I finally got the fourth chapter done, this should get the plot moving faster.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, I occasionally wish I did.


Something was slowly but surely working through his overtaxed system, seeping through his veins. He gave pause, he should not have veins for anything to course through. He should not be feeling the shifting temperatures around him or the heaviness of eyelids he knew he needed to lift so he could take in his surroundings.

He should not exist anymore.

Should not have existed in the first place.

Wherever he was, it was certainly not heaven. If he was in hell he was getting off remarkably easy. Purgatory perhaps? That sounded viable.

He wondered groggily why he was the only one there. Was he in some sort of solitary confinement? He was alright with being alone, if he was cut off from other people then he couldn't hurt anyone.

With a sense of grim satisfaction he slipped back out of conciousness


Images flickered beneath his closed eyelids.

Initially they were blurry and dark.

He was so tired.

But he willed them into focus anyway.

He saw a woman, tall, slender, lovely. Her long pink hair splayed behind her as she lay back on silky midnight pillows. Moonlight streamed in from an unseen opening and illuminated her face and body. Limbs of delicate proportioning and sinewy strength, cocooned in smooth ivory skin glowed faintly in the cold white light. An inky black tattoo of intricate beauty swirled and pulsed across it's flawless white background, extending across her entire left side. Her torso was swathed in a black satin sheet but it did not disguise the noticeable perfection of her form. His vision intently traced her sharp collarbones, her narrow shoulders, the prominent, supple curve of her breasts. Her ribcage expanded and contracted with every breath she drew and threw into stark relief the flatness of her stomach, the narrowness of her waist. Her hip bones stood out slightly from her lower abdomen and emphasized the slim, blatantly feminine curvature of her hips. From beneath the dark fabric he could see the graceful expanse of her long, lean legs. A pang of desire coiled itself into his abdomen and stayed there.

He tore his eyes away from her body, embarrassed that he had been crudely ogling the woman. She was so very beautiful that he could not bare to look away so he settled on exploring her face. It was heart shaped, with a sharp jawline. Her features were that of a terrible sort of beauty. Unearthly perfect, but there was something faintly cruel about the lines of her otherwise angelic face. She had pale but generously full lips, a small, straight nose, high cheek bones, and huge, brilliantly emerald eyes. Alarm spiked through him. It was quite obvious that she was a konoichi , but she didn't posses eyes befitting a woman trained in manipulation or seduction. Those greener than green orbs were wildly expressive, ferral even. Betraying sadness in her otherwise neutral counttenance as she gazed into the distance.

As if on cue, as the woman knew he was there, she turned her head toward him. All at once she reached for him with an elegant hand, her face transforming into a brilliant smile as they locked eyes. She spoke a single word. Carressed it with a voice of satin and razors, "Itachi". He was abruptly overcome by a singular, tremendously powerful desire to keep that seraphic expression on her face. He wanted her to be happy so badly it was frightening. He would die, fight, kill so long as it meant she would look upon him with that same incandescent joy she was now. He trembled, frightened by the implications of his own overwhelming emotions for the unknown woman.

The picture faded at that moment, breaking whatever spell he had fallen under. However the raw, unadulterated longing remained and left him feeling hollow.

Before he could fully contemplate what he had just experienced a new picture laid itself out before him. Two men, with their arms slung over each other's shoulders, laughing. His heart leapt into his throat, one man was himself, the other, was Sasuke. He couldn't help but envy the Itachi in front of him as he enjoyed a carefree moment with the brother who had obviously become his closest friend. His ever perceptive mind detected no tension between the two of the brothers before him, the past was entirely forgiven. Water under the bridge, as the saying went. What he had always wanted. What he had sacrificed to save Konoha.

He also could not help but notice that both of them were every bit as flawless and tattooed as the beautiful konoichi. It felt strange, seeing himself like that, powerful, vital, his every imperfection taken away. However beauty was not why he wished so much to be one and the same with the predator, cruel eyed version of himself in the image. Even more, he wanted for his brother to unite with the man that smiled alongside him. This Sasuke radiated an inner peace that had not been present in him for years. The two possesed such a sense of belonging together, like appendages of the same organism. He had no doubt that had the woman been in the picture she would have fit in seamlessly with them as well.

