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The best year of Itachi's life goes something like this:
He's just turned twenty-three, is at his peak. Less missions fall on his shoulders, to make way for the training and the preparation. Yondaime takes him and Obito equally under his wing, to watch and observe and learn, exactly what goes into being Hokage. It's - very nearly peaceful. His pacifistic heart content to do naught but listen, to shake hands and share smiles, to squint at his endless notes from behind the glasses he only wears in the privacy of Minato's office. There is no stench of blood, nor is there the cry of death. He and his cousin are being prepared and groomed to lead and to advise, and perhaps one day to don the hat.
His family has always been a bit strained, but as Sasuke has grown into his own and their father has bowed beneath the strain of police chief and clan leader, allowing their mother to step up and assist his leadership - things have become far more smooth. They all laugh together when they sit for dinner; even if Itachi has too many things to do and not enough time, even if Fugaku is pulled away for longer hours, or Sasuke has another month-long mission with his squad - they all find their ways back home, where Mikoto waits with a put-upon sigh and a half-hearted slap with her dish towel. It's the most peaceful his childhood home has been since he could remember, and for the first time in his life Itachi actually looks forward to going home at the end of a long day.
He's in love; so stupidly, impossibly besotted, that there are some days that Itachi has genuinely no idea what he'd done to deserve such lightness in his chest. Shisui is his best and oldest friend, the one who cradles his hidden heart in scarred hands that have never once harmed him. Itachi loses himself in the hours spent at the Nakano, with his head on Shisui's chest and fingers tangled in long, silken hair. In the press of a smiling mouth against his, in the secret glances shared across a room.
He's - happy . He hadn't expected to find that for himself, not truly; his mind and heart perpetually at war since that first time his father had taken him to the field of battle and shown him what it meant to be a shinobi. A distaste for death and suffering even as he excelled in every aspect; a cruel irony he'd suffered with for most of his life. And then, impossibly, peace to be found. In protection, and not pointless violence. In loving and allowing himself to be loved, in watching his brother grow and thrive and smile. In facing the future, and knowing there's a place for one such as him.
Itachi sits at a low desk, across the hall from the Hokage's office. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose as he ducks low, double-checking the contract with a guild of builders for the new expansion to the library. He's always been meticulous to a fault, and he knows Obito will only glance over it before tossing Minato's seal of approval down without a thought.
He loves his cousin. Knows his heart is generous and warm, understands he would make a good leader. Obito's forte however, is not in paperwork. Though, Itachi supposes, that's the entire reason why he's here, sweating into his collar and frowning at a waist-high stack of documents. Only one will succeed Yondaime, and a Hokage never does anything alone.
A knock at the door makes his brow twitch as Itachi sits to full height, pulling his pen up and murmuring for them to enter. He straightens his spine and stifles a sharp cough pulling at his lungs, brows furrowed as he clears his throat through the burn. Yet when he glances at the opening door he still smiles, a small but genuine curve of his mouth, when Kakashi steps inside.
They chat for a bit, about plans for the pair of them and Obito to act as official representatives to Minato's interests in Iron. Delegation is something Yondaime is fond of, as his confidence and surety grows by the day in the two Uchiha. Just the thought of it brings a warmth to his chest, at the trust put in him and his cousin. He may have found a place, after so long spent wondering who, exactly, he was. Though the warmth might just be another flash of pain in his chest. Who knows.
Itachi is thankful to have his former senpai as company and firm pillar of support. His advice and quick wit is invaluable, even if he cracks wise about Itachi's glasses or has to be shooed from Minato's office when his hand wanders just a bit too low on Obito's back to be considered polite.
"You look a bit tired," Kakashi says with his usual air of indifference, though Itachi knows him well enough to tell he's frowning beneath the mask. Even at a distance, Itachi can see the way his hand twitches, as though he wishes to reach out a place a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should take a break -"
"I'm alright," Itachi responds with a wave of his hand, a look of impatience glancing across his features. He'd taken the world upon his shoulders since he was thirteen, and no tightening in his chest will change that. Stress, probably; but he flourishes beneath expectation, and wishes not to disappoint any around him. "It's probably just a cold, it's that time of year. Wasn't Obito sick a little while ago, too?" He adds by way of placation and distraction, cradling his chin in his palm and pulling the glasses from his nose.
