Rain
He hated the rain.
The chill of morning dew seeped into his bare feet and numbed them of all feeling. His gaze drifted lazily to the pouring sky. He blinked rapidly to dispel the rain drops that had gathered in his eyes, as if to clear his sight.
It wasn't necessary in the end, and that irony was not lost on him. Even with his Sharingan activated he could make out little more than vague blurs of grey and bluish-green in the distance.
Yes, the landscape was terribly exciting. He was quite frankly bored out of his mind, and it was a little known fact that the unstimulated mind was a very dangerous thing. Grasping for even the simplest form of entertainment, he again focused on the colorful blurs in the distance. Trees, rocks. Perhaps a bird? More trees–
Wait…
And, one particular splotch of blue in the northwest was moving…?
Ah. It appeared Kisame finally returned. About time, as he could feel the tightly bound constraints which kept his sanity intact begin to unravel a bit. What few shreds remained, at least. It happened if he didn't distract himself. If he didn't remain on task, in the present, if he even began to ponder about that night–
Well. Luckily no one was around for that particular breakdown a few years back.
Was his mental state questionable? Undoubtedly. Stable? Certainly not. But it got the job done, and no one was left the wiser.
The soft sound of footfalls brought his attention back to his partner, who was now standing in front of him. At this distance he could see the man's trademark toothy grin, his posture casual with Samehada thrown across his right shoulder.
He wondered if Kisame liked the rain. He supposed so, seeing as the shark-man hailed from Mist. And then there were the gills. Yes, he most certainly enjoyed the rain.
"The perimeter is secure." Kisame then proceeded to crack his neck and rolled his shoulders tiredly. "Mah… it looks like the weather is only going to get worse. Might as well just stay in the cave for the night, ne, Itachi?"
He gave a barely perceptible nod and rose swiftly to his feet. Kisame noticed his lack of foot attire and raised an eyebrow in question, yet refrained from commenting.
Their temporary shelter was quite large for what it was. Kisame was already kneeling by fire pit, attempting to persuade the dying embers back to life.
He opted to find a place in a far corner of the cave by the southern wall. It was close enough to the fire for him to enjoy its warm glow while also offering a marginal amount of solitude from Kisame's constant rambling.
He heard the blue-skinned man spit out a string of curses. Probably placed his hand too close to the flame, again.
He sighed. Some things in life would remain forever constant, it seemed.
He sat on his bedroll, fingers laced under his chin. The crackling flames were beginning to bring some feeling back into his frozen limbs. Sitting in the rain like that had been stupid, in hindsight. His body was under enough strain as it was and getting sick was not on his lists of things to do.
But it seemed the Gods were out to spite him, as right at that moment he could feel the beginnings of an attack coming on. He hurriedly placed a fist over his clenched teeth and braced himself, fighting back the desperate urge to cough.
Kisame looked up from fire-tending while cradling his burned hand. His usual lazy grin fell a bit when he noticed the tense form of his partner.
Damn it, not again. It was the third time this week. The damn things were getting more frequent, even with the kid popping pills like a regular drug addict.
Should he say something? But what? And even if he did say something surprisingly insightful, the brat wasn't going to pay his words any heed, stubborn as he was. Nah… pretending not to have noticed in the first place was the best option.
He would never admit to it – not even in the deepest recesses of his subconscious – but the kid had grown on him a bit. Yes, let it be known that Kisame Hishigaki, S-class missing-nin and one of Kirigakure's Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist, found it in his cold, fishy heart to be concerned about someone else.
The kid was nearly ten years younger than him. Their years together had developed into a… big-brother-little-brother relationship of sorts. Well, on his end at least. It was always hard to tell what Itachi was thinking behind that emotionless stare of his. In fact, he hadn't taken the scrawny little teenager seriously at their initial meeting, but that had changed rather quickly.
He suppressed a shiver. He did not need to see the sight of a two hundred seventy pound Iwa-nin in tears and on the verge of a mental breakdown again. Useless babble too; that guy's mind was too far gone at that point. He held no jealousy for that pour soul.
Either way, he needed to look after the brat, no matter how intimidating Itachi could be. He could see the cracks. The brat might be the smarter of the two, but Kisame was no idiot. Itachi was a quiet person – coughanti-social freakcough – but he knew what to look for. The mask was slipping, little by little. Whether it was physical exhaustion or mental fatigue he did not know, but frankly the kid was on his last leg. His body was failing him, and what with… that drawing near the emotional turmoil had to be eating him alive.
He was just… frustrated. And tired. Tired of having the same argument with no results. The damn idiot felt that playing the martyr in his overly complex plot of lies was the answer to all his problems. Let his little bastard of a kid brother complete his revenge and suddenly everything would just be hunky dory.
