Chapter 20: Snake in the Grass

I don't know what it was, but I felt a sudden urge to get my ass into gear and get back to work. Not that I hadn't been working, I suppose, but I had been too focused on scheming with Tobi that I felt that I had missed things in the greater scheme of things.

I had to balance, to juggle between giving Tobi what he wanted and plotting my next moves well enough to stay ahead. And I was currently falling behind.

"Who are you?" I muttered to myself, sitting on the edge of my bed, my back to the window as I foolishly assumed I hadn't woken 'Maro simply because he hadn't stirred.

That was the next mystery to solve. Who is Tobi? I knew he wasn't Madara. Of that, at least, I could be sure. There was no guarantee that he even was an Uchiha, since I suppose he could have just had his eye transplanted, but…

I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that screamed it.

There were numerous theories that had been floating around on the internet about who Tobi really was. I mean, other than the traditional Tobito theory that I had fully supported in middle school. Though I had discounted it on the grounds that, well, Tobi had his entire body and Obito had been crushed under a mountain of rocks, not to mention from what I had seen of Tobi's face, he was considerably too old to be Obito. Obito was Kakashi's age, right? It didn't add up.

People had speculated that he was Izuna, Shisui, hell, even Fugaku. Since I knew what Shisui's main Mangekyo ability was, I felt comfortable discounting him. Tobi's ability was, as far as I knew, remarkably, remarkably similar to Kakashi's, so I wouldn't discount Obito as a possibility…Seeing as Madara, having been resurrected, was essentially confirmed to have died probably way back when, I felt the need to lean towards Izuna as his identity.

After all, how would someone without first hand experience know so much about the real Madara in the first place? Tobi knew way too much about Madara to not be him or someone who witnessed what happened.

And hey, lots of people who die come back in Naruto, or supposedly come back, or are supposedly killed but are actually alive. Probably. It was possible.

I considered things along this vein of thought for an hour, maybe more, until I at last came to the tentative conclusion that Tobi might be Izuna. It didn't sit right in my mind, but it was better than not knowing. I was rather of the mind that Tobi might also be some other unknown character, I suppose it was less of a long shot than assuming he was Izuna.

There was a niggling feeling in the back of my mind that…maybe we had all been right, when Tobi had first been introduced, but it was discarded quickly, if uneasily.

And then that train of thought, taken and expanded and expounded upon, too was discarded and I lay back down and tried to push all scheming from my mind to get some of the sleep I suddenly felt I so desperately needed.

I awoke, almost disturbingly, to the tentative brushing of soft fingertips against the part of my shoulder left bare by my night-dress, and felt a split-second of panic until I realized who it could only be.

"Your fingers are so smooth, 'Maro."

The movement stopped for a moment, before just as hesitantly starting again.

"You sound surprised…" He murmured, so quietly I might have missed it.

I resisted the urge to shrug.

"I suppose…I might have expected them to be callused, since you're a ninja and all."

I turned my head briefly so that I could glance at him out of the corner of my eye, noticing what was for a man a stoic as him the equivalent of a small smile.

"No…the bones, they tear. And the skin rebuilds over it. Can't build calluses that way."

I nodded, though it might have looked a bit strange seeing as he was looking at the back of my head. After that, we fell silent for a moment, and then a moment more, until finally 'Maro apparently manned up enough to tell me what was really going through his mind.

"You were dreaming," he said, and the frown that must have been on his face was evident in his voice. "You were dreaming all night, and I thought that-"

He didn't finish and he didn't need to, because I knew what it was that he meant by it. He was comforting me, in his own way, perhaps, but he was trying all the same. I let out a soft, "ah," and didn't say anything else for a few minutes, not wanting to make the admission anymore awkward for him or for me.

He had stopped by that point, sitting perhaps a little morosely on the edge of the bed, no doubt wondering what it was that I was dreaming about, and why I wouldn't tell him. Not that he had asked, but the question was there, bold as brass, evident in his expression.

