I thought long and hard about posting this, because now I'm without any buffer chapter, but then decided, what the hell? ;)

Enjoy! Also, the next chapter might take a while to come.

Chapter 2 – Taut

"I have a very strong feeling that the opposite of love is not hate – it's apathy. It's not giving a damn."

– Leo Buscaglia.

There was blood around her mouth.

She must have coughed it up during the night. She was still asleep, her chest rising and falling in uneasy slumber. Her eyes flickered beneath their lids, and she clutched the covers tightly in her hands, crushing them between her fists.

He bent over her, careful not to wake her, observing her expressionlessly. His ringed eyes transmitted whatever they saw to the original, and ensured that He was aware of everything.

Deva arose. "How long?"

Behind him, another unusual pair of eyes stared at the scene. Uchiha Itachi blinked slowly, his eyes flickering between the man he knew as Leader and his slumbering partner. "She hasn't awoken apart from to eat and drink a little," he concluded, shifting restlessly. "A medic is urgently needed, Leader-sama."

He watched his leader carefully. The man was an enigma, and he wasn't sure if there was just one of him. He possessed the Rinnegan, he was sure – as a child in Konoha, he had often heard lore about the legendary many-ringed eyes. But more than that, he seemed to know everything. Itachi had never fought against him, but even he could sense that their Leader wasn't an opponent he could win against.

Deva turned to face the woman once again. Her dark hair was splayed out against the white pillow, and in her sleep, she looked fragile and innocent, years of pressure and tension erased from her brow. A week ago, this would have been a misconception, for she had been one of the deadliest shinobi in the world. Now, she was helpless.

"Kakuzu will visit in a few days. Let him have a look at her." The masked nin was the only one amongst them even slightly skilled in medical ninjutsu. "I'll be back in a few hours, when she wakes." He nodded curtly, then walked out of the door.

Deva stopped, bright hair gleaming in the moonlight. "One last thing." He turned to face his subordinate, strange eyes glowing in an even stranger face. "Don't let them kill her."

Then he left, and Itachi was left to ponder the meaning of his words.

He sat down heavily, his body fairly collapsing on itself. He had overexerted himself these past few days, and his fragile body, already ravaged by illness, couldn't handle the stress. Some days, it felt like he was moving on sheer willpower alone.

He hadn't asked for this. He had been on just another round of all their regular hideouts while Kisame went to finish off some personal business. It had been pure chance that he had encountered Konan when he had.

There was no doubt that she would have died without immediate intervention. Healing wasn't one of his strong suits, but what little he did know had sufficed to save her life. Her injuries had been far too serious for her to survive much longer on her own.

He had saved her life, but he hadn't been able to save her. Her center of chakra had been almost completely destroyed. It was quite obvious that she had gone up against a strong enemy, and had suffered the brutal consequences. The extent of the damage made him suspect her opponent of sadism – shinobi generally tried to give their counterparts as quick a death as they could.

But Konan wasn't just any shinobi. She was the vice-leader of Akatsuki, Leader-sama's partner. But she didn't have any real authority. He had never see her fight, but he knew that her jutsu was paper. The common opinion amongst the members of Akatsuki was that she was vice-leader because she was fucking Leader-sama.

Fuck. What a crude word. He probably would have never encountered it, what with the sheltered upbringing usually afforded to heirs of Noble Clans. But he hadn't grown up in the most normal circumstances, unless you counted a thirteen year-old boy leading a death squad as normal, which, come to think of it, most of Akatsuki probably did.

He wasn't a fool. He knew that she probably wouldn't be able to utilize chakra ever again. Whoever had attacked her had left some of their own chakra inside her body. Even now, it was eating away at her organs, slowly decimating the soft flesh. He could heal flesh wounds, but he couldn't draw out chakra. Kakuzu may be able to stop it, but he didn't have the required skills to regenerate what was already lost. The only person currently alive who could do that was the Hokage, Tsunade Senju, and he didn't see her helping them any time soon.

In other words, Konan would never be a kuniochi again.

He sank deeper into his chair, staring at her through baleful eyes. Sick as she was, after that first outburst, she had not had the energy to do more than swallow her food, and even that was fast diminishing. If this kept up, she would be dead in two weeks.

