I want to thank Puppetieran, an anonymous reviewer, who wrote an absolutely lovely review. Thank you so very much. You inspired me to pick up my laptop and start writing again. I finished two drafts of this chapter on the very same day! Hah.
I'm trying to move the plot along as quickly as I can, but there are certain situations which I feel are absolutely essential for the story to be stitched together effectively. Bear with me. :)
Chapter 3: Patterned
"I am careful not to confuse excellence with perfection. Excellence, I can reach for; perfection is God's business."
- Michael J. Fox
Medical ninjutsu is a difficult, exact art, which requires the application of not only universally accepted scientific principles, but also the necessary talent required to implement them. The balance of chakra required in order to successfully heal is not easy to achieve, and many great shinobi in history have proven to be completely and utterly incompetent in the art of healing. Great healers are rare, and often revered among their colleagues. Only a healer can understand the effort and the precision required to truly heal, rather than just repair.
Over the many years that he has been alive, he has studied under some healers, and stolen the techniques of several more. Nevertheless, Kakuzu has no delusions about the level of his ability. He is fairly proficient, more so than any other member of Akatsuki, but this level of damage is beyond him.
He looks up from the inspection of the wound to find his vice-leader's pale grey eyes trained on him. Unwilling to mince words, he delivers his diagnosis with only the element of bluntness to spice it: "It looks bad."
She flinches, and it is visible to the naked eye, despite all her attempts at hiding it. He curses his lack of tact, because although straightforwardness may be appreciated in some circles, this is not one of those situations. Moreover, his 'patient' is not some fat, rich warlord, and neither is it Hidan, whose immortality rendered him particularly susceptible to insults. To wound the sensibilities of the woman whom he is treating can lead to instant death, or so he believes.
He mourns his bad luck. There are certain situations he attempts to avoid, despite his qualified membership in what could arguably be called the world's most dangerous organisation, because of the sheer fallouts. He tries to avoid fights against enemies whom he recognizes as being particularly strong, does not antagonize the other members of the Akatsuki, particularly Sasori. He only battles a strong enemy when Hidan is unable to defeat him with his sheer brute strength. He does this because he knows the value of life, and also knows that a single misstep can cost him heavily.
To become embroiled in this issue was not something that he would have wished to happen. He generally tries to avoid both the Leader and his partner, because one is strong and the other has a strong ally. In this situation, where he is the medic, her life lies in his hands. He knows what is at stake. If anything happens to her, then Pain will hold him personally responsible, and he may suffer a short and rather tragic end.
He ignores her unhealthily pale face and focuses on the task at hand, sending little probing strings of chakra through the wound, trying to sense the exact cause of the infection. The problems he is facing are manifold. Firstly, he is unused to the delicate conditions with which he is working. Lately, his healing skills have only been called into play whenever Hidan suffers another death, and he does not bother to be careful with his silver-haired partner. Any pain that Hidan might suffer through will cease to exist the moment his body is sewn back together, something that may not happen with the fragile body that he was currently working with. Moreover, the wound he was probing had already been stitched-up once, and he would be the first to admit that it was not the finest work he had ever seen. The stitches were tacked and uncomfortably sewn, and as a result the effect was somewhat contorted, making the task harder than it already was.
Being summoned by Pain was an uncommon occurrence from him, and although he had been told earlier to go and heal other members of the Akatsuki, he had never had the opportunity to utilize his skills with either the Leader or his partner. The unfamiliarity of the pattern made him slightly hostile, and the knowledge that he could suffer for any discomfort she may feel made him even more detached. He had never been one for a warm bedside manner any way.
Stupid woman. She's going to get me killed.
He withdrew his chakra from her body, having already discerned the exact place where the problem lay, and pinched the bridge of his nose in an exhausted manner. The psychological and very real fears that lay behind his reluctance for this particular project were not aiding him in his attempt to assess the problem. He would have to perform surgery, manually open her body and cleave through it in search for the root of the problem, the little grain of foreign chakra that continued to destroy her tissues, and which had left her in a state so close to death.
He chanced a look at his patient. She had closed her eyes, and thin blue veins showed up through her pale skin. Deep, dark circles carved a path below her eyes, and her mouth was almost bloodless, a thin, pinched line. She was sweating profusely, despite the fact that she was cold to the touch. Each breath she took evidently required quite an effort.