The scene changed again and he saw a pair of beautiful children. A tall, thin little boy of perhaps ten, his arms were gently wrapped around a young girl of the same age. Twins, his mind registered. They were not yet strong but their umarred skin flashed with that same tattoo. They were too graceful, too confident, their eyes too knowing to be normal children.

They were very similar in appearance, the dominant genes of his clan readily apparent. They were both quite vertically apt for their age, both skeletons constructed with the elongated, lean musculature of long distance runners. Their hair was shiny, straight, and dark. The girl's was smooth and cut in a sweeping way to her jawline, her brother's was wildly messy and so long it skimmed the bottom of his shoulder blades. They were fair complected and he noticed they had both inherited a faint shadowing under their eyes from him.

They weren't entirely identical though. The male's face favored the woman more, he had a pointier jawline and softer cheek bones. His sister in contrast had Itachi's own facial shape, a narrowed square jaw, sharp, subtle. The boy had wider eyes, that were fairly normally proportioned, hers were almost exact replicas of his own. From the boy emanated an aura like the sun, warm, bright, fiery, his son flashed a cheeky impudent smile that showed off his sharp canine teeth. His daughter seemed a little more quiet and thoughtful, she gave him a gentle smile. He did not think they could see him but Itachi beamed back despite himself.

He knew, could feel, that beyond any doubt that they were his and it that moment he came to comprehend the parent-child connection that everyone seemed to hold in such reverence . A fierce instinct pulsed through him, screaming to protect them at any cost. He would obey that impulse gladly. Something warm slipped through him as he lingered upon that last vision. Only to vanish when it finally did fade out.

A family...

A beautiful wife who obviously cared for him...

Reconciliation with the brother he loved so much...

The two most wonderful children he had ever seen...

Everything he knew he could never have...

Right there before him... Breaking his heart...

He could not stop the tears, not this time, and he allowed himself a single, silent sob. This was beyond sacrifice, this was the utmost cruelty fate possessed. For his sins he was not only taunted with vague concepts, but tormented with the knowledge of exactly what could have been. No matter how much he knew he deserved punishment, he could not slip back behind those numbing walls of acceptance and resignation.

Whatever happened to death being blissful oblivion? Didn't that apply to him? Hadn't he at least earned the right to be nothing?

He was slowly being drawn back into reality and as much as he fought it. his senses were becoming progressively clearer.

He forced his slate colored eyes to open and found himself no better off, wherever he was utterly lacked any source of light. At a loss for what to do he tried to reach out, and feel for something that might clue him in as to his location. His arm, however, had other ideas, and stayed fixedly at his side. He tried for the other arm…again, nothing. With a growing sense of dread he tested the rest of his body and found it equally uncooperative The only functions he had retained were control of his facial and neck muscles. Most of his autonomic systems seemed to be in working order, he could feel his lungs expanding and contracting, he was blinking. However his heart…he would have shuddered if he had control of the necessary muscles…lay dead and silent in his chest.

That was, what? …Impossible?…Disturbing?…Both? That and more. He fought back another shameful bout of self pity and instead smirked humorlessly. He just couldn't seem to get a break, could he? Whatever powers that be wouldn't even let him be dead without having some extraordinary circumstance complicate his situation.

In that moment, he was overcome by a wave of distress so powerful that for the first time in nearly eight years, Uchiha Itachi completely lost his composure. He furiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip to muffle the sound and screamed as loud as he could. His eyes clamped shut tightly again and his dry throat cracked open with a grotesque rip. Blood seeped down into his esophagus but he was beyond caring.

It occurred to him then, as he lay there, shrieking like some kind of wounded animal, that he still had no idea what the situation was, though he would be ready to bet every dollar left to his name it was not going to be pleasant. His current state was unsettlingly similar to Orohimaru's reanimation technique. He wondered vaguely if the Snake-man had been the one to revive him. Even if he had, what could he possibly want with someone like himself. Orochimaru was a social darwinist, through and through. No matter the reputation he had earned himself, by the time he had last seen the sanin he had been weak and cripplingly ill. Unless he had been given an entirely new body(and judging by the lack of pain in his chest that was a distinct possibility) he wouldn't have been worth the time and effort that a technique such as that required.

