Naruto © Masashi Kishimoto

~ 家路~
The Path Home

11

.:.

A loud groan cut me out of my meditation mode.

It was obviously too late to build up my chakra reserves in preparation for a fight but it, unexpectedly, calmed me down. The green fire had died out perhaps an hour ago, leaving me in sightless, endless darkness that amplified the fear. My stomach growled even louder. But tortured, agonized screams drowned it out. It came from directly above though muted with the distance. My gut churned in fear—my captors were busy doing who-knows-what and I might be the next to be subjected to the torture.

I opened my eyes and looked to my side. I edged away cautiously in case he reacted violently.

"Wha … gah …"

"You can talk!" I was momentarily elated. That meant I was a decent medic, yes! Finally, Dad, something I learned actually stuck in my head! That's the pro of having a perpetually empty head!

… Why did I sound like I'd always underestimated my capabilities? Let me amend that: even I can do something right even though I didn't have much of an interest in it. "That's good. I set your dislocated jaw straight then. To think I was so uncertain about it … heh." I grinned, scratching my cheek sheepishly.

"Who's … oh, that Tomoe kid."

I nodded, hand falling to rest by my side, even though he couldn't see. "You know my name. What about you? What's your name?"

There was a slight shifting. Then, gruffly answered a man's voice, "Hōzuki Mangetsu."

The name was familiar. He wasn't Sasuke's future companion in Team Taka, right? That didn't matter. He wouldn't do much of a traveling companion if he was stuck in this cell. "Oh. So do you know where we are?"

"Amegakure," grunted the Hōzuki. In the dark, I couldn't see what he was doing at all. "In that fucker's lab."

"Lab?" I repeated, just to be absolutely certain. If this was one of Orochimaru's lab, then … Kabuto, help me!

But Mangetsu's next words dashed my hopes. "Yeah," his voice was slightly raspy from disuse and dehydration. Drinking must've been hard with a dislocated jaw. "Hanzō the Salamander, that's who got us locked down here. Didn't you know he's catching kids for lab rats?"

"I … I'm not native," I replied through my shock and increasing fear. I was lucky my next breath didn't come out as a sob of terror. "But… you're not a kid," I pointed out.

"Nah, I'm a POW. It was an S-ranked mission, hired to kill this fucker Hanzō you see. Needless to say, I failed and now, I'm in this shithole. What 'bout you?"

"I'm from Takigakure," I said, continuing the façade, "and I'm here for the Chūnin Exam. I was separated from my team and then, I was in a cave and I was thrown into a poisonous pool. The other Genin are …" I trailed off. I'd liked Yuriko. Must every mission I undertake have dead girls? I groaned to express the misery I felt. Then to distract myself, I asked, "Why did they beat you up?"

"Hanzō's followers are bloody sadistic, that's all I can think of actually. Or maybe I killed someone they love and didn't know it. Speaking of which, thanks kid—for healing me. Not a lot would waste energy on helping someone in a situation as bad as theirs."

I felt a flush of pleasure despite the situation. It'd been more on impulse than careful thinking. The orphanage's matron had pounded this into my head: always help those in need. You're standing before me right now because of charity and kindness, too.

And Ume, she'd helped shape that ideology. She was kind. Besides, ignoring him who was in pain would hardly help my situation. At least now, I'd have someone who could give me solid answers. (And scream in terror with me. That was always a good thing. Misery loving company and all.)

"Have you tried escaping?" I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper. I could feel faint chakra signatures scattered in twos or threes around me—more prisoners who were on the brink of death and depleted chakra reserves. Why? They must've known exerting chakra in their cells wouldn't bring any good. There had to be about fifty of us here. I gulped bile down my throat; this was sick. "I mean, now that you're better and all."

"Can't, kid," Mangetsu moaned. Pain affected his voice deeply.

"Why? Which part of you is still hurt?"

"My legs, kid, they chopped it off."

