead. It frustrated Sasuke at first, and he hated when his brother would do it. But as time passed, Sasuke would find himself purposefully engaging in behavior or saying things that would typically invoke a forehead poke- because he noticed during those moments, the shadows in his brother's eyes lifted ever so slightly. Whatever darkness that haunted his mind was pushed temporarily aside, and in that instant Sasuke became his sole focus.

Until Shisui's death.

After his cousin's passing, Itachi stopped making eye contact altogether; the forehead pokes felt like a way to keep Sasuke at a distance. His older brother hardly ate- even when he was home in time for dinner. He hid away in his room, like a self-imposed banishment. His eyes stayed fixed to the floor when speaking with his mother or father, and when speaking with Sasuke, his body was always turned in a different direction. He didn't seem as tall anymore, shoulders always hunched forward, head always bowed to some degree.

He looked broken.

Mikoto frowned in worry when he washed the dishes with her, handling the porcelain as delicately as broken glass- as if he were afraid it would shatter in his hands. She would ask him- rather often- if he was feeling ok. But he would always answer with a soft voice, dismissing any behavior she was observing as fatigue and nothing more. She noticed he responded to all of his father's inquiries with that same soft, gentle tone. As if everything around him was held together by thin delicate threads, and with even the most miniscule sound they were liable to snap. He slid the shoji doors open and shut with such precaution; no one knew he was in a room until they actually laid eyes on him. He was the ghost of the Uchiha household, drifting from room to room without so much as a whisper.

Everything was fragile to him- every object a metaphor for the relations between the Uchiha clan and the village. And with every meeting, every push towards the coup d'état, the more carefully he handled everything else in his life. Itachi felt as if he was careening towards a bloody end, unable to escape his fate, unable to change that of his family's. But he could control the way he interacted with the objects directly around him, and he craved that control. He held on to it desperately.

But then it happened.

The order was given.

That night he was the instrument of destruction. A mechanic executioner. The shadow of death.

His perfect mask broke only twice that night. First, when confronting his parents, and presented with only their acceptance- their pride in his strong convictions and loyalty to the village.

It didn't have to be this way. It should not have happened at all- not like this.

But it was done, and all he could do was drag air into his lungs as their bodies rapidly cooled at his feet.

The second time his mask broke was when Sasuke had chased after him; betrayal shimmering in his eyes, heartbreak staining his face.

Itachi didn't wish his brother to grow in loss and hate. This wasn't the life he had wanted for him. If loss could be a gift, it was one he had never wanted to gift his brother. But it was all he could think to give Sasuke something to hold on to.

The casting of a genjustu was necessary at the end to ensure Sasuke would not remember Itachi's own despair trailing from his eyes.

That was the last time his mask ever slipped. He pushed his emotion so far deeply within himself, he almost had himself convinced they were never there.

It made it easier to be the villain. Cold, apathetic, heartless.

He was finally the perfect shinobi that his father had wished him to be.

Itachi willingly donned the black cloak dotted with red clouds. His hands were stained with the blood of Akatsuki's enemies, his eyes strained from manipulating other formidable shinobi into joining. He took the baleful glares from those aware of the organization's reputations, and accepted the venomous words shot from Konoha shinobi he had once considered friends.

Sasuke's hatred was the hardest to endure, when he finally came face to face with him so many years after the night that stained his memory. He had grown considerably, and Itachi had known that when he finally saw his little brother again, it would be painful.

But nothing prepared him for the ice in Sasuke's eyes, or how disgust twisted his delicate features in such a way he hardly even looked human.

Itachi barely recognized him.

Was this the same boy who's laugh could lift his darkest of moods? The same boy who used to implant his favorite kunai in Itachi's arsenal whenever he had a mission for 'good luck'? The boy who used to chew his tomatoes with such fervor that the juice would escape his full cheeks to dribble down his chin, always eliciting a chuckle from his older brother?

Itachi's chest had ached horribly in reaction to the stranger before him.

But his face remained blank, statuesque- even when he felt his younger brother's metacarpals snap beneath his fingers.

He couldn't change this, and he wouldn't have known how to even if he was given the chance.

He was Akatsuki now, and he played his role well.

However, he was a Konoha shinobi before anything else. He always found ways to relay important information and Akatsuki movements back to his village whenever possible. He spared lives when they could be spared, opting for genjutsu to temporarily entrap the mind rather than physical attacks to disable the body.

But the ache in his chest was slowly devouring him. He may have been adept at deceiving others, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not deceive himself. And this was not who he was.

The Akatsuki cloak may have been made of light breathable cotton, but some days it weighed so heavy his shoulders ached and he felt he was drowning in red clouds. There were moments he was sure he would suffocate within the material- his body running too hot, his lungs seemingly unable to expand with enough air from beneath its weight.

During these times he would be forced to unfasten the neck enough that one arm could free itself from within the confines of the robe, just to feel like he could breathe again. It took every ounce of control he had to maintain his breathing in a steady pace when he felt on the verge of hyperventilation.