The much larger problem with that line of thought was that he had personally seen to it that the ex-Otokage would not be in any state to wreak havoc ever again. Unless something had gone horribly wrong the sanin should have been trapped in a sort of alternate reality with no viable means of escape. Although, he mused, he supposed his chakra may have been so weakened at that point that susanoo could have lost quite a bit of it's effectiveness.

He wracked his brain for possibilities, drawing on his frighteningly long list of enemies.

Nagato?...No, he'd seen people revived by him before, that technique was a perfect and complete restoration to life. Not this abominable half-and-half state...and besides, Pein was powerful but lacked control, he doubted he could stop the jutsu halfway even if he wanted to. That also eliminated Konan who followed her partner without question.

Madara?...Doubtful, if Madara possessed the power to stop others from dying he would have used it long before now...his sensei was not a compassionate man but he admired the unique and the gifted almost as much as he loved his bloodline. He had once told Itachi that he was the embodiment of both and therefore he was his greatest masterpiece. When he had been fifteen they had actually spent a year traveling, trying to find someone who could break death's grip on him, needless to say that their attempts had all ended in failure.

To his displeasure the memory of his sixteenth birthday wormed it's way to the surface, he remembered being strapped down to a gurney, because according to one of the nurses some of the chemicals they were using amplified violent tendencies (he had realized then that the doctors must have recognized him). He felt the cold metal bindings digging into his skin even now, as if they were still real. He recalled laying there in nothing but one of the hospital gowns trying not to shiver as the medics wired IV drips all along his arms and the needle they had pressed into his spinal column, at the base of his neck. It two minutes flat he was so sedated he could barely summon the will to breathe, it felt like an iron weight was pressing down onto his chest and he realized faintly that it should have been pain, he just couldn't feel it. He had distantly heard them telling Madara that they were going to try and use a rare biological poison to try and force his immune system into a more active state.

For eight long, torturous hours the toxin ran rampant through his body. At first it had seemed like nothing, perhaps a small amount of nausea, he dealt with worse every day. He'd lay there in quiet relief for all of about five minutes. Suddenly his body had jerked independent of his will, pain seared up his spine and his back had arched so forcefully that his skull slammed into the steel operating table. He blinked, dazed, his vision flickering. More agonizing tremors were starting to wrack their way through him. They were everywhere, in his head, in his chest in his limbs. He began truly thrashing then, in involuntary recoil from the pain. The metal holding him down sliced into his skin, his blood wasn't clotting properly and the crimson trailed burning streams down the inside of his forearms. He ceased his movement momentarily, watching in slow, sick fascination as his life force stained his skin. His blood, he hated his blood, if it weren't for that condemned, too watery fluid pouring out all over the alabaster sheets we would not be in this mess. He would not be here now desperate to fall back into eternity but dreading death as well, his whole body burning on the freezing cold metal platform. The cuts had become points of relief, and so as he focused on them an idea struck him. It was horrible, selfish, phsycotic, a part of his conciousness screamed at him to stop, but he could not for the life of him remember why he was putting himself through this.

He wrenched his neck to the side and sank his teeth into his own shoulder, being quite flexible he had no trouble stretching enough to do so. The reaction was immediate and he felt the rush of thin, coppery substance fill his mouth. He inhaled slowly through his nose a couple of times and then threw his head in the other direction and repeated the process. The open wounds were starting to sting in earnest, white hot shocks of pain pulsed from the nerves of his torn skin. A small pool of blood was beginning to collect beneath him. The doctor, who had been attending to his other patients and had left a nurse in charge walked in to check on him right then, the man stared in wide eyed horror for a few moments, taking in the gory scene. Itachi stared right back, burgundy streaks covering his lips and chin, hospital garb stained vermillion, scarlet pouring from his upper body. Then the doctor rounded on the nurses, practically screaming for someone to get more sedatives and some bandages. He wanted to open his mouth and tell the medics that they were wasting their time on him and that they should just let him bleed to death but the only sound he could produce was a barely audible groan. The last thing he saw before blacking out was an enormous nurse holding an equally enormous syringe and telling him everything would be alright.