She was not asleep. Her breaths were uneven, and her body too tightly wound up for her to have drifted off to the land of slumber in the middle of his inspection. Nevertheless, it was useless trying to explain the situation to her. The Uchiha had already informed him that she seemed to have lost the necessary energy required for speaking a few days before he had arrived. Now, she communicated through hand-signals, or, if that was too taxing, then through her pale grey eyes, which followed the Uchiha around everywhere.
He withdrew from the room, careful to make the slightest bit of noise so that she would be aware of his retreat. Stepping firmly on the ground, his cloak rustling about him, he moved about the house, trying to find his other comrade.
He found Uchiha Itachi in the kitchen, preparing what looked like broth. Eyeing the concoction warily, he chose to be blunt again, and blurted it out: "She needs surgery."
The words lay between them, tense, and heavy with the possible implications. Itachi turned and regarded him with wary black eyes, his right hand clutched into a tight fist, the left loose and relaxed. "Have you assessed the problem?" His voice was cool, modulated.
In comparison, his own seemed to grate against the walls of the paltry house. "Like you said, there's some invasive chakra. In order to accurately assess the extent of the damage, and to remove the chakra, I'll need to take a direct look."
The younger man began to fuss around the kitchen, wiping down the stained counter with a remarkably clean washcloth. He had always been cleaner and neater than his colleagues, almost obsessively so, perhaps as a result of his pristine upbringing. "I have already informed you about the discoveries that I made while working at Konan-sama's wounds." His voice was wary, as though he was unsure of whether or not to trust Kakuzu. The latter didn't mind. He felt the same way.
He scoffed. "Do not compare your paltry 'data' with my needs, Uchiha," he said, in a brief moment of flippancy. Then his tone became serious again. "It's spread, as I'm sure you know. I need to be sure of where it is, and to extract it manually if needed. Of course, Orochimaru's handiwork requires special attention. It has the ability of morphing completely."
Itachi finished wiping the table and threw the dirty rag into the sink, suddenly seeming engrossed with his own thoughts. Kakuzu observed him warily. Despite their so-called association, he had no doubts whatsoever about the true spirit that existed within the Akatsuki. Uchiha Itachi was no friend of his, and neither was the pale, wasted woman he had just left in bed.
Finally, Itachi turned to regard him, and it was with some unease that he noted that the Sharingan had been activated, the black tomoe spinning around in an endless whirlwind of power. Nevertheless, he kept his gaze trained squarely at the Uchiha's face, staring the man in the eye, trying to communicate the urgency of the situation.
I don't want to die, Uchiha.
Finally, Itachi broke eye contact, seemingly having accomplished whatever it was that he set out to do. "Leader-sama gave me the responsibility of caring for Konan-sama while she is… indisposed." The slight curve to his lips was the only inclination that he, too, could see the black humour in the situation. "He also told me that I was not to let her die."
Red eyes snapped up to meet brown, and Kakuzu could feel the intensity of the stare, as though spotlights had suddenly been turned on. Beads of sweat began to trail down the back of his neck. He attempted a chuckle, but came out instead sounded like half a whimper. "Don't worry, Uchiha. I don't want to die, either."
He exited the house with a barely concealed expression of relief. The intensity contained within the slats of the small wooden house had proven too much to bear, and he was glad to be out of it, even if for just a little while.
He had fed Konan again, slipped the spoon containing the warm broth through her unresponsive lips, waited until he could hear her noisily swallow before withdrawing it. It was a time-consuming and frustrating task. Konan seemed to be barely be alive anymore, and he was the one who had to help her perform all the basic, menial tasks which the human body required in order to live. He fed her, forced water down her throat, changed her clothes. He did all the things he had done for his own brother, and then some more. Her illness did not prevent her frail body from releasing wastes.
He grimaced slightly, massively uncomfortable with the situation that he found himself in. He barely knew Konan, and yet, today, he was the only thing keeping her alive. The sheer proximity of her whenever he was taking care of her – whenever he changed her clothes, dipped a clean cloth in a bowl of cool water, and glided it across her scarred skin – was too intense, too much for him to handle. By nature, he was detached. He did not appreciate this sudden and forcible attachment that he had been forced to cultivate.
