Chapter Eight – Poison
No more nightmares plagued Itachi that night, but he might as well have experienced another all the same. Peaceful sleep eluded him, forever dangling away from his outstretched hands. Every time his fingertips would come close, it would slitheraway, always in sight but out of reach. It was like a predator watching him with unblinking, penetrating eyes, revelling in his despair as he longed to drift away into slumber.
The small amount of sleep he managed to get was poor for he always woke up with a start, immediately snapping his head to stare at the door. In his frantic starts, adrenaline rushing through him as cold sweat drenched him to the core, he expected to see the same pair of gold eyes from his nightmare, from the snake himself, but the door remained closed. There was not any audible sound from the room next to his.
The worst part was that Itachi did not know to feel comforted by that.
Itachi rubbed his weary eyes as he shifted into a sitting position. He was unbelievably tired. It wasn't just his body drained; there was a noticeable ache at chest. Oddly enough, though, he hadn't sustained any damage from their recent mission. Veiled insults and animosity aside, Orochimaru and he had worked together remarkably well, dispatching the tavern with ease.
Smothering a yawn, Itachi moved about to prepare for the day ahead. He made his bed neatly before slipping into the shower in the hope that it would wake him up. To his relief, it did just that, and he exited the shower in elevated spirits.
The contentment vanished entirely when he grasped the doorknob to his room. Itachi hesitated, remembering how it had been slightly open to be just a slit, enough for an eye to peek through the opening. The thought of Orochimaru spying on him was unsettling – worse, witnessing his lapse of weakness when his mask had been removed at his vulnerable state of unconsciousness.
For a moment, he imagined Orochimaru on the other side of the door, pale hand curled around the doorknob, mirroring not only his position but him. It reminded Itachi of the space between them; so close with similar experience, yet so far with how they had turned out as two completely different men. Perhaps, it wasn't just the door separating them.
Shaking away the thought, Itachi tightened his hand around the doorknob and twisted it sharply, throwing the door open. There was no one on the other side, no haunting slitted eyes, nothing. The entire length of the corridor was empty as well.
Itachi was comforted by it, not quite ready to be teetering precariously on the edge so early in the morning. Seconds later, the feeling was gone, replaced with burgeoning curiosity as he cautiously approached Orochimaru's room.
The door was ajar. How odd.
Hesitation gripped Itachi's body like halting fingers, holding him firmly in place as he eyed the thin opening enough for him to peek inside. The temptation to do so, mirroring Orochimaru last night, disturbed him. It would be so easy, so quick. He lingered in the hall, straining his hearing to discern any sound from Orochimaru's room. After hearing nothing, he made his decision, moving to place his eye near the door.
Itachi was mildly surprised to see nothing but sunlight. Frowning, he entered the room silently, closing the door quietly behind him. Black eyes swept across the room, narrowing further with each passing second as he scrutinised human passage – the startling lack thereof. The bed was impeccably made, almost as if it had not been used. The same applied to the bathroom as the shower and sink were free of residual water.
But Orochimaru had clearly been here.
There, lying incongruously on the edge of the neatly made bed, was Orochimaru's Akatsuki cloak. It was not folded; in fact, from how it hung on the edge, it looked like Orochimaru had thrown it haphazardly in any direction, uncaring where it landed.
If anything, Itachi's frown deepened as he bent down slightly to retrieve it. He distinctly recalled Orochimaru informing him of protocol to wear their uniform at all times, yet here was proof that apparently the rules did not apply to him. The possibility was so dry with amusement that it made Itachi's lip curl, twitching to form into a wry smile as he scooped up Orochimaru's cloak.
Itachi placed it on the dresser, leaving it behind as he turned to exit the room before a glint caught his eye. Something slipped from the confines of Orochimaru's cloak, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Something they had both left behind.