He resented the responsibility suddenly placed on him. He would be the first to admit that he didn't know much about the other members of the Akatsuki, but even he could recognize that the blue-haired kuniochi and their leader were fairly close. Kisame had a pool on whether they were fucking, and so far there were no takers. It seemed fairly obvious that a deeper relationship existed between them, past the superficial ties of superior and subordinate. When Pain had shown up at his door, responding to the urgent summons he had sent, he had expected to be freed of his caretaking duties, to go back to his usual routine while Leader did whatever he wanted with his girlfriend.

Instead, he found himself saddled with more responsibilities. It was clear that Pain expected him to stay here until Kakuzu reached here, as well. If there was any judging his cryptic words, he expected them to be under attack, too, possibly by whoever had attacked Konan. He was stuck here, and it angered him. He had other things to do. His brother was still under the Snake's influence. He had to plot how to free Sasuke from Orochimaru.

She turned in the bed, and he could see that she was red. Very red. She probably had a fever. He sighed, and stood, feeling his back creak in protest. Fetching another cool compress, he draped it over her sweaty forehead, taking her in at the same time.

When he had healed her, he had to undress her. He had no idea if Pain would take it as some kind of insult or affront, that he had seen Konan. Truth be told, he hadn't really focused on much apart from the gaping holes on her torso. When there was gore everywhere, you tended not to focus on the shape of a woman's body.

Her face was unusual. He had grown up in sunny, tropical Konoha, where the women were tanned and toned, often with either lustrous dark hair or glowing golden strands. Konan had an unhealthy complexion, so pale that she could almost have been the paper she used. Her hair was blue at the roots, and even her eyelashes had the same strange tint. He couldn't see her eyes, but he knew they were grey. Her lips were grey, too, now, or perhaps a very pale pink. The glint of metal was the only colour in her face. All through, she looked pale and washed up, almost gaunt.

Sasori had once told him that their cloaks bore red clouds because their two leaders were from Amegakure. That would explain her pale complexion – it looked like she hadn't seen much sun in her life. Vaguely, he remembered that she tended to avoid the sun like a vampire, and wondered if she burnt easily. He tried picturing her with a peeling nose, and couldn't.

He leaned back, frustrated. It didn't suit his nature to stay cooped up like this. It was making him think strange thoughts. What did he care what their leader's girlfriend looked like? Konan had always been unfailingly polite to him, it was true, but the same could be said of Sasori. Moreover, she was cool; detached, even. He had no delusions as to any warmth existing between them.

And yet… it was strange, but he found that he didn't want her to die. It wasn't because of some basic altruism, some basic aversion to a person dying. As a shinobi, he had killed many, and had nearly been killed in return. He had no particular fondness for life. And more than not wanting to die, he wanted her to actively recover. It didn't make sense, because he didn't know her, and she was practically nobody to him.

Something Tobi had once said flashed into his mind. Madara's disguise was capable of fooling the others, but he saw right through it. Nevertheless, the first Uchiha enjoyed getting into character, and often spouted witticisms and adages.

"'Cause we're all just one big happy family, ain't we?!"

He could sense the irony in his voice, but the others took him at face value. Deidara had even conked him on the head, telling him to keep his mouth shut. It had seemed ridiculous at the time. They were all a bunch of hired killers, working together to actively end the world. Such things weren't character-building.

It was still ridiculous. He didn't care about any of them. If someone actively tried to kill Kisame tomorrow, he would probably try to stop them, but only because losing Kisame meant that he would have to deal with someone more annoying. If someone actively tried to kill Hidan the next day, he would let them, because the man was immortal and because he didn't care. If someone actively tried to kill Sasori tomorrow, he would try to stop them, but only because Sasori was a fairly valuable ally who could one day become useful.

But Konan was weaker than they were. Moreover, she was loyal only to Pain. He had no use for her whatsoever.

Shisui's voice popped up in his head. He often felt like his dead best friend's spirit lived within him, despite knowing about that it was impossible. Maybe it was because of the Eye.

"You're developing a mothering instinct, Uchiha."

Instinctively, he touched her hand. She twisted away, and continued sleeping.