The garden was his only solace. The tiny, fenced area in front of the shabby wooden cabin where they resided for the present was surrounded on all sides by great, leafy trees that reminded him of the verdant ones found near his ancestral home. The Land of Fire was known for its vegetation, and standing here, in this forest, reminded him of many an afternoon spent training with Shisui among the thick foliage. It was a memory of a better time, a lighter time.
His thoughts soon left his childhood and instead turned to Pain. The orange-haired man had disappeared after instructing Itachi to guard and serve his partner, and told him to wait for Kakuzu. It was clear that the man expected him to stay here until Konan was fully recovered and could be moved to the headquarters. There was no doubt whatsoever that it would take several weeks for her to recover any semblance of normalcy, and then a few more for her to be ready to travel. He would be stuck here for a while.
If he was a lesser man, he would grind his teeth in frustration. As it was, he merely sighed, attempting to blow out all of the troubles that plagued his mind. The circumstances surrounding the situation were too strange for him to do anything else.
Orochimaru had attacked Konan. Seeing that she had been travelling alone, and unexpectedly, at that, it was either a chance encounter, or an extremely calculated attack. Knowing Orochimaru, and seeing the severity of her wounds, it was clear that it had been the latter. Konan had been taken by surprise, and moreover, had been unable to recover her senses during the battle. It was probable that she had had to face more than one enemy.
He longed to interrogate her about these affairs. Orochimaru was, and had been for quite a long period of time, his enemy. The abduction and subsequent brainwashing of his younger brother had only served to fan the flames of hatred that blossomed between the two. If there was something that he wanted to accomplish before losing his eyesight entirely, it was to kill the Snake sannin and to expose Madara.
But he had proven to be elusive. Orochimaru guarded his location jealously, and Itachi had tried, and failed to locate him, despite repeated attempts and copious bribes. He knew that in a fight between the two, it was likely that he would emerge the winner, and thus, pursued the other man relentlessly, just as the Snake displayed its virile ability to dodge his various attempts. Orochimaru had too much at stake – especially Sasuke – to chance losing all of it now. He preferred to hide rather than to expose himself and make himself vulnerable.
So then why had he revealed his location to Konan? The situation seemed improbable. It was highly likely that the sannin had been unaware of the fact that Itachi was nearby, as he had travelled without informing anyone, but to attack and to grievously injure a member of Akatsuki, especially one who was so close to the Leader, invited nothing but repercussions. Orochimaru was no fool. He had been a member of Akatsuki himself, and had witnessed the strange relationship between their Leader and his partner. So far, Pain had chosen to leave him alone, dismissing him as being inconsequential to the overall development of their plans. After such a slight, Pain could not afford to ignore him any longer, and even Orochimaru was unaware of the exact extent of their Leader's powers. Why would he choose to make such an enemy?
So many questions shifted about restlessly in his brilliant mind, but he could find no solution to them. If Konan had been awake, then he would have hurled question after question at her in order to glean all that he could. As it was, she had refused to speak at all after Pain had left.
The visit had been stranger than he had expected. Unlike most, Itachi chose to veer away from the topic of their Leader's past, recognizing the sensitivity of the topic, and the possible repercussions that could follow. Nevertheless, the conversation that he had witnessed between Akatsuki's two most mysterious members had served to do nothing but excite his curiosity. He found himself blindingly obsessive about the obvious slip-ups that Konan had made in her delirium.
She had let slip two words, which were most likely names, 'Yahiko' and 'Deva'. She had reached out for her partner when she uttered the latter, so he could only assume that she was referring to Pain. Why had she changed his name? Was that his real name? And who was Yahiko? Pain's lack of reaction to the words had somewhat hampered his ability to discern their meaning, but Konan's obvious distress at having committed a mistake was imprinted on his mind. Clearly, there was more to the situation.
It is difficult to be confronted with one who is more powerful than you, and there was no doubt in his mind whatsoever about the fact that if there was a fight between him and the Leader, then he would not emerge alive from it, unless he did so at the latter's grace. The Sharingan was a valuable tool, but even it could not compete against the original prototype, the Rinnegan. The legends surrounding the mutation were many, and there was little scientific data was to be found, since it had but one user. The Sage of Six Paths had been the first and last to walk on this world with it.
He had avoided Pain, and by association, Konan. He had no wish to get into any trouble with either of them. Often, he had wondered if Pain was aware of the existence of Madara, something which he had deemed implausible, but the man seemed to be omnipresent. The First Uchiha was the only one who could even dream of opposing the Leader of the Akatsuki, and even he seemed to be lying low, waiting for a chance.
