A/N OMG guys, I actually did it. Truthfully I was starting to get a little scared there myself. Was I never going to feel the fire for this story again? Then my friend came over and spurred me into action. I have to apologize though!! Not only for being so late (though I'm sorry for that too) but for finally updating with such a chapter as this. It seems long and rambly and contradicting to me. Lol, that's probably because I wrote it in segments at totally different times, so at one point its dramatic and angsrty and the next it's light and fluffy. Oh well. At least it's here right?

A NOTE ON ZETSU: Yeah, okay, pay attention to which hand is being used in some of the actions, I'm using that as character development as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own, because if I did, my lazy ass would barly get Naruto up to episode 10.

Now on with the story!

"I thought you didn't even like vegetables," Ino said as she leafed through the dusty old tome she had miraculously found in a back corner of her kitchen. She didn't cook much, only knowing basic recipes by heart, but never before having to make anything more extravagant. Until now, when Zetsu decided that he was hungry.

"Tomatoes aren't vegetables, they're fruit," he corrected her blithely, remaining focused on the cookbook lying on the counter before her. Ino just sighed and turned the page, still yet to find anything appetizing. The man behind her was dead set on finding a main course meal made almost purely of tomatoes. Ino wasn't blind enough not to realize that it had something to do with Sasuke.

"Still, I thought you only ate meat." She paused at a yellowing picture of thick round tomatoes stuffed with…something. It was hard to tell in the old photograph. Still, it looked edible, which was more than she could say about the other concoctions they'd been looking at. She began skimming the ingredients, hoping they were simple enough that she wouldn't have to make an extra trip to the grocery store.

"I never sad that. I eat a large variety of foods," he said, leaning over her shoulder to observe the recipe she had flipped to. He let out a little hum and quick emotions flit through his features. Ino couldn't help but watch, entranced, by the way his face moved when he thought. She'd come to realize that Zetsu must have almost as much intelligence as Shikamaru, but they were very different in showing and using it. It hit her that, had they been on the same side, they might have gotten along very well.

"Make this," he ordered, pointing with a black finger. Involuntarily, Ino jumped as it brushed against the back of her hand and her body finally reacted to the near presence of the man behind her. She could feel the heat of his chest warming her back, and her heart quickened. How had she let this happen? How had she let herself fall into such a vulnerable position: her arms fairly pinned in front of her, kitchen knives with his reach? Asuma-sensei would have been ashamed. Her hands began to tremble, and she hid them under the counter before he could see her fear, though with him so close he could probably sense it.

"Sure, whatever you say," she replied, trying to inject some of her customary sarcasm. But the way her voice broke on 'ever' was too much of a giveaway. "Let me just check to make sure we have everything here." She prayed that he would take the hint and release her, but then realized: she didn't need him to take the hint, she needed him to act on it.

"It doesn't look very complicated," he said, almost with a note of disapproval. He hadn't moved, but she swore she could feel his breath on her neck. She stared hard down at the false granite in front of her. Why wouldn't he let her go?

He's not keeping you here, murmured a cynical voice in the back of her mind. You're just not moving.

Suddenly struck by the treason in that thought, Ino turned around and, careful not to look into those convicting eyes, placed a hand firmly on his cloth covered chest, fingers splayed. "It's not, but I just want to make sure I don't have to run to the grocery store again." She forcefully straightened her elbow, shoving him at least an arm's distance away. He had no right to be so close, she told herself.

Encouraged by the fact that he hadn't lopped her head off in that instant, she moved to brush past him and reach the refrigerator. Suddenly though, she felt a large hand wrap around her wrist, preventing her from removing it from his chest. She tore her eyes away from her destination and locked them on the yin and yang like spectacle; his black hand gripping her cream colored one painfully. Frightened, and with the full intention of apologizing for her uppitiness, Ino looked up at him, but the words couldn't form.