"I don't remember, exactly." I said, telling the truth.

It was hazy, just out of reach, like it had been designed so that I would only remember parts of it when the right trigger ripped the memory from my subconscious to the front of my mind. It was not a pleasant feeling.

"You woke during the night, and it seemed you were thinking about something."

More underlying questions, seeping through his tone.

"Yes. I was thinking about something else, though. Trying to put the pieces together before I start drowning in them," I explained vaguely, and the frown on my face at the end must have told him what he wanted to know because the subject was dropped entirely.

It was, at least, until breakfast was done, and he had helped me into my favorite bottle-green kimono, and pinned my hair up with a comb of priceless pearl.

"Ikite…"

I glanced up from my sadly traditionally Japanese breakfast and pushed away the thought of how desperately I suddenly craved a taste of home away. Well, it didn't matter. The food I'd eaten wasn't bad, of course. I just…I just felt a little homesick.

The thought was stomped out as I turned back to my white-haired companion.

"Yes, 'Maro?"

He watched me for a moment before tearing his eyes from mine and looking forward again, away from me. "What does getting 'caught in the rain' mean?"

My heart hammered to a desperate stop in my throat.

"What?"

"You…sang. When you woke, you very softly sang 'and getting caught in the-"

"Stop," I pleaded, feeling suddenly sick. "Don't 'Maro, just leave it. Please. Please. I…I had a dream, that's all."

That's all, I reassured myself. I couldn't remember it, not all of it, but I wanted, no, I desperately, desperately needed to go to Itachi. I could feel touches of darkness clinging to the edges of my mind, and as far as I knew, there was only one way to explain that.

Jashin. Whatever I had dreamt, it was him behind it. I couldn't remember, but I had a sinking feeling that I would remember when it became important. Which translated, essentially, to when there was nothing I could do to change things.

"Kimimaro, I want to see Itachi."

He nodded, his face so emptied of emotion, I couldn't read it. Leaving the breakfast tray behind for someone else to deal with, we ventured out. The last time I had been out of my room, was at Itachi's trial.

As such, the relief of realizing 'Maro was taking me to his room and not to a holding cell hit me with the force a blow to the stomach, and I fought the urge to run the last few steps down the hall. I succeeded, but I knocked more swiftly and insistently that I likely should have.

The door opened so quickly I surmised he had used ninja-speed to get to it.

"Ikite."

There was so much that I wanted to say, I didn't know where to start. I was saved freezing up by 'Maro, who expressionlessly dismissed himself so that we would have privacy. It wasn't until he had left that it occurred to me at last that Itachi and I needed to have a serious discussion, and that had it not been for 'Maro's discretion, I wouldn't have realized it.

"Are you unwell?" He asked me, his voice low, hesitant.

I glanced at him in surprise and quickly assured him, "No, I'm…I'm fine."

His motioned deeper into the dark of his dimly lit room and I followed, keeping my gaze to the floor so that he wouldn't catch me staring at him like he was an animal at the zoo. Although…what had been seen could never be unseen. The Grass ninja…I didn't understand. I wasn't sure that I wanted to, ever. But there was something strange about this Itachi, something I did not know, and it was wild and animalistic.

Perhaps I would have been right to look at him like that, because when I risked a glance up as I sat on the very edge of his mattress, his dark eyes were on me, and I remembered quite suddenly the look that had been in them the last time I had seen them.

No, not the last time. The last time as at the trial. So when…?

Have you looked at your hero, little one? Seen him as he really is?

Itachi was standing as if frozen in the middle of reaching for me, and I blanched and felt suddenly sick when I realized that he was covered, covered in blood, with a glint of crazy in his otherwise expressionless eyes.

Had you forgotten, Ikite?

…because, well, what kind of being could kill like that, so ruthlessly, so easily?

That those you hold so dear are all killers, soulless monsters that exist solely for-

"Why are you showing me this?"

