Notes:

This is the pairing no one asked for or wanted, but here you go and I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

Uraraka is older here, so the age difference is small. No worries there.

Huge thanks to PlaguedAmbition for beta-ing, EndoplasmicPanda and Enbi for helping, and LinSetsu for her infinite amount of support. All four are wonderful writers, please check them out too!

To join the fanfiction Discord I'm apart of, here's the code: 3vnrA5c


In the Shade of Avalon
By MaethoMixup

Chapter One


"Were your eyes able to see through it all?"

Itachi dies with two fingers raised, pressed gently against Sasuke's forehead.

It's the first time he remembers smiling in a very, very long time.

-.-.-

Death is a bright light and a hard pull.

There is no comfort here.

And then-

-.-.-

He wakes in water, gasping around the burn of fresh air.

Light no longer sears into him - no longer seeps into his soul, pulling him apart at the seams. His eyes flutter open to acknowledge what new abyss has captured him and an aurora blinds his vision before he's prepared for the view.

Itachi squints through the stars, determined.

Paradise smiles back.

The ocean is double-shaded: the blue of its surface mingles with the reflection of the horizon. Specks of gold and red swarm around him, and it takes him several blinks to realize that it's a collection of fish. They swim from the depths below and travel into the sky as if the world is their playground. He swishes his arms to be sure there's a distinction between the two elements framing him; water splashes over him as the breeze cools his breached limbs.

And there's sound. He hears birds cawing underneath the waves, hears his own heartbeat tick against his ribs. Wind giggles, placing kisses against his cheeks.

Itachi feels safe - he feels alive. Inside him life surges as if he's a wind-up toy twisted after centuries of silence, and he relishes in the sympathy each rusted gear makes as his once-corpse welcomes back humanity.

He floats there, breathing in the seabreeze, and accepts this new reality. As amazing as it is to watch fish fly, it's the fact that he can see at all that astounds him. In his dying moments he recalls his vision nothing more than shadowed outlines.

But there are no shadows here. Everything is clear and bright and too foreign for a man trained in war, and he doesn't complain. For once his memories - of Sasuke, of Konoha - freeze behind their picture frames, silent, left as morbid decorations inside his soul. He decides that it doesn't matter whether or not this place is a dream or a trick if this reprieve is what peace feels like.

His head tilts backwards and his body goes slack, letting the current drift him like a fallen leaf.

-.-.-

"Are you alive?" he hears a voice call from a close distance, jarring him from his tranquility.

Beneath calm layers, glass shatters. Old instincts encourage him to grab at a weapon and fling the metal to meet the bone of the stranger's thigh. The scenario plays itself like a faded recording through his mind, with past voices oozing in to remind him how to torture, how to kill. His hands flex around nothing, but even if his gear had still been attached to his naked hip, the wrongness of that action screams at him.

Itachi forces his fist loose. There's no need to resort to violence with his mission now complete, he reminds himself.

His body shivers.

Mission complete, that's a new thought.

Before the academy, before his father had sat beside him to whisper half-truths as bedtime stories, his younger self had dreamed of a peace similar to this ocean wonderland. The tides thrill around him and Itachi realizes the fable of his youth is finally within arms reach now that death has severed the chains linking him to his duties and village.

Freedom. That's new too.

The potential threat of this woman's presence is not enough to hurry his movements despite his taut muscles still urging otherwise. He rolls his shoulder once, twice, and pivots towards her.

She stands on a pier. Both hands cup around her mouth, wind blowing her dress into a billow against her curves. Her stare pierces through the sun's hazy glean, vast and curious beneath strands of brown. Innocent, Itachi thinks. This woman doesn't belong in days of war. A veteran would know the dangers of a lone man - they would know not to smile so widely at a stranger.

Are you alive, she had asked.

"I don't know," he finally manages to respond, swallowing a wave between words.

"Can you swim?" she says. One hand is already drifting to her sandals, ready to shuck them off if he answers with a negative. The honest gesture rings like a warning, but sounds like the truth. It clashes heavily against his own worldviews regardless of its validity.

