No Revenge Is As Complete As Forgiveness

A/N: Finallyyy, the new chapter is done.



CHAPTER 13







“Why?”



“You were MY Itachi.”



Sasuke blinked at that admission and gaped at Naruto for a few seconds before he closed his mouth with an audible click. He leaned back against railings of the porch and stared right ahead, absently watching a pair of butterflies dance around each other in the garden. How was he supposed to respond to that? He had never realized that Naruto had such deep feelings for him – he had always considered his obsession to be a selfish desire to overcome his own inferiority complex through dominating him – which in turn was exactly what Sasuke had wanted with Itachi. His current situation with Itachi put things into quite an amusing perspective and he smiled.



“Did I say something funny?” Naruto asked, his lips curling into a pout.



Sasuke shook his head.



“I was laughing at myself, Naruto, not at you.” He picked a soft, over-ripe peach from the bowl of fruits and bit into it, the juice running down his chin. He licked his lips and said:



“The truth is, I don’t know what to say to you. To be honest, up to this moment I thought you hated me. I thought that you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” He looked down at his sticky, juice-covered fingers and continued softly “That you’d never forgive me.”



“I forgave you a long time, Sasuke. I just… I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget all that happened between us.”



“I understand.” Was the soft reply. Sasuke kept staring at the half-eaten peach in his hands. Suddenly another hand covered his and gently pulled the fruit away from him. He looked up to see Naruto biting in the same fruit with a playful smile.



“Lighten up a little. It doesn’t mean we can’t be friends again. It’s just that it’d take a while… for us to learn to trust each other. If you can learn to do this for Itachi, I am sure I could learn to trust you again too.”



Sasuke suppressed the urge to giggle again and only nodded solemnly. Suddenly, he remembered.



“It’s getting late. I need to go and pick Itachi from work. I don’t want him wandering around the village alone in his state.” He said and hurriedly got up, grabbing the bowl and cups and returning to the kitchen to wash. Naruto silently followed him.



“Would you mind if I came with you?”



Sasuke looked up in surprise.



“You would? Why?”



Naruto shrugged.



“I’m curious to meet Itachi again. I have to admit that whatever contact I’ve had with him before was… uh…”



“He was the Akatsuki member assigned to capture you.” Sasuke helpfully supplied.



“Uh, yes. But come to think about it, it seemed that he always found a reason not to. Capture me, I mean.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Now that I know the whole truth, his actions make sense.”





“You know.” Bishamon began and yawned widely before he continued. “I still don’t get why you have to work on Saturday. Don’t the brats rest on Saturday?” the tip of his tail was swaying back and forth lazily with obvious annoyance. “I could be lying on your couch now, you could be feeding me tuna… instead we’re in this dingy basement again, and I am helping you to sort through these toys again.”



Itachi was sitting on the cold floor, carefully putting in order a bunch of training Kunai that lied scattered haphazardly around him.



“We’re here.” He explained patiently. “Because there is a sports’ event today. And we need to help.”



“Hmph, sports’ event.” The cat muttered and stretched his front legs.



“You could use some working out too.” Itachi told him lightly.



“Are you suggesting that I am fat?” Bishamon asked him archly.



“I am sure that your impressive girth is an illusion created by that gorgeous, fluffy coat, of course. If I bathed you you’d look like a skinny, drowned rat.”



“Haha. You’re sooo funny.” Bishamon whined and settled back onto his butt, fluffy ears drooping unhappily. “You’re missing a kunai” he pointed out. “I saw it roll under the cabinet to your right.”



“Oh.” Itachi reached and carefully felt under the cabinet with his free hand, looking for the lost Kunai. “There’s nothing here.”



“More to the left.” Bishamon instructed, then jumped on the floor, walked towards Itachi and crouched low to see better what his master was doing. “You almost found it. A little more to the left.”



Finally Itachi’s fingers touched the tip of the handle and he was about to pull it out when Bishamon suddenly said.



“Wait a moment. There’s something else under there too.”



“Something else?”



“Yes. Something metallic, but I can’t make it out… It’s a little further back.”



Itachi sighed and lied down on the ground to be able to reach that far under the cabinet.



“I’ll be filthy after this, Bishamon. Sasuke won’t be happy.”



“Blegh, at worst, he’ll spank you and you’ll like it.”



“Bishamon!” Itachi chided sharply and flushed.



“What, he hasn’t spanked you yet?”



Itachi sputtered and was about to put the damn cat in his place but his fingers finally touched whatever the little menace saw. He grabbed it and pulled it out, along with a large ball of dust that had gathered around it.