It sang of home, calling out to Itachi, pulling not only the string of curiosity but his heartstrings as pure, untapped emotion welled strongly in his chest. Atypically trembling fingers neared the object slowly, as though he wasn't quite sure if it was real, that it perhaps would disappear if he touched it, dirtied it. In spite of everything he had done, he was allowed to touch it, to feel the smooth metal glide against his fingertips.
Orochimaru's forehead protector was unmarked; there was no slash where there should be. The only scars were the ones Itachi hid underneath his mask.
The porcelain of his mask cracked, chipping away to crumble, falling around him as his world was whisked back to a happier time. Itachi closed his eyes as he basked in the moment. He could still remember the busy, bustling streets of Konoha and the paved road to the Uchiha Clan's district. An elderly lady near his favourite tea house would always graciously offer him two apples – one for him and the other for Sasuke.
Even then, he had his honour. Accepting the apples without paying would be dishonourable. It was her family's fruit, the product of her labour, so he would always insist on paying. In return, she would always refuse, stating it was a gift. They would often dance around the topic until the day came where Sasuke put a stop to it, unknowingly showing the precious innocence Itachi never had the choice to cling to.
"Aww, I really want one. Please, Brother?"
"Did you find what you were looking for," a silky voice drawled from afar, shattering the delicate glass of the happy memory, "Itachi-kun?"
Itachi mentally cursed his inattention, snapping open his eyes with a glower. He had been so immersed in the memory that his senses had dulled to the point of neglect. Under normal circumstances, he would have surely sensed Orochimaru's incoming presence and disappeared accordingly. There was a reason he had been promoted to ANBU Captain at a young age; he was a force to be reckoned with.
That same confidence with his abilities guided his body as he surged powerfully to his feet, still clutching Orochimaru's forehead protector. Itachi turned around to address its owner, dark intent carved in his glowering features as he recalled Orochimaru spying on him, only to be rendered temporarily speechless.
Orochimaru was leaning comfortably, almost lazily, on one side of the door frame like last night. What was different was his outfit.
Soft cream draped over his body like a flowing curtain, winding around the expanse of his chest loosely, tied by a simple black sash. The other tinge of black was the fitting undershirt hugging his body, peeking through the low dip of his robe that would otherwise have been bare. It clung to his body like a second skin, melding to the long column of his throat such that it seemed to emphasise the pale slenderness beneath.
The black material stopped just below his chin. Above that sharp chin was an even sharper, deadlier smile.
Orochimaru lingered at the door frame before entering the room, remarking, "I don't recall giving you permission to search through my things," as he shut the door behind him. His tone was casual – almost too casual.
The audible click of the door was quiet, but for some reason it projected loudly to Itachi's ears.
"Why don't you enlighten me," Orochimaru began smoothly as leaned back against the door, effectively barring it with his body, "as to why your hand was in the cookie jar to begin with."
The analogy was insulting, inferring that Itachi was no better than a naughty child. "Do not put yourself on a higher pedestal than me," Itachi said quietly, his naturally deep voice lower than it had ever been. "You were spying on me last night."
"Oh, dear me." There was a wholly dramatic gasp. "It looks like the cat is out of the bag!"
Itachi watched with cold, dispassionate eyes as Orochimaru feigned despair, reaching up with trembling fingers to wipe the nonexistent tears streaking his face. He followed the exaggeratedly shaky movements with a stony expression, disbelieving that Orochimaru was capable of crying – much less willing to show such weakness even if he could.
The wicked grin he spotted underneath the drape of the other man's sleeves said it all.
Orochimaru was still grinning when he lowered his hand. "What you essentially just did was condone your actions with the phrase... hmm, how does the saying go? A tit for a tat." Amber eyes shifted to the ceiling seemingly in thought before locking onto Itachi's with sudden intensity, making it blatantly clear he knew exactly what he was saying. "An eye for an eye."
Itachi's response was to activate his Sharingan, rising up to the challenge in those words. Similar to last night, Orochimaru was sniping at the Uchiha Clan's power – only this time the glass of amicable chatter was already lying in shattered pieces between them. That same power blazed with inner fire as Itachi pinned the Sannin with a hard, penetrating stare, speaking eloquently with his eyes without ever uttering a word.