I sobbed in horror before I could stop myself—was that going to happen to me too? Mangetsu made an irritated noise that didn't entirely mask the pain. "Look, crybaby, shut the flying fuck up. Save the tears for later—that fucker will pull something worse than sob stories. If you have the energy to cry, use that to search for cracks or holes in the walls—I can't move so I can't find shit in here. Those arrogant sons of bitches left us with our chakra. We're not completely defenseless." His voice cracked beneath the weight of his desperation and infallible determination. I didn't know him but in that moment, I felt a surge of admiration towards the imprisoned shinobi who had yet to break beneath this hell.

Those were the words of a hardened shinobi that had expected something this horrid to happen to him. No, if he wasn't bleeding to death from two stumps … it meant he'd been in here for a long, long time. I swallowed the bile that clawed up my throat. "I … I'll do it."

And so I did. I pressed every slab of rock I could reach, hitting and scraping. "It's over—my life," I groaned, falling on all fours, surrendering to my fate. "Eight years … so short …" I moaned. Eight plus fourteen, twenty-two—that was young by anyone's standard.

Then another thought hit me like a freight train: Sasuke! I gulped. If I didn't go back soon, my brother would tear his hair out of his scalp from worry. How would he react to it?

"You—" Mangetsu stopped. My breathing hitched, tripped and stopped completely. Footsteps descending down the stone stairs. Fabric whispered to the ground as the stranger approached. I could feel his power. This was not a captive. This was— "Hanzō," spat Mangetsu with malicious hatred.

The man stopped before us. I heard the heaviness of his breath. I had a fuzzy memory about his guy wearing a gas mask because there was so much poison in his veins, his breath was poisonous. I just knew that I wouldn't want to stand in front of him when he talked.

"Mangetsu, it seems like your dislocated jaw has been fixed," Hanzō rumbled. He sounded like he was pinching his nose when he talk, plus a bit of echoing made his words harder to decipher to the ears. "Broken fingers doing okay?"

Finally recalling that I needed to breathe to survive, I took a shaky breath and exhaled as quietly. But Hanzō had impeccable hearing. "Ah, yes, the new subject. Did you heal Mangetsu?" he asked kindly. "That's a good child. What's your name?"

I saw no relative harm in answering. "Tomoe," I mumbled.

"Tomoe of Konohagakure's Uchiha clan," Hanzō murmured, a faint note of approval in his voice. Mangetsu spluttered. My eyes widened as my heart stuttered and fluttered in fear. How did he—? The documents Sai presented shouldn't have contained my real information.

Wait … Sai handed it to the guards at the gates … then he gave another set of documents during our registration for the Chūnin Exam … Sai couldn't have, could he? Then that would mean this had something to do with Danzō.

"No, I—" The burning in my throat and eyes had little to do with tears of fear.

Hanzō clucked his tongue. "Only a Konoha shinobi would so willingly help another. I'm a bit surprised that one of Danzō's child soldiers could possess such kindness. But then again, there is always the odd one out of every group." A sizzling sound reached my ears. I scrambled to the other end of the cell but Hanzō had already entered.

Mangetsu snarled several choice words at Hanzō, targeting his mother. Somehow, he found me. Might have something to do with how I lurched for the exit. His hand closed around my bicep and he hauled me off my feet. I yelped, kicking, electricity sparking.

"Let me go!" The scream was a fruitless attempt; Hanzō dragged me out as easily as he was handling a kitten.

I kicked again: one foot connected with Hanzō's shin and he didn't even falter; the other foot hit a stony step. I stopped before I bruised or broke my toes. We ascended the stairs, me still hanging like trash from his arm. The light that greeted me at the spiraling top blinded and disoriented me.

I cringed, momentarily seizing my struggles. I peered through the gaps between my fingers. I was still chained and cuffed up. It was a lab. Reminding me sickeningly of where I'd met Ume yet larger and cleaner. I saw huge cylindrical containers containing—I gagged—humans. Were they even? Their skins were nearly blue, the color of the liquid they floated in, and they were so thin their ribcage were visible.

Hanzō tossed me onto a metal bed. I made to jump and run—futile I know but I would never give up on my freedom and life—but Hanzō snapped his fingers and chains appeared from beneath the table, lashing me onto my back.

