Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So you're really leaving, Zabuza?"

Kisame's tone isn't accusatory. It isn't sad. It's matter-of-fact and plain, and addressed to the back of Zabuza's head.

Zabuza nods, but doesn't turn around to look at Kisame.

"Were you even gonna tell me?" Kisame tries very hard not to sound hurt.

"Didn't see a point." Zabuza replies.

"And you're taking the kid with you?"

The little child beside Zabuza peers over at Kisame with those wide, brown eyes.

"Yeah." Zabuza answers.

Kisame frowns, but, of course, Zabuza doesn't see it.

"Try not to get yourself killed." Kisame says.

"Same to you." Zabuza replies.

Kisame's frown turns into a half-smile.

"Hey, if you don't die, maybe we'll meet up again."

Zabuza doesn't answer. He gestures to the sad-eyed boy glued to his side.

"Haku, we're leaving."

The boy follows obediently, little hand grasping for Zabuza's, as if afraid of losing him. And Zabuza- callous, uncaring Zabuza- does something Kisame never thought he would do.

Scarred, calloused, crooked fingers curl around that tiny, fragile hand.

Almost like (as absurd as the thought is) Zabuza is afraid, too.

(He never sees either of them alive again.)

Kisame's first impression of Uchiha Itachi is, to be frank, not a good one.

Konan has to prod the boy out from behind her to properly meet the rest of Akatsuki.

"This is Uchiha Itachi- formerly of the Hidden Leaf," Leader says, his low voice tinged with what might be happiness. "From now on, he'll be one of us, so treat him kindly."

He's such a tiny little thing- the top of his head only reaches Kisame's collarbone. Skinny, too- there's no meat on that sack of skin and bones in front of him. Were it not for the blood sprayed across his body, nobody in their right mind would take him for a killer.

Despite being small and terribly non-intimidating, however, this tiny brat carries himself with all the haughty arrogance of a lord. He regards Kisame with flat, soulless black eyes, a disinterested expression on his blood-spattered face.

"Kisame, he'll be your partner."

How annoying.

But, if Leader said this was his his new partner, then so be it. Kisame doesn't care enough to argue.

"Sounds good to me," is what he chooses to say. "Let's get along, shall we, Itachi-san?"

Kisame offers the boy a smile that's really just teeth.

Itachi's expression (or lack thereof) doesn't change a millimeter.
Annoying. "Well then- shall I show you to our room?"

He doesn't get a response, but when he turns to leave, Itachi follows behind him.

His footsteps are so quiet that, for one brief moment, Kisame wonders if perhaps the child is a ghost.

(Of course not. That's ridiculous.)

"You're pretty young to be hanging around here, aren't ya?" Kisame asks, the silence beginning to make him quite uncomfortable.

No answer (again).

"Well, I hope you can keep up with me. I'm not a babysitter, ya know."

It's like talking to a damn brick wall.

"Well, here's home sweet home, Itachi-san."

It's a plain room, but more than large enough to house two people. There are two beds (With two footlockers at the ends), two bedside tables, two small desks, a single large closet, a bathroom tucked away in an unassuming corner, and a sliding paper divider to separate the two halves.

"That half's yours, Itachi-san." Kisame gestures to the empty portion of the room, where crisp white sheets lay neatly folded atop the bare mattress. "You can take a bath if you wanna get that blood off you."

Itachi nods, once, and wordlessly closes the divider between them.

Kisame huffs, and glares at the shadow of Itachi still visible through the paper.

So. His partner is some uppity punk from Konoha. Fair enough. So long as the bastard doesn't get in the way too badly, he supposes he can make that work.

He grabs Samehada and heads out to do some training. Taking out his annoyance on a few training dummies seems in order.

Scalding water washes over Itachi's skin, washing gore down the drain in a pinkish spiral pattern.

Sobs bubble out of his throat like soap suds, so loud and so sharp that someone on the other side of the door might think he's laughing.

His knees give way beneath him, hitting the slick shower tile with a dull thud. Blunt fingernails dig into his shoulders, drawing blood. His entire body quakes with the force of his grief, every cell wracked with unendurable anguish.

It hurts so much...

If only I could just die...

He looks up from the shower floor and catches the glint of a razor sitting on the edge of the sink, and drags himself the short distance to get it.

With a trembling hand, he reaches to grab the razor's handle, pulling it down toward him.

I can't. I can't die yet.

When the cold metal bites into the flesh of his thigh, phantom voices play at the back of his mind.

"You can't keep do this to yourself, Itachi! You'll end up dead if you keep this up!"

I'm sorry, Dad ...

"Itachi, darling- you're breaking my heart. Please tell me what's wrong…"

I'm sorry, Mom...

"Itachi-kun, what're all those bandages for? Did you get hurt?"

I'm sorry, Izumi...

"Damnit, Itachi! You don't have to do this! Don't shut me out! Let me help you!"

I'm sorry, Shisui...

A fresh bout of sobs overcomes him. He slashes his skin once, twice, a dozen times, as if he could bleed out all the rotten feelings inside him.

His father never understood. His Mother never understood. Shisui never understood.

How could they?

It doesn't matter anymore…

The pain on his skin takes his mind away from the pain in his heart, if only for the moment.

I'm sorry, Mother…I'm sorry, Father...

Itachi watches the blood spill from the gashes in his pale skin, washing away under the spray of the shower and spinning lazily toward the drain.

I'm so sorry...Sasuke…

Itachi can't quite bring his eyes into proper focus, so he stares at some point a great distance away, while the man's words wash over him without really registering in his mind. He's vaguely aware of Danzo's hawkish gaze burning into him while Sarutobi speaks.

(He's glad that he's kneeling right now, because he's not sure if he has the strength in his legs to stand.)

"I'm so sorry it had to come to this," the Hokage says, his voice heavy. "But you've done well. Thank you, Itachi."

Itachi manages to nod, though it's hard to even keep his head upright.

"It's unfortunate," Sarutobi continues, "but from today on, you'll have to be branded as a Rogue Ninja, and an enemy of Konoha. I'm sorry."

"...That's alright," Itachi croaks, though it makes his heart ache to say it. "I only have one request- if I can make it."

Sarutobi looks pityingly on the boy kneeling before him.

"Of course. What can I do for you, Itachi?"

Itachi bows his head, and takes an unsteady breath.

"Please look after Sasuke." Desperation makes his voice waver ever so slightly. "Make sure he's safe, and taken care of. Make sure he never learns the truth of what happened…"

Black eyes rise to meet brown, full of sorrow. Pleading. Begging.

"Please. He's all I have."

Sarutobi sighs heavily.

"Of course. He'll be safe- please don't worry."

Using his sword for leverage, Itachi drags himself to his feet. His entire body feels like lead.

"Where will you go now, Itachi?" Danzo asks, speaking for the first time since he arrived.

"Oh, he'll be coming with me."

The sudden deep, imposing voice makes both the old men jump.

A masked man with messy hair materializes behind Itachi, grabbing the boy's shoulders in a manner far too intimate to be appropriate.

"Wh-who are you?!" Hiruzen demands.

"Oh, I'm nobody important. You can call me Madara."

Both Hiruzen and Danzo blanch, gaping at the man before them.

"You can't be- how are you-"

A dark chuckle rumbles in Madara's chest.

"You see, this clever boy found me, all on his own," he continues, ignoring Sarutobi entirely. "And he and I struck up a bargain."

Madara's hand lifts Itachi's drooping head, not allowing him to hide his face.

"As it so happens, we both had something the other person wanted. I've been looking to recruit members for my little organization, the Akatsuki. As luck would have it, Itachi-chan is a perfect fit. So, Itachi will be part of Akatsuki from this day forward- in exchange, Akatsuki and myself will leave Konohagakure untouched. I think that's a fair trade, don't you?"

Neither of the men answer.

"Hey now, why the troubled faces?" Madara teases, pulling Itachi against his chest in a mockery of a friendly embrace. "I'll take care of him. After all- Itachi is such a good boy."

Before either Itachi, Danzo or Sarutobi can utter another word, Madara pulls Itachi into the spiral vortex of the Kamui, and they're gone.

The bandages wound around Itachi's leg rub against the soft fabric of his plain gray pajamas every time he moves, a quiet reminder of what he's just done.

He fixes his bed up with the crisp white sheets, and crawls under the heavy black blanket with a dull sigh.

His eyes feel heavy. His body feels numb.

(Three days. It's been three days since he's last slept.)

He hugs the pillow tightly and lets exhaustion claim him.

Obito finds his new charge asleep, tossing and turning and whimpering like a wounded animal.

Ah. A nightmare.

Well, that's to be expected, given all the boy's gone through. After tonight, he might very well never have another peaceful night's sleep again- if he'd ever had any to begin with.

Kisame is snoring away at the other side of the paper divider, oblivious to his new partner's distress. Obito sits at the foot of Itachi's bed and watches him wrestle with the demons in his mind.

The boy's pretty face twists into an expression of anguish. He groans like he's in grave pain, grabbing handfuls of bed sheets like that would keep him anchored. His breath comes in quick, panicked gasps.

Obito sighs.

"Wake up," he commands- loud enough to rouse Itachi, but not enough to disturb his partner.

Itachi wakes with a jolt, flying upright in bed with a startled gasp. Sharingan flashes briefly in his eyes, but fades when they come into focus.

Obito doesn't insult Itachi by telling him he had been having a nightmare.

"You holding up alright?" he asks, instead.

Itachi blinks at him, once. Then, he makes a small, sad sound.

"I'll take that as a 'not really' then."

The boy swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up. He leaves the room without looking at Obito again.

Well. How rude.

He'll let it slide, though. Just this once.

Itachi's been through enough for one day.

Itachi stares blankly at the kettle on the stove, transfixed by the steadily flickering flame below it.

His stomach hurts (is it because he's ill, or because it's been so long since he's last eaten that he can't remember?). His muscles ache. His head is throbbing.

The pain is nothing, though, compared to the oppressive numbness that settles inside him, as reality sets in.

He'll never go home again.

He'll never hug his mother again.

He'll never hear his father proudly proclaim "that's my boy!" again.

He'll never see Izumi or Shisui again.

The reality of this should make him sad. But he doesn't feel sad. At the moment, he doesn't feel anything.

"Up a bit late, aren't you, Itachi-kun?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Itachi catches a glimpse of a quite familiar face.

Of course, he'd mostly seen that face in the bingo book, with an admonishment that he was volatile and extremely dangerous (something that seemed quite at odds with the placid expression he wore in the photographs). But he'd seen it in person, once before.

He'd been young, then. Oh so very young. Shaken to his core, burning with a question his father couldn't answer.

He'd wandered to the graveyard, walking amongst the rows of dead shinobi, as if their headstones held the answer for him.

And that's when he'd spotted him.

Standing alone, before a pair of nondescript graves, gold eyes a million miles away. The student of the Third Hokage and one of the Sannin. Even someone as young as Itachi knew his name. Orochimaru.

Itachi had approached him that day, a million years ago. Fists clenched, brow furrowed, he had asked the one question no other adult could answer.

"What's the point of life?"

The man had given him that same pitying, sad sort of smile he has on now.

"There isn't one," he had replied, bluntly. "If there was any meaning to this life, why would it ever end?"

He'd left before Itachi had the time to ask him any more.

But Itachi never forgot.

He doesn't say a word to acknowledge Orochimaru, keeping his gaze fixed on the stove's stalwart flame.

"If you're making tea, I'll have some too, if you don't mind."

Again, Itachi doesn't speak. However, he does oblige the man, and retrieves another mug from the cupboard.

The kettle whistles at him, signalling that it's done with its work. Itachi reaches for it without realizing how badly his hands are shaking.

"Hey, be careful-"

Itachi yelps, heat searing his hands and arms. He jerks backward and nearly topples over, only barely able to steady himself. Orochimaru catches the kettle in one swift motion, and returns it to the countertop.

"Itachi-kun, are you alright?"

Orochimaru reaches out toward him. Fear, white-hot and blinding, turns Itachi's blood to ice.

A feeble "no" slips from his throat as he backs away, feeling his whole body begin to shake.

Orochimaru sighs.

"I just want to have a look," he says, patiently.

"Don't touch me."

Itachi's legs buckle dangerously as he tries back up further-but the back of his right calf meets the edge of the kitchen table, and stops him.

"I'm not going to do anything, Itachi-kun. I just want to see those hands of yours."

He gently sits the boy down at the table. Itachi hears the faucet running, and a few moments later, Orochimaru returns with a cold towel.

The man kneels at the table as well. A whimper escapes the child, Sharingan spinning to life in his eyes.

"Shh. It's alright, Itachi-kun. Here- this will help."

This time, when Orochimaru reaches for Itachi's hands, the boy reluctantly yields them.

The man's hands are dry and rough, his touch clinical and to the point. Itachi can't look at him, because any moment, he's going to find those-

"Oh dear."

Itachi doesn't need to move his head to know what Orochimaru sees.

The newest scars to Itachi's collection. The pair he'd added not quite a month after Shisui's death. The scars he'd made in the bathroom in the dead of night, sobbing from the pain and the utter hopelessness of it all. The scars that aren't quite scars yet, still red and raw and angry.

(The scars he'd hoped would finally take his life.)

"Oh, Itachi-kun."

Itachi almost wants to hit Orochimaru, just to be rid of the pity in his voice.

The pain in his hands is relieved by the cool cloth wrapped around them. A little shiver involuntarily courses through him.

"There. That's not so bad, is it?"

The soft, reassuring tone of Orochimaru's voice is not unlike Mother's. She always spoke to him in that tone when she knew he was upset.

That voice I'll never hear again…

He chokes, and can't stop the tears that fall as his emotions overwhelm him.

He feels childish, and so painfully weak.

"Itachi-kun."

Itachi shakes his head.

Another sigh.

"...They got you, didn't they?"

Itachi makes a small sound of confusion, and finally turns his head.

Orochimaru's expression isn't anything like he thought it would be- there's no hint of disgust in it. That not-smile graces his face once more, gold eyes looking at him sympathetically.

"It's okay, Itachi-kun." Orochimaru's voice is quiet. Understanding. "They got me, too."

They got me, too

Itachi's blood runs cold in his veins. Crimson eyes go wide, as the weight admission settles on him.

His breath is trapped. He can't mean…

"You poor child."

What Orochimaru does next, Itachi wouldn't have expected in a million years.

The man wraps his arms around Itachi, and pulls him into a hug.

Itachi flinches, but ultimately decides not to pull away.

Because Orochimaru is surprisingly warm. He smells like lavender and jasmine, and his arms are strong like Father's. Because, right now, he's desperately in need of any sort of comfort.

So, instead of pulling away, Itachi lets himself be held- just once. Just for awhile. He buries his face in Orochimaru's shoulder, as if he could hide away from the world like that forever.

"It hurts…" The boy whimpers.

"I know." The man replies.

Itachi allows himself to pretend he's being comforted- just for awhile. And when he pushes Orochimaru away, the man obliges him.

"I'll make us that tea, Itachi-kun. You'll feel better then."

(It's a lie. They both know it's a lie. But that's okay for now, isn't it?)

"Yes. Alright."

Silence reigns between them. Orochimaru rustles around in the cupboard, and Itachi keeps the cool towel around his throbbing hands.

In a few minutes, Orochimaru hands Itachi a hot cup of ginger tea, and sits down with one of his own.

The warm tea eases Itachi's sour stomach with the first mouthful. He keeps a careful eye on Orochimaru all the while, though he, at last, allows his Sharingan to fade.

"If you're worried about Kisame-san," Orochimaru says, apparently trying to make pleasant small talk, "you don't need to. He's a bit prickly at first, but I think you two will get along well."

"Hmm."

"He's not an unfriendly person, Itachi-kun. You might end up liking him."

Itachi makes another small sound of acknowledgement, and they lapse into a companionable silence for a few minutes.

"I suppose I should head back- Sasori-kun will wonder where I've wandered off to."

Orochimaru stands up, mug of tea still in hand.

"If you're having trouble sleeping, I could mix you up something that will help," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Itachi nods once.

And he's alone again.

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“Everything is set in place, then?”

Shimura Danzo regards the boy kneeling before him with a cold indifference. Itachi keeps his eyes fixed on the floor, not wanting to look up at that hawkish gaze.

“...Yes. Everything will be settled tomorrow night.”

“Good boy.”

(Itachi shudders at the words.)

Danzo kneels down to Itachi’s level, hooking a finger under his chin, forcing Itachi’s head up. A shiver runs up Itachi’s spine, and he wants nothing more than to squirm away from the man.

“You don’t need to look so sad, Itachi. It’ll be over soon.”

Itachi bites his lip, swallowing the words he so desperately wants to say.

“You’ve made the right choice, Itachi. There’ll be no war- no more of this needless tension threatening to tear this village apart. And it’ll all be because of your bravery.”

Bravery? Is that what you want to call it?

Itachi certainly doesn’t feel brave, choking back a desire to scream that he just can’t fucking do it, pick someone else, there has to be another way!

“Now, there’s just one last thing that needs to be sorted out before tomorrow.”

Danzo forms a seal; a soft glow starts at his fingers, reaching out to envelop his entire arm.

“Nobody else can ever know. You understand that, right?”

Itachi nods, watching the man with wide, frightened eyes.

“Good boy.”

Danzo takes Itachi’s hand in his. His chakra sends sparks of electricity up Itachi’s arm.

“Then, for my last order to you, as a shinobi of the Hidden Leaf-”

Danzo lays Itachi’s hand over his mouth, his one eye boring straight through Itachi’s soul.

“-You are never to speak of this again.”

Itachi’s sudden cry of pain is muffled by his own hand. The eerie glow creeps from Danzo to Itachi, sinking into his pale skin like some awful ooze.

It burns like someone is holding a red-hot branding iron against him. Burns like lightning against his skin, like a million knives through his hand.

Then, the briefest flash of blue, and the glow is gone, and the agony with it.

Itachi’s body goes limp; he collapses into a whimpering heap on the cold floor.

A black seal emerges briefly on the back of his hand, before fading away into the pale flesh.

Itachi’s eyes burn, and it’s not from the Sharingan. He closes them tightly; Danzo steps over his trembling body to leave the room.

“...I wouldn’t have told anyone,” Itachi whispers.

“I know that,” Danzo replies. “But you can never be too careful.”

He casts one last, cold glance at the boy over his shoulder.

“Be grateful. For Sasuke’s sake, you’d better be sure the secret stays safe.”

Itachi hears the heavy door slam shut.

White-hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall.

The floor is dirty, and it’s cold. But he doesn’t get up for a long time.

“Itachi-san, are you still with me?”

Itachi shakes his head, jostling himself out of his daydream.

“It’s surprising you’re still alive, with your head up in the clouds all the time,” Kisame teases.

The corners of Itachi’s mouth pull downward ever-so-slightly.

“Something on your mind?” Kisame asks.

“No,” Itachi lies.

He fixes his eyes on the path ahead, drawing his cloak tighter around himself.

(He’s never liked the cold.)

A few stray flurries of snow begin to fall around them. Itachi internally wills them away; he curses inwardly when they multiply and start falling harder.

“Heh. Almost reminds me of home,” Kisame remarks. “It’s always snowing up in the mountains there.”

There’s a note of something in Kisame’s rough voice- nostalgia, maybe?

“Of course, it’s usually warm where you’re from, right, Itachi-san? I should’ve expected you wouldn’t like it cold.”

“Hmm.”

Itachi is only really half paying attention; the way this man talks reminds him of the way Shisui would talk just to fill the silence, and that’s making him a little uneasy.

(But at the same time, it’s kind of nice to not be alone.)

They walk until well after dark, with Kisame talking the whole way, about everything and nothing in particular. The snow grows heavier with each passing minute, and Itachi starts to curse inwardly.

(His feet are numb. He thinks his nose might fall off. The wind is loud and bites at his ears. He misses the sun.)

They reach a small, barely-inhabited village, and decide they’ve frozen enough for one day.

They hole up in a ramshackle inn to get out of the snow, but by that point they’re already soaked to the skin; Itachi can’t repress his shivering.

(Of course, bad luck is Itachi’s closest friend, and the shower in their room is broken.)

He wants to punch the wall, but he’s sure the flimsy, rotting would couldn’t take the blow. So he refrains, merely glaring at the peeling paint with a look that could send men running for fear, while he changes into dry clothes.

Kisame orders them food from some place across the road, but Itachi isn’t really hungry- even if the food does smell good. So, while his new partner eats, Itachi unfurls one of the slightly musty futons, and lays down.

(He can feel a headache building up right behind his eyes; he hopes he can sleep it off before it gets too bad.)

“You sure you don’t wanna eat, Itachi-san?”

Itachi answers with a small, dismissive sound.

“Suit yourself- but it’s not really healthy to just eat sweets and onigiri all the time, y’know. You’re gonna be a runt forever if you keep that up.”

Itachi wants to answer with some snide remark- you’re not my father, maybe. Or, some variant of just shut the fuck up. But he bites his tongue.

He pulls the old, poorly-maintained blanket tighter around himself, and curls up tightly.

If I sleep, I’ll feel better, he lies to himself. It’ll be better tomorrow...

Kisame lays awake, listening to the mournful howling of the wind outside; the cold seeps through the thin walls of their room.

The clock on the wall reads half past midnight.

He’s pretty sure Itachi is asleep on the other side of the cramped room; the ceiling creaks as someone moves on the floor above them.

A sound comes from the lump of blanket on the other side of the room. A tiny, fearful sound that makes the hairs on the back of Kisame’s neck stand up.

Itachi shifts under the blanket, and whimpers. A half-coherent string of babbling slips from his lips.

Kisame makes out a few words- mostly pleas for his mother. He might think it pathetic, were it not so utterly pitiful.

(He remembers Zabuza complaining that his rescued brat talked a lot in his sleep. Maybe it was just a thing that sad, dark-eyed kids have in common.)

With a sharp gasp, Itachi jerks upright, drenched in sweat, eyes wide, Sharingan luminescent in the darkness.

The boy’s scarlet eyes dart around the tiny room, his skinny chest heaving with shallow, panicked breaths. Kisame watches him out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t say anything to him.

With another one of those pitiful noises, Itachi sinks back onto his pillow, pulling his blanket tightly around himself. He’s still shaking badly; though whether from cold or fear, Kisame can’t tell, but it stirs something inside him.

(He’s not sure what this feeling is, and he isn’t sure he likes it.)

He pulls off his own blanket, and throws it over Itachi. The boy makes a small sound of surprise. Red eyes peer over at him, pale brow furrowed.

“Go back to sleep, alright? We need to get an early start tomorrow.”

“...Won’t you be-”

“I’m fine, Itachi-san. A little cold never bothered me.”

Itachi blinks. Turns his head. Sighs a little.

“...Thank you.”

Kisame shrugs, though Itachi can’t see it, and lays back down.

The wind is still howling outside, low and foreboding. Snow still whites out the one tiny window in the room. The biting chill still leaks through the flimsy walls.

...so why does Kisame feel so warm?

Kisame’s first impression of Momochi Zabuza is an interesting one, to say the least.

He’s three years younger than Kisame- half a foot shorter, and maybe fifty pounds lighter.

Oh, but he’s not a lightweight when it comes to killing.

Kisame already knows as well as anyone in this village, what that boy is capable of doing with a blade. After all, that’s the entire reason he’s here, in the main mission building, standing before Kisame, the newest member of the Mist’s Seven Swordsmen.

“I don’t have time to be babysitting, so I hope you can keep up with me,” Kisame informs him, watching carefully for his reaction.

Zabuza crosses his wiry arms, glaring at Kisame.

“Keep acting like a condescending prick, and I’ll make you eat that sword of yours,” he growls.

Kisame grins.

“You’ve got a pair of balls, I’ll give you that.”

Zabuza scoffs.

“I just hope you can keep up with me,” he sneers.

“Let’s see how long that pride of yours lasts once we get to fight,” Kisame rebukes.

“Careful- I might just be the last fight you ever have.”

The conversation seems to be getting a bit too intense for eavesdropping passersby- a couple secretaries and a few low-level ninja scurry to get away from them.

Kisame’s smile turns into something a bit more genuine than just bearing teeth.

“Well, let’s try to get along, eh? It’d be a shame if we wound up being each other’s last opponent.”

Zabuza murmurs something Kisame decides to take as acknowledgement.

The wind and snow have both ceased by the time Kisame wakes up. He lets out a great yawn, scratches his shoulder, and rolls over in a manner quite reminiscent of a lazy cat.

Itachi is also awake- from the looks of things, he’s been awake for a good while already. His futon is neatly folded and tucked in the corner; the boy sits cross-legged on the floor, fully dressed, absentmindedly brushing his hair.

Itachi gestures with his head, toward two bowls of miso on a tray.

“Heh- you’re an early riser, Itachi-san.”

“You said you wanted an early start,” Itachi replies.

Kisame shrugs in admission, snagging one of the bowls of miso, eating it while going over the details of their assignment. Itachi seems more interested in brushing his hair than eating.

(Kisame is beginning to wonder if Itachi is actually a human being, with how little food he gets by on. No wonder he’s so tiny.)

“Heh. Looks like Leader-sama has a personal beef with this guy,” Kisame remarks. “I guess it’s not just Kakuzu-san who’s gonna be glad to see him gone.”

“Hm.”

Itachi sets down the hairbrush, gathers his hair up behind his head, and ties it back. He does this little toss of his head when he’s finished that oddly reminds Kisame of a bird in a bath.

“Is he very far from here?”

“He’s supposed to be showing up right around dawn, so we won’t have long to wait. He thinks we’re here to talk business with him.”

“Business?”

“From the looks of things, this guy used to supply weapons for the old Akatsuki- back when Hanzo was still around. But he’s a crook, and his weapons turned out to be shit- and Leader-sama’s not the only person he’s ripped off. Look at this-”

He turns the paper around so Itachi can read it, too.

“His shoddy weapons ‘business’ has him wanted in all five of the Great Villages.”

Itachi’s dark eyes widen the smallest fraction.

“We used his weapons when I was in ANBU,” he says. “They got half my squad killed on an important mission.”

“Is that so, Itachi-san?”

(Is Itachi actually scowling?)

“Does that piss you off, Itachi-san?”

(Yeah. He’s definitely scowling.)

“I certainly don’t begrudge Leader-sama for wanting him gone.”

Ooh. So the kid’s got a fire in his belly, after all.

“Well then, Itachi-san, let’s get him out of the way, shall we?”

Itachi nods.

(Well then. The kid might turn out to be interesting, after all.)

Chapter Text

After about a year of being partners with Itachi, it occurs to Kisame that he’s starting to like this kid Leader decided to saddle him with.

It isn’t so bad, having Itachi alongside him while they go on their various missions together. Even if the boy is silent as the grave most of the time, Kisame finds himself not really minding the silence. After all- he gets the job done, and it’s better than having some annoying chatterbox runt babbling next to him all the time.

It also occurs to him though, at around the same time, that he doesn't really know anything about Itachi at all.

It’s late at night when the realization hits him. He and Itachi are somewhere in Lightning Country, chasing after some intel Leader said was important. They’re out in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where, where the only good thing going is that there’s not some wild animal currently taking up residence in the cave they’ve decided to hole up in for the night.

The rain outside comes down in sheets, making the weather in Amegakure seem practically idyllic by comparison. They’ve shed their soaking wet cloaks, waiting out the storm in a modicum of safety.

The fire Itachi is huddled before banishes the chill from outside, and casts the cave in an eerie reddish glow. Flames dance in the depths of those eerie black eyes, its light turning pale skin golden. He seems transfixed, staring as the fire burns.

“Seems like we’re stuck here for a good while, Itachi-san,” Kisame mutters, when the crackling fire starts to become deafening.

“Hm.”

Itachi doesn't so much as turn those dead eyes away from the flames.

He always does that- whether it’s the feeble light of a lonely candle, or the bonfire they’d lit to get rid of a body, Itachi’s eyes are always drawn toward it, like flowers toward the sun.

Kisame wants to ask him what he’s looking for within the fire- but he has a feeling Itachi wouldn’t answer him.

A draft cuts through their shelter; the way the fire shivers is mirrored by the boy. He wraps his arms around himself with a sound of annoyed discomfort.

Kisame chuckles.

(Like a cat, that one is. Can’t stand to be cold for even a second.)

Leaning against the cave’s dreary stone walls, Kisame rests his feet on Samehada and starts rifling through his weapons pouch until he retrieves the whetstone he’d been looking for.

The fire’s gentle crackling is drowned out by the harsh sound of metal being dragged across stone, while Kisame sharpens the kunai in his weapons pouch to a razor’s edge. The familiar ritual lulls him into a calm, almost drowsy state; he finds himself humming tunelessly, to the beat of kunai on whetstone.

The repetitive sound, and the low roll of thunder outside seem to soothe Itachi, as well; his eyes flutter shut, snap back open, then flutter shut again as he fights against sleep.

“You don’t have to stay awake if you’re tired,” Kisame tells him.

“Don’t want to sleep, either,” Itachi mumbles.

Kisame opens his mouth to ask why not? But closes it again.

He already knows. It’s the nightmares.

In the year or so they’ve been together, he doesn't think the kid has had a full night’s sleep. Inevitably, the moaning will start, and, after tossing around for awhile, Itachi will jerk awake, a sheen of cold sweat on his forehead, shivering like he’s freezing to death. He'll usually get up to pace around, until he's calmed enough to lay back down and try to rest once more.

Kisame pretends not to notice- it’s easier to fake that he’s still asleep, than to potentially wound Itachi’s fragile pride by asking if he’s alright.

He wants to ask Itachi about whatever monsters haunt his dreams- but, again, he’s doubtful he’d receive an answer.

(He pretends he doesn't notice- but he worries, just a little bit. It can’t be healthy for someone as young as Itachi to sleep as little as he does.)

Finished with the whetstone, Kisame clears everything away, his limbs heavy, his head foggy and drowsy. He reaches up to drag his headband off, tossing it carelessly toward the rest of their belongings.

“I think I’ll turn in, Itachi-san. You should try to sleep a bit too- I don’t think anyone’s gonna come looking for us in this weather.”

Itachi nods once, still staring into the fire like it holds the secrets of the Universe within it.

Despite this cave being possibly the most uncomfortable place Kisame has slept in (and that’s saying a lot), and despite the myriad questions swirling in his mind, it doesn't take him long to nod off.

(He dreams about fire- and about those haunting, haunted, black black eyes that watch it as it dances.)

Kisame jolts awake without warning, an uneasy feeling in his gut.

The fire has died down to embers; Kisame blinks while his eyes adjust to the darkness.

A low, pained moan bounces off the cave walls.

“Itachi-san?”

The boy is curled into a miserable ball, cradling his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

Itachi only manages a whimper in response.

Kisame reaches out to move the boy’s hands away- Itachi’s skin is nearly hot enough to burn, damp with sweat, his face flushed.

“You’ve got a fever.”

(He feels stupid saying the obvious.)

A dry, ragged cough tears from the boy’s chest, hoarse and horrid-sounding.

Kisame doesn't insult the boy by asking if he’s alright. He wordlessly unscrews the cap of his water bottle and forces it into Itachi’s trembling hands.

Itachi chokes down a few mouthfuls, then takes in a few great gasps of air.

“Better?”

The corners of Itachi’s mouth pull downwards

“I’ll be fine.”

Kisame doesn't really believe it; Itachi looks pale, even by the dim remnants of the fire, and his skin is still burning to the touch.

(Leave it to the brat to catch a cold on a mission.)

Itachi shudders like he’s freezing to death, despite radiating heat like a furnace. Kisame grabs his now mostly-dry cloak and drapes it over the boy’s skinny shoulders.

“You definitely need to sleep.”

“I said I don’t want to,” Itachi protests, impetuously.

“But you need to. You’re gonna be useless if you’re trying to work sick.”

(He probably sounds stupid- some big blue freak trying to play father to a sick little boy.)

Itachi grumbles something Kisame can’t hear. Kisame sighs in defeat.

“Listen- I’ll wake you up if you start having nightmares. Will that help?”

Dark eyes grow wide, anxious. His head bows to hide the shame coloring his face.

He feels stupid. He has no idea how to be gentle or how to comfort. But at the same time- Itachi sort of needs that right now.

(Itachi is making him do all sorts of weird things, these days.)

“Go to sleep,” Kisame urges, pushing Itachi to lay down- as softly as he can manage with his large, calloused hands. “I’ve got you.”

Itachi gives him a dirty look, but eventually those dark eyes close, hands curled tightly around his cloak. His bangs fall in front of his face like a spill of black ink. Kisame flops down beside him, feeling like an awkward blue lump next to this little doll of a child.

The rain still doesn't show any sign of letting up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches something he hasn’t noticed before.

Even in the dim light, it stands out, stark against Itachi’s skin. Like a streak of white clouds, tracing a path along Itachi’s veins.

He knows he probably shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself.

“Where’d you get a scar like that, Itachi-san?”

Itachi peers up at him through his hair. Kisame wonders, for a moment, if the boy will just tell him to shut up and mind his own business.

A sigh turns into another harsh cough. Itachi draws his hands together, then turns them over, exposing the twin scar on his other wrist.

“Nobody really wants to die,” he says, his tone frank. “I found that out for myself.”

Absentmindedly, Itachi traces a finger up one of the massive scars, from the base of his palm to the crook of his elbow.

Kisame feels a twinge of something he can’t identify tug at his insides.

It isn’t like he’s a stranger to death. Or to people offing themselves. But, somehow, picturing this quiet little doll boy slashing his own wrists stirs something within him.

(Pity, he’ll realize, later on. That feeling is pity.)

Itachi wishes- oh how he wishes- that he could run far, far away from Shisui’s funeral.

Morikawa-bachan wails in despair, falling to her knees beside her son’s coffin. The waterlogged, half-rotted corpse has been dolled up as best as it can, but nothing the mortician could do could recapture the handsome features that had once been Uchiha Shisui, eaten away by water and blowfies and rot.

Bile rises up in Itachi’s throat, but he hasn’t eaten in days, and he has nothing left to vomit.

Sasuke’s little brow is furrowed in confused sorrow. He glances over at Itachi, hoping for reassurance that Itachi can never give.

Fugaku approaches Shisui’s corpse, performing a few hand seals with a somber expression. When he touches the rim of the coffin, the entire thing bursts into flames, consuming the ebony and the pile of putrifying meat that had once been Itachi’s dearest friend.

Morikawa screams in anguish, doubling over like she’s just been stabbed in the gut. Itachi closes his eyes. Sasuke has begun to cry, reaching out to hug their mother.

(Itachi wishes he could cry. But he has no tears left to shed.)

He closes his eyes, and keeps them closed. Too lost in his own thought, he doesn't notice when the wailing stops. Or when Morikawa approaches him.

“You killed him!”

Before Itachi can process what’s happening, Aunt Morikawa has him by the front of his kimono, shaking him so violently his neck might just snap.

Her eyes are wide with rage, with an unhinged, manic gleam to them. Her face is wet with bloody tears, her teeth bared at him as she spits her angry words.

“You killed my boy! You killed him!” She shrieks. “You killed him! He loved you and you killed him !”

“Niisan didn’t kill anybody!” Sasuke interjects, trying vainly to tug her off his beloved older brother. But Morikawa doesn't so much as flinch.

“He loved you- he loved a fucking monster like you-and you don't even have the fucking heart to cry about it!"

“That’s enough!”

Fugaku shoves the raging woman off his eldest son, his expression still carefully composed.

“Itachi didn’t kill Shisui,” he says, firmly, putting a hand on Itachi’s shoulder to guide him away.

Morikawa growls like the most dangerous sort of wild animal. Sasuke scampers to join Itachi behind their mother.

“Of course you’d defend your monster!” she hisses, through bared teeth.

“Stop it right now!” Mikoto demands, pushing Itachi behind her, shielding him from both Morikawa’s anger, and the gathering of worried stares. “Leave my son out of this!”

Fugaku doesn't take his eyes off his sister.

“Mikoto, take them home.”

“You’ll pay!” Morikawa hisses at Itachi’s back. “You’ll suffer for what you did to my boy!”

Itachi shuts his eyes, wanting to block out the hurt inside of him. Mikoto hurries her two boys back to their home, away from prying eyes.

“Niisan-”

Sasuke tugs at Itachi’s sleeve. The deep furrow in his brow has grown deeper still.

“Niisan, you didn’t kill Shisu-nii, did you?” He whimpers.

Itachi’s heart clenches painfully.

“Tell me it’s a lie, Niisan-”

Itachi opens his mouth, but all he can manage is a feeble croak.

(Useless. He’s so useless he can’t even speak.)

Mother looks worriedly at him, wringing her hands in that way she always does when she’s anxious.

That look on Sasuke’s face grows into one of fierce determination.

“Well, I know you didn’t do it, Niisan!”

Itachi’s gut twists itself into a knot.

“I don’t care what everyone says about you! My big brother would never do anything like that! I’m sure of it!”

Itachi sighs.

“...I’m gonna take a bath,” he mutters, walking past Sasuke like he was a ghost.

Chapter Text

The first thing Kisame notices when he wakes back up, is an overwhelming, oppressive heat.

He groans in discomfort, a thought somewhere along the lines of what the fuck running through his head.

The second thing he notices, is that Itachi has curled up under his arm sometime during the night.

Another thought, also along the lines of what the fuck pops into his head.

He moves to push Itachi away from him, to demand to know what the fuck he was thinking, treating him like some overgrown stuffed animal.

But he stops, halfway through the motion.

The deep lines of exhaustion under Itachi’s eyes have loosened their hold, the tension gone from his fever-flushed face. His thumb rests millimeters from the corner of his half-open mouth, truly childish and surprisingly peaceful.

Kisame doesn't have it in him to disturb the boy.

Even though he’s starting to wonder if he might melt from the heat Itachi is radiating, he stays put.

Beyond the dingy cave, the rain has at last died down to a drizzle; the sun dares to peek through the clouds, like a shy maiden from behind her fan. Birds chirp a merry little tune, the fresh smell of after-rain penetrating through the musty cave air.

After a few more minutes, Itachi stirs, moaning softly. Long eyelashes flutter, then lift.

Itachi’s eyes grow wide, and he lets out a sound that Kisame can only describe as a squeak. He scrambles as far away from Kisame as he can, mumbling rapid-fire apologies his companion can’t discern.

Kisame can’t help but laugh.

“Good morning to you too, Itachi-san.”

Itachi blinks about a dozen times, realizing that Kisame isn’t angry at him. He turns his head away, falling silent once more.

“Well, since you’re awake, we should get going- the storm’s finally over.”

The boy nods, drawing his cloak around himself and fumbling with the buttons. Kisame finds it amusing- he’s never seen a look like that on Itachi’s face before.

His amusement can’t last, however- a wet, hacking sort of cough rips its way from Itachi’s lungs, spoiling the lighthearted mood.

“You gonna be alright?”

Itachi glares at Kisame like the question is insulting. Kisame raises his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Alright, Itachi-san. I was just making sure.”

Head high, still annoyed, Itachi is the first to leave their shelter. Kisame follows behind him.

An unusually large crow glides down from its perch, landing at Itachi’s feet. It cocks its head, looking up at Itachi expectantly. Itachi cocks his head back.

Ruffling its feathers, the bird makes an impatient croaking sound. When Itachi doesn't move, it hops forward, nipping at the rim of Itachi’s sandal with its frighteningly sharp beak.

Itachi’s lips tilt upward the smallest fraction; he reaches into his cloak, rummaging around in one of the many pockets sewn into the lining.

“What are you doing, Itachi-san?”

Wordlessly answering him, Itachi pulls out some frosted pastry thing, wrapped up in paper.

Eh?

Itachi unwraps the paper, breaking off a piece of the flaky pastry. The crow bounces in excitement, cawing eagerly.

The boy crouches down, offering a palmful of crumbled pastry. The bird devours the food it’s offered, head bobbing happily as it eats. When his palm is empty, the crow shoves its head against it, demanding.

Itachi strokes the bird’s glossy black feathers, humming in a happy sort of way Kisame usually heard him do when eating some particularly sweet candy.

Out of seemingly nowhere, five more crows join the first, chattering and pushing each other aside to get Itachi’s attention. Itachi is smiling properly now, breaking off more pastry to feed the needy birds.

“Having fun, Itachi-san?” Kisame teases.

The small sound that Itachi makes might be a laugh, though it turns into a cough halfway through.

He turns his hands over, palms out, to indicate to the birds that he’s out of food.  They flit around him for a moment, nipping at the boy’s hair and fingers, before taking off once again.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Itachi-san- wasn’t that your breakfast you just gave them?”

Itachi shrugs, indicating that he doesn't care.

“Well, we really should get going; we’ve gotta meet up and get some intel from Sasori-san and Orochimaru-san. You know how impatient Sasori-san gets when you keep him waiting.”

“Hm.”

Hurts. It hurts.

Itachi’s world has narrowed down to pain, sharp and biting, as he steadily digs a wickedly sharp kunai deeper into his wrist.

Deeper. Deeper. He’s pretty sure he’s sliced a vein open now- dark red blood flows freely from the deep wound he’s created. He chews on his bottom lip until that’s bleeding as well, to keep from crying out. the blood drips sickeningly into the hot bathwater, staining the entire thing red.

I’m so sorry, Shisui- I’m just not strong enough-

He repeats the motions on the other wrist- it’s harder this time around. He feels himself growing ever so slightly dizzy from the head and loss of blood.

But he has to do it. He can’t face this, can’t face what he knows he’ll have to do if he keeps on living. Can’t bear to think of his mother’s broken heart, of the look of stunned betrayal he knows he’ll see on his father’s face.

It’s better this way. Or, if it isn’t better, he won’t be around to have to bear it.

His pillow and blankets are soaked with blood. His head is going foggy. I’m sure it won’t take much longer.

Someone is knocking at his door.

“Niisan!”

Itachi’s heart sinks.

Go away, Sasuke, he pleads in his mind. Just go away, it won’t take me much longer.

It hurts. It hurts and he deserves the pain.

"Niisan, you've been in there for a long time..."

Sasuke please, leave me alone-

After a few moments, after another knock at the bathroom door, to Itachi’s relief, he can hear Sasuke’s footsteps retreating.

It’s hard to hold the kunai know; he lets it fall somewhere off the edge of the tub and clatter onto the tile. He slumps into the bloodied water, sinking in up to his neck.

All that’s left now is to wait.

It’s sickeningly fascinating, watching himself bleed. Watching that red fluid which stubbornly kept him alive leaving him. turning the water and porcelain deeper and deeper red.

The bathroom is wobbling around him now, the colors becoming faded, and strange.

He thinks he can hear Shisui, now. It’s sick, but it makes him smile.

I’ll be there soon. Please wait for me.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger.

Consciousness fades in and out, like the waves at the ocean’s edge. Ebbing away slowly, like floodwaters after a rainstorm.

But- suddenly, fear, cold and unrelenting, grips him. It sinks into his bones. Chases away Shisui’s calming voice. And, despite what he’d thought, he finally realizes-

I don’t wanna die-

This is wrong. All wrong. There’s no relief in his bleeding wrists now. No Shisui to claim him, no soft darkness of oblivion. Just the horrifying realization that I don’t want to die!

He manages to get his feet beneath him. Manages to haul himself out of the bathwater, to undo the lock on the bathroom door.

He doesn't have enough lucidity in him to notice he's still entirely naked.

The hallway spins around him, blackness throbbing at the edges of his vision.

Cowardice, a voice in his head scolds him. So cowardly you can’t even die.

“Mom-” he calls out, though his voice is too weak to travel far.

It isn’t his mother who hears him.

Like a moth to a flame, Sasuke follows the sound of his big brother’s voice.

“Niisa-”

His eager tone dies off, hopeful smile fading into a look of abject horror.

Itachi’s heart plunges into his stomach.

Sasuke’s eyes might bulge clean out of his skull, as they trace the sickening path of blood made by Itachi’s dripping wrists.

He dashes down the hallway with a speed he didn’t know his little brother was capable of.

“Mom!” he screams, panicked, shrill. “Mom, Niisan’s hurt!”

It’s funny. Itachi can’t see anymore. He can’t stand anymore, either. He feels the cool wooden floor beneath his cheek, though he doesn't remember falling.

“Oh my God-”

Mom’s arms are around him, now. He can feel her shaking him, hear her calling out to him, screaming “Itachi what did you do?!” but he can’t answer her anymore. Instead, he reaches blindly, grabbing the front of her dress with as much strength as he can muster.

Help me, Mom, I made a mistake, I don’t wanna die, please-

Maybe she’s carrying him now, but he isn’t conscious enough to really tell.

Mom, help me- I’m scared-

“You don’t look very well, Itachi-kun.”

