4. In a New Light

In the morning, Itachi sent an update via crow to Kisame. It wasn't a detailed message; it contained only the information that he'd be detained in Ishigakure for three days. But it was a courtesy that he and his partner had developed since, as a two-man team, they were expected to be able to respond to their leader's orders together and be generally informed of each other's whereabouts. He didn't think Kisame would bother to come here himself; the man probably had his own business to attend to, and that suited Itachi just fine. Although he was tense with the possibility of being called for a mission, he relished the idea of having time alone. Solitude was such a rare and precious privilege now. He felt like he could breathe easier without malicious eyes watching him for any moments of weakness or disloyalty.

Activating a transformation jutsu and leaving his Akatsuki coat behind, Itachi left the hideout under one of his favored guises, that of an unknown man he'd observed long ago in Konoha. It was a generic face of a generic citizen. Although this face was perhaps a little pale for this climate, it was perfect for blending in with a civilian population.

As he set out, Itachi felt indescribably, breathtakingly . . . anxious. It was unsettling, walking among ordinary folk without a mission and without a partner. He hadn't been truly alone for the past five years, and he was surprised by how uncomfortable the sudden freedom was. However, by the end of the day, he had a strong though general understanding of Ishi's urban layout, and he found a very nice traditional café that he promised himself he would revisit. He observed many types of people, finding amusement in watching a group of children dance around each other competitively. And they really were dancing—not sparring or fighting, as Itachi initially assumed. Just dancing, to a lively melody provided by a boy carrying a shamisen. The children clapped and cajoled each other, stomping and whistling and laughing, as if the precariousness of their village's situation between two great nations didn't affect them, as if years of combat and instability didn't continue to shape the actions and ideas of the people around them. For some reason, he hadn't expected to find such lightheartedness in a place like Ishi.

When he returned to the hideout in the evening, he enjoyed a long soak in the bath tub, taking advantage of the Epsom salt to soothe his aching muscles. His left shoulder and arm had been bothering him for a while, since a few weeks before his brief return to Konoha. Four months had already passed since then. He suspected he had a sprained muscle or tendon somewhere that hadn't healed, but since he was always on the move, he couldn't do much to treat the pain. He simply put it out of his mind whenever he could. For now, however, the hot water was soothing. Itachi hadn't expected to relax fully, but at some point, he ended up dozing off, all warm and quiet in the water. He skin was thoroughly pruney by the time he stepped out.

The next day, boredom got to him. He had never enjoyed excessive time off; he'd always felt that any time not dedicated to his missions, to his family, or to improving himself somehow, whether by training or studying, was time wasted. So early in the morning, Itachi travelled outside Ishi to a secluded stretch of land littered with impressive boulders, arches, plateaus, and other rock formations. This was near the place where he'd first viewed Ishi. Back then, he'd determined the area free enough of traffic to allow an undisturbed battle, so it was perfect for shuriken and ninjutsu training.

Itachi stood in the center of a group of high pillars and arches made of rock and sand. He marked his targets mentally and, with a hard kick, jumped high in the air. With a rapid corkscrew flip, he was upside down, eight kunai between his fingers, and still in midair, he sent the kunai flying. Eight sharp thuds sounded before Itachi landed. When he looked around, every weapon had hit its mark.

At five fifty-five p.m. the following day, Sachi entered the Akatsuki's repurposed hotel room. Itachi was nowhere to be seen, and Sachi hadn't detected his chakra when she'd approached. She turned on the gas lamps one by one, starting with the two by the door, and then sat at her usual swivel chair by the desk. The chair squeaked, as always, when she turned in it. A few seconds passed, and her knee started bouncing. She forced it to stop, but as if acting on its own, it started again. To distract herself from the bouncing, she chewed on her left thumbnail, then the skin around her nail; then she moved on to her index finger. The clock above her desk read five fifty-seven.