Another shiver. He wants to believe - in her. In the sincerity steering her movements. But to trust a stranger is a notion he is no longer accustom with; villains do not get that luxury. Allies are born and bred for the necessity of survival and that same reason rips them apart. Never once had he considered saving another person without a strategy and an end goal, yet here she is ready to leap to his rescue without knowing him or his circumstances. For, if she did, surely she would cower instead of exposing her weaknesses as blatantly as she is.

He notices himself soften in spite of his warring suspicions. If nothing else, gullible targets are a well of much needed information and her presence in this ethereal world is a luxury he is unwilling to overlook.

Itachi twists around so he is mostly submerged, then looks to see where he is suppose to swim to. Stranded in the middle of this never-ending blue is just the woman and a hut with a dock stretching towards him. It is all rather plain, made of dark woods and painted white, but he's never seen anything so glaringly out of place.

With no other destination to consider, he makes his way to her. Rather than accept the hand she extends to him, he heaves himself to the surface and rolls over, bare back flopping down, water splashing her toes. His nakedness doesn't faze him, but the wet chill is sudden enough to make laying there uncomfortable.

Itachi stretches forward with one arm behind himself for stability and watches her frown waver back into that impossible smile.

"I arrived the same way, you know." She teeters beside him, weight dancing to and from each foot. "Though, I wasn't as calm as you! I thought I was drowning!"

"I should already be dead," he says; there's no use in hiding it. "I remember dying."

If she's surprised, she doesn't show it. She nods instead. "Yeah, like I said, it was the same for me. That's why it was so silly of me to think I was drowning," she says like she truly understands, and maybe she does.

Itachi scans her and then the area again. There is nothing new to see, but her statement brings another perspective to the environment. "This is not how I expected the afterlife to appear."

Her giggle is fluttery, almost like she'd been waiting for that realization. "It gets weirder," she says, taking a step back and jerking her thumb at the half-timbering house. Wide windows weigh down the exposed cross beams, all framed in with multicolor shutters. "Follow me, I'll show you around. It's not much, but it has everything we need here!"

Her foot pauses above the pier as he stands to follow. Curiosity piques until he registers where her widened gaze had traveled, and he moves a hand to cover himself in an effort to stave off her furious blush.

"I'm sorry," she stammers out quickly, whirling herself in another direction. "Me too! It was like that for me too. The, uh, nakedness. I was so happy to see you that I'd completely overlooked," she gulps down the first word to come to mind, "that," she ends, then slaps her palm against her mouth. "I'm sorry I'm so weird, I wasn't like this before, well, this. I think."

Itachi looks away and chooses to leap over the situation's awkwardness. "Death changes people," he comments drily.

"I'm pretty sure that phrase was meant for the living," she mumbles between her fingers, giving him a humored glance before remembering why she had originally turned away. "Okay! So, new plan! First step, get you a towel and some clothes!"

She marches forward with forced determination and flings the front door open. "Home sweet home," she announces. The echoes of her voice reach him above the sound of the crashing waves, each petering word making their isolation more pronounced.

Itachi suspects he already knows the answer before he asks, "Are we alone here?"

There's still a smile in her voice as she responds, "Not exactly," and she dances under the threshold without clarification, his feet trailing her steps.

Inside is much like his first impression of the hut: small and odd and its whiteness is nearly blinding. There's a plank staircase that spirals against the walls, framing the kitchen and leading them to the level above. A bunk bed lays amidst two dressers, one of which she begins to rifle through.

"I took all the towels when I got here, I hope you don't mind," she says, head buried in a drawer. "I had no idea when you'd be showing up!"

That piques his interest. "You knew I would arrive?"

"Well, I suspected," she clarifies. A towel is tossed over her shoulder and he catches it, patting himself dry and wrapping it around his waist before letting her know it's safe to turn around.

