"I think they're wrinkles."

Deidara and Tobi looked up from their cards. To their surprise, Kisame was frowning into his hands. His mouth was twisted and his face was a picture of puzzlement usually reserved for schoolboys on a history test. They had stopped in a clearing in a bamboo copse for a brief respite and were sat around a little yellow fire. Initially Itachi had been with them, but as soon as Deidara had pulled out a pack of cards, he had stalked off into the undergrowth as regal as a panther.

"What are?" Deidara peered critically at Kisame's hand of cards. "Are you saying my cards have been tampered with? The last person who borrowed them was that loser Hidan -"

"I was just thinking," Kisame looked over his shoulder into the darkness beyond the firelight, "about the lines on Itachi-san's face."

There was a moment of silent contemplation. Samehada growled and made gurgling noises from behind Kisame's back, and three pairs of eyes slid towards the spot where Itachi had disappeared into the woods. A gentle breeze hissed through the bamboo leaves and rattled the branches.

"You mean," Deidara licked his lips and lowered his voice as he turned around, "the scars?"

Kisame put down his cards and folded his arms. "Scars? I thought they were wrinkles."

"Sure they're scars," Deidara continued, and he nodded and grunted with approval at his own words. "There's art in explosions, isn't there? Those scars are a kind of art. He did those scars to himself. He carved his own pain into his face with the explosiveness of his feelings – "

"Itachi-san wouldn't do anything so flashy," Kisame protested, shaking his head.

"Ah, but sirs, wasn't he the one who suggested we wear nail varnish?" Tobi pointed out.

"That has a practical use though," said Kisame, even though he looked at his own nails with some distaste. "The matt finish and dark colour stops our nails catching the light when our hands move, so small hand movements go unnoticed, and we can maintain our element of surprise when we draw our weapons. It's like when we paint the wires in traps to stop them glinting."

Deidara snorted and burst out laughing. "What's that? The Gospel of Itachi's Nails? You honestly remembered what he said word for word?"

"I've been using them to try and convince myself every day," Kisame sighed and glared ruefully down at his painted toenails.

"Well, it must work, otherwise none of us would still be doing it," Tobi said cheerfully, throwing down his cards to tuck his hands up his sleeves. "The scars on Itachi's face, I heard once from Sasori, who heard it from Kakuzu, who heard it from Hidan, that Konan put them there."

Deidara spewed out the barley tea he had put to his mouth. "Konan put them there? Rubbish! What the hell? Konan? Those scars on Itachi's face are giant paper cuts?"

"He had those lines way before we met Konan," said Kisame. He shook his head and raised his hands up to his ears. "And anyway, Itachi-san isn't that kind of man, you know. He's a gentleman. He wouldn't invade a lady's space without permission. He wouldn't put his face close enough to Konan for her to target."

"Then when and where did he get those marks on his face? And what are they anyway?" Deidara threw down his hands in exasperation and thumped the ground at his feet so hard the stones in the fire jumped.

Kisame sat back and after a moment of thought, nodded. "Then they've got to be wrinkles."

"Isn't he a bit young for that?" Tobi suggested, his voice quavering a little. He risked another peep over his shoulder into the deep blue foliage around them.

A huge white moth, its wings scaled and shimmering, was flapping about their heads. Kisame shrugged and ignored the feeling that the forest was watching them. "People can be old beyond their years? You know, seen a lot, done a lot."

Tobi lifted a finger to the single eye hole of his mask as though to flick away a tear. "Seen things no poor young kid should have seen."

"More like, 'Done things no poor young kid should have done', in that one's case," Deidara said darkly.

"They're the wrinkles of a pressured childhood," wept Tobi into his sleeve. "They must be. Oh, poor, poor Itachi-san – "

"But in Akatsuki,"cut in Kisame, with another frown, "none of us have had especially normal childhoods, so why don't we all have those face wrinkles?"

"That's because the only one who dwells on his past and broods about it is Itachi," Deidara said, grunting with satisfaction again, as he raised a finger to prove his point. "It means that he relives the stress over and over again. That's why his face is aging faster than the rest of him. It's the bit closest to his brain. It shows his brain aging. Like cheese."

"So they're a sign that Itachi-san thinks too much?"

All of a sudden a wind swept through the clearing, picking up the cards and flinging them up into the air.

"My cards!" Deidara cried, springing up to snatch them from the wind.

The fire erupted into fizzing cloud of sparks. It crackled, spat then just as suddenly died down to nothing but a sullen orange glow in the gloom. Tobi screamed and clung to Deidara, who instantly pushed him off. The deep blue of the dark closed in. It seemed to be thick with shadows, and the shadows flickered like flames.

"Who thinks too much?" a voice rang out from the forest, deep and cold.

A pair of glowing red spots hovered at the edge of the clearing.