There’s genuine concern in Orochimaru’s voice- which must mean Itachi really does look as awful as he feels.

The back of the man’s hand brushes his cheek, and he frowns.

“How long has he been running a fever like that?” he asks Kisame, almost accusatory.

“Uh- since last night, maybe?”

Kisame’s tone indicates that he didn’t know he was supposed to be that concerned.

“Itachi-kun, you should sit down. You poor thing-”

Freshly emerged from Hiruko, Sasori drums his thin fingers against a boulder impatiently.

“You can start discussing things with Kisame while I see to Itachi-kun,” Orochimaru reminds him, catching his annoyance.

“I’ll be alright,” Itachi protests, even as Orochimaru is practically shoving him onto the dusty ground.

It isn’t until he’s sitting down that he realizes he’s dizzy- he has to close his eyes to stave off a sudden wave of nausea. Orochimaru tugs his headband off, letting it fall carelessly to the side.

A cool, damp cloth is pressed against his bare forehead.

“You’ll wear yourself out if you on like this,” the man chides. “There’s no shame in speaking up if you’re ill.”

Itachi doesn't answer, merely savoring the relief of something cold.

Orochimaru presses a few white tablets into his palm.

“You should take these and rest for awhile,” he says, insistently.

The tablets taste bitter on Itachi’s tongue, and have a texture like chalk; he chases them down with a few mouthfuls of water. He rests his weight on his arms, and listens while the other three discuss whatever Akatsuki business they’re supposed to be dealing with- though he doesn't care quite enough to actually pay attention.

After maybe five minutes, he feels the medication taking the edge off his fever, and the throbbing in his head along with it.

“-Before that, though- Konan-sama said she’ll need to borrow Itachi-kun for a few days.”

Itachi’s head jerks upward.

“What for?”

“Something about wanting you to come along to get Kakuzu’s new partner,” Orochimaru answers.

“Why me?” Itachi wonders aloud.

“I didn’t think to ask- I’m just passing along what I’ve been told.”

Itachi frowns, but nods his understanding anyway.

“Alright, I suppose it’s settled,” he says.

Kisame has a look on his face that Itachi can’t quite read. Disappointment? Well, maybe.

(Itachi has never really been good at reading people’s emotions.)

“I guess I’ll see you when you get back, Itachi-san.”

Itachi nods.

“Yeah. See you later.”

Chapter Text

Itachi wouldn’t dare voice it out loud for fear of being seen as weak, but Kakuzu absolutely terrifies him.

A permanent, menacing aura leaks off the man, clinging to his being like cigarette smoke. He towers over both him and Konan, as if silently reminding Itachi that he’s still a child.

Still- the quiet is nice. Neither Kakuzu, nor Konan, nor Itachi feel the need to speak much, so they walk together while listening to the sounds of the deep forest.

Konan glances at the sleeve of his cloak, riding just a bit too far up his wrist.

“You’re going to need new clothes soon, huh?” she remarks, the faintest trace of a smile on her painted lips.

“Hm? I suppose.”

Itachi thinks he sees the woman roll her eyes when Kakuzu grumble something about how much money that costs.

Night passes uneventfully- Itachi stays awake under the guise of keeping watch, but really his head hurts and he knows he won’t be able to sleep. He keeps his Sharingan on, tracking every little movement through the trees. He takes a few of the white tablets from the bottle Orochimaru slipped into the lining of his cloak, to keep his fever at bay.

(He thinks Konan is concerned for him, but she doesn't say anything if she is.)

As soon as the first hints of dawn arrive, they pick up and set off once more.

Birds flit about, twittering cheerfully, announcing themselves to passersby. But that happy chirping dies away, the deeper into the forest they go.

An eerie silence takes over, and the light grows dimmer as the foliage grows denser.

Even in the darkness, Itachi can see corpses draped from the tree branches, blood dripping down into the greedy dirt below them.

Kakuzu looks around, and Itachi isn’t sure if he’s disgusted or merely curious.

“The guy who did this didn’t do it to save his own skin, and he obviously didn’t do it for money,” he muses, more to himself than anything. “He did it just for the fun of killing.”

The corners of Itachi’s mouth pull downward; it’s always been strange to him, the idea that anybody could possibly find killing fun.

“So I’ve heard,” Konan replies, resting her hands on her hips as she surveys the carnage around them. “Yugakure contacted Akatsuki to dispatch him- they’ve put a pretty heavy bounty on his head, from what we’ve gathered.”

“Wouldn’t it be more worth it to kill him then?”

“Not if the rumors about this guy are true.”

“Rumors?”

“That this is someone who can’t be killed.”

Kakuzu harrumphs.

“-So why did you come with us, then?” he inquires. “Are you worried I might kill Itachi? Konoha has a huge bounty on him too, after all.”

He almost sounds amused- or, as amused as someone as Kakuzu could really ever be. Itachi suppresses the urge to shudder.

“No,” is Konan’s only answer.

Then, Itachi finds himself dodging an enormous and wickedly sharp blade, hearing the whistle of air as it barely misses taking his ear off.

The corner of his eye catches Konan dissolve into a million squares of paper, the blade of the scythe passing through her as well. Kakuzu ducks the blow aimed at him, seeming more annoyed than anything else.

Then- there’s laughter.

High, manic, unhinged, inhuman laughter echoes off the trees, turning Itachi’s blood to ice in his veins. His eyes dart around wildly, tracking the source of such an otherworldly sound, hoping against hope that his fright doesn't show on his face.

Konan does not look frightened in the least.

“You’re Hidan?” She asks, head turned toward where the laughter had come from.

“Holy fucking shit- it’s been a long time since I’ve heard anyone say my name!”

Another bout of that horrible cackling, and a figure emerges.

There’s a wicked gleam in his violet eyes, and he scratches at slicked-back silver hair as he gives the trio a quick up-and-down glance.

“The hell you fuckers all dressed the same for? You in a band or some shit?”

He continues, before any of them can answer.

“-Wait, lemme take a guess- the hot bitch is on keyboard,” he says, pointing at Konan with his scythe, “grumpy bastard’s on bass,” he turns it toward Kakuzu, “and the pretty-boy sad-eyed fuck over here does vocals-” his scythe rests on Itachi.

Konan shakes her head.

“We’re with an organization called Akatsuki,” she corrects him. “We’re here to make you an offer.”

“Eh? The fuck for?”

Hidan’s head rests at a jaunty angle which makes his neck resemble one of the myriad broken tree branches around him.

Konan takes a step forward, undaunted.

“Leader-sama would like you to join us.”

Hidan scoffs.

“Why the fuck would I do that for?”

He stretches his arms out wide, gesturing toward the heavens.

“I have my lord Jashin! I offer my prayers and accept his gifts! My life is spent in humble service to Jashin-sama- I don’t need anything else!”

He speaks with a sort of crazed devotion that Itachi can’t stop the sneer that crosses his face.

“You got somethin’ to say, pretty boy?”

“-You think you’re some sort of holy man?” Itachi asks, and disdain slips into his voice. “You’re just a thug who kills because it’s fun.”

Hidan glares at him.

“Jashin-sama won’t be mocked, you self-righteous little prick!”

Konan steps between the pair of them.

“That’s enough.”

“I’ll send all three of you to Jashin-sama!” Hidan declares.

“-Would you just shut up already?”

Kakuzu has his arms folded impatiently. Hidan growls, a feral grin twisting his handsome features.

“How about I fuckin’ kill you first?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Itachi and Konan retreat into the safety of a tall oak, and Kakuzu lunges at Hidan.

There’s a shrill sound as the metal of Hidan’s scythe meets the stone of Kakuzu’s fist. A sickening crunch as that same fist punches clean through the tree Hidan’s head had been in front of moments ago.

“You move slow- you some old fuck or something?”

Kakuzu doesn't take kindly to the insult; his next blow connects square with Hidan’s face, sending him flying. He crashes through several trees, before skidding to a stop in the mud.

“That really fucking hurt, asshole!” Hidan whines. “God damn it!”

He charges helter-skelter at Kakuzu, roaring in enraged frustration. Itachi flinches at the sickening crack of Kakuzu’s ribs.

“Should we step in?” he asks Konan, still keeping his eyes trained on the fighting below them.

The woman shakes her head.

“I want to see what this guy can do.”

“Understood.”

That shrill, awful laugh tears from Hidan’s throat again.

“You’re really pissing me off, you old fuck!”

Itachi watches in horrified fascination as the wicked blade of Hidan’s scythe pierces through Kakuzu’s chest, and Kakuzu’s body goes limp. Hidan shudders, and exhales a great, shaky breath.

“Fuck, that was good,” he moans, swiping his hand across his scythe and lapping up the blood. “Haven’t had anyone put up a fight like that in a long time.”

He looks upward, locking eyes with Itachi, heedless of his Sharingan.

“I think I’ll take you out next. You look like you’d squawk real nice.”

Itachi starts to make the seal for a fireball jutsu, but he doesn't need to. Kakuzu grabs Hidan by the ankle, and throws him onto the ground.

“-Obnoxious brat,” he snarls. “Maybe I should just kill you-”

Still unafraid, Hidan cackles.

“Holy fucking shitballs, dude! How the hell did you survive that?!”

A low growl rumbles deep in Kakuzu’s chest.

“You think you’re the only one who found out how to cheat death, boy?”

“Eh?!”

Hidan looks unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed.

“So then how’s a guy like you end up with those dipshits over there? You fuckin’ ‘em or-”

“-You should shut up now.”

Kakuzu seizes Hidan by the neck and squeezes it hard, silencing him.

When Hidan has cyanosed and started properly panicking, Kakuzu releases his grip. Hidan splutters and gasps, spewing profanities at him. Kakuzu evidently doesn't care one bit.

“Coulda had a quiet partner like the kid,” he grumbles. “But I’m stuck with a loud-mouthed bastard like you.”

“The fuck you-”

“-Welcome to the Akatsuki,” Konan says, following Itachi back to the forest floor. “Now, let’s go.”

“Waitwait fuckin’ wait- I never said anything about joining you assholes!”

Konan raises a pierced eyebrow at him.

“But~ since you’re offering-”

Hidan makes a show like he’s having a very hard time thinking it over.

“As long as I can keep offering my prayers to Jashin-sama, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

“Whatever you do outside missions is entirely your business,” Konan quips, already walking off. The rest follow, Kakuzu still grousing under his breath, Itachi watching Hidan out of his peripheral vision.

He doesn't trust this guy. He doesn't like this guy. He doesn't like anyone who thinks murder is fun. But none of that shows on his face. He keeps his lips pressed into a thin line, keeps his eyes fixed forward, though he keeps himself aware of Hidan’s chakra, in case he tries something.

It’s weird. He never pictured someone (who doesn't even seem to be much older than himself) to be capable of such wanton cruelty. It makes his stomach clench uncomfortably.

He really, really wants to get back to Kisame soon.

Itachi knows that his mother and father are trying to be quiet, but it isn’t enough. He can still hear every worried word they whisper at each other from a few rooms over, carrying through the paper-thin walls.

And it makes him sick. Makes him keenly aware of what an awful, awful child he is.

He fiddles with the thick bandaging around his wrists, and wills himself not to cry, because crying makes his eyes hurt.

“-I can’t believe he’d- and so soon after- I don’t get it! Why would he-”

“Fugaku, please-”

His father sounds stunned. Absolutely dumbfounded. And his mother- his mother sounds distraught.

"Shisui was his best friend. You know that- of course he'd be upset..."

Fugaku is silent.

“...You don’t think he did it, did you?” Mikoto asks softly, brokenly.

“Of course not!”

Fugaku sounds offended that Mikoto would even suggest such a thing.

“...I don’t think he did it,” he repeats, softer. “But...I think he knows what happened to him.”

“Fugaku, what do you mean?”

There’s a long silence.

“I think Itachi knows how Shisui died. Really died. And I think Danzo is involved with it.”

Itachi squeezes his pillow tightly, ignoring the white-hot pain which shoots up

“What?! Fugaku, that’s-”

“Shisui would never have done it. Shisui loved life. Why would he ever- it just doesn't make sense. I don’t have proof, but Mikoto, I know he couldn't have killed himself.”

Itachi sucks in a sharp breath, clamping a hand over his mouth. It hurts to do it, but otherwise he'll whimper, and his parents will come into his room.

“...What would he do that for?” Mikoto asks.

“I don’t know,” Fugaku answers, bluntly.

“Well then, what do we do?”

Itachi chews on his bottom lip, shutting his eyes tightly.

Silently, he begs his mother and father to put one and one together. He wants to hear them storming out of the house, marching into Danzo’s office, howling that they know everything.

He wishes he could tell them everything, wishes he could throw himself into their arms, and sob and beg for their forgiveness. He wants to beg them please help me I’m so scared I don’t know what to do-

“I don’t know,” Fugaku says, and Itachi feels his heart crumble. “Like I said, we have no proof- there’s nothing we can do about it for now.”

He sounds so helpless, and Itachi hates that.

He knows Mom and Dad are holding each other right now. They always hold each other when they’re worried.

He wishes they would hold him, too.

“We’ll make it better,” Fugaku murmurs, and Itachi knows he’s stroking his wife’s hair. “We’ll find out the truth. We’ll fix it. I know we can.”

Itachi’s heart drops into his stomach. He wraps his arms around himself, and it sends jolts of pain through his ragged nerves.

Please help me. Mom, Dad-

I'm so scared...

Chapter Text

Three years.

It’s been three years since Itachi has had to abandon everything he ever knew, forced to take on the mantle of a criminal and a murderer. Forced to watch his little brother grow up through infrequent updates provided to him by Zetsu and Madara.

Three years since he’s been partnered with Hoshigaki Kisame, the infamous missing-nin and fiercest member of Kirigakure’s Seven Swordsmen.

He’s gotten used to some of it. Skulking around in the dark, constantly looking over his shoulder whenever they leave the safety of Ame- those are the sorts of things that come with the shinobi lifestyle. He’s well accustomed to the uniform by now- though Kakuzu sometimes gripes about how quickly he keeps growing out of them. He’s also grown used to Kisame becoming his constant companion; in fact, he’s even grown fond of the man’s rough voice filling the silence between them whenever they aren’t on missions.

But there are some things that don’t get better with time.

To be able to see to Sasuke again- to be able to hug him, to pat him on the head or ask him about his day- the thing he longs for the most is something he can never have again.

He receives copies of Sasuke’s school report cards- top marks and glowing reviews from all his teachers, as is to be expected of his brother. He knows Sasuke is getting taller, and that he still seems to have that visceral hatred for hair brushes that sent him scurrying to hide whenever their mother dared to pull one out.

But these little glimpses are not enough. They could never be.

It’s Sasuke’s eleventh birthday today, so these thoughts are weighing on Itachi heavier than usual. He’d normally be out doing his training around this time of day, but instead he lays flat on his bed, staring at the blank white ceiling with despair gnawing at his heart.

Sasuke deserves to be surrounded by his family, with cake and presents and their parents’ smiles- but instead he’s all alone. And that’s all Itachi’s fault.

The bathroom door opens, accompanied by a cloud of steam. The paper divider closes while Kisame dresses.

The sensory input barely registers in Itachi’s brain.

“Something on your mind, Itachi-san?”

Itachi sighs.

So, that’s a yes, then.

(That part was obvious- Kisame is almost certain Itachi hasn’t moved all day.)

“I suppose it’s not anything you want to talk about.”

Silence. So that’s a no.

“There’s still hot water left. Might help clear your head.”

Another sigh.

Kisame was expecting as much, really. But Itachi really does look down, and even if he has absolutely zero idea how one goes about cheering up another person, a part of him he didn’t even know existed still urges him to try.

“You eaten today? Chinsuko’s place has some pretty good warabimochi this time of year- you should try it.”

A shrug.

(Damn. Itachi is in a really bad way to be turning down sweets.)

Kisame huffs, picking Samehada up from its place leaned against the wall.

“Sure you’re okay just hanging around in bed all day?”

A nod.

“Whatever you say, Itachi-san. If you change your mind, I’ll be out on the training grounds. A bit of sparring could do you some good.”

As usual, Kisame doesn't get an answer.

“Hidan wants to go out drinking afterward. If you wanted to join in I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

(He must be going soft. This nagging feeling in his gut just might be concern.)

“Well then, I’ll be off.”

Itachi makes one last sound of acknowledgement before the door closes.

Must be one of those moody teenager things, he reassures himself. Kids sulk over nothing- Itachi especially. He’ll be fine in a few hours. Itachi usually is.

Itachi’s legs are full of lead, each step forward more exhausting than the last. His muscles burn from his day’s training. All he wants to do is fall into his bed and sleep for a thousand years. To curl up in the shower until the hot water was all gone, and probably for awhile longer after that.

(Oh, if only.)

“Niisan!”

Sasuke practically tackles Itachi when he walks through the door, knocking his bag out of his grip before he can kick his sandals off or even call out “I’m home!”

“Niisan, it’s my birthday!” he chirps, holding up three fingers. “I’m this old today!”

“Yeah, I know,” Itachi says, smiling warmly at his little brother.

“Mom’s making cake!”

“I can’t wait.”

Sasuke’s smile falls. He tilts his head at his older brother.

“What’s wrong, Niisan?”

Itachi manages his best fake smile.

“I’m fine, Sasuke. Just a little tired. I’m gonna lay down for a little bit, then we can play, alright?”

“I’ll nap with you!” Sasuke insists, already tugging Itachi down the hall before he could protest.

He bounces around the room a bit while Itachi gets himself situated in bed; once Itachi is settled, he climbs in alongside him, nestling snugly against him.

“You think Dad’ll be home in time to eat cake with us?” Sasuke asks, a hopeful note in his voice.

“Hm, maybe,” Itachi answers, not really wanting to lie. “But you know he’s very busy with work.”

“I know,” Sasuke pouts.

Itachi ruffles his hair, and lets his heavy eyes fall closed.

“It’ll be fine, Sasuke. Dad loves you either way.”

“He acts like he only cares about you.”

Itachi wishes he has more reassuring words, but sleep tugs heavily at his brain.

“That’s not true,” he manages to mumble.

Sasuke whines, burying his face in Itachi’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re not lying.”

The need for something to eat finally outweighs Itachi’s desire to stay in bed at about seven in the evening. He emerges from his bedroom, feeling like garbage, and probably looking it, too.

He pokes his head in the refrigerator-

There’s a fresh box of warabimochi, his name written on it in sloppy kanji.

(Kisame has some truly atrocious handwriting.)

The small gesture brings a tired smile to his face.

He eats a few of them along with some tea, and that helps him feel a bit better. He decides maybe finding a book to read will help keep him from stewing in his own misery, so he heads off toward the library.

As per the usual, Kakuzu is settled in one of the armchairs, reading one of the books from his treasured collection. Itachi starts browsing the shelves away from the man’s private collection, searching for something new.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Kakuzu deigns to speak to him.

“I suppose you’ll have read all of those by now,” he remarks. There’s something unusual in his tone, though Itachi can’t figure out what it is.

Itachi shrugs in response. He briefly wonders if Kakuzu has kept track of the books he’s read over the years.

“You go through books like you go through clothes.”

Is...is Kakuzu teasing him?

Kakuzu rises from his chair and heads toward the set of shelves which house his personal collection.

He peruses the shelves for a few long moments, muttering under his breath, before settling on one at last. He holds it out toward Itachi; Itachi looks at both the man and the book for a heartbeat or two before he realizes what the gesture means.

“You should be able to appreciate this one.”

Kakuzu’s voice doesn't lose that gruff, dismissive tone- but Itachi wonders if he catches the barest hint of a smile beneath that mask.

“If you damage it, I’ll kill you,” the man cautions.

“Thank you,” the boy mumbles, taking the book into his hands; it’s a huge, ancient-looking book, maybe one-of-a-kind. He runs his fingers over it in curiosity; the leather is well-worn, the pages yellowing at the edges.

His contemplation is broken, however, when Kakuzu seizes his wrist and yanks it toward him. Itachi flinches backward, but the man’s grip holds fast. Those strange green eyes  are fixed on the harsh white scar that stands out amongst the mottled burns that decorate the arms of every Uchiha.

It feels like they stand there for an eon, Kakuzu’s eyes narrowed while they sweep up and down that shameful reminder. It takes all of Itachi’s strength to keep his face blank.

Finally, Kakuzu releases Itachi’s wrist from his grip, and Itachi snatches his arm back.

“...Gonna need new clothes again,” is all Kakuzu grumbles, before returning to his chair and his book.

Itachi’s heart throws itself against his sternum like it wants to burst free. He tugs his pajama sleeve as far over the scar as he can manage, and scurries back to the safety of his room.

He tries really, really hard to pretend there hadn’t been the barest trace of pity in Kakuzu’s eyes.

(Kakuzu is right. He’ll need new clothes soon. Preferably something with nice, long sleeves.)

Seated in the dark on the floor of his room, Itachi lights eleven candles, arranged carefully in a circle in around him. He watches the flames flicker. Hates himself for not being able to be with his little brother on what should be a special day. He bows his head and closes his eyes, not allowing himself to cry.

(He knows he doesn't deserve that.)

He hopes that, at the very least, Sasuke has someone to bring him some sort of happiness today, since he can’t be there to do it himself.

(Does Sasuke have any friends? Zetsu said he usually keeps to himself.)

Itachi wonders, vaguely, if death hurts anywhere near this badly.

The first thing that pops into Kisame’s head when he comes back- maybe more than a little tipsy, but that’s not the point- is that Itachi looks like a sad little ghost.

The faint golden light from the candles brings the shadows under Itachi’s eyes into harsh relief. Makes his pale skin look paler still. Black eyes stare at the flickering flame dancing in front of him, like he hasn’t noticed the man walk in.

“You tryna summon a demon or something?” Kisame jokes, slurring his words ever so slightly.

That gets Itachi to turn those dark eyes toward him. They narrow oh-so-slightly, but it’s enough to chill Kisame’s blood.

“I was just kidding, Itachi-san!” Kisame is quick to add on.

Another one of those soft sighs, and Itachi returns to staring at his ring of candles.

“Hey, something on your mind?”

Itachi merely continues staring into the candle’s depths like they hold the secrets of the universe. Kisame wants to ask what on Earth he’s looking for in there, but he knows he won’t get an answer.

“...Thank you.”

Kisame jolts.

Holy shit he remembered how to talk!

“For what?”

“The mochi.”

“Heh. So you figured out that was me?”

Itachi quirks an eyebrow, and something about the gesture almost makes Kisame burst out laughing.

“Who else would it have been?”

Fair point. Kisame feels his way over to his bed in the dark, sitting on the edge of it to observe the boy some more.

Itachi leans back on his hands, and that sharp, delicate collar bone comes into relief.

He really is like a bird, Kisame muses to himself. Delicate bones and sharp eyes and that finicky personality of his. Damn if he isn’t beautiful, though.

Wait. Beautiful?

Shaking his head, Kisame decides he must be more drunk that he thought.

It isn’t a lie, though. Somewhere down the line, that round-faced little brat Kisame had been introduced to had become...well, not that. He’s gotten taller now, lost the baby fat in his face. He’s still thin, almost too much so, but he’s put on enough muscle that it isn’t quite so alarming. But he still has those long, dark eyelashes, that long silky hair that gets passing compliments from women they pass. Sometimes he wonders if it’d be worth it to try to touch-

-Yeah, Kisame is definitely more drunk than he thought. Probably best to sleep it off before he thinks any more stupid thoughts.

Still fully clothed, he crawls under the covers and lets himself drift off.

While he’s in that hazy spot between sleep and waking, he hears Itachi speak.

“...Happy birthday, Sasuke.”

(One of these days, Kisame is gonna have to ask who this Sasuke guy is.)

Chapter Text

Itachi is acting strangely. Well, more strangely than usual.

It’s funny that, of all the thoughts that could come to Kisame’s mind, that’s the one that chooses to pop up.

Four sets of eyes bore into him. A heavy spray of blood cuts a path up his clothes and across his pale face.

He’d been found in this state by Sasori, standing in the middle of Orochimaru’s laboratory, a white, severed hand laying in a crimson pool at his feet.

Orochimaru is nowhere to be found.

“He tried to kill me,” He explains, matter-of-factly, answering Sasori’s interrogations for what must be the fifth or sixth time by now. “I prevented that. That’s all there is to it.”

“Where did he go?!” Sasori demands, seizing Itachi by the collar of his cloak and shaking him.  There’s a manic, unhinged glint in Sasori’s eyes that makes Kisame uneasy.

“I don’t know,” Itachi answers, in that same flat monotone. “I just know he’s gone.”

Sasori grits his teeth. He looks like he desperately wants to break Itachi’s neck, but he doesn't get the chance.

“Are you alright?” Konan asks, gently, pushing Sasori away from him. “Did he hurt you?”

The boy shakes his head.

“I told you- I didn’t let him.”

“For an Akatsuki to attack another is unforgivable,” Pain says, a cold, frightening sort of anger seeping into his voice. “He won’t go unpunished for his actions.”

Itachi doesn't respond to this. Neither does Sasori- he simply stalks off down the hallway, murder emanating off him.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Konan asks, one more time. Itachi nods; though it’s clear neither she nor Pain truly believe him, they take their leave as well. Kisame feels keenly uncomfortable, but at the same time is unsure what he wants to say to break the silence.

Itachi walks away from him, back toward their shared room. After a bit of hesitation, Kisame decides he’d better follow.

When they reach their room, Itachi makes a beeline for the shower, casting aside his bloodstained cloak as he goes. He shuts the door behind him, and in about twenty seconds, Kisame hears the water start. Kisame sits on his bed to take care of Samehada, and loses track of the time. Samehada mewls contentedly, practically preening itself.

An hour passes. Then two.

Now Kisame is starting to worry.

“Hey,” he calls out, trying to keep his tone jovial,  “did you drown in there, Itachi-san?”

No response. He sets Samehada aside and stands up.

And that’s when it hits him. The familiar, metallic smell of blood.

“Itachi-san?”

(Kisame won’t admit to himself that the cold feeling welling up inside him is panic.)

Mechanically, he takes the three steps he needs to reach the bathroom, and turns the handle.

He doesn't get the chance to wonder how Itachi forgot to lock the door.

The next few moments blur together in his head. Itachi’s curled up on the shower floor, kunai in his hand, deep gashes across his thighs and up his right wrist. Then Kisame has an arm wrapped around the boy, free hand turning off the water that’s long gone cold. Something that sounds like “what the fuck did you do?!” escapes his mouth, but it feels disconnected somehow, distant- muffled, even though Kisame is pretty sure he’s yelling.

The white towel he grabs to grant Itachi some modicum of modesty quickly becomes soaked through with crimson.

Kisame half-throws Itachi onto the bed, fumbling around for the first-aid kit and repressing the urge to scream at this stupid, stupid boy.

(He’d understand feeling annoyed. But why he’s so angry, he can’t pin down.

...Or maybe it's worry.)

Itachi flinches when Kisame touches his leg, shrinking in so far it’s like he wants to disappear into himself.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Kisame scolds. “You’ve done a good enough job of that yourself.”

The boy lets out a sharp whine, turning his head away and shutting his eyes tightly. He twitches every time Kisame touches him, holding his breath and chewing a hole through his lower lip. Kisame pretends not to notice that, or the way Itachi trembles while the man doctors his wounds.

There’s more scars than untouched skin on Itachi’s thighs, Kisame notes, wrapping layers of gauze over them. Once his legs are properly seen to, he takes hold of Itachi’s arm, to tend to his mutilated wrist. The fresh wounds there overlap the huge, white one that Kisame always pretends he can’t see.

He knows he should probably say something. This silence is unbearable- but really, what could he say that Itachi would actually listen to?

He doesn't’t have to ponder this for too long, however; in keeping with the Itachi is acting fucking weird theme of the day, he speaks of his own accord.

“...They’re all the same,” he mumbles.

Kisame blinks in surprise.

“Eh?”

“I don’t know why I thought he’d be different.” Itachi sounds- angry? Yeah, that’s close enough. “It’s always the same. They’re only kind because they want something from you. Not because they actually care.”

He shakes his head, sending water and strands of soaking-wet hair flying in every direction.

“I must be an idiot. I never learn-”

“-No disrespect, Itachi-san, but what are you babbling on about?”

“-It’s just like wh-”

Before it even registers in Kisame’s mind, both of Itachi’s hands fly upward and clamp tightly over his mouth. Whatever he was about to say, the man can’t hear it.

With a heavy sigh, Kisame takes Itachi’s arm back to finish wrapping it.

“Forget I said anything, alright?”

“I-”

“-You don’t trust me. I know. I get it, Itachi-san.”

“No! It’s not that I- I mean- I don’t- you aren’t like-”

Yep. Itachi is definitely babbling. Kisame very briefly wonders if this is just someone else doing  a poor imitation of his partner.

“Get some clothes on,” Kisame advises, retreating to his own half of the room. “You’d probably best lie down for a bit.”

Itachi complies, retreating back into that stone-faced, silent version of himself Kisame has come to know. He throws on his favorite black pajamas, then curls up facing away from Kisame. Despite being far taller than he was back then, he looks, once again, like that frail little child Kisame had met years ago.

-He lets out a soft, pained noise. His thin shoulders shake, ever so slightly.

Kisame buries himself in a book that he isn’t really reading, and pretends he doesn't notice the boy crying.

Samehada makes a small, concerned noise, growing restless in its bandaging.  Kisame pets it idly, and pretends his trusted weapon isn’t picking up on his unease.

He tells himself that there’s nothing he can do, anyway. How is a brute like him supposed to comfort a crying teenager, after all? Even if he tried, he doesn't have the foggiest idea of where he should even begin.

Yes, it’s better to just let Itachi be for now. He’ll be fine in a few hours.

Itachi always is.

“That’s your bright idea, Kisame?”

(Well. That doesn't sound like a promising start to this little meeting.)

“Yeah. What about it?”

“You’re talking about treason,” Juzo growls, eyes darting around their secluded training grounds looking for eavesdroppers.

“That’s right.”

“There’s seven of us. How the hell are we supposed to do anything?”

“Because we’re us, dumbass,” Zabuza retorts; Kisame can already tell that the young man is baring his teeth under his bandages.

“You’re gonna get us all killed,” Mangetsu chimes in, handsome face affixed in an unflattering scowl.

“And?”

“Some of us don’t just have ourselves to look after, you know! Maybe you two are fine with keeling over, but I’ve got a dumbass little brother to look after!”

“You think your dumbass brother can’t look after himself?” Ringo asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I know he can’t! The dipshit can’t even work the stove properly! How’s he supposed to not fuckin’ starve to death if something happens to me?! He’s only got me!”

“He’ll figure it out, or he’ll die too,” Zabuza shrugs. “Same as Haku.”

Mangetsu glares daggers at Zabuza, but doesn't offer up a retort.

“...Well, I’m with Kisame on this,” Ringo says, after a painful silence passes between the seven of them. “It ain’t right that we keep sticking our necks out for a village that doesn't give a shit whether we live or die. If we let it keep going like this then Suigetsu is gonna get pulled into the same shit. If anyone can change that it’s us, right?”

Kushimaru folds his arms, eyes going narrow.

“Sounds like a load of bullshit,” he huffs. “Y’all can play revolution without me.”

Juzo frowns.

“...I’m with Kisame,” he mutters, after a long deliberation.

“Eh, fuck all of ya,” Raiga scoffs. “Be suicidal if you want, but leave me out of it.”

Well. The varying reaction was nothing Kisame hadn’t expected. Leaning on Samehada, the gears in his brain start turning away.

“Well, whatever you guys decide to do, it’s best to keep this between the seven of us, yeah?”

Murmurs of agreement spread through the group.  Out of sheer paranoia, they disperse, with only Zabuza remaining beside Kisame.

“Well,” Zabuza grumbles, “that really coulda gone better.”

“Also coulda gone worse,” Kisame shrugs. “We can roll with what we have.”

“When did you get so optimistic?” Zabuza scoffs, his tone almost teasing.

“Gotta keep our heads up,” Kisame muses. “It’d be too easy to give up otherwise.”

Zabuza makes a small sound of acknowledgement, curling his hand around Kubikirikocho like a lifeline.

“Be careful,” he cautions, some genuine concern leaking into his voice. “You can’t guarantee that nobody heard you talking shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tries to organize an accident for you sometime soon.”

Kisame doesn't let on that he’s afraid.

Sasori is angry. Even though his face is perfectly blank, his fury radiates off him like a visible aura. Kisame gets the sudden urge to pull Itachi as far away from him as possible- because it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who Sasori’s anger is directed at.

Kisame joins the other two in silence, as they head out to retrieve Sasori’s new partner. Kisame tracks the sun across the sky, making note of how much time passes without anyone speaking.

That is, until Sasori breaks the silence.

“What happened to your arm?”

Itachi snaps out of his trance, eyes following Sasori’s to the thick bandaging under the sleeve of his cloak.

“I just had an accident,” he answers, the lie coming as naturally as breathing. It’s nothing.”

“Hm.”

It’s pretty obvious Sasori doesn't believe the boy, but he merely pulls a rather unflattering scowl, and lets the matter rest.

Itachi’s expression doesn't move from its stony mask. But there’s something in his eyes- a flash of shame as he turns his head away. He fiddles with the sleeve of his cloak, tugging it further over the bandages, the barest hint of red dusting his pale face.

Someone else might miss these subtle signs. But Kisame knows Itachi far too well to miss them.

Out of nowhere, Kisame feels the overwhelming urge to tell Itachi that he doesn't need to be ashamed. But then he shakes his head, boggled at where that thought suddenly came from.

He shakes his head, banishing the thought from his mind.

The sun is bright overhead; only a handful of fluffy white clouds breaks up the crisp azure of the sky above them. The three are content in the silence, so nobody makes another move to break it.

When Kisame glances over at Itachi, he catches the boy squinting the smallest fraction when they pass a poster nailed to the trunk of a maple tree, a ghost of an annoyed grimace playing on his lips.

He briefly debates whether he should inquire about Itachi’s eyesight, but brushes that thought away as quickly as it comes.

Not like he’d get an answer, after all.

Chapter Text

“Is this guy really gonna be my new partner?”

Sasori sounds thoroughly annoyed, his immature voice masked by Hiruko’s thick, gravelly one. He looks the boy in front of them up and down with a quiet disdain.

The kid’s young- even younger than Itachi. Shorter than Itachi, too.bright blue eyes full of fire glare at the three of them from behind a fringe of silky blond hair.

(Deidara. That’s what his file calls him, anyway. Such a tiny thing for one so allegedly dangerous- but Kisame knows well by now not to underestimate people based on size.)

“Like I told ya already, I’ve never heard of Akatsuki or whatever the fuck y’all call yourselves hn. So beat it!’

“Sure, he’s got spirit,” Sasori continues, as if the boy hadn’t even spoken. “But he looks like the type to die young. I don’t much feel like dragging the brat around before then.”

“I already told you to piss off!” Deidara huffs, crossing his arms and stamping his foot like the petulant child he truly is. “I came here to look at art, not get recruited by your creepy cult hn !”

“You’re really annoying,” Sasori growls.

In the back of his mind, Kisame starts to wonder if their leader really thought it through when he decided to pair these two up together. Beyond their shared obsession with art, anyway.

“...How about this, then?” Itachi offers, sending three sets of eyes darting toward him. “Let’s settle this between the two of us.”

(Kisame will never not be startled when Itachi speaks of his own accord.)

“Eh?”

“If I can defeat you here, you’ll come with us. If I can’t we’ll leave you alone.”

Deidara snorts derisively.

‘You? You look like a stiff breeze would knock ya clean over hn .”

“If that’s so then it should be no problem for you,” Itachi retorts, unruffled. “So let’s settle it now, shall we?”

Deidara sneers.

“Your funeral hn .”

The moment Kisame spies the crimson in Itachi’s eyes, he knows exactly what’s going on. And exactly how this fight is going to end.

Hell, calling it a fight is laughable.

All that’s left is to sit back and hope the kid doesn't trash this nice art museum.

“This better not take too long,” Sasori grumbles.

“Don’t worry,” Kisame assures him. “Itachi-san isn’t the type to drag a fight out.”

True to his word, a few seconds later Deidara is hurling one of those clay sculptures he’s become so infamous for.

“ Katsu !”

Itachi doesn't so much as flinch when a hole is blown in the wall just behind him. Itachi must’ve said something that rubbed the kid the wrong way, for him to act out what’s happening in the genjutsu. Itachi, on the other hand, is as inflappable as ever, barely even blinking when a clay serpent winds itself around his skinny body.

After a few short moments, Deidara’s blue eyes go wide, as he finally comes back to reality.

“A-a genjutsu?!” he splutters. “Since when-”

“Since the start,” Kisame explains, in a nonchalant way. “You made the mistake of looking Itachi-san in the eye- you never had a chance.”

Deidara’s expression is one of utter humiliation. He shuts his eyes tightly, his face flushing dark red; the clay serpent wrapped around him falls to the floor with a small thump.

“Welcome to Akatsuki,” Itachi says, his voice a careful monotone.

“I don’t need anything else,” Sasori huffs, not even bothering to look at either Itachi or Kisame when he speaks. “As for you, brat- follow me. I’m going to go kill Orochimaru.”

“Wait, who the fuck’s Orochimaru?” Deidara demands, even as he follows Sasori out through the gaping hole in the museum wall.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Sasori quips. “Just keep up with me.”

“Yeah yeah, keep yer pants on hn. I’m coming, I’m coming.”

The boy casts one last look at Itachi; the flush of his face grows deeper still, even though he’s making every effort to look angry.

Kisame nudges Itachi with his elbow to get his attention.

“Even faster than I expected, Itachi-san. Were you that impatient to get Sasori-san out of the way?”

Itachi just shrugs. He turns his head away and rubs at his bloodshot eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Can we go back now?” he asks. “Our coming along was pretty pointless.”

“Now I wouldn’t say that- you know the kid would’ve ended up as one of Sasori’s puppets if you hadn’t taken him down so easily. Sasori-san is impatient, afterall.”

Itachi lets out a small sound that might be his attempt at a laugh.

“Well then, Itachi-san- you said you wanted to go home. Let’s do that.”

With a small nod, Itachi follows Kisame out.

“So,” Kisame says, in an effort to break the hours-long silence between him and his partner, while they’re holed up in a cozy little tea shop. “What’re the odds that Sasori actually manages to off Orochimaru, ya think?”

“I can’t imagine they’re very high,” Itachi answers, eyes focused on his teacup.

“Why do you figure?”

“Because it’s Orochimaru.”

Reaching out for one of the mochi on the table between them, Kisame can’t help but smirk.

“Didn’t seem to give you too much trouble, Itachi-san.”

Another shrug of the boy’s skinny shoulders.

“He wanted me dead. I wasn’t keen on dying on those terms. I did what I had to.”

Kisame bites back the desire to bring up Itachi’s slashed-up wrists as a counterpoint. He knows it’d hardly help Itachi’s mood- better to let it be.

“He’ll want payback if we ever run into him again. Hope you’re ready for that,” he says instead.

“He doesn't frighten me,” Itachi responds.

“I know that,” Kisame chortles. “I’m just saying you’ll probably need to keep your guard up when we’re out from now on.”

Itachi quirks an eyebrow.

“I have to do that already.”

Fair. Kisame lets the matter go. He makes a point of letting Itachi have the last mochi, just to see that tiny glint of happiness in Itachi’s eyes when he bites into it.

(Is it weird that he feels so happy when Itachi is happy? Kisame isn’t sure- and he doesn't particularly care.)

“Enjoy the last few hours of sunshine, Itachi-san. Who knows when Leader-sama is gonna send us out of Ame again?”

Itachi hums an acknowledgement, head turned toward the brilliantly blue sky above him.

“Wha’cha looking at?”

No answer, of course. At this point Kisame berates himself for expecting anything different.

Eating seems to have lessened the dark circles under his irritated eyes, at least- though they’re no less alarmingly bloodshot.

Odd, considering Itachi hasn’t had to use that Mangekyou Sharingan of his in quite some time. So what’s got them so irritated?

He knows if he asks, he’ll get the same silence he’s being treated to now. So he bites his tongue and keeps it to himself.

“You’ve been crying again.”

Itachi turns his head away from Shisui, but he doesn't try to deny it.

“Hey, you don’t gotta hide it from me. It’s okay.”

Shisui sits down beside Itachi, stretching his legs out along the riverbank.

“Talk to me,” he urges, in a carefully gentle tone. “What’s got you down?”

Nothing.

“Come on, ‘Tachi. Whenever I find you here it’s ‘cause something’s bothering you. What is it?”

Itachi curls in on himself, letting out a soft whine.

“I just…”

He hugs his knees against his chest, eyes fixated on the setting sun.

“What if we can’t work it out? What if we can’t fix the clan?”

Gritting his teeth, Itachi wills back the urge to start crying anew.

“What’ll we do? You heard them at the meeting last night- everyone’s furious. How can we even start talking them out of the-”

He chokes on the last words, unable to bring himself to say coup d’etat.

Shisui laughs- though it’s a hollow sort of laugh that sounds painfully forced.

“Want the truth? I have no idea. It’s a really shitty situation and it sucks.”

Itachi lets out a sharp whine of despair.

“But ‘Tachi- you remember ninja guideline two-seventeen, right?”

Itachi pulls a face.

“... Even when the task seems impossible, a shinobi always finds a way to accomplish it. ”

“There’s that scary memory of yours. We’ll figure it out- we’re Anbu, remember? Doing impossible stuff is kinda what we do.”

When Itachi doesn't respond, Shisui leans in a little closer.

“It alright if I kiss you?”

Hesitantly, Itachi nods. Shisui presses his lips against Itachi’s cheek, then to the corner of his mouth.

“We’re gonna be fine. Don’t give up just yet.”

Itachi really, really wants to believe what Shisui is telling him. He allows the older boy to embrace him. To stroke his hair and tell him that everything will be alright. Because even if it’s a lie- Itachi desperately needs to believe it.

“Niisan!”

Itachi’s head whips around so quickly that Kisame is left wondering how his neck didn’t snap.

“Niisan, look!”

A little boy tugs at an older one’s shirtsleeve, pointing toward Itachi and Kisame with a mixture of fear and excitement. The older child gives him a small nudge. With this prompting, the child musters up a small smile, waving at the pair of them.

Kisame raises an eyebrow when Itachi smiles and waves back.

The little boy turns pink, and ducks behind his older brother, who laughs and gently berates him.

“You just made that kid’s entire day, Itachi-san,” Kisame chortles.

“I guess so,” Itachi responds, that melancholy smile of his still on his face.

(It really is a lovely smile. Kisame sort of wishes he got to see it more often.)

The next words come before Kisame has the time to censor them.

“If you smiled like that all the time, you wouldn’t need Sharingan to get what you wanted.”

Itachi turns a bit red in the cheeks, and quickly turns his head aside.

“What’re you embarrassed for? It’s good to see you lighten up every now and then.”

“Hn.”

Well. This bashful side of Itachi is new. But Kisame doesn't dislike it.

“If you smiled like that all the time, you wouldn’t need Sharingan to get what you wanted.”

Just what was Kisame trying to tell him with that?!

Those words have been swimming through his mind ever since then, making it nigh-impossible to concentrate on anything. Kisame took great delight in pointing out his distracting during their sparring, though Itachi would never admit in a thousand years what was on his mind.

It’s absolutely ridiculous to be feeling this way, he berates himself. They were just words, and Kisame almost certainly didn’t mean anything by them, right?

He’s just reading too far into things, like he usually does.

He tells himself this as he climbs into bed, going through the nightly ritual of struggling to quiet his mind so he can catch a few precious hours’ rest, before he inevitably succumbs to his usual routine- waking up in a cold sweat, heart trying to crack his sternum to escape.

And he does just that, some time around two in the morning.

But not for the reason he normally does.

The images of his dream replay through his mind vividly, insistently, despite Itachi’s valiant efforts to ignore them. He quickly finds that he can’t, any more than he can calm the racing of his heart, or- to his horror- the growing heat between his legs.

He tries oh-so-hard to take his thoughts off the lewd images his brain saw fit to produce while he was asleep. Tries to focus on the rain beating down on the window, on the ticking of the clock on the wall, on Kisame softly snoring on the other side of the room-

-Kisame shoving him down into the mattress, sharp teeth grazing against his naked shoulder.

“You want this bad, huh Itachi-san?”

Itachi curses his weak mind, throwing himself out of the bed and stumbling into the bathroom. He strips out of his pajamas, making a point not to look down at the problem between his legs. Not heeding his bandages, he turns the shower on cold and stands stubbornly under it.

