A/N: Wow, I'm really late with this chapter. So I've got nothing to say. Thanks for all your reviews! You're all amazing! Thanks as always to my amazing beta, Ser Serendipity. Check out his story, Not Sick!

Edit: Wow, at the point of upload I screwed up. A lot. I was in a rush, so I didn't proofread it is as efficiently. My apologies. I've brushed it up a bit, and I've rewritten the Gaara scene. Thank you all so much for the support; you're all so, so generous. I've got over 100 story followers now (yay!) so thank you all so, so much. It means the world to me.

Lastly, I will be uploading a new story soon! I hope it'll be better than this one. It's going to be a Fem!Sasuke story, with a diverging plotline but based in the shinobi world. If you're interested, you can follow me on here... or just keep your eye out for it, I guess. Thank you all so much for all your feedback and support!

Orochimaru ran a nail tentatively over the flesh of Sasuke's back, and the young boy shivered. His hair stood on end, and Jiraiya swore he saw the remnants of a smirk on the edge of Orochimaru's lip.

"The Uzumaki have a certain fluidity in their strokes that Uchiha do not. The bristles splay on the brush of an Uchiha, because of the pressure on the brush." He traced the minute flicks of ink that surrounded the Bunsan strokes. "It has no effect on the sealing, of course. However, I've never seen it on an Uzumaki seal, and it's clear the inner workings, here-" -he directed his fingers to the near solid black mass of complex sealing in the centre- "-are the work of an Uzumaki indeed. Yet, if you look closer..."

Orochimaru brought the magnifying lens to the edges of the circle, and his point was clear; the angry flicks of crushed bristles were present. "I'd seen nothing of that on my previous seal. I'm sure you understand the implications of that, no?"

Jiraiya felt a spark of jealousy. Although Jiraiya was renowned for his proficiency in sealing, Orochimaru was a conniving and knowledge-greedy researcher. His sources, knowledge and experience were unprecedented, even by him. 'Genius indeed, but...' "How can you be so sure?"

Orochimaru didn't even turn to Jiraiya, but he knew Orochimaru was smirking. "Surely you aren't doubting me, Jiraiya?"

"It's been a long time. How can you be sure that you didn't miss it on the original seal?"

Orochimaru paused, hand hovering over the black ink markings. He turned to Jiraiya briefly, and the sage near flinched. His expression was calm and relaxed, marked only by the cocky smirk, but his eyes were as filled with poison as his blood.

"I didn't."

The man continued observing in silence, and Jiraiya shot Hiruzen a glance; the man was as stoic and unshaken as usual, but a slight tightening of the crow's feet around his eyes let Jiraiya on. Sarutobi pursed his lips about his pipe.

Orochimaru stood back abruptly. "The mechanism is most certainly a storage mechanism, but a jutsu seems to have been implanted. The trigger for the entire seal is... unclear, at best. But the angry flair in that calligraphy is the same. It's the same Uchiha I met all those years ago."

"How sure are you?" said Sarutobi, his suspicious gaze peering through the wafts of tobacco smoke.

"Quite," Orochimaru said, his tone clipped.

Sarutobi took a moment to give Orochimaru a stern look. "So you're saying that this is down to an Uchiha, of all people? I could imagine many desiring a valuable dojutsu, but the Uchiha are not included."

Jiraiya blinked when Orochimaru shrugged; for him to admit a genuine lack of information was rare, and worrying. Worry; that was the feeling that this all instilled within him. Orochimaru had returned, Mikoto, Fugaki, Shisui, Danzo – all dead – and it just unsettled him. Jiraiya felt something heavy weighing down upon him.

Orochimaru was a genius, and consistently so. Although he had despised him for it, the man remaining one step ahead of him was a standard he had grown use to. He preferred it to this drastic change. For the first time in decades, he and Orochimaru stood on the same side of the playing field; but alas, the first time in decades, Orochimaru didn't seem to have any backups – any plans, anything. He had been stripped of his assets, and now they were both clueless.

The three elderly shinobi dismissed Sasuke after swearing him to secrecy on any matters discussed. Sarutobi left with the young child at his side, and Jiraiya returned to his desk with a manuscript he knew he'd write nothing for today. Orochimaru returned to his permanent station at the window, and waited.