"I never took you for a petty person, Itachi-kun," Orochimaru mused with a hand gesture, as though he was referring to research notes on Itachi's profile. "You don't strike me as the type. So," he regarded Itachi intently, "why were you weaseling your way around places you shouldn't be?"
Although the question was sarcastic, making a mockery of the meaning of Itachi's name, it was sharp and to the point.
Why indeed?
From how he had hesitated prior to this moment, Itachi had known it was dangerous to encroach Orochimaru's personal space. While the Sannin seemed to have an unhealthy habit of doing so to others – in particular, him – the game had always been preemptively set. It was always Orochimaru toying with him, pushing his buttons, testing just how far he would go and how much he would listen by speaking in riddles – simply because he asked questions.
Curiosity.
Itachi was not an overly curious man by nature but it walked alongside his duty as a spy. He was expected to be drawn to secrets – to walk the fine, dangerous lines which all happened to be connected to Orochimaru who seemed to be relevant in everything. Investigating Orochimaru's room was one of those leads, only he had discovered something unexpected.
In the end, Itachi settled for turning the tables. "I was looking for you," he answered plainly, allowing himself to be somewhat honest, if only to appease the appetite of the snake. "Where were you?"
Oh, now this was rich, Orochimaru thought, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes. What he actually said was, "Oh, so now you want to talk?" He left the drawl hanging between them as he swiftly pivoted on his heel, moving to open the door. "I don't think so."
No one played him for a fool, least of all, Itachi, a young man decades his junior. While he wanted Itachi's body as his first vessel, and rather liked the man's refreshing coldness he longed to melt, he was not about to reveal where he had been last night. The secrets he kept, the place he had gone to, the true extent of his world of knowledge...
They were for him and him alone. Orochimaru was willing to indulge Itachi in a great deal of things for his own amusement but not this. Everyone had lines drawn as boundaries, warning others. This just happened to be where he drew his line.
Orochimaru twisted the doorknob, thinking of how easily he could in fact slice the door itself apart when, all of a sudden, the matter was forcibly taken out of his hands. An arm extended over his shoulder spilling dark material over his robe, a hand shooting out to become splayed against the door, flattening it shut with an audible click. The lock engaging sounded abnormally louder than it should have.
Peculiar as it was, he was not given time to fully dwell on it as something else stole his attention and rather rivetingly at that. A kunai was drawn, the incredibly sharp tip poking his back, threatening him in dark insinuation. The weapon was nothing compared to his Kusanagi, but in Itachi's deft hands, coupled with the legendary Sharingan, the kunai was deadly.
"Where were you?" Itachi repeated very carefully as he clenched his hand around his kunai in readiness.
"I was out doing some late night shopping. I do enjoy bargain sales. That's how I came to find this rather fabulous robe that was on sale–"
Itachi cut through the sarcastic pandering with a vocal slash of his kunai. "Stop playing games with me."
"And what would you have me say?" Orochimaru's voice was suddenly flat, the mockery gone, even as he continued to face the door. "What exactly do you want to hear?"
A great deal of things, Itachi said silently, wishing Orochimaru would willingly share everything he knew. He partially said so when he simply demanded, in an equally flat tone, "The truth."
"Ah, but as I said yesterday, the truth is ugly. You might not like what I tell you." Orochimaru was sorely tempted to reveal all, just to gauge the other man's expression since Itachi never ceased to amaze him with his coldness. Briefly, he imagined those lovely black eyes – even lovelier with the Sharingan – wide with shock, the coldness melted away by the heat of emotions, and smiled. Still... "For that matter, why should I tell you anything?"
"You are my partner," Itachi responded promptly, for it was the truth. Spy or not, Orochimaru was his business, as he was still relatively new to Akatsuki's shady ways of conduct. "I need to know where you are at all times."
"Do you?"