A brief movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. Nearby, a parrot flew from one branch of a silver maple to another, its wings briefly caught in the scarce sunlight.
His blood ran cold. Parrots were tropical creatures, and this area may have been wooded, but it was still very far from their natural habitat. Swift as a jaguar, he moved, and had caught it before the mechanical implement had a chance to even realize that it had been detected.
His fingers, slim and aristocratic, crushed down on its thin, metallic wings, twisting apart the machine's neck before it had a chance to detonate or release a toxin. Shredding the feathers with one hand, he raised the implement to eye level, studying it carefully.
A small black symbol adorned the bottom of one metallic wing. He unwrapped his fingers slowly, studying the object which lay in his palm. It was clearly some sort of surveillance device, and one which bore the emblem of the Sound. So Orochimaru was following them.
Perfect timing.
He turned when he heard his name being called, Kakuzu's voice growing more impatient with each syllable. Stalking back to the house, he stopped for a moment to stash the new piece of evidence in the bottom drawer of the kitchen cabinet, maneuvering his hand so as to hide it from his companion's sight.
Kakuzu regarded him uninterestedly. "What is that?"
"Radishes," he lied easily, unwilling to divulge the information he had gleaned to anyone whom he did not trust. "Why did you want me?"
Sufficiently distracted, Kakuzu began to move towards Konan's room. "I'm about to start the procedure," he explained. "I need a helper."
"Aa." So he had now been given the responsibility of surgical assistant in addition to being the hospital attendant and the chef in charge. Splendid.
Konan was awake when they entered her room, although she continued to maintain her studious silence. Maybe she really was too weak to make a sound. It would not be out of the realm of possibility, after the level of deterioration that he had witnessed.
She regarded them warily, practiced eyes gliding over each of their forms with no small amount of suspicion. Even so, he mused, she had no way of actually defending herself in case they actually were her enemies. Helpless as she was, she would die before she could even raise an alarm.
Kakuzu coughed, and he took it upon himself to explain the situation to her. "Konan-sama," he began delicately. "Kakuzu says that in order to treat you, he needs to perform a particular surgical procedure."
It is not easy to allow your body to cleave open. As a veteran of hundreds of battles, he was well aware of this fact. The idea of leaving your flesh exposed and vulnerable was repulsive to most shinobi. To know that another's blade had slid through your skin and muscle, had carved a new path in your body, touched your soft inner organs, was frightening, at best, and downright terrifying at worst. As such, he was not surprised when she reacted rather violently, eyes widening, and body twisting as she attempted to get away from them.
He was surprised, though, when Kakuzu swiftly walked forward and jabbed her in the neck.
His senses went into overdrive, and he moved forward with blinding speed. The audacity –!
He stilled. In front of him, Konan lay unconscious on the bed, a small black scorch mark adorning her throat. Kakuzu's hand was clutched in his, his fingers tense, waiting to crush, to inflict damage. As he watched her, she shifted in her sleep and muttered incomprehensibly.
Kakuzu disengaged his hand. "She needs to be unconscious for the procedure, unless you're willing to deal with her screams," he informed his colleague coolly, voice detached from the entire situation. As Itachi watched, he began to prepare the materials needed for the procedure, duly cleaning his implements.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked, and his voice was back to normal, the momentary panic now having vacated the premises. Rationality was his shroud, the veil behind which he hid any weaknesses. "How can I assist you?"
Kakuzu waved a gloved hand towards Konan's face. "Keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn't wake. And pass the jar when I ask you to do it."
Then he delved his hand into the smooth, scarred flesh of Konan's abdomen.
Itachi almost winced, the frown tugging at the muscles in his forehead. He witnessed brutality on a daily basis, and had often been the one inflicting it, but somehow, the sight of Kakuzu's hand, cleanly passing through her soft, pale skin, and her lack of responsiveness disturbed him more than he let on. He averted his eyes from the sight, choosing not to look at the blood that now oozed freely from the wound, instead staring at her face.
She was thin. Too thin. She always had been, but he had never deigned to pay much attention. Her vigour and seeming lack of exhaustion had served to never draw it to his notice, either. It was only now, when they resided in such close quarters, had he noticed her frailty. Without chakra in her veins, she was just another, rather vulnerable, village girl. Her illness only served to heighten the impression of fragility.