Karin had not yet grown use to the soggy stench of the basement.

There was a single electric light that flickered on the left most side of the basement. Beneath it lay a desk, wobbly with a folded section of paper tucked beneath it's leg; paint cans stacked some shelves, and folders the others. A toolbox, filled with a chisel, paintbrushes and a hand saw took up half the desk. Though the handsaw was rusty and stained with white paint on it's serrated edge, Karin had held it fiercely for two days now.

She was growing slightly fatigued. Water had been scarce, but available; the basin in the dark corner of the room still functioned, but come late the first day, a particularly vigorous scuffle above her had burst one of the pipes. The tap no longer functioned, but the water had seeped through the concealed wooden trapdoor from the burst pipe. Karin had been reluctant at first, but come the fearsome claws of thirst, she had held no shame at lapping the stagnant water off the foot of the stairs like a dog. She couldn't tell whether there was blood in that water through the darkness, and the thick smell of ferrous metal that seeped through the cracks of the floor and into her nose. Karin didn't care any more.

The chakra signatures were dimming, now. Everyone familiar was gone, and her heart felt empty and dead; her family and friends were all dead, but she had tried. Karin had tried to warn them, and they'd condemned her to be a fool with those "damned shinobi powers". She had tried, oh she had, and none had listened to a single word.

But it didn't matter now. They were dead, and she wasn't.

Karin didn't dare to move, didn't dare to leave. She could still feel the tiny minute flickers of the almost-dead that scattered the floor, but she also felt the beaming and strong presences of the victors as they scavenged from the homes and the bodies. In the night, she had attempted to move the trapdoor, but found there to be a heavy weight on it – a body, she presumed. Karin felt a twinge of gratefulness that there was a body concealing the door; had it not have been for that, chances are a curious shinobi would have prized the door open and slaughtered her like the rest.

A presence approached, and Karin heard the door open with a creak. Footsteps – they walked over the trapdoor, the noise echoing slightly – and the figure stopped moving.

'No. No. Please, God, no.'

She heard the loud noise of the body above the door being picked up, the floor groaning at the change in weight. The sound of the body dropping to the floor resembled the sound of someone dropping a particularly wet towel from a considerable height.

'This is it. I've got to run- where? Where!?'

She heard the light metallic clang, like the dropping of a key, as the catch on the trapdoor was prized upwards – and light poured in, illuminating every nook and cranny – 'oh God, it's not water at all-'

"Hmm?"

Karin shuffled backwards, moving her every muscle in a desperate effort to inch further away – except her right hand, which was now clutching the handsaw by the blade. Blood dripped from her hands from her tight and desperate grip. The pain hadn't set in yet, but the pattern of cuts from the blade would long after remind her of the bite of a shark.

'Too close. Too close! Get the hell away from me!'

Karin's words were stuck in her throat, her breath shaking as she pushed up against the concrete cellar wall-

"Now why are you alive, little one?"

She let out an almighty scream.

"Excellent."

Sai did not see how it was excellent, but smiled anyway; he was sure the gesture would be received warmly, but only found a sceptical glance being turned his way. Sai ensured his expression did not falter.

The man continued. "Ensure this data arrives securely. I'm assuming you'll have lengthy experience with Konoha security, no?"

As little experience with emotion that Sai had, the waves of irritation pouring off Kakashi weren't something easily misinterpreted. He turned a half-curious glance to his superior, his fake smile reading clearly to the older man. Kakashi nodded, but what could be seen of his face read off as a cold expression to Sai. It was much harder to tell with eyes alone, he decided.

"I would have rather not returned there so soon after deserting Konoha."

The leader made a noise that could be likened to a snort. "You are not entering the town. The mission is simple enough."

"It might be necessary," Kakashi said, tone blank. "Do you have no other expendable missions?"

The man shook his head, having given the suggestion minimal thought. Sai would have thought the action disrespectful, but Danzo had been firmer. Harsher. "Not one as suitable. What better way to prove your loyalty?"

Sai could read nothing of emotions, but he could read between the lines. Pain would be keeping close watch on them, likely having another Akatsuki member keeping tabs on them constantly. Kakashi's slight shuffle of weight from one foot to another read as clearly to Sai as daylight – their guise could no longer be down at any point in time.

