Author's Note: See first chapter for warnings and pairings. Re-uploaded chapter, since absorbed some of my formatting.

And Ashes

Three

Looking in the mirror, Sasuke balked. He knew who Youshi had to be. It was painfully obvious that he needed to be someone people opened up to. He needed to be someone people would talk to, someone you wanted to trust implicitly. Someone nothing like Sasuke himself. His makeup had faded while he traveled, but it was still dramatic - all dark lines on powdered white skin. He washed it off, but even naked his face was wrong. His eyes were wrong. His mouth was wrong. The way his features composed themselves resting was still too closed, too angular.

His jaw tensed as he studied himself, only making the effect worse.

No. This would never do.

With a conscious effort, he forced his face to relax, still scrutinizing. His jaw unclenched, and slowly, he managed to unknot his cheeks. The sensation was odd, even though he'd done it before. He did this every time he created a new personality. It was harder to release the tension in his brows and around his eyes. The tightness there was habitual. It pulled the corners of his eyes up. It threatened to furrow between his eyebrows. Once upon a time, Naruto had described it as looking like he was always just about to develop a really spectacular headache.

Sasuke flinched at the memory, lining his forehead and creasing the edges of his mouth.

Keeping Naruto's face in his mind, he forced his own lax. Eventually he achieved his goal. And as always, the result was disconcerting. Somehow, after looking too long, with so little expression, his face looked strange. Like it was somehow reduced to its component parts. It was just a jumble of features. Not good or bad. Just there.

Youshi, he thought at first, would have open, easy eyes. That alone would be a problem, though not insurmountable. Sasuke had inherited the Uchiha eyes. They would never be anything but narrow. But with the right makeup and the right expression, they could still look young. He experimented, opening his eyes just a little further than was natural, and planned how he'd outline them. Not much. Enough to tell he was wearing makeup, though. Red, he thought. Red, no matter how well applied, looked like stage makeup on him. But Youshi might enjoy that. He might not realize that he was undermining himself with that color choice.

Sasuke tugged at the skin around his eyes, memorizing how each position felt. Then he tried to find them again without his fingers. It was a slow process, but worth it. Illusions could be seen through or dispelled. Orochimaru's second skin was an option. He'd seen it used, as he'd seen most of his old master's techniques, but it presented its own difficulties - not the least of which being a convenient face to steal. What was more, in some circles that would be far more incriminating than a mere illusion.

Dealing with the mouth should have been easier. He'd leave it unpainted and smile. The smile should be lopsided, kicking up higher on one side than the other. It should show teeth. A smirk, but one that might change to a grin.

He tried it carefully. Then frowned, sighing.

He started over again.

After hours of practice, then careful application of cosmetics, he finally had a look that satisfied him. And looking at it hurt, like a claw wedged just under his heart and tearing a tiny hole.

The memory of an incongruous warm breeze tickled Sasuke's spine as he looked at himself in the mirror: black hair, mussed; black eyes, wider than they really were, and red-shadowed; smiling as amiably as he could mange. His empty stomach sank. His throat was tight. It was a success, and he was almost certain he was going to be sick. Naruto, the Naruto who had been his teammate when they were still children, would have laughed at him, Sasuke was sure. Then he'd have gotten angry when he learned who Youshi was modeled after.

Sasuke wasn't sure what the Naruto who had asked him to assist in his suicide would do.

Sasuke's expression faded away. His lip curled into a vaguely nauseous expression to match the twisting in his belly. He looked even younger that way.

Suddenly, his makeup bag fell off the side of the sink and snapped Sasuke out of his reverie. He shook off his nerves and bent over to pick up the spilled containers. When he finished, he zipped the bag and set it aside, then cleaned up the mess he'd left at the sink.

He was being silly, he told himself. Silly, and sentimental.

There was still a job to do.

oOo

It was late, but Sasuke wasn't ready to sleep yet. He exchanged his own clothes for something less subdued, more in line with what a kid would think looked intimidating - something black, and too ornate not to interfere with his movement, but not unserviceable. Checking his reflection one last time, he found it hard to take himself seriously.

With a last deep breath, he left the hotel. The hall was dark. Sasuke walked silently. Not even the night desk clerk noticed him leaving.

He felt strange; people looked at him on the street, and he knew what they saw. It wasn't anything knew, but this character made it different.

Sasuke forced a smile for the few passersby. He was tempted to look at his face in the dark windows he passed, to make sure he'd gotten the expression right. Tension built between his shoulder blades. The back of his neck prickled as though he expected an attack.