I shrieked as he approached. Screamed even louder when the scalpel he held drove right through my skin and flesh—spearing my palm completely. I wouldn't believe he'd stabbed me if I hadn't seen it for myself. Pain didn't rush to alert me about impending danger. What impending? I'm already in danger, I corrected myself.

Hanzō's hair didn't give a hint about his age. I thought he'd be pretty old but his hair was platinum blonde and he had dark eyes. There was a visible scar beneath that helmet-like respirator with two obscene cartridges. His eyes showed only curiosity and determination to reach a breakthrough in his experiment—he didn't keep me here to fulfill his malicious desires.

"Interesting, you really feel no pain. Your eyes dilate from fear. Do you know how rare it is? Congenital insensitivity to pain, heat or cold. I've met someone like that when I was young but he'd died in combat, it was a pity," Hanzō lamented, unaware that I wasn't suffering from CIPA, "But it is good fortune that my old friend Danzō had allowed me to borrow you."

"Danzō—you and him?" I struggled weakly. "Why … tell me?" I keened. "You know I can report to the Hokage about this, right?" I dreaded his answer.

Hanzō's brows pulled together. "Your squirming is irritating, child." He picked a syringe from one of the assortment of tools he had. I struggled even harder but the bonds held strong. "And no one said you'll make it out of here, much less to Konoha. I'm sure, right now, your teammates would already be on their way back, and soon, you'll be listed on the KIA Memorial Stone. From what I hear, every shinobi of Konoha consider it an honor to have their names inscribed there."

No, please! You'll hurt Sasuke! I never want to see him so broken, so sad ever— My plea was cut off by the sweet cloth he smothered over my mouth and nose.

I'd never seen a sleeping drug more potent than—

If you're sick of seeing someone being forced into unwilling unconsciousness, try being in my shoes. I was sick of being forced into unconsciousness. By now, I figured I'd been unconscious long enough to last thirty years without a wink of sleep.

The scant moments I woke, I found myself either on my back, bare of any clothes, or on a chair or in the tube where Hanzō kept at least two dozen humans floating in—the prisoners trapped within weren't always the same people. It wasn't always Hanzō poking and prodding; sometimes it was his lab assistants. And always, whenever they were done or when they noticed I was awake and I struggled too much for their liking, they'd press that sickening, hideous cloth of sweet and dreams, to haul me back into the dark.

What I saw in my waking moments always made my stomach churn. If I had any substantial food, I would've lost it. I later learned they kept me healthy through the IV that dripped the required nutrients or they force-fed me soldier pills.

This one time, Hanzō was kind to show me what he'd been working on. "You've been a lot of help Tomoe," he'd croon in my ear. I couldn't move. I was disoriented. I felt like elephants were attached to the other end of the chains.

Blade edged sideways into my skin, peeled and pushed a layer of flesh away. Blood gushed like tears my eyes didn't even have the energy to shed. At least I still had my eyes. At least he hadn't tried to claw them out to study the secrets of the Sharingan. Someone sobbed. Another screamed. One of them could've been me. There were so many others here, going through the same and yet, somehow suffering worse than I was because they could feel pain.

Hanzō ignored the screams, sobs and pleas; he poured a purple liquid that sizzled and hardened the moment it touched my skin. I stared blankly, horror a detached being who watched from my eyes, unable to formulate a response. My lips moved but I couldn't seem to summon my voice quick enough through the haziness clouding my brain.

"You probably want to know why you're here, why I need so many test subjects," Hanzō was speaking conversationally. My head lolled. Ume. The name struck a chord in my mind. I think she was lying as weak and limp as I did now. I'm sorry I never sympathized; I'm sorry for ever mocking you. Help. "My land's at war—a civil war, the shame. What does it say of my leadership when my own people are revolting? I expect Danzō wants to know, I'm fortunate he's been kind to help me and he is not the type to spread secrets. Then again, so won't you.

"I'm not a cruel man, Tomoe. For your cooperation"—Anger and indignation surged. Cooperation? How was I cooperating? If I could move, I would've killed him, or tried to anyway—"maybe a reward is in order."

I groaned. "Won't … lemeggo will you?" I spat harshly. My voice was hoarse. My lips were dry and cracked. Yet, I was never dehydrated. How?

