Honestly, Kabuto wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Sasori's death, that is.

It had been a little over a week since the incident at Tenchi Bridge, and this was the first time the Akatsuki puppeteer's former spy had found an opportunity to stop and really process what had happened. Balancing a food tray in his hands, Kabuto pressed his back to the wooden door and slipped into his own little section of their current base. (This was not the underground stone caverns the Leaf shinobi had found, obviously; but rather a mountain lair that lay to the east of Iwagakure.) The door clicked softly behind him, and he set the tray down on the corner of his desk to form the seals for the jutsu that made certain that no one would be entering his apartments without his knowledge.

After taking a moment to disarm and reset the handful of simple yet deadly traps guarding this doorway, he took a few steps into the room and kicked off his standard ninja shoes before stepping onto the carpeted area. Pausing in the middle of the office-meets-library, he glanced backward at the discarded pair of sandals, a vague smile tugging at his lips and a reflective look in his dark eyes.

--

"Ah-hhnn. S-Sasori-sama...?" The child winced as the tip of Hiruko's tail jabbed at him between the shoulder blades, not breaking the skin but still bruising him uncomfortably and causing him to stumble forward. He resisted the urge to soothe his back with chakra, knowing that his master would not be pleased with such an action.

"Kabuto, you are a fool if you suppose you can get away with such impoliteness with your host family - or with me." The massive construction shifted inside its cloak, a displeased rumble coming from its innermost parts. The metal tail dug further into Kabuto's back, demanding compliance.

The child-spy muffled a grunt of protest, blinking in confusion. What had he done wrong? Had he forgotten something? "Impoliteness"? The ever-insistent tail shoved a little harder, causing him to fall to one knee. Glancing down, his eyes widened and he hastened to slip out of the tiny ninja shoes he wore. "G-gomenasai, Sasori-sama!" Setting the shoes aside, Kabuto clambered to his feet and turned to his Akatsuki superior, bowing his head low in apology. "Please, forgive my rudeness, Master. It won't happen again."

"Hnn, see that it doesn't. I will not tolerate such behavior in any subordinate of mine. You must be perfect, Kabuto." The cloaked puppet shuffled past Kabuto's still-bowed head, tail retreating beneath the black-and-red fabric.

The young ninja raised his head when Sasori had passed by him, shoving his too-large glasses back into place with the back of a small hand. Perfect. If that's what Sasori-sama wanted, that's what he would be. Silent and demure, Kabuto padded after his master, obedient as he knew he must be.

He did not make the same mistake twice.

--

He supposed there was a certain feeling of relief about it.

After all, the man - puppet, the medic corrected without the barest hint of spite in his tone - was a threat to Orochimaru-sama and, therefore, a threat to him. Of course, there was also the issue of the servitude he'd been unwillingly placed under for most of his life, but honestly, he found it hard to feel any real anger toward his former master over that. Certainly not hatred (not on the level of Sasuke's feelings for his last living relative, in any case). Shaking his head in private reproof, Kabuto walked into his bedroom and returned a moment later - minus the headband, gloves, and other ninja gear. He had retied his hair into a looser, more comfortable ponytail, and a pair of plain white socks kept his feet warm and cozy. (The mountain lair was notorious for its cold temperatures and drafty conditions.) Slipping into the comfortable chair at his desk, the med-nin picked at his supper on the tray, not really feeling like eating.

Nibbling unenthusiastically on a rice ball in one hand, Kabuto fiddled with a strand of his silver hair with the other. He supposed there might be some bitterness in his feelings toward his former master, but...Sasori was merely the first in a line of many vying for his loyalty. What made him so different from Orochimaru? Or Konoha? The Akatsuki member had simply been more effective in securing his subordinates' devotion. Whatever he might feel personally about being used in such a callous way, Kabuto respected Sasori for his skills as a ninja and as a superior.

What could he possibly admire more than a puppet who could control his own strings?