“Looks like it’s been there for quite a while now.” Bishamon muttered as he watched Itachi clean it up as best as he could. When he was finally satisfied that he had removed most of the dust, he ran his fingers over it and discovered that the mysterious object was a silver locket hung on a delicate chain. There was elaborate scrollwork all over its lids, thin filigree lines that intertwined all over the smooth surface. Itachi could tell that they were glyphs but it was too complex and jumbled to read it. His fingers found the tiny lock and released it, then opened the locket.



“Look inside.” He instructed the cat. “Tell me what you see.”



Bishamon leaned over the open locket and carefully looked at its contents.



“There’s a picture of a young, pretty girl with long black hair.” He said. “And a dedication.”



“What does it say?”



“Uh…” he leaned further down. “To my best friend, Fugaku.” Bishamon paused. “Wasn’t your father’s name Fugaku?”



Itachi’s fingers were trembling.



“Yes.”



“Um… you know, it could be another Fugaku. There are an awful lot Fugaku’s out there.”



Itachi’s breath caught and he tried to calm down. Bishamon was right. There were an awful lot of Fugaku’s out there. This could’ve belonged to anyone.



The door suddenly opened and Sango walked in.



“Ah, there you are.” Said the elderly woman. “It’s getting late, you should… uh, what are you doing?”



Itachi got up and dusted himself as much as he could.



“I was looking for a Kunai that rolled under the cabinet. I found this instead.” He told her and showed her the locket in his open palm. As the elderly woman leaned forward to take a better look at it, Bishamon jumped on the table and sat next to Itachi.



“Oh.” The woman said. “I see.”



“Bishamon read the dedication to me.” Itachi continued, his voice hollow. “Is… is the girl in the picture my mother, Sango-san?”



For a moment, the Sango locked eyes with the cat and Bishamon shook his head, trying to warn her, to stop her, but she pursed her mouth at him and said:



“Yes, that’s Mikoto-chan. She’s around twelve here, I think. Your father and her were classmates and quite close friends. No one was really surprised when they got married…”



Itachi’s fingers closed over the locket and he turned around, shoulders tense, face hidden behind his hair.



“I see.” He said softly.



Bishamon was glaring at the woman but she ignored him.



“I didn’t tell you this to hurt you deliberately, Itachi. I told you because it is the truth. I have noticed that…that you’re trying to escape from what you did. To run. You’ve been running for a long time now.”



“I am not a coward!” he exclaimed, suddenly angry.



“I never said you were.” She replied, his voice mild and soothing. “But you killed your parents and your entire family with your own hands. One can’t escape from that. Not ever. You can’t pretend it never happened.”



“What do you suggest that I do? Nothing I ever do would make things right. Nothing will bring them back. Nothing will…” his voice broke and it was all he could do to stop himself from crying.



“No, it won’t. And even if your brother forgives you, and he may have forgiven you already, actually, you need to forgive yourself. You need to face what you did, and ask for forgiveness.”



A dry sob escaped his lips and he leaned heavily on the table. Bishamon walked to him and rubbed his furry head against his hand in an attempt to comfort him. His master’s hand was trembling and he turned to glower at the woman again, but she gave him a hard look.



“Sango-san…” Itachi began, fighting hard to keep his voice calm and neutral. “Would you mind if I left a little early today? There is a place I need to visit.”



“Yes. Okay.”



He turned to gather his things.



“Where are you going, Itachi?”



“I… I need to visit my parents’ graves.” He admitted after short hesitation. “I’ve never been there. I never… I have to do this.”



“Yes, you probably should.”



He turned towards the general direction of her voice and bowed.



“Thank you, Sango-san.”

When they left the Academy Itachi instructed Bishamon to lead him through Konoha, to choose smaller, less occupied streets and to avoid any Nin he noticed. Bishamon quietly complied. When they neared the cemetery, he asked:



“Are you sure you can do this now?”



“It doesn’t matter what I can or can’t do, Bishamon, I just have to do this. Sango-san was right – I need to face what I did. I have to stop running.”



“She also mentioned something about forgiveness.” Bishamon reminded him.



“I know. I don’t know if that’s possible now. Or if it’ll ever be possible.”



They walked in silence for the rest of the way.



“We’re here.” Bishamon announced. “The headstones are just in front of you.”



“Thank you.”



He carefully kneeled on the ground, feeling the grass mould and squish under his knees but not caring about the stains that would have to be washed later. He had more important things on his mind.