He was glaring stonily down at her, and Ino braced herself for some kind of chastising, hopefully verbal, but it didn't come. After decade long seconds, he released her and stepped back, glowing eyes still locked. She could feel them boring into her as she made her way past him and opened the fridge. Far from encouraging, her lack of punishment made her even more wary of him.

"Well," she began awkwardly, her voice pitched just a note lower than usual. "We won't have any tomatoes left after this, but we can't just let them go to waste, so it looks like we'll be eating leftover stuffed tomatoes for days." The thought did not appeal to her. She didn't particularly like the pulpy fruit unless it was mashed into sauce.

"And?"

"And that sucks," she muttered, pulling them out one by one. She tossed them over her shoulder, confident in his ability to catch them. It took some searching, but eventually, she found the onions, butter, and cheese as well. When she turned around, the tomatoes were already arranged neatly beside a cutting board and a petite little knife she hadn't even known she owned. With a mental shrug, she propped the aging cook book up against a cabinet and looked over the recipe one more time.

"We'll take care of these," he said, taking the onions from her. She just nodded and handed them over. Digging out the innards of a tomato, took precision anyway, and she wasn't sure she wanted to entrust that to an unstable criminal.

They worked in awkward silence for a time; each to their own designated kitchen corner. They didn't bother to converse and the tension steadily increased with each tick of the loud clock.

"Why did you want tomatoes," Ino asked abruptly when it became unbearable. Despite the less than tactful outburst, she could feel the oppressing discomfort drain away. She chanced a glance in his direction and she felt it all rush back, though this time one sided. She instantly turned back to her riveting cutting job.

"Because I like them." Maybe, when he tried, Zetsu could be a convincing liar, but either he wasn't trying now, or he wanted her to know he wasn't going to tell her, because it was painfully obvious that that wasn't true. There was another lapse into silence and the distinct chop, chop, chop of his blade on the cutting board sounded sharply in her ear.

Despite her sudden hyper awareness of him, she tried desperately to push the images in her mind away. A very, very loose cloak. A half opened fly trap, revealing just enough of his muscular chest to give her a taste, and just little enough to let her imagination run wild. She had barely minded when it was riddled with infections begging for her attention, but now, healed with fresh scar tissue, and here, in a kitchen that had been used for more things than just cooking: it was another story.

Best to just not look at him.

Still though, she began, slowly, to feel her resolve crumbling. It wasn't that she harbored any illegal feelings for the criminal. It wasn't that she had fallen in love with him and was only trying to deny it to herself now. It was that she craved the feeling of being wanted. That feeling that it seemed only alcohol and one night stands could bring her, as sickening as that thought was. She wanted to break her promise to Shikamaru. Why had he even made her swear to that in the first place? It was stupid.

She chanced another glance at the man who was now very finely dicing the cubes he had already cut. The sun glinted off his bright amber eyes, making the shadows on his face starker, sharpening his appearance. As her own hands stilled, Ino felt the lust rise up within her. A carnal, shameful lust.

She wanted to jump Zetsu.

Suddenly, the knife slipped from her fingers and she watched in shocked slow motion as it spun to the ground. It landed with a clatter that broke the silence she hadn't even been aware of. What had she been thinking? Her last thought alone was enough to grind her raging hormonal train of thought to a halt. Jump Zetsu? It almost, though notably not quite, made bile rise in her throat. She needed fresh air, she needed to get out. She needed to distance herself from this grave she was digging.

"What the hell?" The harsh voice brought her crashing mercifully back to reality. "What are you trying to do? Cut off your toes?"

"How much do you think that would cost?" Ino sent him an indignant glare and knelt to pick up the knife she had dropped. So shaken and embarrassed was she, that Zetsu's curious outburst of emotion went unquestioned. With a sigh, Ino stood up and started rinsing off the knife.

"My hands got sweaty. Wouldn't have happened if it weren't so hot in here," she muttered, almost instantly regretting it afterwards. There was no way to miss the convicting note in the tone of her voice. It would raise his suspicions, and the last thing she needed was his knowledge of yet another of her weaknesses. "Anyway, we can stuff these things in a minute. I'll be done soon."