(he doesn't even know where these feelings have materialized from so suddenly.)

After five minutes in the frigid shower, his problem is as prominent as ever. And Itachi’s willpower crumbles.

Swearing under his breath, Itachi turns the hot water on, and prays it’ll cover up any sounds he makes.

Closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at his shame, he wraps a hand around his aching arousal, and succumbs to the cursed images his mind brought him in his dreams. He presses his back against the shower wall to keep from falling over.

His hand is so much smaller and more frail than Kisame’s- his are strong and steady and nothing at all like his own. So no matter how he tries, he can’t quite capture the sensation his mind conjured up for him. He rakes his nails across his neck softly, mimicking Kisame’s sharp teeth against his fragile skin. He hears Kisame whisper Itachi-san against his ear in the echoes of his memory. Pictures Kisame’s broad, sturdy shoulders and the muscles of his chest and his abdomen that Itachi always admonished himself not to stare at. Pumping himself in a steady rhythm, Itachi lets all these frightening feelings well up inside him.

Heat pools up in his gut, and he knows he won’t last long.

...Just as much as he knows that Kisame would never want to do this sort of thing to someone like him.

Why would he? Kisame was strong and kind and larger than life, always confident and sure of himself and unafraid of anything. Knowing himself, Itachi could never even hope to compare.

(Especially knowing how dirty he is.)

It’s stupid to pretend Kisame would embrace him as he did in his dream, that Kisame would ever touch him so intimately.

That Kisame would whisper the sweet nothings he’d imagined, in that rough raspy voice Itachi has grown so fond of over the years.

Itachi bites back the moan that bubbles up when he comes. Because moaning would mean accepting the pleasure, and he doesn't deserve that.

(God, what would Kisame think if he knew what a pervert his partner turned out to be?)

Chapter Text

Itachi must be in that grumpy phase most teenagers go through. At least, that’s what Kisame tells himself, to keep himself from wondering why Itachi has suddenly grown even more distant and curt with him than usual.

He’s seventeen, after all. It’s normal for seventeen year olds to be moody little bastards over nothing. So long as it doesn't affect their missions, what does it matter if Itachi spends most of their off-time brooding and avoiding Kisame?

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

At the moment, rather than sulking, Itachi is curled up on his futon on the other side of their shitty hotel room, brow furrowed as he reads (or pretends to, anyway) some book that Kakuzu had thrown at him before they left Ame.

(Kakuzu’s been doing that a lot lately. And always demanding Itachi’s opinion on whatever he’d read before. It’s bizarre and a little unsettling to see Kakuzu of all people acting so close to friendly- was he really that desperate to have another bookworm around?)

Watching the boy out of the corner of his eye, Kisame tends to his beloved Samehada.

“Keep squinting like that and you’ll have wrinkles before you’re thirty,” he teases, earning a dirty look shot in his direction.

“Someone’s cranky today. Well, alright Itachi-san. I’ll leave you alone.”

Itachi returns to his book with an annoyed huff, and Kisame returns to killing time until their mission begins properly. He still keeps half his attention on Itachi, out of the smallest bit of concern.

The kid looks like he’s lost weight again. He certainly hasn’t been eating much- even the sweet things he’s so fond of. So of course the natural result would be Itachi losing weight- though it also doesn't help that he’s gotten half a foot taller in the last year or so. Kisame was eating himself out of house and home at that age, but Itachi seems to see food as more of an inconvenience than anything.

Speaking of food-

Kisame’s stomach growls, demanding hs attention.

“How about some dinner, Itachi-san?” he offers. What he gets in return is a shrug; Kisame continues on anyway.

“I saw a sushi place on the way here that looked pretty good. That sound alright tonight?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Itachi-san, you and I both know that’s a lie.”

Itachi opens his mouth to double down on his insistence, but his stomach makes a loud sound that betrays him.

“Well that settles it. Get your shoes on, we’re gonna go get sushi.”

Itachi scowls, but evidently doesn't see a point in arguing further.

He obeys, following Kisame out of the hotel to the place he’d talked about. They’re not even halfway there, however, when a figure emerges from the ground, blocking their way out of the back alley they’re walking down.

“Zetsu?”

Kisame and Itachi exchange puzzled glances.

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve got some news the two of you will want to know,” the white half says, peering out from behind his thick curtain of leaves.

“Well, hit us with it,” Kisame says.

“Momochi Zabuza has died,” the black half answers.

Kisame’s blood goes cold.

“...Is that so?” he asks, just to be sure he didn’t mishear. 

“That’s right. Him and his little tag-along, too- although, up against Hatake Kakashi, the kid didn’t really stand a chance.”

Kisame is only half-aware of the sound of Itachi’s breath leaving him in one great rush.

“Such a shame, too. A guy like Zabuza taken down because of a couple petty thugs. And Kakashi and his gang of brats being taken for a ride to do Gato’s dirty work. It really seems like a waste.”

“-Speaking of Kakashi’s brats-”

Black Zetsu is as inscrutable as ever while he speaks, but there’s, perhaps, the tiniest bit of amusement in his voice.

“Sasuke got his Sharingan- took him long enough, eh?”

Kisame comes back to reality enough to turn his head.

Itachi’s face is stone, which isn’t really surprising. Itachi’s hands, however, have the smallest tremor running through them.

“We just thought you should know,” White Zetsu says, with a small shrug. “Unless you’ve got any questions, we’ll be going.”

Kisame doesn't have an answer. He can’t even identify the emotions whirling through his head at this moment; it’s kind of like he’s a fish that’s just bitten into a hook, been yanked out of the water, and is currently flopping around and gasping for breath.

Not pleasant, to say the least.

“Well then- we’ll leave you to your day.”

Zetsu sinks back into the cobblestones, vanishing back into nothing.

“...Well.”

Kisame takes a breath, the gears in his head whirling like mad.

-How is one supposed to feel in this situation?

It’s not like he and Zabuza had been bosom friends or whatever. Hell, sometimes he flat-out hated the guy. But they’d been comrades, partners for so long. Years, before shit hit the fan. They fought side by side for ages, had been teammates- confidantes, even. Especially toward the end, he and that bug-eyed brat of his had been the only people he could trust in this world.

And now they’re dead.

(This feeling- is it grief?)

“-Still wanna get dinner, Itachi-san?” he asks, after they’ve stood in silence long enough for it to be awkward.

After a painful moment’s consideration-

“...How about a drink instead?”

“Eh? You mean it?”

Briefly, Kisame wonders if Itachi is only kidding. But Itachi- if it’s even possible- has never looked so serious.

“I saw a bar on our way into the village,” Itachi continues, confirming his suggestion as genuine. “If you want, we should go there.”

“Yeah,” Kisame says, without reservation. “Let’s do that.”

“I didn’t know you could drink so much, Itachi-san!”

Itachi just shrugs.

“I didn’t either,” he says offhand, flagging down the pretty bartender for another.

(Itachi’s face is bright red. He must be pretty drunk by now.)

She acts a little starstruck, swooning the slightest bit when he talks to her just enough to get their drinks refilled.

Alcohol humming pleasantly in his veins, Kisame manages a chuckle.

“Looks like she’s into you, Itachi-san.”

Itachi shrugs, downing half his drink in one go.

“We’re gonna be here for another day or two. You should ask her out.”

Itachi’s red face somehow turns redder still.

“That- that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not, Itachi-san? Don’t tell me you’re shy!”

Itachi sets his glass down and buries his head in his hands, mumbling something half-coherent.

“Eh?”

“...I don’t like girls,” Itachi repeats, in a mortified groan.

Kisame chokes on his drink, his sinuses burning when sake comes out his nose.

“I-is that so?” he splutters. Itachi groans again, trying to draw so far into himself he can collapse into a singularity and escape this conversation.

“Hey, you don’t gotta be embarrassed about it! Not like it makes a difference to me!”

Itachi peeks out from between his fingers in a rather childlike way.

“You don’t gotta look at me like that, Itachi-san. I wouldn’t bullshit you; you know me better than that.”

That seems to assuage Itachi’s anxiety. He drains the rest of his drink; Kisame gets the cute waitress to bring them a couple beers.

“What’s got you interested in drinking all of a sudden?” he asks, to change the subject and assuage Itachi’s embarrassment. “You’ve always turned me down before.”

Itachi’s brow furrows. He stares into the amber depths of his beer like they hold the mysteries of life within them.

“...To see if drowning one’s sorrows is possible.”

“Eh?”

Itachi cradles his head, a great sigh bursting out of him.

“Well, is it working?” Kisame asks.

“...No.”

Kisame hums in consideration.

“Wanna talk about what’s bothering you?”

Itachi shrugs.

“Is it that Sasuke guy Zetsu was talking about?”

Itachi goes rigid, his hands tightening around his glass. For a moment, Kisame thinks Itachi won’t answer him.

But-

“-My little brother,” he says, so softly he’s almost inaudible. “Sasuke is my little brother.”

“Oh?”

So. After all these years, Kisame finally knows who Sasuke is. The phantom name Itachi sometimes calls out in his sleep, finally given a face.

(He wonders how much like Itachi the kid looks.)

But-

“-Why’d you let him live?” Kisame asks, before he can stop himself.

“He was the only o-”

Itachi yelps, his hands flying up to clamp firmly over his mouth. His teeth are stained with blood when he pries them away- poor thing must have bitten his tongue.

“You alright?” 

Itachi doesn't answer, instead taking his own shot at changing the subject.

“Was Zabuza a good friend?” 

“Huh? Depends on what you mean by friend, I guess.”

Itachi pulls an unflattering face that only lasts a moment. He takes a few generous swallows of beer to steady his nerves- though all it does is further unsteady his hands.

“Was he your- I mean-”

(Itachi may have had too much to drink.)

“-which do you-”

It takes Kisame’s alcohol-addled brain a few moments to figure out what Itachi is trying to ask.

“Either is fine with me,” he answers. “Men, women, it doesn't matter- when you look like me, you take what you can get.”

“You don’t look bad.”

Itachi’s cheeks turn from crimson to maroon when he realizes what he’s just said.

“I mean- I don’t think- I don’t mind how you look.”

Kisame blinks, wondering if he’s heard right.

“B-besides-”

Itachi is actually stuttering. It’s so...adorably out of character.

“-What’s it matter what you look like, anyway? You can’t tell anything about a person just from how they look.”

What a...charmingly innocent thing to say. Kisame nearly laughs.

“What’s so funny?!”

“I didn’t expect to hear something so idealistic from you, that’s all.”

Itachi drains the rest of his drink; he’s swaying on the spot now, and Kisame isn’t much more sober.

“Let’s call it a night,” he offers. “Or we’re both gonna be useless tomorrow.”

They pay their tab and start the short, staggering walk back to their inn.

Itachi’s foot catches on a small pothole, and Kisame has to grab him to keep him from toppling over.

“Easy there, Itachi-san!” he laughs, wrapping an arm around Itachi’s shoulders. “You’ll knock your teeth out!”

Itachi doesn't say anything, but leans into Kisame for support.

“...You’re warm,” he mumbles, resting his head against Kisame’s bicep.

“Yeah, I imagine,” Kisame chortles, trying his best to keep his eyes forward.

(Itachi is pretty warm, too. Kisame likes that. A lot, actually.)

Itachi looks up at the stars, abusing the Sharingan to steady his vision.

That small, heartbreaking smile curls his lips, and Kisame has to look away to stop the flock of anxious butterflies that’s swarming in his gut.

(Butterflies? What the hell.)

“...I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Itachi-san?”

“I haven’t been fair to you lately. You probably think I hate you.”

Oh.

“Nah, I didn’t think that,” Kisame half-lies. “I figured you had your reasons.”

Itachi stumbles again, grabbing  Kisame tighter to keep steady.

“Well I-” 

Itachi is acting like a flustered schoolgirl. Kisame briefly wonders if this is just someone doing a rather poor imitation of his partner.

“-It’s not that I dislike you. Actually I-”

If Itachi’s face turns any redder he might set on fire.

“...I like you a lot, actually,” he finally spits out.

“Huh?”

Itachi shakes his head; Kisame lets the matter go.

He fumbles for the key to their hotel room for far too long, then helps Itachi over the threshold so they can kick their sandals off.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

He sets Itachi down on his futon; when he tries to retreat to his own, Itachi grabs a fistful of his cloak.

“Stay.”

Kisame pulls a face.

“I’m not going anywhere?”

Itachi grabs another handful of Kisame’s cloak and tugs downward, like he’s trying to pull the man onto the futon with him.

“Stay,” he repeats.

It takes longer than it should to comprehend what Itachi is asking for. When he does, he obeys the boy’s demand.

“What’s this abou-”

He loses his train of thought when Itachi clambers clumsily into his lap. It’s derailed completely with the next words Itachi speaks.

“Kiss me.”

“What-”

“-Please.”

Itachi’s eyes lock onto Kisame’s- something so rare that Kisame is thoroughly unnerved.

Clumsy hands reach up to pull their headbands off, and cast them carelessly aside. Itachi presses their foreheads together; Kisame can feel the heat of his shaky breaths.

If he weren’t so drunk, Kisame wouldn’t have dreamed of complying with this demand. But too much alcohol has dropped his guard, and Itachi looks so very tempting with his full, pretty lips parted like that, that pale face so flushed, and those jet black eyes so longing.

(In his entire life, nobody’s ever looked at him this way.)

Itachi’s kissing is as clumsy as his hands. One of Kisame’s teeth nicks his bottom lip, but he doesn't seem to mind. He works his spindly fingers through short, coarse hair, and whines in protest when Kisame breaks away to breathe.

“What’s gotten into you, Itachi-san?” Kisame manages to ask.

Itachi shakes his head once more, then goes in for another kiss. Feeling entirely too warm by this point, Kisame has to nudge the younger man away so he can unbutton his heavy cloak.

As soon as it’s gone, Itachi’s hands wander greedily over the outlines of the muscles just beneath that rough, blue skin. His breath catches in his throat, his eyes darting around like they just can’t get enough.

And it’s weird, so fucking weird, to have someone so enamored with him. He’s never had anyone touch him this much that he didn’t have to pay afterwards.

With a small, impatient huff, Itachi undoes the buttons on his own cloak.

“Fuck me.”

Wait. What?

Surely, Itachi didn’t just say something so crass. And surely he didn’t mean-

“What are you on about, Itachi-san?”

“I thought I was pretty clear.”

Well. 

Kisame can think of a million reasons why this is a bad fucking idea. Itachi is far too young, Kisame is far too old, they’re both far too drunk, they’re partners, Itachi is far too pretty for someone like him-

But all he manages is-

“-You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Itachi scowls, an ugly expression that mars his delicate features.

“I’m not innocent, Kisame,” he grumbles, in an almost laughably childish way.

“Itachi-san, don’t be stupid. When would you have ever-”

The idea is absolutely preposterous. Unless he and Deidara have been getting up to shenanigans behind his back, when would Itachi have ever-

“I’m not a-”

Itachi bows his head. Is he ashamed?

“-There’s nothing you could do to me I haven’t done before. So please-”

“-Itachi-san, knock it off.”

Kisame grabs Itachi’s wrists and pulls his hands away.

“You’re drunk. I’m drunk. This is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

...Itachi sounds hurt?

“Am I not- I know I’m dirty, but I’m-”

“The hell are you on about?”

Kisame stops Itachi when he tries to kiss him again.

“Itachi-san, that’s enough,” he scolds. “Knock it off- I’m not interested.”

“That’s a lie.”

Itachi pries a hand free and reaches between Kisame’s legs, stroking his erection through his pants. Kisame growls because fuck that shouldn’t feel good.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” Itachi says, breathlessly. “I don’t mind.”

Well. Kisame would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that was a tempting offer. Itachi is gorgeous, and it is tempting when someone seems so desperate for it. 

Yet- 

This doesn't feel right. It isn’t right.

Taking full advantage of the size difference between them, Kisame pins Itachi down on the futon, trapping both his hands above his head. Itachi yelps, squirming in what’s either discomfort or excitement (Kisame really doesn't want to know which).

“I said no, Itachi-san. We’re going to bed, and that’s that. If I have to tie you down to get you to cut it out, I will- but I’m done with this.”

Itachi turns his head away, glaring holes in the wall. Kisame takes that as acknowledgement, and retreats back to his half of the room.

“Goodnight, Itachi-san.”

No answer, but he doesn't expect one, anyway.

He hears Itachi rustle around to get under the covers, and lets out a relieved sigh.

He’s just drunk. He’ll be back to himself in the morning, and both he and Kisame can just forget this ever happened, right?

(If only.)

Chapter Text

Kisame is woken up to the ever-so-lovely sound of wretching coming from the bathroom.

Ah. So Itachi is discovering all the wonderful side-effects of alcohol.

Kisame might laugh, if he thought it wouldn’t split his skull.

Poor kid. He didn’t have any idea what he was getting himself into.

The room spins around him, but Kisame manages to get onto his feet anyway. He makes his way to the bathroom, where Itachi is doubled over the toilet, violently evacuating the meager contents of his stomach.

Kisame pulls his hair away from his face; Itachi doesn't acknowledge him just yet.

When he’s fairly certain he isn’t going to turn his stomach inside out, he groans miserably, finally glancing sheepishly up at Kisame over his shoulder.

“You gonna live?” Kisame chuckles.

“...Unfortunately so.”

“Eh, take a shower and you’ll feel better. Welcome to alcohol, Itachi-san.”

“I hate it,” Itachi whines.

Kisame would tease him, but he decides to just leave Itachi to get cleaned up. They should probably get coffee or something to help with the headache. Ideally before the sun comes out properly.

He does just that, making some of the shitty hotel coffee for the both of them while Itachi takes one of his usual scalding-hot showers. After a small bit of forever, he finally emerges, so Kisame takes his own turn, and scours the taste of stale alcohol out of his mouth.

He feels better after this- though he isn’t really sure if he wants to leave the bathroom just yet. Because even though he figures Itachi will just want to forget last night ever happened- well.

Still, Kisame can’t hide in the bathroom forever, so eventually he opens the door, having the courtesy to get his pants on before walking out, towel around his neck.

Itachi has folded up both their futons, tucking them away neatly for the housekeeping staff once they leave. He sits cross-legged on the floor, combing out his damp hair. His slender body is shadowed by his fine mesh undershirt; obviously he hasn’t bothered to fully dress yet, either.

One of the coffee cups rests by his knee, empty aside from a few dregs at the bottom.

“...Kisame?”

Holy shit. So Itachi is really starting a conversation, huh? Kisame takes a long drink from his own coffee to hide his shock.

“Hm?” he responds, prompting the boy to keep talking.

Itachi tucks his comb away. He straightens his back before rising to his feet. He takes a heavy breath, and Kisame thinks he catches the barest hint of a wheeze in it, but he doesn't inquire after it.

“Last night-”

“You don’t have to worry about it, Itachi-san.” Kisame reassures him. “We both drank too much- it won’t change anything between us.”

Hesitation. 

“-But I want it to.”

Kisame’s brow furrows, caught off guard yet again.

“Itachi-san? I don’t-”

Itachi takes a step closer. Then another.

“What I said last night. I meant every word of it.”

Kisame’s mind does something like slipping, saying something like holy shit as it falls over itself.

Face turning pink, Itachi turns his head aside, glancing at the man through a fringe of midnight hair.

“I understand if you aren’t interested. But I didn’t want to keep hiding my feelings in that regard, and alcohol is a good social lubricant, so I thought...”

Kisame waits for some tell, some slip where he learns this is some elaborate joke Itachi is playing on him. But painful seconds creep past, and he realizes Itachi is deadly serious. The boy reaches out, tentatively, brushing his fingers against his partner’s arm.

“I’d like to… if you want to, I mean…”

(Itachi almost sounds shy- a total departure from his behavior last night.)

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Kisame says, once again.

“I do,” Itachi insists, grabbing his wrist when he tries to turn away.

Kisame doesn't know what he should say.

He wants to tell Itachi that he’s lost his mind. That he deserves someone younger, someone prettier. Someone less drenched in blood, less eager for violence.

 Because Kisame is convinced that he’s so far out of Itachi’s league he’d need a telescope to find it.

But Itachi is apparently not joking.

“I know what I want, Kisame. I know I don’t deserve it, but-”

“ You don’t deserve it?”

Kisame feels dumbstruck. Flabbergasted, even.how could Itachi look at the two of them and think he was the unworthy one?!

“Your eyes must be going if that’s what you think, Itachi-san,” he half jokes. 

Itachi frowns, almost pouts. It’s actually kinda cute? His dark eyes wander across Kisame’s bare chest, following the sharp lines of muscle that to him look cut from stone. Down his abdomen, across the trail of coarse bluish hair that disappears down the hem of his pants. He swallows, his throat dry for far more reasons than just his hangover.

(Has he ever wanted anything this badly? Certainly it’s been a long time.)

“I don’t want to mince words about this, Kisame, and I’m old enough to know what I’m saying. I want to be with you that way- that is, if you’ll have me.”

Well, damn if that isn’t a tempting offer. And if Itachi is really that eager…

Is it really so wrong? They are both old enough to know what they want, right? And (despite the chastizing voice in the back of his head telling him otherwise) it’s not like Kisame’s been grooming Itachi just to fuck him. It just sort of happened, right?

(After all- of all the weird goings-on when one is part of an organization like Akatsuki, this probably ranks somewhere near the bottom.)

The boy shivers when the back of Kisame’s hand brushes his cheek. He leans in a tiny fraction, dark eyes watching him warily.

His skin is soft, so soft. And so very, very warm. And Itachi is so, so very beautiful- how did a guy like this ever get interested in a guy like him…?

“We’ll talk about it after we finish our mission for today, alright?” Kisame offers, to procrastinate addressing the matter.

Itachi doesn't seem too keen on that prospect, but he nods his assent anyway. He leans upward (Kisame is still a good bit taller than him, after all) and kisses him. 

It’s a closed-off, chaste kind of kiss- the kind of kiss Kisame would’ve expected from someone like his partner. Yet it still manages to send a thrill of excitement through the man that tells him what he’d feared in the back of his mind- that it wasn’t just the alcohol that made him give in and kiss Itachi back last night.

That isn’t a thought Kisame wants to contemplate, so he shoves it to the back of his mind. Along with the million other thoughts that Itachi deserves far, far better than him.

“Later, then,” Itachi murmurs, sounding childish, petulant. Hell, he might even be pouting a little.

“Later,” Kisame affirms. “I promise.”

Their mission is a straightforward one- retrieve some intel from one of Leader-sama’s contacts, and relay that information back to him. Kisame has a pretty good memory already, but Itachi takes full advantage of those weird eyes of his to commit every tiny detail of this woman’s lecture to memory. They part ways cautiously, this woman still obviously distrusting. But she can distrust as much as she likes- they got what they came for.

As they so often are, Itachi and Kisame are left alone in this secluded little part of an already secluded village.

Once again, Itachi surprises Kisame by speaking first.

“It’s later, Kisame.”

“It is,” Kisame agrees. “So, then-”

Itachi fidgets. Averts his eyes.

“...Do you want to?” he asks, carefully.

It’s one of the rare moments in his life that Kisame curses his personal commitment to honesty. But he doesn't much feel like breaking it now.

“Yeah,” he answers, unable to summon the willpower to look at his partner.

“Well, So do I. So let’s do it.”

Itachi’s rather bold declaration sends a rush of heat toward places not spoken of in polite conversation.

Fuck. Fuck. he really does want to, doesn't he?

“There was a shop near the village gates that should have what we need,” Itachi goes on, in a businesslike tone like he wasn’t speaking about getting fucked. “We can stop by before heading out.”

Kisame isn’t sure what to say, so he just nods.

(They’re really doing this. Itachi is actually offering to have sex with him, and Kisame is actually gonna take him up on the offer.)

By now, Kisame is well used to Itachi casting minor genjutsu on people around them so they don’t stand out. This time, though, he’s curious as to what everyone around them sees, that nobody questions seeing the two of them together in a sex shop.

Itachi browses the shelves like he were looking at books instead of toys and lubricant- a clinical, almost bored sort of disinterest writes itself on his face. He finally picks out a bottle and holds it out for Kisame to take. The older man obeys unquestioningly, while gesturing toward a shelf of condoms with his head.

“Do you, uh-”

“-They won’t be necessary,” Itachi informs him, flatly.

“Sure about that?”

“I can assure you I’m not diseased, and I’m fairly certain I can’t get pregnant, so yes.”

Blunt. Damn.

“Well. if you’re sure.”

Itachi hums an acknowledgement. He pays the woman at the front counter, who gives Kisame a wink and a knowing smile. Then they’re on their way again.

Anticipation has Kisame’s stomach in knots, though he’s not sure if that’s worry or excitement.

Even though Kakuzu will probably be ornery about it later, when they reach the next village over Kisame deliberately picks out the more expensive inn- one with thicker walls that will hopefully muffle any noise they end up making. Itachi keeps a straight face, but he’s squirming oh-so-slightly while they check in.

No sooner have they kicked their sandals off in the hotel room they’ll be calling home for the night than Itachi has his hands all over Kisame. Tugging his cloak off, trying to kiss him, making a series of small, frustrated sounds.

“You’re really sure about this, Itachi-san?” Kisame asks, though Itachi’s fingers teasing at the gill-slits on his shoulders are making it hard to even muster this token protest.

(those fingers are so skinny, so delicate- but calloused, rough, crooked from being broken too many times. But they’re warm, and they touch him in this coy, featherlike way that’s about to drive him mad.)

“I’m not so stupid I don’t know what I want.”

Itachi huffs in irritation, leaning all his weight against Kisame and tugging his hair free from the red tie that always holds it back.

(It falls down to his waist now- Kisame doesn't remember it getting quite so long.)

“I meant what I said, so stop worrying.”

He sneaks another kiss, undoing the buttons on Kisame’s cloak and casting it aside. He pushes Kisame toward the end of the bed, urging him to sit with silent, demanding motions. He rids Kisame of his shirt and the mesh beneath it, so his hands can wander the sculpted planes of the older man’s torso. He bows his head, laying a trail of feather-light kisses down his sternum, running his fingers along every little peak and valley like he wants to commit them to memory.

(Well, he certainly seems like he knows what he’s doing.)

Itachi sinks down onto his knees, flicking his tongue along the rim of Kisame’s navel, eliciting a small groan from the man above him. Delicate fingers rest lightly on Kisame’s thighs, soft, full lips parting to mouth at his clothed erection.

“Fuck-” Kisame breathes, ghosting his hands along his neck, before working his fingers into that long, deliciously soft black hair, pulling it away from his face.

(It really is such a nice face. So delicate and lovely, and it looks good when it’s flushed like this.)

Holding his breath, Itachi undoes the buttons on Kisame’s pants, pulling him out without reservation. His dark eyes widen the tiniest fraction as he takes it in.

(Kisame wonders if it’s intimidation that’s making his eyes go wide; he’s not one to brag, but he’s well aware of how he stacks up to other men- and chakra’s not the only way he’s got most guys beaten.)

“You sure you wanna do it like this?” Kisame asks again, a little breathless now. “We don’t have to- if you wanna use a condom it doesn't matter.”

Rather than answer with words, Itachi wraps his mouth around the head of Kisame’s dick, much like he would a skewer of dango. And, well- that’s enough to wipe Kisame’s mind clean.

Itachi’s eyes flutter closed, long pretty lashes brushing his cheeks. He laps at the head with small, fastidious little licks, kittenish and teasing. He wraps a hand around the base, moving it in slow, steady strokes while the other plays at the inside of his thigh.

It’s good. He’s good. But it’s weird, almost innocent the way he touches him. 

(maybe he’s just nervous?)

“You’re a tease, Itachi-san.”

Itachi cracks his eyes open, peering up at him with an annoyed expression. Hell if it isn’t adorable, though.

He takes a breath, then, without any further ceremony, swallows Kisame down whole.

“Goddamn-”

(Where the fuck did Itachi learn to do things like that?!)

The boy starts up a steady rhythm, peering up at Kisame while he does. 

What a sight. The proud, careful, composed Uchiha, down on his knees, doing something so intimate, so lewd . It almost doesn’t seem real. 

Though it certainly feels real enough.

Itachi moans, reaching down past the waistband of his pants to touch himself as well. The little vibrations the sound sends up Kisame’s spine nearly make him lose composure.

“Where did you-” he starts to ask, when Itachi pulls away. But Itachi shakes his head, breaking the thin string of saliva stretched between his mouth and the head of Kisame’s dick.

“Don’t ask pointless questions.”

He rises back to his feet, pulling his shirt and the mesh beneath over his head in one smooth motion and tossing it aside. He straddles Kisame’s lap and pulls him in close, and the sheen of spit and precum on his full, parted lips is just oh-so inviting-

Yet-

“Itachi-san, I have to know-”

“-I just said not to ask pointless questions.’

“It’s not pointless. I was just wondering-”

His hands wander over the scars along Itachi’s bare chest, making him sigh softly.

‘-What’s got you interested in this all of a sudden? It’s not like you.”

Itachi wraps his arms around Kisame’s neck, and sighs.

“This is something...something people can do to console each other right?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“This sort of contact, with someone you think is attractive. If one needs consolation, sleeping with a beautiful person can provide that, right? Well-” Itachi bows his head, leans forward coyly. 

“...You need that right now, don’t you, Kisame?”

There it is again. Kisame’s mind slips again, falls, screams what the fuck at him as it goes.

Because who told Itachi something like that? And why would he assume-

“What makes you think I need consolation, Itachi-san?” he asks, avoiding the question he really wants to ask.

“You walk like there’s something heavy on your back, and it isn’t Samehada,” Itachi replies, his breath hot on Kisame’s neck. “You’ve been carrying a burden with you for awhile, haven’t you? Well, let me relieve it for you.”

Kisame doesn't even think about the fact that Itachi’s mouth was on his dick not two minutes ago; he ravishes those soft, pretty lips, licks over the cut he’d created by accident yesterday. Itachi makes a sound that’s almost a whine, but not quite.

“Take me,” he breathes into Kisame’s mouth.

Itachi is even lighter than Kisame expected, when he lifts his partner up to lay him out on the bed. He smooths his hands over Itachi’s body, over the little scars and scrapes and the lithe muscle beneath, and Itachi keeps his black eyes fixed on him like he’s the most interesting man in the world.

Kisame’s had his fair share of bed partners- whether he paid them for their company, or some soul had just gotten drunk enough to be desperate- but none of them were anywhere near this breathtaking.

Breathtaking, and all his for tonight.

“Itachi-san…”

Itachi jolts when Kisame pulls his pants down and off. His breath catches, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes Kisame can’t identify.

However, he can’t dwell on that very long, as there’s something else to occupy Kisame’s attention.

-For how insistent Itachi acted about doing this together, his body doesn't seem particularly into it.

“Performance anxiety?” Kisame asks, trying to brush it off, to laugh like he isn’t just a little bit let down.

“It’s fine,” Itachi insists, although his face is bright crimson from embarrassment. “Just go ahead.”

Well that’s not unnerving at all.

Kisame reaches down between Itachi’s legs, wanting to get him as excited as he is. Itachi gasps, grits his teeth and shuts his eyes tightly, moaning something that sounds like don’t, but Kisame can’t be sure.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Itachi chokes out- the most blatant lie Kisame has ever heard. “Just get on with it-”

“That’s not how this works, Itachi-san.”

Itachi is trembling, all the muscle fibers in his body go rigid. He’s strung up tighter than a tripwire, and Kisame is beginning to wonder if he’s somehow doing it wrong. After all, he’d seemed so eager before-

Yet, though the rest of his body is so unbearably tense, there’s one part of Itachi that’s now totally limp (in spite of Kisame’s efforts).

“Hey, Itachi-san-

He touches Itachi’s face- just the barest brush against his cheek- and the boy’s eyes fly open.

It’s only the quickest look, the barest flash of crimson. But that’s more than enough- Kisame knows he’s fucked up.

-All of a sudden he’s on his back, but he’s not sure how he got there. His vision fades in and out, his mind sluggish, like each thought has to wade through molasses. 

He feels expensive silk sheets under his bare skin-

Bare?

A surge of horror wells up within him when he realizes he’s totally naked.

He opens his mouth, and the moan that comes out isn’t from his voice. There’s a presence at his bedside, but his head is a million pounds, and he can’t turn it.

“I told them that dose was too much for a tiny thing like you,” a voice says, in a mockery of sympathy, hoarse and uncaring. “Are the lights even on in there?”

He tries to answer, in that alien voice that isn’t his, but words won’t come. The features of his room’s invader are blurry, fuzzy, because he can’t focus. His heart throws itself against his ribcage, like an animal desperate to be free, but he can’t make his body move, even though the figure now hovers over him, his weight dipping the mattress.

At last, he manages to raise a hand- a lily-white, tiny, delicate hand, attached to a lily-white, tiny, delicate arm that certainly doesn't belong to him. But the man snatches it out of the air, grabbing hold of his matchstick wrist with a chuckle.

“Be patient, little bird.” the old bastard croons, pinning both hands against the silk bedding with only one of his own. “We’ve got all night to have our fun.”

-He wants to thrash, wants to cry, wants to scream for someone to save him. There’s a blinding, electric panic, his mind on fire even though his body can’t move.

I’m scared! His mind says, over and over, like a chant, while the man’s free hand wanders to places it should never go, pushing his legs apart despite his desperate efforts to keep them shut. I’m scared-

-Dad, help me-

Then, the world is only pain. White hot, unending, unbearable. And yet, he can’t thrash or scream, or even cry. All he can do is scream within his own skull, for help he knows isn’t coming. 

Dad, it hurts! Help me!

“Such a pretty birdie- he was right to recommend you to me-”

He wants to puke. He wants to die. He wants his mother. Wants his father.

But more than anything, he wants the hurt to stop.

-Kisame comes back to reality with a series of great gasps, like he’s been yanked from very deep water. His body is his own again, with all its muscle and sinew and azure skin. And beneath him-

Beneath him, hands pressed tight against his mouth, face painted with bloody tears, is Itachi. His skinny chest heaves with shallow, shaky breaths, his entire body trembling.

“Kisame, I-”

“There’s nothing you can do to me I haven’t done before.”

“-I’m sorry…”

Chapter Text

“Where’ve you been?” 

Itachi flinches. His father doesn't sound angry, per se, but the quiet way in which he speaks sends a thrill of fear up Itachi’s spine.

Fugaku takes a deep drag on his cigarette, gripping a mug of coffee in the other. He’s still in his pajamas, and he fixes Itachi with an intense look that makes him want to scurry for cover.

(Whenever his father is like this- smoking out on the porch, before he’s even gotten dressed- he’s upset. Usually very upset.)

“...on my mission?” Itachi replies, meekly.

Fugaku sighs. He puts out his cigarette and takes a long drink of his coffee before he speaks again.

“You were supposed to be gone for three days. It’s been a week. What happened?” 

Itachi presses a hand to his mouth, turning black eyes away from his father’s piercing stare.

“I...I was delayed, that’s all,” he lies. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Fugaku is quiet for a long time. Then, he sighs again, and pats the space on the porch beside him. Itachi obeys the wordless request, moving slowly to sit beside him.

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“Huh?” 

“This was an important mission for you- the one that’s gonna earn you your spot in Anbu. Do you want to talk about what happened?” 

Itachi grimaces. Bows his head.

“I’m-” he fidgets, fiddling with his fingers, watching as birds flit about, chirping merrily in the fresh-rising sun.

“-I’m not really supposed to talk about it,” he says, finally. “It’s secret.”

He can feel his father frowning, even though he’s not looking at him. He hears the small flick of his lighter, then smells the sharp smell of tobacco. 

“Itachi.”

His father goes to pat him on the head, but itachi flinches away, almost violently. 

Fugaku seems let down by this, but he doesn't force Itachi to accept the affectionate gesture. He stands up, and goes to head back inside.

“Your mother’s been worried sick,” he tells Itachi, putting his cigarette out by the door. “You should go talk to her.”

Itachi nods, still sitting on the porch.

“I’ll be right there.”

As soon as he hears the door close, he doubles over, clutching his middle, and cries. Quietly, biting back every sound that would draw attention- but he cries all the same.

“Itachi-san,” Kisame manages, though his voice is far weaker than he’d like it to be, “what the hell was that?!”

He asks, even though he already has a sinking feeling he already knows.

He knows. And Itachi knows Kisame knows.

Itachi whimpers, his eyes locked onto the farthest wall.

“...Can’t we just forget about it?” he asks, desperation staining his voice. “Let’s just-”

He reaches out like he wants to touch Kisame, but Kisame grabs his wrist, a wave of confused anger crashing onto the shore of his mind.

“Itachi, look at yourself! What the hell is wrong with you to even think I’d-”

“I’m fine,” Itachi insists, sounding wounded. “Can’t we just get on with it?”

“Not on your life!” 

Kisame is furious, and he’s not even sure what exactly is making him that way. 

“Itachi, tell me what the hell I just saw!”

Itachi lets out a sharp, keening whine of distress.

“...I-”

His free hand flies up, clamping itself over his mouth and muffling his words. His right arm jerks, but can’t pry itself from Kisame’s grip.

Wide, horrified eyes flicker frantically between charcoal and crimson. For the briefest second, a seal appears on the back of Itachi’s hand- a thin, black ring encircling the kanji mugon. It takes far more effort than Kisame expected to pry that hand away from Itachi’s mouth.

“You need to talk to me,” Kisame says, firmly.

Itachi opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but the only noise he can summon is a strangled groan.

This is bad, Kisame’s mind screams at him.

Because it is. This is bad. It’s wrong. 

The bed creaks softly, while Kisame adjusts himself so he’s sitting upright, fixing his pants so he’s decent once more. Itachi still lays there. Trembling. Frightened.

After a few more moments like that, he manages (albeit with a mighty effort) to make himself sit upright as well. He tucks his hands between his legs like he’s ashamed of his own nakedness. Kisame takes that as a cue to fumble around for one of their discarded cloaks, draping it over his skinny shoulders to give him some modicum of modesty.

“Itachi-san.”

A feeble croak.

This is bad.

Just as Kisame thinks that, however, an idea pops into his head.

It’s probably a little silly, but he remembers something Zabuza used to do back in the day, when his adopted rugrat was either unable or unwilling to speak. And well- he doesn't really have anything to lose by trying, right?

“Itachi-san,” he says, his voice low, like he were speaking to a frightened cat. “I’m going to touch your hands, okay?”

The boy makes a small sound of consent.  Kisame takes both of Itachi’s hands in his own, gingerly, carefully- he's not used to having to be gentle.

“I’ll make this easy for you, alright? This hand’s gonna be yes-” he lifts his right hand up, “-and this one’s no-” he lifts the left. “You don’t have to say a word or even move your head. Can you do that for me?”

A few seconds of hesitation pass. Then, Itachi squeezes his right hand.

“Good.” Kisame swallows, his mouth very dry out of nowhere. “Alright, to start-”

Now he’s hesitating, unsure if he even wants to ask. But he has to.

“-That wasn’t just a genjutsu, was it? That was a memory- your memory, right?”

Itachi’s breath catches in his throat, dark eyes going wide. He bows his head, black hair falling over his face like a curtain. Then- 

-He squeezes Kisame’s right hand.

Anger, white hot and blinding, surges up within Kisame. But he bites it back; knowing Itachi, he’ll just blame himself if Kisame lets on that he’s pissed. So, though it’s hard, he refrains.

“Okay,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. “Okay. Itachi-san, did this happen more than once?”

His heart falls into his stomach when he once again feels pressure on his right hand. He takes a deep breath before asking his next question, the very thought of it pissing him off even more.

“-Did anyone in your family know?”

Relief- albeit very slight- wells up within him when, without reservation, itachi squeezes his left hand. It doesn't last, however.

“And these were...assignments or something?” -Right hand again. Kisame wants to break something.

Through the veil of Itachi’s hair, he sees tears- real tears- cutting their way through the blood drying on his cheeks.

"And now you can't talk about it even if you wanted to. Because of that thing on your hand."

Itachi actually manages to nod.

“Itachi-san…”

Kisame feels lost. How does he even begin to undo this mess? Can it even be undone?

For now, it seems all he can do is sit here, feeling stupid, while Itachi crushes both his hands and cries silently. The tears, colored pink, drip off his chin and the end of his nose, sullying the pure white bedding beneath them. 

Finally, after an eternity, Itachi regains control of his voice. Quietly, feebly, he speaks.

“...I wanted to forget it ever happened,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I thought...I thought I could just…”

He chokes.

“I-I thought...with you, I thought I would be...I thought if I could just do it, I’d be able to leave it behind me…I feel safe with you, so I thought-”

Eh? Safe? With Kisame? 

He wonders what the hell he did to get Itachi to trust him so much, but he doesn't get to wonder for long.

Itachi’s shoulders start to heave, dry, hacking coughs wrenching their way out of his lungs. He tries to stifle them with his hand, but of course it’s not enough.

Once they’ve started, it seems they can’t stop; dry, ragged coughs turn wet, wracking his entire skinny body. Kisame lets out a cry of horror when frothy, bright red blood spills through the gaps between his crooked fingers.

“-The fuck-”

Kisame grabs the box of tissues on the nightstand, futilely trying to mop up the mess, but it’s no good. Without warning, all the muscles in Itachi’s body contract violently, bringing darker, sickly, congealed blood and bile up his throat.

It smells like iron and copper and death, and it gets absolutely everywhere. Even Itachi looks a little alarmed by it.

“...That’s not supposed to happen,” he mumbles.

“You don’t fucking say!” Kisame howls.

“I’m so-”

Itachi’s apology turns into a sharp cry of agony. He clutches his abdomen, doubles over, and vomits again, nearly aspirating it when he breaks out in another coughing fit. And all Kisame can do is hold him while it happens, not caring that Itachi is getting them both filthy. 

When it’s finally over, Itachi is shaking again, reaching blindly to cling to Kisame. 

It looks like his insides attempted to become his outsides. The both of them are slick with bile and blood, the bedding absolutely ruined.

“...You gonna live?” Kisame asks, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.

“Unfortunately so,” is Itachi’s reply.

“Do you...need a doctor or something?”

Itachi shakes his head, adamantly. Kisame wants to argue, but he has a sinking feeling it’d just upset Itachi further if he pushes the matter.

“Well, let’s get washed up then.”

Itachi manages to nod.

“Alright, up you go, Itachi-san.”

Kisame tosses the cloak aside, picks Itachi up, and carries him into the bathroom. He sets Itachi down on the stool, starts filling up the furo with hot water,  and wrings a washcloth out under the faucet.

“...I’m sorry,” Itachi mutters.

“Eh, you don’t have to apologize to me. The poor housekeeper, on the other hand-”

Itachi grimaces.

“...I thought I’d outgrown this by now…”

“Hm?”

Kisame’s inquizitive sound is answered by still more ragged coughs.

“I’m sorry to be a bother,” Itachi mumbles, when they finally subside.

“Save it, Itachi-san. You’re fine.”

Itachi doesn't make a fuss when Kisame kneels down to wash the blood off his face, and he sits there passively while he washes his hair for him. His eyes are glassy, staring off into the distance without really seeing anything. 

“I’m gonna go behind you now.”

A nod.

Kisame ghosts the pads of his fingers along the scars on Itachi’s back, harsh and sharp like badly mended cracks in a porcelain doll. Itachi is still so tense, so jumpy, and that makes Kisame angry all over again.

The thought that anyone could’ve looked at his partner back then- he was so little, practically still a baby- and do such horrible things to him-

-And he thought Kiri was heartless.

(Where is all this protectiveness- no, possessiveness - coming from? Kisame’s never felt like this about anything before.)

“I’m gonna put you in the tub now,” he says, turning the faucet off. Itachi nods, allowing himself to be manhandled once again. He lets out a small sigh of contentment when the hot water envelops him.

He watches without really watching while Kisame gets fully undressed to clean himself off.

“I’m sorry,” he says, after a few minutes of only water to break the silence.

“What for, Itachi-san?”

“You weren’t supposed to know. It’s not your burden to bear.”

“Maybe I don’t mind sharing it.”

Itachi blinks, maybe from surprise. Hell, Kisame is a little surprised himself.

Because weakness is something he’s always despised. Weakness, sentimentality, vulnerability- he’d been taught from a young age to hate these things. And yet, when they’re in Itachi, somehow they’re not so bad.

Then again- Itachi brings out a lot of weird feelings inside him.

“Mind if I hop in with you?”

Itachi shakes his head, scooting over so Kisame can get in the tub, slipping in behind him. Itachi leans against him, resting his head against the man’s chest and peering up at him.

“...hold me?” he asks, sheepishly.

And Kisame indulges him, wrapping strong arms around his partner’s fragile frame. Itachi seems happy like this, even though his expression doesn't change.