Her mouth sloped downwards. Unconsciousness was different from sleep. She did not dream, he noticed – her eyes lay still beneath their thin membrane. When she dreamt, she suffered from nightmares. Often, he had observed her twisting, tortured body, although she never let out a sound.
Behind him, Kakuzu was muttering a chant as he extended some of his own chakra into the wound in question. Wiping away the blood, he focused on the twisted mass of internal organs, observing how their inner linings had been destroyed, and how many of them were had severe injuries. Cursing his luck, he began to work towards repairing them.
It was a tiring task. The human body is extremely complex, and any damage requires extensive therapy in order to repair it. Moreover, Konan's damage had been inflicted by chakra, not by simple physical trauma. Chakra wounds were harder to heal, because foreign chakra tended to be harder to remove. Any injuries left by it simply degenerated time and again, and so it required multiple healings.
He strove to contain his chakra. This would be time consuming, and he could not afford to leave the procedure midway because he had run out of chakra. He did not trust the Uchiha's ability to manipulate and modulate his own spiritual blood, and thus, was forced to rely on his skills alone. If he ran out of chakra in the middle of the procedure, then Konan would bleed out to death. If he stitched her up again, then he risked the invasive chakra destroying all of his previous work, and rendering it irrelevant.
The wounds he was working on were beginning to heal. Time and again, the new flesh disintegrated, until finally, soft pink muscles and tissue began to form, stitching over the existing gaps, erasing any deformities. He almost sighed in relief, increasing the chakra flow ever so slightly.
Healers do not treat, unlike doctors or midwives. They do not see a malady, and then prescribe some medicine for the same. No, healers erased any signs of the malady having existed in the first place. It was curiously complicated work, leading to what could almost be called spatial-time regression. It was also very, very difficult.
He finished healing the damaged organ, and moved on to the next one. Here, it was clear that the damage was irreparable. The limited skills that he possessed could not regenerate the broken, crumbling walls of the organ. Only renown healers, like the Hokage or like Chiyo of the Sand could have accomplished anything of the sort, and he knew himself well enough to be able to gather that it was beyond his capabilities. This scar, she would carry for life.
He analysed the appearance of the organ. Torn and tattered as it was, it was barely recognizable. There was some evidence of a botched healing, and it appeared fairly recent. It seemed that the Uchiha had tried and failed to heal it.
Only impeccable knowledge of the human anatomy served to make it identifiable. Konan's chakra center was beyond repair. She would live without chakra for the rest of her life.
He would have felt a twinge of pity, but he was far too busy. Time was running out, her blood was flowing too fast. It had a curious colour to it, almost as though it had been contaminated, which was probably exactly what had happened. The rusted smell made him shudder slightly, but he pressed on, relentless in his pursuit of the offending chakra.
There.
Thick, black, revolting. It looked and felt like tar, and seethed with malice. It was clear that it had deliberately been left behind, with the intent to cause destruction. With a sense of grudging satisfaction, he approached the area, the chakra strings that protruded from his fingers wrapping around the small bundle.
"Pass me the jar," he muttered, and his voice was raspier than ever. Behind him, Itachi startled, but then realized he was being addressed and quietly complied.
Kakuzu grasped the venomous bundle, and extracted it from Konan's body, quickly transferring it into the jar. Now in the outline of the glass container, he could see that the object was unnatural, that it had been engineered. Sneering, he delved his hand back into the open wound, seeking for any more traces of the same.
It was tiring and long work. Many hours passed before Kakuzu finally extracted his hand from the wound for the last time, and then proceeded to seal it shut. By that time, he was running low on chakra, and was fatigued and close to dropping unconscious. Staggering wildly to his feet, he grabbed the jar containing the liquid in his hand, sloppily clutching on to it. Itachi stared at him.
"She'll live," he choked out, stumbling from the room. Chakra deprivation was dangerous, and not something that he particularly wanted to experience when he was so close to the Uchiha.
Itachi turned and glanced one last time at Konan's face. She looked much as he remembered, and there was no sign of improvement. Hesitatingly, he slipped a callous thumb along each of her eyebrows, over her unnaturally still eyes, the bridge of her nose, her dry, cracked lips.
Don't die on me.
I did the best I could for this chapter. It's not my finest work, I'll admit. Still, I hope you enjoyed it. :)