"Not soon enough." Ino turned in surprise to see Zetsu with another knife, carving out the innards of an innocent fruit. The ease and precision with which he mutilated the thing sent a little shiver down her spine; maybe it was because the round, bright red thing resembled Hinata's face so much, or any blushing girl for that matter. He'd probably torn out the innards of those as well.

She gave another involuntary shiver.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm trying to make them perfect," she replied, snatching up the last one and setting to it, with a much lower degree of perfection, she admitted mentally. She resisted the urge to glance appraisingly at the finished one he set beside her, knowing full well that it would only make hers look worse. Meanwhile, she glimpsed Zetsu leaning in to study the recipe.

"You're doing that wrong, you know," he suddenly told her, eyeing her tomato. Ino followed his gaze with a pout. So it was a little rough around the edges, that didn't make it wrong.

"No I didn't. It looks fine!"

"Yes, you did." A white hand reached out and took the tools and fruit from his hands. He deftly snipped off the top. "This was supposed to come off first. Then the rest." She frowned, reading the directions and then looking at her tomato. Ino scowled.

"Oh, how would you know? You eat your food raw, anyway," she groused taking her stuff back and emptying out its remains. She should have seen this coming. Working with him was a bad idea; he was too controlling. He didn't respond to her jabs much either, which depending on her mood could be either satisfying of irritating. This time, she kept her peace.

The stuffing part went on fairly quietly, as all finesse was lost on this particular task. It was messy and sloppy and no matter how dignified the two tried to look, the counter ended up littered with bread crumbs and tomato juice. As Ino was shoving the last bit under the lip of her fruit she happened to glance up at the man still standing at her side. The girlish giggles were up and out of her throat before she could even try to stop them.

She desperately covered her mouth with a hand as she tried a last ditch effort to stifle them. But when he turned towards her accusingly, the pouting form of his lips made her laugh even harder. Wordlessly, afraid that if she opened her mouth, the full sound would come tumbling out, she motioned to her nose. His lips twitched down in a confused frown.

Finally, a full laugh escaped her lips and she tossed her head back. But before it could get out of hand, she reigned her mirth back in. She tapped her nose again, brushing the end of it. He only cocked his head slightly. Ino could see that indignant set in his shoulders one got when they felt like someone was making fun of them, and it actually made her a little nervous. She always felt a violent urge whenever someone pulled the wool over her eyes, and the last thing she needed was for him to get one. For her sake, she took mercy on him.

Grabbing a paper towel, she wet it and reached out to his face. He glared down at her advancing hand as though to pierce it with his gaze, as though it was offensive to him. He took a step back; she took a step forward. Her actions were superfluous, but she still got a thrill from the sense that she was violating him in some way.

"There you go," she said as she wiped away the blob of stuffing from the tip of his nose, though her voice came out much huskier than the chirp she had intended. She giggled again when she saw his white half grow a shade redder than usual. The laugh died in her throat then, when a white hand closed around her wrist. Maybe I should stop putting my hand near him, an idle thought mused. She knew the real problem though. Whenever she made some sort of action that put her above or even equal to him, he was quick to put her back in her place. And here she was again, held tightly in a bruising grip.

A truly bruising grip.

She winced as she heard her bones creak and protest in response to the crushing pressure, and maybe even felt a few thin blood vessels burst beneath the skin. She glanced up into his flinty eyes, trying to find some sort of mercy or at least clarity with him. But she couldn't read his expression. It looked almost as if he didn't know what he was doing. It was as if his hands was acting of its own cruel accord, but his mind, or minds, hadn't yet decided on what course of action to take.

"You didn't do anything," he snapped at her suddenly. Taken aback, Ino's eyes widened. She twisted her wrist half heartedly and shuffled awkwardly. She didn't spend a whole lot of time with people anymore, but she was sure that wasn't what they usually said.

"I… no, I didn't really," she agreed uncertainly. "Please, let go…" She was scared. In her head, she could admit that freely. This man was truly insane. He should be in a hospital, or an asylum. Why was she allowing him to stay here; this dangerous man.