“So...you don’t think less of me for-”

“-Why the fuck would I think less of you for something some sick fucks did? It’s not you who has anything to be ashamed of.”

Kisame’s not sure where these words are coming from, but if they give Itachi any sort of comfort, he doesn't mind saying them.

Just like he doesn't mind saying what he does next.

“Itachi-san, I still think you should see a doctor. Puking blood isn’t normal, you know.”

“It’s happened to me before,” Itachi replies, the tiniest bit of annoyance in his voice. “Hasn’t killed me yet.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I’m fine. My body just hates me, that’s all.”

“It’d still make me feel better. Can you do that for me, at least?”

There’s that pout again. Damn if Itachi can’t be adorable when he wants to be.

“...Later,” he huffs. “When we’re back in Ame.”

“Fine, fine. But no more procrastinating after that.”

Itachi makes a small hum of defeat. He presses his entire meager weight against Kisame as if they could get any closer.

“So...what does this make us?” he asks. Are we-”

Kisame gives him an awkward pat on the head. Tries to mask his own unsureness, because he’s never dealt with this before.

“We’ll figure that out as we go along,” he offers. And Itachi seems to accept that.

He sinks deeper into the water, growing sleepy from the heat. He lets himself fall asleep, knowing beyond doubt that Kisame won’t let him drown.

Chapter Text

“How long does it take to catch some stupid fish, anyway?” 

“They’re not stupid- that’s why it takes so long!”

Kisame pouts up at his grandfather, annoyed by the playful smile on his wizened face.

“You gotta wait for the fish to put their guard down first. They won’t take the bait unless they think it’s safe.”

“But how long does that take?!” Kisame whines, bouncing his fishing rod up and down impatiently.

“You’ll live- a little waiting never hurt anybody. Or I could just throw you in the water to catch ‘em barehanded if you don’t stop your complaining.”

Kisame grumbles, glaring at the surface of the water over their tiny fishing boat. 

“Don’t gimme that look! You’ll be glad we came out here when we’ve got a few good fish to fry up back at home!”

Kisame glares out into the mist, screaming in his head for something to bite his hook already so he’s not stuck floating in the water like an idiot.

“Hey don’t bounce it that hard, you’ll scare ‘em off!”

Kisame obeys, albeit reluctantly. He stares off into the distance for a while longer, huffing in frustration.

Finally, finally, he feels a tug on his line. He leaps to his feet, almost toppling over when the boat rocks violently. After a bit of struggle, he finally gets the fish out of the water, flopping around on the floor of the boat and gasping for breath.

“Oho! That’s a big one! Good catch!”

All of Kisame’s boredom is immediately replaced by a swell of pride. He grins wide enough he thinks his face might burst.

“I told you it’d pay off if you were just patient!”

Kisame sticks his tongue out impudently. 

“Oh knock that off! It wouldn’t hurt ya to just admit I was right!”

“Why should I? I still had to wait ages for it!”

“Anything worth having in life is worth waiting for, kiddo.”

Kisame raises a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Seriously?” 

“Well I waited sixty-seven years for you, didn’t I?” 

“H-hey!”

His grandfather laughs, tousling his hair before settling back down with his fishing rod.

“Put ‘im in the ice bucket, will ya?”

Kisame does as he’s told, putting the fish where it belongs and retrieving his hook. Then he settles back down, staring at the gloomy water for another long while, then glancing back at his grandfather. He’s still smiling, deepening all the lines in his dusty blue skin. And Kisame has to smile, too. 

He’s right, of course. Sometimes things are worth waiting for. But that doesn't mean he doesn't ever get impatient.

(Or that he’ll ever admit he was wrong to his grandfather’s face.)

 “You sure you’re good, Itachi-san? I can carry you if you-”

“-You already carried me all the way here. I’m fine.”

That’s a lie, and possibly the most blatant one Kisame has ever heard. Itachi can hardly drag one foot in front of the other, from weakness and how badly he’s shaking. His skin has a deathly grayish tinge to it, covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat that even the rain can't fully disguise.

And yet he still persists, after demanding Kisame set him down at the gates of Amegakure. Kisame is starting to debate grabbing Itachi regardless of his protests- Uchiha pride be damned. It’s not like it’d make the looks they’re getting any worse.

They’re close enough to the doctor’s though, that it probably isn’t worth making Itachi angry. It was enough of a struggle to convince him that the apology note and the extra money they’d left behind would ease the ill feelings of whatever unfortunate housekeeper has to scrub Itachi’s bloody vomit off the sheets. No need for another argument.

What should have been a five minute walk turns into twenty, with how often Itachi has to stop to catch his breath. Finally, however, they make their way. Itachi immediately slumps against Kisame once they’re inside, not able to keep upright any longer.

This immediately grabs the attention of the woman sitting at the front desk.

“What’s wrong?!” she asks, leaping to her feet.

“Not sure,” Kisame answers. “But can we get him taken care of, please?”

 “Of course- please come with me-”

Now that they’re out of the public eye (or simply because he’s too tired to argue), Itachi doesn't protest when Kisame picks him up again to carry him into the doctor’s office. He just shuts his eyes and lets himself be carried.

The woman speaks to Kisame, knowing perhaps that Itachi isn’t in a state to answer properly.

“How long has he been ill for?”

“Started yesterday, n’ it’s been getting worse since then.”

“Does he get ill often?”

“Not like this, no.”

“Does he have a family history of this sort of thing?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Well, just set him down here and I’ll get the doctor- please wait a moment.”

“Sure, whatever.”

Itachi doesn't make so much as a peep while he’s manhandled onto the exam table, focusing his energy instead on trying to get enough air.

This is bad. Kisame knows that. And he feels obnoxiously helpless for it, only being able to grab paper towels for him while Itachi fights for breath, with more wet, bloody coughs rattling his entire frame. 

Fortunately it isn’t long before the doctor arrives.

( The doctor, of course, being Ame’s only practicing doctor at the moment. Leader’s been doing his best to have others trained and ready, but that sort of thing takes a lot of time. So this poor bastard is the best they’ve got for now.)

“Kisame-sama, do you mind stepping out for a minute?”

“Huh? Oh-”

-Right. Itachi probably doesn't want him hanging around while he’s being poked at by an older guy.  So he steps out into the hall, pacing between that and the lobby for what feels like an eon.

Worry isn’t a feeling he’s used to, and it’s not one he enjoys. He can’t help it though- he’s never seen someone look this horrible who wasn’t at death’s door.

Under that worry though, there’s also anger. 

Anger because this sort of thing doesn't come out of nowhere. So how long has Itachi hidden this from him? If he was unwell, why didn’t he say anything before now?! 

...And why hasn’t Kisame noticed before now?

Or, rather- why hasn’t he acted?

Now that he thinks back on it, there are a hundred times he should have. All those times he thought he heard Itachi wheezing, but didn’t ask- the times he’d teased Itachi for moving slowly- were those because he couldn’t breathe? Or that time he’d seen blood on Itachi’s teeth, but written it off as him biting his tongue-

-Yes, he’s angry at Itachi. But more than that, he’s angry at himself for not saying something sooner. Surely Itachi must think he doesn't care, to have kept that to himself. And he still wanted to sleep with him- has Itachi lost his goddamned mind, or is he just desperate?!

Well. standing around isn’t doing him any good. Maybe going outside can take his mind off things.

Yeah. he’ll go out and wander for a bit. Grab some warabimochi or something to cheer Itachi up.

Sure. That's a plan. 

“Where’s Itachi-sama today?”

Nori tilts his head, sounding a bit disappointed. Kisame does his best to shrug it off.

“He isn’t feeling well, so I’m grabbing something to cheer him up.”

“Oh? Nothing serious I hope?” 

Kisame decides to ignore that question rather than have to lie. Nori turns red in the cheeks, then bashfully hands over the paper bag of warabimochi.

“...Well, h-here you go- tell Itachi-sama I hope he feels better soon!”

“I’ll let him know,” Kisame says, leaving with a roll of his eyes and a wave.

After a return to the hospital and another eon of waiting, where worry finally gives way to boredom, Kisame is approached by the doctor.

“What’s up?”

The man looks like he’s aged about 10 years in the few hours since Itachi first got here. He takes a moment to consider his words before speaking, scratching at his crop of short, gray hair.

“...I’ll be sending him home with some medication that should help. I’ll be running a few more tests in the meantime, but as far as I can figure this is a chronic issue he’s had for awhile. A sudden high level of stress could’ve made it flare up.”

It doesn't take a genius for Kisame to put two and two together about what that stress would’ve been.

The doctor hands Kisame a folded up paper.

“I put together a list of what I’m giving him so you can help keep track. For the next three days or so he’s gonna be pretty out of it; I would make sure to keep him out of trouble until he’s adjusted to them. I also wouldn’t let him do much of anything for the next few hours-”

It’s about then that Kisame realizes the deep bruises up the exposed skin of the doctor’s right arm.

“What happened there?” 

The man shakes his head and laughs.

“He wasn’t too fond of me having to draw blood. I guess I should’ve sedated him before then.”

Noticing the startled look on Kisame’s face, the doctor shakes his head and laughs.

“He already apologized enough, so don’t you start doing it too. Besides-”

The old man grows somber all of a sudden.

“-if I had a hundred ryo every time something like that happened in my time as this village’s doctor I could’ve retired at forty. Not that I’d want to, but…”

Kisame doesn't feel like getting depressed again, so he just follows the doctor into the separate room where Itachi is waiting for him.

He’s wrapped up in his cloak, laying down on a narrow cot in the corner. He pulls himself upward with a great deal of effort, and smiles sleepily at Kisame.

“Hey ‘Same,” he slurs blinking blearily. 

Kisame stares in surprise. The doctor just said he sedated Itachi, but it still catches him off guard.

“Hey,” he replies, feeling stupid. “Feeling better?”

Itachi giggles. Giggles. 

“I think I’m high,” he answers, so bluntly Kisame can’t help but laugh.

“I think so too, Itachi-san. Should we get you to bed?”

Itachi throws his arms out, making insistent grabbing motions at Kisame.

“What, you wanna be carried now ?” Kisame teases, even as he obeys the command. Itachi must hear the paper bag in his hand crinkle, because he perks up eagerly.

“You got food?”

“Yeah, figured you could use it.”

“My hero,” Itachi mumbles, burying his face in Kisame’s neck.

Fuck. That’s adorable.

“I’m gonna take him home now.”

“Of course. Stay safe.”

Between the mochi, Itachi, and the small pharmacy’s worth of medication, Kisame finds his arms full. Not helping is Itachi insistently snuggling up against him, creating quite the uh, distraction.

“C’mon Itachi-san, cut it out-”
“ Make me,” Itachi shoots back.

He doesn't sem to give a single fuck anymore about the people staring, or the concerned passersby inquiring after his wellbeing. Kisame reassures them as he makes his way past- just as he reassures Konan when she’s there to greet them at the main headquarters, looking worried half to death.

“Leader-sama said you took him to the hospital. Is he going to be alright?”

“Yeah, soon enough,” Kisame reassures her. “He’s just doped up right now.”

Konan bites her lip in worry, but nods.

“Please let us know if he needs anything else. We don’t want to send the two of you out if he’s not up to it.”

“Sure, sure.”

He lays Itachi out on his bed, shutting and locking their room and drawing the curtains to maintain their privacy.

Itachi laughs again, putting his hands over his face.

“I tried to bite the doctor,” he admits, through his giggling. “I don’t even have teeth like yours, why would I even- I think I’m crazy, Kisame.”

“I coulda told you that already,” Kisame half-jokes back at him.

Itachi snorts, holding out his arms once again toward Kisame.

“C’mere,” he demands, imperiously. 

“Well, look at mister “Don’t ever touch me” now.”

Even as he makes the playful jab, Kisame indulges him. Itachi immediately buries his face in Kisame’s shirt, taking a deeper breath than Kisame remembers him ever being able to.

“He had me breathe in some weird shit,” Itachi mumbles, making Kisame snort at the sudden profanity.

“Well it seems like it helped,” Kisame remarks.

Itachi nods, looping his arms around Kisame’s shoulders.

“...You’re warm.”

“Hey, knock it off ya weirdo.”

Itachi lets out an impudent grunt of disapproval.

“I never got a lotta hugs,” he whines. “Especially not since-”

He cuts himself off, then shakes his head violently.

“...When ‘m not loopy I don’t know if I’ll even want ‘em anymore. So just lemme…”

“C’mon, at least let me feed you some of this mochi, Itachi-san.”

Itachi finally breaks his grip, allowing Kisame to pop one of the sweets into his mouth. Itachi moans in appreciation, a spark of life finally lighting up his eyes.

He returns the favor, grabbing one of the warabimochi and clumsily shoving it in Kisame’s mouth.

“Shisui-nii told me you know someone likes you if they feed you,” he says.

The name sounds vaguely familiar. Kisame is pretty sure he’s heard the name around- another Uchiha prodigy from Konoha. But more than that-

“...you must’ve known Shisui pretty well, huh?”

That’s the most polite way Kisame can think of to ask about the guy he keeps hearing Itachi mumble about in his sleep.

Itachi nods, with a small, nostalgic smile.

“He was my best friend. I uh- I guess more than a best friend.”

That smile warps into a grimace. Hands starting to shake, Itachi grabs fistfuls of Kisame’s cloak to keep steady.

“...Everyone said I killed him. They thought I drowned him. But Kisame, I didn’t, I swear, I didn’t. I would rather have died, I couldn’t have done it! I didn’t kill him, it w-”

And there it is again. Itachi’s hands move of their own accord, clamping down over Itachi’s mouth, silencing him. Kisame sighs.

“Calm down, Itachi-san. I believe you.”

Itachi pries his hands away and tries to talk more, but, for once, Kisame doesn't want him to.

“How about to try to sleep these meds off, huh? You’ll feel better.”

Itachi frowns, but doesn't protest when Kisame lays him down in bed.

“Stay with me?” he asks, almost too quietly to be heard.

“Whatever you want, Itachi-san.”

Itachi clings to Kisame, pressing his head against him like an insistently affectionate cat.

“...I miss ‘im,” Itachi murmurs, as he drifts off. “Miss ‘im so much…”

Kisame doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't.

He'd like to ask Itachi more about this Shisui guy. To see if he can confirm his suspicions about the two of them. But it'd be wrong to take advantage of Itachi's current state. So he doesn't do that either.

That can wait for another time.

Chapter Text

It’s a bit of comfort to Kisame that Itachi is, at least, sleeping soundly for once.

He doesn't make a sound or even stir for hours, propped up against Kisame as he goes through each of the medications he was handed.

Well. There's enough here to dope up an entire army and then some. There’s three different kinds of painkillers, a couple different medications for inflammation, something to help him breathe easier-

At least about half of them have instructions that they must be taken with food. So hopefully getting Itachi to eat with any sort of consistency will be less of a battle from now on. He sets each medication on the nightstand as he reads it, until he’s gone through them all.

-Looks like he’ll be stuck here awhile. Maybe he should have gotten a book or something…

Idly, he takes a lock of Itachi’s hair and starts playing with it. It’s soft, so soft, and shimmers like silk. He’s never really seen Itachi care for this hair besides brushing it, so he wonders what sorts of things he does to make it so pretty.

Maybe he doesn't try at all.

Because Itachi is one of those lucky bastards who seems to look good no matter what.

That’s not so bad, though. His hair is soft, and it feels oddly soothing to touch it. And his skin already looks so much better. There’s even a bit of color in it now…

He presses a tentative kiss to Itachi’s forehead, feeling quite stupid to be making such a tender gesture.

It’s like- well, it’s like a fish flopping about on dry land. Ungraceful, uncoordinated, out of his element.

Not that Itachi seems to mind- even in sleep he leans into it like a cat leaning in for a scratch behind the ears.

How...adorable? 

It’s too precious for Kisame to not indulge. He actually does scratch gently behind Itachi’s ear, and he practically purrs in response.

Maybe he is a cat.

Itachi makes a small, mewling kind of sound, arching his body against Kisame.

Fuck. 

That really shouldn’t affect him as much as it is.

Absent-mindedly, Kisame’s hands start to wander. First from Itachi’s face down to his neck, then from his neck down to his shoulders, then down his back. This elicits more of those adorable noises, and makes Itachi squirm the smallest bit in his arms.

Before he’s really aware of what he’s doing, he catches himself with both hands on Itachi’s ass, groping it through his heavy cloak.

Shit.

Kisame yanks his hands away like Itachi’s backside was a hot stove rather than part of a human body.

Fortunately, Itachi doesn't seem to have noticed. He just sighs softly, and continues sleeping.

Probably for the best, all things considered. Absent-minded as it was, it feels like a breach of trust to touch Itachi that way.

After maybe another half hour of this, he dozes off as well.

A brief moment of pure panic jolts through him when he wakes up to find Itachi missing.

He only gets to feel that for the instant it takes him to sit up, however; Itachi opens the door soon after, balancing a couple fresh mugs of tea and carrying a book tucked under his arm.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Kisame props himself up, shaking the sleep out of his head.

“You look better.”

“I feel better so I suppose it’s not surprising.”

Itachi hands him the second mug of tea, and takes a seat at the desk opposite the bed.

“Kakuzu give you that?” Kisame inquires, nodding at the heavy, leather-bound book.

“Hm? Yeah- he said he found it on his last mission but he’s never heard of it before, and he doesn't want to read it til he gets someone else’s opinion.”

Sure, Kisame laughs to himself. That’s why.

“So,” he decides to say, instead of that, “how better is “better” anyway?”

“I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Itachi’s face turns scarlet; he tries and fails to hide it in his teacup. 

“...I owe that doctor an apology,” he mumbles.

“Nah, he seems like a tough son of a bitch. He’ll be fine.”

Itachi barely seems to register what Kisame said.

“Maybe I’ll send him something from Chinsuko-san’s place to make up for it…”

“Ha, Nori would be happy to see ya- he was asking where you were yesterday.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I think he’s got a bit of a crush on you, Itachi-san.”

“Huh? A crush?”

Kisame rolls into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and chuckling at Itachi’s obliviousness.

“You’ve seen how he looks at ya- I bet if you asked him out he wouldn’t say no.”

“I’m not really interested in him that way,” Itachi responds, flipping idly through the book in his hands.

“Why not? He’s plenty cute ain’t he?”

“I don’t know- I guess he’s just not my type.”

“Is that so? What is your type then?”

Itachi slams his book shut, sets it on the desk, and scowls.

“Hey, what’s with the scary look, Itachi-san?!”

“Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?”

“Eh?”

Itachi pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he stands up, crosses the room, and out of nowhere grabs a fistful of Kisame’s short, blue hair, forcing him to make eye contact in a very un-Itachi-like, thoroughly unnerving way.

“Ow-”

“What are you trying to tell me, Kisame?” 

Itachi doesn't wait for him to answer. He looks annoyed, offended, at what Kisame had said.

“-If you’re trying to tell me that you’re not interested in me, just say it. As for my part, I’ll tell you right now that there’s only one person in this world I’m interested in in that way.”

Kisame’s mind does that thing like falling again, stumbling over itself and flailing in confusion.

All he gets out in response is “Why though?”

Itachi’s scowl is more like a pout now. He clambers up onto the bed, wedged between Kisame’s legs, and shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about anything, except for that I want to-”

He presses his forehead against Kisame’s, shutting his eyes and sighing.

“I just like being near you. That’s all.”

“You’re weird, Itachi-san.”

Itachi grumbles something under his breath, but Kisame doesn't catch it. He pulls Itachi in closer, feeling his heart pounding through the layers of their clothes, feeling his face grow red-hot in embarrassment. He buries it in the crook of Kisame’s neck, and that gesture sends little sparks of electricity down the older man’s spine.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Itachi repeats, his voice muffled in Kisame’s collar. “How is that weird?”

“Do you want me to do the math for you, Itachi-san?”

Itachi makes a confused sound, which Kisame takes as an affirmative.

“You just barely turned eighteen. I’ll be thirty this time next year.”

“I’ve been with older, while I was younger,” Itachi mumbles.

“That doesn't make it any less weird,” Kisame retorts, deciding to brush past the reason why Itachi’s already been with older people. “And besides that, we’re supposed to be keeping this professional between the two of us. And besides that- ”

Now Kisame is the one whose face is on fire.

“-Have you ever honestly looked at yourself in a mirror, Itachi-san? Anyone who saw the two of us together would think you’ve lost your mind.”

“Why does how we look even matter? As if that has anything to do with how compatible two people are-”

Ah, there it is again. That strange, innocent idealism Kisame never expected from Itachi.

“Maybe so Itachi-san, but there’s expectations about what sorts of people pair off with each other. Anyone in their right mind would see the two of us and say you deserve better.”

“Why though?”

“Why what?” 

“We aren’t really so different where it matters, are we? Like you said when we met- neither of us have anyone else.  We were shunned by anyone else we had. We killed anyone else we had. That’s the whole reason we even found each other right?”

Itachi must still be kinda drugged up, to be saying these sorts of things. But Kisame listens anyway.

“What, so you’re saying we found each other because of fate?” he asks, pulling Itachi’s black hair away from his face, studying the strange expression on it as he might an interesting artifact.

“I’m saying that people find each other for a reason- it can’t be just chance that I feel this way when I’m around you.”

“What way?”

Kisame is pretty sure he already knows, but he wants to hear it outright.

Itachi fumbles with both his hands and his words, trying to articulate his feelings and growing more agitated the longer he goes without the proper words.

After fumbling for too long, he grabs one of Kisame’s hands with both of his, pressing it flat against his chest and holding it there.

“Like this.”

Once again, Kisame feels Itachi’s heart racing. Even through the thick cloak and his shirt and the mesh underneath.

“It’s like this every time we’re close. I can’t stand it- but I want more of it.”

Kisame can feel himself grinning like an idiot, but he can’t make himself stop. He gently pries his hand free to caress his face, feeling a thrill run through him when Itachi doesn't flinch away from his touch.

“I don’t understand you, Itachi-san.”

“Do you have to?”

Itachi doesn't wait for an answer. He just buries his face in the crook of Kisame’s neck again.

“People spend too much time trying to understand things. Not everything needs to be understood.”

Kisame laughs, then laughs harder when Itachi lets out an offended huff.

“Whatever you say, Itachi-san,” he concedes. 

Itachi grumbles again, still pressed up against Kisame. So Kisame takes the chance to ask the question that’s still nagging at him.

“So what you’re telling me, Itachi-san, is that you want to be my boyfriend?”

Without hesitation, Itachi makes a small sound in the affirmative.

“You really have lost your mind.”

Itachi makes another small sound that indicates he doesn't care.

“...Alright, Itachi-san. You win.”

It feels anticlimactic- don't couples usually make things official with some big, anguished declaration of affection? Maybe a dramatic kiss out in the rain? Somehow just sitting here in bed, deciding they're going to be a couple feels lacking.

-Eh, fuck it. It's not like anything about the two of them is ever going to be anything close to the usual.

This is more than enough for him, anyway.

For the next two weeks, life feels almost domestic. Sure, Kisame feels more than a bit antsy being kept from normal missions, but he gets more than enough consolation watching how the medication grants Itachi a newfound lease on life.

There’s more color in his face than there’s been in years, and though the dark circles beneath his eyes are still there, they’re far less alarming than they used to be.

Hell, they’re even able to go out and do some sparring together, without Itachi getting too winded. And that’s enough to keep Kisame from getting too restless, until they're given the go-ahead to take up missions again.

Yes, almost back to normal.

Until one day, Itachi is called in to speak to their leader. Kisame follows him, despite not having been called as well, because Itachi grabs his hand.

Konan seems surprised to see him there as well. And even more surprised to find them hand-in-hand. But she doesn't remark on that part.

“Itachi, this is a bit of a personal matter-”

“It’s fine,” Itachi assures her. “Anything that can be said to me can be said to us both.”

“...Very well, then.”

Their leader is perched on top of the fireplace in the wide open room, caught in the ring of gold light illuminating the otherwise pitch-black space. He jumps down when the three of them enter, standing straight; Itachi and Kisame bow at him in unison, then wait for him to speak.

“It looks like Konoha will be hosting the Chunin exams in a few days’ time.”

Itachi nods; his hands curl up into fists, betraying the anxiety his face doesn't show.

“Nothing’s been confirmed as of yet, but it’s been going around that they’re allowing rookie Genin enroll this year. If I were a betting man I’d wager that would mean Sasuke is going to be one of those.”

Kisame watches Itachi warily; the corner of Itachi’s mouth twitches downward for a second, but that’s all the response his face gives.

“I would wager you’re right,” he answers.

“Beyond that,” Pain continues, tilting his head the slightest bit as Rinnegan eyes watch Itachi carefully, “Sasori’s been told by his informant that Orochimaru is planning on gatecrashing the exams. Whatever he’s got in mind, I’m sure you know his intentions aren’t friendly.”

Itachi only nods again.

Konan takes a turn to speak.

“Itachi, there’s still time. If you wanted, we could-”

Itachi startles her when he interrupts.

“-I would rather not interfere, right now.”

Konan and Pain look at each other in confusion. Kisame looks from Itachi’s (now shaking) hands to his face; he’s frowning in earnest now.

“I’ll leave the situation be. For now, just let Sasori’s informant observe what’s going on.”

Silence. Kisame feels the tension in the air, but he has no idea what he should say.

“Fair enough,” Pain responds. “Let us know if you change your mind.”

“Thank you,” Itachi replies, regaining his composure and containing his shaking hands. “I will.”

All Itachi wants is to be left alone. 

His entire body hurts, feels like jelly. Moving is hard, and his vision keeps going fuzzy. He wants nothing more than to sit here alone, in this uncaring, sterile hospital room. 

But he isn’t alone. Not since that nurse opened the door, and let Danzo into the room.

Half of him wants to scream at the man to go away, to howl and cry and tell him that he is the real reason Shisui is dead. But the sedatives they keep shoving down his throat to calm him make him feel so heavy, so defeated. So all he can manage when the man pulls up a chair by his bedside is-

“-I didn’t kill him.”

“I know,” Danzo replies. 

Itachi wants to reach out and wipe away the tears blurring his eyesight, but between the drugs and the heavy bandages, he can’t move his arms an inch.

“...everyone thinks I killed him, though. The whole clan thinks I murdered him.”

“So it seems.”

Itachi bows his leaden head. He knows it’s useless to try to hide it- but, at least, Danzo is kind enough to ignore the tears that drip down his face onto the crisp white linen.

“It’s isn’t like I didn’t warn you, Itachi.”

There’s a condescending note in the tone Danzo uses to scold Itachi, and it would make him so angry if he wasn’t so tired.

“I’ve told you. You can’t trust them. And look at how quickly they’ve turned on you.”

Though Itachi hates it more than anything, he doesn't have the energy to even flinch when Danzo lays a hand on top of his head. 

“They never did understand you. They would’ve latched onto any chance to cast you aside- it just so happens this is the one that arose first.  Their shortsightedness will always blind them. You know that.”

Itachi wants to say you’re wrong, but when even his own parents have begun to doubt him, how can he?

He can feel his racing heart in the throbbing of his aching wrists. Danzo’s hand moves to Itachi’s shoulder. Then down his upper arm, til it hovers over the bandages.

It lingers just a bit too long, before Danzo finally rises to his feet.

“I’ll leave you be- we have a lot to discuss when you’re out of here.”

Chapter Text

The quiet after a mission is always Kisame’s favorite. His blood still hums with the aftermath of violence, Samehada practically purring after the kill, as content as a well-fed kitten.

(It’s been too long- not like anyone is gonna miss the dead guy, anyway.)

Itachi is stone-faced; Kisame knows he’s far less eager for violence than he is, so he gives the younger man space in case he needs time to process his emotions.

They stop beside a bubbling creek, pregnant with ice cold summer runoff. Though his hands aren’t dirty, Itachi takes a moment to wash them, like a ritual. Kisame splashes some of the water on his face to perk back up.

He feels Itachi’s eyes on him while he dries his face. 

“What’s on your mind, Itachi-sa-”

A kiss on the cheek answers the question. Itachi has to stand on tip-toe to do it, a quite adorable gesture.

“Kisame.”

The meaning in those three syllables is clear. Kisame would conjure up a protest, but the demanding way Itachi speaks his name makes it hard to resist.

He finds himself laying on his back in the soft grass, with Itachi on top of him, their faces millimeters apart.

(When did he lay down? Did Itachi push him down? How? Does it matter?)

“What’s gotten into you?” he teases.

Itachi answers by kissing him on the lips this time. He sighs in contentment against Kisame’s mouth, like he’d waited far too long to do so.

He opens his mouth; Kisame gingerly takes that invitation.

Kisame predictably doesn't have much experience with kissing, but that’s okay. Itachi is more than happy to take the lead, much as he usually does on their missions. And, much like on their missions, Kisame picks up on the sort of thing Itachi wants, mirroring the way he moves his lips and his tongue to elicit more of those small, contented sighs.

When Itachi’s hands start to wander over Kisame’s body, undoing the buttons on his cloak, Kisame cautiously does the same. He lets them ghost over Itachi’s back, before unbuttoning Itachi’s cloak as well.

He brushes his fingertips along Itachi’s sides, then along his hips, before taking them in a cautious grip. Itachi flinches, but only for a moment. 

“You okay?” 

Itachi nods, pressing a line of kisses along Kisame’s strong jaw, then over his throat. His breath and legs both start to shake.

Face flushing dark pink, Itachi reaches down between his legs, letting his hand hover over the crotch of his pants. Unlike their last disastrous attempt at this sort of thing, Itachi is having the- uh- appropriate response.

“I...I’m alright,” he mumbles, the pads of the fingers of his other hand tracing the rim of Kisame’s lower lip. “I think I’m alright, anyway.”

Smiling up at Itachi, Kisame nips at his fingertips in a playful sort of way. Itachi doesn't smile back, but there’s a spark in his eyes that gives him some hope.

Itachi seems okay like this. Being in control seems to put his mind at ease, so he’s able to enjoy kissing. He closes his eyes, tracing long, crooked fingers along all the curves and planes of his partner’s face. Then down his neck. Then all the way down his torso, where his hands slip beneath Kisame’s shirt and the mesh beneath, feeling their way up his abdomen and over his chest. 

They’re cold. So cold they raise goosebumps all up his arms and the back of his neck. 

And all the while, Itachi keeps his eyes shut, without so much as a peek through those thick, dark eyelashes. 

“Itachi-san, what are you doing?” Kisame mutters, a pit digging into his stomach.

“Hn?”

Kisame decides it best to say it outright, to get it out of the way.

He reaches up to hook a finger under Itachi’s chin.

“Am I that hard to look at?” 

Itachi opens his eyes, confusion knitting his brow.

“It’s nothing like that.”

For a second it looks like Itachi might lie again. But-

Itachi leans in closer still, whispering against Kisame’s ear like he’s afraid they’ll be overheard.

“Someday, these eyes of mine will be useless. I want to be prepared for when I can’t…”

He trails off, the tiniest hint of fear in his voice.

Kisame has a vague understanding of what Itachi is talking about. He knows a little about Mangekyou Sharingan- enough to suddenly feel quite guilty for all the times he’s told Itachi his eyes must be going.

“How long, then?” he asks.

Itachi shrugs.

“Not sure. It mostly depends on how much I have to use it.”

That fear is gone, replaced instead with a quiet resignation. Then, again, he sighs, pressing a kiss at the place where Kisame’s neck meets his left ear. 

“I’ll be fine. I just want to be prepared.”

They get lost in kissing again, neither of them caring about the (remote, yet ever-present) chance of being caught. Kisame tries not to care about Itachi’s impending blindness, either, working his long hair loose so he can play with it to distract himself.

(it still feels strange- so very strange- to be doing such a thing with someone so beautiful.)

Finally, Itachi lets him readjust himself so he’s sitting upright. He shivers when Kisame grazes his teeth along the porcelain skin of his neck, leaving a trail of thin, parallel scratches in their wake.

Itachi’s hand slips down the waistband of the older man’s pants; Kisame groans, his grip tightening around fistfuls of Itachi’s hair.

Even still, he can’t shake the feeling-

“...Sure you’re okay?”

“I think so. As long as we stay like this. Besides-”

Itachi slides his hand past Kisame's underwear, taking hold of his impatient arousal.

“-You want it too, right?”

He pulls free from Kisame’s grip, so he can work his way downward. 

“What’s gotten into you, Itachi-san? Even somewhere like this, you’re-”

“-Just let me take care of you, alright? You’ve taken care of me for so long.”

Itachi doesn't say anything else- not that his mouth is free to speak much longer, anyway.

He does manage to moan, however, when he reaches down his own pants to stroke himself, while he puts his mouth to work.

Those wide, black eyes peer up at him; Kisame pulls his hair away from his face to better enjoy the view.

(if someone had ever told him that someday, he would have probably the most beautiful person on Earth blowing him, he would’ve laughed in their face. But stranger things have happened, he supposes.)

“Fuck- you look really good like this, Itachi-san-”

Itachi shouldn’t be as good at this as he is, and Kisame feels like he should maybe feel bad for enjoying it so much.  But he isn’t left much room for those thoughts when Itachi has him in his mouth, still peering up at him with that look. And especially not when he’s acutely aware of the way Itachi moans like he’s got a mouthful of his favorite sweet. He grinds his skinny hips into his own hand, precum dripping off it onto the grass beneath them.

Neither of them will last much longer, it seems.

“Hey, Itachi-san, I’m gonna-”

He expects Itachi to pull away, but he doesn't. Kisame’s vision goes white, all his muscles going rigid, hands clenched tight around Itachi’s hair. A flood of euphoria rushes over him, filling his entire being for a small forever, before ebbing away. Somewhere in the rush, he hears Itachi’s stifled groan, as he finishes as well.

“Goddamn.”

Itachi keeps his eyes shut for a moment, awkwardly fumbling to wipe the mess of his hand on the tall grass, then to make himself and Kisame decent again.

“You’re shaking-”

“-I’m alright.”

Itachi reaches out toward him blindly, in a distinctly childlike gesture.

“Just let me-”

Kisame pulls him upward to hold him close.

He’s shaking so badly.  And he still won’t look at Kisame. Instead, he buries his face in the older man’s shoulder, like that could block out the entire world.

They stay like that until Itachi stops trembling. Until he’s able to get back onto his feet. 

Donning their cloaks once again, they head back on their way; Itachi keeps a meter or so distance between them, like he’s ashamed of what they’ve just done.

“-You still haven’t told me what got into you, Itachi-san.”

Kisame’s attempt at breaking the silence is met by a roll of Itachi’s eyes.

“Have you never just been in the mood for something?” he asks, like the question is stupid.

“Not enough to jump someone’s bones outta nowhere,” Kisame answers.

“What, do you regret it?”

“Never said that.”

Itachi fiddles with the ring on his right hand, the barest hint of a maybe-smile curling his lips.

“I just wanted to make you feel good. And I felt good too. So even if it’s sudden, it’s fine, right?” 

“Whatever you say, Itachi-san.”

They make a stop in a sleepy little village, once the sun starts to go down. That’s where they’ve been told to wait for their next set of orders.

Picking up some takoyaki from a streetside vendor, they wander aimlessly among the assorted little shops, peering into the windows and carts that they pass with vague curiosity. Kisame rambles on about everything and nothing at all.

Itachi pauses in front of a particular shop, cocking his head in a particularly bird-like fashion. 

“What’s up, Itachi-san?”

The boy just cocks his head to the other side, eyes lit up with curiosity. Kisame falls back to see what’s got him fascinated.

As it turns out, what Itachi is looking at is a jewelry store window. When Kisame follows his eyes, he finds out the boy is looking at a silver necklace that glitters in the setting sun.

It’s a pretty understated piece, with just three little silver hoops adorning the chain. But Itachi seems completely enamored with it.

An idea pops into his head, and he decides to roll with it before he can talk himself out of it.

“Hey, Itachi-san, why don’t you go on ahead and get us checked into the hotel? I’ll catch up in a bit.”

Itachi snaps out of his daydream.

“Hm? Yeah, sure.”

He heads off, even if he seems a little reluctant to do so.

The pretty young woman running the shop is startled to see Kisame walk in, ducking under the low doorway so he doesn't cave his skull in. she looks even more startled when he gestures at the silver necklace and asks how much it costs. Then more startled still when, once she’s answered him, he says he wants to buy it.

She fumbles through the motions, putting the necklace in a little blue box and smiling as best she can.

“I-if you don’t mind me asking,” she says, flustered. “What’re you-”

Knowing what she’s going to ask, Kisame heads her off.

“-It’s a gift,” he answers. He smiles back at her, but his mouthful of razor-sharp teeth aren’t reassuring to her, predictably. 

He heads off to meet Itachi at the hotel, carrying the little jewelry box with him, heart racing way faster than his leisurely pace warrants.

Itachi pokes his head up from his book when Kisame walks into their room, immediately spotting the box in his hand.

“What’s-”

His puzzlement turns to shock when Kisame opens it.

“Why-” 

“Have you never just been in the mood for something?” Kisame parrots, donninga smug smile. “Just come here, I wanna see how it looks on you.”

Rolling his eyes again, Itachi stands up and heads over to him. He pulls his hair up out of the way, so Kisame can wrap the thin silver chain around his thin neck.

“It looks lovely on you,” Kisame declares. 

And it does. The silver plays wonderfully against Itachi’s pearly skin, and the way he actually, genuinely smiles at Kisame is enough to melt the coldest heart.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure I did.”

Itachi leans against him, feigning a sour expression.

“You’re unfathomable.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Itachi snorts.

“If Kakuzu gets mad, I’m blaming you,” he deadpans.

“I assumed that was the plan,” Kisame replies.

Chapter Text

It’s not usual that they should find themselves crossing paths with the other Akatsuki while out and about on business. But a combination of an unexpected, freak storm and sheer happenstance would have it that they’re holed up in the same rickety, abandoned shack with Sasori and Deidara to wait it out, before continuing on their separate paths through the dense, humid jungle.

Thunder rumbles, low and dangerous. Deidara groans from aggravation, throwing himself into a moth-eaten pile of bedding.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Stuck here with the bastard hn. Fuckin’ weather.”

“Keep bitching and I’ll kill you,” Sasori warns, already unloading some of his equipment to tend to it, starting with a deep gash on Hiruko’s tail.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I hear ya.”

He glares daggers at Itachi, who doesn’t seem to pay him any mind. Itachi feels around the area until he comes across a door hidden beneath cobwebs and dust and grime. With some effort, he pries it open. 

“Good eye, Itachi-san” Kisame remarks. “Guess we’ll get a little privacy at least.” 

“Peachy,” Deidara grumbles, taking a nail file to his hands with an obsessive level of precision. “So fuck off and leave us alone.”

Sasori doesn’t say anything, but he shoots Itachi a wicked look that copies Deidara’s sentiment.

Whether or not Itachi realizes he’s getting that look, he’s quick to take some supplies for a fire into the second room, where a tiny hearth and fireplace still seem to still be in working order.

Good, Kisame thinks. He always seems to be cold, so this’ll be good for him.

With a bit of coaxing, some old, slightly damp firewood gets a small (but smokey) fire going. It’s nowhere near ideal, considering this room is barely bigger than a large-ish closet, but it’ll do for now.

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, with Itachi pretending to read, and Kisame tending to Samehada. 

Itachi prods at the fire in the hearth, making it spark and crackle. When Kisame sits beside him, he leans up against the man instinctively. 

He’s got that faraway look in his dark eyes, like he often gets when a fire is around. More relaxed, it seems, than he perhaps ought to be with two people who hate his guts not a foot away.

“All good, Itachi-san?”

A nod.

“I’m fine.”

A steady drip drip drip sound from a leak somewhere in the roof keeps the silence company.

Sitting down beside him, Kisame leans over to see what he’s reading, and promptly feels his face grow hot at the lurid words on the page.

“Wait, did Kakuzu give you this one?” he asks, confused at why Itachi is reading porn in their offtime. 

Itachi shakes his head, shutting the book and setting it aside, with the quite lewd front cover facing down.

“I got it for myself.”

“I didn’t think you’d be into that sorta thing, Itachi-san.”

“I’m not usually. But it seemed interesting, and it gave me some ideas.”

“Oh? What sort of ideas?”

Itachi climbs into Kisame’s lap without any prompting, stealing a kiss before the man can ask what he’s up to.

Not that he needs to ask, once Itachi has his hand down the front of his pants.

Ah. Those sort of ideas.

“Someone’s forward today, Itachi-san.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Sure this is the time and place?” Kisame asks, even as he undoes the buttons on Itachi’s cloak. “It might be awkward if we get interrupted.”

“I don’t care. Unless you don’t want to-”

“- I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

Itachi goes back to kissing him, running one hand through his crop of blue hair and undoing his pants with the other.

“Make sure to keep quiet.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Kisame kisses along Itachi’s neck, undoing the buttons on his cloak like he’s unveiling a present he’s waited far too long for.

“You know, I never took you for this type of guy, Itachi-san,” he teases, just to admire the way Itachi turns crimson when he says it. “Doing something so risky. Usually you’re more careful.”

“Preconceptions won’t really tell you much about a person.”

“I know, I know.”

Whatever’s in that book, it’s had the intended effect. Itachi is already so hard, causing him quite the embarrassment when his erection springs out of his pants with enthusiasm.

“Hey, you don’t need to be shy. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Kisame leans Itachi back carefully against the wall that’s least likely to cave in on them. Goosebumps rise up on Itachi’s skin as the chilly air hits his bare flesh when his pants are pulled down just enough to expose his backside, and those lean-muscled thighs Kisame is quickly developing quite the fondness for- scars and all.

Itachi giggles- actually giggles- in spite of himself when Kisame can’t help but kiss them.

“Hey quit it-”

“Hm? Why?”

Itachi hides his embarrassed expression in the collar of his shirt, suppressing more laughter when Kisame ignores his command.

“...I’m ticklish, damn it,” Itachi grumbles, trying to maintain his composure and failing.

Cute.

Cute.

“So what, you don’t want me to kiss you?”

He says it to tease, but apparently Itachi missed the joke.

“I-I didn’t say that. I just-”

Kisame changes his attention to Itachi’s neck instead, overcome with the desire to mark it up. Careful all the while, keeping half his focus on making sure Itachi isn’t tensing up too badly or starting to panic. 

(that part’s been getting better. But he still worries.)

“Here, let’s try it like this.”

Itachi watches warily, biting his lower lip in a way that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Kisame settles his erection between Itachi’s sweat-slick thighs, drawing a small, puzzled sound out of him. His brow furrows, an unspoken question conveyed in the skeptical glance he gives.

“Hey, what’s with that face, Itachi-san?”

“...You don’t want to put it in?”

“Course I do.”

“Then why- ah- ”

Kisame can’t resist the urge to rock his hips, sending sparks through Itachi’s belly with the friction it creates.

“There’s no need to rush it. So long as it feels good, this is just fine right?”

“...I suppose.”

Itachi isn’t entirely certain, but takes hold of Kisame’s wrists and urges him onward.

“If this is what you want, that’s fine by me.”

A particularly loud roll of thunder drowns out the mewling sounds Itachi makes when the older man starts to move his hips in earnest. Blunt fingernails bite into Kisame’s wrists, both of them keeping their jaws clenched tightly to keep any sound from escaping. Despite the storm, and despite Deidara being a bit hard of hearing from years of his own explosions, neither of them is keen on their cantankerous coworkers barging in on them.

Fuck, but Itachi’s thighs are so warm, and so deceptively soft. And Itachi squirms so delightfully when their increasingly impatient erections slip past each other, flushed and slick with precum. 

“You’re okay right?” Kisame checks in, just to be safe.

Itachi fumbles until he can grab the back of Kisame’s neck, for a clumsy open-mouthed kiss.

Well, that answers that question.

It’s good. Quiet, cozy and intimate. And when they finish, Itachi pulls Kisame’s head in so close their foreheads press together.

The thunder is growing more distant, but the rain doesn’t sound like it’s going to get any better anytime soon. Kisame cleans the both of them up, fixing them up so that they’re decent again.

“Feel better, Itachi-san?”

“Hn.”

Itachi clings to him in a koala-ish way that’s quite endearing. If they could stay like that forever, Kisame imagines he’d be perfectly content.

But of course, the best laid plans of mice and men, or however the hackneyed line goes.

Itachi makes a sharp sound of displeasure when Zetsu pokes his head out of the spongy ground, practically trembling with anticipation at delivering whatever news he’s come to tell.

“...What do you want?” Itachi mumbles, not lifting his face from Kisame’s shoulder to ask it.

“Just to let you know the Sandaime Hokage is dead,” the black half answers, matter-of-factly. “Murdered, as a matter of fact.”

