This is a very underappreciated pairing, in my opinion. If you think about it they go together so well.

This is basically what happens when I'm awake late at night worrying about things. I should worry more often 8D And yes, I know the ending's a little... blah. I wanted it uploaded.

Neither Naruto or the characters there- or herein belong to me, more's the pity.

Have you ever lain awake in bed, staring at the patterns on the ceiling and picking out pictures, waiting for something or someone who promised to come last night, who hasn't come tonight and isn't likely to tomorrow? Have you ever been working and, out of the corner of your eye, you'll think you saw them, and when you look, it was only a door closing, or a bird? I've had my fair share of sleepless nights in my time, when I was a teenager and again now, even stronger than before because I know what I miss when I don't see him.

I've never been a normal person. When I was a child I was always considered a little strange, and I grew up under the instruction of one of the most evil men to have ever lived. No normal childhood for me, no giggling with schoolfriends about the latest "scandal", nor any shrill squealing over some hurried, clumsy first kiss. No first drunken teenage party, no parties at all for poor little Anko. I was ensnared in his web of lies before I knew the difference between Kiri and Kumo. Instead of giggling with my friends, I watched them die. I didn't nurse them through hangovers or bring them a box of candy and the newest movie when they were sick, I dressed their bodies for their graves. And then, when the last wet clod of earth was shovelled over their empty shells, I had to brush away my tears, pick up my kunai and go back to training. Bow to the one who killed them, call him Sensei and obey his commands. My skin would crawl at his touch, but he promised me such power, filled my mind with bloodlust to mask the agony. I would be strong. Shiro wasn't strong enough for this, Kaiyo wasn't strong enough for this. Only you, Anko. Only you have the strength to wield my power.

And we parted. I had taken all I needed from him. A million snakes at my fingertips, power that wound through my veins like the serpents that embodied it. But I bit it back. I hid my new strength as much as I could, all to come back to the village I once called home. Konoha accepted me back, but under the smiling surface, the mighty Village Hidden in the Leaves was scared of me. Scared of the power I had acquired, where it had come from. They couldn't separate me from him. I am not him. I am nothing like him.

I am not Orochimaru.

Then.... he came. He touched me without recoiling, spoke my name without contempt. To him, I was no monster, because he was as bad as I was. Murderers, the pair of us. I looked into his eyes, the eyes of a spirit of death, and felt no fear, because nothing he could do to my mind would be as bad as anything Orochimaru had done to my body. I'm an enigma to him, a puzzle the greatest mind of the Uchiha line couldn't solve. The first time his slim fingers touched my neck, grazed over the scar marring my skin, I flinched away, waited for the disgust. He barely blinked. Even from Itachi Uchiha I expected more of a reaction, but he simply ignored it, treated it as another piece of the great Anko Puzzle, a piece to slot in amongst the others to make a whole.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, have you ever heard that creak, the soft footsteps that tell you he's here, he's back... You fling your bedcovers back, run to the door or the window. And there he is. The ghosts of a smirk flicker on his lips, and before I know it he's here, next to me, pure power in human form. My back hits the wall, and his lips find mine, no need for words of welcome or repentance for lateness. His fingers touch my skin carelessly, his breath whispers my name against my lips, and my eyes flicker open to meet his, the crimson dyed dark ebony, no trace of crimson. I'm not intimidated by his carmine eyes, nor he by me. He hasn't looked at my through his eyes of blood since our first encounter, I'm the first to see his natural eyes in years. The whites are shot with scarlet threads, and what was once sharp obsidian is dulled and strained. But I prefer these eyes, this Itachi. This is the real Itachi, and I'm the only one to see it, the same way he is the only one to see the real Anko.

He doesn't seem the type to stay, his arms around me as breaths and heartbeats become steady again. But he stays anyway, his fingers covering mine as his lips rest against my neck, against the scar that looks so much like his eyes. He murmurs words that are only for me, soft words designed to prolong the shivers still passing over my skin. He whispers the secret of his past to me, not excusing himself for the horrors he created, simply explaining facts. And after I take it all in, after the inital shock, I smile. Because this is power, this knowledge is strength. How many people know of Madara Uchiha's plans? Very few, I'd put money on it. I've been let into what is probably the greatest secret of Itachi Uchiha's life. And this is power I'll enjoy weilding, because this power is meant to be hidden. I don't have to fight to keep it concealed the way I do with my snakes.

Don't tell a soul.

I wouldn't dare. I don't tell secrets. Especially not Itachi's. After all he's done for me, I wouldn't tell his secret if it would save my life.

Orochimaru gave me strength, but Itachi is the first person in my life to make me feel truly strong.

Daisuki da yo.

Dedicated to my Itachi.