"Unfortunately for you," Hanzō agreed empathetically. "Surely, there is something that you could still want. Sweets?"

A flash of shark-teeth and pale hair. Of a man who'd been disgraced and tormented. "Man … getsu. Lehimgo." There was a pause on Hanzō's end. "He … just doin' his job. Doesn't …" I fell silent. I didn't deserve this either, I was sure of it—tormenting cats wouldn't have warranted such torture. Why am I still here?

Oh, yeah, I can't run. And begging won't do the trick.

"Very well, I will see to it," Hanzō promised. I sneered internally. I doubted he'd actually go through with it but … he'd asked and I'd answered. It gave me a small peace of mind.

It was the only conversation I remembered. Most of the time, I was swimming in a dark, endless sea of haziness, agony for eternity. The reprieves I had were dreams: Sasuke and Mom and Itachi and Dad. I need you. My mother's agonized face, screaming, reaching out for me. Stretched my fingers yet she slipped out of reach.

Unable to do anything, watching as the life Itachi and Mom so painstakingly preserved, wasting away. That was what hurt the most. Hurt more than watching as my body was desecrated.

I sobbed.

('Tachi, where're you? I'm scar—purple)

~{XI}~

Orange. Purple.

My favorite colors.

Sky blue liquid distorted the colors that had suddenly appeared within sight though. The liquid always stung my eyes whenever it was my turn in the cylindrical, watery prison. A respirator provided me oxygen, clasped tightly to my face, another clasping my tongue to keep me from swallowing the liquid directly (why, Hanzō never answered). Bubbles drifted in and out constantly, in a rhythmic pattern.

That was why I rarely opened my eyes even when I was awake. But … it was different today. This change in pattern piqued my interest. There were no such vibrant colors in the lab. And, most importantly, Hanzō wasn't present—shocking since he was always there, as if he had nothing better to do. So much for a civil war.

A group of people were, abundant with powerful and distressed and fierce chakra, and foreign. These weren't the chakra signatures of Hanzō's people. New tormentors? If I had the breath to groan, I would've.

Something—a palm—was pressed against the glass of my prison. Black and red were the blurry shapes I made out further below.

My fingers twitched, eyes slid further shut. But I reached out. I touched the glass gingerly, my fingertips kissing his through the glass. The person on the other side flexed his fingers and pressed his palm deeper. I rested the whole of my palm there, too.

I smiled vaguely. His hand was larger than mine. A lot. I pulled myself closed but the respirator, with rigid wiring, held me back.

His purple eyes were dizzying—ringed from center to cover the rest of his eye. Wait. Those eyes—

Crack!

The shattering of glass was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. Dazed as I was, I was pretty sure the liquid couldn't be good for health. Nor was it useful for skin-care. Though being submerged in water for so long would've left me wrinkly, my skin was still smooth. From what I've felt anyway. Which wasn't much.

I tumbled without liquid to suspend me. The man caught me; with one hand, he ripped the respirator off but fortunately, not my tongue along with it. I loved my tongue. It's the second favorite part of my body I loved; right after my precious eyes.

My tongue felt numb. I would've thanked him if I could do it. All I could muster was a choked gurgle then—much to my mortification—I spewed and hacked blue liquid. Fortunately, I managed to twist away from his chest when I hurled—I didn't want to hurt him after all. I gagged over the bitter, nauseating taste. How on earth had it gotten into my mouth with the respirator on?

My ears were stuffed full of liquid. The man was speaking; his chest rumbled as he spoke, I couldn't make heads or tails out of it. I fisted his cloak, knotting the pattern of a red cloud on black fabric that was supposed to be the sky but was not, and sobbed into the unfamiliar but welcomed scent of rain and blood and something other than antiseptic, poison and drugs.

The world shifted—no, the man shifted and he carried me with ease. I knew it wasn't only because of my small size. But it was also due to the imprisonment. I hadn't eaten anything solid since I was captured. I probably made a skeleton look plump.