The fire’s crackling becomes deafening. The raindrops become knives beating down on the battered roof.

At last, Itachi utters something quite un-Itachi-like.

“Well,” he mutters, “fuck.”

Chapter Text

“Itachi, honey- I’m leaving your dinner out here, okay? Please try to eat something.”

Itachi can’t find his voice, so he remains quiet, staring at Shisui’s forged suicide note without really reading it. 

He doesn't have to, anyway. He’s read it over so many times that each word is burned into his permanent memory.

I can’t bear the weight of my responsibility to the clan anymore. 

That’s the line at the very top. The one Itachi’s staring at.

“...I know it’s a lot,” Mikoto says, through the door. “But we’d love it if you’d eat with the family every now and then.”

When Itachi doesn’t answer, he hears her sigh, and walk away in defeat.

I’m sorry, Itachi says to himself, wishing he had it in him to speak. To at least say something to her before-

Before…

He rises to his feet. He does not shake. He does not cry.

He dresses in his mission clothes, strapping his armor and weapons to his exhausted body. He stares at his headband for a long time, wishing with all his heart that this was a nightmare.

The Mangekyou Sharingan burns in his eyes. He ties the headband , feeling the familiar weight against his forehead, resigned to his fate.

The milky light of the full moon illuminates his bedroom, interrupted by the dark shadow of the man who suddenly materializes in the room with him.

“You ready?” he asks, his emotions totally unreadable beneath his ceramic mask.

Itachi nods, his voice still not coming to him.

“Better get started then, while the night is young.”

He finds himself in the middle of an intersection, beneath the amber glow of a streetlamp. About five meters away from him, those three awful men are standing around, chattering like they don’t have a care in the world.

Inabi says something that makes the other two laugh. They lean in close to each other 

Itachi feels something flicker up inside him. The spark fans into a flame that he can identify as anger.

These men who never could hope to understand him. These men who took the first chance they could to turn on him, to blame him, to abandon him-

-Well. They’re as good a place to start as any, aren’t they?

It takes far longer than it should for them to notice- Tekka is the first to realize he’s approaching them.

“The hell are you doing out here?”

Itachi gives them a moment- only a moment- to be unnerved. Then, before they can put two and two together, he pulls out a blade and does what needs to be done.

(he’s sick. Sick because he’s doing this. Sick because some tiny part of him is enjoying this. Enjoying the deaths of the ones who’d labelled him a murderer- well isn’t that ironic?

Maybe they were right after all.)

He’s finished with them before they can do more than shout in surprise. That’s more than enough to alert others to their fate, however.

That’s okay though.

Itachi takes a breath. Crushes down every emotion inside of him. He does as he’s told- turns himself into a machine, nothing more than a tool to do this task. The blood, the screaming, the smells of death that sink so deep into his skin they’ll never wash clean- none of it matters. 

He gets no enjoyment from killing the others. Just a gaping, hollow void that sucks all other feeling down. 

Look at that, I’m the monster you all took me for, he thinks to himself, bitterly.

I hope you’re happy.

At last, he’s back in front of his house. Where he knows his parents are waiting.

They’re kneeling on the floor, quietly, holding each other’s hands. 

They don’t beg for their lives, or ask him what he’s doing- they already know.

“...I’m sorry,” he mumbles, as the void inside him claws its way up his throat, threatening to consume him whole.

“You don’t need to apologize,” his father says. 

They speak to him calmly, as if he wasn’t drenched in the blood of their kin, about to send them to the same fate. 

They comfort him, as if he hasn’t committed the ultimate betrayal. 

The last words Itachi hears his father speak, after imploring he take care of Sasuke-

“I know you’re a gentle child.”

He hates it.

Itachi hates it.

He wishes they would be angry. He wishes they’d scold him, wishes they would despise him. But the last words they speak, before he puts both of them down like a pair of rabid dogs, is to comfort him.

It’s too much.

Too much.

He can’t shove the emotions into the void- it overflows, bursting forth before he can contain it.

He cries. He shakes. 

It hurts. 

His parents are nothing but sacks of flesh and bone now, bleeding out on the wood floor. 

And in the distance-

“-What’s going on?! Niisan! Niisan where are you?! Niisan!”

The door gets thrown all the way open, revealing Sasuke’s wide-eyed, horrified face.

The mask slips back on. The void swallows Itachi whole, wrapping himself up to protect him from what he has to do. From what he has to say.

I’m sorry, Sasuke.

It hurts.

The pain he’s feeling is the unbearable, indescribable pain that Itachi would never wish on his worst enemy. Yet, at the same time, he feels absolutely nothing at all. He feels too cold and too hot all at once, too tense and too limp. Heavy and hollow, all at once.

Angry, but resigned.

The man called Madara catches him when he collapses, some kilometers outside the outskirts of the village.  

Itachi is too exhausted to cry anymore. No matter how badly he wants to cry.

“You alright?”

Itachi wants to answer, to say it’s the stupidest question he’s ever heard. But he’s too exhausted to even speak.  Too weak to put any weight on his legs when Madara tries to set him back upright.

Madara sighs.

“I suppose it can’t be helped.”

He sends Itachi through Kamui, into the gaping, dark void that mirrors Itachi’s insides. He curls up into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest and hiding his face in his arms.

Sasuke’s betrayed, terrified face is burnt into his memory, etched deep into his soul by his Sharingan. 

Sasuke-his poor little brother, who trusted him, who adored him- 

Itachi has inflicted wounds on the boy’s heart that he’ll bear for the rest of his life. He’s stolen everything from Sasuke he could possibly take. 

All his fault. Itachi can’t bear the shame.

“Ah, so this is your old home, Itachi-san?”

Of course Kisame doesn’t get an answer. Not that he needs one- mostly he’s just looking to fill the silence.

It’s quite a different place than Kiri, or even Ame. It's sunny, bright and cheerful, with song birds chirping in the background and children playing in the distance.

In contrast, the actual infrastructure of the village has obviously seen better days. There’s half-crumbled buildings and bare wood frames, rubble strewn about the streets in the obvious aftermath of Orochimaru’s tantrum.

He certainly made an impression. Honestly, Kisame is surprised everything is running so normally. The shops that are still mostly intact are open, chugging along as though nothing at all had happened.

Itachi’s face is perfectly blank. But Kisame knows full well he isn’t calm. 

After all, it was on his adamant insistence that they come here in the first place.

Because of the Kyuubi jinchuriki, he’d told Zetsu.  But Kisame knows that’s just an excuse. The true reason isn't one Itachi would say out loud. Knowing Itachi the way he does, however, Kisame already has an idea.

This is about Sasuke. His mythical kid brother. What about Sasuke, exactly, he’s not certain. But it’s nothing good, judging by how insistent he was about coming here in the first place. It’d taken all his effort just to talk Itachi into at least waiting til the worst of the storm had blown past, for fear he’d fall ill before they had the chance to get here. And even then, he'd nearly driven Deidara and Sasori mad with his restlessness.

Well. Here they are, to do whatever it is that Itachi needs. Maybe even actually pick up a jinchuriki if they’re lucky. Who knows. 

Itachi is tense, distrustful. He constantly glances over his shoulder, eyes darting around at every little sound.

Probably not ideal, but Kisame does his best to keep level-headed, for Itachi’s sake.

“You know any good places to eat around here?” he asks.

Itachi brightens up a fraction at the suggestion. He nods, and leads the way through the streets he still knows by heart. His genjutsu never wavers, keeping both of them under cover to avoid unnecessary attention.

The teashop Itachi leads him to is cozy. It’s got pink paper lanterns lining the walls, and a chipper shopkeeper and a couple smiling waitresses milling about.

“Welcome, strangers! What brings you here?”

Still stone faced as ever- but something is wrong. Itachi’s broken out in a cold sweat. The waitress cocks her head, twin silver braids bouncing along with the motion.

“Just passing through,” Kisame answers. “We heard good things about this place so we thought we’d try it out.”

“Oh! Well, what can I get for you to make a good first impression?”

“Oh, surprise us.”

“Sure thing- my name’s Shinko by the way! If y’all need anything while you’re waiting just call!”

She trots off with a broad smile. Itachi keeps his gaze fixed on some point at the wall, hands balled into tight fists.

“What’s up, Itachi-san? You know her?”

Itachi nods.

Looking back over at her, Kisame notices the worn-out Konoha headband hanging from the belt of her skirt.

“Ah, old coworkers?”

Itachi shakes his head, refusing to elaborate further.

The girl comes up soon after, setting down an assortment of snacks and tea for the both of them.

“Alright I had them put together a bit of all the good stuff! I know they’re good ‘cause my old teammate loved ‘em! He was the sweets expert so if he liked ‘em then you know they’re good!”

She says this with a forced smile, the chipper tone of her voice wavering just a bit.

Oh.

Well that’d do it.

“I’ll leave you to it- like I said though, just holler if you need me!”

Kisame leans in, dropping his voice low even though the genjutsu will surely cover anything he says.

“What’s an old teammate of yours doing at a job like this?”

“That’s a long story.”

Ah, must’ve been bad then. 

“Well, I trust your good taste, Itachi-san,” Kisame says, letting the subject drop and grabbing one of the sweets instead. Itachi copies the motion, even though he doesn’t seem interested in the food. Itachi’s old teammate goes about her work totally oblivious while they pick at their food and nurse cups of tea.

But someone else has figured out something’s up.

“Hey Kakashi, whatcha doing over here?”

“Uh, just waiting for someone- what about you two? This a date or something?” 

“Hell no! “ the woman snaps, though that’s clearly a lie. “Anko just wanted me to get some dango for her, and he was just on the way, y’know?!” 

“Alright, alright, whatever you say- ah, there you are. You're late!"

“Hmph. What do you want?” 

Itachi tenses up at the surly child’s voice that joins in with the others.

“Figured we could take a sec to grab some lunch. I have some stuff I need to talk to you about.”

“Hn.”

A brief beat of silence. Itachi may as well be a statue for how tense he is.

“Let’s eat somewhere else. I don’t really like sweets.”

“Oh really? Well how about you run on ahead and pick someplace else then, Sasuke? I’ll catch up in just a sec.”

Sasuke.

Well, Kisame thought that voice had a familiar sort of ring to it.

“Whatever. Don’t take too long.”

Demanding little shit, Kisame thinks to himself, nursing his cup of tea.

(If he'd mouthed off to an adult like that, he would've been skinned alive and tossed in the ocean.)

Itachi idoesn’t look like he can so much as think about food again.

“...Keep an eye out for me, ‘kay?

“What for?” the woman asks.

“Those guys in there. Something doesn’t smell right.”

“Fair enough. We’ll take it from here, you go take care of your cranky Uchiha.”

Sounds like they’re about to run into a little bit of trouble.

It’s all the same to Kisame- he could use a little fun, after all.

Itachi doesn’t seem nearly so amused.

The Konoha ninja seem under the impression that their conversation wasn’t overheard. They also don’t seem to notice that they’re really fucking obvious about tailing them as they leave the cozy little tea house.

He and Itachi play along, waiting to be confronted before making any sort of move.

It doesn’t take very long.

“Hey, hold up- what’s the big idea here?” 

Itachi lets the genjutsu drop; Kisame takes a bit of pleasure in the way the pair of them recoil.

“So you figured us out,” Itachi says, flatly.

“Did you really think you could stroll on back in here after what you did and not be noticed?” the man snarks. “Did ya think Uchiha Itachi and Hoshigaki Kisame of all people could get in here like you were just anyone?!” 

Itachi doesn’t answer. He just undoes a few of the buttons of his cloak so he can rest his arm in it- one of those peculiar habits of his Kisame doesn’t question anymore.

“Well what’re you here for?!” the woman demands. “What’s your endgame?” 

“I guess our reputation precedes us,” Kisame says, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “But I’m afraid that’s our business.”

“Not like it matters either way, since you’re not getting past us,” the man rebuts.

Itachi sighs. There’s a ton of annoyance in that sigh that the others don’t catch.

“Asuma-san. Kurenai-san,” he says, speaking to them as if they a pair of troublesome children. “Please step aside. I don’t want to have to kill you.”

Pretty bold declaration. Kisame doesn't know how hollow the threat is, however.

“That’s pretty damn hilarious coming from a guy who slaughtered his own flesh and blood,” Asuma spits. “Skulking back here, dressed like that and saying that shit- gotta admit, that takes guts. But guts are about all you’ve got.”

Well, that’s about enough lip from this guy.

Kisame hoists Samehada over his shoulder, then swings it and slams it downward, shattering the concrete under its weight.

“Itachi-san, this guy is getting on my nerves. Can I kill him?”

To his surprise, Itachi answers him.

“Just make it quick. Your fighting style tends to stand out.”

Other people would miss the annoyance in his voice, but most people don’t know Itachi as well as Kisame does.

The sooner they get this done, the sooner they'll be able to do whatever it is that Itachi needs doing, so it's all the same anyway.

These first two are easy to take care of. Almost comically so.

The other guy who intrudes on their fight, though. He’s proving to be a problem. 

About a hundred eighty centimeters of problem topped with wild white hair, to be precise.

He manages to even give Itachi a bit of trouble, at first- thanks to that borrowed Sharingan of his. But even a borrowed Sharingan only really gets you so far. Especially against Itachi.

The moment the familiar pinwheel pattern of the Mangekyou Sharingan emerges in Itachi’s eyes, Kakashi drops to his knees, his breath coming in great rattling gasps like he’s endured days of torture.

(well, it’s probably something like that, Kisame knows. Itachi is good with genjutsu after all.)

The other two keep their eyes shut, as he’d warned them to. Kakashi tries and fails, several times, to get back to his feet. 

“I’m surprised your brain’s still in one piece,” Kisame remarks, putting on a show of being bored even though the whole thing is pretty amusing to him. “And to think Itachi-san risked using those eyes of his on you for nothing.”

Annoying. Itachi is in pain now, and this bastard won’t even do them the courtesy of shutting up.

“Why are you here?” he demands, though he can barely speak. “What are you after?”

Itachi keeps his poker face, though his hands curl up in that way they do when he’s annoyed they’re wasting time.

“We’re here for the legacy of the Yondaime.”

Right. The Kyuubi- the cover story they gave their leader. That’s got Kakashi worried, that much is clear in his eyes. But he’s not exactly in a state to speak properly anymore. He barely even has the chakra left to keep himself from falling into the water.

“We’re not letting you through,” Asuma declares.

They make their way through eventually, however. Even that bowl-cut weirdo that tried to butt in.  Not that Kisame had any doubt, between the two of them.

Ducking through side streets and back alleys to stay out of public view, they dodge the shinobi that come on high alert as word of their arrival spreads.

“They don’t like you here, do they, Itachi-san?” 

“I can’t imagine why.”

The tiniest bit of irritation seeps through the filigree cracks in Itachi’s stony demeanor. 

Kisame wonders how much more it’ll take before he shatters entirely.

Chapter Text

What a mess.

A fine fucking mess. 

Kisame is beginning to wonder, though, why he’d expected anything different.

With Itachi, everything is weird.

If he were to sit down and make a list of the sorts of things he would have expected to happen, however- being confronted by Jiraiya of the legendary Sannin wouldn't have cracked the top ten.

Itachi apparently didn’t anticipate it either. He's angry, even through his blank facade; it’s obvious in his restless hands, in his restless pacing, in the slight bow of his shoulders he gets when he’s upset.

(Other people would miss those things. But other people don’t know Itachi as well as he does.)

Kisame wonders if he got what he came back to Konoha for. But now probably isn’t the best time to ask- even if they got away with nothing much worse than a bruised ego.

For now, he’s too tired to even conjure up a genjutsu to keep them undercover. 

At any rate, everywhere nearby will be on high alert looking for them at this point, so staying anywhere public is right out. Fortunately, it’s only about fifty kilometers or so to one of Akatsuki’s myriad hideaways, so that shouldn’t really be a problem.

He ends up having to carry Itachi half the way; he’s far too tired. Far too worn-out from overusing that weird Sharingan.

Too much- not only did he use it on Kakashi, but he just had to go and use it on his kid brother, and that Sannin’s toad summon as well.

That brother.

Sasuke.

Well, now he knows what the brat looks like, at least. And what he sounds like. 

Not very tough- not yet at least. Scrawny, like Itachi had been. Full of hot air and rage and a bravado he’s about a hundred years too young to have earned.

He didn’t stand a chance against Itachi, of course. But the kid sure could scream.

 Whatever the hell Itachi showed him in the Tsukuyomi, Kisame imagines it can’t have been pleasant. The poor thing is gonna need more than a bandage to recover from it- and he probably will recover, since, scrawny brat or not, any brother of Itachi’s will doubtless have the iron will to overcome even that level of genjutsu.

What matters at the moment, though, is getting Itachi some time to recover from overusing the Mangekyo Sharingan. And getting a message sent to their leader that one of the Sannin is protecting the Kyuubi brat.

(and a shower. A shower would be nice, to feel clean again after having to burn their way out of a toad’s guts.)

Itachi has enough strength to be trusted to walk again, once they make it to the Akatsuki outpost.

They’re alone here. Which is good, because they both need some rest, and some quiet. Maybe more so for their nerves than anything else.

“You want something to eat, Itachi-san?”

He shakes his head, not bothering to turn around or halt setting up the futon.

“Maybe just some tea then?”

After some thought, Itachi makes a small sound of assent.

“I’ll get that handled then. I think there’s some extra blankets in the closet over there, if you’re cold.”

“Hm.”

Kisame heads off to get everything set up, but he only gets so far as fetching the tea leaves and getting the kettle in the sink before he’s interrupted.

Crash

“ Damn- ”

“Itachi-san?!”

The boy is a mess of tangled limbs and linens on the floor, rubbing a knot on his head and grumbling.

“How’d you manage that?” 

“-I don’t know. No depth perception I guess,” Itachi grumbles, with a noncommittal shrug.

Kisame helps him get untangled, and can’t help but notice how Itachi’s eyes seem off. They’re cloudy, glazed over and unfocused. He wonders if they’ll look like that when he goes blind forever…

He’ll fuss about that later. For now, he gets Itachi set up on the futon with a few of the extra blankets.

“You’ve got to be careful, Itachi-san.”

Itachi pouts.

“I know that. I’m not a child.”

“You’re whining like one, though.”

Itachi huffs. He grabs Kisame’s wrist, eyes fixed on his hand like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“...Kisame,” he says, warily.

“Yeah?”

Itachi turns bright red. He grabs Kisame and kisses him, wrapping his arms around him to keep him from running away. Kisame pushes his head away, confused about this sudden burst of neediness.

“Hey hey easy- what’s gotten into you?”

“I need a distraction.”

“Eh?”

Itachi shakes his head violently, trying to jostle his jumbled thoughts into place.

“I need to get my mind off- that. Please, just help me, I-”

He grabs the nape of Kisame’s neck, hiding his face in his shoulder and murmuring frantically against azure skin.

“I just want to forget for a while. I want it, please-”

“Hey, easy there-”

Itachi pulls him backward, falling back onto the futon so Kisame is on top of him.

“I don’t wanna have to think about anything- I don’t care if you hurt me, I just want to forget-”

He groans, turning bright red and squeezing his legs shut like that could silence the need. He turns his head away in shame when he doesn’t get an answer.

“-I’m messed up in the head,” he mumbles. “Sorry. I-”

Kisame quiets him with a clumsy kiss to the forehead.

Mostly though, it’s to distract himself because now that the confusion is fading, all the blood in his body is making an abrupt impromptu journey south.

I don’t care if you hurt me.

Itachi’s hand is so small in his- it wouldn’t take any effort to crush it. His lily-white skin is so delicate, the pale blue veins so visible underneath- hurting him might be unavoidable.

It’s scary. But thrilling, all the same. Gets him hard even though it’s probably wrong.

(Touches him, because he knows how hard it must be for Itachi to put this much faith in him.)

“You sure?”

A nod, and a small whine. Itachi clings to him like he’s worried about getting shoved away.

He flinches when Kisame grabs his chin to urge him to raise his head.

“We’ll have to cover up these eyes of yours, so I don’t wind up on the wrong end of a genjutsu again.”

Itachi nods. He reaches upward, clumsily, and undoes the knot of his headband. He passes it over, holding his breath when Kisame ties it back up over his eyes, leaving him in darkness. 

Kisame kisses the corner of his mouth, to reassure him.

“If you change your mind, just let me know and we’ll stop.”

“...yeah.

Itachi’s breath catches in his throat, goosebumps raising up on his skin where Kisame’s breath hits.

“Still sure about this?”

“Of course I am.”

Itachi wishes he was as confident as he sounded, as piece by piece, Kisame rids him of his clothing. Then, naked as the day he was born, he’s laid out on the futon. The sound of Kisame undressing himself is magnified to the point of being deafening.

He’s scared. Terrified, even. But he wants- no, he needs this, so that he can forget, so that he can feel something besides shame for a little while-

“I’m gonna touch you now, then. I won’t do anything rough yet.”

Of course Kisame keeps his word. Kisame is honest, Kisame can be trusted. 

He runs his fingers through Itachi’s hair, pulling it free of its ponytail.  It’s gentle, innocent, but Itachi’s heart starts racing anyway. Electricity crackles through him, a thrill of fear coursing through his gut at the thought of being this vulnerable.

“Breathe, Itachi-san. You’re okay.”

Itachi didn’t even realize he'd been holding it in. He lets out a great gasp of air, trying to keep himself steady.

“I can stop if you-”

“-Don’t!”

Itachi slaps a hand over his mouth, startled by his own shout. Kisame pries his hand away, a laugh rumbling low in his chest.

“There’s no need for that, Itachi-san. We’re alone here, so you can be as loud as you like.”

That thought really shouldn’t excite Itachi as much as it does. He mewls softly, arching his back when Kisame’s rough hands wander from his hair to his neck, then back up to cup either side of his face.

“You’re beautiful, Itachi-san.”

Logically, Itachi knows it’s true. He’s been told as much his entire life. But he’s never quite been able to see it, no matter how many times he’s stared at the mirror, regarding his own puzzled expression trying to figure it out. And that was even before he’d begun scarring his own flesh, burning and cutting into his skin for the brief relief physical pain brought from the pain in his heart.

The men who’d used him, in his life before this one, detested his scars. They mocked him for them, said the most despicable things in the most horrible tones. They treated him like a broken doll- unvalued. Spoiled. 

But not Kisame.

Kisame lays deceptively gentle kisses on his wrist. Ghosts fingers up his thigh with no regard to the long-healed wounds that mar them. He touches him, not as a toy to be abused, but as a partner to be cherished. 

For maybe the first time, he believes it when he’s called beautiful.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Itachi jolts and gasps when a warm, calloused hand wraps around his erection, stroking it in steady, but agonizingly slow motions. He twists the bedding up in white-knuckled fists, unsure whether the knot in his stomach is from anxiety or arousal.

As Kisame’s hand picks up its pace, the latter starts to overwhelm the former.

“I guess you really do need this, Itachi-san. You’re already this hard…”

“-Don’t tease me.”

“Aw, but I like that face you make when I do.”

The man’s lips and teeth ghost across his chest in feather-light touches that drive him mad, leaving the ghosts of scratches that he soothes with his tongue. Lower down now, down his belly, before stopping at the sharp protrusion of his hip bone. 

“You still got that uh-’

“In my bag.”

For an agonizing moment, Itachi is left alone. He panics, just for that moment, til Kisame’s  hand is on him again, lifting one of his thighs to get better access. The click of the bottle of lubricant opening rings in Itachi’s ears.

“You’re tense.”

“I know that.”

“You’ve gotta relax, or this isn’t gonna work.”

Little sparks of pain flit through him when Kisame’s teeth scrape against his hip, drawing blood this time.

That really shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Relax. Easier said than done. But Itachi tries, forcing himself to breathe in an even rhythm. Trying to not allow himself to think about anything other than the feeling.

The man’s mouth is on his cock, distracting him as he pushes a finger inside.

It hurts, just a little. Itachi arches up into it, whimpering.

“Shh, bear with it and I’ll make sure it feels good soon.”

Kisame hooks his finger upward, making smooth, repetitive motions, searching. 

“Should be right-”

-Stars burst into Itachi’s vision, a startled cry bursting from his throat. His hips jerk involuntarily upward, pulled by invisible puppet strings.

“-There.”

“W-what was that-” Itachi stammers.

“Oh? You don’t know?” 

Kisame sounds amused, but he’s (probably) not mocking.

“That’s your prostate, Itachi-san. It’s gonna help us have some fun.”

He’s able to work a second finger inside now, doing his best to be gentle as spreads him open steadily wider and paying special attention to that oh-so-sensitive place inside him. Still teasing his cock with his mouth and his tongue. It throbs eagerly, demanding what Itachi can’t articulate anymore.

It’s relentless. Blissful. Intoxicating. Magnified a thousand times by the darkness.

(He does wish he could see Kisame’s face. But he knows it’s for their own good- and there’s a certain thrill in not knowing what will be done to him next.)

“I-I didn’t know it could feel like this-” Itachi whimpers, almost frightened at just how good it is.

“Gotta admit, it does look like a good time,” Kisame replies, with another rumbling chuckle. “I’ve never bottomed for anyone before, but I might have to try it if it’s as good as you make it look.”

Fuck. Itachi lets out a sharp, keening cry at the lurid thought.

He teeters right on the edge of orgasm, but at the very last moment- as if Kisame can sense it- he stops. He pulls slick fingers out, leaving him frustratingly empty and maddeningly hard.

“H-hey, don’t stop-”

“Don’t worry. We’re just getting started.”

Itachi desperately tries to catch his breath; Kisame pins both his hands in one of his, leaning his weight on it. It’s claustrophobic, but not in a bad way.

His heart races far too fast, as Kisame presses against him.

...Will he even be able to fit-?

Well. There’s really only one way to find out, right?

He grits his teeth. Holds his breath. 

There’s a horrible pressure, a moment where he worries this isn’t going to work-

“-Ah!”

He cries out in surprise when his body gives way. There’s a sharp, burning pain coursing through him, but in the moment he doesn’t mind.

Kisame’s grip on his wrists will undoubtedly leave bruises. But he doesn’t mind that either. Not when he’s swearing under his breath, in that wonderfully rough voice, not when his skin is so warm against him. Not when he finally has the man inside him, like he’s needed for so long.

“...you alright?” Kisame breathes, voice heavy with the weight of his self control.

“I- I think so.”

Kisame bows his head low, groaning against Itachi’s ear and making him shiver.

“Good. To be honest, I don’t think I could stop now even if I wanted…”

Fuck.

“I’m gonna move now.”

He starts slowly, with short, careful thrusts while Itachi adjusts to the invasion. Itachi throws his head back, whining from the mixture of pleasure and pain coursing through him.

Kisame is big. Itachi knew he was big, of course, but he swears he can feel it in his belly, taking up all the space there is to be taken. He can feel every tiny movement the man makes inside him, painful but so blissfully good.

“More,” Itachi chokes out, bucking his hips upward. “Please, I-”

He feels Kisame’s hesitation as he releases his wrists, hoisting his skinny hips upward to get better leverage.

“...alright, tell me if it’s too much-”

Itachi is maybe halfway through forming a coherent response, before it’s lost in a surprised yowl of the best sort of agony.

“Kisa-”

He bites his lip, scrambling around before finally gripping the bedding to tether himself to reality.

Oh, it hurts. It’s rough. Feral, primitive.

Good.

Even though he’s vulnerable- even though Kisame could do whatever he wanted to him- he knows he’d never do anything Itachi doesn’t want. It’s a trust he hasn’t felt toward anyone since Shisui died.

So he can let go. No need to worry. He can let go and feel his emotions, hidden underneath the desperate mewls and needy cries that escape him.

(his whole life has been spent forcing himself to be silent. But here, now, alone- he doesn’t have to silence himself.)

Kisame is at his neck again. Kissing it, raking his razor-sharp teeth across it. It’ll be a mess for sure, but Itachi knows well how to hide those sorts of marks.

He’s on his side now, though he’s not quite sure when he was moved. Kisame grabs a fistfull of his hair and pulls, forcing his head at the right angle to steal another kiss.

“You look awfully dirty right now, Itachi-san,” he growls against the boy’s mouth. “I like this side of you.”

Itachi can only manage a string of incoherent babbling. He grabs Kisame’s wrist, grinding himself against the man in a wordless beg for more. More of his teeth, of his hands. Of those sinfully filthy things spoken in that low, hoarse sort of way.

“You feel so good. I could fuck you forever.”

Fuck. Fuck.

He hates himself, just a little, for how appealing the idea sounds. Not having to worry, not even having to think anymore-

“I’m-”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his warning. Kisame’s shameless hand on his cock shoves him over the edge. He bites clean through his lip when he comes, his entire body rocked with the force of it. 

It leaves him breathless, shaking, and utterly boneless. Completely at Kisame’s mercy as he races ever closer to his own release.

“I’m close,” he groans against Itachi’s neck. “Tell me where you want it.”

“Huh?”

It takes a few moments before the meaning of the words to seep through to Itachi’s foggy, sex-addled brain.

“I- I want-”

It’s impossible to catch his breath. Impossible to make his body move. Nearly impossible to even articulate.

“-inside,” he finally chokes out. 

He yelps when he’s shoved downward without warning. 

Then, also without warning, Kisame’s sharp teeth sink deep into his shoulder.

Itachi howls, from pain and from surprise. It feels like a million years pass like this, with Kisame’s teeth in his shoulder, and his arms clutching him tight against his chest. 

...is he fucked up for enjoying it this way?

He’s shaking badly as Kisame pulls out of him. He’s crying, too, but he doesn’t realize he has been til Kisame lifts his headband up and away from his eyes, laying him out on his back.

Squinting in the sudden brightness, even with his vision blurred, he can tell Kisame is worried.

“You alright? I think that was a little much-”

Itachi nods, still out of breath, mindlessly reaching to run his hands through the man’s disheveled hair.

“I’m...I’m fine, I think.” he mumbles.

“You’re bleeding pretty badly- stay right here.”

As if Itachi could disobey that order.

The room swims in front of him; it might be worrying if he weren’t basked in the afterglow.

He hurts, yes. He hurts everywhere. But it’s a different type of hurt than he’s used to. A type of hurt he actually quite enjoys.

“Here, let me patch you up, then we need a shower.”

Itachi smells the sharp scent of alcohol, then hisses at the sudden burn while Kisame cleans his wounds.

“I think I was too rough,” he mumbles apologetically, eyeballing the bruises already blossoming all the way up Itachi’s arms and across his thighs.

“Not rough enough,” Itachi replies, before he can censor himself.

Kisame snorts in surprise at the bluntness of the statement. Itachi’s face burns in humiliation, realizing what he’s just said.

“I wouldn’t think you’d be into that sorta thing, Itachi-san.”

Itachi shakes his head, sighing in annoyance, then reaching his arms out in an imperious demand to be held.

“Let’s take that shower,” he says, wanting to drop the subject. “Then I want the tea we were gonna have before.”

“Whatever you say, Itachi-san.”

Itachi curls up with his mug of tea, wrapped up in a heavy blanket; the summer heat apparently is no deterrent to him being cold.

They keep the lights dim, sitting in an artificial twilight to give Itachi’s eyes their much needed rest.

He leans against Kisame and sighs.

“You alright? Not too sore?” Kisame can’t help but ask.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

He revels in the feeling of Kisame’s calloused palm against his head, petting his damp hair lovingly.

“I’m the one who bit you, and you’re still thanking me?” 

“I wanted it.”

Rough fingers brush over Itachi’s bandaged shoulder.

“I still got a bit carried away. That’s probably gonna leave a scar.”

“Hn.”

Itachi leans in more, nuzzling Kisame’s neck.

“That’s alright. I won’t mind having a scar from you.”

Kisame’s hand pauses. Then, suddenly, he grabs him and holds him tight.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Itachi-san.”

“Wha-”

Kisame cradles his head like it’s a precious treasure- more delicately than he’s held anything in his life.

“‘Cause now I’m never gonna be able to let you go.”

Itachi feels a surge of guilt inside him, knowing that’s not possible. 

(Knowing that Kisame deserves better.)

“You really don’t mind that I’ve- that there’ve been people before you?”

“What does it matter? As long as I can have you for today, and for tomorrow, that’s all I care about.”

The words are a knife in Itachi’s gut. He heaves a great, shaky breath, wishing he hadn’t said it.

“...even if there’s not a lot of tomorrows left?”

Kisame is quiet for awhile. He reaches for his own tea, taking a long drink from it while he mulls it over.

“...If that’s how it ends up, that’s fine by me.”

Itachi blinks, surprised by the answer.

“But-”

“-I’ll take all the tomorrows you’ve got, Itachi-san. One more, one hundred, a thousand- in our line of work, tomorrow’s never a guarantee anyway. So I’ll just take it as it comes.”

All the tomorrows you’ve got.

Itachi’s eyes burn, but he refuses to cry. Not when he already feels so pathetic.

“...I suppose you’re right,” he says, instead.

(he wishes he could mean it.)

Chapter Text

“Why’d you do it?”

Itachi jolts, snapping his head in the direction of a voice that’s all too familiar.

Shisui smiles at him- It’s the same broad, beaming smile he remembers, even though his voice comes out cold. It turns Itachi’s blood to ice, freezes his heart right in his chest.

“...I didn’t know what else to do,” he answers, feebly. “I’d run out of time.”

“Guess we didn’t make that easy for ya, huh?”

All Itachi can do is feebly shake his head.

“Seems like you’re doin’ well for yourself. You even went ahead and replaced me.”

Shisui’s skin rapidly starts going gray, his cheeks turning hollow and his eyes sinking in.

“I didn’t-”

Itachi’s hands won’t stop trembling. He clutches fistfuls of his cloak like it could be any comfort.

The rushing river and the cacophony of cicadas fills the silence between them. Off-green blotches bloom across his gray skin. His curly hair grows limp, and starts falling onto the muddy grass in lifeless clumps.

“I get it. I mean, I couldn’t really expect you to hang around pining forever- that shit only happens in stories, right?”

The cicadas are nearly deafening now. Shisui’s eyes are gone now, replaced by the same maggots chewing holes in his wasted cheeks. The open wounds expose teeth and bits of jaw, turning his once lovely smile into a cruel, morbid mockery. Foul water drips from what remains of his hair; he wrings it from his ragged clothes with half-skeletal hands.

“I’m sorry-”

“What for? Not like you can take it back.”

His words echo around Itachi, ringing in his ears.

“Did my mom cry? Did she blame you? I’m really sorry, I know it’s not your fault-”

“Shi-”

The riverbank is gone. He’s standing in the wreckage of the old Uchiha compound, sandals soggy with the blood soaking through it. A brilliant blood-red moon casts everything in an ominous glow.

He’s holding a lump of something in his hands. It’s small, but it smells so rancid he heaves and has to swallow back the bile surging up his throat.

The rotten lump pulsates feebly, but steadily. Bringing it to the light, he can make out that it’s a human heart. Fetid, gangrenous, mangled, but beating all the same. 

He tries to hold his breath, but he can’t escape the stench of decay. He can feel it permeating his clothes and his hair, so deep it’ll never really wash out.

“Niisan?” 

Sasuke sits cross-legged in the shadows, in front of their mother and father’s corpses.

“Sasuke-”

He’s eight years old again. Round-faced, wide-eyed. Itachi’s chest aches, even as his mind races with the overwhelming feeling that something is wrong.

“Do you like it, Niisan?

“What-”

“It’s all yours, Niisan. Nobody else would want it anymore, anyway. Not with how it is now.”

Mechanically, Sasuke stands up on shaky legs. The scarlet light of the moon overhead fully illuminates him, and sends a current of horror through Itachi.

The moonlight shines clean through the missing flesh of his chest, between the shiny white ribs that should be enclosing his little brother’s heart.

“I thought you loved me, Niisan.”

“I do-”

The putrifying, jellied meat in Itachi’s hands beats faster as Sasuke grows more upset. Tears well up in those wide, black eyes, his little shoulders heaving with sobs.

“I thought you loved me. Why’d you do it if you love me? Why didn’t you kill me too?”

He deserves an answer. Itachi knows that. He desperately wants to run away, but he can’t will his legs to move.

“You don’t understand, I couldn’t-”

“WHY?!” 

Itachi jerks awake before Sasuke can continue his demand.

His eyes dart around the dark room, trying to make out any shapes he can in the blurry mess. 

Kisame hasn’t noticed; he’s still fast asleep, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Itachi lays his head against it, listening to Kisame’s heart til his own starts to calm down.

One of the man’s arms drapes over him unconsciously, while grumbling something unintelligible. Itachi hides his face in the crook of his elbow, taking in the familiar smell of saltwater and a deep, mossy sort of smell. 

Comforting. Like the familiar smell of cigarettes that permeated all of his father’s clothes. Conjuring up a sense of safety he rarely dares to feel.

“You even went ahead and replaced me.”

“...I didn’t replace you,” Itachi whispers, barely more than a breath.

It’s not a lie. How can one replace the irreplaceable?

This is different. He’d been young- they both were. Childish. Immature. Whatever he and Kisame have, it’s something different.

Carefully, he disentangles himself from Kisame, deciding there’s no point in trying to sleep anymore. He dresses in deathly silence, banishing his dream from his mind.

Without windows, it’s hard to gage what time it is, but he assumes it’s either still night or very early morning.

He feels like death- and when he looks in the bathroom mirror to fix himself up, he looks like it, too. Even with his troubled eyesight the dark circles under his eyes are unmistakable, and his skin is just a few shades off from a corpse’s. His movements are off, just a touch more uncoordinated and unsteady than his usual. But he manages to make himself presentable all the same.

Adjusting his collar, he looks over the deep bite wound he’d been left a few days prior. It’s healing well, all things considered, with bright white scar tissue already forming around the edges.

(he’s grateful they were given strict orders to lay low and not move for awhile, so he doesn’t have to bother hiding it.)

His eyesight is functional enough that he can mostly read again, so he passes some of the time before dawn flipping through Kakuzu’s latest offering.

(still on the whole I want to make sure it’s worth my time before I bother with it excuse. But Itachi doesn’t mind that.)

There’s definitely a pattern to the stories Kakuzu seems to like. High dramas with star-crossed lovers and corrupt rulers and intrigue and all the good stuff. It’s a little comical to imagine ever-stoic Kakuzu engrossed in these sorts of books.

Each flip of the page echoes off the wall in the deadly quiet. 

A small sound startles Itachi out of his reading. A small, scuttling sort of sound.

Itachi squints, getting up and wondering if there’s an abnormally large spider crawling around or he’s just starting to hear things.

“Dammit-”

He shoves his hand against the wall to keep from falling over the solid something in the hallway.

The something makes a squeaky, garbled sort of sound, scrambling backward in surprise.

Samehada looks offended- well, as offended as something can be without a proper face. It shakes vigorously, clicking its sharp teeth and whacking its handle against the wall.

“How’d you get out?”

Samehada lets out a series of sharp, impatient whining sounds, gnawing on Itachi’s ankle.

“I don’t think you’ll find much chakra on me,” Itachi says apologetically, nudging the creature away with his free foot. Samehada gripes, but releases his ankle before Itachi starts getting dizzy.

“Who let you out, anyway?”

I’m talking to a sword.

Well. Kisame talks to it (her? him?) sometimes, so it can’t be all that strange.

His stomach makes an upset noise at him, informing him that it’s properly morning now.

“I’m gonna make human breakfast. You need to go back to bed.”

Samehada flagrantly ignores him, following him as he goes about putting breakfast together. It wanders about aimlessly, occasionally gnawing on something as though it wants to know what it is.

Almost like a dog. A spiky, scaly, eyeless dog with far too many teeth and a propensity for getting underfoot.

“Hey hey, stay outta my way please.”

I’m asking a sword to please stay out of my way.

Maybe Itachi’s finally lost his mind. If he ever had it in the first place.

It conjures up some of his earliest memories, of having to be nudged away because mom couldn’t hang up the laundry with him hanging off her skirt. Of hovering over his father in the bathroom, and being playfully scolded for being in the way.

“I can’t shave with you hanging off my arm, kiddo."

(Sasuke had been much the same. Always wanting to see what’s going on, and pouting when he couldn’t.

He makes some tea while breakfast cooks, so he can take his medication. Whiling away the time til the kettle boils, he idly watches Samehada do- well, whatever the hell Samehada is doing while picking at the bits of extra fish that didn’t make it into breakfast.

Evidently, Samehada can smell it; it perks up and scrambles toward the stove while making some sound approximating a whine.

“Can you even eat normal food?” 

In all the time he’s known Kisame, he can’t seem to remember Samehada ever being fed anything besides chakra.

Deciding it can’t hurt to try, Itachi tosses a piece in its direction; the creature snatches it midair, a weird, purring-adjacent sound coming out of it. It goes after a scrap of pepper that fell on the floor, but immediately spits it out again.

Bizarre. But Itachi’s seen stranger.

He might smile, if he had any energy left.

“ There you went, you little fucker-”

Kisame scoops Samehada up off the floor, heedless to its squirming and protesting squeaks.

“She been bothering you?”

(She. Itachi will have to try to remember that.)

“I wouldn’t say she was bothering me.”

Kisame wrangles Samehada and starts wrapping her back up again while she chews away on his shoulder.

“She hasn’t gotten out like that in a good long time. Must be in a good mood.”

“Mmhmm.”

“What about you? Hangin’ in there?” 

Itachi nods while retrieving the whistling kettle from the stove.

“Food’s just about ready, so you’ve got perfect timing.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

Without anything approximating a table, they opt to sit on the floor to eat instead, with Samehada grumbling from her spot leaning against the stone wall.

They eat in silence, until Kisame gives him a look.

“Bad night, Itachi-san?”

Itachi gives him a look in return that means how can you tell?

Anyone else might have missed it. But not Kisame.

“You look tired, that's all.”

“Don’t I always look tired?”

“More than usual, I mean.”

Itachi shakes his head, eyes fixed on the wall behind Kisame.

“So- Samehada is female?” he asks, trying his best to make small talk.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Kisame says, with a shrug.

“Then why do you call her a she?”

“Same reason guys call boats ‘she’ I guess. Just feels right.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway, Itachi-san, I’ll go ahead and clean up since you cooked. The meeting’s in 20 minutes and Leader-sama said it was important so we better be on time.”

“hm.”

“Seems like your brother’s gone off with Orochimaru.”

Itachi nods, already having figured as much.

“They both want you dead. Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”

A shrug.

(anything that gets him away from Danzo is a win in his mind. He can deal with Orochimaru later if he needs to.)

“It doesn’t make a difference to me. Sasuke can do as he pleases- and Orochimaru can be dealt with whenever.”

“Suit yourself. Just figured you should know.”

“I’m surprised the new Hokage didn’t have him on lockdown,” Kakuzu remarks out of hand. “You’d think the First’s granddaughter would’ve planned better.”

“I’m sure she’s got more important things to do than babysit one kid,” Kisame rebuts. “Sounds more like Kakashi dropped the ball.”

"Whole fuckin' village dropped the ball, sounds like," Hidan chimes in, cackling.

Itachi agrees with Kisame’s rebuttal, but he doesn’t say anything in return.

“More importantly,” Pain says, redirecting the conversation back on track, “it seems like you’ve managed to piss off all three of the Sannin now. You’d better watch your back, Itachi. You as well, Kisame.”

“Understood.”

(so basically, exactly what Itachi wanted to avoid in the first place. Goodie.)

They get filled in on some odds and ends- mostly about the timeframe where they’ll want to have the jinchuuriki captured. Itachi doesn’t really pay attention; most of his energy is spent on keeping his hands still so nobody can mock him for fidgeting.

Kisame is paying attention, so he figures it won’t matter. If he misses anything important, he’ll let him know.

So pretending he’s paying attention is fine for now.

At some point, their hands creep closer to each other, til Kisame’s rests on top of his. Itachi hopes his red cheeks don’t show up in whatever image is broadcast in the meeting.

If any of the others notice, nobody says anything.

Chapter Text

Red is a color that suits Itachi very well.

Kisame finds himself pondering this as he presses Itachi down into the bedding, stopping to admire the way the claw marks and cuts dug into his back create crimson rivulets that pool in the long healed scars from his old life.

Marks made on his back without his consent, covered by new ones he’s begged for. It almost makes Kisame feel like an artist, painting over a canvas that’s been badly misused.

Not the best artist, by any stretch. But Itachi sure doesn’t seem to mind, if the desperate sounds muffled by the gag in his mouth are any indication.

He’s so unbearably hot and tight inside it nearly hurts to move. His entire skinny body rattles with the force of each thrust, wrists straining against their confinement, desperate to be free. A particularly rough thrust and a nip at his neck make him yowl and arch his back, the gag barely restraining the volume of his cries anymore.

