Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto! bakayaro, konoyaro!

A/N: For those of you who started reading this in 2016, I have edited the prologue (and probably the second chapter as well) to suit my new style of writing. It was just super cringe to me, but I promise I didn't take anything out or add in anything in that would change what you already read in any way. I simply made it less congested with adjectives and cut out some unnecessary details :) My feelings on this story still stand: I hope you like Reya, she's my pride and joy, but I will take any constructive criticism (or plot ideas?) you have going forward. Doozo; enjoy!

"Yo—You listening?"

Kisame ignored the black and red patterned cloak discarded neatly over Itachi's bed as he tried to keep his growing temper from exploding.

"We need more mochi," he grumbled. "-and Hidan wants more Taiyaki. No anko this time. He wants custard, or whatever..."

He heard rummaging in the bathroom and looked back at the note in his hand, a fragile attempt at suppressing the urge to creep around Itachi's room which he usually found to be off limits. Not that there was much to see besides a mixture of furniture and personal items. Though Kisame was way too interested in what kinds of things Itachi considered personal items, the picture of Sasuke on the nightstand that followed him around with its eyes was starting to freak him out the longer he let himself wander..

Splash.

The sink was turned on.

Kisame flicked his gaze out the window, pretending like he didn't even see the bathroom. Accident or no, he'd be forever scarred if he happened upon a pair of asscheeks that belonged to Itachi. He wasn't even going to indulge the possibility of that.

Could it be that he was in the bath?

No. He shut off his brain and continued distracting himself with Deidara's shit handwriting.

"That's all they wrote here, Deidara-" he squinted. Actually, there was no way he was going to be able to read that...

"You know what, whatever. Just make sure they double wrap it this time," he said. "And I don't care if you're starving, don't touch my wagashi!"

It was an unspoken tradition. After two years floating around with Akatsuki, Itachi made it a point to disappear for one week of every season. That means four weeks: summer, winter, spring, and fall. Everyone had adapted to the schedule by now, even though they couldn't stand it. Itachi alone with a menu of sweet things was unthinkable when all they ever had to eat was grilled fish and pickled vegetables. Fortunately he had yet to be pressed for an explanation, and he preferred to keep it that way.

"Leave the note there, Kisame. I won't forget." Itachi finished drying his face and returned the towel to its hook. The mirror above the sink opened like a door to the medicine cabinet. He placed his Akatsuki ring inside beside a half-empty container of nail polish remover.

He'd been careless in the past about hiding his fondness for tea houses. That's why everyone became so bitter around the turn of the seasons; because they had convinced themselves that that he was out enjoying tea and desserts without them. Which was partly true—the Dango were delicious—but Itachi didn't take days out of the year just to eat a few cakes. The noise level at Akatsuki was jarring 24/7, and it could be said that he resented the senseless, provoking behavior, endless squabbling, drunken clamoring and midnight killing sessions that characterized their delinquent lifestyle. It wasn't exactly his cup of tea. In general the rule was, if he wasn't explicitly required to take anyone with him, he wouldn't. And he didn't.

Regardless, they'd made him a list. Just like they did every year, quarterly. The routine was painfully consistent since everyone had started picking up on how to decipher changes in his behavioral pattern. Quickly they'd scribble a few things down for him to bring back from his travels (sweets, mostly) and then send Kisame, kicking and screaming, to deliver it.

"At least come out and get it," Kisame retorted. "With clothes on!" He tensed, sizzling with impatience.

No response.

"Oi!"

In no way had he signed up to deal with Itachi in personal, outside of missions. He was only here because no one else was brave enough. Besides, no incentive had been offered except for a few pieces of wagashi, and Itachi never ordered them right anyway.

Because of his indifference, it had taken Kisame months to warm up to him. Itachi held no qualms with giving situational orders—he'd had guidelines to follow all his life—but Kisame wasn't always in line to obey. He quite favored the rebel lifestyle, since it gave him his personality. And being older he simply felt compelled to oppose his instructions. Even the most lighthearted requests provoked him; He'd ripped men's throats out for much less. But as luck would have it, the Uchiha was off-limits.

Itachi blinked. The room was dim, and he had been having trouble with his vision. He braced himself in front of the mirror. The Akatsuki cloak was larger than it looked, and it packed on a lot of weight. Without it he could admit he looked a lot slimmer, ghostly even, thanks to his dark features. But he felt more himself whenever he was alone and could remove it. Like discarding a costume after a play, or a masquerade of some kind. Plus, the gray cotton shirt and trousers reminded him of someone distantly familiar who he held in high regard. Someone formerly good, who was not so good anymore.

"You're going out like that?"

He imagined the look of mock horror on Deidara's face as he fastened the hood attachment to the thin cloak around his neck. Hidan's voice came to mind as well, reminding him that he needed a bread basket if he wanted to look like little red riding hood.

Albeit the hood did seem dainty compared to his other uniform, but he couldn't possibly go out to drink tea dressed like Akatsuki. No one would serve him. Now that he was a part of this organization, everyone knew who he was, and where he was going he preferred to do as much blending in as possible.

The bathroom light switched off with an audible click, and Itachi emerged calmly to the threatening gaze of his partner. He stopped a few feet away and offered his hand to receive the note.

