Darkling I Come to You
Title: Darkling I Come to You
Rating: PG
Pairing: Itachi/Kisame
Word count: 1555
Warning/s: Shounen-ai. Nothing explicit, though.
Summary: Itachi wakes up, unable to move or see. What happens to him in the dark? When you lose something, maybe it is meant to stay lost.
I.
One, two, three, Itachi counts. This is as far as the other one goes. Then the footsteps stop and there is rustling of fabric and tinkling of glass.
His whole body is numb. He wants to move, but cannot lift a finger. He wants to speak, but can barely open his dry lips. No sound escapes them. What is this place? And why is it so dark?
Four and five and six, the steps are coming back and Itachi counts, for that's the only thing he still can do.
Something is touching his forehead now. It's a human hand, big, warm and quite callous, but the touch is gentle enough. When a finger touches his lips, he starts to shiver.
"The fever is gone now, that's good. You must be thirsty. Here you go," a voice says, rough and yet gentle, just like the hand. Itachi is sure that he must know whose voice it is, but he doesn't remember. Next moment he thinks only about the cool water slipping down his scorched throat.
"W-where am I?" he finally manages to say in a hoarse voice, "and who are you?"
"You're in a safe place. You don't remember me?" The other's voice now seems to be saddened a little bit, which doesn't fit with it quite well.
"I don't know. May I see you?" Itachi asks.
There is a long silence, in which Itachi realizes that not only he doesn't know the other person's identity, but that the very same thing applies for him. But first things first, he decides.
"Will you...take this cloth away from my eyes?" he asks and his voice suddenly sounds meek to his ears. He is hit by a wave of self-loathing at first, but than it subsides. How do I know? Maybe I am a meek kind of person. I think it's highly improbable, though.
Silence stretches. Seven, eight, nine steps away, Itachi counts, for I can count and think and therefore I'm alive and my brain is intact, even when I don't know who I am and I can't see anything at all.
A soft, deep sigh echoes from the other end of the room (is this really a room?).
"There's no cloth. You're blind, Itachi-san."
"Itachi? That is… my name?" he whispers.
The darkness in front of his eyes somewhat deepens. There are red wheels turning somewhere back in his head. Blind. Helpless. Alone.
Ten, eleven, twelve, the other one is coming back and takes one of his limp hands into his own.
Not alone.
"You don't remember anything?"
"I remember…" Red wheels of pain are entwining in a lunatic, nauseating dance and Itachi feels as if he was falling to a deep dark well. He doesn't know how long it is taking; this time he doesn't count. At the bottom of the well there is a name. He says it.
Callous fingers detangle themselves from his and let his hand drop back on the blanket, heavy and motionless like a dead fish.
"That's your brother," the voice says, suddenly sounding rather cold, "he did this to you."
The wheels stop with one last violent spin and dissipate into the darkness.
II.
Next time Itachi awakes, first thing he becomes aware of is a cool air caressing his face. It bears a fresh, earthy scent with it, which makes him think of fields and roads whitening in a morning sun and turning into a glistening mist at the horizon, and of the wind playing softly with his hair.
He finds out that he can move now, if only a little. He fails in trying to sit up, hut he can raise both of his hands and touch his face.
First his chin; it is slightly pointed and rather delicate for a man, turning into high cheekbones. There are few scratches on his face that feel new when he runs his fingers over them.
His lips feel thin and dry. His finger on them evokes a memory of the touch of the other man some time before and it once again sends shiver down his spine. What is it about that man that provoked this reaction? And more importantly, who is he?
There are two deep wrinkles engraved under his eyes and he wonders again what kind of a person he might be. Do I worry too much? Or am I a carefree, lightheaded sort of person? Something is telling him that the latter isn't the case.
Suddenly the door creaks open and he tries to sit up again, this time too abruptly. There is a pang of pain somewhere behind his eyes and his hands automatically shoot up to cover them. When his fingers touch the area above the wrinkles, he lets out a startled cry. This…this is…
"Don't, Itachi-san," the voice says and his hands are gently, but firmly pulled away.
"You mustn't touch them. They heal surprisingly well, but you might get an infection."
The other man holds his hands for a while.
"Who am I?" Itachi asks, feeling rather stupid.
"You are Itachi-san," the other man says with a hint of certain stubbornness.
"Obviously," Itachi replies with a hoarse chuckle, "but that is who?"
"That is my partner."
Itachi takes a deep breath and counts, this time from one to ten. He is suddenly very aware of a pair of warm hands firmly holding onto his.
"And you are?"
"Hoshigaki Kisame."
"Ah."
Smell of earth continues to enter his nostrils and a twirl of memories makes its way to the surface. Twilight is falling on the forest, trees flying by with an incredible speed and he can sense someone's presence by his side. Friendly fire is burning under the darkening sky and he is watching the back of someone leaning over the kettle.