"You should be more respectful." This time Ino was wise enough to keep her mouth shut. She got the feeling that he was not having a conversation with her. She knew that Zetsu's two halves did not always agree. That was why it took so long to reply sometimes. His mind was a stormy, conflicting place. But to hear him arguing out loud, right in front of her, it was demonic.

"You didn't do anything disrespectful. A little bold, but not disrespectful." That voice; most of the time it wasn't a frightening as the other, robotic, cruel, calculating one. This one had emotion in it. Now though, its quarrelsome tone churned her icy stomach. She shrank away from him, losing feeling in her fingers.

"She needs to be controlled. She needs to fear-"

"She's fucking terrified." Suddenly, hard yellow eyes locked onto her and his earthy, oppressive scent wafted around her as he invaded her personal space. "You're scared, right?" Her breath escaped her, until adrenaline kicked in.

"What do you think?" With panicked strength, she wrenched herself away from him and fled down the hallway, bumping into walls and corners in her hate. The bruises that would appear later went unchecked now as she slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it behind her. A thin, wooden, but comforting barrier between the broken sanity outside and her fragile one within.

She sat inside the small room for a long time, preparing to take a hot shower, but not quite ready to. All was silent in the small apartment above the Yamanaka flower shop. The only clear sound was the clicking of the old oven as it preheated. Until the small, vulnerable sound of the opening of the bathroom door and Ino's imploring voice drifted into the kitchen, right before she hid herself away again.

"Zetsu? Please put the tomatoes in the oven."

He couldn't shake the feeling that his teeth were getting dull. He'd eaten only tender and plushy processed meats since he'd gotten here, and he was starting to worry that he was going to lose some of his more feral attributes. He pulled the T bone he had kept out of the fridge and began to gnaw absentmindedly on it. He pulled a chair from the dining room into the kitchen and sat on it, watching the tomatoes sizzle and bake through the window of the oven. Just like she had asked him, too.

It was a different method than she normally used, which was ordering. She could be a bossy little thing if he let her. She was already bossy for a hostage. He had only been here ten days, one would think she would still be timid, but no. Sure she was afraid of him, everyone was afraid of him. But she seemed more afraid of his instability than of him exactly.

"She's too afraid though," he growled through his bone.

"Too afraid? I don't think she's afraid enough."

"You want her cowering. That's dumb."

"Why? Frightened people are easier to control."

"Easier to control, but too desperate. If we put her back up against a wall, she'll be dangerous. You don't corner an animal." The sound of his voice echoing back to him made him realize just how loud he had spoken, and he continued in a whisper.

"You think she'll be dangerous?"

"I don't underestimate her, she is still a leaf shinobi," he replied. There was a small part of him, not even big enough to be called a part at all, that wanted to stop this bickering. It was this aspect of him that suddenly snarled and viciously ripped the remaining flesh off the bone. As his teeth grinded tough gristle, there was a moment where he was one person. No arguments, no conflicting opinions. Just his jaws and the taste in his mouth. But it didn't last long, the brief respite.

"I just want to keep her from asking questions. I don't think she'll give us too many problems."

"And why is that?"

"Because she needs us."

And then he fell quiet.

He wasn't so sure about that. It did seem that she needed something; the feeling of being needed herself possibly. But whether she was so desperate as to see him in that light he didn't know. Though a creeping feeling that neither of them acknowledged had to admit that the thought of being a lifeline to the beautiful botanist was disturbingly not completely unwelcome.

With an unamused snarl, he bit through the weakened bone, feeling the sweet marrow drip and pool in his mouth. He licked his lips. Whatever the case, things were still progressing more smoothly than he had anticipated. For the moment, she was on his side, and she was helping him to achieve his goals, however unwittingly. He peered into the grimy oven and watched the stuffing brown.