When he awoke it was to the sound of murmuring voices and he cracked a single eye open a fraction of a centimeter to see the source of the sound.

I was full dark now and his appointment had begun at six, making it a little after two in the morning. He'd been sixteen for over a day.

The voices belonged to Madara, who was dressed in civilian clothes and mask-less, his un-aged face, icy pale in the moonlight, was easily visible. He was conversing with the doctor who he noticed was fidgeting uncomfortably.

The doctor had nodded solemnly and lowered his voice to convey his diagnosis to his sensei "This is tuberculosis sure as we're standing here", he began...

Itachi had mentally checked out at that point, barely repressing a disappointed sigh, he'd heard it all before. He knew what would happen, the skinny middle aged man would express his greatest sympathies to Madara before telling him that beyond a shadow of a doubt his (son or nephew or whatever role the older Uchiha took a fancy to, because they bore far too much resemblance for anyone to miss) was going to die. That he had a mutated form of consumption, the likes of which he had never seen, that was viciously aggressive and untreatable. Then he would explain how eventually he would either slowly suffocate or suffer heart failure and give him at best three years and at worst six months. All of course depending upon how well he took care of himself, the less emotional and physical strain the better. The first time a doctor had told him that Itachi had momentarily forgotten himself and let out a single humorless bark of laughter to which the old man had shot him a markedly disturbed look in response. He had been twelve then.

Itachi forced the recollection as far back into his mind as it would go and focused instead on ticking off possibilities.

After all, counting all of the people who hated him was going to take a while...

Precisely one hundred-seven possible culprits later he had exhausted his mental bingo book completely, but he was beginning to form a rough idea of who might want him alive. He remembered now a particularly unpleasant boy who he recalled had been sighted traveling with Orochimaru at least two dozen times in the last six years. As rumor had it the shinobi was quite proficient in medical techniques, some even fabled him to surpass both the Godaime Hokage in talent.

It occured to him then, that there was one final possibility, the girl from the Hidden Leaf Village, the one who had outwitted (and ultimatley killed) Sasori. He'd seen her once, though his vision had been so poor by then all he had been able to make out was a brightly colored blob. It had not been directly either, but through the eyes of the corpse he had possesed and used to his biding. However highly unethical such abuse of it was, the sharingan had some very practical uses.

It was not as if he were the first Uchiha to use his gifts off the battlefeild either, the very idea of possessing another without the use tsukoyomi was hardly an original one. In fact that particular stroke of inspiration had come to him in the form of a childhood memory, which was incidentally also the memory of his only brush with teenage hormones. One of those rare moments that he had not been training, or on a mission, or writing a report, he had met up with Shisui (Sasuke in tow of course), in the town center . All had been going quite nicely, Shisui had bought himself a new forehead protector. An exceptionally ostentatious one, with a shiny gold design along the border of the leaf village symbol that continued out over the midnight blue fabric. His cousin had always been a bit more vain than himself or Sasuke but in all fairness without the responsibilities associated with being in the head family he had time for such things.

Next they had taken Sasuke to the sweets stand, or rather Itachi took him and Shisui had casually propped himself against one of the legs of the stall and kept look out for any other clan members. Ten minutes and one false alarm that resulted in some frantic scrambling, and perhaps the sloppiest genjutsu he had ever cast, later he emerged from the tented stand, loyal little Sasuke close behind as always. He shot his outouto a grin and the younger boy enthusiastically responded in kind. Both of their arms were laden with as many varieties of sweets as they could carry and perhaps a little more seeing as Sasuke almost immediately handed off a few of his treasures to one very amused Shisui.