Ikite-ikite-ikite-ikite-ikite-ikite-IKITE-IKITE-IKITE-IKITE-

I was startled into sudden consciousness by someone taking my hand in theirs and holding it, and suddenly, my mind was void of any and all thought. Confused, I looked down at my hand and his, and followed his arm up to his shoulder, trailed my eyes from shoulder to neck to jaw to cheek and at last to his eyes.

"Itachi-"

That's right, I was in Itachi's room. I had come…I had come because…

"You claim to be well, but your face is so pale. Is it…fear? Did you look at what I did and feel repulsed, terrified, ashamed? Do you fear me now, because you have seen the truth of what I am, looked into the heart of me and found a soulless monster?"

"Why are you showing me this?"

Had you forgotten, Ikite?

"No," I called softly. "No, never."

The vehement undercurrent of my tone belied its hesitance, and in turned created a spark of thought in the utterly blank abyss that was my mind. Fear him? He was Itachi. Itachi, who I had spent countless, countless afternoons with. Itachi, who I had eaten stick after stick of dango with, drank cup after cup of tea. Itachi, who had always been my friend.

"You're not a monster, Itachi. Never. Everything you've done you've done for good, for Sasuke. How can you think that about yourself?"

I moved my free hand to cover his on mine in an attempt to convey my sincerity to him, but he caught it in one of his and flipped it over so that my palm, like my other hand's, was up.

"I was…angry, Ikite."

He was staring at our hands so intensely, I found my own gaze drawn towards them as well, and I wondered if he was looking at them and comparing the blood that stains them both.

"For the first time in a long time, I was angry."

His eyes closed and I could see him lose himself to memory.

"I was angry, and I acted. I did not intend…to do what I did. I meant to watch, only, to observe. But that…anger…it burned. So I confronted them. Again…I did not mean…to do what I did. I meant to bring them back. But I was angry, and it burned."

Not right. Not right, my instincts shrieked. 'Itachi was a peaceful man who hated war,' I repeated in my mind. This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Angry? Angry enough to slaughter a contingent of Grass ninja for no reason, with no orders? That was not Itachi. There was no way that could ever be the Itachi I knew, who had ruined himself for peace.

"Ikite, is it true that you will go to Orochimaru?"

The subject change was so swift, my eyes shot up to meet his. I was stumbling over my words when I answered him. "Yes. For tea. He sent me an invitation, and I-"

"Please arrange for me to accompany you."

I nodded, and Itachi watched me for a few moments before he was satisfied and returned my gesture with a minute, barely there tilting of his head.

He might have told her then what he had found in Grass, what his suspicions were…but he did not. He needed more information in any case, and what better way to infiltrate Orochimaru's headquarters than as a guest?

Likewise, after all that had happened…though he did not yet accept the future she was working towards as a reality that would come, she had become a central part of his life. A confidant, a friend. She had cut into the heart of him and ensconced herself there, and he knew her for what she really was.

She was a scared little girl, and she was all that he had left, his only hope for Sasuke and the only person he could be true with. He would go with her, because he couldn't imagine being left behind, and if Orochimaru was truly behind the actions of Grass, he would kill him.

"Itachi?"

He turned his gaze on her then, letting those dark eyes soften almost imperceptibly as he explained his silence. "I apologize…I was lost in my thoughts."

Well if that isn't the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. I nodded though, as if I wasn't really, really curious and let my eyes fall to my lap. And after a suitable length of time, I got up to leave. Ever the gentleman, he walked me to his door, and we paused there for a moment, and whatever impulse had bidden me so urgently to visit him made me throw my arms around him, too. I didn't cry, I had no reason to. But he was warm and so very alive, and that mattered very much to me at that moment in time.

"I'm so glad you're alright, 'Tachi! I'm so, so glad. I thought…I thought-"

I didn't finish telling him what I thought because I wasn't exactly sure what that was, but he let me hug him, and gently placed his arms around my shoulders.

"I'm fine, Ikite. Remember, when you go to Orochimaru," he began, holding me at arm's length so that he could look me in the eye. I nodded in answer to an unspoken question and attempted to assure him, saying, "take you with me, I know."