This mission had nothing to do with the mission itself. It was about them, and their loyalty. Completed successfully, the security would loosen, until they were full blown members of their own accord.

Though Sai knew himself to be more an obligatory partner of Kakashi than a member of his own accord. That was fine; no one had questioned his presence, just as no one questioned the motives of any of the Akatsuki members. They did what they did, and as long as it was done well, no one cared about the tools of the trade. Morality was not relevant, and that was the kind of business Sai was familiar with. Cold, callous, and impersonal.

It was dirty, immoral, and the lowest of the low. But that was what Sai had always known, and that was all he wanted to know. The true shinobi life was not honourable; that was what Danzo had taught him.

Danzo had killed his brother.

'No. Not my brother. Someone.'

They had no blood between them. Sai had no right to grieve, as though they were family. Sai had read that both family and friends grieved, but Sai wasn't sure if he had the right to call Shin a friend. Friends protected one another, and Sai did not meet that criteria.

"Aa! Sai, your drawings are amazing! Even better than last time I saw them!"

Sai felt something akin to embarrassment, clutching the edges of his notebook slightly tighter. "No, they're not. But I like drawing. It's... fun." The word felt alien on his tongue, and as soon as it left his mouth he felt himself yearning to take it back.

"Really?" Shin leaned down, smiling brightly at Sai. The sight was uncanny; Danzo had taught them to cut away emotions and discard them forever, but Shin's emotions were bright and unrefined when not in the scorning spotlight of ROOT. The worst part of it all was that Sai didn't reject it – at least not as vigorously as he should have. "If you love drawing, do it more!"

"You know that kind of behaviour isn't in accordance with the shinobi conduct." Sai didn't make his tone cold enough for it to sound threatening in any form.

"Yeah, yeah, I understand!" Shin leaned over his shoulder, reaching a hand out and leafing though the earlier pages of the notebook. "The shinobi conduct... whatever! If you love to draw, then draw! There's nothing wrong with that, you know?" The boy stopped on a particular page, his sharp inhale of breath signifying shock to Sai.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing..." Shin turned his head downwards, to meet Sai's curious gaze. "It's beautiful! What's it called?"

It was an oil pastel drawing. It was the Hokage Mountain, but the Fourth Hokage was dappled in the gentle lavender-grey of moonlight, the tips of his hair and nose soaked with the darkness of the night sky, pinpricked with yellowy-white starlight.

The edge of the mountain glowed, almost, giving way to the winding and beautiful white river of stars and galaxies that wound it's way through the sky. The Third Hokage's sharp angles glistened with the glistening drops of sweat of a God, the First and the Second highlighted with soft yellows and white and then purplish greys; and then in the shadows lay the sky, peering out of every nook and cranny. The night sky lay everywhere, the constellations of the Milky Way pouring through every gap.

"I've no name for it." Sai closed the notebook abruptly, grip so hard on the leather cover that his knuckles were a peachy-white.

"Hmm, I have one!"

Sai tried his hardest not to think about Shin, and whether they were friends or not, and especially not about the hard, blank look in his eyes when Shin had thrown himself in front of that blade for a man he hated.

"I will complete it flawlessly, Leader-sama. Until next time."

A sealed scroll was given to Kakashi, and they exited the base and sealed it with minimal exchange of words.

The wind was bitter, and the night was cold; the sky was empty, and as the heat radiated away from the earth, Sai marvelled at the soft lavender glow that dusted the treetops.

"What do shinobi do?"

Sakura didn't really enjoy the taste of dirt. Neither did she enjoy the texture, and to be honest, the smell didn't really agree with her, either.

"C'mon kid! You're training to be one!"

She didn't enjoy the sensation of a foot jamming into her back either.

"I..."

All in all, Sakura's general consensus was that she knew there were things better than being shoved into the ground.

"Kid! We do not have all day!"

Was that a worm?

"Number 1. A shinobi must be..."

"No, no, no! Not the shinobi code of conduct! What. Do. Shinobi. Do?"

She subtly tried to wriggle away from the aforementioned worm. "They... uh... sneak around. They're masters of stealth, espionage, ninjutsu, genjutsu, taijutsu... they've studied meteorology, geography..."

Anko sighed, yanking one of her shoulders and rolling Sakura onto her back. She offered a hand to the young girl, and Sakura pulled herself up, dusting off her clothes. "You really are a brainiac."