Something was draped over my shoulders, a cloak as black and red-clouded as his own, and he seated me on his arm as he moved swiftly, hand threaded through my hair to caress my scalp, and that gesture more than his moving lips told me he was trying to say, it's okay. My wet hair was plastered onto the fabric on top of his shoulder; my breaths were chilling and brittle: my nose prickled with the scent of the man's neck.

How long had it been since I felt air gliding across my cheek?

How long had it been since I last saw the sky?

Smelled the rain?

I curled deeper into the man who held me and even though he wasn't Itachi or Sasuke or Mom, I knew I was safer where I was than in anywhere else.

~{XI}~

I woke up on a couch, wearing a dull pink yukata with a red obi tied around my waist, keeping the piece of cloth together. After not wearing anything for so long, I wouldn't have cared if I was dressed as a clown. I didn't move immediately once I woke.

I just … reveled in it. Being awake I mean. My wrists bore scars of cuffs cutting into skin; of my struggles. Needle puncture scars that hadn't fade mapped a sky of constellation on my arms. There were scars here and there: red skin raw and tender, new skin that hadn't fully regenerated, brown patches of skin and crusted poison. My legs were completely bandaged. Hanzō had concentrated on my legs especially. I didn't know what his obsession with legs were but he always poured acid or poison onto my shin—after shearing the flesh off, of course, and to stem excessive blood loss, he'd sew someone else's skin onto my own as he prioritized my life over the other test subjects.

I shuddered, teeth chattering so badly it clacked around the room. I rolled over, nearly sliding off the couch, and pushed myself up. My brittle fingers could close around my bicep without even trying. I didn't want to look at my reflection—it'd only served as a reminder of what had—

"You're awake."

I turned. My hair whipped around, the flash of black at my periphery vision clued me in on how long it'd grown. That was an extremely trivial matter in comparison to the sheer presence resonating from the man standing at the doorway. His appearance didn't give me a steady range of his age—maybe around twenty to thirty—and his hair was like a carrot. His forehead protector was that of a typical Ame-nin's except for the horizontal slash across the symbol. His eyes weren't just purple and ringed—they were the legendary Rinnegan.

He looked like he had a kink for piercing. If he'd had black hair and eyes, he would've been the typical emo-kid at high school but no jock would bully him for obvious reasons (they'd be butchered for dinner); plus, his face wasn't very friendly. My eyes widened as I took in my surroundings.

This looked like any normal apartment. Shadows hid in the corners of the studio apartment: what little lighting the day sky of Ame was blocked by another building. I saw curtained windows from where I sat. Shelves housed books and scrolls. A tea table was in front of me. It was empty—until the Rinnegan-user placed a whole packet containing rolls of bandages on it.

"Hold out your right arm." He sat on the table that withheld his weight without a single sound of protest. Those innocuous purple eyes were gazing expectantly at me.

I recoiled. Pein. Not physical pain but the man Pein. Finally, my brain reconnected with my tongue, allowing me the capability of speech. I spluttered—to test my vocal chords, not because I was scared shitless: "Who—what—where?"

Eight years of learning Japanese went out the window, gushing into the sewers.

"I'm Pein," came the monotonous reply, gaze gauging, "And you're in one of Akatasuki's headquarters."

Er … he was going to answer? Wait, he answered? Instead of persisting in questions like I was prone to do, I lost my brain-to-mouth filter and said, "You must've been a pain in the ass as a baby, for your mother to name you that." Sadly, I'd spoken too loudly for the drumming rain and rolling thunder to mask my words from his ears.

His brows lifted in honest surprise. My eyebrows climbed even higher than his when I saw his mouth twitching sideways—two millimeters to a smile.

"It's an alias," he finally said, lips backtracking into a flat line as he reached out and taking my arm when I showed no signs of offering it. "I'm just going to bandage it," he elaborated when I flinched and pulled back. One second later and I would've kicked his balls.

"Ah … perhaps not so hard?" His grip didn't hurt but the tightness—how constricting and powerful his grip was reminded me of the shackles of Hanzō's operation table. His fingers loosened empathetically. With the nimbleness of one who'd bandaged a lot of wounds, he started patching me up.

I grimaced as the burnt patch of skin—acid burns—was covered beneath gauze. "… Will the scars ever heal?" I asked trepidatiously.