Kisame would shoot furtive glances at his young partner when he caught him doing this. Albeit young, Itachi was infamously feared throughout the five nations. He was powerful and fierce in battle, yet his intelligence alone could trump any enemy he faced. Kisame had witnessed this himself. Yet for all his talent and fierce reputation, Kisame couldn't help but feel this type of body language portrayed something entirely different. It appeared as if the Uchiha heir was almost acting defensively- shielding himself from something. There was a certain vulnerability in the pose that went against everything the mist nin knew about the man.

Although he could never pinpoint the source of this peculiar action, he was observant enough to know that the Uchiha was battling against something within himself.

The Mist Nukenin first noticed it when he had offhandedly ordered some dango on a whim at a small shop on the outskirts of a no name town during their first mission together. His dark haired partner had looked at the colorful dessert with seeming disinterest, but his eyes had lingered long enough Kisame figured it warranted some attention. He offered Itachi a stick as an olive branch, hoping to connect in some way with his stoic partner and begin building some semblance of rapport.

The Uchiha had graciously accepted, and when he took his first bite Kisame had grinned toothily.

Itachi's dark eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as he savored the sweetness within his mouth, his face smoothing with what Kisame could only define as pure bliss. He looked so young in that moment that the mist nin was struck with the realization of just how big an age gap there was between them. The shinobi sitting across from him may have been an s-class missing nin who was wanted dead or alive in every country with a hidden village, but he was really nothing more than a child.

A child who very much enjoyed his sweets.

With a knowing smirk, Kisame slid the plate with the rest of the dango over to Itachi. But the sound of porcelain against wood had broken some sort of trance, and when Itachi's eyes opened again there was a myriad of emotion that flashed so quickly Kisame could not catch recognition of a single one- and then there was emptiness. The lines on Itachi's face deepened, aging him considerably. To look into his onyx eyes now was synonymous with looking into the void itself.

It was a convincing façade.

He gently set the stick in his hand down before delicately pushing the plate back to Kisame with a single finger.

Kisame had stared as the Uchiha looked off to the side at nothing, trying to interpret his partner's forced nonchalance. It was almost as if he was purposefully denying himself the enjoyment of something he delighted in as a self-imposed punishment.

Like he didn't think he deserved even that small joy.

The longer he was with Itachi, the more Kisame began to recognize this in other guises as well. How the boy would stand in rain, relishing in the discomfort of the cold even as his body trembled. How he would lean away from the flirtatious touch of a beautiful waitress and avert his gaze to dismiss her, but his eyes would follow the movement of her sway as she walked away. How he would stare at his food and only begin eating when it was devoid of its freshness and warmth.

The ex-mist nin was not one to dwell on the feelings of others, but he couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy for his young partner. Whatever hell Itachi had endured in his past, Kisame knew it paled in comparison to the hell he experienced within himself every waking moment.

xXx

When the day finally came to face his younger brother for the last time, all Itachi could feel was relief. He was tired. He felt it in every aspect of his being. The illness that had wracked his body for years- whether it stemmed from repercussions of heavy usage from the Mangekyou or from the stress and guilt of all he had done throughout his short life- was near impossible to maintain any longer. Every breath felt like pulling fire from his lungs and his back was laced with electric pain from holding in coughing fits with every fiber of his being.

He had always taken this pain without even the slightest hint of self-pity, however. It was fitting punishment in his mind. For not being strong enough to stop Danzo's ambush on Shisui or his friend's inevitable death. For not being smart enough to find another way around the coup d'état and looming civil war. For just not being enough to Sasuke. Watching his brother turn his back on his village and friends and into darkness was almost more than Itachi could bear. That had not been his intention at all. He had hoped… well, he suppose it didn't matter now.

He had failed his brother just as he had failed everyone else in his life.

But with his death, he could succeed in one thing.

So it was with a light heart he told Kisame to wait, only allow his brother passage to the old Uchiha hideout.

Although he was preparing for what was sure to be an intense confrontation with his younger brother, Kisame detected no strain in his partner's soft voice- no tension in his slim shoulders. His dark eyes were looking to the sky when he spoke, their charcoal depths – usually so intense and calculating- were instead soft and thoughtful. The bigger man paused and scrutinized his long time Akatsuki partner, feeling as if they were on the edge of a drastic change and trying to understand why. Something was different- Itachi was different.

And when he whispered a quiet "Thank you", Kisame knew it was not for his cooperation in directing his brother in the right direction.

It was a goodbye.

Ravens flapped fussily in Itachi's wake, and when the dark birds dispersed Kisame distinctly felt an emptiness that far exceeded a lack of physical presence.

xXx

The air felt fresh in his lungs for the first time in a long time. Sun filtered through the trees and warmed his face. Songbirds chirped and danced upon the branches above him, and he could almost pretend that he was a child again, back in Konoha, on his way home to have dinner with his family or to the Naka River to train with Shisui.

He supposed in a way, he was. He would be reunited with them all shortly.

As he walked up to a decrepit stone building bearing a sun-worn Uchiha crest, a dot of red movement on the ground made him pause. Squinting slightly to try to ascertain what was beneath him, he discovered a plump ladybug squirming in the dirt, one wing out and fluttering while the other stayed suspiciously still. Itachi could easily imagine his younger brother- fueled by impatience and anger- barreling through here without ever looking down. Not one to let another suffer for the consequences of his own actions, Itachi stooped to pick the small insect up and relocated it safely in the weed infested planter beside the entryway before making his way further in.

