WANTED: Itachi Uchiha

Sanjuuroku

Itachi was no stranger to stress. They were wayward friends. Even from a young age Itachi knew what stress was; it followed him from home to the academy, even to the little cafe that was hidden behind the back of Ichiraku ramen.

He simply didn't know what to do with it.

As a child he would train relentlessly, perfecting his already perfect aim and technique. The majority of the time this would work, and any residual stress would dissipate alongside his sweat.

As he grew older and his stress grew in size, his usual releases began to fail. The kunai in his hands would feel leaden, sometimes slippery, he knew it was sweat, making his palms clammy. Instead all he could see was blood. His own blood, sometimes the blood of his enemies, even his teammates.

That was his stress. It haunted him.

Now, with no Shisui or Reina to vent to, Itachi had found that his stress had become more potent - vicious even. Ever since Reina left, Itachi kept himself to himself, only venturing downstairs for meal times and to assist his mother with the daily chores. Otherwise he remained in his room, scouring over previous mission notes to see where he went wrong so that the blood on his hands wouldn't multiply. His notes started out neat and orderly, as usual, but the more time he spent reviewing them, the more he began to nitpick and circle things in red pen.

However when he wasn't hyperfixating on his penmanship and calligraphy strokes, Itachi was organising his vinyl collection and attending to the bonsai on his windowsill since he was banned from missions he had no need to sneak in and out unseen.

Especially when his mother confronted him with an empty pill bottle one day.

"Itachi-kun, I don't mean to pry, but I found this when getting the laundry from your room." Mikoto murmured, handing him the orange pill bottle. His stomach dropped. "I thought it might be Reina's or Tomo's after you brought Reina home from the hospital that time."

Itachi stared at the pill bottle, his chest beginning to constrict and his pulse started to gallop. The label had been worn down, probably from him handling the bottle too much, his sweat, and tears, causing the ink to bleed away into nothing more than a blob of black.

"Hai, she must have left it behind when she collected her things." He lied. "I'll keep hold of them and return them when I see her."

Mikoto smiled and didn't think twice about his response. That's how little his family actually knew about him. Shisui would have noticed his change in demeanor, as would have Reina; even Sasuke would have questioned if he was alright. His mother however simply smiled and nodded, continuing to hang out the washing on the line, humming to herself quietly.

He had never wanted to escape more in his life.

•••

Reina was the exact same. In the weeks that she had left the Uchiha compound she had thrown herself into her clanhead duties. When she wasn't attending meetings and triple checking agreements, Reina was cleaning. Anything to distract from the pains in her chest and the sense of overwhelming that radiated from every pore of the house.

She scrubbed every inch of the house with a toothbrush, scrubbing until the bristles were nothing but nubs and the smell of bleach made her eyes sting. The Hitori compound no longer felt like home. She had felt more at home living alongside the hot-blooded Uchiha than she did in her childhood home.

But it didn't concern her - and that stung more than the scent of the bleach.

A knock at the front door caused Reina to stop scrubbing, she pausing mid-scrub as she listened. Brushing loose strands of hair from her face, Reina approached the front door, peeking through the peephole.

"I have an urgent message for the Hitori clan head?!" The messenger called awkwardly, scratching the back of their head.

Reina cracked open the door and poked her head out. "Hai, I'll take it to them."

The messenger handed her the scroll and bowed before disappearing in a puff of smoke to their next delivery. Reina closed the door and leaned against the wood, fingering the tie of the scroll whilst balancing the toothbrush between her fingers.

That's when she dropped the scroll and her legs gave way from underneath her.