"Are they ready to come out?" Zetsu turned to see the girl of his speculations leaning against the empty door frame, her blonde hair still wet. She was clutching a white towel closed precariously around her, and the more paranoid part of him was suspicious as to her motives of speaking to him in a state of undress, when she could so easily have just changed beforehand.

"Not yet. Go put your clothes on," he replied, turning back to the food. He heard her huff and grouse as she padded back down the short hallway to the bedroom. Her shower seemed to have done her good. She was a prideful person, not one that wanted to be squashed so easily by the likes of him. That may aid him, if she was determined to deal with him, on her own, instead of running for help. He wouldn't have to worry about interference. When he heard the door click shut behind her, he stood up and opened the oven. There was a quick debate between his pride and common sense on whether or not to use heat mittens. They eventually compromised, and he ended up with hot pads.

The smell was strong, he noted. Perfect.

"Wow, I'm hungry," Ino announced as she flounced into the kitchen and straight towards the dish cabinet. She seemed back to normal, and though he didn't acknowledge it, he couldn't stop the relief it gave him. She pulled out two plastic plates and a set of tongs. Placing one tomato delicately in the center of one, she turned to him. "How many are you going to eat?"

"I don't want any," he said, causing the girl to stop her busy movements and glare at him. He had known he was going to get this response, but he didn't care. It was nothing against stuffed tomatoes, he just wasn't particularly hungry, and he was going to need them all to be sure tonight's events went according to plan.

"But you told me to make them," she snapped, uncharacteristically though, she wasn't brandishing anything at him, and she didn't look threatening. She usually had a tendency to overdo things in her indignant anger, but this one was sincere. "I can't let them go to waste. Do know how much one fresh tomato costs?" Again, financial worries.

"I'm not hungry." Surprising himself though, he reached out and plucked a hot tomato from the pan, plopping it down onto her second plate. If she was confused by his hypocritical actions, she didn't argue. She just grabbed two forks and as they sat down at the table, wordlessly handed one to him.

The silence they ate in was not comfortable, nor uncomfortable. It was simply agreed on. Their first joint meal and each of them felt as though they had allowed some sort of weakness to show through, and were both trying to figure out ways they could reverse the effects of it.

"It tastes good." Zetsu didn't answer, but the fact that he didn't disagree either seemed to be enough to satisfy her. Inwardly he had to admit that it really wasn't bad. Finishing his quickly, he began to watch her with growing impatience as she ate hers at a normal speed. On a usual day, he would have welcomed the procrastination of the boring risky work of spying on the top shinobi village from the inside, but today was not a usual day.

"It's late."

Ino frowned up at him as she took another bite. "No it's not." She glanced at the clock on the oven. "It's only half past nine, I don't go to bed in like an hour." She slid firmly back into her chair as though to enforce her point. Zetsu let out a soft breath through his nose. It was best to remain calm. He continued to watch her, though he could feel a sort of tension building inside of him.

"Go to bed already."

"No." She had stopped eating now and was staring straight him straight in the eye, almost challengingly. Almost. He could see what she was doing. She was testing him, seeing how far and in what direction she could push. Still shaken from his momentary lapse of sanity, she would be easy to break and send on her way. It would be easy to scare her, probably only a threatening movement.

But that wasn't the way he wanted things. Of course, he wanted her sufficiently frightened. She needed after all to be controlled, but he wanted her to be controlled willingly. A willing subject was so much easier to use than one that only did what they were told out of fear. It boiled down to this: he could quickly and easily win this battle, but possibly lose the war. Or he could let this one pass and have a chance at taking over the world.

He quieted down. It could be an inconvenience, possibly a big one. But it was a risk he would have to take. He leaned back into his chair, Ino released him from her gaze, and she continued to eat.

The moonlight streamed in through the window as Zetsu waited semi-patiently for the girl's breath to even out. He couldn't tell if she was still awake or only in a shallow sleep. Neither worked for him. He leaned back on the couch with a small sigh. His cloak had been buttoned back up, and it was somewhat uncomfortable to lie down with his flytrap closed around him. He sat back up.

