（ watching her put the pieces together is fascinating as a matter of purely academic interest. he's never doubted her cleverness, but in an abstract way, it's artful of her. she would have made a good shinobi, had she been born to his world.
but then — she would not be gwen, would she?
he does not know what he expects to feel, but what results is almost relief. like taking one's weight off a broken bone when you've had no choice but to walk for miles. sorrow bites at heels of relief, because the conclusion she's come to will irrevocably change the landscape of their friendship. she hasn't yet processed the cold horror of it, but he can chart any dozen reactions of hers that may follow. ）
Trust had nothing to do with it. They did not trust me. But besides that, you are correct — the clan I eradicated was my own, the Uchiha.
（ he pauses, to take a sip of his tea. his hand is steady, the motion elegant and unhurried. ）
Wei Wuxian was not made aware of that piece. The extermination of a people carries certain connotations I believe our cultures share.
〈 a little numbly, gwen manages, 〉 Yeah. Genocide bad. Parricide too.
〈 even as the ugly certainty came upon her—it explained too much, answered too many questions to be wrong—still, still, she dearly hoped she might be wrong. that itachi would frown in his very particular way that loudly detailed the depths of his distaste for how subtle the gesture. for him to take offense, rightly, at the very insinuation. to ask her to leave. to shut the door on her face.
she does not understand how he can sit here, calmly drinking tea, instead of screaming.
late, she realizes her mouth dropped open. she shuts it so quickly her teeth click together. her jaw is a sharp line; she swallows tightly.
（ her physiological reaction details the devastation she can only glibly remark on. is she thinking about all the times she has been vulnerable with him, realizing that she'd given him a knife? or is she realizing that the truth of his nature is more his actions in taeum than in the tender truce that followed?
he sets his cup down without a sound. ）
The sole survivor.
（ his survival, the cost itachi extracted from danzō to perform that awful act. ）
〈 the sole survivor. and konoha's insurance against itachi, surely. or maybe they had a different goal in mind for the little boy, horrifying as the concept is.
it is a little boy, she visualizes, itachi in miniature. did he watch it happen or was he spared that much, at least? did he see his brother become a brutal stranger? because she knows with absolute certainty that he would not have known the truth. itachi suggested as much: my regret is failing to trust someone I should have. no one would have trusted a child with a truth so immense or so terrible—but they had no trouble having his big brother take on that guilt.
it roils in her gut: the appalling cruelty of ordering the son to exterminate his family. and all in the name of…order? security? control and power.
her mouth presses into an unhappy line. 〉
That should never have been asked of you. 〈 her eyes meet his, pale blue to deep black, without flinching. 〉 You deserved better. You both did.
（ he is not so lacking in self-awareness that he refutes her claim, the same thing he had murmured to her in quiet certainty. the difference between them is that in gwen's case, it is true. even now, she nurses empathy for him, and his gaze cuts away, falling on the neat row of his kunai spread out on the bed where he had been sharpening them. ）
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but then — she would not be gwen, would she?
he does not know what he expects to feel, but what results is almost relief. like taking one's weight off a broken bone when you've had no choice but to walk for miles. sorrow bites at heels of relief, because the conclusion she's come to will irrevocably change the landscape of their friendship. she hasn't yet processed the cold horror of it, but he can chart any dozen reactions of hers that may follow. ）
Trust had nothing to do with it. They did not trust me. But besides that, you are correct — the clan I eradicated was my own, the Uchiha.
（ he pauses, to take a sip of his tea. his hand is steady, the motion elegant and unhurried. ）
Wei Wuxian was not made aware of that piece. The extermination of a people carries certain connotations I believe our cultures share.
no subject
〈 even as the ugly certainty came upon her—it explained too much, answered too many questions to be wrong—still, still, she dearly hoped she might be wrong. that itachi would frown in his very particular way that loudly detailed the depths of his distaste for how subtle the gesture. for him to take offense, rightly, at the very insinuation. to ask her to leave. to shut the door on her face.
she does not understand how he can sit here, calmly drinking tea, instead of screaming.
late, she realizes her mouth dropped open. she shuts it so quickly her teeth click together. her jaw is a sharp line; she swallows tightly.
she is terrified to ask, but— 〉 And Sasuke…?
no subject
he sets his cup down without a sound. ）
The sole survivor.
（ his survival, the cost itachi extracted from danzō to perform that awful act. ）
no subject
it is a little boy, she visualizes, itachi in miniature. did he watch it happen or was he spared that much, at least? did he see his brother become a brutal stranger? because she knows with absolute certainty that he would not have known the truth. itachi suggested as much: my regret is failing to trust someone I should have. no one would have trusted a child with a truth so immense or so terrible—but they had no trouble having his big brother take on that guilt.
it roils in her gut: the appalling cruelty of ordering the son to exterminate his family. and all in the name of…order? security? control and power.
her mouth presses into an unhappy line. 〉
That should never have been asked of you. 〈 her eyes meet his, pale blue to deep black, without flinching. 〉 You deserved better. You both did.
no subject
Now, if you will excuse me.
（ he raises a hand, and points her to the door. ）
no subject
tardío fin.