Sakura's expression turned indignant, but Anko smiled and shook her head.

"Not such a bad thing. Well, the shinobi we all hear about are the flashy ones. The Kages, Sannin... they're all amazing shinobi, but what people don't realise is the shinobi that lie in the shadows. True shinobi."

Sakura knotted her eyebrows. "Are they not true shinobi?"

The woman ran her hands through her hair, shaking her head. "No... uh, no. That's not what I meant. Sorry. But... the oldest kinda shinobi came about because they were at a disadvantage. When you're outnumbered, overpowered, and in the minority, shinobi tactics are what you employ. It's what they were made for. Those big shinobi with impressive technique are fantastically strong... but in my opinion, what makes a great shinobi is shinobi tactics. For instance..."

Anko smirked, putting her hands on her hips and standing up straight. "Try to kill me."

"Wha-"

"Do it."

Sakura shook a little bit, withdrawing her kunai hesitantly. She ran forward-

"Wrong."

Anko grabbed her by the wrist and directed the running force around her, spinning Sakura around in a circle before pulling her to the floor. She smiled in the young girl's dizzy face.

"Shinobi do not go for the front." Anko plucked the kunai from Sakura's hands, positioning it against her own throat. "From the front, you only have access to the heart and a few outer vital organs. As many as there are, the fact that the enemy is fully aware of your every movement leaves you at a massive advantage. If you can, sneak away before getting behind them." She pressed the blade against her carotid and jugular artery. "Severing these will kill someone quickly and with little resistance."

Sakura paled, and Anko's expression softened. "I'm sorry kid. The killing never really gets that much easier. People are people, but... so are you. It's you or them. This kind of efficiency will save your life, so keep listening."

'Efficiency.'

Sakura listened to that word. It made her cringe. Efficiency. What a revolting thing to consider in relevance to the taking of human life.

Efficiency.

She quelled the bile rising in her throat, leaning her sweating brow on the cold ground in front of her.

"Uh... kid. I'm sorry if I, uh... scared you. But, anyway. We're moving onto nicer things now, okay...?"

Sakura looked up, a light smile on her face at her sensei's awkward attempt to make her feel better. The woman looked nervous; her eyes flicking from place to place, and her smile strange and fingers playing with her hair slightly. Mitarashi Anko had proved herself to be temperamental, slightly excitable and skilled. But the awkwardness was cute – endearing, almost. Sakura smiled, and stood up.

Anko looked relieved, settling back into her regular shell. She approached Sakura, poking her muscles, and pulling a thoughtful expression.

Sakura twitched as the woman prodded her arms. "What is it?"

She ignored Sakura, continuing for a few moments before stopping and smiling with a content expression, clasping her hands together and bouncing on the heels of her feet.

"Perfect! You're perfect! I couldn't have picked a better student."

"Uh-"

Anko began to pace. "Your figure is lithe and slim, but you've still got the potential for good muscle... you'll never be able to take massive damage unscathed, but that's no matter. You're shinobi material, kid." She smiled brightly at Sakura, the young girl blushing.

"That said, your movements are clumsy and untrained; you're a complete by the book shinobi, but you require fluidity and speed. Quicker reactions." Anko's speech trailed off, completely lost in thought. She shook her head, and settled into a crouching fighting stance. "Come at me, kid."

Sakura knew better than to question now, and she ran forward, fist poised at the side, her body already twisting- but Anko was out of her way in a second, and as Sakura threw another punch, Anko caught it by the wrist and redirected it so quick that she nearly fell face first into the ground.

"My preferred way of fighting is agile. Deflective. You're always gonna end up going against a bulky, strong opponent, and if your fighting is reliant on taking hits in order to deliver them, you'll be in trouble.

"The three keys are: Deflection of force, evasion, and pure speed. Deflection is when you don't stop my punch, and you don't move out of the way, but you pull or direct the force elsewhere. If I throw a punch, if you want to catch it and push me back, you've got to use more force than me. If I throw a punch and you push it to the side, you redirect the force without confronting it, and it can easily throw an enemy off balance. I don't need to explain evasion, cause you're not a stupid kid... just dodge any hits you can. Honestly? Requires more grace than you'd think. And pure speed will only come through hours of tedious training, but the fact is, in the world of shinobi, the strength of your punches means so incredibly little without a degree of speed."