From the rise of incredulity in Orochimaru's voice alone, it was clear he thought otherwise. If that wasn't indicative enough, Orochimaru went a step further by twisting fluidly on the spot, coming dangerously close to Itachi. He spun around so swiftly that Itachi did not have time to react, still holding his kunai in the same position such that it was now pointed at Orochimaru's stomach.
"Careful now, Itachi-kun," came the low, sultry purr as pale fingertips danced over Itachi's hand, teasing at first before melding with creamy skin. "Anymore of this possessive behaviour and I might start to think that you like me – that you want me all to yourself."
Itachi could only stare at Orochimaru as another hand came to rest on his own. There were so many peculiar things happening all at once, from how the other man had suddenly taken on a suggestive cast, flaunting his androgynous quality, to the soft fingertips that were caressing his clenched fist around his kunai. Strongest of all in allure, however, was the come-hither smile that was both taunting with amusement and promising in dark things.
Things that shone wickedly in serpentine eyes.
Not once did Orochimaru stop rubbing slow, sensual circles over the hard ridges of Itachi's knuckles as he began to speak – to caress in more ways than one with a soft voice.
"Very well. Because you asked me so nicely, let me tell you a cute little story. I went out last night for an evening stroll and murdered an old woman with my bare hands. She put up a good fight, I'll admit, for a walking sack of bones – but I got her good in the end. Poor thing was dead before she even hit the floor. And do you know what?"
Itachi, who was already on the edge from the moment Orochimaru caught him in his room, even more-so from the man's surprisingly warm touch, tensed rigidly at the drawling question. He knew what was coming even before the words were spoken.
"You're next if you don't lower your hand."
In the blink of an eye, Orochimaru made his move, striking with the swiftness of a coiled snake. As fast as he was, he was no match for Itachi who anticipated him moving. Sharp, dark-painted nails attempted to dig into creamy flesh, only to meet air as Itachi shoved him against the door. Utterly ruthless, Itachi rushed forward, bringing his other hand that had been splayed against the door to enclose around Orochimaru's slender neck.
For a moment, with his hand around Orochimaru's neck, having conformed him against the door, it appeared as though Itachi had won. Much like last night, however, the Sannin was full of surprises, evident when hissing snakes shot from the drapes of his sleeves. One of the emerald snakes came alarmingly close to his body. If not for his exceptional reflexes, executing a swift slash at its head, it would have bit his neck.
The snake's head hit the floor in a bloody spray.
Instinctively, Itachi leapt backwards, automatically shielding his face with his cloak as he set distance between him and the spitting snakes. The biggest snake out of them all had never appeared more dangerous than he did then, still leaning against the door. The simple robe did little to hide his natural aura of power, one that was quiet with authority, and utterly seductive with darkness.
In spite of what had just transpired, the battle for dominance that reached an all new violent level, Orochimaru was still smiling, suggesting he knew something deliciously juicy that Itachi did not.
"Akatsuki works best in carefully selected pairs," Orochimaru explained as he widened his smile, surprising himself by how much he adored seeing the curiosity in Itachi's lovely eyes. It caused his breath to hitch, to rise sharply in his chest with a rush of excitement even as he continued speaking. "There was a reason I was partnered with Sasori before I met you. It wasn't just about mutually wanting to live forever. Do you know what our special of the day was?"
Disturbed by the analogy to food, Itachi could only remain silent, appearing as a cold slab of stone as he stood near the window.
"Poison."
The poison in question made a deadly appearance, snakes slithering out from Orochimaru's sleeves. Itachi's gaze sharpened on them, observing their scaly forms closely. His Sharingan could read chakra elements but this – what he saw – was completely different. They appeared to not be summons, rather extensions of Orochimaru's body which made them all the more disturbing.