Bullshit.
Kisame snorted. Yeah, but try to convince him of that. Itachi was rooted in his beliefs, however misguided they were, and could not be moved. Stupid brat.
Gah, he was getting hungry. And of course there wasn't a stream or a village for miles. Rummaging in his pack left him empty handed. That left – he shuddered – ration bars.
No, his stomach could eat itself for all he cared.
That decided he looked up at his partner to see that the worst of the fit had passed. Alright, time to tread into the lion's den. "Itachi, you got anything edible on you? Besides this sorry excuse for cardboard." He waved one of the monstrosities in his hand.
The raven stared blankly at the wall. It didn't look like he was about to respond anytime soon, either. Did the kid go deaf while he was zoning out?
"Oiii, earth to Itachi!" He flailed his arms a bit. Nothing. The kid deigned to give even the slightest response.
Fed up and irritated by this point, the shark-man decidedly broke the 'never-touch-Itachi' rule and gripped him by the shoulder.
Vacant eyes looked up at Kisame, but didn't react. Touch, sight, sound; those were beyond him right now. He was too far gone, lost in the flow of memories.
The Hokage's face was grave. This wasn't his normal 'serious' expression; there was a deep, bone chilling weariness and sadness reflected in the old man's eyes that almost broke his composure then and there.
"No resolution could be reached through negotiations."
Even before the words came, he knew. He knew, and his heart plummeted into his stomach.
"The only available alternative… is mass extermination."
He dry swallowed and gazed blankly with unseeing eyes.
"It is necessary in order to maintain peace. To protect innocent lives, and for the sake of the village, sacrifice must be made."
Any further words were blanketed in a fog.
It was cold. So horribly, bitterly cold.
It was then that he knew that he would never truly be warm again.
Funny, he thought he'd gotten his emotions to a point of near non-existence long ago. But this… this emptiness, like a black, fathomless void that had taken residence in his chest, spoke otherwise.
"Please." He managed a horse whisper. It was the first time he had spoken since entering the room. "Please spare him. Spare Sasuke."
"Itach–"
"Please." He croaked. "He is innocent. It is all I can give him…" A pause. "Keep him safe."
The Hokage had never looked older than in that single moment. The man lightly gripped the bridge of his nose. The silence was stifling.
After a minute there was an exhalation of air. He received a brisk nod.
The relief was like a drug. He was still numb, but… now he had a goal.
Just a little more time…
He left, a single tear marring his otherwise passive face.
Startled by the sudden pressure on his shoulder he glanced at his partner's form. He blinked owlishly for several moments. Finally, the situation sunk in.
"Kisame." The word was sharp enough to draw blood.
As expected, the shark-man recoiled as if burned. "Geez, calm down. I know you don't like getting all touchy, but you wouldn't respond."
He shot the man a venomous glare that clearly stated what he felt about his approach. Kisame grumbled. "Yeah yeah, no food, I got it. I'll just go frickin' starve."
The blue-skinned man returned to the fire and properly sulked for a total of two minutes thirty seven seconds.
A new record, truly. That was when the pointless babble began. It was actually somewhat soothing. Why the man was always so exuberant in his way of speech, he may never know.
There was only Kisame present, so he allowed his hand to slip into the folds of his robe and bring out a yellow bottle. Popping the lid, he dry swallowed two of the little white pills.
He stood and approached the entrance of the cave. Kisame shot him a look, but after several moments he simply grunted and went back to setting up his bedroll. The tirade of words didn't cease, merely faded into background noise.
He glanced at the storming sky. Yes, he really shouldn't have sat outside. But it was just so… calming. Both his mind and body would numb to a state of almost heavenly bliss. He didn't have to think, respond, feel. He was simply existing, and nothing more.
And then there was the rain.
Rain represented renewal. It cleansed the earth and washed away the dirt and sin, the past becoming but a forgotten dream. It offered a second chance, gave life to a disparaging landscape. It offered a promise of salvation that he found so utterly appealing that he almost lost himself in the fantasy.
Almost.
But, he was anything if not rational. He reminded himself that such concepts were merely childish. Second chances brought loving yet fleeting caresses of thought, meant to accompany the mind in dreams. It was comforting, but it could never be reality.
But most of all, rain was like blood. Rain was thinner, yet both ran in rivers. Both coated his hands and clung to him like a second skin. Blood held heat, but that too changed in time until only icy rivulets pooled at his feet.
To the casual observer, the rain running in a steady stream down his cheeks would be indistinguishable from his tears.
Yes, he absolutely hated the rain.