He placed himself upon the cold stone throne that sat at the head of the large gathering room. Here the air was stale and still, with the underlaying taste of mold. Only the sound of water dripping onto rock permeated into this space; its echo only emphasizing just how empty and alone he was. The chill slab on which he rested seeped past the Akatsuki robes and through his clothes, causing goosebumps to scatter across his skin.

This place used to be filled with life, celebrations, plans for the future… But now it was nothing more than a tomb. His tomb.

He couldn't help but ponder how strange it was to sit within one's own grave while still breathing.

xXx

When Sasuke finally laid eyes on his older brother he was sitting contently upon a throne with the Uchiha Crest displayed on either side of his head.

It was a mockery.

The annihilator of the entire clan had the audacity to sit upon a leader's throne, as if he had led the Uchiha anywhere other than to their graves.

He felt heat flow through his body, both from anger and anticipation.

It was time to end this.

But Itachi appeared almost bored.

His tone was soft, inflection light- almost as if he believed talking to Sasuke was a chore he'd rather not do. He spoke of his disappointment in the younger Uchiha coming before him without the same eyes, yet there was no conviction behind the statement.

As they fought, there were instances that Sasuke would catch him off guard, and though Itachi's eyes would widen minutely, he didn't react as if he feared for his safety. Sasuke watched as his older brother tore out a shard of metal from his leg completely unfazed by the injury or what it meant for the reduction in his speed. He witnessed the third degree burns Itachi's left hand took from the katon jutsu he hurled at him, but his brother only raised an eyebrow in reaction with no regard to his injury.

His brother's lack of concern to what would surely hinder his fighting performance made Sasuke uneasy. Especially when he was positive his brother could have easily avoided all of it. Was he still caught in a genjutsu? Was his brother planning something bigger? Or was it just pride that kept him from becoming concerned at any turn in Sasuke's favor?

Did Itachi still think Sasuke was so beneath him, that even injured he did not believe the younger Uchiha could obtain the upper hand?

The thought fueled Sasuke, feeding his anger until his core felt molten with the fire of his hatred.

He pulled out every trick, spared no expense of chakra.

Yet even with everything he threw at him, Itachi had one more trick up his sleeve, just one more burst of chakra than Sasuke.

Itachi was just as infallible and untouchable as Sasuke had remembered him to be. Even as far as Sasuke had come in terms of power, he felt he was still just standing in the shadow of his older brother.

And Sasuke knew, deep down, that something wasn't as it seemed. If Itachi was still so far out of his reach, why did he allow the battle to go on as long as it had? Why toy with him? He had always known his brother to be quick and efficient- this just wasn't his style.

Then, for the first time in the entirety of the battle, he saw Itachi show real emotion. The look of triumph as he sealed Orochimaru away raised alarm bells within Sasuke. If Itachi was only after his eyes, why did he care so much about coaxing Orochimaru and ridding the world of the snake sannin? How did that align with his goals for restoring his own sight and increasing his own power?

So many questions, too many inconsistencies.

But exhaustion had claimed him, and it was on wobbly knees he retreated until his back collided with solid stone. His thoughts swarmed within him and he struggled to make sense of them just as hard as his body strained to stay upright.

As Itachi advanced towards him, a serene look was fixed upon his features- not malevolent or bloodthirsty like he had portrayed in a genjustu before.

Sasuke's fear mingled with his confusion and uncertainty, and even as bloodstained and charred fingers reached up towards his eyes, the younger Uchiha could not find it in himself to move.

His heart lurched in his chest as buried memories resurfaced of his older brother wearing that same look…

The heavy thud of a kunai hitting dead center within the target, Sasuke turning around to his brother clapping in celebration of his improved aim.

Sitting next to Itachi on the porch overlooking the garden, taking in the heat from the tea in their hands as well as the warmth from each other as cherry blossoms danced before them in the chilled breeze of the coming spring.

A triumphant shout as Sasuke threw upon the cupboard doors, revealing a crouched Itachi. "You found me! You're getting really good at this Sasuke." Echoed laughter as his older brother ruffled his hair with fondness.

Tired midnight eyes widened as he realized it was an expression he recognized.

One of contentment. Of happiness. Of love.

He felt the familiar contact of fingers against his forehead- the same gesture he had secretly craved as a child.

And in the next instant it was as if he had forgotten how to breath. Because then Itachi smiled.

A true, genuine smile.

Despite his bloodied and dirty face, he somehow looked younger than he did at the beginning of their battle. The lines on his face were almost nonexistent, as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted. He looked… truly happy.

"Forgive me Sasuke. There won't be a next time."

He watched his brother's lips move, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. He felt the reverberation of Itachi's deep baritone. But he couldn't register the words. They didn't make any sense. None of this did. He passively watched his brother's body slump lifelessly at his feet before his own body collapsed. And just before he finally allowed his mind to retreat into unconsciousness, Sasuke couldn't help but think he must have imagined it.