She continues, "I suppose it's more accurate to say that I had really, really hoped I wouldn't be alone here for all eternity!" Her lips upturn, lopsided. "Good to see I didn't get my hopes up for nothing."

"Did you expect it to be me?"

"What?" she asks.

"Here," he gestures around the open room, "with you. Did you know I was going to die?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know who you are. There were some clues though so, uh," her fingers drum nervously, a jumble of Morse code against her thigh, "perhaps it's better if I show you?"

Rather than wait for his response, she turns to the other wardrobe and opens it, throwing the doors wide enough for him to see the contents inside. Shirts hang color coordinated from white to black, and in the drawers below pants are folded neatly in two by four rows. They match the garments that had once filled his own closet - back when he'd had a house to call home.

Itachi reaches out to one of the shirts, turns it to see the back, hates the sight of what he knew would be there. The Uchiha symbol sits in the center of the garment, red and proud. His hand balls the fabric into a fist.

"I'm guessing that means something to you?" she asks from behind, peeking around him.

"Yes." His voice is nearly a whisper.

His hand loosens enough to allow for his fingers to trace the crinkled fan. He hadn't worn this symbol since the night he'd betrayed his family; he doesn't know if he's allowed to don it again.

"Both dressers were full when I arrived," she explains. "The other one, the one I was just in, those clothes fit me perfectly. I figured that someone would come along and fit these too."

He glances from the shirt to her and back again. "Do you know what this means?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Should I?"

Her brown eyes are still wide - still innocent. She's ignorant of the Uchiha clan's infamy. Ignorant of their history, written in blood and buried beneath lies. Perhaps that's for the best, he thinks, if they are to be caged together inside this stilted hut and endless sea like a boat lost within a bottle.

"No," he says. "I suppose not."

Her grin is dazzling. "Well then, get dressed! Meet me downstairs when you're ready. I was in the middle of making lunch before you arrived."

And she skips away, leaving Itachi with a shirt drenched in nightmares. It only takes a quick look to see that the others hanging beside it all carry the same weight upon their backs.

With no other choice, he puts it on.


"Our pain will only last an instant, unlike yours…"


"You look much better with clothes on," she blurts out when he reaches the bottom step of the staircase.

Itachi pauses, looking down at the outfit he'd decided upon. "I hope you mean that as a compliment."

"I did, I swear! It's just-" she stutters to a stop. Her cheeks stain a heavy red, ashen freckles darkening into pinpricks. She busies herself with the vegetables she'd been chopping before his interruption. Onions, he notices, wondering if that explains the redness rimming her eyes or the smile she still hasn't dropped.

"Well," she tries again, nearly pouting. "It was awkward. I don't think you're supposed to make introductions while naked."

"Is that so?" he asks, lips twitching upwards. Itachi doesn't return her smile - not sure he's able - but it feels like he might. "Then should we perhaps make introductions now that I'm clothed?"

"Are you kidding me?" She slaps her free hand against her forehead. "I've forgotten my manners, I'm so sorry! This is really embarrassing. I can't believe I didn't tell you my name during my whole 'hey, welcome to being dead' spiel I had going. There was a speech planned for that, you know."

She takes a steadying breath, drops her knife, and walks around the butcher block island and accompanying bar stools, stretching an arm towards him. "It's Uravity. That's my name," she says as his fingers grasp around her own.

Itachi blinks, commenting, "How strange," before he can hold his opinion to himself. After traveling across the elemental countries for the last decade of his life, names had ceased being original. It's been too long since he's needed to rein in his surprise.

"You think?" she asks with a laugh startled from her, dropping his hand. "Well, maybe it is, but it feels right, you know? Feels like I chose it."

He tilts his head, eyebrow raising. "Is that customary where you're from? Choosing your own name, that is."

"Who knows!" she says. "I don't think I have all my memories still. Thoughts come and go. It's not very consistent here." She taps her knuckles playfully against her skull, but Itachi thinks the statement sounds fitting to describe this world as well.

