（ his mouth quirks up at one corner. trust, but verify. shikamaru is looking for cracks in his story, running his hands along the seams. the only thing he can do is splay out all the pieces, and let him assemble the puzzle of it himself.
it is — difficult to do. relaying this information runs against every instinct that has kept him alive.
he holds his cup out for shikamaru to fill. his eyes are focused on the man's face, though the finer details of his expression are lost to the poor vision in his dark eyes. it is difficult to tell what he is thinking, lacking that finer perception. ）
No.
（ who could he possibly have told? all he remembers of those dark, dizzy days that followed was how the yawning grief had threatened to swallow him, how badly he wished for death to claim him as well. that grief had turned to black rage when his father's advisors came to accuse him of shisui's murder — he thinks he may have killed them all if sasuke and his father had not intervened. he had been so angry, so lost, so lonely. the intensity of that emotion has not abated in the decade since, it has only become a thing managed. ）
My word against Danzō would have meant very little, and I am not certain the Sandaime would have believed me. He accepted Shisui's death as a suicide, but accusing his lifelong companion and friend would have eroded the boundaries of that belief.
（ itachi reaches up and lets his fingers catch at the back of his neck, palm pressed over his jugular. his heartbeat is steady and even, his resting heartrate undisturbed by the horrors of story. the pain of it is an old friend, it limps alongside him, and he has grown accustomed to the knife of it at his throat. ）
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it is — difficult to do. relaying this information runs against every instinct that has kept him alive.
he holds his cup out for shikamaru to fill. his eyes are focused on the man's face, though the finer details of his expression are lost to the poor vision in his dark eyes. it is difficult to tell what he is thinking, lacking that finer perception. ）
No.
（ who could he possibly have told? all he remembers of those dark, dizzy days that followed was how the yawning grief had threatened to swallow him, how badly he wished for death to claim him as well. that grief had turned to black rage when his father's advisors came to accuse him of shisui's murder — he thinks he may have killed them all if sasuke and his father had not intervened. he had been so angry, so lost, so lonely. the intensity of that emotion has not abated in the decade since, it has only become a thing managed. ）
My word against Danzō would have meant very little, and I am not certain the Sandaime would have believed me. He accepted Shisui's death as a suicide, but accusing his lifelong companion and friend would have eroded the boundaries of that belief.
（ itachi reaches up and lets his fingers catch at the back of his neck, palm pressed over his jugular. his heartbeat is steady and even, his resting heartrate undisturbed by the horrors of story. the pain of it is an old friend, it limps alongside him, and he has grown accustomed to the knife of it at his throat. ）