Sasori was everything Kabuto strove for - sheer intelligence and power, unclouded by emotions or attachment. The shinobi of the Red Sand was everything a true shinobi should be. In a way, Kabuto's life was built on a foundation of imitating Sasori. Part of this, of course, was due to the effects of the jutsu he'd unknowingly been subjected to in his early life. According to the jutsu's rules, Sasori's every word was law: Kabuto had no choice but to accept any command the mysterious puppeteer gave. However, even after Orochimaru had released the jutsu binding his memories and will, Kabuto still imitated Sasori, in his own way. This attitude of imitation manifested itself in a handful ways: the Dead Soul Technique, used to return life to and manipulate a corpse, was clearly reminiscent of Sasori's puppet techniques; even his rejection of Sasori's control was an attempt to become a figurative "puppet controlling his own strings" (although, he mused, he still hadn't accomplished that).

Smirking bitterly, Kabuto glanced around the room he was seated in. It wasn't particularly large, just an average-sized room, probably intended to be a living room of sorts by the builders. There were several large bookcases placed up against all four walls of the room, loaded down with medical scrolls and ancient volumes and research data and whatever else the missing-nin thought worthwhile to keep nearby. Come to think of it, Sasori had kept quite a library, hadn't he...?

--

"W-wow."

Sasori glanced back at the astonished child following him, his smirk well-hidden behind Hiruko's bulky frame and gravelly voice. "What? Surely you've seen a book before, Kabuto."

Attempting to blink away his awe, the silver-headed boy tore his gaze away from the rows and rows of books and scrolls in Sasori's private library to face his master. "Of course, Sasori-sama. I've just never seen this many...in one place..." Hunger burning in their depths, Kabuto's eyes shifted back to the shelves. So much knowledge to be gained...! No wonder Master Sasori was such a great shinobi. To a ninja, knowledge was power - that's what he'd been taught, and he had already seen enough, at seven years of age, to know that it was true.

Shuffling deeper into the library, the Akatsuki member urged Kabuto forward with a jerk of his puppet's head. "Come further in. Do you like what you see?" Sasori watched his young subordinate trot forward, carefully judging the look in those glasses-framed eyes. That hunger. It was what made Kabuto so valuable - and so dangerous. As long as the jutsu held out, the orphan boy was the perfect tool: brilliant, talented, and completely subservient. His thirst for knowledge would not become a threat so long as there was no ambition in it. But if the jutsu broke...Kabuto could potentially grow into a formidable enemy.

But the jutsu was perfect.

"Yes, it's amazing...Master."

It would not break.

--

Oddly, there was also a certain amount of sorrow associated with Sasori's death.

The spy had never felt any real attachment to or affection for Sasori, beyond the unquestioning loyalty he'd been forced into. So why Kabuto actually regretted the man's death was quite beyond him. Nonetheless, there was an odd sort of undeniable melancholy about the whole business. Setting aside the half-eaten rice ball with a muted sigh, the young missing-nin shifted in his seat so that he was nearly curled up in it, his back in the corner of the chair and his legs dangling over the opposite arm. With one forearm resting across his belly, Kabuto slipped off his glasses with his free hand and absently started cleaning them on the edge of his dark purple shirt as he mused.

When did the death of his old master begin to matter to him? When he and Orochimaru had planned the assassination of the Akatsuki's puppeteer, Kabuto hadn't experienced any regret. He'd fully intended to kill his old master (or, well, at least attempt to), when he'd turned on the henged Leaf jounin disguised as Sasori. And he hadn't lied, after the Haruno girl had revealed Sasori's fate, when he'd said he was relieved. It just made things easier, not having to take out that particular Akatsuki threat on their own. (Seems the Leaf were good for something after all.)

There was no practical reason to regret his passing, and no emotional bond to be broken. So why did Kabuto feel so... Well, sad really wasn't really the word to describe it, actually. More like rueful. After all, Sasori had played a huge role in his life, whether Kabuto liked it or not, and to have that "proof of existence" taken away was a little...disconcerting.