Sakura drank in her every word, and spent the rest of the day training like her life depended on it. Her muscles ached, and so did her ego; Anko was a brutal woman, but only in her truth. Sakura was terrible, and Anko had not abstained a single bit from saying so whenever it was relevant.

The strange thing was, Sakura had not submitted. No matter what. Under the stronger, harsher, crueller will of others, Sakura always relented, always fell. She did little to stand up for herself. But before Anko, Sakura was not weak-willed, and Sakura was not a miserable bloom. She was bright, beautiful and unyielding. Anko had dismissed her with pride in her eyes.

"See you tomorrow, sensei!"

Sakura had not turned to see Anko's expression, instead grabbing her bag, water, and hurrying home.

The sand carried him far faster than Itachi would have imagined, but the journey was nonetheless long and tedious, and his wounds hurt, his bones, and his flesh. His chakra was wavering, his breath coming in harsh tugs of breath with a great effort.

Gaara's expression was stoic and cold, and Itachi recognised the expression. 'Someone who's been hollowed out inside.'

The trees were far too repetitive for a true clarity of mind, but Itachi tried to keep on track. "Keep north-west."

Gaara gave no affirmation, but by the flicker of recognition in his eyes, Itachi knew he'd heard and understood. They travelled in silence, Itachi's struggling breathing the only noise. He could barely pull up chakra to maintain consciousness and keep his intercostal muscles working.

"Why do people suffer?"

Itachi blinked, bringing his fuzzy vision to the child stood on the sand platform beside him. 'Why?' He brought his gaze up back to the specks of blue sky that peeked through the canopy. 'What a question...'

"So you don't know, either?"

Itachi felt his head swirling wildly. The sensation made him feel like doubling over the side of the platform and vomiting until the horrible weight was gone. He tried to collect his thoughts, mouthing words taking considerable effort, but forcing sound out even harder. His voice was rough.

"People suffer because of misfortune. Greed. Cruelty. Love."

Itachi remembered that older Sasuke, his weathered eyes, his memories filled with his selfish love. His hatred. He closed his eyes, trying to quell the building nausea. "Sometimes because of themselves."

Gaara kept his gaze straight ahead amidst the conversation, and his expression remained unchanged. "Will humans always suffer then? Because of themselves?"

He almost felt like laughing at the child. If only he knew the answer. "I don't know."

Gaara looked thoughtful for a moment, eyebrows knotted. "Haku admired you. You're... kind." His fists clenched, the sand becoming unkempt and turbulent about his person. For a moment, Itachi gazed in awe; he'd never seen such a physical manifestation of emotion. "Why do people like you and Haku have to fight one another?"

Itachi frowned. For a supposedly insane demon vessel, Gaara was surprisingly sensitive and kind-hearted. "Because Haku is willing to protect Zabuza at all costs. That is... the consequence of loving someone. As long as there is conflict of opinions and beliefs in this world, loving a person will mean hating another. Until we all understand another... there will be no peace."

The child's expression contorted further into confusion. "Understand one another..."

Itachi felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his voice faded to a whisper. "Keep... north-west."

Gaara nodded, and the Uchiha let sleep claim him.

Itachi awoke to the invading scent of sterility and flowers.

He sat up, joints cracking unpleasantly and muscles groaning at the strain. His vision was blurry and unclear, but focused quickly. A vase rested on his side table, filled to the brim with stargazer lilies; the scent was beautiful, a spritz of life in a dead room.

"Do you like them?"

Itachi noticed Himiko, her presence passable in his delirious stupor; the woman smiled gently, her hands tending carefully to the petals of the lilies. Her fingertips tickled the stamens, a yellowish tinge coming off onto her fingers like the red kiss of his mother at his jounin promotion party.

(It was more like a professional gathering; only afterwards had he and Shisui ran off and actually had fun. They'd played shogi, and Shisui had stolen some sake; amidst the fuzziness of mind, Itachi had happily noted that he had felt human for the first time.)

"Yes, Himiko-san. Are you feeling well?"