His footsteps are loud as he explores the room. This first floor, like the one above it, has no walls except for those that cage them from the ocean. There's a kitchenette, a couch, several scattered chairs, tables, and bookcases, but nothing else. There's no pattern in how the furniture sits. Just like outside, the details here bleed into each other like a drowning canvas.

He can feel her gaze settle on him, curious, and Itachi scrambles to grab at the fading thread of conversation. "I wonder if memory loss is a side effect of this place," he signals to the room, to the scattered books and canted candles, "or if that's exclusive to your circumstances here." It's a terrifying proposition, but the howling of his fear goes no further than his own mind.

"I don't know," she admits. "I was the only test subject until you arrived. So, well, I guess we'll find out soon enough."

He frowns. "Can't say I'm looking forward to it."

Uravity hums in agreement, making her way back to the cutting board, but stares at the onions instead of continuing her progress for a second time. "It's not all bad," she says finally. "I can't miss what I can't remember."

"But you can miss your memories."

"Yeah, sometimes," and for once her cheer isn't echoed upon her lips. "Anyways, what's your name?"

"Ah, I apologize. You may call me," he pauses, considers a lie, tastes the treachery sour his tongue before opening his mouth and deciding upon, "Itachi." Though his clan had been unknown to her, he hopes his name doesn't spark one of her hidden memories to the surface.

"Did you choose your name too?" she asks, eyelashes fluttering playfully in his direction. There's no recognition in her gaze and for that Itachi is grateful. His horrors can stay masked for just a while longer - forever, if he dares to hope so optimistically.

The symbol marring his back burns.

Itachi shakes his head, ignoring the urge to shuck his shirt off and truly set it on fire. "I wouldn't name myself after a weasel."

"There are worse animals to be christened after," Uravity says in his defense. "Like- like spiders."

"That's an insect," he corrects.

Her nose wriggles. "Arachnid, actually. Too many legs. But that doesn't mean I'm changing my stance on this. Spiders are the worst."

He shrugs, sitting on one of the stools to watch her cook. "I'll take your word for it."

-.-.-

It's only after they have eaten that Itachi thinks to ask, "How did you have the ingredients for this? There's no dirt to grow vegetables, unless we haven't finished the tour of this place."

Uravity hands him another soap-filled pan and he dries it with the dish rag she'd thrown at him earlier. "No, these two rooms are it. The fridge and cabinets were full when I arrived, and they kind of just stay that way? Every ingredient I use reappears after I close the door." She motions to the floating cabinet near his head. "The tea bags are stored in there. Make yourself a cup and see for yourself."

He eyes her then the heartwood front, placing the skillet on the drying rack before resting his hand on the knob. "If I take one out, but don't use it…"

"Then this demonstration won't work," she says. "I'm not sure how this house knows or performs this magic, but anything disposable is replaced after it's used or turns rotten."

"But only if the door is closed?"

She nods. "When we go back upstairs, I can show you the log I've used to detail my experiments. Maybe you'll be able to come to a conclusion better than mine."

"Which is?" he asks. Itachi opens the cabinet slowly, peering inside the gap, other hand tense and raised. The hinges squeak in protest.

"That the afterlife is weird," she says as if he should have realized this by now. A smile whirls into her voice and he peeks at her, sees her wink, and turns back to the newly revealed contents in front of him.

He decides that she's just as odd and files that opinion away.

The tea bags sit between rows of spices. Itachi plucks one from the closest box and plops it into the mug Uravity thrusts toward him. "Teapot is under the cooktop," she says. "Right behind you."

"Thank you," he murmurs, swiveling the porcelain handle so the printed word 'Saturday' faces him in pink, curling script.

Dishes clatter against the sink, and he leaves her to finish cleaning them. The teapot she'd directed him towards is a twisted metal, large, and holds enough liquid for several cups. He fills it, places it on the burner, waits for the screeching hiss to start and takes it off, soaking the tea bag.

When he's done, Itachi sets the teapot on a hot pad and regards the cabinet again. "Inside will be the same as it was before?"