When an older woman smiled back, it reassured him slightly. But only slightly. Putting more energy in his step, he waved to her.

She laughed drunkenly and waved back.

Sasuke could almost hear Naruto laughing at him, too. The sound in his mind was the older Naruto, the one who'd called him to his balcony and kissed him while he asked for death. He imagined a tried, wry humor to the laughter. His smile became harder to hold.

Sometime between leaving his room and seeing a light still on, Sasuke decided what he had to do.

Summoning Naruto's brash, friendly voice to mind - his childhood voice - Sasuke approached the light. He brushed aside the banners over the door and ducked inside. The establishment was small, barely wider than a hall, with four booths and a dining bar. Other than the washed out, middle aged man reading a magazine behind the bar, the place was empty.

"Excuse me," he asked unapologetically. "Are you really still open?"

The man looked up from the glossy photo of an actress and measured Sasuke with his eyes, then shrugged. The man's face was hard, rough hewn, his cheeks pebbled. It wasn't the face of a man who should be serving food. "The sign's up, isn't it?"

Sasuke smiled; his natural inclination was the opposite. He remembered that voice. "Well, if you're open," Sasuke said, "could I get some tea? And a menu?"

"Menus on the counter," The man said, turning away to fetch the tea. Sasuke took a stool, plucking a battered tagboard menu out of a metal clip. The entrée list wasn't long, but Sasuke wasn't really hungry anyway.

"Here."

"Ah, thank you." Sasuke took to tea. He cupped it in his hands rather than drinking it. Heat soaked into his cold hands. Breathing in the steam, he steadied himself. "What would you recommend?"

"This time of night?" The man returned to his magazine, turning the page. His attention wandered aimlessly over the new spread. "The kitchen's closed, so everything been sitting for awhile 'xcept the stew. I'd say pie."

He tapped the page thoughtfully, then the corner of his mouth kicked up a little. "This time of night, pie is always the right choice."

Sasuke took a sip of his tea. The rain picked up again outside. He could here it. "I don't really like sweets."

"Don't like sweets, eh? Whoever heard of that? What do you like?"

"You know," Sasuke said after a pause, "I'm not really sure." He scratched the back off his neck, hoping it looked like a nervous gesture, and kept smiling.

The man made a thoughtful sound. "Then I guess I'd say the soup."

Sasuke took another sip. Then he asked cautiously, "What kind of pie is it?"

"There's pecan, but if you don't like sweets, that's definitely not for you. Other than that, peach."

"Peach pie," he repeated, making a thoughtful sound. After a moment, he made up his mind. He knew the expressions; he remembered how they felt, what he was supposed to be. He set down his tea, and slapped the table with energy he didn't feel. "Alright then, boss. Peach pie."

The man smiled when he brought back the slice of pie with a scoop of ice cream on top.

"Heh," Sasuke noised, eyeing it. "I'm Fuyugawa Youshi, by the way. Are you always open this late?"

Laughing, the man told him that, no, he wasn't normally open quite this late, and he introduced himself. They talked while Sasuke ate, and afterward while he drank another cup of tea, until the man's wife came down from the apartment upstairs to get him.

Sasuke paid his bill and waved as he left.

And afterward, he leaned against the wall and let his hands shake.

oOo

Sasuke woke to the sound of rain, steady and soft, beating against his window. It was still hours short of dawn, and his room was dark. A clammy draft moved across his skin where it wasn't covered by blankets, chilling sweat on Sasuke's skin. He'd dreamt, but the memory of his dream was already fraying. A smell like sulfur stung his nose; it faded, wrapped itself in the stink of garbage from the alley.

Every sense strained to identify what had disturbed him. He kept his breathing slow and even. His own heartbeat was steady in his ears. Other than that, there was nothing. The room was empty. The breeze was cold.

Sighing, Sasuke rolled his eyes and pulled his blanket up to his neck, then rolled onto his side. If there was nothing there, then it was far too early to be awake.

The wind picked up outside. Sasuke squeezed his eyes shut, unable to close his ears to the whistling and moaning. Rain hit his window in a sharp percussion. The wall groaned in a sudden gust. A crash, then another - ceramic tiles breaking on the street after the wind tore them off the roof.

Then, abruptly, there was something in his room, and the draft was warm, and sweat slicked Sasuke's body. Every nerve buzzed warning. Every hair stood on end.

Contempt, thick and hot as blood.

Sasuke shuddered, bolting upright in his rented bed. A kunai was in his hand, and he didn't remember reaching for it. He'd activated his Sharingan, and presently scanned the room for any trace of red chakra.

Nothing.

And the room was empty.