She tilted her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips. It was a curious gaze, rather than analytical; it was a welcome contrast to the usual Uchiha attitude, and Itachi supposed she had gotten that from marrying into the Yamanaka. With no Sharingan to speak of, the Uchiha had no qualms about letting her go.

"Are you feeling well, Itachi-kun?"

Itachi nodded, the motion brief and easily missed; he looked at the ceiling, and he groggily brought a hand up to brush his hair out of his face, then reaching around to untie his hair from the back.

Himiko sighed, tracing the gradient of the petals with her fingernail. Her eyes were sad. "Mikoto's passing... and Fugaku-san, too. I won't ask any more... but legally, you're obliged to your little brother now." She closed her eyes. "You know where I am, if you need me."

Itachi had no clue why she was offering, but remembered it to be a normal gesture, in regular families. The grievance would be even greater there. The abstinence from care and attachment to rule was built into the Uchiha by ritual and by blood.

"I know. Thank you."

Himiko sat down, her hands folded in her lap, and her eyebrows knotted. "Poor Sasuke-kun... orphaned. Would you believe it...?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

Itachi bitterly thought about the stupidity of the question. Would he believe it? Itachi had the blood of a hundred men on his hands – the death of two retired ninja? Certainly something he could believe. Not uncommon, not the first, and certainly not the last.

He said nothing, but the fingers of his right hand twitched.

"I thought you'd like these. Stargazer lilies are... the most common lily, but there's a reason, you know? They have the most beautiful smell. And that's what I wanted in a room like this. Something that doesn't smell like a thoroughly-cleaned crime scene."

'That's what a criminal would think.'

"Thank you. They do smell lovely." Itachi's movements felt robotic- he wanted to be genuine, kind, as though he cared, but-

Himiko sighed, mouth pursed in a rare expression of worry. "To be honest, I'm just worried about Sasuke-kun. He's closed himself off again. I heard he'd improved, but..."

'Sasuke?' "Is he alright?"

The woman shook her head, delicate hands clenching into well-manicured fists. The clarity of her palms made it painfully obvious that her shinobi life had been short. "I visited a few times. That Naruto boy seemed to be doing everything... sweet, you know. Nothing like what people say... but he was making food for Sasuke, even cleaning... seems Sasuke-kun has locked himself up again. I've no idea what he's doing, and neither does Naruto-kun, apparently." She brought a hand to her forehead, thin fingers raking through her hair.

"I'd best be going home, then." Itachi made to get out of bed, but found Himiko pushing him back in with a stern expression and a motherly look to her that made her look too much like Mikoto.

"Itachi-san," Himiko reprimanded, "I'd advise you stay here. Doctor's orders were that you stay in bed for at least today and tonight."

Itachi ignored her, pulling back the covers and putting his feet onto the floor – the cold burned his flesh. He looked at her, smiling slightly but his expression more forlorn than anything. "I'm obligated to my brother now," he said. "I must be getting home. Thank you for the flowers."

As the younger Uchiha boy picked the flowers up and took his bag and shoes, Himiko found herself muttering "It's fine" to the tail of material that followed him out of the door. Her heart felt tight with an immense sadness.

'What will your boys do without you, Mikoto...?'

"Sasuke?"

Itachi hadn't expected an answer, and he turned to Naruto; the boy shrugged. Itachi half-expected the expression to be his face wide smile, but it was slightly sad, instead. He almost felt disappointed.

"He's just been moping like the bastard he is for the past few days," Naruto said, his voice just loud enough so that Sasuke could hear. Itachi felt a little bit of pity as he watched the boy try to get a rise out of his younger brother. There was no malicious intent at all, and Naruto's face dropped when he was answered by complete silence. "Can we go for ramen, Itachi-nii-san...?"

Sasuke didn't even jealously reprimand Naruto for the nickname. Itachi could easily tell that Naruto wanted to speak privately; so he nodded, even though he normally would have just prepared it himself, and they left.

Upon reaching Ichiraku, the two sat down, Itachi ordered Naruto his favourite ("-miso ramen, extra pork-") and he didn't order anything; Teuchi served him a glass of water all the same.

After finishing the bowl in a record number of seconds, Naruto did not immediately order another, instead sitting back and fiddling with his chopsticks. "Sasuke read something that you left around... well, it was in all your important files, but you left it around... so Sasuke read it..."

Itachi felt his stomach drop.

