A/N: I don't know. I don't even know anymore.

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.

Itachi was not an emotional person. In fact, the only emotion he had ever really known was love.

Even as a little boy, he had loved Konoha. Loved the way the wind whistled through the leaves and made them flutter to the ground. Loved the civilian sector with its normal, trusting people and their normal, trusting lives. Loved the markets and the festivals and the school. Loved the life of a ninja. Loved the city's past, so deeply steeped in emotion and violence and mistrust, but born, in the end, from the strength of friendship. Loved the Yondaime with his brilliant smile and his way of reassuring the people that the war would never reach Konoha's gates. He especially loved the future he envisioned for Konoha: one of peace and prosperity, where children like him wouldn't have to enlist until they were older, and keep their hands clean of the blood that already stained his for the love of his village.

He loved other things too, of course. He had loved his family a lot when he was a child. Loved the way his mother was good at music and would hum as she moved through the kitchen and sing when she tucked him into bed. Loved the way his father was always telling him how proud of him he was, and would take him out to train like he was an adult. Loved how everyone in the huge family knew his name and doted on him. Loved his cousin Obito, who would always play games with him and take him out to eat dango when his parents were on missions. Out of all his family, though – and more even than the village, which every good ninja should love above all else – he loved Sasuke.

Sasuke was perfect. Itachi knew his, not out of a misplaced judgment or illogical affection, but merely as a fact. He was potential incarnate, talent just waiting to show itself, and if it came later than Itachi's had it would only be all the more stunning for it. He was good at his classes and tried hard. Itachi thought the most perfect thing about him was that he loved his big brother more than anything.

Life went on for the Uchiha, and a few other emotions passed by him like shallow cuts. He felt loss when Obito died and guilt when he killed twenty men single-handedly. He felt pride when he became ANBU Commander and anger when his father hit his mother after an argument and refused to tell him why. These emotions didn't mean much to him; at least, not as much as his capacity to love, because Itachi was an Uchiha, and they were always cold, reasonable fighters. The only feeling they ever truly understood was that deep and unmatched ability to sacrifice everything for something, no matter the consequences.

When he found out about the coup, it nearly broke him. For the first time, Itachi had to weigh his love of the two things he had loved equivalently since he could understand what being a ninja meant. He loved his village and wanted to protect it, but the only way to save it was at the cost of his dearest family.

So in the end, beyond any consideration for himself, Itachi measured his decision the way he had every major choice he had ever made.

"You'll make sure he's taken care of."

"Of course."

"Danzo will never speak with him."

"Not if I have any say in it, my boy."

"He'll go to school with the others."

"Obviously."

"Dog will be his teacher; I know he has a Sharingan. No, don't tell me how, I'd have to kill him. His death would stunt Sasuke's growth, and that is unacceptable."

"I can't promise the quality of his teaching methods. He's not a very social man, as you know. But I'll see to it that he is the boy's jounin sensei, if you wish."

"And you will write a law that no one can become a genin until the age of thirteen. Sasuke will be a prodigy. His skills cannot be exploited as they would be at a younger age; by then, he should be able to think enough to preserve his honor."

"I have the draft of the bill in my office already, Itachi."

"Good. Then… I will do as you ask."

"You put a lot of faith in the boy." Sarutobi's voice had been weary all throughout the deal. Itachi vaguely thought that the man pitied him, but he had never felt that emotion, so he couldn't be sure.

"He's my little brother," he had answered simply.

That was why, when he killed people he had known and loved, who had doted on him or hummed or taught him everything, the worst part about it all was the look of hatred on Sasuke's face. All the murders together were easier than looking his baby brother in the eyes, trapping him in a torturous illusion, and ordering the boy to hate him.

He hoped, in the back of his mind, that Sasuke wouldn't be capable of it. He was an Uchiha, after all. But still, he thought that maybe being hated by him wouldn't be all that bad, if it meant he'd have no room for other emotions for other people.

Itachi decided a few years later that he didn't like pink. It was too… delicate. Too girly. It gave off vibes that it needed to be protected, and sheltered, and lov-

Shortly after, he grew to dislike orange as well. It was too loud. Too raw and powerful. It didn't care about anything, like pasts or presents or family; it just demanded to be noticed, demanded to be respected and –

Itachi had always visited the village a lot after his defection. He was sure the only one that knew was Sarutobi, and if the old man didn't want him there he never showed it or stopped him. The Uchiha would only stay for a day of two at first, satisfied that the then-Academy-student Sasuke went home after a long day and trained some more, picking himself up far past midnight and brushing off dirt, and would go inside and stare at an old picture of Itachi with hate-filled eyes before falling into an exhausted sleep. His room was sparse, and what luxuries there were were black or white. Itachi would swoop in in the wee hours of the morning and kiss Sasuke on the forehead, admiring how his skin was so white and his hair was so black and he mumbled his big brother's name in his sleep.

After a while, his visits grew longer. Then-genin Sasuke didn't always come home at night. Once he trained with Dog until the sun came up. The two slept on the grass in the meadow, and Sasuke's pale cheeks got burned just enough to turn a light shade of pink.

He didn't care for pink. He told himself it was because Dog was careless, letting Sasuke get hurt that way.

Another time, he and the Uzumaki boy sparred until they were both laying on the ground in the cool evening air at sunset, panting. Itachi did not enjoy the sight. Sasuke wasn't working hard enough if that blonde mutt could tie with him. It had nothing to do with the way Sasuke was smiling a bit, or how one of his breathless wheezes sounded kind of like a half-hearted laugh, or how his pale fingers absently reached out to tug a strand of gold hair teasingly.