Her dreams were full of darkness. Gore, blood, death. She is reliving the slaughter of Hanzo. His family, sliced to shreds, all because of the misdeeds of their patriarch. Even the servants weren't spared. Nagato insisted that it wasn't vengeance that he was exacting. He was simply creating a New World Order, and there was no place for these poor souls in it.

They were interwoven with scenes from her childhood. Starving to death in an alley. Thinking that she would die. Watching vultures circling above her, and knowing what they were waiting for. She had been so frightened of mutilation. The idea of being eaten was perhaps more frightening than death itself.

"Let's just kill them. War orphans will never survive in this world."

In reality, Konan couldn't remember whether the words were uttered with a serpentine hiss or not. Cluttered as her mind had become, she chose to suppress that one memory in favour of thousands of other, better ones. As all monsters do, however, it merely lurked under the surface during the day, appearing without fail each night.

Her nights are full of the living dead. She wonders if they have begun to live in her mind now. Yahiko. All the other members of the original Akatsuki, who died fighting for Amegakure's freedom. Even little Chibi, Nagato's dog. She often finds herself missing it, despite the fact that they kept many pets at their little cabin in the woods after that. She had a special connection to the dog. If it wasn't for the dog, she wouldn't have met Nagato, wouldn't have known him.

She has nightmares every night, but sometimes they are interwoven with good memories. Memories of warmth and cider, and of a perverted Jiraiya reading amorous novels while Yahiko screeched in his ear. Memories of Nagato holding her hand as they walked through the woods in search of acorns. Memories of staring at the sky, on one of those few days when it was clear and there wasn't a cloud to be seen for miles. She doesn't like the rain, but she doesn't mind it, either. Somehow, she's always felt naked if grey clouds weren't shrouding the world.

Tonight isn't one of those nights. Everyone is dead. Jiraiya is dead to them, and may even be dead to the world. Yahiko's body may be alive, but he had definitely passed on from this world. And Nagato had faded into himself, allowed Pain to take over, until nothing of him was left.

She wonders if she, too, would die, and wishes for it. She made a promise to Nagato, that she would be with him all her life, but Nagato is dead, and she should be, too. It's the only way she knows how to free herself.

She wakes with a startle, and is disconcerted for a moment. Her body aches, and she feels strangely hollow. The crudely stitched-up wound on her midsection burns with red-hot fire, and she winces. Her stomach aches. She is hungry. Her throat rasps for water.

A hand is at her chin, tilting her head back. She feels the cool liquid being poured down her throat. She hates it, hates this helplessness, hates being fed as though she is a child. Each time the same ritual is performed, she thinks she might die a little more inside. Her fevered brain burns with anger, her tongue burns with thirst.

She chokes down a little gruel, steadfastly keeping her eyes averted so that she wouldn't have to see him. Uchiha Itachi. It is his hands, ornamented with a small ring, that are feeding her now, his hands that are wielding the napkin wiping her chin. Her shame could drown her, its vast oceanic depths smother her within them.

She wonders why he is still around. She hasn't kept track of the time, but it must have been several days now, many nights since when she first stumbled in, covered with blood and holding her guts in with one hand. They don't have any particular connection, so she wonders why he is taking care of her, why he is ensuring that she stays alive. Perhaps, she thinks, it is to gain Pain's favour.

A futile endeavour. Pain favours none, not even her. She would have already been dead, would have perished against the power of the Six Paths of Pain, had it not been for Nagato, who still existed somewhere in the body that was now Pain's. Nagato may have been dead, but his legacy and love for her kept her alive.

Because she has just woken up, and because she is suffering from brain fever, her thoughts are discordant, rambling. She knows that she is ill – she can feel it in her bones, in the weakness that seems to pervade every cell, every worn tissue. Her illness is making her hallucinate. She spies a gigantic black worm emerging from the ceiling, and flinches away, burrowing in the warmth he has draped over her. Earlier, she found the heat oppressive – now, she finds it barely sufficient.

A shadow darkens the doorway, and she glances up, out of morbid curiosity. Itachi still looms above her, so someone else must be there. She wonders if it is Kisame, if the blue-skinned giant is also a party to her humiliation.

Flaming orange hair. Yahiko.

The name chokes out of her, blows past her sore throat and worn tongue, blasts out of her bruised lips, to burst into the room and loom there, stay suspended in the air. Its three syllables – Ya-hi-ko – reverberate again and again, seemingly endowing the small, dank space with resonance.