He smiled, and I forgot for a moment that there was something strange with him.

"Good. Don't forget."

I mimicked his expression softly and stepped gingerly out of his doorway. Right as I moved to turn around, though, his hand fell on my shoulder and I looked back at him, perplexed. "Itachi?" I questioned, perhaps a little unsurely, but that…that glint in his eye that scared me wasn't there, and he seemed his normal self.

"If you aren't permitted to take me with you," he started softly, calming me with the low familiarity of his smooth voice, "don't go. Don't go, Ikite, because your Kimimaro can't protect you from the whole world, no matter how much he's trained with Sasori and I. And whoever else you take will protect you as long as they are ordered to and no longer and would kill you without a second thought. You should fear them as much as you fear Orochimaru."

Kimimaro had been training with Sasori and Itachi? For how long? I hadn't known. How did 'Maro even know Sasori? No, those questions were better stored away until Kimimaro would answer them himself. I swallowed, hard, when the rest of what Itachi was saying to me truly sunk in. I knew I couldn't trust any of the Akatsuki. I knew that. But he was telling me, essentially, that I could trust him, that he wouldn't betray me.

"You would have done better to stay away from that man entirely. He's dangerous, and you interest him. Now go. I'm sure you have many things to arrange."

I nodded and that was that.

"Well, Ikite? What do you think?" Tobi leaning casually back in his seat as if to remind me that I was such a little, practically inconsequential threat that he could be utterly, completely relaxed in my presence. As if I could ever forget.

He was testing me, again.

"It's early. Perhaps too early."

It was way to early, if we were going to stick to the plan. Way, way too early, but I was being cautious and diplomatic in the way I said so. I carefully watched his fingers as he tapped them on the desk before him. I had long since learned that the best way to read him, other than carefully, carefully observing the undercurrents of emotion in his voice, was to watch what he did with his hands.

His fingers drummed against the desk just once, and then he tapped out a rhythm of four with his index finger, once that was confident and quick, which I chose to interpret as triumph. Yes, he had known what my answer would be…

"There would be many unaccounted for variables if we were to act prematurely. No, it would be better to deal with Grass discreetly and decisively. Leaf is the only village that might have objected, and obviously the Third Hokage will brook no argument. In any case we have a strong case, and no one will want to move against us."

He traced circles idly, seductively on the polished wood of the desk as silence reigned between us, then: "It's very convenient, having a reason to move against Grass."

My blood ran cold as his fingers abruptly stopped.

"It is," I stated warily. I didn't know what he wanted, what he meant, and I wasn't going to give him anything he could use against me. "Although if you want to instigate war with the other nations the same way, I would prefer not to be the victim again."

I was nearly shaking at the thought but I hid it well with my easy tone.

"All will proceed as planned," he said in answer, something dark and lingering in his tone. "And Grass will be subjugated and joined to Rain."

Some primordial part of me bared its teeth and roared in exultation in my head upon hearing this. We would tear Grass apart, raze it to the ground and drag it willing or no into our dominion. I wanted that place to hurt, I wanted them to feel terror and desperation as I had, I wanted to drive that bone-knife into the flesh of that country and watch it bleed.

My thoughts frightened me and I pushed them back. Grass was a country, it was true, but there were people there, innocent people, and even the shinobi who had taken me were innocent. It was one man and one man alone that had given the order for me to be taken, and though I didn't know who he was or why he had done it, he would be the one to pay.

"There's hatred in your eyes, Ikite, and ruin on your tongue. Tell me," Tobi urged, his voice ablaze with something sinister and promising, "tell me what it is you want."

When he had moved, I did not know, but he was behind me then, gloved hands on my shoulders, his voice so close to my ear, it sent a shiver down my spine. I twisted in his grip so I could face him, tilting my face up to his mask so that I could look him in that blazing scarlet eye as I answered. And he laughed, laughed at my request, and agreed.

Snake in the Grass/End.