Well, here's the next part... from Itachi's perspective!
And the last section/scene break was originally written by my friend Maddie (because she thought it was necessary), but I had to edit it slightly and make it fit (like I added the last several paragraphs and such).
I know, you don't normally picture him having such a severe reaction, but... Imagine someone is holding a wine glass, and they drop it, and it shatters into tiny fragments, ...and then they step on it.
Someone:Michiko
Glass:Itachi
Makes it a little more believable now, doesn't it?
Oh, and it would probably be helpful if I mentioned the fact that Michiko and Itachi retain a mental connection through which they communicate? It's because of the blood-sucking thing... just a tad complicated...
And yes, Michiko has a little demon voice inside her head named Jurag, because she is half bat-demon, on her father's side. (I gave Deidara a voice, but that's just because he's borderline insane. He actually has two, but one beats the crap out of the other, so it hardly makes an appearance...)
Deidara's Happy Story- Itachi's POV
Itachi drifted past room after room, aimlessly wandering the halls of the base. There might have been other people around as well, but he sure as hells didn't notice them; he was too preoccupied. Lost in the labyrinth of his Memory Palace, wandering just as ineffectually as he was in the real world.
He had taken great care in constructing his Memory Palace; cataloguing everything he could in neat rows of storage, creating vivid images. The Palace was one of his favorite accomplishments, and he loved stopping by for visits, just to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. Itachi's favorite part of it, though, was that he could see everything in sharp detail; no blurs or smudges or fuzzy edges. Everything was clear as the midday sun.
He passed by the room dedicated to remembering peoples' names. It wasn't really much of a room, due to the fact that he didn't know many people. Maybe twenty-five picture frames dotted the walls, containing peoples' faces in clear focus beside shelves with little objects to help him remember the symbolism of their names.
Itachi went right by it, passing rooms for remembering everything from where things got put to people whose lives he had brought to an early close. That had been a room worth extending; it was getting rather crowded. It was really just a room filled with the names of everyone he had ever murdered - though some of them had methods to go along with them if they had been particularly interesting – but Michiko didn't like to think of him as a murderer.
Stricken by the thought, Itachi drifted out of the room with a hobbled spirit. Well, she used to, he thought morosely. She probably doesn't give a rat's ass now.
At least they had finally managed to kill Osanai. After all that trouble in The Land of Lightning, though, the wounds just hadn't healed up properly. The two of them had ripped apart at the seam with a tear too shredded and frayed to be sewn back together.
Itachi looked up and found himself in the newest room of his Palace. It was dedicated to remembering everything about Michiko, and was the most lushly decorated room by far. Deep crimson and midnight black cascaded from the walls and came to rest in piles on the floor, creating bounding waves of drapery and cushions that flowed across the room and made a beautiful carpet. Still, Itachi bypassed everything else and dragged his feet across the floor to the far wall, covered with snapshots of memories of the two of them together.
The Leaf's forest, The Compound, The Academy, the base, the woods, her room, his room, their room, the lake, the rooftop, the inn…
Itachi warmed up a little on the inside, smiling for the first time since they had returned from The Land of Lightning. The feelings and motions washed over him like a spring shower, rubbing some semblance of life back into his abandoned heart. Michiko's words then had killed him, withering his soul. But now; now he had hope.
He bid goodbye to his Memory Palace and drifted with a little more purpose through the base, seeking Michiko. Or even just a sign of her; a whisper, a scent… a feeling. Itachi stopped when he heard her, allowing someone to slam into him from behind. He focused on the sound of her voice playing in his head and ignored the harsh sounds of someone cussing him out, drifting toward the kitchen.
She'll be in there…
He ignored the fact that she was in conversation with another voice, focusing instead on how to broach the subject with her. Surely she wasn't still miffed at him, right? After all, he hadn't really done anything bad. Michiko just… didn't appreciate his wish to shield her from seriously painful situations. He could fix that, for her; he could step away completely and give her some wiggle room. He was fine with wiggle room. Now, to ask her…
Itachi rounded the corner with the question newly formed in his mind. He stepped into the doorway and opened his mouth - and froze, the words dying on his lips.