Pain steps forward, and she realizes what she has done.

She cowers under the bedcovers, flinching away from his purple eyes and expressionless face. She can sense the Uchiha's curiosity, feel the cogs in his clever brain turning round and round as he tries to make sense of her statement. This is the first time that anyone from Akatsuki has heard the name.

Pain would be furious, his anger simmering like liquid heat under his skin. She trembles and hates herself for doing it. Over the years, despite the fear that she often feels whenever he is near, she has trained herself to be still and accepting whenever near Nagato or one of his bodies. She knows how he fears being left alone, and she does all that she can to assure him that she will never leave him.

Nagato still exists, somewhere in the recesses of Pain's mind. Nagato, the human boy whose hand she often held, owner of Chibi, blood brother to her. Her heart is divided into two parts, and he claims one of them. Somewhere within Pain-who-is-Nagato exists a spark of insecurity, which crushes him every day. Nagato is terrified of being alone, terrified that she will leave him. She has just accentuated his fears.

She does not care. She is tired and ill and frightened. Saying his name is an unpardonable offense. Nagato encourages Pain, tolerates Deva. He doesn't appreciate the fact that she separates the seven of them, that she calls one of them Deva. He doesn't know the effort that it takes her not to use Yahiko's name.

His anger would overcome her if it came, but it never comes. Rather, Deva seems expressionless as usual, his features bland against the piercings that mar his body. It is as though he is trying to will The Name out of existence.

Too bad. Uchiha Itachi is not one who would easily let these things go. Fortunately, he isn't one who would spread it around, either.

Deva steps forward and surveys her. "Konan," and his voice is toneless. "Who injured you?"

She blinks. No 'are you well?' or 'do you hurt?'. She understands that Nagato's all-seeing eyes perceive more than hers do, that he probably already knows her physical state. Nevertheless, she is upset. Sometimes, she feels as though Nagato cares more for the promise than he does her. 'Protect her.' Nagato protects her, but he does not live with her.

She turns her mind to her assailant, and immediately, her body chokes up in fear, the long cords of her muscles tightening with terror. Even here, when she knows that Deva will protect her, the memory of her assault leaves her dizzy and nauseous. The knowledge that one is completely helpless, despite all of one's power, is not something that can easily be absorbed. For Konan, it is beginning to haunt her.

The name slips out of her, softer than a whisper. The two men in the room have to strain their senses to pick up the word, which she almost mouths, as though saying it out loud would summon the creature.

"Orochimaru."

Some day, when she is well, she will try to rifle through her memories of that fateful day, and maybe she will succeed. Today, she is far too traumatized for it.

Yahiko's face – Deva's, now – is still expressionless, a clean slate, something that was impossible for Yahiko to achieve. She knows that her childhood friend doesn't exist anymore inside, that only his memory remains, but she can't help but hope. Hope is fundamental, intrinsic. She can't get over him, not when his body stands so close to her, and speaks as though it is alive and not reanimated.

Pain turns and says something to the Uchiha, but she can't catch what it is because she is losing consciousness faat it is because she is fast void of any emotion. The only thing she is aware of is the fact that he is leaving. Automatically, her hand stretches out, elongates, the fingers grasping futilely. Even such a simple motion involves so much effort that she is left gasping.

"Deva…" she murmurs, conscious of her earlier error, and then bites her tongue. Two blunders in one day. Nagato will not forgive this. He tolerates Deva, but only when they are alone. With Akatsuki, he is only just Pain.

"Pain," she tries again, desperation coating the word. "Stay. Please."

She is begging him, but her strenuous words roll off him like water off a duck's back. Pain is unconcerned with worldly matters, and her needs feature nowhere on his list. As long as she is alive, Nagato is content, and Pain is satisfied. Her state of mind does not come under his criterion for well-being.

"Itachi will watch over you." She would have accepted even coldness, even a sign which said that he was disappointed with her behavior, with her slips. She knows better than to expect affection. But the sheer apathy coating every word makes her feel as though she is shriveling inside, and wrenches a dry, soundless sob from her. "When you are well, ask him to escort you to headquarters."

Then he is gone. And she knows that he will not return.