Kakashi watches him in silence for a breath, dark eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Gives a soft hum beneath his breath, and then acquiesces. Cracks a deadpan joke about Obito being curled in bed and whining loudly whenever he's ill, the both of them smiling indulgently. He doesn't bring up the shadows beneath Itachi's eyes, nor does he mention the way he coughs into his elbow, more and more.
The visits to the hospital are kept blessedly short. Itachi has little time for flowery words or dancing around the subject, especially that of his own life. He sits with spine straight and legs crossed, hands held carefully in his lap; the perfect portrait of heir to the Uchiha. He's polite to the nurses, summons a smile for any who catch his eye; knows gossip will dog his heels but he is nothing if not efficient. None will begin to guess, none will know the truth. Itachi makes no effort to hide himself when he visits the hospital, even with his distaste for the whispers and the stares; no one will know, he reminds himself for the hundredth time, and almost starts to believe it.
He goes, only because Shisui asked him to. Had held a tender hand to his cheek and looked right into his eyes, and mentioned that he could tell something was wrong. His breathing didn't sound right, which from anyone else would have made his spine stiffen. But it was Shisui - Itachi covered his hand with his, and nodded wordlessly.
The direction of one's life can change in an instant. Anything can happen, at any moment; learning to adapt and to move forward is something drilled into the mind of every shinobi, in order to ensure the mission runs smoothly and bring victory without cost. Itachi's life has shifted many times over the years, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of one simple test result.
He doesn't put too much thought into himself, never has. His life has never been his alone, he's always been more a tool to be used, by village and clan. And he was content with that, with finding his own moments of peace and joy in amongst the pressures and expectations. He wishes, above all else, to do what he can for all he loves, and to stand tall beneath the weight on his shoulders. When things are out of his direct control, he wavers; he doesn't buckle, never has he and never will he, but there is that sharp annoyance digging tiny fingers into his temple when he realizes and understands that this time, he can do nothing. His quick mind and skilled hands left utterly useless, in the face of his own failing health.
Itachi's more annoyed than anything, as he thanks the doctor for her prognosis and her sympathies, takes the copy of his results and a slim file on treatment options, and leaves the room with brows furrowed. He has a plan for everything, meticulously laid out in his mind for every option, every path. But this - is not part of it.
And then reality crashes down around his shoulders, as he walks home from the hospital. Yesterday, he had his life ahead of him, surrounded by family and friends and a future that was as close to idyllic as he could fathom. Itachi stumbles a step as his eyes go wide, barely even noticing when his sharingan spins to life in automatic response to his suddenly embroiled emotions.
He cannot stifle the image of his family, when he tells them. Gasps and tears and mourning, horror etched on familiar faces and the tight grip of his mother's hand. He will leave Sasuke alone. His parents will outlive one of their children. And Shisui - expression falling and tears filling those soft brown eyes, that had looked at him from that very first moment with nothing but unending warmth.
Itachi does not mourn for himself. A part of him wonders if it's some sort of cosmic justice, for the lives he'd taken in the name of peace. He'd always comforted himself with the fact that the blood staining his hands since he was six years old was for the greater good; and now here he is, finding contentment and peace and staring down a life filled to the brim with those he loves and a future fulfilling his dream of peace.
Does he deserve to die? Maybe. His analytical mind spins just like the world around him as he crouches low to the ground, palm pressed tight to his mouth as nausea rolls in his stomach. The details don't matter, the guessing doesn't matter, nothing - nothing matters . He's going to die. And there's nothing he can do to stop it.
He is expert at keeping a tight lid to his emotions; has long since perfected the serene look of someone at ease and in control. Itachi dons the familiar mask as he clears his throat and coughs delicately into his palm, ignoring the sharp tightening somewhere beneath his ribs. Relaxes his posture, and hides the documents in the back of his closet. Summons a smile for his family, and lies. He may not have planned for this, but he can plan around it. His family will mourn, but they will move on. There will be a different prodigy in ANBU, and Obito will have others to surround and encourage him. Itachi will never don the hat, or find the bravery and willful vulnerability to admit to all he's in love with his best friend, and will not watch Sasuke continue to grow into the man he knows he'll become. His story is merely coming to an early close, and he tries to find comfort in the fact that it could happen to anyone.