"It's about damn time," he grouched. He handed it to Itachi, looking irritated. "I was beginning to think you were blind and deaf."

"You heard what I said, right? Double wrap it, in case it leaks."

Itachi nodded. "I assume you want gold utensils instead of silver?"

"Fuck off." First of all, they already had utensils. Second of all, what an ass. Good thing Kisame had been practicing self-control since the moment they gave him the stupid note or else—he'd smack that smug look off Itachi's face quicker than Kakuzu with a bag of coins. "What the hell are you wearing, anyway? You look like a farmhand." Kisame drew his arms high and crossed them over his chest.

"These—are called clothes," offered Itachi soberly. He could hardly see how a comparison could be drawn between him and a farmhand since he'd never owned a pair of boots or in the least, a shiny belt buckle. He glanced at the list, harsh lines and scribbles glaring at him from the page.

watrmleon, mochi

choclate candy, taiyaki - WITH CUSTARD!

AND A PACK OF RED VINES

wagashi (double wrap), spring rolls from the shop in Kinoshita

strawberry vodka

NEED TOILET PAPER

He shouldn't have looked. He could have spared himself the head rush.

Kisame chuckled, still glaring sadistically from the previous comment. "Pathetic, isn't it? Little twerp can't even spell watermelon..."

Itachi remembered hearing a rumor about Deidara having received less than a third grade education. Akatsuki initiations have no standard requirements other than being a killing machine, so it would make sense to assume it the truth. Not that it mattered, anyway. Hidan's awful use of capitalization was just as worse on his eyes.

"I'm not going to Kinoshita," he said. Well, it was a nice try… "But I will acquire your wagashi, Kisame. And perhaps, some toiletries as well."

Itachi folded the slip of paper and tucked it into the pocket of his gray trousers. He quietly withdrew from their exchange, dismissing himself to finish packing the belongings he would need to bring with him on his week-long vacation.

Kisame followed meagerly, observing the neatly folded stack of clothes sitting on top of Itachi's bed beside his discarded Akatsuki cloak and a small backpack that he hadn't noticed before. He still had a glare on his face, but it was less out of rage and more out of concentration.

"Good," he said. "Just don't forget about the vodka." He could care less about any of their obnoxious cravings, but they would need the alcohol to get through the preceding weeks. Nagato was hell-bent on capturing tailed beasts, and since they'd all repeatedly failed at bringing one home, he nagged them constantly about it. Itachi was always busy, so for the pair of them, Kisame usually bore the brunt of these particular lectures. It was exhausting; that's why Itachi needed to hurry back, so they could get on top of locating and capturing the Kyuubi. For the sake of their sanity...

"When are you coming back? We need to go to Konoha."

The atmosphere dampened, but it didn't seem to faze him. He finished packing the last of his things inside the backpack, zipped it closed, and slung it over his shoulder.

"A week at most," he said. "Or you could take Tobi with you and finish it yourselves."

"That's a terrible idea. Don't taunt me, Uchiha.." His lips curved in a smirk. Maybe they both knew that Itachi had no interest in going to Konoha, but he kept that piece of information to himself..

"Lock the door behind you," was all he requested.. "Later." He lifted a hand in farewell while slowly disassembling into a group of squawking crows.

Somewhere Outside Yugakure.

"This is how you do it, pat it gently."

"Make a little hole," she said, poking her finger into the earth. "That's where the seed will go."

It was unclear who she had been talking to all morning since she lived by herself. Up in the northern countryside, there were no neighbors. Only forest and grass and mountains. She was a little too old for imaginary friends, but at least there were animals. Birds and beasts, even snakes and rabbits.

She couldn't remember the last time that the soil in the garden had been this moist. While it was customary for the dirt to crumble, it stuck nicely today and was soft and cool around her hands when she molded it. She leaned towards the ground to observe, exposing a pair of curious amber eyes from beneath the rim of her oversized sunhat. Despite her experience, although time and repeated failure had made her a well-seasoned gardener, there were still aspects of Mother Nature that continued to surprise and intrigue her.

"You're listening, right?" It hadn't surprised her to find that the crow was back. It was always there, whether in plain sight or invisible on the other side of the roof. Calm and curious, it could sit forever on the porch rail watching the garden for worms. It also watched her from time to time, a stranger on patrol with its one eye.

"—and I guess it's alright since I don't really like tomatoes. They're just the only thing that ever grows."

"Itachi said to plant them all on this side. The wind will destroy them over there."

"I guess you don't really have arms to do this with, do you?"

Evening was coming. Over near the horizon, the sun had dipped in preparation for sunset. Due to the height of the surrounding mountains, this was impossible to see, so there was no sense in staying outside any longer. With this in mind, she decided she'd wrap it up before the temperature dropped.

"I'm going inside, okay?" She informed the crow, sitting ever-present on the rail. "Don't wait up!"

She felt a bit queasy. As she rose to her feet, her balance suddenly caved, causing her to fall. She gagged, breathing raggedly as a painful surge shot through the center of her chest. The feeling was familiar but not welcomed. Feathers rustled violently in the distance as she fell forward to her knees, unconscious.