Itachi sat, staring at the ceiling. He was in his bed in his old home.

In his family's old home.

He closed his eyes as the words found him. It hurt, to think of them. To remember what he'd done. What he'd been ordered to do. That was why he was here.

It had been three years since that fateful night. No, four- tonight was the anniversary. His sorrow always came crashing down, he had found. The looks on their faces- anger on some, fear on many, and grim understanding on select few- the way the blood spattered on the walls and floors, the scream that had left his little brother's lips as he had trapped him in his nightmare. All of it would flood him. So he came here, to piece together the bits of a happy past and make like it was the present. Somehow, it helped.

He breathed in, breathed out. Sometimes- tonight- he wondered why he bothered to do so. It would be so simple just to stop, to end it. But he couldn't. He had made a secret pact to himself. Other than the fact that Sasuke would improve, he felt he owed it to him. Dying by his hand. It seemed fitting and proper, and it was the only way he wanted to die.

The steady drip-drop of rain started outside. Itachi's eyes remained closed. It always rained. Somehow, the stratosphere knew the weight of the day, knew his stifling emotions, and always found a way to bring him the one thing that could comfort him. Oh, he loved the rain.

A rough hand gently swept over the side of his face, cupping his cheek. "Kisame," he said, eyes still closed, not moving an inch. Yes, he had known it was him. Itachi always knew when Kisame was nearby. Usually, he enjoyed the other man's rowdy countenance, but tonight it disturbed the memory he held so dear.

"Itachi." It was a simple word, but Itachi's eyes flew open nonetheless. Kisame had never used his name like that- without the honorific to remind him of their differences, to distance them, to make them nothing but working partners. He looked up at Kisame, not even trying to conceal his wonder. Tonight would not allow for his mask.

Kisame was sitting on the side of his bed, looking at him with an expression that seemed foreign on him. Pity, regret, and absolute sadness had rested itself into the grooves of his skin, turning him into some forgotten demon- or perhaps angel.
"Itachi. Itachi Itachi Itachi." Kisame chanted his name like it was a mantra to alleviate pain. And Itachi knew that he understood. And Itachi knew that he wanted to help.

Itachi let his eyes fall closed again, rolling into Kisame's warm, soothing bulk. He lost himself into the tears that suddenly coursed down his face, his long-kept-up facade shattering as reality came crashing in. He didn't sob; no. The silence was dark like the blanket he used to carry. Why lighten it with useless words that would hold no keep over the emotions to match them? Kisame knew how hallowed it was, and respected that. Only one sentence was shot into the night.

"I'm sorry."

Itachi knew then that he would never need to return here.