They had chatted away idly as they treked down the sunsoaked street toward Itachi's favorite book store, discussing authors (or in Sasuke's case pictures versus no pictures), at one point Shisui commented on the merits of Jiryia's work and Itachi being natrually curious had made an inquiry as to the nature of sannin's writing. His cousin had snickered at him and beckoned him closer with a wagling finger, interest piqued he had complied immediatley. The older boy had stuck his mouth right up to his ear and very, very quietly he had whispered his response. His thirteen year old self had jerked back as if burned, shooting Shisui an affronted look, blood rushed to his face and he knew a blistering, crimson blush was clearly visible against his skin.

Even Sasuke, who was admittedly less than observant a significant part of the time,had immediatley tugged on his hand "Aniki, what's wrong?". He forced his demeanor into some semblance of composure and managed to force out "Nothing. Why do you ask?", with a calm he did not feel.

The little boy had considered him, head tilted to the side, the picture of contemplation, before saying "Nii-san, your face turned as red as your eyes".

Itachi blinked hard, mildly embarrassed, he had not even realized that he had activated his sharingan. Now that someone had brought it up he was beginning to take notice of the burning sensation that was ghosting faintly through the blood vessels in his sclera.

Infinitely worse, were the decidedly r-rated images burning behind his eyes and for the first time in his life Itachi cursed his photographic memory. Though in retrospect perhaps his sense of timing was more to blame for if he had possessed a more acute intuition he may have avoided accidentally walking in on his cousin viewing a very mature film three months ago. The obviously hormonal older boy had begged him not to tell anyone and with a disapproving shake of his head he had agreed. He had read enough about the human body to know that a fifteen year old male's interest in such things, while deeply disturbing on an interpersonal level, was hardly a punishable offense. Unfortunately the Uchiha clan elders were unlikely to view it in a similar manner, and so after making Shisui swear to warn him in the future (Honestly! If he had been any later he could very well have seen far more of his cousin than he ever wanted to. To that, the shameless Shisui had actually turned bright pink),he had pushed all thoughts of anything remotely sexual out of his head and encouraged the older boy to do the same.

Now however, as he glided quietly between endless isles of books, the more he tried to force the pictures from his mind the clearer they became. Not one to be beaten by something as simple as a few proteins in his blood stream, he determinedly stuck his nose into a small paperback on philosophy. Ignoring the bright display of flamboyant orange books by the register when he made his way to the counter to pay for the nine novels he simply could not live without. Itachi was an avid reader, with good reason. The most obvious being that written material was one of the best ways to learn, as he so loved to do. The other being that immersing himself in a story served as an escape from his own reality. Through his mental adventures he had learned so many useless facts that Shisui had taken to referring any and all non personal question to him. The older boy had also affectionatley dubbed him "encyclopedia", evidently a human named Itachi was not enough of an oddity by itself.

As he slunk quietly out of the relative darkness of the book store, his cousin had wiggled his eye brows at him "Buy anything interesting?", he had quipped. Leave it to Shisui to milk the stupid fiasco for all it was worth.

Sasuke on the other hand had a very pleasant reaction, he had bobbed excitedly on his heels and made an inquiry as to weather or not Itachi had picked up any stories,.

"Aniki?", a pregnant pause.

"Hai", his own version of enthusiasm. A small smile that crept into his tone.

"Any new movies?", please say yes. A sincere, unspoken wish only a child could make.

"Nani?", Shisui had looked up surprised and...a little suspicious.

If Itachi had been anyone other than himself he would have clapped his hand to his forehead. "He means story books" he deadpanned, a hint of exasperation leaking into his voice.

"But he said-", his cousin protested.

He really did roll his eyes that time, the older boy had a troublesome flare for the dramatic. "I've been using genjutsu to show him what I'm reading ...in order to help him sleep, the nightmares have been getting worse lately...", he trailed off.

"Aah" the fifteen year old nodded in understanding.

A sudden shuffling jerked him out of his reminiscing, his bloodline limit flickering to life. He caught an oily, sickeningly soft voice drifting through the walls that enclosed him. In immediate succession came a raspy baritone that he recognized as none other than Madara. He noted that his old teacher sounded more than a little distressed.

In fact they seemed to be engaged in some kind of argument. He was able to catch snippets of the conversation as they slowly drew nearer.