Kisame thought he was loud when he’d used the knife on him. Apparently he’d miscalculated.

“You sound like a bitch in heat right now,” Kisame mocks, nipping at the shell of Itachi’s ear just to feel him shiver. “Who woulda thought you of all people could be so shameless?”

Itachi cranes his neck, trying to give him a dirty look. He whines in disappointment when Kisame grabs a fistful of his hair and shoves his head back onto the pillow, going totally still and keeping him held fast.

“You put those eyes of yours away, Itachi-san. We’ve been there before, remember?” 

The angle Itachi’s face rubs against the pillow pulls his gag free. He lets out a pitiful mewl, writhing like he can’t stand another moment.

“I’m close,” he whines, making feeble attempts to grind up into Kisame’s hips. “Please, I need-”

“-That’s awfully demanding, Itachi-san. Who said I’m done with you yet?”

Saying that goes against Kisame’s urge to give in to what the boy wants. But, as ironic as it is, that’s not what Itachi wants from him here. That’s not the game they’re playing.

(Besides, Itachi is in the mood for this sort of intensity so rarely, he has to savor every second.)

He pulls back to sit on his heels, drawing Itachi up and onto his lap.

“H-hey-”

“Here. You wanna get off, you do some of the work.”

Itachi makes a good effort, considering how wobbly his legs are. Every pathetic attempt at raising his hips draws out another needy sound from the back of his throat.

It’s amusing, really. How desperate the poor boy gets, even for someone like Kisame.

“Oh come on, put your back into it. I know you can do better.”

Itachi lets out an offended huff, but it’s halfhearted at best. Kisame grabs him by the hips and raises him up.

“Like this. You know how it’s done.”

He brings Itachi down, hard. Itachi screams like he’s been wounded (even though both of them know this is the furthest thing from the truth).

After Kisame repeats the action a few times, Itachi gains his bearings and is finally able to move properly on his own, though he can’t get nearly the amount of force behind it that he would like. Kisame teases his leaking, impatient erection with one hand and muffles the boy’s cries with the other.

It’s not as rough as he would like either. A tease that gnaws at his belly. Something like an itch that isn’t being properly scratched. He endures it though, because Itachi sounds so very good like this. Especially when his cries are muffled.

“I never knew you could be so loud. People will hear you in the next village over if you’re not careful.”

“Stop teasing-” Itachi pleads the moment his mouth is free, hips giving out and refusing further attempts to move them. “I need it, please-”

“Hm? What’s ‘it’? You need to be specific.”

“You know what I need,” Itachi whines, out of breath.

“I’m not a mind reader, Itachi-san. You’ll have to learn to say what you want directly sometime.”

Itachi squirms in discomfort, wrestling with the want for it against the embarrassment of asking.

“Please-”

Kisame digs his fingers into the bloody gash across his chest, eliciting a strangled groan.

“-Ah! Fuck me! Please, I can’t stand it, just move, dammit-”

His mouth is covered again, and he’s shoved forward so he’s laying on his belly again.

“There you go. Was it really so hard to just come out and say it?”  Kisame teases, through heavy breaths.

He’s close too. He drives himself forward relentlessly, a growl vibrating deep in his chest. He leaves another bite on his shoulder, restraining his own voice as he cums inside the boy another time.

(this feeling is probably the closest he'll ever get to heaven.)

He feels boneless as the aftershocks ebb away. But nowhere as boneless as Itachi is, turning into a ragdoll on the futon, wrists worn raw from their restraints, hair plastered to his forehead from sweat. He lets out a small whine when his partner pulls out, leaving briefly to grab what they need to take care of the aftermath.

"Alright, let's get this mess cleaned up."

Itachi lays there, perfectly still, desperately trying to catch his breath, glassy-eyed and empty-headed. The muscles in his back twitch while his wounds are cleaned out, but Itachi doesn’t make so much as a peep during the process.

He’s limp, allowing Kisame to manhandle him to turn him over to doctor up the gash across his chest.

It wasn’t supposed to be this long, or quite this deep. But Itachi had bucked while he was making it, and his hand had slipped. Itachi’s scream was loud enough to make his ears ring.

Not that Itachi seemed upset by it.

Guilt stirs up from the pit of Kisame’s stomach at all the bandages, all the black and blue blooming across his thighs and up his hips. 

He has to imagine normal couples don’t wind up looking like this after they fuck.

People in this sort of relationship don’t typically beat the shit out of each other, right? Let alone get off on it. So what the hell are they doing…?

“There you go, Itachi-san. Take it easy for a bit, alright?”

“Yeah.”

Itachi is coming out of his fog, pulling himself into a sitting position. He holds his arms out with an impish expression, demanding Kisame get back down on the bed with him when he tries to leave.

“What?” Kisame asks.

“It’s my turn.”

Itachi walks unsteadily to get a warm rag, bringing it back so he can get Kisame clean as well. His touch is incredibly gentle, treating him like a porcelain figure instead of a fully-grown man.

“You don’t have to look so guilty.”

“Hm? I’m-”

Itachi shuts him up with a quick kiss to the cheek.

“You don’t need to feel guilty. I loved every second.”

“...Even though I-”

“-Did what I asked for?” Itachi interrupts. “Kisame, you’re fine, so you can cut that look out now.”

Itachi runs his hands over Kisame’s shoulders, tracing the outlines of the gills and muscles. They're overheated and oversensitive, so even these light touches raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

“...isn’t it strange though?”  Kisame asks. “Aren’t I treating you like they treated you?” 

They. That nebulous, faceless group of people Kisame would very much like to rip apart.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Itachi hides his face in Kisame’s neck, sighing heavily. 

“You would never do what they did to me.”

Kisame frowns, running his fingers along the ridges of Itachi’s spine.

(so fragile it feels like even this small gesture might crack his vertebrae.)

“You seem awfully sure of that, Itachi-san.”

“Of course I am. You know why?”

Crooked, skinny fingers dig into Kisame’s arms, blunt fingernails leaving bright red crescent gouges in his blue skin. Kisame shivers a little, Itachi’s breath warm against his ear.

“I’d gut you like a trout if you ever dared.”

His voice is soft, low and deathly quiet. Kisame can’t suppress a shudder, knowing damn well the boy is dead serious.

Kisame tries to laugh it off, even though he’s nervous.

“Wow, with a threat like that it’s almost like you don’t trust me.”

“It’s not about trusting or not.”

Itachi pulls away; he manages to look so scary, even though his face doesn’t move a micrometer from its default expression.

“When I left home,” he says (an understatement if Kisame’s ever heard one), “I swore to myself I would never be mistreated again. And I won’t. Not by anyone. Even you.”

“But-”

“It’s different when we do it on purpose,” Itachi sighs, rolling his eyes in a way he must certainly have done with his kid brother countless times. 

Not wanting to , Itachi drapes himself over Kisame again, grumbling like a cranky cat might.

“I want tea,” he demands, pouting against Kisame’s shoulder.

“Alright, alright. You’re always so bratty after you’ve had your fun.”

Pushing Itachi off onto the futon, Kisame gets up and fumbles to fix his pants so he’s somewhat decent again.

“I’ll get you something to eat too. It’s time to take your meds.”

Itachi grumbles into the pillow, probably wanting to claim he’s not hungry but knowing it won’t change the outcome.

He can sulk about it if he damn well pleases, though.

Loud.

Of course, being loud is probably the least objectionable of Hidan’s qualities. But Itachi can’t help but think that if Kakuzu were to sew his mouth shut the next time he needed to be pieced back together, he really wouldn’t mind.

(even with most of his face covered, it looks like Kakuzu is considering that himself.)

Hidan chatting Kisame’s ear off makes it hard to focus on what Kakuzu is saying as he hands back the latest book he’s been lent. All of them try to ignore the baffled passersby who catch snippets of their gathering.

“It wasn’t bad,” he says, answering the unspoken question. “A little hackneyed, but it’s written well enough to be worth the time.”

Kakuzu grunts in response, tucking the book away in his cloak while giving Itachi the side-eye.

Itachi represses the urge to squirm under that hawkish stare.

“This is looser than it should be.”

Grabbing the hem of Itachi’s sleeve, Kakuzu glares at the gap between the cloak and his wrist.

It’s supposed to be loose, of course. But Itachi is practically swimming in his cloak at this point.

(not for Kisame’s lack of trying. But no amount of cajoling can make up for just not having an appetite.)

“Yeah, what the fuck’s up with that anyway?” Hidan interjects, abruptly abandoning his conversation with Kisame.

“Ya keep fuckin’ gettin’ taller but ya never get any wider. What gives?” he demands, stretching one arm upward, then holding both of them out to the side to crudely measure Itachi out.

Itachi squints, not sure how one even answers that sort of question. 

Sensing the intense awkwardness, Kisame comes to his rescue, hauling Itachi over his shoulder one-handed.

“Easy transport,” he says. “Don’t want him getting too fat for me to haul around y’know.”

Hidan snorts, while Kakuzu rolls his eyes and Itachi turns scarlet in the face, hiding his embarrassment in his hand.

Embarrassing.

Hidan is cackling now though, so that at least helps diffuse the situation.

“Aw c’mon, he could get a little fat. Or are ya not fuckin’ man enough to pick up anything heavier than a damn pillowcase?”

“Oh shut up. You’re annoying.”

“Ah fuckin’ bite me! You allergic to fuckin’ fun or what?!” 

He and Kakuzu start bickering again; whether Kakuzu meant to trigger that or if it’s just a happy coincidence, Itachi is grateful for it.

Finally they get to part ways, their lines of work sending them in opposite directions. 

“Put me down.”

“Mmm, I don’t think I want to.”

Cheeky bastard.

Itachi stares up at the sky, as a handful of clouds float over the sun. There’s a weird feeling in his guts, like a live creature is squirming inside him.

“You’d still wanna be with me if I got fat, right?” he mumbles, before he can stop himself.

Kisame laughs at him.

“That’s not even a question, Itachi-san. Did Hidan really get to you that badly?”

Itachi feels like an idiot for even asking. The creature in his gut continues to writhe about.

“I mean- well, if we didn’t have to, you know-”

Speaking turns into an exercise of wrestling with his own tongue, trying to get the words to come out coherently.

“...I wouldn’t mind getting fat, is all.”

You sound like a moron, he tells himself, his entire body on fire from embarrassment.

Kisame stops dead in his tracks, and Itachi wonders if dying of shame could ever be literal.

"Well then," the man says, sounding amused. "Once everything's said and done, let's retire somewhere quiet, close to a good sweetshop. We can get fat together."

Itachi's brain pulls a blank for a second. Then he groans, burying his face in his sleeve.

The thought's nice.

Too nice.

He really wishes Kisame hadn't said that, so he didn't have to be tempted.

Chapter Text

Itachi’s hands are on fire. 

They usually hurt him, at least a little bit. But after a month away, carrying out demanding tasks with too little rest, the pain is all he can think about.

He does his best to bathe, considering he barely has enough of a grip to turn the hot water on. Eventually, he sits defeated on the shower floor, letting the water fall over him until it goes cold, then for a while longer after that.

He’s bright red and shivering when he finally turns the water off, hurrying as best he can to dry himself while thinking something vague about hypothermia. His hands seize up terribly when he tries to move them too quickly, slowing him down more than he would like.

His eyes burn, but he won’t let himself cry no matter how horribly it hurts.

(Ninja Guideline one hundred thirteen: A shinobi will not show his suffering, lest he be perceived as weak. Itachi was always a good student.)

He won’t be sleeping any time soon, so he settles in under the kotatsu with a book and a mug of tea.

It’s a book he’s read a million times before, the pages worn and starting to come loose from their binding, but the familiar words are comforting to him. Something to give his overactive mind a break until it catches up to his exhausted body.

(his hands hurt so badly. )

As the minutes and hours drift by, he drifts into a sort of half-consciousness, the words on the page blurring together in a haze. 

He thinks there’s a hand on his back, and he thinks he can hear his father talking to him. But he’s far too tired to respond.

If his father is really there, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Whether he's really there or not, just the thought is comforting.

The bizarre thing about time is how it marches forward, regardless of how desperately you wish it wouldn’t, or how unbearably long it seems to drag on.

Weeks turn into months, which pass away into seasons, and suddenly it’s been seven years since Itachi’s world fell to pieces.

Time has felt static for ages now, but he feels its passage in the growing ache of his bones. In the mysterious pains in his chest that get harder and harder to ignore, and tiredness that corrupts his blood. The medication that used to grant him relief now barely offer any, constantly needing readjustments or additions to keep him upright, like a machine that’s constantly on the verge of breaking down completely.

There’s something deeply wrong inside of him. Itachi can feel it as surely as the hurt that plagues his waking moments.

He turns his head to keep from stressing too much about how hard it is for the doctor to draw blood from his shitty veins.

(it didn’t used to be so hard. He knows it’s not a good sign.)

His arm feels like one giant bruise when everything’s finally said and done. The doctor can only offer up an apologetic smile.

It doesn’t make the pain any better, but the gesture is nice anyway.

They go through the usual routine, with Itachi doing his best to ignore the mounting headache as the harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead. He performs the tasks he knows by heart, suppressing every urge to cringe in pain when something bright is shined in his eyes or a joint is forced to bend too far. 

Nothing he’s not used to. But this time there’s something different. 

A grim atmosphere hovers in the room. Something unspoken that neither of them wants to bring up yet.

“I want to give you something stronger for the pain,” the doctor says, scribbling something down in a notebook. “And drops for the inflammation in your eyes. That should help preserve the vision you have left.”

Itachi nods. 

“Thank you.”

It’s too awkward to dance around the elephant in the room anymore. 

The doctor wears a sympathetic expression; when he speaks, he sounds defeated.

“Itachi-sama,” he says. “I suspect what I’m about to say isn’t going to be a shock to you, but I still hate saying it.”

Itachi nods again. His heart races with fear thinking about it, but he doesn’t have the energy to express it.

The doctor is genuine in his sadness. Somehow that makes it feel worse.

“...At this point, we’re only managing symptoms here.  If you want my honest assessment, I don’t see a world where this isn’t terminal.”

Not a shock, sure. They’ve got the records from all the previous visits, the ECGs and x-rays and the battery of tests that give him a front row seat to his failing organs’ decline. And he’s heard all the grim assessments his mother had gotten, behind closed doors where they thought he couldn’t hear them, from the time he was old enough to know what eavesdropping is.

(That doesn’t make it suck any less to hear.)

Itachi heaves as deep a sigh as he can without bursting into a coughing fit, cradling his head in his hands.

“...I suppose it’s been a long time coming,” he says, already resigned to his fate.

Somehow, the cramped room feels a thousand miles wide, swallowing him up.

“There’s things we can do to buy more time,” the doctor says, in some attempt to give him comfort. “There’s treatments we could try, and depending on compatibility we could consider a lung and even a kidney transplant. We could get you ten, maybe fifteen years if we’re lucky.”

Itachi frowns, mulling it over in his head.

Sasuke is fifteen now. And still (for the moment) safe and training with Orochimaru. The question is, how much more time does he need? Is it worth the recovery time from major surgeries to get that extra decade?

Surely, his little brother doesn’t need another decade to be strong enough to put him out of his misery.

“...I don’t want to go down that road,” he says at last. “Thank you, but I’ll make due with the time I have with the medication.”

“I understand. Until then, please be careful and take care of yourself.”

It feels strange. 

He’s always had the shadow of his own mortality hovering in the back of his mind, ever since he was old enough to comprehend his ill health. But even then he feels like he should have more than a hollow void inside him. That void stays with him when he leaves with his battery of new medications, acutely aware that he’s being watched through the rain.

(their leader hasn’t said anything to him yet, so if he’s concerned about his state Itachi doesn’t know. But if he ever decided Itachi wasn’t able to carry on…)

He won’t let on that he’s weak. He can’t afford to.

Itachi sits cross-legged on his bed, still in his bath towel and damp hair thrown over his shoulder, staring at the vial of medication in his hand and the capped syringe in his lap, trying to will himself to do what he needs to do.

His right arm won’t do any good, considering how battered it is already. But when he tries to find a vein in his left arm, he can’t feel one out there either.

(for how clearly the damn things show through his skin, it’s a pain in the ass to actually find one.)

Probably not a good sign.

Even if he could feel one though, just the thought of injecting himself turns his stomach.

He shuts his eyes, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself down.

It’s supposed to help quell the red-hot pain inside him. And he certainly needs that. He wants that. All he has to do is inject the damn thing.

Useless. Cowardly. 

He sits like that for he’s not sure how long, shielding his sore eyes from the lamp light.

(can he even see well enough to inject himself properly?)

Are you an Uchiha or aren’t you? A voice that sounds awfully like Tekka’s scolds. Man up.

Right. Man up. He’s far too familiar with that turn of phrase.

He feels out a vein in his left hand that seems like it would be decent enough.

Working quickly, so he doesn’t lose his nerve, he loads up the syringe with the chemical cocktail and willing himself not to shake.

(he would really rather Kisame not have to see him like this.)

It takes a few tries and a lot of bruising, but he gets it done before his resolve vanishes.

It burns when he pushes the plunger down, and he feels like his jaw might crack from how hard he’s biting down. For about thirty seconds (though it feels like an eternity) he wonders if maybe he’d been given poison instead of medicine. 

It ebbs away, dying down entirely in about a minute and leaving him feeling odd and floaty.

Laying back on the bed, he stares at the ceiling. The walls of the room feel tilted somehow, the light off-center.

Eventually, the vertigo gets too bad and he has to close his eyes.

It feels like he’s drifting along in a great void, bobbing along in an ocean of nothing.

(he’s never been on painkillers this strong. Part of him wonders if he’s taken too much, and whether this will kill him.)

He feels disconnected from reality and all his senses.

He knows reality is perception- he’s told himself that all his life (maybe as cold comfort). But his perception feels now, and he doesn’t like that.

He’s not asleep, that much he’s fairly sure of. But he certainly doesn’t feel awake either.

However long he spends like that, it’s far too much.

Eventually, somewhere through the fog, he feels a hand on his thigh, and a weight making the mattress dip that brings his fuzzy head back down to earth.

“You’re stoned outta your gourd, aren’t you, Itachi-san?”

Kisame sounds mostly amused, so Itachi figures at the very least, he isn’t imminently dying.

Itachi means to say he’s fairly sure he is, but what comes out is a slurred mess that isn’t coherent.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

Being manhandled into a sitting position gets him to pry his eyes open again. Even though the light is dim (just whatever sunlight makes it past the clouds and through the window) it burns like a thousand tiny needles in his eyes.

“No wonder,” Kisame says, half to himself, “this is some powerful shit, Itachi-san.”

Itachi nods, not trusting himself to try to speak again.

“Let’s get you decent, alright? You’ll catch a cold laying around like this.”

“Do I have to?” Itachi means to say, though it comes out slurred together.

Kisame seems to understand anyway.

“Come on, up you get.”

Kisame’s rough hands on his skin feel disconnected, like he’s wearing several layers of clothes instead of being more or less completely naked. He should probably be embarrassed about having his partner dress him, but perhaps because of the drugs in his system, he can’t find it in him to feel that.

Kisame’s body is warm, and he kisses Itachi’s skin as he fixes him up. He talks about something or another, without needing Itachi to respond. His rough voice is comforting, an anchor as Itachi bobs through his sea of nothing. It makes him feel like, maybe, everything can be okay. If only for this moment in time.

He works through some of the more serious tangles in Itachi’s hair with his fingers, before deciding to leave the rest for once it’s finally dry.

“You gonna be okay?”

No. 

“I’ll be fine.”

If Kisame doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t say so. 

Itachi expected his silence, as surely as he expected the news he's gotten today.

That doesn't make it any easier to bear.

Chapter Text

“Hey, little guy. Heard you’re still feeling bad.”

Itachi raises his heavy head, whimpering, and nods.

His bed dips under Fugaku’s weight, and a rough hand caresses his fevered head.

“Well, the doctor says you should be feeling better in another couple days. You think you can tough it out until then?”

Itachi nods again.

“That’s my boy. C’mon, your mother said she wanted you to take this medicine before she went to put the baby to bed.”

Itachi obeys, though the bitter taste of the medicine makes him grimace. While he fights the urge to vomit, his father holds him, swaddled in a cocoon of blankets.

His father is different from his mother. He doesn’t have any sweet words or rock him back and forth or call him poor baby or anything like that. He’s just there, keeping him company in his misery.

Sometimes, that’s nice. There’s only so much kind words can do, but not being alone is always comforting.

“It’s a nice night out,” Fugaku remarks, out of nowhere. 

Itachi mumbles something or other, stuck in that half-lucid state he despises.

Then, Fugaku picks him up, along with all his sweat-damp bedding. He carries his son and his mountain of blankets to the back porch, and sits down with his mug of coffee in one hand, and Itachi in the other.

The stars twinkle away merrily overhead. Itachi stares up at them, the cool summer breeze soothing on his overheated skin.

“...isn’t it late to be drinking that?” Itachi mumbles, with a vague gesture at the cup of coffee.

Fugaku raises an eyebrow, already halfway through his mug.

“Hm? Nah, I’m covering Tekka’s midnight shift for him tonight, so I gotta head out in an hour or so.”

“Oh.”

The medicine is starting to do its work. The next time Fugaku touches his forehead, the poor boy’s fever is starting to recede, and his breathing is less labored. As soon as the pain and fever fades, the world starts to go fuzzy.

“M tired.”

“Go ahead and sleep then. You need the rest.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

“What do you mean?” 

Itachi whines, clinging to his father tightly to his father’s shirt.

“Cause I wanna spend time with you,”

His face turns red from saying that, so he retreats deeper into his blanket cocoon to hide his shame.

“I mean, you’ve been busy. I like when you’re home.”

His father sighs, petting his head in a pitying gesture.

“Hey. It’s not like I’m not gonna come back, okay? You’re still young, we’ll have plenty of time to hang out later on, okay? You can rest.”

Itachi wants to protest. To say he doesn’t want to wait, he wants to spend time with him now. But his head is just so heavy, and he’s so very warm in his blankets. 

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright.”

Next thing Itachi knows, the midday sun is streaming through his bedroom window.

There’s something strangely liberating about knowing he’s dying.

Itachi realizes, after so much time, that all the little shit everyone is so bothered by doesn’t really matter. Fretting over money, rushing around to get places in the time they’re expected- well, he finds himself amused by Sasori’s absolute intolerance for waiting, honestly. 

He’s far too tired to rush anywhere anymore, anyway.

They’re supposed to be a hundred kilometers north, in the next few days. Normally they wouldn’t linger. Not when the weather is so warm, and the air so agreeable.

But, well. The weather is warm, and the air is agreeable. Their work can wait.

(funny. Now that he knows time is so short, he feels like he’s suddenly got all the time in the world.)

They’re at the seaside now, in between jobs. They may catch a bit of shit for taking too long, but Kisame didn’t raise an argument when Itachi suggests they take some time to enjoy the fresh air and some time on the beach. They leave their cloaks, their shoes and their shirts on a flat rock so they can enjoy the sand and the sun.

He feels like a child again, wandering the tide pools to find starfish or whatever colorful seashells catch his failing eyes. Gulls in the distance chatter away, looking around for food or mates or whatever it is that birds want.

(it must be so much simpler being a bird.)

The tides are just starting to come back in, lapping at his ankles as the golden sunlight spills across the rocky beach.

“You think we should head out soon?” Kisame asks, up to his knees in the water and focused like he’s trying to catch something.

“Hm?” 

Itachi has a green and yellow sea star in hand, turning it over and running his hands along its rough, bumpy body.

“There’s not really a hurry, is there?” he responds. 

“We’ll be late if we keep dallying.”

“If we’re late, we’re late. It doesn’t really matter when we leave, right?”

(besides, all that’s waiting for them when they’re done is more busywork.)

Kisame smiles, barely suppressing the childlike excitement at having permission to stay longer.

“Whatever you say, Itachi-san.”

He comes back up to the shore, where Itachi is returning the starfish to its home. He puts his hands around the younger man’s waist, pulling him in close.

“You wanna see something cooler than starfish, Itachi-san?”

“Huh?”

Kisame hauls him over his shoulder, despite his half-hearted protests to be put down. He walks across the surface of the water, pointing out the various fish flitting about amongst the coral. Then he starts running.

And then they keep going, past the reefs, then out into the open water.

Finally, he sets Itachi down as well, not caring how soaked they get by the waves.

“What are you doing?”

“Just trust me.”

Right. Itachi trusts Kisame with his life. So whatever he’s got in mind, it’s probably not bad.

There’s nothing but a terrifyingly vast expanse of empty water beneath them, and it makes Itachi a little dizzy. He grabs Kisame's arm, trying not to let on that he’s afraid.

“Make sure you have a good grip.”

Before Itachi can ask Kisame what he means, the older man performs a few quick hand seals, and they plunge beneath the waves. 

Instinctively, Itachi holds his breath. Before he realizes that they’re surrounded by a cushion of air, an oasis surrounded by more and more water as they plunge deeper.

“The hell-”

"Just trust me."

Finally, something swims past them. Something huge. 

It bumps against their barrier of air. A six-meter long, grizzled looking great white shark.

“Don’t freak out,” Kisame urges him, when he turns an alarming green color from fright. “She won’t bother you.”

“Sh-she?” 

The shark circles around the pair of them, occasionally nudging the barrier with its snout like he’s trying to figure them out. Its black eyes don’t seem to see much, but somehow it feels like they see everything. She opens her gigantic, toothy maw, and for one second Itachi feels his heart stop from fright. His fingernails dig in and leave bloody claw marks in Kisame’s arm.

“She won’t hurt you. Even if she was hungry, she'd be more interested in a seal or a sea turtle than your skinny ass."

If Itachi weren't distracted by the giant predator swimming around them, he might be offended.

The shark mouths at the invisible barrier keeping her apart from them. Once, twice, then a third time. It seems puzzled, almost doglike. Then, seemingly bored with them, it turns tail and swims off, eventually vanishing into the seemingly endless ocean.

“You look like you saw a ghost, Itachi-san,” Kisame cackles. “They’re not that scary, just take a breath.”

Itachi doesn’t get the chance to do that before his breath is stolen again.

There’s a whale beneath them, swimming lazily along, totally unbothered. It takes what feels like forever for it to pass.

“That’s a pretty cute baby, don’t you think?”

“ Baby?! ”

Kisame laughs again.

“Wait a moment. Its mother has to be nearby.”

So they wait. And just as Kisame predicted, the world suddenly goes dark, the sun blotted out by a long, impressive shadow.

The mother whale is indescribably huge. Her one eye seems as tall as Itachi, staring unblinking as she passes.  She dwarfs her baby, and the shark that’d wandered by before.

“Isn’t she pretty, Itachi-san?”

“...No animal should be allowed to get that big,” Itachi mumbles, marveling that they’re still in the creature’s shadow.

Kisame bursts out in another laughing fit, perhaps sparked by the deadpan way Itachi delivers the line. Or perhaps it’s his petrified expression.

“Never seen a blue whale before?”

Itachi shakes his head, eyes wide.

“That baby over there will stay with his mother for about six months before he can strike out on his own. He was already about two tons the day he was born, and by the time he leaves his mother he’ll be double that. They’re the biggest animals in the world, you know.”

A couple fish swim past, but they almost seem like bits of dust compared to the creatures receding into the expanse.

“You having fun?” Kisame asks, while Itachi stands in awed silence.

Fun doesn’t seem like the right word. But Itachi nods.

They stay there for ages, the setting sun’s light turning from gold, to red, to deep blue. Admiring the alien sorts of life that passes them. Some approach to see what they are. A few try to break through, wanting to get at them. But mostly, they’re just left alone, as the creatures go about their lives, unbothered by their observers.

Clouds of bioluminescent jellyfish flutter past, lighting their way as they finally surface again. Itachi clings to his partner, the world spinning around him as he tries to get his bearings.

“You’re not gonna puke, are you?”

“I think I’ll be fine.”

Kisame picks him up, headed back to shore while Itachi focuses on trying not to throw up from a combination of seasickness and disorientation.

That’s alright though. Itachi can just hide his face in Kisame’s shoulder, blocking out the rocking of the waves and the vast, seemingly endless expanse of nothing. 

“Having fun in there?”

“Shut up or I’ll puke on you.”

“Oh no. Whatever will I wash off with?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Back on the shore, they see a cluster of seagulls gathered around something on the rocks, bickering with each other and tugging at something.

“Think they found something to eat?” Kisame asks, amused.

Itachi squints. The dim light and his bad sight makes it hard for him to make out exactly what it is they’re tearing up. But as they get closer, they hear the telltale tearing of fabric.

One of the gulls lifts its head, a scrap of black fabric with a hint of what was once part of a red cloud hanging from its beak.

“...Son of a bitch.”

They chase the gulls off, but of course it’s far too late. The pair stand in the midst of their ruined clothes, half-naked on a rapidly cooling beach. 

“Well fuck. How are we gonna explain this one?” Kisame grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

The background noise of angry seagulls and crashing waves keeps Itachi’s silence from becoming deafening.

Then, Itachi starts to laugh.

He can’t help it. He doubles over cackling, arms wrapped around his middle and shaking with the force of it. He falls backward into the sand, curled up into a ball of mirth.

“You’re taking this awfully well, Itachi-san.”

Itachi gestures in the vague direction of the mess of fabric, still laughing so hard he breaks out coughing, and there’s tears in his eyes.

“I’d stashed the wrappers from the taiyaki we got earlier in my pocket,” he explains, in between cough-giggles. “I’m sorry, this is my fault.”

(Itachi has a nice laugh. It lights up his entire face, and it’s got a charming  ring to it.)

“Good. You can tell Kakuzu why we need new cloaks then. And shirts. And it looks like one of them ate your left shoe.”

All Itachi can do is shake his head in disbelief.

“That’s okay. Kakuzu seems to like me, so he probably won’t kill me when I break the news.”

Kisame gathers Itachi up in his arms and hoists him back onto his feet.

“Let’s find some place to stay then. We’ll worry about new clothes later.”

“Yeah.” 

They gather up the destroyed remnants of their clothes and carry them until they find a place to dispose of them safely. It’s dark now, so Itachi has to rely on his partner to keep from getting lost. 

It’s a bit scary, having to be so trusting. Holding Kisame’s hand and being led forward like he’s a small child again. 

But Kisame is so sure of himself. His hand is rough, and sturdy, and its grip never falters. 

Safe. That’s a nice feeling.

He looks up at the sky, at the thousands of stars that blur together into fuzzy blobs of glowing light. A few bird-like shapes flutter through the air as well, like oddly-shaped fish swimming through an inky-dark sea.

It’s interesting how similar two different things can be.

Chapter Text

If Itachi were delusional enough to think he had any sort of shot at a peaceful afterlife, he knows for certain it’s gone now.

He’s too far gone. In too deep. And the funny part is, he doesn’t even have the shame to feel particularly bad about it.

This is wrong. Terribly wrong. Horribly, awfully wrong. 

The Fifth Kazekage- only as old as Sasuke, still practically a child-  lays flat on the stone floor, face-down, too battered and beaten to move much or to do more than groan.

Their leader has offered an apology to him, already. Condolences for what is going to happen.

What he insists must be done.

The young Kazekage doesn’t deserve it. He is a well-loved leader, a good person who’s made a good life for himself despite his dire circumstances. 

It’s sad, of course. But for Akatsuki to accomplish its goals, it can’t be helped.

If Itachi were a good person, he would intervene. The people desperately trying to rescue him won’t make it in time, and there’s no real possibility of him surviving having Shukaku torn out of him. Even if you got the best medics in the world on standby to try to revive him, it’s simply one of those things that can’t be helped.

If he were a good person, he wouldn’t allow this to happen. 

But Itachi accepted long ago that he isn’t a good person.

He has Kisame by his side, and Sasuke is far away, and he’s safe.

Nobody else matters.

At least, not to Itachi.

So, not only does he decide not to intervene, he does his part to make it happen. He lends his energy to trap Shukaku. Exactly as they’ve been instructed to do.

It’s exhausting work, and it seems never-ending.

By the tail end of it, Itachi wonders if he’ll also keel over by the end.

At least they aren’t all in person. So he can maintain his dignity, at least. Or whatever’s left of it, because he’s certain he must look as much like death as he feels.

Neither he or Kisame say a word the whole time, focusing on channeling their energy so they don’t have to think about the grim work they’re helping to do. The others chatter amongst themselves- mostly Deidara and Hidan exchanging barbs to try to rile the other one up. Quite loudly, and getting louder as time passes and they keep upping the ante to get a rise out of the other.

Annoying. But it can’t be helped.

After an eternity of that, eventually the dirty deed is done. Their leader says some words, thanking the near-lifeless body in front of him for his (unwilling) sacrifice. 

For Itachi, the words ring quite hollow despite their Leader’s apparent sincerity. They’re the same sort of words he’s been given countless times before, with a condescending smile and a pat on the head, when he’s finished doing whatever dirty work he never wanted to do to begin with.

A bandaid over the gaping wound in his heart.  An empty thank-you for selling his soul for dirt cheap.

(At least their Leader has the decency to act properly remorseful.)

When they finally break their connection, Itachi slumps over, cradling his head in his hands and sighing.

Kisame doesn’t condescend to him by asking if he’s alright. He draps one of his strong, sturdy arms over Itachi’s shoulders, pulling him in close.

Surely the guilt is weighing on his conscience, too. Maybe moreso.

Because Kisame is a good man. Itachi knows he isn’t. And he never has been.

“You should take it easy.”

Itachi nods, focusing on Kisame’s touch to distract from the unbearable ache in his chest.

“You need your pain meds?”

After a second’s hesitation, Itachi nods.

He despises his growing reliance on medication to even function. But as the days and months go on, he has less and less of a choice in the matter. Especially as the pain gets stronger seemingly every time he breathes.

“Alright, here you go. You think you can try to eat something too?”

He probably should. But he’s already on the verge of vomiting as it is, and he doesn’t want to risk it.

“Not now.”

“Suit yourself. But you should try soon. Those guys are gonna be after us pretty soon, and they’re not gonna be happy about what we did.  We’re gonna need all the strength we can get.”

“I understand.”

Itachi forces the medication down, fighting the urge to vomit. Jus like he has to fight the urge to vomit whenever there’s anything in his stomach.

(Not even able to eat normally- he’s becoming incompatible with life itself, it seems. He hates that, and resents how much of a burden he must be becoming on Kisame.)

“You look kinda green. Are you gonna be alright?”

Itachi nods again, standing up for just long enough to turn off the lights before laying down.

He’s nauseous. Aching. Miserable. But that’s nothing he’s not used to.

The time it takes for the medication to bring him relief is far too long.

Kisame lays down beside him, even though there’s not really enough room on the futon for both of them. Neither of them can be bothered to set up another, so they make due with what they have.

Even Kisame is bone tired after pouring so much energy into that ritual. Tired as they are, however, they need to be back out and on the move soon, so they need to rest while they can.

Neither of them relish the prospect of how upset their adversaries are going to be when they find out they’re too late. 

It’s not as though they get any sort of pleasure from the thought. They aren’t totally heartless. In particular, Itachi knows that it’ll absolutely break poor Naruto’s heart to learn the news.

Let alone his older brother and sister. Itachi’s heart aches for them, and clenches with guilt that he did nothing to stop it.

(If he were a stronger man, maybe…)

For maybe an hour, they try to sleep.  They both need it badly, and as the pain medication properly takes hold, Itachi should be able to rest. 

But he can’t seem to sleep. No matter how exhausted he is, he can only lay there, eyes shut, doing his best to pretend.

(Sleep has never been his friend, but as dead-tired as he is he dearly wishes it would pay him a visit. If only for a few precious minutes.)

Finally, he cracks an eye open. Through the perpetual haze clouding his vision, he can see Kisame is still awake as well.

Though they’re already crushed up against each other, Itachi tries to press himself in closer still.

Not saying anything, Kisame adjusts the blankets to make sure Itachi is warm.

Whenever Kisame doesn’t have anything to say, Itachi knows it’s bad.

It makes him feel a little guilty.

It’s silly, but if there’s anything Itachi excels at, it’s convincing himself that everything is somehow his fault. 

(maybe if he’d have spoken up- if he’d tried to find some other way- if, if, if. )

He presses his face into Kisame’s shoulder. 

He wants to get lost in the man’s warmth. In his familiar smell, in his safety, in his loyalty-

Almost out of instinct, Itachi pulls himself upward. Kisame follows him with his eyes, a silent what are you doing in his expression.

Itachi straddles his waist with a smooth, obnoxiously graceful motion, laying his hands on Kisame’s chest and drawing in as deep a breath as his wrecked lungs will allow.

“I thought we were supposed to be sleeping.”

“Well, it looks like that isn’t happening.”

Without saying another word, Itachi leans in for a kiss, grabbing fistfuls of Kisame’s shirt to hike it up and off him. Kisame lifts his arms up to cooperate, a baffled smile on his face at this sudden outburst.

He knows better than to question Itachi’s moods at this point, so he decides to give in and run his hands along Itachi’s thighs, then moving on to hook his fingers in the waistband of his pants to help him out of them, exposing him to the older man’s greedy eyes.

“You can be a pretty shameless guy sometimes,” he remarks. 

“Is that bad?” Itachi asks, almost sounding concerned.

(And more than a little embarrassed to have gotten this hard only from kissing.)

“What makes you think that’d be a bad thing?”

Itachi is too busy kissing him to answer him, probably for the best. 

(As an Uchiha, he’s been taught from birth to be prideful. But pride never really worked out well for him, so he fails to see the point of it. Particularly when Kisame has already seen him at his most debased already.)

“I want you,” he murmurs against his mouth, nearly too quiet to be heard.

Still, even that small whisper carries a soft desperation that wraps itself around Kisame’s heart and squeezes painfully.

It’s easy to give in. to melt into each other, like Kisame has melted into his treasured weapon.

(Really, would it be all that different? They know each other so intimately at this point, they rarely need to even speak to know the other’s feelings. Itachi has even dreamt about it. Of melding into his lover, not having to worry about anything ever again, knowing he’ll always be cared for…it’s a dream he won’t dare to indulge.)

Itachi moans, grinding his hips down into his partner’s, blindly seeking out more of that friction. Kisame admires the view, his free hand wandering to his discarded bag to retrieve their bottle of lubricant.

It’s sudden, sure. But it’s been weeks since they’ve done this- and while he’d never say it out loud, he’s missed Itachi’s body.

He savors the way Itachi gasps when his fingers slip inside, stretching him out and drawing out more of those soft, needy sounds he loves so much.

Itachi can’t stand the teasing for long. 

Though the preparation probably isn’t enough, he opens up Kisame’s pants and sinks down onto his cock with a small hiss of pain mingled with a whine of satisfaction.

“Careful, Itachi-san,” Kisame groans, through gritted teeth. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Itachi insists, setting up a steady but maddeningly slow rhythm.

He’s not normally in the mood for gentleness, but it isn’t bad. 

Burying his face in his hands, Itachi lets out soft strings of curses and half-coherent babbling.

Now, that won’t do at all.

“Come on, Itachi-san.”

Firmly, but carefully, Kisame takes Itachi’s wrists and pries his hands away despite a keening whine of protest.

“I like that face you’re making. Don’t hide it from me.”

Itachi makes a sharp, embarrassed sound in response, turning his head as his face turns a shade of red that Kisame didn’t know existed.

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“I’m not. You look really nice when you’re all worked up.”

Kisame bucks his hips upward; Itachi bites his lip to stifle a surprised yelp.

“Yeah. Just like that- you put on a good show, let me enjoy it.”

“You’re unbelievable-” 

Despite saying that, Itachi picks up his pace, desperately chasing the high only his partner can give him.

He isn’t loud. But the hitch in his breath, the blissful expression on his face- these things say everything that needs to be said.

It’s good. So good. Almost good enough to make them forget…

“You’ve gotten pretty good at riding cock, huh, Itachi-san?” Kisame remarks breathlessly, propping himself up on his elbow so he can reach out to caress his partner’s face. 

The small, needy sounds Itachi makes betray that he’s close. He can’t even summon a coherent response.

(Adorable. Wonderful. And all his. What’d he ever do to have that happen?)

Itachi leans down for another kiss, partly to muffle his desperate gasps when he comes.

He goes limp as his orgasm ebbs away, whimpering as the aftershocks rock him. Kisame grabs a handful of his ass and bucks up into the younger boy until he hits his own release.

Whatever Itachi was hoping to get out of this, it seems like he got. He lays boneless against Kisame’s chest, already slipping into sleep, without the energy to clean off or even get his pants back on.

That’s fine by Kisame. He finds himself struggling to keep awake as well. He lets Itachi lay on top of him, laying back and shutting his eyes.

The room is cramped, and the light they left on is flickering in a pretty obnoxious way. The futon is worn thin in spots, and the rain that’s started up beats against the tiny, grimy window like pebbles on the glass.

Somehow though, it couldn’t feel more comfortable.

He’s got a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a very long day. They’d best be well rested for it.

It’s easy to fall asleep now.

Sunlight trickles through the crystal clear ocean water. Warm. Inviting. 

Schools of fish part at lightning speed as he swims by, eyes alight with terror.

In the instant before he breaches the surface, he catches a glimpse of his own reflection. 

A great white shark. An old one. A scarred one. A powerful one.

He breaches the water’s surface, finding himself face to face with a fisherman’s boat.

Perched on the railing,  with a bit of fish clutched in its beak, is a glossy, pitch-black crow.

The bird looks down at him with pitch-black eyes to match his feathers, cocking his head from one side to the other.

Without any fear, he hops off the boat, landing on the shark’s head, right between his eyes.

They stare at each other for an eternity, each one puzzled by the other.

Once its curiosity is satisfied, the crow flits away, taking off into the endlessly blue sky.

The shark watches as it vanishes into the distance.

For a moment, it marvels at, despite their vast differences, how similar the sea and the sky really are.

Chapter Text

Itachi seems annoyed.

Itachi is easily annoyed, of course. But he’s more wound up than normal. Ordinarily it would be a little amusing, but given that they’re currently crammed into nearly unbearably tight quarters (where Kisame can’t even stand up straight properly), having Itachi get angry might be a little inconvenient.

Even if the worst that would happen is maybe getting the silent treatment for a few days, he’s not keen on getting the cold shoulder while they’ve only got each other for company.

Especially while they’re already all nursing bruised egos after the absolute clusterfuck that happened in the wake of sealing Shukaku away.

The poor Kyuubi kid hadn’t been happy about what they’d done to his friend, to put it lightly. That’s to be expected. Mostly, he’s furious at Deidara for being his usual, insufferably smug self about it. That didn’t go so well for him, considering it wound up costing him both of his arms in the brawl that ensued. 

It was funny to hear Kakuzu bitch at him for it later. Even Itachi had cracked a smile at the old man grumbling you did this to yourself while he patched him up afterward- barely audible over Deidara’s loud complaining.

Maybe it’d be funnier if Deidara’s arms were the only casualty of the last few days.

Nobody dares to talk about it at the moment, despite none of them having really been bosom friends with Sasori at any point. But it still casts a gloomy (well, gloomi er ) atmosphere over their gathering. 

He had still been one of their colleagues, after all. And his death was just so abrupt that none of them really knows what to do with the information when their leader informs them. Deidara in particular seems to be in a state of shock, enduring the meeting in a stony silence with a blank sort of stare that Kisame has only ever seen on war veterans before.

Maybe he blames himself, just a little. But nobody has the heart (or maybe the care) to ask.

Kisame might feel bad for him. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, and his soft spot for his deceased partner was more than painfully obvious. And that new guy they’ve unceremoniously saddled him with isn’t much help with how utterly obnoxiously upbeat he is.

(Kakuzu and Hidan were already placing bets on how long it would take Deidara to blow him up.)

Hell, that new guy seems to be the current source of Itachi’s annoyance at the moment. Mostly because he had asked no less than a dozen times why he looks so grumpy.

Can’t imagine why.

(If either of them hears the expression why the long face ever again it’ll be too soon.)

At last they have some peace and quiet once again. They’ve been sent off on their next assignment. They just barely made it to the dock in time to catch the boat that will take them where they need to go, and they plan on laying low in their cramped cabin the entire time so they don’t draw unnecessary attention to themselves; along with handsomely paying off the boat’s small crew to not ask any questions.

Itachi lets out that telltale sigh he does when he’s pissed off, kicking his sandals off and laying out on the narrow bed with a groan.

Without asking, Kisame puts a kettle on for tea, figuring it might help soothe his nerves, considering they’ll be stuck in these cramped quarters for at least a few days. A week at most.  Might as well unwind and be comfortable instead of cranky.