Pein's hand stilled briefly. His eyes flickered to mine: I think he knew that I didn't just mean the physical scars. "Someday," he offered vaguely. Then he looped the gauze the rest of the way, covering the patch. I used my free hand to push up the sleeve of my yukata for him to inspect the damage on my shoulders—a few scalpel cuts due to excess struggling but nothing harmful.

Wordlessly, I offered my left arm, trying not to stare. I might as well have charcoal rocks lumped together as my arm. I flexed my fingers once he was done. "Thank you," I said sincerely, managing a shaky smile his way. It fell far too quickly for my liking. "I'm Tomoe." I glanced at the bandages, enveloping from ankle-up to thigh and knuckles to biceps. "Um, are the bandages really necessary? I don't see any blood." I poked my knee repeatedly.

The birthmark on my thigh had been obscured. I liked my birthmark—the shape of a swallow taking flight, or something like it. Sasuke once said it looked like two boomerangs attacked to a plate. And Shisui said it was a cockroach. Jerk—my jerk, I caught myself thinking fondly of him.

"Give it time to heal," Pein advised, standing up. His cloak flared with the movement and I was abruptly drawn to it: red cloaks on black fabric. Akatsuki. I tracked Pein as he tied the plastic bag containing no less than a dozen roll of bandages—he bought it for me?—and he shoved it unceremoniously into a drawer. He pushed harder than necessary, likely due to the inordinate number of junk he'd stored inside previously. Items clacked and clashed against one another.

The normal, human act took me by surprise. So even aspiring deities-to-be had problems being neat? It made me feel better about myself (and the state of my room).

"Are you in an organization? What's Akatsuki?" I spoke up, breaking the silence.

Pein straightened and turned to me, gaze piercing. Nearly sharper than the scalpels that had so easily worked their way through my skin. I shrunk down the couch, turning my attention to the window instead. Droplets of rain bombarded the glass. "Akatsuki is the name of the army fighting Hanzō's army in this civil war."

Looking at Ame, you'd have virtually no grasp of time. Time! "What's today's date?" I asked breathlessly.

Pein rounded the couch, and retook his seat on the tea table. It would've been hilarious—I would've paid everything I own—to see it crack and him to fall. My insides squirmed with the long-forgotten urge to giggle. "It's October 7th," he replied tonelessly.

… I've been a prisoner for three months?! I need to go back to Sasuke. I leapt to my feet and fell just as quickly. I winced as I found myself staring up at Pein who looked down at me quizzically. I was having a mini heart-attack. "He cut my legs open so many times—ohmygod—I'm crippled—I can't even stand and I'll never walk again for the restofmyli—"

"Tomoe," Pein interrupted my muttering of, "Omgomgomg," and reached down. I stilled. He shifted my bandaged leg out of the way. I looked between my legs as Pein nudged and pulled the scroll from beneath my feet. "Now try walking." He pressed his lips tightly together like he was restraining himself from laughing.

I was redder than any Sharingan in existence. I tugged on his cloak and wordlessly, he offered me a hand. I hesitated before taking it and I pulled myself up with his help. I stumbled and swayed like a freaking leaf. "It's normal," Pein assured me, steadying me by gripping my hips, "when you haven't walked for so long. Exercise will reawaken your legs once more."

The width of my thigh was barely three-quarter of my palm. No wonder it was so hard to stand. My massaged my thighs, trying to work some feeling into it when I noticed a black blur zooming down diagonally outside the window.

If I hadn't known better, I would say it was hair and a body had just zoomed down. And either I'd lost my mind or it was reality. My teeth chattered as fear threatened to overcome me.

"What is it?" queried Pein.

"You—is it normal to rain people?" I asked, feeling nauseous.

"No." He turned as I leaped over the tea table and towards the window, unlatching it and peering out. The sound of rain showering the earth was amplified. Pein stood beside me, canting slightly to see. Without a doubt, his eyesight was better than mine, penetrating the hail of rain. "That pitiful woman."

"You know her? What she's doing out there?" I asked, momentarily forgetting that hello, I'm-the-god-who-will-bring-peace-to-the-world-through-pain was the one standing beside me.