She rotated her chair side to side, trying and failing to relax. Just when the anxious knot in her stomach threatened to make her seriously ill, she felt it—the seal around the basement shimmering to allow an entrance. She could detect the faint flicker of a now familiar chakra signature, fiery and dark, approach, and she sat up higher in her squeaky chair. When footsteps stopped before the door, Sachi kept her face stoic and her body just tense enough to be prepared without appearing alarmed. She remembered to take her fingers away from her mouth just as the door opened.

Itachi swept in completely silently; he even managed to open and close the door quietly. He supported his left arm in the front of his coat, using the coat almost like a sling. Sachi frowned. He hadn't mentioned any pain before. Had he gotten injured over the last few days? What if this were related to his other symptoms? She didn't voice these thoughts, however, choosing to focus on her immediate purpose.

"Right on time," she greeted, standing. "Show me your arm."

Itachi slipped his left arm back in its sleeve and extended his right arm. Sachi approached, pushed back his sleeve, and turned his arm to find the little dot she had marked the test site with. His skin looked exactly the same.

"Any pain? Swelling, itching?"

When Itachi said "no," Sachi let him go and explained that his skin test was negative for tuberculosis, which was good for him but left Sachi without a viable diagnosis, especially if his blood screenings were negative, as she suspected they would be. When she was done, she pointed to his left arm, unable to ignore it anymore.

"What happened to your left arm? I saw you cradling it when you walked in."

Itachi paused, touching his left shoulder reflexively. Sachi noted the movement. She recognized his contemplative expression—it was the look patients got when they considered how truthful to be.

"It's a pulled muscle," he finally said, "or tendon. It's not serious."

Sachi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Yes, well, I can determine that. Please have a seat."

Following Sachi's gesture to the cot, Itachi complied and took off his coat. Deep down, beneath her sense of authority as a medical professional, Sachi knew she shouldn't press her luck with Itachi. He was being awfully meek and obedient for someone who could probably kill her before she even realized she was in danger, and she wasn't exactly displaying her warmest bedside manner with him. She inhaled slowly and faced him, trying to look genial. Or at least calm.

"How long as your shoulder been hurting?"

He looked pensive again. "A few weeks."

Sachi's gut told her that he was low-balling that time frame, as patients so often do, but she didn't challenge him.

"It doesn't hurt all the time," he continued. "It comes and goes."

Sachi nodded. "And when it hurts, how bad is the pain, on a scale from one to ten?"

Itachi was slow to answer, and his brows furrowed as he rolled his shoulder experimentally. "It varies. Sometimes a three, sometimes an eight or nine."

Sachi watched him intently before stepping forward, eyes on his shoulder. "May I?"

Itachi nodded, so she pressed her fingers to the top of his shoulder, running along his scapula and then sweeping over his clavicle. When asked, Itachi described the pain as sharp, sometimes shooting or burning down his upper arm. Sachi immediately suspected a nerve injury, especially when he added that the pain sometimes came with muscle weakness and difficulty using his arm. Limiting movement in his shoulder and arm was the only thing that alleviated pain during a flare-up. The symptoms were alarming, but what confused Sachi the most, besides her patient's failure to mention any of this three days ago, was that his pain was always brief, lasting no more than a few days at a time before a period of muscle weakness set in. He had no pain or difficulty turning his head, so the damaged nerve likely wasn't in his neck.

Sachi quickly grabbed her clipboard and scratch paper, making more detailed notes of all the new information; then, she had Itachi reach over his left hand over his head to touch his right shoulder blade and then reach for the same spot from below, watching for stiffness, range, and scapular winging. His muscles were strained though their range of motion was within normal limits, and he expressed pain with both movements. His scapula did wing out slightly. When he relaxed his arm again, his face tightened, and he used his right hand to support his arm against his chest. Then, he broke into a coughing fit, and Sachi was quick to fetch him a paper cup of water, which he took wordlessly. His cough was dry, not like he was trying to expel mucus, and once it passed, his breath was shallow and a little wheezy. Sachi chewed her lip and wrote down her observations before tucking her clipboard under her arm.