"Shall I serve you a plate?" Orochimaru offered smoothly, holding out the same tempting fruit he had given to the boy from the other night. The ripe apple dangled from his hand, every word he drawled to sound enticing as he gazed at Itachi intently. "I would very much like to hear your critique of my dish for there is a potent surprise as the main ingredient. It's so potent that one just puncture to your skin will have you on the floor. Why, it's so delicious it's simply to die for."
Itachi was sure it was. In spite of all of his preternatural abilities, and the accomplishment of being the youngest ANBU Captain ever in Konoha's history, he was certain he would die to the lethality of poison or venom injected by snakes. The workings of poison were so intricate it went beyond conventional ninjutsu such that it was associated with the force of nature. Nature itself was used to create it, commonly derived from plants.
For poison to go beyond that, coming from a snake...
This was becoming far too dangerous. The nature of their games were inherently wrought with danger, pushing for leverage, but this level was beyond what he was comfortable with. It was poisonous. Itachi summed it up when he flatly stated, "This is pointless."
"Business as usual I see," Orochimaru commented with a laugh, looking mildly disappointed as he commanded the snakes to retract into his sleeves. Still, he was not about to relent, thoroughly enjoying in pushing Itachi's buttons. "Are you sure you don't want a taste?"
Itachi's silence said it all.
He didn't say anything, merely strode to the dresser, picked up the cloak that had instigated the game, and held it out to Orochimaru. Not by any means was it a truce or sure sign of submission, signalling he had caved in, for it was clear the game was far from over. The game they both played was unending, adding light to their dark days in Akatsuki. It was not a bright light, not one born of happiness and nice things, but it was still a light – even if it drew them both like moths to a flickering flame.
In that sense, the understanding was mutual. Hands were grasped in agreement when Orochimaru accepted the offered cloak, going so far as to brush Itachi's fingers as he grasped the dark material in a lingering, deliberate caress.
Itachi ignored the feeling of the other man's touch as he produced the object that he longed to keep. "Your forehead protector."
"Thank you, Itachi-kun."
Polite as ever, Itachi was momentarily struck by how Orochimaru acted as if nothing had happened, reverting to his usual self. He watched, careful to keep wistfulness out of his expression, as pale fingers scooped up the memento singing of home. The metal surface was smooth, unmarred – there was no scar. Something inside him reached out for it, the very same feeling that had nagged him before, escaping him as a question. "Why haven't you slashed it?"
"I see no reason to," Orochimaru replied with an offhanded wave of his hand. "Many of the other Akatsuki members have done so but I fail to see the point."
Itachi pointed out, "It symbolises broken ties to one's village," as neutrally as he could, infinitely curious to hear Orochimaru's reasoning.
"Mmm." Orochimaru looked thoughtful, gazing at his forehead protector meaningfully. "Ah, but the thing is that my ties to Konoha aren't yet broken. Not yet."
The revelation was shocking, resonating within Itachi who had never been more taken aback at what Orochimaru had ever said. Up until now, the cryptic answers he had heard were just that – strangely spoken words alluding to a greater truth. But this... It was the truth. Plain and simple, free from the tainting darkness of sarcasm and lies, it was the truth as to why the forehead protector was unmarked.
"Not even Akatsuki can force my hand," Orochimaru continued in a supremely unaffected fashion, conveniently missing the searching look Itachi was giving him as he stared down at the memento of home they both secretly clung to. "I'm no fool. I've lived longer in Konoha than you, Itachi-kun. It will always carry some sentimental value no matter what happens in the future."
There was a dark edge of promise with the last thing he said. Only a fool would have mistaken it to be friendly.
"Slashing it would be a lie and," a smile curled Orochimaru's lips as he turned to open the door, "unlike some, I have nothing to prove."
Itachi was left standing alone in the room clutching his bloodied kunai. Although the snakes had never bit him, poisoning him, he felt sick with the knowledge that Orochimaru would one day attempt to destroy everything he held dearly. What was truly nauseating, however, seeping in past the cracks of his facade as poison, was how Orochimaru seemed to have pieced the fragments of his fallible mask together, seeing it, and him, for what they truly were – that he knew.