"I knew her," he corrected, eyes looking directly at a silvery glint in the gloomy. I squinted. Ninja wire maybe? This didn't seem to be a tightrope performance. I leaned further forward, feet nearly leaving the ground as I strained to see what she was doing. Pein grabbed my shoulder and pulled me down. "She was a mother who lost her son to Hanzō's scheme of creating a stronger poison—much like how you were a victim."

Ah, yes, there were many young boys, weren't there? In retrospect, it was probably nothing personal on Hanzō's part. Rather than hate, I felt a huge amount of fear. Hearing Hanzō's name made me squirm and whimper. Seeing him would probably make me faint in fright.

"Wait here," Pein said, jumping onto the window sill and peering out. "I'll retrieve her body."

She committed suicide by hanging, I realized. Bile clawed up my throat. I clapped both hands over my mouth to prevent it from escaping. Pein leapt, agile and lithe, and landed on the thin ninja wire, advancing quickly, one foot in front of the other as if he was just walking on ground. I wouldn't have been able to muster the proper chakra control to stand on such thin surface. He was amazing.

I didn't think this was an appropriate time to clap though. My awe was eclipsed almost entirely by disgust when Pein returned, the woman's corpse beneath an arm. His right hand clasped onto her neck, as if to stem the blood flow but it still dripped onto the concrete ground. I backed away quickly as he placed the corpse on the ground.

His hand was slippery with blood and when he moved, I saw the head sliding centimeters up when the body didn't even move. I gagged: the head was nearly detached from the body by the razor-sharp ninja wire. I slid to the ground, eyes squeezed shut.

And was submerged in an age-old nightmare of the prison, of the darkness suffocating me, of limbo where I felt Hanzō's ministrations and—

Something tore and the sound of fabric rustling through air reached my ears. "Tomoe," came the quiet call of my name. "I've covered her body, there's no need to close your eyes." He tugged on my hand, pulling me to my feet, led me further down as I worked to open my eyes.

I found myself sitting on the couch but Pein had turned it around. The couch now faced the kitchen. My shoulders slumped in relief even though my hands hadn't quite stopped shaking. "Wh … what happened to her son?" I asked quietly.

"You were the only survivor," Pein answered. He sat beside me, gaze focused to a distant point ahead of us yet beyond me. "The other test subjects had been killed. I suspect Hanzō"—I flinched at the mention of the name—"only had time to take the product of his research before we invaded. He spared no one, not even his assistants, in case they talked."

How … despicable. "I don't understand why either," I twiddled my thumbs, "but I've always been insusceptible to what he deems his average poison. That's why he kept experimenting on me …" Unintentionally so, my hand twitched towards the scars on my arm, scratching slightly. I didn't feel itch either. I'd been bitten by mosquitoes and there was this time, a bee had stung me and I hadn't realized until Migi pointed out my pinkie finger was swollen.

What struck me as surreal wasn't my rescue. It was that I was sitting beside the leader of Akatsuki. The bitter, broken man who'd razed Konoha to the ground.

I looked at said man. "Are you going to beat Han—Ha—that … man … anytime soon?"

Pein blinked languidly. "We'll see," he didn't offer a definitive answer. Pushing himself off the couch, he spoke, "Come with me, Tomoe, you must be hungry after the ordeal you've been through." His eyes flickered. "And I have to make preparations for Kasumi-san's funeral; she had served me well."

That was the biggest giveaway ever. "Served—?"

"I offered her aid to find her son, that's all," he responded curtly. The door was unlocked and all he did was turn the doorknob, walking through it, leaving the door wide open.

He hadn't hurt me so far; he hadn't even tried to keep me here; he just … offered aid, that's all, as he'd said.

I followed him.

~{XI}~

I don't generally see a SI fic where Pein is part of the main cast, aside from playing the typical role of resurrecting the villagers of Konoha. Or do you know any stories where Pein has a semi-large role?

Question: If someone in front of him was in trouble (hurt, sick, etc.), do you think Pein/Nagato would've helped?

Drabble xi: How Pein came to find the lab and Tomoe.

R&R