Holding up his now-clean glasses to inspect them, Orochimaru's "right-hand man" squinted against the light glaring off of them. Yes, disconcerting, that was the word. With Sasori dead, there was simply one less place for him to run to, should Orochimaru become a less-than-desirable or otherwise unavailable option. As time went by, his mental list of people he could give his loyalty to was growing shorter at an alarming rate. The moment he had sided with Orochimaru, he had chosen to mostly eliminate Konoha as an option, though it was still possible he could have returned to them, up until the assault on the village itself, at which point they were unlikely to welcome him back with open arms. And now Sasori was gone, dead, killed by the village he had rejected in the beginning. (He still had a hard time imagining weak little Haruno Sakura, of all people, taking him down - but that was another topic entirely.) He was safe while Orochimaru was around, of course, but even that position was not completely secure - Sasuke's swift rise in the Sannin's favor caused a bit of unease. The Uchiha was dangerous, everyone knew that, though Orochimaru seemed confident that he could handle the temperamental Sharingan-wielder.

Kabuto, personally, wasn't convinced. He also, of course, valued his life too much to tell Orochimaru so.

Besides, it would be an interesting fight, wouldn't it?

Chuckling darkly, Kabuto slipped his glasses back into place, letting his eyes slip closed as he did so, the lashes brushing his cheeks. He had to wonder what Orochimaru would say if he could hear the way he was thinking. He'd probably be amused. Morbid things (like options disappearing until nothing was left but the lies he'd built his identity on) often amused him.

What would Sasori have thought...? Unconsciously and needlessly adjusting his glasses to hide his eyes, Kabuto dipped his head and hid his mouth behind his collar.

--

"Kabuto-kun, do you know what art is?"

The fair-haired boy looked up from the scroll he was copying, dutifully setting his pen aside and folding his hands to recite his response. "Hai, Sasori-sama. 'Art is eternal.' It lasts forever and never disappears - undying beauty that outlasts even its maker."

Sasori (Hiruko) nodded slowly. "Correct. Art is eternal. Well done." Kabuto beamed at the praise, though he lower his head so his bangs would hide his eyes. "However, the true artist does not create works that outlast him." The young spy glanced up, curious. "A true artist, Kabuto, lives forever. This is the real meaning of beauty. Immortality. Life - eternal life."

The puppet paused mid-speech, as though distracted, and Kabuto waited silently for Sasori-sama to continue. When he didn't, the would-be spy cleared his throat and demurely spoke up. "Sasori-sama…I'm not sure I understand. Shinobi are tools of war, destined to die - how can one achieve immortality? Is that…possible?" Meeting his superior's gaze steadily, he awaited an answer, hoping he hadn't angered the temperamental Akatsuki member.

Hiruko glared a little at being interrupted (Sasori had not realized that he had trailed off), but his gaze softened into almost-approval at the steady gaze Kabuto had returned with. "Yes…it is possible. Immortality can be achieved, though very few of us who even bother to try ever reach that goal."

Kabuto nodded thoughtfully to himself, processing the information he'd gathered and storing it away for later.

Immortality…

--

Pathetic…

Dark eyes slipped open to stare at the bare ceiling.

Why were all of his masters so obsessed with immortality? First Sasori (and we see how that ended), and now Orochimaru…well. He wasn't dead yet. But how long would that last?

Sighing softly, Kabuto shifted. With his elbows on his thighs, he stared down at his softly trembling hands - so pale and smooth and slim, not the hands of your average ninja, but testifying to his skills as a medic nonetheless.

Sasori - he who had "achieved immortality" - was dead.

Orochimaru had almost died more than once.

If two such powerful individuals could not tame death...

Where did that leave him?

Closing his fingers to hide the shaking, the young shinobi closed his eyes once more, a vague grimace on his face.

It was times like these when he buried himself in his work to drown out the ticking in his head. Because it was times like these when he was reminded of his own mortality. And that scared him so very badly.

He could outrun the ANBU, the Akatsuki, and probably even Orochimaru, if he wished (or dared).

But he could not outrun time.

Perfection would always be just beyond his grasp.

And the arts had never appealed to him, anyway.

But what was he good at if not pretending?

Finishing his lunch and restoring his appearance, the Sound Village's top medic-meets-spy emerged from his quarters with a smirk in his eyes as well as his lips, fully prepared to face the rest of the day's numerous little tasks and missions with as much enthusiasm as ever.