十二 [action, phone]
[He has been thinking about this very hard for a few days, now.
He eats mechanically, not tasting the food on his lips. His sleep is fitful and he dreams about a world he firmly believes he will never see again. His lessonplans are neglected; he can't seem to concentrate on such mundane things.]
[He stares at the drone wife, the drone daughter, at Aaron. He doesn't speak much, but just watches them.
And the ballot is ever in his pocket, under his pillow, or in his hand. The edges of the paper are becoming worn, and he tries to refrain from folding and unfolding it. If he tears it, he loses his options.
What would the Fourth do?
But there is no one he trusts enough, to confide to. If there were, he would confess that he has enjoyed, for the most part, his time here. Being a ninja took a lot from him. His childhood and teen years were marked by death, conspiracy, sabotage, theft. He undertook these tasks presumably willingly, but age has given him the gift of hindsight even as it stole his vision: there is no way a child can weigh the ramifications of such decisions and rationally decide to do these things. He killed blindly, until he learned remorse; then, he killed because that was all he could do. Itachi is not a diplomat. He is not a peacemaker. He is a tool, shaped from childhood and hardened in the forge of war.
His time in Mayfield, from when he awoke in that armchair to this moment, also in that armchair, staring empty-eyed at the ballot, has been a blessing and a curse. He has seen horrors. He has had his personal integrity befouled. He will no longer trust found candy, or mysterious weapons, or telephone advertisements. But he has experienced once more a family, or some form of it. He has had someone he can consider a friend. For just a little while...
For just a little while, Itachi was a normal man.
But he cannot silence those years of training, and he cannot escape the ghosts of his past.
He does not know if Madara ever got to Sasuke. He prays that such a meeting never occurred, and if so, that his seal was successful. But he will never know, either way.
Itachi cannot be a normal man. When the phone rings, his body tenses. Rapid movements out of the corner of his eye make his hand flinch. When he dreams, he dreams in red, and more often than not, he wakes up feeling sick and disgusted.
To make matters worse, Mayfield appears to be in some form of conflict with another entity. The incident with Sergei and the town officials proved that. Itachi will not be able to hide his abilities forever. He does not want to fight again. But they have already returned his chakra-sensing abilities, and his sword. What else will they give him? What else are they aware of?
When they have given him back enough of his weapons, enough to make him once again into a tool, will they call upon him as such?
Itachi spent his life fighting for other people, when all he wanted was peace.
But that boy's words ring in his ears, and he turns the ballot over and over in his hands. Well. What's the worst that could happen? He's died innumerable times, so many times that it hardly seems like a big deal anymore. His work is complete. To stay in Mayfield is to extend his own suffering unnecessarily. If this is a trick, and he dies again, he'll just wake up the next morning, still here.
If he dies, it's meaningless. If he remains, it's meaningless.]
[Itachi grabs a pen, marks the ballot, and seals it shut before he can change his mind. On his way to the door, he stops, picks up the phone, and this is all he says...]
Some of us only wish to rest.
He eats mechanically, not tasting the food on his lips. His sleep is fitful and he dreams about a world he firmly believes he will never see again. His lessonplans are neglected; he can't seem to concentrate on such mundane things.]
[He stares at the drone wife, the drone daughter, at Aaron. He doesn't speak much, but just watches them.
And the ballot is ever in his pocket, under his pillow, or in his hand. The edges of the paper are becoming worn, and he tries to refrain from folding and unfolding it. If he tears it, he loses his options.
What would the Fourth do?
But there is no one he trusts enough, to confide to. If there were, he would confess that he has enjoyed, for the most part, his time here. Being a ninja took a lot from him. His childhood and teen years were marked by death, conspiracy, sabotage, theft. He undertook these tasks presumably willingly, but age has given him the gift of hindsight even as it stole his vision: there is no way a child can weigh the ramifications of such decisions and rationally decide to do these things. He killed blindly, until he learned remorse; then, he killed because that was all he could do. Itachi is not a diplomat. He is not a peacemaker. He is a tool, shaped from childhood and hardened in the forge of war.
His time in Mayfield, from when he awoke in that armchair to this moment, also in that armchair, staring empty-eyed at the ballot, has been a blessing and a curse. He has seen horrors. He has had his personal integrity befouled. He will no longer trust found candy, or mysterious weapons, or telephone advertisements. But he has experienced once more a family, or some form of it. He has had someone he can consider a friend. For just a little while...
For just a little while, Itachi was a normal man.
But he cannot silence those years of training, and he cannot escape the ghosts of his past.
He does not know if Madara ever got to Sasuke. He prays that such a meeting never occurred, and if so, that his seal was successful. But he will never know, either way.
Itachi cannot be a normal man. When the phone rings, his body tenses. Rapid movements out of the corner of his eye make his hand flinch. When he dreams, he dreams in red, and more often than not, he wakes up feeling sick and disgusted.
To make matters worse, Mayfield appears to be in some form of conflict with another entity. The incident with Sergei and the town officials proved that. Itachi will not be able to hide his abilities forever. He does not want to fight again. But they have already returned his chakra-sensing abilities, and his sword. What else will they give him? What else are they aware of?
When they have given him back enough of his weapons, enough to make him once again into a tool, will they call upon him as such?
Itachi spent his life fighting for other people, when all he wanted was peace.
But that boy's words ring in his ears, and he turns the ballot over and over in his hands. Well. What's the worst that could happen? He's died innumerable times, so many times that it hardly seems like a big deal anymore. His work is complete. To stay in Mayfield is to extend his own suffering unnecessarily. If this is a trick, and he dies again, he'll just wake up the next morning, still here.
If he dies, it's meaningless. If he remains, it's meaningless.]
[Itachi grabs a pen, marks the ballot, and seals it shut before he can change his mind. On his way to the door, he stops, picks up the phone, and this is all he says...]
Some of us only wish to rest.