It’s not an easy task in the tight quarters, and with the ceiling as low as it is. But he wants some too, so he may as well.

Itachi catches on to what he’s doing and his mood relaxes a bit.

That face he makes when he looks at Kisame makes the trouble worth it. Even if most people wouldn’t even notice the change.

As silly as it may be, he likes that he’s probably the only person who knows Itachi well enough to get that reaction out of him.

“Here ya go, Itachi-san. Hope ya don’t mind being cooped up with me for the time being.”

“It can’t be helped. We’ll manage, won’t we?”

When it’s with you it’s not so bad, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

Itachi wraps his hands around his teacup, letting the warmth sink into his aching hands. 

They should be hearing back about whatever their next move is going to be soon. They should relax and enjoy being lazy while they can.

They enjoy a companionable silence for a few minutes, stewing in their own thoughts, neither wanting to be the first to speak up.

Itachi lets out another sigh, leaning against Kisame’s shoulder and shutting his eyes.

“Ryo for your thoughts?” 

He doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes shut and his face hidden in his teacup.

“The new guy annoy you that badly, huh?”

“It’s not that.”

Itachi shakes his head, though he scowls at the mention of it.

“You don’t seem all that fond of him, that’s all.”

“I’m not. But he’s not important.”

“Well, what’s got you down, then, Itachi-san?”

Itachi glares up at Kisame through the fringe of his hair. He pulls an unpleasant face before draining the rest of his tea.

“I really don’t like Kakashi.”

Kisame lets out a surprised chortle, not expecting such a blunt response.

“I suppose you weren’t too happy to see him again, huh?”

“If I never saw him again I would be a happier person. But we keep seeming to run into each other no matter how much I try to avoid him.”

“Is that what’s got you in such a shitty mood, then?”

Kisame hopes he doesn’t think he’s laughing at him. But he really is cute when he’s scowling like that.

Itachi nods, just once, crossing his arms petulantly. 

“What’d he ever do to piss you off so bad, eh?”

Itachi hums, as if he’s thinking it over.

“It’s not something he did,” he says, with a bitter note staining his voice. 

“Oh?”

“It’s what he didn’t do.”

Hm. Come to think of it, Itachi never really talked a lot about Kakashi before, but obviously there’s some kind of bad blood there. And as much as it makes him feel like a little bit of a nosy bitch, curiosity gets the better of Kisame as they’re sitting there without much else to do.

“Yeah? What didn’t he do then?”

“It’s a long story. I don’t think he even realizes what he did back then. Not that it matters anymore.”

Well, that sure sounds dire. 

“I guess it’s not the sort of thing an “I’m sorry” would fix, huh?”

Itachi shakes his head.

“Maybe it’s childish. I doubt he would even remember if I asked him. But I can’t forgive him.”

Kisame is a little perplexed. But Itachi is talking, so that’s a pleasant change of pace.

“I know you said it was a long story, but is there a short version you’re allowed to tell?”

The barest trace of a smile quirks the corners of Itachi’s mouth.

“We used to be pretty close colleagues- I guess I would have considered him a friend. But when I didn’t know who I was able to trust, and I tried to ask him-  I just wanted to know if anyone was on my side. He didn’t answer me.”

Itachi sounds hurt, like telling this is pressing on a mostly-healed bruise.

“I didn’t know what to do. And he didn’t have any sort of answer.”

“Would it have made a difference if he did?” 

“Maybe not. Now I’ll never know, I guess.”

Itachi presses himself in closer, grabbing Kisame’s arm like a lifeline.

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense, I know.”

“Yeah, a lot of what you say doesn’t make a lotta sense, Itachi-san. But I suppose that doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t real.”

“They certainly feel real enough, I guess.”

Itachi really does look cute when he’s pouting like that. Normally Kisame would want to kiss him, but he doesn’t want to risk poking an angry bear by initiating anything more intimate than this awkward half-attempt at cuddling.

The crashing of waves just outside keeps them company, lulling both of them into a half-asleep state before they even realize what’s happening.

They’re not due to arrive back on shore for a day or so at least, so they can take it easy for the moment.

Itachi takes Kisame’ s hand, pulling it close and kissing the back of it.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Itachi shakes his head as if it’s a silly question, then leans in for another kiss.

These small gestures of random affection are a little unusual for Itachi, but far be it from Kisame to question him when he’s in the mood for it.

The sunlight is fading from the tiny window in the cabin, announcing the imminent arrival of nighttime.

Itachi still seems to have something on his mind, but struggling to figure out how to put it into words.

“Do you think he died quickly?” 

Kisame blinks at the sudden question.

“I guess I wouldn’t know for sure. A quick death is about all any of us can hope for in the end though, I would think.”

“Is that so?”

“I mean, I’ve seen a few pretty nasty deaths in my time. The worst are always the ones where they linger. But if you had to ask me-”

Kisame offers up a shrug.

“Sasori was one of those types to cling onto life with everything he’s got. So I can’t say for sure, if you asked me to place a bet, I don’t think he’d be the type to make a quick exit.”

“...I see.”

The urge to say you sure about that? is almost too much to bite back, and risk Itachi getting pissed at being reminded of his failing eyesight.

He manages to refrain, because he hates when Itachi is upset.

“What, are you telling me you miss him now?”

“No.”

The expected answer, considering Sasori had always had a bone to pick with Itachi.

Maybe it’s too troublesome to think about right now.

“You need your meds? You hurting too badly?” he asks, allowing the matter to drop.

“I’m fine for now,” Itachi answers, shaking his head. “Just- let’s stay like this for a while.”

Sounds like a plan.

Itachi’s hair needs a wash when they’re able. Well, they both need a bath. But he’s so finicky about his hair.

They should find an onsen once they’re off this damn boat.

For now, the sound of the waves is comforting.

“Senpai-”

Itachi internally writhes from embarrassment and anxiety, catching up with Kakashi in the crowd and falling in step beside him.

His heart jumps up into his throat with every beat, his palms sweaty with anxiety as he approaches him.

“Oh hey, kiddo. What’s goin’ on?”

“I just had something I needed to ask you. If that’s okay?”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

Itachi glances around, terrified of being overheard. 

He doesn’t have it in him to beat around the bush. No matter how badly he wants to.

“You’ve got Sharingan.”

Kakashi raises a thin white eyebrow at him.

“That’s not really a question.”

“Well, you’ve got Sharingan, but you’re not Uchiha.”

“Yeah. That’s kinda a long story though. If you want the story now’s really not a good time.”

Itachi can feel his older companion’s forced smile even beneath his mask.

“It’s nothing like that. I was just thinking-”

He pulls at the back of his neck, still looking around paranoid about being overheard.

“So whose side are you on then?”

“Eh? What do you mean, side?”

Itachi sighs, frustrated at not having an answer.

Maybe he didn’t phrase it right. 

“I- I’m just hoping-”

He starts wringing his hands, bowing his head to hide how red he’s certain his face is turning.

“If you had to make a choice between two things- and no matter which one you pick, the other is gonna end up hurt- and you couldn’t figure out a third way to fix things- how do you make that choice? What can you do?”

Kakashi scratches the side of his face, looking around as well, picking up that something is very, very wrong.

He jerks his head to the side, leading Itachi into a deserted side street where they’re less likely to be overheard.

“Is this some sort of riddle, or are you in some kind of trouble?” 

Itachi bites back his temper, frustrated that he’s making things so difficult.

“Please. Just answer the question.”

“I mean, that’s a rough one, Itachi. I don’t think I’ve ever been that deep in the shit, and I dunno what I would do if I did.”

Itachi hangs his head, his heart sinking into his stomach and his thin hope evaporating in an instant.

“I was worried you were gonna say that.”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

Itachi glares at his shoes, not wanting Kakashi to see how angry he is.

“Just forget it. It’s nothing. Thank you, Senpai.”

He stalks off, despite hearing Kakashi calling after him in concern.

The world spins around him dangerously as he half-runs away, frustration making his face grow hot and his hands ball up into white-knuckled fists.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

He’s never felt so furious, or so lost. 

Or so totally, utterly alone.

Chapter Text

There’s a celebration going on, though Itachi can’t quite remember what for.

A birthday, maybe. It’s usually a birthday in the clan.

He grabs himself some dango, wandering around the crowd of people as he eats it.

An uneasy feeling bubbles up in his gut, though he can’t find the reason why. Everyone smiles and waves at him, calling out pleasantries. He forces himself to smile and wave back even though he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

“Yo, ‘Tachi! Where’ve you been?”

Shisui claps him on the back, leaning against him with his familiar, boisterous laugh.

“We’ve all been waiting for you, you know!”

“Waiting…?”

It’s about that time he realizes what’s making him so uneasy.

Everyone’s skin has that unnatural pallor of corpses, with their limbs and mouths tinged green.

Their eyes have that creepy blue clouding over them- the ones of them that have eyes, anyway. Many of them are wandering about with gaping eye sockets, hollow and crusted with old, congealed blood.

“It’s been too long, huh? Are you scared or something?”

“I-”

“You shouldn’t be scared, ‘Tachi. You won’t be able to escape it anyway. Might as well embrace it.”

Itachi feels cold all over, and it’s hard to breathe through the unbearable stench. It’s like a great weight is crushing his chest, and he opens his mouth to try to take a breath.

“You think we’d forget about you? C’mon Itachi, we’d never do that.”

He finds himself in the world’s worst hug, as his family gathers around him, murmuring all manner of affectionate things to him. It churns his stomach, makes the world spin, but he can’t seem to will his body to move to even try to get away.

All of a sudden his lungs are full of fluid, and the sun becomes a hazy, distant thing hanging above many feet of murky water.

It’s so deathly cold, he can’t breathe, and when he opens his mouth to plead for help, ice-cold water floods his lungs, dragging him further under, as the sun grows ever dimmer-

Itachi jolts awake, that horrid pressure on his chest crushing him. 

He can’t breathe. He opens his mouth, feeling like a landed fish searching for oxygen he just can’t find, only able to get the shallowest bursts of air every now and then.

He digs his fingernails into the first solid thing beneath him, as if to pull himself out of water, as if that could save him from drowning-

There’s some sort of medication he’s been given for this- emergency medicine given “just in case” (that in case being “if he starts choking on his own blood”)- but that’s tucked away somewhere in his bag, and there’s no way he can find it in the dark on his own.

It’s as though his own pitch-black fire has been turned against him, scorching the inside of his chest  as it heaves with the effort of trying to breathe.

It’s not until he feels something warm and wet under his fingernails that he realizes he wasn’t digging into the bedding.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you Itachi-san?”

When Itachi can’t get a response out, Kisame realizes that something is very wrong.

Turning on the shitty bedside light, he sees Itachi’s face turning colors as his chest heaves painfully.

“Shit-”

He throws himself out of the narrow bed, tearing Itachi’s bag apart looking for what they need.

“Hey I don’t remember which one you need-” he says, feeling stupid and holding up two different bottles. 

Itachi snatches the right one (or at least he’s pretty sure, his eyesight is truly awful), popping the cap off and throwing two or maybe three tablets into his mouth and biting down as he’s been told to.

It’s bitter- his entire body shudders as it burns his mouth and scorches his throat, but a few seconds after, blessedly, his airway opens up.

He starts to cough, bringing up frightening amounts of blood that Kisame tries to catch in the pitifully small trash can.

As vile as it is, after that Itachi is finally, mercifully able to breathe, taking great gasps of air that sound about as painful as they look.

Static floods his vision, everything spinning around him as his brain reacclimates to having enough air.

“Gotta admit, I’ve had better wakeup calls.”

“...sorry.”

His voice comes out so weak that he feels quite pathetic for it.

“Nah, you’re fine. It can’t be helped, yeah?”

Itachi still hates that he’s so pathetic.

His entire body hurts, all of his thoughts wading through concrete to get through to him.

“I guess sleeping laying down may not be the best idea at the moment?” Kisame offers, wrapping an arm around him to help keep him upright.

Itachi scowls.

Of course. Of course even something so simple would become out of his reach. He’s becoming more and more incompatible with living, it seems. 

(And yet he keeps on going, solely out of stubbornness.)

He’s ruined his clothes with bloody vomit, so Kisame strips him down while he sits there feeling like an idiot. He winds up in one of Kisame’s shirts, which very nearly swallows him whole.

At least it’s warm.

Rather than laying across Kisame’s lap like he’d prefer, they end up awkwardly leaning against each other, still too full of adrenaline to actually go back to sleep.

“Hey.”

Itachi glances over at his partner, straining to make out any of his strong features through the bad lighting and his even worse vision.

(Kakashi had unfortunately been right. His eyesight is functionally useless without his Sharingan, and even with, it’s getting worse by the day.)

“Hm?”

Kisame shrugs his giant shoulders, his tone casual as though nothing was wrong.

“You know, the air is really good up in the mountains- and the weather’s great up there this time of year. When everything finally settles down, it might be good to spend some time there, you think? Just ignore all the others and take a break for a good long time.”

Ah. Itachi really wishes he didn’t say that. It hurts too badly to even think about.

“...yeah,” he says, despite knowing it’ll never happen. “That sounds nice.”

It does sound nice. It sounds like the best sort of dream- to be able to rest. To be able to be comfortable. To maybe finally not be so bone-crushingly tired.

Even though such things are so far out of his reach.

Itachi is grateful to have solid ground beneath his feet again. 

Nagi island isn’t exactly glamorous, but after being cramped in a shitty cabin in a shitty boat while seasick and barely able to breathe, it’s as close to paradise as Earth can get.

The fresh air soothes his ragged lungs, a welcome relief from the stink of blood and stale sweat before.

He only hopes their hosts aren’t too angry about the bloodstains. They really did make their best effort to clean up, but some things don’t want to come clean.

“Where are we supposed to go from here?”

“Hm?”

Itachi must have been zoned out again when they’d been given their assignment. 

That’s happened quite a bit lately. Not the end of the world, so Kisame just laughs it off.

“Some guy who’s been giving Leader-sama a lot of trouble. We’re going to see him out before worrying about the rest of the Jinchuriki.”

“Trouble?”

“He didn’t get all that specific from what I remember. He just really needs this guy taken care of, and we’re available while Deidara and Tobi go after the Sanbi.”

“Hn. And by ‘taken care of’ you mean-”

“I mean, he didn’t say anything about needing him dead. But considering how cooperative people tend to be, who knows what’ll happen- maybe we can get away with taking off a limb or two, huh?”

Itachi shuts his eyes briefly.

“I guess that’s up to him, huh?”

“I’m kind of excited to see how everything pans out, honestly. Leader-sama doesn’t really hate a lot of people.”

Itachi makes a small sound of affirmation.

He can’t help but feel a bit sorry for this man. He probably thought he was safe here, having fled Ame to get away from their leader’s anger. And now it turns out that only delayed the inevitable retribution. 

It’s almost funny. But not really.

“If it comes down to it, are you alright with taking him out?” Kisame asks. As though he needs Itachi’s permission to do such a thing.

“If it comes to that, it comes to that.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Still too tired to use his Sharingan, Itachi grabs Kisame’s arm, worried about making a fool of himself by tripping over something because everything just looks like colored blobs of varying sizes.

He tries to play it off as a casual gesture, but that doesn’t really work.

Kisame gives him a sideways that bad, huh? Sort of look, but doesn’t say anything to spare Itachi’s pride.

While they walk, Kisame talks about this or that to fill the silence. Not acknowledging the way Itachi clings onto him like he’s worried about getting lost. 

“Looks like town’s up ahead. You think you can put us undercover now?”

“Huh? I guess so.”

It takes more effort than he cares to admit, but his Sharingan obeys him, bringing the world into a bit sharper focus and allowing him to conceal them from any nosy passersby.

Good thing too, because especially after that clusterfuck with the Kazekage, everyone and their dog is on the lookout for them.

On top of all that, the Fifth Hokage has all of her top-ranked ninja on high alert and on the look for him. Probably because Naruto asked for it. Probably to try to lure Sasuke back.

Annoying, but perhaps something he should have anticipated. Naruto is proving to be about as stubborn as his mother had always been. 

Normally that’d be a good thing. But it’s shaping up to be a pretty big fucking problem.

At least there (hopefully) shouldn’t be anyone from Konoha (or Suna) around here. So there hopefully shouldn’t be anyone too personally involved to run into.

Good thing.  That’s the last thing he wants to worry about right now.

“Where was he last seen?”

“He set up shop somewhere up ahead, selling god knows what. I think he sold textile or something in Ame before he and Leader-sama started butting heads. Rumor has it he even insulted Konan so I guess that put him on the shitlist.”

Fair enough. It’s not like the man couldn’t have seen that coming.

“You hear Hidan n’ Kakuzu having it out before we left? I swear to god people all the way in the mountains coulda heard them shouting at each other.”

“They’re always fighting,” Itachi points out. “I’ve started tuning it out.”

“It’s kinda fun to eavesdrop sometimes- it’s hilarious the most ridiculous things they’ll find to fight about.”

“Don’t they ever get tired of that?”

“Who’s to say? Some people get off on that sorta thing, I guess.”

Odd. Then again, everyone in Akatsuki is odd. To put it mildly.

“At least they get their missions done right, eh? Otherwise they might drive our leader crazy.”

A scattered group of birds dots the brilliantly blue sky overhead.

It’s shaping up to be a long next few days. At least they know they’ve got good company.

Disappointment. 

That’s about the only emotion Itachi can identify right now, through the vague fog of other emotions in his head.

Maybe this numbness is preferable to the crushing grief that he’s sure will come later. But he still isn’t sure he likes this feeling one bit.

Faintly, he hears the sound of ninken barking in the distance, trying to pick up on where his trail had first gone cold.

They won’t catch up to him. Probably. But that’s the least of his problems right now.

At any rate, a handful of ninken tearing his throat out might be a gentler way to go than the road that awaits him.

He can’t allow that, though. He has to settle his debt, and he knows there’s only one way to do that.

He doesn’t realize he’s been standing still for as long as he has until a gloved hand grabs his shoulder, and a familiar voice jolts him back to reality.

“We can’t stay here.”

With stiff, mechanical motions, Itachi nods.

“I know.”

His voice comes out so brittle he wonders if it could shatter.

He tries to take another step forward, but he can’t will his legs to go any further.

The man who calls himself Madara shakes his head, then takes hold of his arm.

“Let’s go.”

There’s a strange feeling like all of his insides are being pulled toward some vague point above his navel, and the world abruptly goes black for a few seconds.

(This could happen a million more times and it would never get any more pleasant.)

When they emerge from the strange nothingness, the droning sound of rain greets them from just beyond the veranda they’re suddenly standing on.

“Where are-”

“Amegakure. About a thousand kilometers from anyone who’s looking for you at the moment. I guess you could call it your new home.”

No. itachi doesn’t think he has it in him to ever call any place “home” again.

A bolt of lightning splits the sky, accompanied by a distant rumble of thunder.

Madara (or whoever is pretending to be him) offers him no comforting gesture or reassuring word. Probably because he knows they won’t do him any good.

A weight (a blanket?) suddenly drapes itself across his shoulders, a welcome relief from the chill the rain causes.

“I’ll give you a minute. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve already picked out a partner for you. Just make your way to that big building over there, you can’t miss it.”

Without any further fanfare, Itachi is left alone again, with only the rain and the lightning and the wind to keep him company.

He sighs, leaning against the railing of the veranda and contemplating throwing himself over it to either splatter or drown in the flooded streets below.

He can’t do that, of course. No matter how much of a relief that would be. 

There’s nothing else to do except move forward.

Chapter Text

Itachi really, really hates fighting. 

He always has, from the time he was old enough to understand what violence was. 

He especially hates having to fight with people he knows haven’t done anything wrong. And the Yonbi jinchuriki certainly hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s a jovial sort of old man, with a boisterous laugh and a friendly word for seemingly everyone he passed, blissfully unaware that he was being followed.

Unfortunately for that old man, they had their orders to bring him back. And Kisame and Itachi were intent on following those orders to the letter.

It hadn’t exactly been easy, and Itachi is bone tired from the battle, but the man was successfully subdued, draped over Samehada as they weave their way through the jungle so they can link back up with the others.

If only the world would stop spinning around him…

He leans up against the mossy trunk of a giant old tree they pass, wishing he could catch his breath.

His chest burns like his own pitch-black fire has been turned against him, scorching his throat and his lungs and snatching all the oxygen from the air he manages to get down. 

“Oi, Itachi-san, you alright?”

Not wanting to worry Kisame about his state, Itachi nods even though he’s the furthest thing from alright.

“I’m just tired,” he lies.

“I guess that’s normal. The old man really gave us a run for our money, huh?”

The heavy clouds above them finally give under their own weight, and it starts pouring rain.

“Ah hell,” Kisame laughs. “Guess we better find some cover, huh?”

They make their way to a rocky outcropping, covered in thick foliage that provides them shelter from the downpour.

Lightning crackles through the pitch-black sky, the accompanying thunder enough to make the world shake around them.

“Guess we’re gonna be stuck here for awhile,” Kisame remarks, unraveling the scroll they keep their tent in so they can have better protection as the wind starts to pick up. “I guess Leader-sama’s gonna have to be okay with us being even later.”

“That’s fine. Deidara and Tobi are running behind schedule too, so it’ll all work out.”

With a few quick hand signs and a puff of smoke, they have their hideaway until the storm finally passes.

They lay out the Yonbi jinchuriki in what they hope is a comfortable position, Kisame halfheartedly throwing a blanket over him before he turns to shed his cloak and shirt to get some sort of relief from the oppressive, muggy jungle heat.

He catches Itachi watching him out of the corner of his eye, his Sharingan like a cat’s eyes shining in the darkness.

With a bit of a laugh, Kisame sits down beside him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in close.

“Hey-”

Itachi tries to push Kisame away from him, but he’s so weak at the moment that it’s a laughable gesture at best.

“What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly, he gestures over to the man unconscious not ten feet from them, laying motionless beside Samehada.

“Eh, you put him under with a genjutsu, right? That oughta keep him until we need him so there’s no need to worry.”

It still feels wrong to be doing something like this in front of someone else, unconscious or not.

Oh, but the way Kisame’s teeth scrape against his neck feels so good. The thrill of electricity it sends through his body overwhelms the myriad aches bothering him, chasing them away if only for the moment.

Kisame’s rough hands caress his thighs with a gentleness that he reserves only for Itachi.

That vulnerable side they can only show each other.

“You don’t gotta worry about anyone catching us. I can always kill anyone nosy enough to come around here, anyway.”

“I don’t want-”

“-I know, I know. You worry too much, Itachi-san, I was only joking.”

Itachi shuts his aching eyes, trying to only focus on the feather-light touches across his overheated skin.

“I won’t do anything too risque. I just wanna touch you a bit, okay?”

Itachi relents, nodding once and sighing.

Kisame’s hands run up his thighs, then up to undo the buttons on his cloak to reach up his shirt. Even with his eyes closed, he can feel the man leering at him.

“You can relax. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Relax. Easier said than done.

But that contented sigh Kisame lets out as he touches him- he wants to hear it a hundred more times.

It almost seems too good to be true, that someone would still want to touch him after everything that had happened. 

Snow falls thick and fast around them- not unusual for this time of year, especially up in the mountains. 

Not unusual, but still pretty miserable.

They’re supposed to be intercepting a man who’s stolen important intelligence from the village, and take that intelligence back. By any means necessary.

“Hey ‘Tachi, you alright?” 

He must have been daydreaming again; he shakes his head to come back to earth, and nods.

“Sorry. I’m fine.”

Shisui shrugs it off, surveying the world below the trees as they wait for their target.

“Man I’m freezin’ my ass off out here, he better hurry up,” he complains.

“The snow is probably slowing him down,” Itachi answers, tucking his arms tight against his body to defrost his aching hands under his cloak, the thin, standard-issue gloves not doing much of anything to protect from the chill.

(He wonders whether his ceramic mask has frozen to his face at this point.)

The steel gray sky hangs above them like a blanket draped over a giant bird cage, giving the world a claustrophobic atmosphere despite them being in a vast, seemingly unending mountain forest.

Shisui sighs impatiently, sitting down beside Itachi. He leans against him. Opening his own cloak up enough to wrap them both up in it.

“Hey-”

“We’re gonna be here for a while, huh? Might as well try to warm up a bit while we wait for him to turn up.”

“What if someone comes around-”

“Who, though? We’re probably the only humans around here for miles- or are you worried a dear or a fox is gonna catch us?”

Itachi is grateful for his mask, as he’s sure his face has turned a bright red beneath it.

“You’re ridiculous,” he grumbles, though he leans into Shisui’s warmth all the same. He reaches out to take Shisui’s hand, struggling to grip it with his cold, aching fingers.

“Hell, Itachi- your hands are ice!” Shisui yelps. “You’re gonna be a popsicle at this rate, huh?”

All Itachi gives in response is a soft whine.

It can’t be helped. They aren’t able to light a fire when they’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, and besides, the snow is so thick and wet that despite having an ample supply of wood around them, they probably wouldn’t be able to get a decent one going, anyway.

Despite the frigid cold, Shisui lifts up his mask and lowers the cloth one beneath it, revealing that face Itachi is so very fond of, pink in the cheeks from the weather, smiling even though the conditions are absolutely miserable.

He lifts Itachi’s hands and tries to warm them with his breath.

“Remind me to nag the office that we need better fuckin’ gloves,” he complains. “Someone’s gonna lose a few fingers to frostbite one of these days.”

Itachi makes a small sound of affirmation.

They sit in the eerie silence that the snow brings with it, watching it fall endlessly, bowing the branches of trees as all the other creatures hide from the cold.

“Hey, ‘Tachi-”

“Hm?”

Shisui hooks his fingers under Itachi’s ceramic weasel mask, tugging it upward and setting it on top of his head.

Itachi holds his hand up when Shisui tries to pull down his cloth mask as well.

“Hey, it’s cold-”

Shisui chuckles, shaking his head bemusedly. 

“Yeah, I know.”

To appease Itachi, he kisses the younger boy over the cloth, still laughing as he does. 

Itachi whimpers, grabbing onto him to keep from falling out of the tree in surprise.

“Here?!” he asks, in a startled whisper.

“It’s as good a place as any,” Shisui answers. 

“Someone will-”

“-Nobody’s gonna see. You’ve got your crows all over the place, doncha? They’ll let us know if anyone barges in.”

Shisui presses the younger boy against the trunk of the tree, nuzzling the crook of his neck like an overly affectionate cat.

“I just wanna hold you a bit, okay? It’s cold and I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

He’s not wrong. Shisui seems to keep getting sent out on missions out of the village, often for a week or more at a time. They haven’t been able to have any private time together in a month, and even though he’s embarrassed to even think it, Itachi missed these private meetings of theirs too.

Shisui is warm, and inviting. His lips are soft, leaving trails of innocent kisses across his cheek and nose over the fabric, all with that adoring look on his face that makes Itachi’s heart hurt, because he doesn’t deserve it…

“Shisui-” he mumbles, trying to push the older boy away from him. 

“Hm?”

It feels like the world is closing in around him. An invisible weight presses down on his chest, making it hard to get a deep breath.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Itachi shakes his head, far too ashamed to say anything.

(If Shisui were to know that he was…well, he’s worried Shisui wouldn’t want him anymore. And he can’t even bear the thought of that.)

“You’re shaking, are you too cold-”

“Sorry, I’m being stupid, I’ll stop-”

“No!”

Even though he was pushing the older boy away just a moment ago, he clings to him when he pulls away, swallowing the rock in his throat and willing himself not to start crying.

Being touched by Shisui is scary, but the thought of Shisui not wanting to touch him anymore is scarier. And he sounds so hurt that Itachi rejected him-

He pulls his cloth face covering down, even though the cold pierces his skin like a billion microscopic needles. He leans forward to kiss the older boy, wishing he was better at this sort of thing.

“It’s me who’s being stupid,” he says. “I’m sorry, it’s fine-”

“No, Itachi. It’s alright.”

Shisui pulls his mask back up, replacing the ceramic one with an apologetic smile.

“I was bein’ too pushy, huh? I’ll save it for when we get back home, don’t worry.”

He puts a few feet of distance between them, standing up to get a better view of the forest floor below.

Itachi straightens up, peering over the edge as well.

“Anything?”

“Just a couple deer,” Shisui answers. “A moose, too. Pretty dead otherwise, though.”

Itachi gets into a crouching position, frowning.

“Something feels off.”

As if on cue, Itachi’s sentinel crows start to caw, alerting them to another presence.

“Looks like it’s showtime.”

Shisui slips his Anbu mask back over his face, at the same time slipping into the more serious persona he has when there’s work to be done.

Itachi follows suit, taking a few breaths of the frigid air, closing his eyes for a brief second.

Let the cold air freeze his heart. He can’t let himself hesitate, no matter how bad things get.

They’ve both read through this man’s file. He’s dangerous, but between the two of them he shouldn’t be any trouble.

The man looks surprised at being confronted, maybe thinking he was in the clear this far up the mountain. Or maybe surprised that people so young are the ones to do it.

Shisui tries to convince him to give up and come quietly, but the man isn’t hearing any of it (which they suspected he might, anyway). 

They were told to bring him back alive, if at all possible. And, eventually, they do succeed with that, if only barely.

“Ah hell, it’s gonna be a pain in the ass to drag him all the way back to Konoha, huh? Grab his legs, I’ll take his head, okay?”

“Okay.”

All Itachi wants to do is go home. Deliver their prisoner so that he can warm up and get in bed.

“Hey, do you know what I want when we get home?” Shisui asks as they start the trek back. 

“Hm?”

“I wanna eat enough udon to make me pop and then hibernate for about ten years. Sound like a plan? Maybe we can get some anpan or something too, I’m starving and these food pills just don’t cut it.”

Itachi musters up a smile, even though it’s pointless under the mask.

Lately, it seems like all Shisui can think about is food. It’s probably normal though, considering how much taller he’s been getting in such a short span of time.

“I’d like that too.”

Despite being so tired, neither Kisame or Itachi can find sleep.

The storm shows no sign of letting up, so they resign themselves to staying put for the foreseeable future.

“Reminds me of home,” Kisame remarks offhandedly, over the relentless downpour of rain on the canvas roof of their tent.

Itachi makes a small, curious sound, turning his head in his general direction, though his black eyes can’t really focus on much of anything.

“Yeah, the rainy season could be like this for months on end. Good luck getting outta work when it was literally always raining. I guess the silver lining was that the air was always pristine for those couple months with everything getting washed away.”

“Hm.”

The younger man pulls a face like the thought of all that rain is unpleasant.

“Eh, it wasn’t all that bad. All the kids like having paper boat races in the water, and after a while you get pretty good at it. It isn’t a bad time after you get used to it. Not to brag, but mine usually wound up winning. I may not look it, but I’m not bad at makin’ things like that.”

Itachi nods along, shutting his eyes even though he can’t sleep.

“Hey, maybe when all this nonsense is over and done with, we can go to the seaside or something. The fresh air will be good for ya- I can even show ya how to make those boats. We can have a little fun once we’re done with-”

Kisame makes a vague gesture with his hand, not really wanting to say their ugly business out loud.

“It’ll be fun, so long as you’re okay with mine being faster than yours.”

Kisame laughs at his own joke.

Itachi sighs, leaning all his weight against him.

He only ever does that when he’s got something heavy on his mind. But whatever it is, he isn’t about to tell.

“...Yeah,” he says, after letting the words sit for a moment. “That sounds nice.”

Chapter Text

“Hidan and Kakuzu are gone.”

It takes a long time for anyone to speak after that declaration, letting the words sink in amongst the survivors.

“...well shit, how’d that end up happening?” Deidara asks, far quieter than he usually speaks. 

“Hard to say. Some Konoha ninja took him out- all we know for sure is the Kyuubi Jinchuriki was involved.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Kisame says, with a smile that’s more from disbelief. “Wouldn’t have thought I’d see the day.”

“None of us did.”

Their leader’s tone is as stoic as ever, but there’s an unspoken heaviness in it that makes his sadness clear. 

(He would never admit it, but their leader feels grief deeper than most. Though he never allows himself to show it.)

There’s more said, though Itachi doesn’t really pay attention. Deidara seems a little stunned, being, for once, at a loss for words. Even Tobi keeps his mouth shut, maybe because of the evil glare he got when he tried to speak up.

“I’ll give the rest of you some time to yourselves,” Pain says, with a heavy sigh. “We’ll let you know when we’re making our next move.”

By the time they all disconnect, it all feels something like a bad dream where you only realize how absurd it is after you've woken up.

Then, it’s just Itachi and Kisame, sitting in their cheap hotel room, on the cheap futons, exchanging a glance without saying anything.

Neither of them had been particularly close to either Hidan or Kakuzu, but the thought of them being gone is unsettling all the same.

And, as small as it seems, Itachi feels a bit sad that he’ll never have another book shoved on him by the old man again.

(Not that he’s been able to read very much at all lately.)

Cicadas scream just outside the hotel room, an obnoxiously loud backdrop to their evening routine as they wait to receive their next orders.

A nice, faintly floral smell fills the room as Itachi combs some sort of fancy oil through his hair with his fingers, working out the big knots before switching over to a brush.

His hair catches the lamplight, scattering little gold flecks through it.

The distant rumble of thunder cuts through the incessant chirping, promising a storm later.

“Bad weather seems to follow us around, doesn’t it?” Kisame asks, peering out the window at the ominous black clouds rolling in over the mountains.

“That’s probably my fault.”

“Eh?”

The faint twitch in the corners of Itachi’s mouth might be his attempt at a smile.

“My parents told me I was born during a typhoon. I suppose the rain hasn’t left me alone since then. My aunt swore that’s why my chakra nature’s half water.” 

“Yeah?”

Itachi so rarely talks about his family, but whenever he does there’s this heavy, melancholy tone to his voice that raises the familiar question Kisame never dares to ask.

(He has a feeling, no matter what the answer is, he won’t like it.)

“I think I’ll get us something to eat,” Kisame says, before he loses the self control to not ask about things that don’t concern him.  “Anything in particular you want?” 

Itachi shakes his head, which at this point he should have expected. 

“Alright, I’ll see if I can find us some maki or something, sound good?”

A noncommittal shrug. 

Maki it is then.

It doesn’t take him long to get it- which he appreciates, since he hates leaving Itachi for any longer than he can help it.

Itachi never talks about it (there’s a lot of things he doesn’t talk about) but his eyesight is getting bad enough for it to be a problem. Even with his Sharingan, he still gets that glassy-eyed unfocused sort of look, and he finds Itachi’s hand lingering on the hem of his cloak a lot, like a  child afraid of being lost.

He doesn’t mind that at all- to be frank, any reason to have Itachi touch him is a good one as far as he’s concerned. But it still worries him, and he knows Itachi is beyond embarrassed every time it happens.

When he gets back, Itachi is in the shower, with the water cranked up as hot as it can go. 

“You hangin’ in there?” Kisame calls out, so his presence doesn’t startle him.

He gets a small sound of assent, which is enough to be sure he won’t get stabbed for walking in.

Itachi is sitting cross-legged directly on the shower floor, eyes closed, skin bright red from the heat.

The heat is probably not good for him, but it makes him happy so Kisame can’t say anything about it.

“Wasn’t sure what exactly you wanted, so I just got a bit of everything.”

“That sounds fine.”

Kisame frowns. 

Something about the way Itachi is hunched over doesn’t bode well.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Itachi answers. “I just, uh-”

He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“...I don’t think I’m able to stand up.”

“Eh?”

“Made myself dizzy.”

“Yeah, boiling yourself alive will do that to ya,” Kisame laughs, grabbing one of the rough hotel towels, turning off the water and wrapping him up to get him out of the bathroom. 

Probably won’t be the last time he does this considering how he’s been determined to steam himself like a lobster for years at this point. But it helps him hurt a bit less so there’s no point trying to stop him.

At some point they’ll have to find a proper onsen to spend a day at. It might be good for them.

“Alright, Itachi-san, you’re gonna eat some of these so we can give you your meds, okay?”

Itachi opens his mouth to protest, but Kisame takes the chance to stuff food in his face when he’s vulnerable.

He splutters and nearly chokes, but ultimately chews and swallows while fixing Kisame with a murderous stare.

“That’s cheating,” he growls, though he’s already reaching for another piece.

“It’s not like you make it easy for me to take care of ya, so I’ll cheat as much as I like, got it?”

Itachi fumbles for his typical fistful of pills keeping him alive, taking the glass of water Kisame offers him.

Kisame holds his glass up like he’s about to make a toast, which earns him a confused look.

“Well,” Kisame says. “Wherever those two wound up, I hope they’re happier now than they were while they were alive, eh?” 

Itachi contemplates that for a second, then raises his glass as well.

“I suppose that’s the best we can hope for,” he agrees, then downs his medication along with his glass of water.

It's the best any of them can hope for, really.

All of them- Akatsuki- this misfit band of bitterly unhappy souls. None of them speak a word about where they came from or what brought them here, but all of them are bound together by the same chains of misery.

Maybe it's fate they wound up together.

“Least Kakuzu can’t complain about how much money we’re spending."

"He'd be glad we're not spending anything on a funeral at least."

Kisame snorts- it’s his turn to nearly choke on his food, now.

“What the hell, Itachi-san?” 

Itachi replies with a tiny, cheeky smile.

By the time they’re done eating, Itachi’s smile is gone.

They both know what they’ve got to do now, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

“I’ll be just a sec and we can get this over with, okay?”

There’s no pill left that can take Itachi’s pain away anymore. Nothing left any doctor can give him that can touch it.

Itachi hates it, feeling lower than dirt. It conjures up images in his mind of the people his father would deal with- skeletal, strung-out, desperate people who were arrested for all manner of crimes they committed all in the name of one more fix.

He hates that he has to resort to it.

But the constant ache in every cell of his body is unbearable without it.

He offers up his arm to his partner and looks away while he tries to feel out a vein that’s still good.

The sharp smell of alcohol and the cold wetness on his arm give him something else to focus on, and he tries to concentrate on only that.

There’s a brief sting, and the familiar burn.

Then, after about a minute, blessed relief.

(That must have been what those people his father arrested were after. Relief. After all, isn't everyone just trying to chase their pain away?)

“Let’s get to bed, yeah?”

Kisame doesn’t say anything else- he’s no more fond of this than Itachi.

They don’t say another word, laying down in silence and waiting for sleep to find them.

Itachi sits up, unable to get a deep enough breath to satisfy his body’s demand for air.

Unfortunately, he’s used to this by now. It doesn’t even really frighten him anymore. He’s only left wondering if it’s his lungs or his heart that are causing the trouble tonight.

The clock reads just after two AM, a thin trickle of moonlight breaking through the gap in the curtains.

He’s given up on getting back to sleep tonight, but his eyesight has gotten too bad to try to read or start mending any of their clothes, despite them definitely needing a few.

Maybe when daylight comes, when he’s rested a bit, he’ll have enough energy to do it. But he can’t do much of anything without his Sharingan anymore, and even then it’s getting more and more exhausting to do it.

(Considering he’s pretty sure he’ll be dead before the year is out, he wishes he could use the time he has left without being so goddamn tired. )

An unusual sound gets his attention, snapping his head upward and whipping in the direction of the source.

Kisame seems to be the source of the sound, shivering under the covers.

A nightmare, maybe. 

Neither of them are strangers to those, but now that Itachi thinks of it, Kisame has never mentioned his…

Kisame makes another low, distressed sound, so Itachi reaches out to shake him awake.

The moment he touches the older man, however, he’s thrown backward and slammed against the floor hard enough to rattle his bones, with Kisame’s hands wrapped around his neck.

If he had a hard time getting enough air before, it’s impossible to get any now.

Kisame’s face swims in and out of focus, his bad eyesight made worse by the static that creeps into his vision from the lack of oxygen. 

The thrill of fear is like lightning in his veins, every nerve in his body alight with the need to run, though he knows there’s no way he could escape-

As quickly as he was pinned, however, the hands leave his throat, letting him take a few shallow gasps for air, his lungs burning like his own Amaterasu has been turned against him.

In the next instance after that, he’s gathered up in Kisame’s arms, crushed against his chest as he murmurs a string of apologies and Itachi coughs weakly as he tries to regain himself.

Itachi can’t tell if he or Kisame are shaking worse.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes out, though he’s not really okay. “I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me.”

It’s a half lie, it’s a lie that gets Kisame to let out a shaky sigh of relief, so it’s a lie he doesn’t feel that bad telling even though Kisame hates being lied to.

“Bad dream?” he asks, even though the answer is obvious before Kisame moves his head to nod.

He sighs, running his fingers through Kisame’s short, coarse hair hoping that will comfort him.

“I understand. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, and Itachi can feel his frown against the top of his head.

Itachi is about to say something, but the words die on his tongue when he tries, out of embarrassment.

Because as he thinks about it, on the thrill of the hands around his throat, despite the circumstances not warranting it, he finds himself a bit flustered- even though he doesn’t get flustered often anymore.

He leans in to lay a kiss on Kisame’s jaw, figuring that, though he can’t take the nightmares away, there’s still something he can do to at least distract him.

(Besides, he’s not sure how much longer he can even do it anymore.)

“What’re you up to?” Kisame asks, when Itachi’s touch starts to wander.

He answers with an annoyed are you stupid? expression while his left hand works its way up the man’s thigh and between his legs.

“Okay then-” he chortles, with a bewildered expression. “This is sudden- what’s gotten into you?”

Itachi shrugs. He doesn’t say anything, but the impatient erection pressing against his side does all the talking for him.

“Do you not want to?”

“Hold on, I never said that.”

It’s a ridiculous question- when it comes to Itachi, he’s very rarely not in the mood. 

It’ll be good to get him out of his own head, at least. 

Itachi is flat on his back again, with Kisame’s teeth on his neck and his hands on his body. 

It comes as naturally as breathing to them, their bodies melt together like they were made for each other. 

“You’re a really weird guy, you know that, Itachi-san?” he asks, smiling against his sensitive skin. “Most people don’t get turned on from getting throttled.”

“Oh hush,” Itachi grumbles, though he can’t muster enough force to sound actually annoyed. “Before I change my mind.”

“Sorry, sorry. You just look cute when you’re pissed off.”

Itachi would probably be annoyed if he weren’t so eager to be touched.

Slicked-up fingers stretch out his insides, Kisame’s other hand around his throat, applying just enough pressure to give him that thrill.

He still moves like he’s unsure, like he’s worried he might hurt his partner. Itachi tries to reassure him with his soft whimpers and little mewls, arching his back as if they could get any closer. 

“Are you ready?”

Itachi nods his consent, not sure how much longer he can stand waiting.

He wants more. Needs more. 

And of course, his partner is more than happy to oblige.

When Kisame fills him up, Itachi lets out a low whine of pain.

It always hurts- Kisame is just too big for it to ever really go smoothly. 

But it’s so very worth it for that blissful empty-headedness he gets when they fuck. For that unbearably full feeling he can only get from his lover.

“You feel so good-” Kisame breathes, keeping still to savor the sight below him.

Itachi looks good enough to devour, biting down on his knuckle and peering up at him with a glassy-eyed look of longing.

“More-” he pleads, rolling his hips upward to accentuate the plea.

His voice is just the tiniest bit hoarse, thin from his narrowed airway.

“So shameless,” Kisame teases, breath heavy against Itachi’s ear. “You that desperate to get fucked?”

“Please-”

Listening to Itachi beg is one of the best sounds in the world- he could listen to it forever and be totally content. 

He pulls out slowly, savoring the little sounds he makes.

“Poor Itachi-san. It’s been awhile since we’ve done anything like this, huh?”

He sets up a steady rhythm, using all his self control to keep from being too rough too soon.

Not that Itachi would mind that. But he’s gotten so…frail lately. He would hate to hurt Itachi in a way he didn’t want, even by accident.

As ridiculous as it is, he sometimes wonders if one were to pull the younger man’s skeleton out of his skin, he might have hollow bones like a bird.

He can feel each of Itachi’s rattling breaths beneath the palm of his hand, which is far more thrilling than it should be.

Itachi isn’t weak , and he’s pretty sure he could kill Kisame in about thirty seconds if he really wanted to, even with his poor health. Yet he allows himself to be put in this position over and over again, spread open so obscenely, biting his tongue to keep from making too much noise.

It’s a privilege he takes a great pride in, because nobody else has the privilege of seeing Itachi this way. Though there are some scumbags who think they have.

Bruises blossom along his paper-pale skin- a beautiful painting across a beautiful tapestry.

It’s enough to help him forget everything else on his mind.