Itachi silently, secretly, lets some tears fall in the night. Whilst he sits up in bed, watching Shisui snore into his pillow beside him. He'll not grow old beside him, wont grow a family or share warm memories. He'd told Shisui the doctor had told him to take it easy with katon , with the beginnings of a chest cold brewing in his lungs. And Shisui had believed him, because of course he did; Itachi feels wretched, but he - he can't . He doesn't have the bravery to see the look on his beloved's face, when he's aware enough to know that if anything happens to Itachi then Shisui's world will crumble around him.
He stifles his emotions, wipes his tears, and curls against Shisui's back. Sleep doesn't find him, until the sun is cresting over the horizon.
It is a difficult thing, to swallow one's pride and choose to admit certain weaknesses. Itachi requests Kakashi's presence for early in the morning at the Hokage Tower, and it speaks volumes to his former senpai's apparent concern that he is not late. Kakashi holds the door to Minato's office open for him, Itachi inclining his head in thanks, and then the pair of them are alone with the Yondaime.
They exchange pleasantries, but they can all sense a certain shroud of expectation hanging about the room. Minato waves a casual hand, his personal ANBU appearing in a cloud of smoke; she fists a hand against her breast and gives a quick bow, and Itachi watches as she silently leaves the room, the door clicking shut with a certain finality that does nothing to ease his hurried pulse.
And then they are alone, silence blanketing the room as both of his mentors turn to face him. Itachi breathes through his nose, and offers a low bow to his Hokage.
"I would first like to offer my apologies," Itachi begins in a low and dulcet tone, silently praying the ache in his lungs will not make itself known. "I know how much trust you've put in me, and it pains me to admit I am no longer suitable to work beneath you." The truth, absolute. He had allowed himself to - hope, really, that one day he would sit where Yondaime does.
Minato's eyes go wide, lashes fluttering as he studies Itachi with shock writ clear across his face. "I'm - sorry to hear that. Can I ask for elaboration?"
Itachi barely holds on to his sigh; he'd seen this coming, and with a quick glance to the door he takes a step forward. "This cannot leave this room, please."
Kakashi and Minato share a look, offering twin nods. Itachi feels another tightening in his chest, though blessedly it is from warmth, and not illness. "Thank you. I -" He pauses, the words refusing to come. They sit in a tight knot in his throat, a painful gathering of thorns that will not relent, when it comes to admitting his own failings and weakness. He chokes on a breath, feels that now-familiar burning in his lungs, and has to turn his head to cough harshly into his palm.
His shoulders shake from it, though Kakashi is there to place a welcome and steadying hand on his back. Shame still eats away at him, but Itachi knows neither he nor Minato will offer judgment. His breath rattles and his chest aches, but when he glances to his friend he is able to find his strength.
So - he tells them. Without pomp or spectacle, Itachi succinctly sums up that his long years spent with aching lungs has led to a dismal prognosis of barely a few months left to live. He's ever the pragmatist, and knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that they need to know, in order to prepare and find someone to replace him. Obito will learn in time, as well as the rest of his family, but for now - for now, he cannot bring himself to tell them. Instead chooses to confide professionally, compartmentalizing his own emotional reactions and holding them back.
Minato puts a hand to his shoulder when the room once more grows silent, deep blue eyes burning into Itachi with a naked grief. The pain he shows shouldn't be shocking; the Hokage is a deeply emotional man who cares much too much about those under his care, yet still Itachi nearly falters at the sheer breadth of warmth and affection.
"Anything you need," Minato says, " anything at all - you don't hesitate to come to me." His hand tightens on Itachi's slim shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and for a moment he wonders how he'd gone so long without realizing he'd been loved by more than he ever expected.
Life continues as normal. He keeps returning to the Hokage Tower, to get things in order and gently nudge Obito in the direction of taking more responsibility. He takes missions when time permits, and keeps his secret. He still kisses Shisui goodbye in the mornings, still pokes Sasuke's forehead when they cross paths, still ducks into an empty room when a cough rips its way up his throat. Ignores the taste of iron lingering on his tongue, and carries on as though nothing is amiss. Surely, surely - he has time.
The mission was run-of-the-mill, nothing to write home about. He'd spent three days on the eastern border, cleaning up after a nin gone rogue. Distasteful, but like a house of cards they all fall before his sharingan. It's almost a bore, at this point; he tries not to let his mind focus too hard on when he had become so disillusioned.