"Yes," she says and shoos him forward. "Go on. Glaring at it won't prove anything."

For a second time, he snatches at the knob and the door creaks angrily as it's pulled open.

And for a second time, he sees a box nestled between the paprika and basil, not a single bag missing.

"So you were right," he says, a vast understatement to the information and theories he cogitates in this one, spellbound moment before he takes another bag, pours liquid into another cup, and looks back to the box.

A bag is missing. He closes the door, opens it, and the box is again full. Two full cups of tea sit on the counter behind him, steaming.

Uravity smirks, but it's gentle. The last of the dishes are set to the side. "Did you doubt me?" she asks.

"Without seeing it, I doubt I would believe any of this," he answers without explaining that before today, he couldn't even see. And to see such a blue world - to encounter such implausible wonders during his first, clear experience in years - it threatens to stop the heart he'd reaquired. It continues to chime against his chest, a reminder of its newness, and he clutches at it.

"At least you have me here to clue you in! Much better than the surprises I went through discovering all this by myself," Uravity says, then regards the tightness of his hand. "I probably would've had a heart attack too, except, you know that whole being dead thing. Can't die twice, I guess."

He latches onto that, afraid his mind would drift away from him if he focuses on the tea bag that shouldn't exist. "Have you tested that?" he asks.

One of her eyebrows raise. "Hm?"

"Dying," he clarifies. "For a second time."

Her other eyebrow rises to match, color bleeding from her cheeks, but she shakes her head, says, "No," too quickly and looks away. Her fingers shake around the cup she grabs ahold of.

Itachi snatches up the other mug, stares into the brown, swirling liquid, hates the idea he'd put in both of their minds. Taking his final breath twice is daunting; he doesn't want his vision to return to darkness. He's become greedy in his short time away from reality, it seems.

He walks out the front door to escape the conversation he'd started and tells himself that he isn't running away, but that's a lie.

-.-.-

There's nowhere to run to, only the dock and the ocean and the hut behind him. He sits upon the edge, wood carving into his thighs and waves smacking against his feet. Itachi tries to balance one of his toes against the white crest of the water, urging his chakra to stick him to the surface, but nothing answers his call. He's not surprised, just disappointed.

He looks to the sky. The world is upside down; gazing up feels like falling. The sensation grabs at him like a net, pulling him under even as he stays still. It's as dizzying as it is welcomed, and a fish darts past the sun, scales shaded gold. His eyes follow its path until the clouds imprison it, then travel back to the brine.

Doubt settles on him like a rock; it is unlikely that there is anything besides this man-made island, but Itachi knows himself. He has a bad habit of running, of needing to see everywhere except for the places he's already been. It had always felt like walking backwards despite the new discoveries, yet it is a vice he is unable to break, nor completely willing.

The swollen waves tease a chance to escape with each crash against the pilings. He ponders the view, calculating the distance from here to anywhere else, and then sighs through the heaviness of his feelings. It will not be long before he is itching to leave this place too no matter how tight the unbreakable shackles of death are around his ankles.

Freedom, he remembers thinking. That was too presumptuous of him.

The soft patter of her footsteps alert him of her presence long before Uravity comes to stand beside him. Itachi glances at her. Delicate ankles and well-toned muscles; it's possible she was a ninja in life. There are enough pale scars painting the bare skin of her legs to convince him, but he'd never met a killer with lips that could upturn so softly.

He's mesmerized.

"This is a strange place to call home," he says. It's an icebreaker statement.

Uravity doesn't turn her gaze from the water. Sunlight sparkles against her profile, captures the light, traps it like the glass of a lamp, setting her silhouette ablaze. He watches her mouth as she says, "Of course it is. I told you it was weird."

There it is - a tremble, and she takes her bottom lip between her teeth to hide it from him.

"But neither of us have a choice, do we?" he asks, raising his mug to take a sip.

"No," she says. "We have everything here but that."

-.-.-