There was no doubt in his minds that what he was about to do was right. Not morally of course, but correct. He knew he would feel no guilt. But there was a niggling in some part of his brain that neither of his halves controlled. Some reference to the girl kept popping up in there. But it was practically sub conscious and no coherent thought could be drawn from it. So he pushed it away.

Finally, the clock ticked to eleven and he decided he could delay no more. He might miss his window of opportunity. Damn it, he might already have. That thought spurred him on, and he got off the slightly creaky couch and silently made his way to the bed room door.

Asleep, or at least it appeared she was. The sight couldn't help but bring a wry smile to his lips. What sort of kunoichi was she? To sleep in such a vulnerable position, especially with him so near. Her throat exposed, her limbs sprawled, and so tangled up in the bed sheets that it would have been impossible her for her to react in time if he did choose to attack her.

Not that we're going to.

Yet.

Satisfied that she would not be a problem, Zetsu padded back down the hallway. He double checked to make sure he had everything he would need, then looked out the window. The alleyway was empty, as it usually was, and that suited him just fine. He opened it quietly and put one boot on the sill, ready to launch off into the darkness.

"Please don't go, Zetsu."

Zetsu froze. The voice was soft, faint, from the bedroom. His foot, still on the side of the window, he looked back into the inky depths of the house. She was not coming after him, like he would have expected her to. That was why he had kept his midnight excursions from her, it wasn't worth fighting over. But her voice was not demanding either. It was almost pleading.

He retreated from the window and slowly, quietly, walked down the hallway. His fingers trailed absently across the paneled wall. If an outsider had seen his face, they would have described it as 'despondently confused,' which may or may not have been an apt description. Truth be told, Zetsu's minds were too perplexed to bother controlling his facial expression, and had more or less let it slacken.

He stopped at the open door, standing behind it, just barely out of view. He stood there, each of them sensing the other's presence. There was no rustling of cloth or pattering of feet. Almost no sign of life at all except for her unmasked chakra signature.

"Don't do it, Zetsu."

The whispered words and the realization that came with them hit Zetsu in the gut like a brick, but he did not move. He could hear it in her curiously resigned voice. She knew. She had always known, probably from the first time. He had not been as stealthy as he had thought. She did not know what he was about to do, or what he had been doing, but she had not been as oblivious as he had thought. In other circumstances, it would have been an ego blow, but in this moon bathed night, with the blonde girl breathing softly in the next room, it only made him wonder.

Wonder about his unwilling companion. He found himself wondering about something he did not usually think about, and almost never with something so close to tenderness. He wondered about her emotions.

Soundlessly and solitarily, an arm lifted and white fingers pushed the door shut on the bemusing girl. With imperceptible rustling, the same hand found a cloak pocket and pulled out the key ring he was yet to use. He lifted the proper one and slid it into the lock. He turned until he heard the tumblers fall into place. Then returned the ring to his pocket. He did not move.

He could see her, in his mind's eye. She was even more reluctant to fight over his criminal activities than he was. She was sitting up in the bed, her usually bright, but now dull, blue eyes smoldering through the door she knew he was still behind. Her shapely legs and hips covered by her quilt. Her toned arms propping her up. The contrast of the moonlight and its shadows accentuating her supple breasts.

His thoughts cut themselves off there.

He looked back down at the lock.

"Was that…" Uncertain whispers spoken only to himself.

"Necessary." A firm reply.

With a sudden, stillness shattering movement, Zetsu turned and swept down the hall. He climbed out the window smoothly, and seconds later was gliding over the buildings of Konoha.

Sasuke bit noisily into his succulent fruit, careful not to get any of the staining red juice on the scroll he was reading. Some of it dribbled down his chin, but he just licked it up easily. He had a dexterous tongue, as some of the luckier women had found out.

He was reclining comfortably on his two-seater couch. One cushioned arm to lean against, the other to prop his socked feet on. It was a good night. Fresh tomatoes to snack on, an interesting scroll to read that contained a jutsu he just couldn't wait to try out on Naruto. The blonde would never see it coming. That thought brought a smirk to his lips.