Shisui meets him at the gate, setting sun at his back and that wide, boyish grin on his face. Itachi returns his smile easily, and has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from embracing him in plain view of the gate guards. Time, he thinks, is a fickle thing; he'd never dwelt on how precious it was, and is now suddenly starkly aware of how little he has left to ensure Shisui remembers just how loved he is, always has been.
He knows - of course he knows. But it wouldn't hurt to tell him, too. Itachi has always been soft-spoken yet eloquent, but when it comes to brutal honesty and feelings exposed he falters. He's getting maudlin as the illness creeps forward, and he barely suppresses a roll of his eyes.
They walk together towards the compound after Itachi gives his report of a mission success, Shisui filling the silence with poking and prodding questions about what Itachi had been up to. He answers as succinctly as he can, a small smile curving his mouth even as he pauses to cough into his elbow every few blocks.
"Just a small cough, from the dust in the road," he tells Shisui when his brows furrow with concern, hand on his elbow. The lie slips easily from his mouth, and Itachi apologizes for it with a quick kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth. Shisui goes pink from his ears to his neck, unaccustomed to open displays from him, spluttering on his breath and grinning that crooked grin. Itachi's only response a low laugh, hand brought up to cover his mirth and hide the sudden cough it brings with it.
When they reach his family home, stepping out of their shoes and calling greetings, Itachi catches sight of Sasuke lingering in the hall. His otouto frowns at him, and a guilty part of Itachi knows assuredly what irks him. Not enough time , he thinks once again; there was barely enough to split between all that he loves before , but now -
Shisui is already deep into the house, making Mikoto laugh and offering to help with dinner. Itachi hopes that these visits will continue once he's gone; Shisui's mother had been gone for many years now, and Mikoto was always in her element whilst hovering and smothering and doting on her sons. Shisui had slotted perfectly into their family, and he wishes for them to come together easily once more.
He steps further into the hall and offers a smile to Sasuke, wide and warm and genuine. His breathing comes harder but still he's happy to see his otouto, questions already brimming on the tip of his tongue. Had his last mission gone well? Has he perfected his genjutsu? Is he - is he happy ? He's rather desperate to hear that Sasuke is happy, Itachi realizes, as he lifts his arm aloft to poke his otouto in the middle of the forehead.
His hand trembles when he lifts it, vision narrowing into a clouded blur as in a blink there are two Sasukes in front of him. Odd, Itachi thinks to himself, as he stumbles forward a step and has to catch himself on the wall. The lurch of motion makes his head spin, pulse thundering in his ears as he feels, distantly, arms circling his chest that he suspects might be all that hold him upright.
But the pressure is cloying, tight and uncomfortable and Itachi feels the pain in his lungs swell. He squeezes his eyes closed to stave off the nausea, cough rocking up his throat and making his shoulders heave as he struggles for breath. Something wet catches in his mouth and he has enough presence of mind to feel ice in his veins. Not now, not yet, please, not now -
His knees fail him as Itachi coughs a fountain of red, rushing rampant from his tighttighttight lungs. A palm slapped over his mouth does nothing to stave it, to hide it or to slow it, his head continuing to spin. His sharingan spins to life as he blinks his eyes open, apologies and lies already bubbling to the forefront.
The last thing he knows is Sasuke's horrified expression, blood splattered across his cheek and his distant voice screaming Itachi's name.
When Itachi wakes, it is to clinical white walls and the steady hum of machinery. He blinks away the haze slowly, limbs feeling sluggish and far too heavy, though his breath comes the easiest it has in months. He suspects he can thank the ventilator pressed into his nose for that.
Regret hangs heavy over him as he lays in the quiet, eyes gazing without seeing at the stained ceiling above him. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, shame an old and trusted friend as he silently curses himself for such rampant weakness, when all he'd wanted was to ensure his family's comfort and happiness.
There is movement in his periphery, and when Itachi glances to the side it is to find Shisui, sprawled out in a low metal chair, fast asleep. Fondness and worry tug equally at his heart, and he effortlessly finds the strength to push himself to sitting, trembling hand reaching out to rouse him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sasuke's voice makes him flinch, hand pulling back as Itachi whips his head to look at the door he hadn't noticed was open. His otouto watches him with a distinct fire burning low in his dark eyes, hands tightening into fists at his sides.