He growls and sinks his teeth into the hollow where Itachi’s neck meets his collarbone, sharp copper playing on his tongue in a familiar, intoxicating way he’ll never get enough of. He rides out his orgasm inside that body he loves so much, soaking up the desperate sounds his partner makes as he hits his own release.

“Thank you,” Itachi whispers, trying to catch his breath and nuzzling the side of Kisame’s neck.

He mewls softly when the man pulls out of him, protesting the sudden emptiness.

“You’re the one who got fucked silly and you’re the one thanking me ?”

Itachi makes a noncommittal sound, practically purring against Kisame’s neck.

“I’m tired,” he says.

“Aren’t you always?”

“Shut up.”

Itachi still can’t get back to sleep. But that’s quite fine by him, so long as he’s being held.

Chapter Text

Itachi shifts his meager weight on the exam table, wondering to himself how, with his eyesight as terrible as it is, the fluorescent lights in the office still hurt so much.

Luckily the doctor speaks in a quiet voice that doesn’t make his head throb any worse. 

(Maybe he should say something about it, but he doesn't really want to make a fuss. Especially since he'll probably never come back here.)

“I was able to get some medications that I think will be able to do what you want. However-”

The doctor turns around and hands over a paper bag that rattles with whatever’s inside it.

“I’m sure you already know, but I should warn you that you should only take this when you’re ready to die. Your body won’t be able to take the stress, so once it wears off…”

Itachi stares for a long time at the bag of medication in his hand.

He had asked for this- they’d discussed this many times over the past few months. He wants to have this so he can do what needs to be done. 

And yet, actually having it given to him weighs heavy on his mind- like this is what finally makes it real.

“I understand. How much time do you think it will give me?”

“A few hours, maybe. It depends on what you’re planning to do.”

The doctor gives him a look of pity that turns his stomach, since he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

Still, this man’s been looking after his health for so long now, maybe it’s only natural.

“I appreciate your help,” he says, figuring he should at least say something. “Sorry to have been such a bother.”

“It’s not a bother at all- it’s what I’m here for. Although-”

The deep line in his brow gets deeper still, and he thinks carefully about what he might want to say.

“I wish it didn’t come to this,” he finally says. “And that there was more I could do.”

Shaking his head, Itachi looks the man in the eye for the briefest moment.

“It’s alright. I’m not afraid.”

“I understand that but-”

The man’s professional demeanor drops, just for a moment.

“-I’ve got a son, about your age. I hate to think about this sort of thing happening to him.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, making his glasses ride up his face.

“Sorry. I’m being strange, saying that out of nowhere.”

Thoroughly uncomfortable, Itachi looks for a way to excuse himself without being rude.

“It’s fine. Thank you for your help.”

Itachi takes the backroads back to stay away from prying eyes, peering into the bag at the cocktail of stimulants and other stuff he’s not certain of, that will allow him to have his final fight to settle things with Sasuke.

And that will be it. Once he’s sure Sasuke is able to protect himself, he’ll be able to rest.

Finally. 

At last, he’ll be able to rest. To atone for what he’s done the only way he can- with his own blood.

It can’t come soon enough. 

Akatsuki can’t seem to catch a break these days. 

It’s not enough to have lost Kakuzu and Hidan both, but for Deidara to blow himself up so soon after that…it’s a heavy blow. And their leader certainly feels it.

Maybe it took longer than expected, but it seems Sasori’s prediction about him being the type to die young was right, after all.

He does his best not to say it, but their leader is clearly devastated. He hangs his head in spite of himself, and speaks with a heavy tone.

“Well that sucks. And Tobi too, huh?”

“So it would seem.”

Itachi is deathly quiet, staring off into some indeterminate point in space.

“It also looks like he might have taken your brother out with him, Itachi.”

Itachi doesn’t outwardly show any reaction but a nod.

“We sure about that?” Kisame asks, with a raised eyebrow.

“Not entirely, but it certainly appears that way.

“Huh. Guess he bit off more than he could chew taking Deidara on.”

Their leader makes a small sound of affirmation, but doesn’t comment on it any further.

“Please be careful. I’ll leave you alone.”

Thunder crackles far too close for comfort, and it starts pouring rain- like the sky itself is mourning.

“Ah hell- not again- come on, let’s get outta here.”

The hot, muggy air makes it hard to breathe- harder than usual, anyway. Like the air is made out of syrup and he just can’t get enough of it into his lungs.

They take shelter- which they’re used to by now- and wait for the worst of it to pass as the wind howls incessantly.

(It must be an omen at this point, it seems like it hasn’t stopped storming for weeks.)

Kisame doesn’t even have it in him to keep up his usual banter. He just tosses Itachi’s water bottle at him and sits down, letting out a heavy sigh and hanging his head.

He slumps over like the world is too heavy, and Itachi certainly feels that weight too. He leans against the damp wall of the cave and stares out at the blurry world outside, where the storm rages on.

At least nobody will be looking for them, far too preoccupied with the giant smoking crater Deidara left behind.

It’s far too warm- Itachi can’t get enough air, and he wishes he could just get even one deep breath, something to cool him off-

(This must be what it’s like to be trapped in a rice cooker, he thinks, as he imagines steam rising up off the rocks around them.)

While Kisame patches up some scrapes he got during their excursion, he steps back out into the rain, hoping it’ll cool him off enough to finally calm down.

If Deidara hadn’t already done himself in, he wouldn’t be long for this world anyway. Not once Itachi got to him. He’d probably be more livid if he had the energy for things like anger.

Right now, all he can feel is something best described as a combination of sad and exhausted.

(Even though Sasuke isn’t actually dead. Probably.)

He shuts his eyes and lets the rain hit his face, wondering if maybe he can finally feel clean if he stands out here long enough.

An indeterminate period of time passes like this, where neither of them care to speak. 

That’s quite alright, if he’s being honest. His head is pounding, and he doesn’t feel like talking much in the first place. And Kisame had always had a soft spot for Deidara, as aggravating as  he could be, so he probably wants time to wrap his head around what’s happened.

At long last, however, he finally feels Kisame’s eyes on his back.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be standing out in the rain like that. You’ll catch a cold.”

From the way he says it, Kisame seems at least partially aware of how ridiculous it sounds for Itachi to be worried about something as silly as a cold. But he also still sounds concerned- probably because he’s been standing out in the downpour for the better part of an hour.

It probably isn’t good for his health, but if he’s being honest with himself, he probably won’t be around long enough for that to matter.

“Guess that’s it, huh? Must suck being the last one of your clan.”

“No.”

“Eh?”

It’s probably not the best time to be cryptic.

“He’s not dead,” he says, in a matter-of-fact tone.

He hears Kisame stand up and walk toward him, though he doesn’t quite venture out into the rain.

“You sound pretty sure of that.”

“Because I am sure of it.”

(He isn’t really, but he has to say it or he’ll lose his mind.)

“Yeah? What makes you sure?”

“Just a feeling.”

Kisame laughs, though it’s not really a joyful one.

“I guess you of all people would know. Now come on, you’re absolutely soaked.”

Itachi doesn’t fight when Kisame brings him back under cover, pulling his cloak off and replacing it with his own.

“You alright?” he asks, even though it’s probably a stupid question.

Itachi just sighs in response, leaning against him and shutting his eyes tightly.

(everything hurts too much, like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to every inch of his body.)

“You good? You need your meds or anything?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to lie about it.”

Itachi groans, but he should have expected Kisame would see right through him.

He thinks for a long time about what he should say next, not interested in starting a fight but also wanting to drop the matter.

“...Hey, Kisame?” he finally says, deciding that maybe changing the subject would be best.

(Besides, there’s one last thing he’s wanted to do for a long time now, but life keeps getting in the way. He’ll never get another chance, so he might as well.)

“Yeah, Itachi-san?”

“Do you think there’s an onsen near here? I’d like to go.”

“Hm. I think I saw one in the village we passed earlier. We might get chewed out for backtracking, but if you think you’d like it I’ll take the ass-chewing.”

Itachi summons up a pathetic attempt at a smile.

“I’ll take the blame if we get told off.”

“Your funeral, Itachi-san.”

So they do exactly that, setting off in the morning once the rain has died down enough to be more tolerable.

Itachi lingers a few steps behind him while they walk, quietly sending off a clone to find his brother so he can make sure he isn’t wrong.

When they make it to the rinky-dink village they passed earlier, they head straight to the bathhouse, check in, and get whatever stuff Itachi thinks smells good to wash up with.

They usually try to go places when they’ll be able to be alone, but they’re apparently not the only ones who thought a bath would be a good idea during this shitty weather.

It earns them some puzzled looks, but Kisame still helps Itachi out of his clothes and wash his hair so that he doesn’t tire himself out any worse.

(He tries not to think about how much hair comes out in his hands as he does. And Itachi either doesn’t notice, or he’s ignoring it, too.)

When it’s his turn to scrub up so they can get in the bath, he at first doesn’t notice Itachi behind him, figuring he’d be soaking up the hot water like usual.

He jerks around when Itachi puts a hand on his back, before realizing that it’s his partner.

“You need something, Itachi-san?”

“No.”

Kisame is about to ask for some elaboration, but before he can, Itachi takes it upon himself to start washing his back for him.

 “You don’t gotta do that.”

“I want to though.”

Itachi leans against him and sighs, savoring the warmth of his partner and trying to will all the thoughts out of his head for just a moment.

He manages to accomplish this for a few blissful seconds, until a bolt of electricity runs through him, and a series of images flash through his mind.

“It’s just as I thought. You’ve gotten pretty strong…”

He sees Sasuke’s face, eyes sharp with righteous anger, boring holes into him as he realizes that the Itachi before him is nothing but a trick.

“If you think you’re ready to face me, meet me tomorrow at our clan’s old stronghold. Don’t disappoint me.”

So he wasn’t wrong. Sasuke is alive. More than alive, from the looks of him.

Good. 

It seems like, after all this time, he's finally ready.

“Got something on your mind, Itachi-san?” Kisame asks, when he’s been laying against him for so long.

Becoming aware of the people around him once again, Itachi puts some space between them even though that doesn’t stop the weird looks people shoot them out of the corner of their eyes.

They hurry to get out of the shower area to get away from the people watching them.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Ryou for your thoughts, then?”

Itachi wonders if maybe he shouldn’t tell the truth here. But at the very least, Kisame deserves a bit of the truth before he goes.

“I’ll tell you later,” he says, at least wanting to postpone the inevitable. “When we’re alone.”

Kisame shrugs it off, sinking down to his neck in the bath like he wants to melt into the water.

“Suit yourself, Itachi-san.”

Itachi hisses as he lowers himself into the bath, gritting his teeth and promising himself that he only has to endure this for a moment and he’ll feel better.

There’s other people in the bath anyway, and he doesn’t want to make a scene even though he kind of feels like he’s dying.

(He only has to endure this for a bit longer. Just a bit longer, then finally…)

Kisame puts a hand on his lower back to help him down, grimacing at how he can feel all the tiny details in his vertebrae from how thin he’s gotten.

The hot water silences Itachi’s screaming joints and aching bones, just as he promised himself it would. It doesn’t take away the pounding in his head or the ache behind his eyes, but it’s nice to have any sort of relief.

If they were alone, Kisame would probably pull him into his lap and feel him up a bit, but they have to behave themselves while they’re in company.

“Whaddaya wanna do after this?” he asks. “I saw a few good places that might be nice to have for dinner.”

“You can do that if you like, but honestly I’d rather sleep.”

“Isn’t that always what you wanna do?”

“Shut up.”

Kisame laughs at him, just a little bit. And Itachi can’t help but smile- just a little bit.

This will be the last time he’ll ever get this. A hot bath. Time with Kisame to just exist and relax.

It’s probably the thing he’ll miss the most of all.

Itachi didn’t expect to be able to sleep tonight, but it’s still pretty annoying to be up so late.

Itachi stands up and starts to pace the floor to have some sort of sensation to focus on rather than how badly he hurts.

Funny enough, however, he doesn’t feel anxious. Or afraid. Or anything else one might expect to feel when they know they’re going to die tomorrow.

In fact, he doesn’t feel much of anything besides relief.

Relief, and a nagging twinge of regret that he can’t shake.

He knows that’s normal- he’s done so many things in his life that he regrets, after all.

Hell, when he thinks about it, he finds himself hard pressed to find anything in his life that went right.

…Well. At least he has one thing he can say with certainty that he doesn’t regret.

Kisame is sound asleep, peacefully unaware of what the morning will bring.

Itachi hates that he still couldn’t bring himself to tell the full truth.  But if he did, he knows Kisame would try to stop him, and he doesn’t think his heart could handle that.

“I want to settle things with Sasuke. Tomorrow.” he’d said, withholding any more information than that.

Kisame had perked up at that, like he’s been waiting to hear it for ages.

“So that’ll be it then? If you get your brother out of the way you get his eyes, and that’ll be that, huh?”

That part isn’t untrue- he could do that, sure. If he got Sasuke’s eyes it might buy him more time, take some of the stress off his body, fix his failing eyesight- 

-Even then, though, it won’t be enough to save him. Nothing will be enough to save him.

He doesn’t say that part. Nor does he say anything about what’s really going to happen tomorrow morning. 

He only nodded when Kisame asked that, and Kisame looked…so relieved. He believed Itachi without question, and had gone to sleep thinking everything would get better after tomorrow.

It very nearly broke Itachi’s heart. Enough to make him question everything. To hesitate and think that maybe he shouldn’t go through with this plan that’s been over a decade in the making.

Hesitate. But not change his mind. 

(So many promises. All of them hollow.)

Not that he could change his mind, anyway. It’s far too late for that.

He lays down on the tatami mat beside Kisame, figuring he should at least shut his aching eyes for a while. 

Laying down makes it even harder to breathe, but he wants to savor these last few moments for as long as he can.

Kisame is warm. Safe. He wishes there was a way for this night to never end, so that he could stay here forever and never have to face what’s waiting for him outside.

If only.

Chapter Text

It’s morning now, but still too early in the morning to get up and start their journey to Itachi’s final destination.

Still, rest eludes him (as it so often has, for as long as he can remember) so he gets up anyway, deciding that he may as well straighten himself up a bit before they need to head out.

He takes his time to brush out his hair until it shines, trying very hard not to think too hard about how brittle it’s become.

(brittle, just like the rest of him.)

The balm he rubs on his aching joints doesn’t do much to ease the pain, but it’s better than nothing and it smells pleasant at the very least.

He should probably be scared, right? Being afraid of death is natural, and yet when he sits here contemplating it, he only has a vague curiosity.

He’d never cared much about what would happen after he died, though when he was very small he’d asked his parents many times out of morbid curiosity.

Is there somewhere people go when they die? Or do we just stop existing? If we die do we see other people who died before? If we just stop existing, what’s that like?

His parents always got concerned, sad looks on their faces and refused to answer the question. And when he tried to ask Shisui, Shisui had just shrugged and said he’d never thought about it before.

(of course, now he realizes that not existing wouldn’t feel like much of anything at all.

I guess I’m about to find out.

(He hopes that he can at least meet Shisui again. Even if it’s only for a moment. To make peace with him.)

The brown paper bag of medication feels heavier than it should, and his mind makes it harder to open than it really is.

It’ll take some time to kick in though, so he’ll need to take it now.

He grabs a glass of water from the bathroom sink and mixes up the packet of powder and uses the bitter mixture to take the assortment of tablets and pills, forcing them down even though it burns the second they hit his throat.

Once the burning starts to die down, he draws up the entire vial of innocent-seeming liquid into the last of his syringes, then feels out the only remaining good vein he has in his neck.

It hurts, just like pretty much everything else hurts, so he does it as quickly as he can before he loses his nerves.

Electricity starts humming in his veins as his body is filled with artificial life, giving him that one last burst to finish everything he needs to do before he goes. Cashing in however many days he has left all at once- a pitiful last hurrah.

The medication starts to go to work immediately- he can feel it humming in his veins, breathing life into him that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

It sends a weird buzzing sensation through his entire body, making him jittery in a way he can’t stand, but he knows that part will only last a short time while it does its work.

It’s a horrible feeling that makes the world spin so badly he has to fight the urge to throw up everything he’s just taken. But he's endured far worse, so he endures this, too.

He maybe shouldn’t be taking it so soon, but there’s one last thing he wants to do before he goes to face his brother.

It’s selfish, maybe. But he figures he’s been selfish this entire time, so one more selfish thing won’t hurt things any worse.

Keeping the robe wrapped around him to protect from the early morning chill, he approaches his sleeping partner and straddles him, shutting his eyes and running his hands over his bare chest, knowing this will be the last time he’ll get to enjoy his partner’s body.

He takes a little pride in how quickly he gets a- well- response- how little it takes for him to get his partner hard, even when he’s not really awake.

Kisame’s hands wrap around his wrists, as he looks sleepily up at him with a puzzled expression.

“What’s up?”

Itachi answers with a kiss, figuring that’ll be more than enough to convey his intentions if they weren’t already obvious.

He’s right. He feels Kisame smile against his mouth and pulling his robe off his frame, responding to him in kind.

It’s familiar. Comforting.

It stirs up warm, sentimental feelings inside him, knowing that Kisame still wants him. That, despite how much his illness has robbed from him, his partner will still touch him. Still take the robe off him like he’s unwrapping a long-awaited present, taking him in with that approving, hungry look that twists his stomach in knots every time.

One last time. He pushes that thought out of his mind, wanting to enjoy it to the fullest.

So good.

He shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling, wanting to savor as much of this one last time as he can.

Kisame is warm. So warm. He touches him so lovingly, like he’s a priceless treasure. Itachi is wholly undeserving, totally unworthy, and that makes him savor this all the more, knowing he hasn’t earned any of this, but his partner gives it to him anyway.

It hurts so much. It feels so good.

He never thought goodbye could be so sweet, but still taste so bitter.

A low whine of pain escapes him as he lowers himself down, too quickly but he can’t bear to wait.

“You good? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“I’m fine,” Itachi half-lies, having no intention of stopping either way.

It’s been so long since they’ve done this- and even longer since Itachi has had the energy to be on top. He won’t let anything ruin it.

Just once more. Once more he wants to be able to forget. Once, and then he’ll be ready…

It feels like his hips move of their own accord, chasing that blissful high he loves so much. 

He runs his hands along the plane of Kisame’s abdomen, then up along his chest, lingering on the outlines of every muscle he comes across. Savoring the body built up by years of training and fighting. The callouses on his hands, his soft mouth full of razors- he loves every bit of it.

“H-hey, if you move like that I’m not gonna last long-” Kisame warns him, grabbing his hips to slow him down. “Take it easy.”

Itachi tries to comply with that request, he really does. But he’s already close himself, and he can’t stop himself from moving any more than he could will his heart to stop beating.

Neither of them care to speak anymore, only wanting to enjoy the moment.

He loses control and cums into his own hand (a bit earlier than he’d care to), allowing himself to cry out though he’d normally bite it back.

Before he goes to face his end, he’ll allow himself this. He only hopes he doesn’t wake the people in the next room over.

Kisame runs his hands along his partner’s hair, smiling up at him.

“Haven’t heard a sound like that from you in a long time.”

Itachi leans forward for a kiss, glad that he’s at least able to do this for the man who he’s grown so fond of over the years.

“We should probably get dressed, huh? You’ll need to get going if you’re gonna beat your brother there.”

“Right…” 

He doesn't want to hear that, but he knows it's true. So he stands up and gets himself dressed; his familiar black and red cloak feels heavier than usual.

He's out of time. They need t go.

Crows caw loudly in the distance, as if calling Itachi to his death.

They may know the truth- after all, they say crows have a sixth sense for that sort of thing. 

(Maybe they’ll try to eat his eyes after he goes, if Sasuke doesn’t take them first. That thought doesn't disgust him the way it probably should.)

"I'll take it from here," Itachi says, starting to turn to head off on his own.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Kisame asks. “Might be good to have another set of hands.”

He already knows what the answer is, but he asks anyway. Itachi wouldn’t expect any less from him.

“No. This is something I need to do on my own.”

“If you’re sure…”

Kisame obviously hates the thought of Itachi doing something like this alone, but accepts the decision anyway.

Itachi turns around to face him one last time, even though it's a bad idea.

“What do you want me to do then?”

“Make sure nobody besides Sasuke gets past here. This is a family matter- nobody else can interfere.”

“Whatever you say. Guess it’ll be fun to see what those friends of his are made of, eh?”

Itachi nods, reaching out to run his fingers through Kisame’s hair one last time.

He commits the sensation to memory, along with the countless other times he’s done it. 

“...Thank you, Kisame.” he mutters, barely loud enough to be heard.

Kisame gives him a puzzled look- he can tell that even with his abysmal eyesight.

But he can’t sit and linger on that. It’s time to go.

The man leans in for a parting kiss, and Itachi starts to panic.

If he gets that one last kiss, he knows it won’t be enough. That he’ll start to hesitate.

He can’t do that. Not even for Kisame.

The corners of his mouth quirk upward in a not-quite-smile, and he gives Kisame a playful jab between the eyes.

“Sorry, Kisame. Some other time.”

He turns on his heel and heads off before he can start to second guess himself.

He can’t afford to second-guess himself now, right at the end.

The walk to the old stronghold is a lonely one, feeling like a thousand years even though it only takes about ten minutes, with nothing but his memories to keep him company.

(People always say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes, right? So maybe he’s normal in that regard.)

He imagines Sasuke out of the corner of his eye, clear as day, as if he could still see much of anything at all. 

Sasuke as he’d been- back when he was small and innocent and Itachi stupidly thought he could protect him from all the ugly things of the world. Poor, innocent Sasuke, who he’d left all alone.

He imagines he can see Shisui walking alongside him. The bright-eyed, alive Shisui who he thought had long ago slipped from his memory.

The mirage of Shisui's mouth moves, though he can't hear what he's saying. And then, as soon as he's arrived, he's gone.

Climbing the seemingly endless staircase up, he sees  Izumi perched up in a tree, waving at him. His aunts and uncles and a few other clan members standing around talking to each other, like they don't have a care in the world.ff\\

At the giant entryway, he sees his mother and father waiting, looking at him with that sad look of concern he remembers them so often wearing from his youth.

Then, as he makes his way in and the crows inside scatter, he sees Sasuke again, wide-eyed and terrified, tears pouring down his face.

"Niisan, what've you done?" he hears echo through his mind, the accusation piercing his gut like a dagger.

It’s all his fault. Now he can finally make up for what he’s done.

It won’t be nearly enough, but his life is all he can offer in compensation.

His life- and, of course, the promise of the Mangekyou Sharingan, which he knows will allow Sasuke to protect himself, no matter what comes after this.

(And if that still isn’t enough to keep him safe…well, Naruto would protect him with his life. Itachi is sure of that. So at least he won’t be alone, and Naruto is just as kind and loving as his mother had been, so he won't be lacking for affection.)

The throne he decides to wait on is made of stone. Cold. Befitting the rest of this cold, dusty place that had once been something grand, and beautiful.

(So, that’s also fitting, all things considered.)

He leans back and shuts his eyes, waiting for what feels like an eternity as his heart hammers away in his chest, straining under the influence of the powerful cocktail of drugs coursing through his veins.

It hurts. But he endures it, knowing it won’t be much longer.

Eventually, footsteps echo off the walls, magnified a thousandfold as Sasuke approaches.

Even with the Sharingan, his little brother is nothing more than a blur, like a fresh painting someone swiped their hands across, rendering the entire thing a nearly incomprehensible blur.

But what he sees doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

“What do you see with that Sharingan of yours?” he asks, while Sasuke’s eyes burn holes through his rotten soul.

Sasuke answers without hesitation, with the pent-up rage of years of sorrow bubbling just beneath the surface.

“I see you,” he says, looking up and drawing his sword. “Dead at my feet.”

That’s exactly what Itachi needs to hear. Sasuke is prepared for what’s to come, just like Itachi is.

“If that’s so,” he says, repeating the lines he’s practiced in his head probably a thousand times, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

Chapter Text

That red-headed girl Sasuke chose to be one of his companions would be a lot cuter if she weren’t so obnoxiously loud. 

Still, noisy girl or not, it’s almost nostalgic to get to brawl with Suigetsu now that he’s old enough to fend for himself. Hell, he’s not half bad- maybe that’s a testament to Orochimaru’s teaching. Or something.

The big guy is a problem, though. He’s so much stronger than he looks, and he carries himself like a guy who’s got a massive chip on his shoulder, even though he hasn’t said a word since they started fighting.

Suigetsu uses Zabuza’s sword like he’s already intimately familiar with it- little show off. So he hasn’t really changed all that much since the last time they met.

Just as things are really starting to get interesting though, a figure rises up from the ground, bringing everything to an unceremonious halt.

Before he’s even said a word, Kisame’s heart sinks. 

“Eh? Who’s this guy?!” the red-headed girl demands, though nobody answers her.

Zetsu delivers his news in a flat, bored tone- as if he’s delivering tomorrow’s weather.

“Looks like Sasuke won the battle. Itachi is dead.”

All the air seems to leave everyone’s lungs as they stare at Zetsu, nobody believing it despite him having no reason to lie.

Even that red-headed girl seems at a loss for words.

After far too long, Suigetsu is the one to break the silence.

“Well shit. Guess he did it after all.”

“...S-so where’s Sasuke?!” the girl demands. “Is he-”

“-He’s still alive, yeah. Barely. Actually, that’s kinda what I’m here for.”

“Eh?” 

“We decided to take him up north a bit so he can get patched up. If you wanna see him you should follow along.”

The three teenagers exchange skeptical expressions while they try to decide if Zetsu can be trusted.

“...Okay. I guess we don’t have a choice.”

Zetsu shrugs, both sides of him giving a cheeky grin.

“Hey, there’s no need for such scared faces. I don’t bite…usually.”

The tall one puts a hand on either of his companions’ shoulders, nodding to let them know he trusts…whatever it is that Zetsu is.

“Okay. Take us to Sasuke, then.”

“Glad we understand each other. Just one second-”

He turns to Kisame; if he had the capacity to feel that sort of thing, Kisame might think he felt sorry for him.

“What about you, Kisame? What are you going to do?”

Brain still at a standstill, Kisame takes too long to reply.

“...I guess I’ll have to see where fate takes me,” he finally answers, deciding he has to say something. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up in just a minute.”

Maybe Zetsu catches on to how he’s feeling, so all he does is shrug and start leading Sasuke’s companions onward, rather than pestering him about it.

Kisame watches them leave his line of sight; once they’re gone, he hits the ground before he has the chance to realize he’s fallen.

It feels like he’s just been told the entire world has come to an end, and nobody recognizes that but him.

What a wretched feeling.

He must be stuck there for a long time, unable to will himself to start moving again. Like all motivation and energy has fled his body.. 

Maybe he’s in shock. It’s hard for him to tell. But he’s seen people coming back from a particularly nasty battle who seemed to be in the same place he is now.

In the distance, the incessant, cacophonous cawing of crows twists the knife that much more.

Once the sun starts sinking down over the horizon, he forces himself to stand up and follow in the direction the others headed.

Not like he has anywhere else to go.

Itachi might have been right when he said that the bad weather was following him around.

The sky is crystal clear above him,  the crescent moon staring down indifferently as he stews in his own head.

For just a moment he debates throwing himself off the cliff he’s standing on, but only for a moment. 

Maybe he’s a coward. Maybe he just knows it won’t do him any good.

“Uh, ‘scuse me-”

A familiar voice interrupts Kisame’s sulking, freezing him in place just as he’s about to go find something to drink himself stupid with.

(That’s the usual thing people go to when their life’s falling apart, right?)

“H-hey, Kisame-senpai, you got a second? I gotta talk to you about some stuff!”

He doesn’t believe it at first, but weirder things have happened he supposes.

“I thought you got blown up.”

“Yeah, it takes a lot more than that to kill me.”

Kisame’s head whips around, startled at the deep, low voice that answers him.

It’s still Tobi, standing there with his head cocked and his arms folded, one exposed eye regarding Kisame with vague amusement.

The weird thing is that this new voice sounds familiar too. 

The voice he’d heard in his previous life, when he fought what he thought was the Mizukage. The day he’d been brought into Akatsuki so very long ago.

(The him from back then feels like a totally different person to the him that exists now. He wonders if he would be disappointed in the way he turned out.)

He decides he doesn’t want to dwell on that for too long, because he already feels a headache brewing and he doesn’t want to make it worse.

“Alright,” he says, deciding to ignore everything else for now. “You said you wanted to talk to me. What do you need to talk to me about?”

“Well, about Itachi. If you’ve got a minute.”

Kisame sighs, not wanting to talk at all right now, but at the same time curiosity is already getting the better of him.

“Got nothing but minutes right now.”

“Good. Maybe you should sit down, it’s kind of a long story.”

Kisame turns his back, leaning against the railing to survey the valley below them.

“I’m good where I am, thanks.

“Suit yourself.”

Tobi- or, well, whoever he actually is, starts to tell his story. Kisame is only half listening at first, but as it goes on, the more that sickening feeling sinks into his stomach as the things he had worried about for years on end bubble back to the surface, confirming everything he’d been afraid of.

It makes him sick to his stomach, though there’s nothing in his stomach he could vomit up

“...How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I don’t know,” Tobi answers. “I guess you’ll either have to trust me or decide I’m full of shit.”

Kisame tries to mull it over; deep down, he knows Tobi must be telling the truth, but he doesn’t want to admit it- even to himself.

He always had that sinking feeling that Itachi still, after all this time, hadn’t told him the whole truth. But somehow, hearing it out loud makes it hurt so much worse.

When Tobi (or whoever it is) is finally finished, Kisame takes far longer than he should to respond.

“...so that’s how it is, then.”

“That’s right. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.”

Tobi doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, he seems to find the entire thing quite funny.

Unfortunately, Kisame can’t bring himself to see the funny side.

He turns his head to glare at the masked man, wondering how he knows the man is smiling at him.

“Okay then. Now I know. Do you mind leaving me alone?”

“Whatever you say.”

He wants to ask why Tobi felt the need to tell him all this (and now of all times), but whatever the answer is, he knows it will just piss him off.

Before Tobi does what he’s been asked, he sighs, like he feels sorry for the other man.

“This entire world is just a lie, isn’t it? It’s not like you’ll be separated forever.”

Ah, yes. Like he’d said the first time they spoke. That plan. The entire reason Akatsuki exists.

He believed that, back then.

The stars overhead are beautiful. Staring down at him indifferently, blissfully unaware of the misery they’re observing.

It sucks.

When Zabuza had died, Kisame felt destroyed. Like a million icy needles stabbed through his heart at once.

Now? 

He feels numb. Hollow. 

He doesn’t want to enter this room. He doesn’t want to see Itachi’s body. He can’t bear the thought; it feels too final, too damning.

Of course he doesn’t want to. But he has to.

So, despite his body being full of lead, he steps forward anyway. Crosses the threshold into the eerie golden glow of at least a hundred candles, forming a semicircle around the tatami mat Itachi- no, he tells himself. Itachi’s corpse- is laying on.

Itachi’s body is filthy and battered, with more bruises than untouched skin, and several obviously broken bones. Blackened, blistered skin attests to the fact that, despite his clan’s affinity for fire, their skin still burns as easily as any other.

Everything he ever was- everything he ever could have been- gone. Nothing more than a hundred pounds and some change of cold meat on the mat in front of him.

Cloudy eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling, even more useless than they’d been before.

It’s wrong. It’s not fair.

All of his joints feel stiff as he gets down on his knees, taking in the sad sight without a sound.

He doesn’t cry, even though he probably should. He just doesn’t have the energy to do more than stare.

That fight with his kid brother must have been brutal- if Itachi looks like this he imagines Sasuke wouldn’t be in better shape. 

Itachi’s open-eyed, unseeing stare is too much for him, so he reaches out to close his eyes despite it not mattering anymore. At least that way he can try to pretend he’s only sleeping- finally getting some well-deserved  rest after struggling with insomnia for at least as long as Kisame has known him.

Of course, it doesn’t work since his skin is already cold. But it’s something.

So much for some other time.

It feels wrong to leave him in this wretched state. He needs to clean him up.

He stands up so that he can gather the things he’ll need.

Hot water. Bandages. Clean clothes. Scissors. Rags. Of course, he’s more familiar with this process than he would like to be, so he’s pretty confident he’ll be able to do what needs to be done.

Everything feels so heavy. Time itself seems to have slowed to a crawl, making every little motion take an eternity.

He has to cut Itachi’s clothes off of him since they’ve glued themselves to his wounds.

Carefully, he cleans all the blood and ash and grime off his lover’s skin. Sets every broken bone and bandages every gash and scrape even though it doesn’t matter any more.

“...That brother of yours really did a number on you, huh?” he says, even though he knows damn well that Itachi can’t answer him anymore.

As if on cue, he hears a howl that must be from Sasuke. 

Tobi- or well, whoever he really is- must have gotten around to telling him the truth, too. 

He cringes at the sound; it sounds raw, and painful. Like he’d been branded with a red-hot iron.

Not that he blames him. After all, being told that you just offed your own big brother for no good reason has to hurt.

Yet, Kisame can’t feel too sorry for the kid. Not when he’d stolen his most precious treasure away from him.

Treasure…

When did he start feeling that way? 

He lingers on Itachi’s face, his stomach tying itself in a knot.

The barest ghost of a smile lingers on his bloodless face. Kisame wonders if that smile was from seeing his brother again after so long, or if it was relief at knowing that he was finally escaping from all the pain he’d endured over the years. Then he wonders which of those possibilities is worse.

Another scream breaks the silence, this time shrill and desperate.

“You’re lying !” he hears Sasuke shriek, even though he has to know by now that it’s the truth. “You’re lying you’re lying you’re fucking lying !”

It’s natural the kid would be in denial. Who would want to accept that, after all? Hell knows he doesn’t.

Putting clean clothes on Itachi’s body is far harder than it should be, with rigor mortis already setting in.

He’s freezing cold. Stiff. Still. It isn’t right.

In the back of his mind, he tries to will him to move again. As if willing it to happen would be enough.

He leans forward and kisses Itachi’s cold, lifeless lips, wishing he could take the breath out of his own lungs and give it to his companion.

(Heaven knows Itachi could make better use of it.)

It’s almost funny. He’d always considered himself the kind of person who didn’t need anybody else. Someone who could make his own way in the world without anyone by his side.

He’s never been more wrong in his life, and he hates himself for it.

He’s heard stories of people dropping dead of a broken heart after they lost their lovers, and always laughed them off as patently absurd. 

Maybe those stories are made up. But he’s starting to wish they were true.

The road forward- wherever he’ll finally end up- feels so dark and lonely, now that he has to walk the rest of it by himself. 

“This entire world is just a lie, isn’t it? It isn’t like you’ll have to be separated forever.”

Tobi said that, yes. And maybe he’s right. 

But it feels real to him. 

“All of our reality is only based on our preconceptions. We never really know if we’re living in an illusion, do we? All we know is how we feel in the moment.”

God, it was so long ago that Itachi had said that. When he was so much younger, so much shorter, so much healthier than he had been.

And Itachi had a point. Illusion or not, lie or not, all Kisame knows is how he feels.

And how he feels fucking sucks.

Chapter Text

Kisame wants to be angry at Sasuke. He needs something to lash out at, and the brat is right there.

Even though he wants to so badly his hands ache to wrap themselves around the kid’s skinny neck, he can’t bring himself to do it. 

The boy has been out here since dawn, despite still being swaddled in bandages and obviously in no condition to be doing anything at all. His attention is totally absorbed in moving stone and wood, creating the best funeral pyre he can, though it’s far from an elegant one.

It would be so easy to attack him. The kid would be dead before he even had a chance to notice Kisame was sneaking up behind him.

It feels like it would be…wrong to do that, considering Itachi cared about him so much.

More than anything. 

More than Kisame.

He doesn’t want to believe it, but the proof is staring him right in the face. 

Maybe Itachi had cared about Kisame- maybe someone could even call it love. But even if he did love him, he always loved Sasuke more.

Sasuke isn’t in much better shape than Itachi had been- from what he heard, he’d come in with his own share of horrific burns, deep, painful bruises and with half his ribs and all the bones in his hands broken. With the care of his red-headed friend he’s started to recover, but he’s still got a long way to go before any sane person would say he’s allowed to be up doing heavy lifting like this.

He refuses to stop though, and he refuses any offers of help from his companions (he’s not sure if they could be called friends or not). He insists on doing all the work by himself, snapping and snarling if anyone even hints at wanting to lift a finger to help construct the pyre.

(It’s the only acceptable funeral for an Uchiha, after all. To be consumed by the fire that gives their clan its strength. Itachi had said as much, during one of their late night talks when neither of them could sleep.)

The boy is really in no position to be doing this on his own, but any attempt to help him is met with adamant refusal no matter how obvious it is that he’s exhausted and in pain.

Even if he would accept an offer for help, Kisame can’t summon the energy to do more than stare as the scene unfolds in front of him, from the shade of a maple tree that looks down at the scene with indifference.

The weather is pleasant, with not a cloud in the sky and a pleasant breeze that keeps it from being too warm.

Sasuke is so weak that, despite Itachi not weighing much at all, he struggles to carry him to his final destination. His knees buckle under the weight and he crumbles to the ground, almost dropping his brother’s body but just barely managing to hold on.

Juugo (the really tall one who doesn’t talk much) rushes to his side. He tries to help him stand back up, to help carry Itachi to his final resting place, but Sasuke swats him away like the offer itself is deeply insulting.

“I have to do it alone!” he shouts, his voice cracking as he does. “I have to-”

Hm. Maybe his kid brother has more in common with Itachi than Kisame thought.

Trying to carry a burden on their own, no matter how obvious it is they aren’t strong enough to carry it. No matter how much it obviously hurts.

He clings to his brother’s body like he’s drifting in the middle of the ocean, and hanging on is the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Despite how hard it is and how long it takes, Sasuke finally makes it to the pyre, laying Itachi out with as much gentleness as he can manage.

He takes his brother’s limp hand in both of his, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to keep himself together.

None of his companions dare to approach him, afraid of setting him off when he’s already barely keeping it together.

Sasuke takes a few steps back, though his hand lingers on his brother’s for a moment longer before finally parting.

He takes a large, shaky breath and raises his hands to perform a series of seals he must have been practicing over the last day or so, judging by how his movements are just a bit clumsy, like he’s not quite familiar with them yet.

The pyre bursts into flames at least three meters high, sending a wave of oppressive heat radiating off it. It’s enough that the boy’s skin turns bright red from it, but he refuses to back away any further.

Black eyes stare straight into the fire, watching as his brother- the brother who loved him enough to give up everything for him- burns at its center.

(and even now, the boy doesn’t have a clue just how much his beloved older brother went through for his and his village’s sake.)

Finally, poor Sasuke cracks.

Bowing his head and balling his hands up into fists, the boy finally starts to cry.

He doesn’t make a sound while he does- he must have gotten all of the screaming out of the way when he first had his world shattered. His shoulders shake, and his entire body heaves with great, gasping breaths, but he doesn’t sob or wail the way he probably wants to. His face contorts in an agonized expression, white-hot tears mingling with blood as they roll down his cheeks and off his chin.

Kisame just watches, outwardly looking indifferent, but inside wishing he could do the same.

He wants to cry, but he can’t remember the last time he’d been able to. 

(It’s kind of sick, but he’s almost happy that Itachi is burning. The idea of his body rotting, eaten away by worms and vermin…it doesn’t sit right with him.)

Finally, the red-headed girl approaches Sasuke, and this time he doesn’t swat her away. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close.

Someone else might have started muttering reassurances that everything is going to be okay, but this girl seems to know that it wouldn’t do any good. She just holds him tight and lets him cry, no matter how badly his bloody tears dirty her clothes and the lenses of her glasses.

It feels like an eternity for the fire to start dying down, its hungry flames consuming wood and clothes and hair and flesh with no regard for what it’s devouring. 

The smell is overwhelming, like the world’s most depressing barbecue. The crackling of the fire is the only sound that fills the eerie silence.

After what must certainly be hours, the fire dies down to embers.

Everything Itachi was- everything he could have been- all that is gone now. Nothing but a pile of bleached white bone and ash on the pyre.

Scorching his hands and bits of his clothes to do so, Sasuke gathers up some of the ashes in a small crystal vial- a macabre memento of his older brother. 

He throws the rest of the ashes to the wind, creating a dark cloud that’s quickly carried away, drifting out over the water and eventually starting to settle.

It’s the tall boy’s turn now to approach him, grabbing his shoulder to keep him steady as he looks out over the water with a thousand-yard stare.

All that weight Itachi had carried without saying a word- it’s been taken and laid out square across his brother’s shoulders. Even though Itachi never wanted that to happen.

He’d wanted to die the villain. He wanted his death to be a relief for this kid brother he loved so much.

Funny how people’s best-laid plans can so easily come crashing down…

Despite everything, Kisame still wonders if there was something more he could have done. Something he could have said that could have helped. Something he could have done to persuade his lover that it wasn’t worth it.

Maybe that’s selfish of him.

No, there’s no maybe about it. If he had known, he would have done anything he could to keep Itachi by his side for as long as he could. Even if it meant that Itachi would have resented him for it.

Would that have been better? Wouldn’t it have been inevitable that he died young, anyway? Even if Itachi had taken Sasuke’s eyes, it wouldn’t have done more than bought him a bit more time. 

Would that have been worth it for a few more days?

“What does it matter? As long as I can have you for today, and for tomorrow, that’s all I care about.”

“...even if there’s not a lot of tomorrows left?”

Even then, Itachi had his death in the back of his mind. Even at their happiest…

Had he even ever been happy at all?

He had seemed happy enough. But he’s far from the only person Itachi has fooled over the years.

“So…what’re we going to do now?” Suigetsu asks, fidgeting around awkwardly and clearly not wanting to deal with the heavy feelings in the air.

Sasuke sighs, as if letting out all his grief in a giant breath.

“...All there is to do now is to crush the entire Hidden Leaf Village.”

That’s not what Itachi would have wanted him to say. Then again, Itachi never wanted him to know about this in the first place. He had to have at least suspected that Sasuke would have this reaction if he ever found out the truth.

-

Ame has always been a grim place. But now, with the news of yet another death in Akatsuki, the atmosphere is beyond grim.

It’s like they’re losing their hope. 

Hope in the god they’ve put their faith in, and in the disciples that, despite all their faith, the people they trusted to be their saviors have been falling.

That must be miserable. Trusting people to protect them and make a better world, only to have them fail.

Everyone he passes is dressed in all black, and nobody dares to make eye contact with him as he passes.

He sees Nori- the sweet shop owner’s son- standing outside the family shop, arms folded, not doing much of anything. He keeps his head bowed, looking heartbroken. Kisame knows the boy always had a soft spot for Itachi, so he must be taking this particularly hard.

The little old woman who owns the clothing shop sits forlorn in the rocking chair beneath her awning, doubtless mourning the fact that she’ll never be able to chat with Deidara again- her favorite customer and preferred gossip partner.

Hell, even the people who run the village bar seem down, maybe because they know Hidan will probably never be able to visit them again for a drink or twelve and some shit-talking.

It might be fucked up to feel relieved that at least he’s not alone in his misery, but he can’t help it.

He stands in front of Konan and their leader, waiting to be addressed because he doesn’t much feel like talking.

Just beyond the walls of the meeting hall, the rain drones on.

“...I’m sorry,” Konan finally says, her voice so small that he can barely hear her. “I never imagined this could happen.”

“Yeah,” Kisame answers, wondering when he got so quiet. “Neither did I.”

Pain shakes his head, seemingly not having anything to add himself.

(He looks exhausted. The last few weeks must have been rough on him.)

“So what’s next?” Kisame asks, wanting to talk about literally anything else. 

Pain and Konan glance at each other, then back at him.

(There’s a meaning in that glance that only lovers really share. It hurts like hell to look at.)

“We’ve made a decision. We’ll be preparing for our attack on Konoha immediately.”

Kisame knows that would upset Itachi. Itachi never wanted any of this to happen, after all.

Well. Itachi may not have wanted this.

But Kisame does.

It’s hollow comfort. Not comfort at all, really. But the promise of taking out his anger on the place responsible for robbing him of the only thing he cared about-

-Samehada purrs at his back, picking up on his thirst that only revenge can hope to satisfy.

“...Sounds good,” he says. “Just tell me where you want me and I’ll help make it happen.”

Sorry, Itachi-san. He thinks to himself, as his words earn him a relieved smile from his leader. Maybe you were okay with getting jerked around, but I’m not.

This is all he has left now, after all. Akatsuki and its ultimate goal. 

Like hell he’s going to let that go. Especially not if it gives him an excuse to burn that entire village to the ground.