He lounged there for a spell, until he had eaten his snack down to its leafy green hat. Then he rolled up his light reading and padded into his kitchen. He no longer lived in the Uchiha compound, couldn't take the loneliness anymore. This apartment, surrounded by other people, was surprisingly much better. Even when there was a loud blonde in it, which there frequently was.

Sometimes, on nights like these, he was almost, dare he say it… happy.

He glanced at the clock.

"Hm, Shisui's probably hungry," he muttered, and bent down to rummage through a cabinet for the cat food he had so carefully picked out for the resident tabby. Shisui had been the name of his cousin, Itachi's best friend. He used to play the role of the loving bog brother Itachi had never been. It seemed a fit name for the friendly feline. He was a good cat, and had taken an instant liking to Sasuke as soon as he moved in. He was, strangely enough, one of the reasons Sasuke had decided to stay in Konoha at all.

He pulled out the cat bowl and poured some of the dry kibble into it with a soft clatter. He popped a piece into his mouth. Not bad. Picking up the bowl, he made his way to the door and slipped on some slippers. He opened the door and walked into the crisp night air, locking it behind him.

"Sasuke-san, Sasuke-san!" Sasuke looked up from the stairs he was walking down and felt his lips quirk up at the sight of the young girl running after him. She was about four or five, with curly red pig tails streaming out behind her, night gown catching the wind and bare feet slapping against the concrete. She was too young to know or understand what he had done, where he had gone in his past, or the circumstances by which he had returned. "Are you feeding Shisui?" All she knew was that he was the man next door that loved the cat as much as she did.

"Yes, I am," he replied, kneeling down to her level. His voice was somewhat softer than his usual tone. Still cold and stoic, but Chihiro never seemed to mind. "And what are you doing out here so late? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Yes," she replied. She looked her hands behind her back and rocked back on her heels sheepishly. "But I want to show you what I learned today."

Sasuke cocked his head ever so slightly. "Oh? And what is that?" Chihiro held both her hands out in front of her, digits splayed.

"How many fingers do I have," she asked eagerly. Sasuke raised an eyebrow and looked down at her pudgy little hands. She was watching him smugly, with the air of someone who knows something you don't. When he didn't answer straight away, she began to bounce on the balls of her feet. She was so hyper. But Sasuke just smirked slightly.

"Eight."

Chihiro's jaw dropped in shock, then her upper lip jutted out in a pout. "How did you know?" Her tone was accusing, making Sasuke chuckle inwardly. He stood up satisfied.

"Because thumbs aren't fingers."

The child sighed and placed her tiny fists on her hips, still sore about being bested yet again. Then her indignant expression turned to one of confident determination. "I'll get you one day, Sasuke-san." It was a game the girl liked to play. She knew Sasuke was a powerful and smart shinobi, and she fancied herself rather clever as well. Every day she would ask him a question or a riddle, hoping to stump him. She was yet to succeed. "You just wait." His lips twitched, but he fought the smile off.

"Maybe," he allowed. "Now hurry back home before your mom finds out you're not in bed." He reached out then, almost absentmindedly and poked the girl in the forehead with two fingers; as a farewell. Chihiro giggled.

"Okay. Goodnight, Sasuke-san!" She turned and ran back down the hallway, red curls bouncing around after her. At the last moment, she turned around and called back. "Say hello to Shisui for me!" Sasuke nodded and lifted his hand in a half wave. She waved enthusiastically back, and then disappeared.

Shaking his hand in amused exasperation, Sasuke finally continued his way down the stairs. It was a cloudless night, a good night. The moon and the stars were bright enough to make the street lamps almost obsolete, and the gentle night time sounds were calming. But when his slippered foot hit the bottom stair, he froze.

Someone was here, lurking. Old Sound habits die hard; he was always on the alert for a chakra signature that did not make itself known; like this one. It was almost by pure chance that he had sensed it at all. It was masked near perfectly, a high level ninja. But he had felt it. That miniscule tell tale spike of chakra as a technique was used.