Bodies on the ground. Blood on his hands. Someone supporting him and whispering reassuring nonsensical words into his ear.
Then it is all gone and the only thing left is a sense of blood and water, two colors, red and blue, distant and subdued for they are not real. Nor will they ever be.
The water is once again slipping down his throat – or is it blood? – and he drinks what he can, before the darkness envelops him.
III.
This time the earthy smell is mingled with a smell of a freshly cooked fish.
"You mustn't strain yourself that much," says the voice of the other man – Kisame's voice, Itachi corrects himself.
"You have told me that some time before, haven't you?" Itachi replies with a sudden flash of recollection.
"Oh yeah, more than just once, actually. Wait – you remember?" Kisame asks, with a hint of hope in his voice.
"Kind of," Itachi mumbles. Kisame waits for anything else he might have to say, but nothing follows.
"You're probably not fit enough for talking so much yet," Kisame assumes, "Here, have some."
Itachi feels something warm and smooth being handed to him. He takes a hold of it, finding that it is a bowl with rice and fish. When the appetizing smell reaches his nostrils, he realizes how hungry he is and eats the whole content of the bowl.
"Thank you for the meal," he says and it sounds odd coming from his mouth. Is that the kind of person I am? Somebody who never shows his gratitude to anyone? Itachi wonders.
"You're welcome," answers Kisame and there is a tinge of surprise in his response just strong enough to confirm Itachi's presumption.
I want to find my lost identity, but I don't know if I'd wish to assume it again once I'll actually find it, Itachi muses.
He thinks of those visions of blood and maimed bodies flashing through his mind that were not disturbing him half as much as they should have.
Maybe there was a reason for losing it in a first place.
"Tell me about…" Myself, Itachi has been intending to say, but then he pauses for a moment and suddenly changes the word that has been forming on his lips into something else.
"Tell me about yourself."
Kisame laughs as to hide his sudden nervousness.
"There's not much to tell. I'm a pretty boring guy. I don't have any special abilities or something. I…make living of tending flowers and selling them to beautiful ladies, I mean, not that beautiful, you see, sometimes they are downright ugly," he goes on stammering after he sees the look on Itachi's face, thinking that his partner may assume that he has other than work relations with his female customers.
But that's quite a misunderstanding; the only thing that Itachi is concerned about is the image of those rough, callous hands tending sweet, delicate flowers. This contrast almost makes him laugh, but it also sends shivers through all of his body.
No matter how hard he tries, he cannot recall a single flash of memory that would involve a flower. Either I'm missing something important here or Kisame is a miserable liar, Itachi smiles to himself.
Kisame takes a hold of one of his hands again and Itachi is starting to find it a little bit strange. We are partners, he repeats to himself, but what kind of partners? He cannot bring himself to saying that question aloud.
One hand is lifted and its fingers slowly trace a vein on Itachi's forearm. His heart beats faster.
Kisame's fingers draw little circles on his arm and it feels just a little bit odd and at the same time very right.
When Kisame's hands find their way up to Itachi's shoulders, they slip behind his back and he gives the smaller man a tentative hug.
Itachi hesitatingly leans into the touch and there are myriads of thoughts dancing madly in his head. Are we really this sort of partners? Or is he making it up, jumping at the opportunity? But then, why I do feel that I can trust him completely? Which is even more unusual, because I think I'm quite a wary person.
Itachi rests his head on Kisame's shoulder. We must have been very close.
"Now tell me about myself," he says.
He feels Kisame's body stiffening slightly. Then the other man takes a deep breath.
"Itachi-san is…you are very special. You are very clever, strong-willed and you have always worked hard to achieve your goals. You are a…urm…writer. Yes, a writer. You write a lot of interesting books about… erm…"
This time it is Itachi's finger that finds its way on the other man's lips.
"Hush."
His fingers trace the lines of a strong jaw, a straight, regular nose and then… one, two, three.
Itachi smirks.
"You have lines under your eyes too."
"These are of a different kind," Kisame mumbles, embarrassed.
"But we are not, are we?" Itachi asks, softly.
No, we aren't. We are just the same.
They kiss. In the darkness, everything comes back. The world hidden behind the red veil, the world of power, blood, pain and madness. His brother who has already won, leaving him to the fate that was worse than death, leaving him weak and powerless. Pathetic. I once said that if that were ever to happen to me, I'd seek death.
That's what I said. Me. My old self.
Maybe there really was a reason for losing it.
"Tell me," Itachi says, when their lips part, "are these books about flowers?"
Darkling I come to you
wearing a lie
more beautiful than any truth could ever be
f i n