"I think it's your brachial plexus." She lightly prodded the juncture between Itachi's collar bone and his shoulder, pulling back when he winced. "Since I didn't detect any compressions before, I'm going to guess that the symptoms are due to inflammation or infection. Itachi-san, why didn't you tell me all this before? There's a good chance this is related to the infection in your chest."

"I apologize," he breathed, lowering his eyes. "I didn't think about it since I hadn't felt any pain or weakness in a while."

Sachi sighed. "You really should have sought treatment sooner. If your nerves have been injured, you could have permanent damage."

Itachi kept his gaze downward, so Sachi stopped herself from chastising him further. She finished writing her notes and set the clipboard on an empty chair as she tried to think of a way to end the appointment on a more uplifting note. She took a moment to study her patient again, taking in his posture and apparent well-being. He looked tired but alert, his back straight and breathing once again calm.

"How do you feel right now? Be honest," she said gently. Despite her better judgment, she relaxed her guard. She didn't care about Itachi the mercenary, the defector, or the clan-killer; for now, he was her patient, a sick eighteen-year-old boy.

Itachi eyed her, with what emotion Sachi couldn't tell. She struggled not to avert her gaze and swallowed thickly. Her abrupt warmth toward the boy vanished; suddenly, he was exceedingly threatening. Half of Sachi wished she knew what he was thinking, but the other half was too scared to ask. How can someone so young be so creepy? she wondered, cringing internally. Sachi couldn't be careless around him, not even for a second. However, the tension lasted for only a moment; in the next second, Itachi seemed to relax, and Sachi felt her breathing become easier.

"I feel sick," he admitted. The simple honesty of his answer touched Sachi. If he were anyone else, she might have reached for his hand.

"Your blood tests won't be ready for another four days," she explained. "At that time, we'll meet back here and decide our next step. It may take a while, but we'll figure it out, and you'll get through this."

She offered Itachi a small smile. Itachi's dark eyes met hers, and he nodded once. In that instant, Sachi was filled with determination. She would help this person, for no other reason than the fact that he was asking her for help.

"Before we part ways—" her eyes shifted to Itachi's left shoulder—"let me examine your shoulder with chakra. I might be able to heal it a little, but I can't fully treat it until I know the underlying cause."

Itachi didn't refuse her offer.

It was dark when Itachi left Ishigakure. The stars shined brightly above him, the wilderness free of light pollution to mask their brilliance, and crickets chirped loudly all around. Kisame hadn't traveled far from where they'd parted, and since Itachi hadn't used much chakra in the past three days, Itachi would be able to catch up to his partner quickly. In his trouser pocket, a small bottle of pain medication poked his hip as he moved. Sachi had given him the pills, after fishing them out of a drawer in her desk, upon finishing her exam. With medical ninjutsu, she had determined that the nerves in his brachial plexus were, indeed, inflamed, and she had been able to calm the flare-up so that Itachi could now move his arm and shoulder freely without discomfort or weakness. However, she'd claimed the solution was only temporary—hence the pain medicine for when the inflammation inevitably returned.

"You really should have sought treatment sooner. If your nerves have been injured, you could have permanent damage."

Sachi's words floated into Itachi's mind, and Itachi struggled not to feel frustrated. Now he wished he'd treated his shoulder sooner; the idea of living with sometimes excruciating pain for the rest of his life seemed . . . bleak. Of course, it was no less than he deserved. Maybe karma, if such a thing existed, was catching up to him. Maybe it didn't matter. He didn't expect to live a long life, anyway—once Sasuke was strong enough, he would. . .

Itachi set his mouth in a grim line. He would have to survive until then. To do that, he would have to trust Sachi to do her job well. Only four more days, he reassured himself. Only four days, and then some answers.