It felt as though a clone had been made.

Slowly, silently, he set the cat food on the ground. Most habits died hard, but apparently the real important ones just keeled over. Since when did he not keep a weapon fastened to his body at all times? Barehanded, Sasuke was nowhere near defenseless, but he was without that comforting weight a weapon brought.

Suddenly, Sasuke's ear pricked at the sound of covered, cruel laughter. He turned towards the narrow side street that ran along the edge of the apartment building, the one with the dumpster that held the building's accumulated garbage. The sound rang in his ears disconcertingly. Its familiarity made him queasy.

"Whose there," he demanded in a low voice that shook more than he would ever admit, as he walked over to the alley and peered into the gloom. The sight was horrible, chilling. Any weapon he could have been holding would have clattered to the ground at that moment anyway. He took a step back, fighting to keep the bile from rising in his throat.

A small inconsistent fire lit the shadowy walls. It flickered on and off, a slight clicking sound accompanying it. A lighter. The flame glinted off a leaf headband, and reflected in Sasuke's flat onyx eyes. Vice like hands clamped around a writhing feline, seemingly oblivious to the scratches they received. Sadistic mirth echoed in Sasuke's ears.

A genin, his face barely lit by the tiny flame, crouched in the middle of the dirty street, holding tight to a spitting Shisui. The tabby was wet, at first it looked like water, but then he smelt it. Gas. His little orange ears were down angrily, but his eyes were wide with fright. It was like the cat knew. Sasuke fell back against the wall, his knees giving away. He felt like a child again. Like his old helpless, naïve self. So many memories flooded to him, over shadowing reality. A Leaf headband. A young ninja with cruel laughter. A cat drenched in gas. The shadows dancing. Dark eyes bright with malevolence.

Click.

Click.

Flame.

"Put that cat down now," Sasuke screamed, breaking from his horrified trance. Veins bulged on his neck, his pupils were pin pricks. His fists clenched. The genin looked up in shock, dropping the lighter onto the damp concrete. Sasuke began to charge towards him, but the startled kid was faster. He stood up, and with worrying roughness, threw Shisui into the dumpster, banging him against the metal side. As soon as Sasuke had slowed to rescue his cat, the genin was gone.

"Shisui," Sasuke yelled, grabbing the lip of the dumpster and heaving himself up. He tumbled over and into the soft trash, his face landing in something even more familiar than gut wrenching laughter. Tomatoes, stuffed ones, the kind his mother used to make for him every birthday dinner. Those happy, happy, gone dinners. With a horrified gasp, he pushed himself up and against the other side of the dumpster, but the smell assaulted him bringing back images he had suppressed for years. "No…no… Shisui where are you?" His panicked voice bounced back at him from the dripping walls.

He cast his hand out wildly and it came in contact with soaked fur. A vision of the charred remains Itachi had once left him flashed past his eyes. With a yell he jerked back, then leaned forward again and swept the whining tabby into his arms. He tried to stand up, stumbling on the spongy garbage as another strong smell of his birthday dinner came back to him.

He braced himself against the side, clutching the cat to his chest. His legs shook, and trembled, barely supporting him. That was when he looked up, when he made eye contact with eyes that were not familiar at all. Intense yellow penetrated him, making him freeze, making him want to shrink away. The animal in his arms yowled and squirmed. Two thoughts came to him then, looking into those terrifying abysses.

One, that that 'genin' had not had a chakra signature

Two, that this was not a good night.

A/N Yeah, so there it was. I really hope you guys liked it, but I'm very serious when I say I want helpful feed back. I live to serve! sort of. But I hope you guys liked it, and now I must give credit where credit is due.

Thank you to SnowyAutumn for helping me with Shisui's name and also for guilting my lazy butt into gear.

Also thanks to the anonymous reveiwer Joy, who went through and reviewed like every chapter of my stories! Thank you!!

And now, again, I hope you all enjoyed it and please please please reveiw! Hope to see you next time. :D

~Yuki