Itachi reached forward hesitantly until his fingers found the edge of a tombstone – smooth and warm under his sensitive digits. He traced the edge before caressing the polished surface with his open palm. He felt the gentle lines of a name etched into the stone – Mikoto Uchiha. The paint that shot through him was so intense that he doubled over and moaned. The headstone burned under his palm, but he refused to let go. He had to do this. He owed it to them.



His mother brought him dinner that evening, and ever sweet and patient she didn’t demand that he eat it, just gently asked him to come down sometime to have a meal together. Like a family. At that moment, he wanted nothing more but to open the sliding doors and throw himself in his arms, to cry like the little boy that he was and beg her to make things alright. Mothers were supposed to be able to make everything alright, weren’t they?



He didn’t do that. He knew that he couldn’t. It was far too late for that. If he told them now, ANBU would descent upon them and his family would be slaughtered anyway. And they would hurt them, torture them, interrogate them until they had nothing more to give. The thought of his gentle mother in the arms of ANBU interrogators hardened his resolve. Better that he do it – at least that way he would be certain that she wasn’t going to suffer.



He choked down the meal, even if his stomach had tied itself into a knot and he wanted to hurl with every mouthful that he swallowed. Eating what she had prepared for him seemed like the least thing he could do for her now. After he ate, he put on his gear and quietly left their home.



He moved from house to house, as silent as a ghost, unseen and unheard until it was too late for any of the people inside to raise an alarm and fight back. He slaughtered them all – men, women, children - as quickly and efficiently as he could, pausing only to make a quick scan of the place to be sure no one was left alive and then moved to the next, knowing that Madara was doing the same in the other end of the compound. He felt nothing as he killed them – it was as if his emotions had completely shut down and he was nothing but a soulless killing machine.



Finally, when the deed was done, he carefully walked out of the home of his distant cousins and stood in the middle of the street. The houses’ windows were still glowing, the soft breeze was tickling his neck and rustling the leaves of the trees, but otherwise it was eerily quiet. It was as if the whole place, once teeming with life, was now filled with nothing but ghosts. When he turned he noticed that on one of the windows there was a small, bloody handprint – his little cousin Isao had tried to escape his blade before it bit into him for a second time, neatly severing him in half.



The windows of his own home were still glowing too and he could see his mother’s shadow moving inside, probably still tiding up after dinner. He had left them for last, putting off the moment when he had to take their lives as much as he could, but it was time. It had to be done.



He walked into the house and silently made his way to the dining room. His mother’s back was turned towards him as she folded the table cover they had used earlier that night. She was humming softly, a lullaby Itachi recognized from his own childhood. She sounded calm, content. He walked behind her and stood there silently, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, the emotions that had been buried during the previous slaughter now coming to the fore. His vision blurred, not with tears but with the sheer horror of what he had to do. His entire being screamed at him to stay his hand, to turn the blade onto himself, to escape the only way that remained possible.



“Itachi?” his mother suddenly said.



He almost dropped the sword.



“I am glad you came down. You’ve been locking yourself up in your room far too often, son. Whatever’s been bothering you, you can say it to me. I’ll help you.”



“I know, mama.” He whispered.



The blade went through her so smoothly that it was as if she was already a ghost. He pierced her right through the heart. She barely made a sound, her breath, along with her life, leaving her with a gentle hiss before she even hit the floor.



The door of the room slammed open and he turned to see his father standing in the doorway, shock and horror written on his withered features. His eyes moved from his fallen wife to the son who had committed the ultimate crime, but no sound came from his throat other than a hoarse moan.



“You…” he rasped. “You cursed spawn… what have you done?!”



A Kunai appeared in his father’s hand when he lunged at him, his expression crazed with rage, betrayal, hate. Itachi moved gracefully out of the way and struck his father’s exposed side. The hand gripping his sword was unsteady and slippery with sweat and he missed his father’s heart. Fugaku sprawled over his wife’s body with a pained gurgle, his blood gushing out, spraying over Itachi and rapidly increasing the already existing puddle around his mother.



Fugaku weakly turned to look at his son, his eyes already going glassy.



“Curse… you…” and after another wet gurgle he was gone.



He clung to the tombstone and leaned forward to press his forehead against it, images of that horrible night replaying over and over before his unseeing eyes. There was no escape, no forgiveness, no mercy, he was worthy of none of these things. Sasuke, the brother he betrayed, tortured, hurt beyond measure should’ve never forgiven him, taken him in, showed him such kindness…



With a whimper he slid to the ground and curled in a tiny ball, his arms still wrapped around the headstone.



“I’m so sorry, mama.” He whispered, but there was no one to hear, for she had long turned to dust.