Out of habit, Minato fell into an old pattern. Five things he could see: the blue teacup, the clouds overhead, Itachi’s cloak, the remnants of their shared meal, the trees. Four things he could feel: the grass, the warmth of the tea through the ceramic, the breeze against his face, the weight of his unfamiliar clothing, picked over from dead men. Three things he could hear: the Uchiha’s voice, the scrambling of a squirrel clawing its way up a nearby oak, the soft clink of the kettle as it was set down, its purpose served. Two things he could smell, though he wished he didn’t: the blood, the grime, from his prison that lingered just beneath the surface. A change of clothes did help, but it was no replacement for a proper bath or shower. Minato was just grateful he had been allowed that privilege because privileges could be taken away, relatively recently before he was rescued. He belatedly added the scent of tea to the list, it wasn’t one he particularly favored but it was present, grounding.
One thing he could taste: tea, for the simple fact that once he had become aware again, and the consequences of what did happen and what almost happened percolated in his mind, well, it may as well have turned the food to ash the moment it hit his tongue. A dark part of his mind that sounded too much like condescending old men crooned that such measures were useless, in the face of things like genjutsu. Especially those of the Uchiha caliber that could just as easily tear reality as he knew it asunder, and he may not be the wiser. He wanted to be upset about that, really, he did, especially given what happened the last time someone had taken his choices away, and yet…in the face of what may have occurred, that Itachi felt ‘no’ wouldn’t have been accepted, all he could feel was a burning shame. Kurama was more…disapproving but then, Minato supposed, the fox entity had more reason to be upset with the Uchiha and his clan than his host did.
All the while, he stayed quiet, and listened. He took another sip of his tea.
Itachi’s presence seemed to flicker like a candle once he figured out what he wanted to say and how to say it. But it was what he didn’t say or almost said that Minato caught within the shadows of that flame. With care, the blond set down his cup, and a beat of silence passed as he wanted to make sure Itachi was finished illustrating his point, lest Minato accidentally interrupt him. His words were carefully chosen, straight-backed in their stance, but soft so as not to barrel too blindly into any mine fields.
“Itachi. Being touch-starved does not excuse my actions. I am apologizing because I put you in a very uncomfortable position. From my perspective, I can only guess you may have felt a ‘no’ wouldn’t have sufficed and instead chose to use genjutsu to diffuse the situation, and I am so sorry I caused you to feel that way.” He bowed his head. “Given your past experiences and my own abhorrent behavior, I can’t say I blame you for being wary of receiving kindness. You call it ‘benevolent attitude,’ I prefer common decency, or at least my best attempt at it. Your situation may be unique but that does not make you any less my responsibility, from a kage to one of their shinobi.” His gaze was steady, his head slightly cocked. And it made him sick to think he may have abused that promise of protection and leadership.
“There is no shame in letting your guard down in the presence of someone you think or…perhaps thought trustworthy.” He didn’t get the sense that Itachi was afraid of him, or shrinking away, but Minato had learned not to trust himself too easily after all these years. After all, he had once thought of Sarutobi and Shimura trustworthy enough to have the best intentions of the village at heart all those years ago, and it was too late before he realized they all had different ideas of ‘what was best’ meant. His voice softened further.
“That is not a failure on your part, but on mine in this instance.”
I can see why my parents liked you.
“Please raise your head, Lord Hokage.” Itachi had to do his best to speak at all. He tried to keep his face straight, normal. The lump in his throat wouldn’t go away–and swallowing a second time didn’t seem to help.
He had seen straight through him. Again. Either the Fourth had phenomenal insight, or Itachi was slipping. Either could be true.
Itachi bowed his head too. “It was a miscommunication. Next time…” I don’t think there should be a next time, he thought. His soul longed for that attention, for the connection to another human being. He should finish his sentence, but he found himself in a prolonged silence. So he took a sip from his tea. He still was stuck. So for the first time during their break, he reached finally began to take his first bite of his half of the meal.
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