"I - thought I'd have more time," Itachi answers in a whisper, glancing sidelong at the still sleeping Shisui. His words hold no lies; even if he's omitting the part where he'd been too afraid to say anything for weeks, now, still he doesnt lie to Sasuke. Not now. Not when he'd borne witness to Itachi's failure, not when he'd had to suffer through watching Itachi nearly drown in his own blood.
" Bullshit ," Sasuke hisses at him, stepping further into the room and pointing a finger right at Itachi. "You've kept everything important from me for my whole life. You weren't going to tell me, not ever; you were just gonna wait until you were dead."
He can't even deny it. Itachi finds himself suddenly, utterly, exhausted. The pressure in his chest unfurls and a wracking cough takes the wind from his sails. Doubled over in bed he barely even notices the hand rubbing soothing motions up and down his back, but when he looks Shisui is there, something forlorn in his eyes and mouth pinched into a frown. When he catches his breath and turns to look, it is to see Sasuke standing close to the bedside, a shock of tears brightening his eyes.
Guilt gnaws at his bones as he struggles to lay back down, head spinning and throat dry. Shisui holds his hand, Sasuke wordlessly takes the other, and none of them speak until his parents enter the room.
The days pass in a blur of muted pain and the constant flow of hushed activity. Loved ones come and go, and soon enough there are enough flowers on his windowsill and bedside tables to open a new florist. Itachi is kept medicated, very nearly sedated, until he can count the hours passing in coughing fits and exhausted bouts of sleep. His most illustrious visitor is Tsunade-hime, who offers her own gruff apologies when she admits his illness is too far along to be treated effectively, the only result to extend his life by a few weeks, perhaps, which they all know would be spent much the same. In bed, utterly useless and half-delirious, either feeling nothing or in pain. Itachi declines the offer for healing, too cowardly to meet Sasuke's eye across the room when he says the words.
The nights, however, are where Itachi finds his peace. Shisui refuses to leave the room, and when the hospital turns quiet and the lights switch off, he stretches out at Itachi's side in the small bed and pulls him to his chest. Sometimes they speak, sometimes they don't; Itachi feels gentle hands carding through his hair to lull him to sleep, ear pressed right above Shisui's heart. Steady and sure and continuing to beat; and his. Always his, as Shisui reminds him with reverent whispers before he kisses the breath from him.
It takes a week before Itachi tells him everything. How long he'd been struggling, how angry he truly is at fate's cruel hand. They speak of the life they wished to have, of the dreams of peace and days spent in laughter and in love. Itachi curls himself over Shisui's broad chest, shaking hands holding tight to his shirt, and tells him once more for good measure that he loves him. If tears soak the dark fabric of Shisui's shirt, neither of them breathe a word of it.
There comes a day where Itachi can feel the burden of time resting heavy on his shoulders. His breath rattles through his thin chest, and he knows that he's wasting away to nothing. It's as though all his years, short as they may have been, have suddenly rushed forward to drag him down, and Itachi can feel his life slipping away.
He asks to speak alone with his brother, and when Sasuke sits at his bedside with wide eyes and an imperceptible tremble to his shoulders, Itachi finds his smile. It's a good, blessed thing, to know that he's honestly and truly loved , despite everything.
He does not look away from his otouto, does not hide from him or his teeming heart, refuses to keep him at a literal arm's length any longer. Instead Itachi watches the way Sasuke so clearly grieves for him, and feels an odd sense of contentment.
He has more regrets than he can count, but as the sands of time spill he knows now isn't the time to linger on them. Perhaps now is the time for truth; late as it is.
"It's been an honor to watch you grow," Itachi tells him, words spilling easily after so long of keeping them shut tight beneath his ribs from pride. "The greatest thing in my life has always been being your big brother; nothing, nothing , has made me happier. You've grown into a fine man, and will continue to do so."
His breathing hitches, which he blames on a cough pressed to his palm. Sasuke watches him, motionless and with his sharingan dimly glowing. Itachi isn't certain he even knows he's doing it.
Though his strength is failing, still he reaches out for his brother. Hand curved around the back of Sasuke's head, he drags him close until their foreheads press together. Sharing a breath, and a certain grief and connection that none could ever hope to put words to. Itachi's mouth quirks up as tears fill Sasuke's eyes, and when he speaks the words they are naught but a hushed whisper.
"I will love you, always."
The best year of Itachi's life was ironically his last. He'd found happiness, and peace, despite the pain and the blood and the struggle; and passed surrounded by warmth and with a smile on his face.