Itachi stayed longer each time, trying to ascertain why Sasuke didn't come into his room late at night to glare at his picture, which had been pushed three inches back and two centimeters to the right to make room for one of his team; why there was an orange pen in his desk drawer, or a pink bar of soap in his bathroom that carried the faint perfume of cherry blossoms. Black was a better color, though white and red were good too. They were wise, intelligent colors for a ninja.

For an avenger.

"We should leave, Itachi. Pein-sama will be getting antsy if we're not back in Amigakure tomorrow."

"We will leave as soon as I gather information on the Kyuubi-vessel."

"We've been here for a week. How much time could you need? The kid's only thirteen."

"Only thirteen?" Itachi thought of what he had been capable of when he was thirteen, and his eyes narrowed. "Thirteen is pretty old."

"They haven't even fought any real ninja yet. That old softy Sandaime made sure of that."

"What do you suppose he'd be like now, had that law not been put in place?"

Kisame had thought, and then nodded, ceding as per usual to Itachi's superior logic. "He'd be a cold, well-trained killer like you. All of them, even your brother." His tone implied a hidden message that Itachi didn't care to decode. But Kisame was a decent sort of man, so he added, "Our job's easier this way, eh?"

Itachi eyed the way Sasuke leaned back on the bridge's rails and pretended to listen to his two fri- associates with closed eyes. He wondered if he had made a mistake.

They left the next day.

Itachi was surprised when he heard that Sasuke would be in the chuunin exams his first year after graduation, but impressed nonetheless. He was less than impressed, however, when he watched his brother's performance. From the shadows, he could tell the boy was at least chuunin level already – maybe even jounin, if he was taken by a good teacher and polished up, if he kept his priorities straight and cared about Itachi more than anything…

Killing Itachi, the man reminded himself. Getting stronger to exact revenge.

But the boy seemed to have lost sight of this goal. Itachi caught the sidelong glances he'd throw at the blonde and the pinkette, measuring them and considering them before making any move. Under every argument he made sure they were okay; under every rude dismissal he kept them far enough away to keep them safe without them ever noticing.

Itachi thought, uncontrollably, of the way he had treated Sasuke when they had both been a lot younger. But there was no connection, because there was no way Sasuke could ever love these two weaklings, these two imbeciles. He only had one emotion, and that was hatred. For Itachi.

As a principle, Itachi almost killed Orochimaru for what he did during the exam. Yet, it had been Sasuke's fault. Had he been looking out only for himself, thinking only of Itachi, perhaps the Curse Seal never would have hit him.

Itachi decided on a whim that this kind of not-thinking couldn't be good for Sasuke. He had to refocus him, for the boy's own good. But when Sasuke showed up in the hotel hallway, red Sharingan blazing and an angry snarl on his face, Itachi honestly wasn't sure if Sasuke had come to kill him, or to save Naruto.

Itachi didn't know many emotions, but he did know love, and everything he did was out of love for Sasuke. Pushing him into a wall, the genjutsu that his brother never should have had to be put under, making his Curse Seal flare up again; it was just to remind him of his duty, of what was most important. And if it made him more power-hungry, more driven for revenge; if he shattered the picture of his team one night in a crazed rage and threw away the pen and pink cherry blossom soap, black swirls swimming on a white shoulder; if he slapped Sakura when she said hello instead of half-smiling and closing his eyes and breathing in slowly, the way Itachi could tell he was smelling her shampoo; if he tried to stab his lightning-bathed hand through Naruto's chest instead of let it play with sunny spikes; if he left his precious 'friends' for Orochimaru, because the Snake-sannin would give him enough power to kill Itachi – the older Uchiha couldn't exactly say he was unhappy.

He felt the wind tug his cloak as he looked over the village. He couldn't come and go as he pleased anymore, what with Sarutobi dead and out of office. He thought dimly that Konoha hadn't changed much, that maybe he could find it in his heart to still love it. It didn't seem to mean so much without Sasuke in it, though. Only his teammates remained, and he found that he didn't mind their tear-streaked faces too much.

"Kisame."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know what jealousy feels like?"

"Sure." He paused for a second, but since Kisame was a decent sort of man he thought the teen might want an explanation. "It's when you care about something so much, you want it only for yourself. You want to be selfish. You don't want to share. It feels kind of like a monster or an illness eating at your insides, but you don't want to give it away." Watery blue eyes slipped over to Itachi's still form. "Why? Are you jealous of someone?"

Itachi wasn't an emotional man, so he thought hard before answering, "I was."

"I would hate to be the one to make you jealous." Kisame's voice hinted a chuckle. "I bet you'd destroy anything to get what you want."

Itachi thought of Sasuke, who carried Itach's picture with him and glared at it every night, and the grieving faces of the two children looking lost at the gates of the Uchiha compound. His baby brother wasn't at his side yet, but his thoughts were only on him once more. He felt oddly… smug. He stared at the Kyuubi he was supposed to be observing and nodded slowly, lips hitching into an old, long-unworn smirk.

"I think you're probably right, Kisame."

A/N: It seems the only way for me to combat writer's block (on all my other, longer stories) is to cross another planned one-shot off my list as a warmup. Hope you guys enjoyed this. What I hope I accomplished is a shift in tone from when Itachi is younger to when he is older, and a kind of broken pacing that shows time passing and Itachi's own brand of insanity.

I have no clue where this idea came from. Blame me not.

Please review with concrit; I don't quite like anything that I'm writing lately.