"...I couldn't really read most of it, the kanji was too hard... but it said that Hatake Kakashi killed... your parents, and stuff."

The Uchiha would have smashed the stand apart if it hadn't have belonged to a perfectly nice man, and if he hadn't had the desire to be portrayed as sane.

Naruto looked down at the counter, eyes sad. "He was really mad, and then he locked himself in his room again... so I've been leaving food out, water, but I dunno whether he's eating it..."

Itachi really wished he could simply comfort Naruto, but it wasn't that easy when he needed comforting himself. He gritted his teeth.

"...Come on. I have something to say to Sasuke."

The boy stood up, Itachi paying for his food. Naruto smiled brightly.

'If anyone can make it better, it's Itachi-nii-san!'

But, in the back of his head and the depths of his chest, there was a seditious whisper. The kind of whisper that had surrounded him until the angel had come.

'But... if he can't fix it, then who can?'

The travel home was long and hard.

The ANBU of Konoha were thoroughly unrelenting, and as Gaara travelled, they took few breaks and spoke very little. Sometimes, Gaara felt almost as though they spoke in a different tongue; their speech was filled with codewords for formations, codenames for one another, and sometimes, simply a well-communicated hand motion or nod. It felt Gaara feel truly alienated, but then again, he'd not expected companionship.

Non-descript masks covered all of their faces, but underneath Gaara imagined their faces and expressions to be identical. That was probably their intention, to hide identity; but he couldn't help but note how wearing masks - animal masks, no less - dehumanised them to such an extent that they weren't people to him. Was that truly a tactical advantage? It wouldn't help someone play off the pity of the enemy. Then again, Gaara knew that the ANBU of Konoha were - as the Third Hokage had assured him, likely for security in their relations - the elite shinobi. The strongest, below the Hokage. Nameless, faceless, these men and women needed no pity to play off in order to win. Perfectly emotionless drones.

The shinobi code states that a shinobi must never show emotion, but Haku was so strong. Haku was powerful, quick, both precise and concise - his face, so gentle and beautiful, but most often covered by a mask. Gaara was mesmerised by those movements; those quick and wonderful movements, almost like the instantaneous movement of his ultimate defense. Gaara had witnessed this only in the training he had done that night, and it was beautiful. Haku had a kekkei genkai, no doubt, but even in those simpler movements, the throwing of his senbon - there was true and utter skill in every motion. Gaara had asked where such power had come from, what Haku had done to become such a powerful shinobi; Haku had said very little about it.

"People become truly strong when they're protecting something."

Gaara didn't know. Gaara didn't understand. For a while, the bloodlust had wavered; the demands for blood were quieter, more distant, and Gaara had felt at peace. He could not sleep, yet, but that rare mental calm gave life to his cells. The freedom from that invasive, horrid voice, even for a short moment, brought comfort to Gaara, and yet his mind was dominated by wonder over what Haku had said. Gaara had found himself fascinated by that boy, but he couldn't understand it.

Haku had spoke sadly of the shinobi world. Although his dream was only to serve Zabuza, he had looked at Gaara with such a melancholy expression, asking hopelessly why people like Gaara had to suffer so much for what they could not control. The young boy had spoke of his own sad past, how he had been hated and despised for his unique powers. He had spoke of how his purpose came only through his determination to protect Zabuza.

'Protecting something... what could I ever protect but myself?'

The village hated him. Everyone did. Even Kankurou's knees shook when he spoke to him, his movements twitchy and voice laced with brief stutters.

Temari was brave enough to speak to him, she even protected him from the abuse sometimes – not that he needed it, with the ultimate defense, but it was mostly the words that hurt. Gaara didn't know why he was trying – Shukaku was getting louder – but he had to try. Haku had such a gentle look in his eyes when he spoke of Zabuza, such a soft but determined gaze that made Gaara envious. As the stretch of sand became visible in the distance, Gaara decided.

'Temari. I'll start there.'

A/N: Sorry it's so late. Read and review - constructive criticism if I screw up (I'm sure I will).

Again, thank you all for being so wonderful. You're the reason I carry on writing when I feel like my head's gonna explode. My new story will be out as soon as I've consolidated a pure, de-loopholed plot.

Thank you all for being such amazing readers, and I'll update as soon as!