..."Can't believe you used him"..

..."Why...care Madara?...sentimental?"...

..."principal of the god damn thi-...should have asked me!"...

..."Enough!...don't know...my plan"...

A sound like a guillotine hitting a cinder block resonated painfully against his ear drums, they were very close to Itachi's little prison now. So close he could hear his ancestor's harsh breathing.

" I'd won both of the first great shinobi conflicts by the time your parents were ever born, impudent little bastard, do not lecture me about the tactics of war" Madara snarled.

The younger of the two Uchiha wondered what could have riled the older so much. For a moment he almost pitied his captor, Uchiha Madara was not a man to make an enemy of. He spared the supposed plan little thought for the time being, speculating that he would be filled in quite soon and resolving to discover the answers for himself if he was not.

The moment of contemplation passed swiftly and he waited on bated breath as he felt chakra surge into the walls around him, clearly revealing the exact size and shape of the holding cell.

There came a noise distinctly similar to nails being wrenched from wood and then abruptly sunlight pierced in to his eyes, forcing the pupil to contract painfully. He squinted but kept his visage otherwise composed.

The first thing he did was confirm the identity of the other man, who was indeed one of Orochimaru's apprentices. Yakushi Kabuto, his memory supplied. He was smiling at him with such a forced sweetness that it actually turned his stomach a little.

In the next moment he regained full control of his body and he pitched forward, unsteady on his own feet. He never hit the ground though because suddenly a large hand shot out and caught him by the shoulder, the contact made him want to jerk away and run the opposite direction and he consciously fought back a shudder. Perhaps it was the unnatural speed, or may have just been that there should not have been that much strength in any single hand, particularly not such a bony one.

Visceral reaction aside he was grateful that his old sensei hadn't let him fall on his face and he righted himself calmly and nodded to Uchiha Madara in thanks. Despite the fact that the man had tried at least twice to wipe Konoha off the face of the map he was glad for a familiar presence. In fact, compared to the snake sanin look alike, the wild looking immortal seemed downright benign at the moment.

Perhaps it was the truest indicator of the foreboding, heavy on his consciousness, laden in the air, that he found Madara's presence comforting of all things.

Itachi did not swear, his mother had caught him at it once as a six year old and put the fear of the gods in him. Years later when that particular concern had been...alleviated... his linguistic patterns had been such a powerful habit he had never felt the urge to do so.

Perhaps that is why both men shot him disbelieving looks when a string of the worst curses he knew slipped past his lips.

Kabuto actually snickered, Itachi bristled and let the center of his three tomo-ed eyes merge into a single pin wheel. He glared at the shorter man pointedly, inwardly hoping to procure enough respect from him to stave off any conflict unless of course it became absolutely necessary.

It didn't work. He didn't know if the boy was overly confident or just plain stupid but he actually had opposite the desired reaction and seemed to take his displaying of his bloodline limit as a challenge. He tipped his abnormally pointy chin up at him and stepped closer, invading not only Itachi's personal space but the arm's-length-away Madara's as well.

For a moment his thin upper lip curled and Kabuto looked as though he might speak but in the next second he had turned on his heel and strode forward. For the first time Itachi bothered to look around and noticed that they were in some sort of forest, the trees were tall and heavy with foliage and the air was oppressively still under the emerald canopy. Beneath his sandaled feet the earth was moist and overgrown with moss.

From beside him, the elder Uchiha called out to his unlikely ally, "Kid" he barked at the white haired male's retreating back.

Kabuto paused and turned around, "Yes" he replied, lingering longer upon the final consonant than was considered normal.

"You need to brief him on the nature of our mission", the immortal replied, gesturing toward him, "Try anything and I will know", he gave him a hard look through mangekyou eyes.

The medic nodded, suddenly submissive, yet in such an obviously false way that it made the Uchiha elder remark on how fortune Kabuto was that he was useful. "Of course", the smaller light haired man replied smoothly as he beckoned Itachi who resignedly followed him through the trees.


Please review, I hate to be a broken record but it really does inspire me and help me improve. I hope you enjoyed it!