Michiko and Deidara were locked together like two pieces of a two-piece puzzle. …A very… inappropriate puzzle. He was dying allover again, deteriorating, frozen to the spot as they carried on unaware of his presence.
Michiko's hands were working their way up to the back of Deidara's head and he pulled her closer by the waist with his own hands. Itachi knew full well what those hands were capable of, and he would have shuddered if he hadn't been completely and utterly absorbed with morbid fascination while he watched them get carried way away, pressed together too tightly, no space left between them.
After an eternity of observing and listening to the strange little grunting noises they made, Deidara slitted one eye open and spotted him, stopping to glare at him viciously. Itachi ignored him and waited for Michiko to notice that Deidara wasn't participating any longer and glare at him as well. She did.
'You…' he began, trailing off as he lost the initiative. 'I…'
Michiko sent him a little smoldering silence thought without her eyes. With them, she was mentally beating him; he could tell.
'Would you even care… if I-?' he asked slowly, staring at her blankly before she he was cut off.
Michiko didn't even give him any time to finish his question, let alone consider it. She clung to Deidara tighter and hissed at him. 'No. Why don't you do everyone a favor and go stab yourself or something? Nobody wants you around, you mind-rapist!'
'You wouldn't care if I… died…? Right now?' he asked brokenly, trying to ring out his last surviving glimmer of hope for all it was worth.
He barely noticed her shake her head slightly; he didn't think even Deidara noticed it, and for gods' sakes she was wrapped around him like a stripe on a candy cane. And she moved her arms down Deidara's back and clutched at him again, growling at Itachi mentally. 'Never. This one is mine now, not you. Do you understand? This is-' she slipped back into normal speech when she snarled "-mine!"
He crumpled up inside at that, felt his heart stutter for a beat, just watching them hold each other protectively; possessively. Michiko's debasement had broken Itachi out of his private universe of pain, and he looked around frantically for a moment, hoping he had been wrong and the entire experience was a nightmare. He arrived at the sad realization that everything he had just witnessed was real, and drifted away, not looking back at them again.
Itachi left the base, walking into the frigid night air, not bothering to grab his cloak. The icy chill felt good; it felt real. He missed the ability to feel anything. All that was left of him was the empty frame of a broken mirror, the glass scattered throughout his soul. No, his soul was shattered, and there was no way to see the human, caring part of him anymore. He had always been able to see that part of himself in her; with the love and infatuation he had for her.
He let his mind drift, jumping from thought to thought without concentrating. He wouldn't let himself concentrate. Concentrating meant reflecting, and reflecting meant remembering. He didn't want to remember. To remember the way they embraced in the kitchen (Ha! As if "embraced" was an adequate description!). The tenderness and warmth of his arms around her; the way he himself had once held her, afraid to let her go…
Itachi winced, cursing himself mentally for uprooting the sickening memories and bringing on a fresh wave of pain. He increased his speed, now darting through the trees in the dark, relying on his other senses to navigate through the forest. But in the black one's imagination is all the more powerful, using the cloak of night as a blank canvas.
The image jumped to the forefront of his mind unbidden. In remembrance the picture was clearer, details coming into sharp focus under the mind's power to fill in the blanks. …And he still could not tell where Deidara stopped and Michiko began.
Wind whipped cruelly into his face as he ran faster and faster, but he kept his ruby eyes open, glaring obstinately into the empty void. The air whistling past stung his eyes and made them water, sending a trickle of tears down his face.
Itachi chuckled bitterly, the sound catching in his throat, lost to the night as he ran ever more quickly. He hadn't cried in so many years, the idea seemed absurd to him. He hadn't cried since the night Michiko died…
She was dead to him. Beyond his reach. And he was dead to her… or at least she wished it were so.
What did she want from him? What had she wanted him to do? Sell his soul or something? He would have, too, if that were what it took to make her happy. The problem was that he did not seem to be capable of making her happy.
Maybe she was right…
Deidara appeared to make her perfectly happy, though.
She was right… He stopped dead in his tracks at the realization and deliberated for a moment before sitting snuggly by the base of a tree with overbearing roots, enough so to keep him hidden from view.
Itachi reached up and back, unsheathing his katana with a slight ring…